Stella blew out the candle, bathing the cabin in darkness. Still, she sensed the eyes of the child in the painting on her. She pressed her ear to the door and strained to hear footsteps on the other side. If Sam Hazzard caught her—
She couldn’t think about that now. The legal documents she’d stuffed in her bodice dug into her skin, brittle reminders of the danger breathing down her neck. No wonder Dr. Hazzard, no, Buzzard—Henry’s nickname felt more appropriate—had been desperate for her to sign beside the X. Her signature not only would endow the old Buzzard with Stella’s entire fortune should she die, but also granted the charlatan power of attorney. She’d gain full access to Stella’s bank accounts as well as the right to make all legal decisions on Stella’s behalf. Although Stella wouldn’t inherit until her birthday, the power of attorney might supersede Uncle Weston’s legal guardianship. Had the Buzzard done the same with Sue Chandler? Certainly, she’d tried with poor Wendell.
One glance at the clock informed Stella it was fifteen minutes past one. She peeked out the window toward the main house. Dark. Everyone must be asleep.
Clasping her shawl with one hand, she gripped the knob. The door groaned on its hinges, and the cool night air crept in, sending a shiver across her arms.
As she stepped outside, the darkness swallowed her. How would she ever find her way into town without a lantern? She turned to step back into the house and grab the light, then halted. No. If Sam patrolled the grounds, the flame would alert him to her plans.
Lord, help me find my way out of here.
The tree line stood out in black against the night sky. The scrap of moon provided faint light, but not enough to be of service. And not enough to give away her location to prying eyes. Might as well focus on that small positive instead of the fact she may never see daylight again.
She padded toward the trees. If her sense of direction could be trusted, the little shop where she’d bought the rolls of bread lay just beyond the woods. If only Tilda had agreed to come along. The darkness wouldn’t seem so formidable if loneliness didn’t accompany it. And after all Tilda’s suffering, how could she believe the Buzzard’s treatments held value? And blame herself for their failure due to one break in her fast?
Once Stella gained her freedom, she’d return with the police and have Tilda removed despite her arguments. How could she be so blind to the truth?
A twig snapped beneath her foot. She froze, waiting for Sam to barrel toward her and drag her back to the cabin. He wouldn’t dare kill her. With the documents still unsigned, she was worth more to them alive than dead. But what of Wendell? This was much the same scenario. Sam may not hesitate to silence her as well.
A hush blanketed the landscape, and Stella stepped into the woods. The tree cover provided an additional layer of safety. Mold and pine sap teased her nose as she plodded on. Her legs screamed with each step. How would she ever make it to Olalla?
“Miss Bu-urke.” A singsong voice chilled her to the bone.
Sam Hazzard.
Her heart thwacked against her ribs, and she pressed her back to a tree trunk. No, God, please. No.
She clamped a hand over her mouth. If he heard her ragged breathing, he’d close in on her. A tear slipped down her cheek and over her hand.
“I know you’re out here.” His tone carried a sinister sweetness. “It’s not safe. Let me take you back to your cabin.” Footsteps crunched through the underbrush. Were they getting closer?
Vanilla floated on a breeze, turning her stomach. Would she never escape this horrid death trap? How foolish she’d been to ignore Henry’s concern.
Dried pine needles crackled too close for comfort, and her breath stalled in her lungs.
“There’s no use hiding,” Sam continued, his voice nearer with each word.
With her heart fluttering instead of beating, Stella prayed for deliverance. Rustling in the trees some distance away sent Sam’s feet scraping along the forest floor.
Was he turning around?
“Ready or not, here I come.” His footsteps faded, and Stella let a pent-up breath escape slowly.
She strained for any sound that might signal his location, but silence prevailed once more, though the scent of vanilla still fogged the air. Resting her fingers on her bodice, she touched the papers that would bring the police to the old Buzzard’s door. Would anyone believe Stella if she couldn’t prove her accusations? Would they believe her at all? As she recited the words she planned to tell the police, they sounded like the ravings of a lunatic to her own ears, and she’d seen the truth firsthand. If she lost the attorney’s papers, she might as well run away without a glance over her shoulder.
But what of Tilda? She’d die here if Stella didn’t find someone to drag her out of the cabin and away from the horse doctor she believed held the keys to perfect health.
Perfect health. Stella’s stomach knotted. It had sounded too wonderful to be true, and it was. She’d never place herself in such circumstances again. And when she returned home—
A hand clamped around her arm, and a scream ripped from her lips.
“I told you it was no use,” Sam whispered in her ear. “Your treatment isn’t finished, Miss Burke. Wouldn’t want those toxins to kill you.”
Stella’s first instinct told her to fight, but her legs trembled beneath her, barely holding her upright. Fighting would get her nowhere.
“Why the rush to get away?” He dragged her toward the cabins, sending a surge of pain through her arm. “You know disobedience will get you into trouble.”
The image of Wendell’s body flashed. She knew the price of noncompliance all too well. But the cost of following orders had proved just as high for Sue.
The papers hidden in her clothing crinkled. No. He couldn’t find out she planned to take her story to the police. She pressed her free hand to her chest to quiet the rustle. “I wasn’t trying to escape.” Would he have Linda Hazzard fill her full of buckshot if she admitted her plan?
Sam stopped, and she wrenched her arm free. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Your wife said that walking helps flush out the toxins.” She kept her hand clamped over the papers in her dress. “I couldn’t sleep. So I walked.”
He gripped her elbow and led her out of the woods, the fragile moonlight shining full on his features. “Why did you hide from me?”
“For all I knew, I was alone. Then you come traipsing through the woods like a criminal running from the authorities. You frightened me.”
Sam lifted a brow. He studied her, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
He didn’t believe her. Lying had never been her strong suit. Normally, that wouldn’t bother her.
Slowly, he shook his head. “Tilda thought you might say something like that.”
His words stole the air from Stella’s lungs. Tilda? Tears pricked her eyes. Though the woman had bought the fanciful dreams Dr. Hazzard was selling, Stella never imagined her friend would give away her plans.
“Surprised, aren’t you?” A smile stained Sam’s voice. “She was worried you wouldn’t finish your treatments.”
Did Linda Hazzard have her patients under some sort of spell?
As he tugged her to her cabin, Stella’s mind raced. He didn’t believe her, so what would be her consequences for trying to escape?
“Get inside.” He thrust her through the doorway and slammed the door.
She leaned against the wood, listening to his scuffling and grunting on the other side. A heavy thump reverberated through the pine boards. Was he trapping her inside? She pounded her fist against the door.
“Don’t bother,” Sam called. “I’ve barred the door, but don’t worry. I’ll send Rollie tomorrow afternoon. He’ll escort you to the main house for your treatments then see you back safely.”
Stella trailed her palm over the rough surface and rested her forehead against it. She was little more than a prisoner, and the husband of a madwoman held the key.
With her hope of escape snatched away, Stella crumpled to the floor. Tears burned her eyes, and sobs choked her. She drew her knees to her chest and hugged them.
The darkness inside the cabin mirrored the hopeless black pit burgeoning within. Would she die in this room? Gloom weighted her shoulders and forced the breath from her lungs. If God really cared for her more than the sparrows as Mama had said, as His Word said, why hadn’t He allowed her to break free? Now she was more trapped than ever.
Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord.
The words whispered through her soul as a moonbeam cast its blue glow through the window. How could standing still prove such a hard task when those two little words carried so much simplicity? Even in her weakened condition, her muscles ached for action and her brain calculated ways to gain freedom.
Stand still.
She buried her face against her knees and sighed. God, help me to wait on You. It’s just so difficult to be still when I want to break down the door. A chuckle escaped her throat. How foolish that must sound on the lips of a woman as fragile as a newborn babe. I know I’m weak. But You’re strong. I need help trusting that Your way is best, because I’m not particularly good at not getting my way. Guilt squeezed her chest. She’d treated Henry abominably when he hadn’t bent to her wishes. Please let me see Henry one more time so I can tell him how sorry I am.
She stood and felt her way to the bed. As she eased onto the thin mattress, the springs squeaked. She pulled the legal documents from her bodice and slipped them under the pillow. Her nightgown’s silky fabric brushed her fingers. Might as well get comfortable.
She wouldn’t be allowed outside until her treatments tomorrow afternoon.
After wriggling out of her dress, she changed into her nightgown. The cool purple fabric skimmed a delicious chill over her arms. The scent of home still clung to the material, and she lifted the collar to her nose and breathed in.
Moisture dampened her cheeks. Would she ever see home and the people she loved again? And the man she’d corresponded with for years hadn’t sent a single letter since her arrival. He’d abandoned her.
She drew the quilt to her chin. Her chest felt hollowed out, but instead of plunging into its inky depths, she prayed.
Why was trusting so hard?