Whispers from the Past (30 page)

There were soft rustling sounds, quickly extinguished by stern looks from the judges.

“Unnecessary? Your brother has stated that your father’s actions served to correct mistakes made by Mrs. Lewis. Do you agree?”

“I do not. Susanna did not make mistakes.” Dorcas spoke with her chin high. “My father often corrected her for the mistakes of others.”

“Dorcas!” Her father charged to his feet, his low hiss frightening in its intensity. I looked from him to her. His face was purple with rage. Hers was smooth and serene.

Guilt shuddered through me. Why had I not pondered more thoroughly the risk Dorcas took in coming to my aid? In trying to save my name and her life from the storm, I had exposed her to retribution from Mr. Pratt. She would return to his household afterwards. Perhaps I should stop this, before it became worse for her. When I shifted closer to the senator to share my concern, he gave a firm shake of his head.

“Mr. Pratt, sit down,” Judge Reynolds said before returning his attention to Dorcas. “What do you mean by ‘the mistakes of others,’ Miss Pratt?”

“One such incident involved my brother John. He gashed his head on the hearth in the kitchen. Susanna was outside in the garden with me when it happened. It was my mother’s error, for she was tending to John when he fell. It was most ironic, for Susanna had begged Mama to let her care for him, but Mama refused.”

“Tell me about the punishment.”

“Susanna ran inside to comfort my brother. When Papa arrived, he didn’t ask what had happened. He hit Susanna in the face until she fell to her hands and knees. As she fumbled about, attempting to rise, he kicked her to the ground.”

Unbidden, the humiliation of that moment washed over me, weighing me down. I had longed for my day in court, yet I had not foreseen how much I would relive the pain.

The judge frowned at Dorcas. “Your mother did not intervene?”

“No, she did not. She was afraid.”

“Did you find your servant’s treatment objectionable?”

“Indeed.”

“Why did you not explain the circumstances to your father?”

“I did try, but Mama would not permit me.” She hung her head, her final words almost inaudible. “I stopped trying. I was afraid as well.”

Judge Reynolds nodded, his lips thinned. He leaned back in his chair and murmured to the other two judges. There were nods all around before Judge Reynolds addressed Dorcas again.

“Were there other such incidences, Miss Pratt?”

“Oh, yes. It was hard for me to be obedient, I’m afraid. It was common for Papa to blame Susanna whenever I was wicked, which was often. She received many thrashings on my behalf.” Dorcas turned, her gaze meeting mine. Her blue eyes were shiny with tears. She mouthed, “I am sorry.”

I mouthed back, “It is nothing.”

“Miss Pratt?”

We faced forward again. I glanced at the center judge to find him watching me with an odd intensity.

“Yes, sir?” she responded.

He looked back at her. “Are you aware of an occasion where Mrs. Lewis was burned? It would have been near the time she disappeared.”

“Yes, I am aware. I was there.” Dorcas squirmed on her chair, her mouth opening and closing as if she struggled mightily to find the words. “I heard Susanna screaming. By the time I reached the kitchen, she was sitting mutely on the floor, clutching her wounded arm. My father stood over her, a smoldering skillet at his feet.”

“This is preposterous,” Mr. Pratt yelled, rising again.

The judge gave him a cold-eyed stare. “The next time I speak to you, sir, it will be to order your removal from the courtroom. Sit down.” He waited with raised eyebrows and then nodded encouragingly at Dorcas. “Did your father say anything about Mrs. Lewis?”

“He told me that she was fine and that I must leave. I didn’t want to. She was gasping for air.” Dorcas looked at her father, her face pinched with reproach. “The pain must have been unspeakable.”

“Miss Pratt?”

Her attention returned to the panel of judges. “Yes?”

“Do you know why your father burned her?”

She sighed. “She had been reading a book that was not the Bible. He did not like it.”

Judge Reynolds made a garbled sound and then reclined into his seat.

The short judge scratched the tip of his nose as he stared at his notes. “Miss Pratt, how frequently did these incidences occur throughout the term of the indenture?”

“Quite frequently, sir. I have only recounted events from the final two months she was with us. And truly, I must mention the shackles. They were an abomination.”

His eyes narrowed. “Mrs. Lewis was shackled?”

“Uncle Worth allowed Papa to shackle Susanna in ankle irons. They thought she might run away.”

“Why would they think that?”

“She left our property twice without Papa’s permission.”

The judge frowned. “Did he send out a search party?”

“He did, although I don’t believe it was necessary. The first time, she returned of her own accord. The second time, the search party found her sitting by a creek that borders the rear of our property.” She shook her head, her face crumpling. “The shackles made Susanna dreadfully ill. Mama said that she looked like death. My sister Deborah begged Papa to remove them and to fetch a healer. We believed that Susanna was too weak to run away, but Papa would have none of it.”

Mr. Pratt leapt furiously to his feet, lips pressed together.

The tall judge nodded. “Yes, Mr. Pratt? Is your daughter’s tale true?”

“Susanna tried to run away twice, with the man she now calls her husband.”

“Did she return of her own accord the first time?”

Mr. Pratt exhaled noisily. “She did.”

“And the second time? She was found sitting—not running?”

Mr. Pratt gave a sharp nod.

Senator Eton rose with a smile. “Mr. Pratt has also neglected to mention that Mrs. Lewis spent the first
attempt
in the company of her mother.”

The tall judge’s lower lip curled. “Did you know this, Mr. Pratt?”

“I did.”

The short judge grunted and then leaned toward the other two. They bowed their heads together, speaking in whispers. After a minute had passed, they straightened on their seats, picked up their quills, and wrote.

Judge Reynolds laid his quill down first. “Mrs. Lewis?”

Senator Eton helped me to my feet.

Judge Reynolds’s eyes met mine with something akin to sympathy in their depths. “We concur that you suffered from poor conditions and cruel treatment. We grant your petition and reassign the remaining two months of your indenture to Mrs. Cornelia Whitcomb.” He rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “So ordered.”

Dorcas stood and hobbled toward me, arms outstretched. Her father intercepted her, his hand closing tightly on her wrist.

Our gazes locked. His fury at my victory was fearsome. As sweet as the result was, there was no room in the moment for glee. If his expression was to be believed, Dorcas was about to pay.

“Senator?” I pleaded with urgency.

“Do not worry for your friend,” he said into my ear. “My son has this encounter under control.”

William Eton had stepped into their path, blocking their exit from the room.

“I see that your daughter has a limp. Is it recent?” William’s question was soft. The entire courtroom quieted, straining to hear.

“I do not recall precisely when the injury occurred.” Mr. Pratt tightened his hold on her arm and tried to push his way down the aisle.

I raised my voice. “She was injured four years ago, at her father’s hands.”

Mr. Pratt’s body froze, even as his head swiveled toward me to level a ferocious glare.

“Is that true, Miss Pratt?” Judge Reynolds spoke from the bench. “Did your father’s actions result in your injury?”

She shivered. “Yes, but it was an accident.”

Mr. Pratt snorted. “She twisted her ankle. It has not been right since.”

William smiled. “How fortunate, then, that I am a physician. You will doubtless wish to have me examine her ankle and see if there is anything to be done.”

Mr. Pratt surveyed the crowd, filled as it was with members of the most influential families in the county. He frowned at the panel of judges, men whom he would face again over disputes arising from the trading of horses. All waited, the tension coiled as tightly as a spring.

Mr. Pratt released his hold on Dorcas. “Indeed. We would be much obliged for your opinion.”

“It may take me a few days to reach a determination.” Dr. Eton said as he offered an arm to Dorcas. He then bowed toward Jedidiah. “I trust that your sister may enjoy the hospitality of your home for a week or so.”

My fingers clutched the edge of the table, swaying on a wave of joy. In one small maneuver, Dr. Eton had saved Dorcas from a father’s wrath
and
a terrible tempest.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-S
IX

T
EMPORARILY
O
FF
W
ORK

When I arrived Sunday morning, Gabrielle’s aunt answered the door. “She’s in the weight room,” Resa said without looking up from her phone.

I headed downstairs and stood in the doorway, watching Gabrielle pump iron as her personal trainer counted reps beside her.

She had an amazing body, but she had to, really. It was part of the job, even when she was temporarily off work. Fortunately, the goal was toned and sculpted. Not bulked up.

She glanced toward me when she was done with that set, a tentative smile widening her mouth. “You’re early. Are we okay?”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be another half-hour before I’m ready. Want to wait upstairs in the den?”

“Sure.”

I hung out in front of the TV, turned on ESPN, and got mildly interested in something.

Almost exactly thirty minutes later, Gabrielle bounded into the room, wearing jeans and a denim jacket with something sequined and shiny that barely covered her breasts. She came straight to me, straddled my lap, and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said, resting my hands at her hips. There was a whole lot of her—some firm, some soft—pressed against a whole lot of me. She smelled good, like berries and vanilla.

She kissed me, slow and sweet, then drew back. “Ready? The limo’s waiting to take us to the airport.”

“Wait. What?” I needed a moment to catch up with her. Too much sensory information to process.

She laughed. “We’re flying to DC.”

I had to think this through, one word at a time. “As in District of Columbia?”

“Yeah. We’re going to a Washington Nationals game.” Her eyes sparkled. “We have seats in a President’s Club suite.”

Wow. We’d be right behind home plate. “Private jet?”

“Yep, and your parents know. We decided to keep it a surprise.” She wiggled off my lap and took my hand. “Ready?”

“Damn straight.”

The ball game was an unforgettable experience. Gabrielle was treated like royalty the whole way—which meant I was, too. She was really sweet about introducing me to all the VIPs we came across. A couple of US senators. Some of the players. People in the movie business that I’d never heard of but she knew.

It had been amazing and weird.

But now I was behind on my “find Susanna” project. I had this huge, murky pile of facts that didn’t seem to connect. I knew that Dorcas and her injured leg had to be the reason Susanna went back in time—but little else made sense.

The data suggested that Susanna wanted to return to 1805, so, knowing Whisper Falls, that’s the year she’d traveled to.

The tornado probably figured in, but she’d returned four weeks too soon. She couldn’t stay hidden until May fifteenth, and being jailed wouldn’t help Dorcas.

Susanna had also spent a lot of time researching court cases, both online and in the stack of documents she’d left in her STUFF box. Why? I’d thought that maybe she was looking for evidence about who survived the tornado—until I found several links for legal proceedings in nineteenth-century Pennsylvania. Huh? I was still betting that she was in Worthville or Raleigh, but did I have to consider Pennsylvania, too?

It was taking me too long to work this out. There were moments when I just wanted to charge through the falls and scour the earth until I found her. Two months ago, that’s exactly what I would’ve done. I would’ve known how she thought. I could’ve predicted what she was planning to do.

March fifteenth had screwed with my confidence and taught me that I didn’t really know Susanna after all. I could never have guessed she would go on birth control one day and dump me the next. I could never have predicted that she would so completely leave me behind.

Without Susanna—my partner, my ally, my
everything
—the past terrified me. I couldn’t go back there unless I was heavily armed with answers.

Since I couldn’t make my brain sort through the facts, maybe I should let the computer give it a try. I loaded all of her links into a text-mining app and watched it run.

It produced a word cloud that was useless. Nothing stood out except
leg
,
Pratt
, and
tornado
. I already knew about them.

I reloaded the links, only this time I limited them to the last week before she left.