33
Martha approached Samuel’s cabin, reminded of her failure to help Samuel and Will, as well as her smug approach which had led them to flee. She prayed her encounter with Russell Clifford would be more successful, although she wanted similar results—Russell’s absence from Nancy’s life.
Smoke suddenly belched from the chimney, and a weak trail of smoke began to twirl upward. Any hope Russell might be addled and unconscious immediately faded. With both windows shuttered closed, she could not even peek inside. At the same time, the shuttered windows prevented him from seeing her approach his doorstep.
Whatever angels had been sent to help her, in response to her desperate prayers all the way here, had yet to arrive. She knocked on the door, using the signal knock she had used with Samuel out of pure habit, but she still had absolutely no idea what she would say or do when Russell Clifford answered the door.
No response.
She tried again, knocking only once.
At this rate, she would not be able to do anything to delay him except stand helplessly outside while every bone in her body froze solid as she waited for him to leave for Sunday meeting. Fortunately, she was familiar enough with the cabin to know there was no back door. He would have to pass by her when he finally did leave, which gave her no choice but to stand and wait.
That idea appealed to her even less than confronting the brute, who may not have been addled enough the other day to forget how she had slammed the door in his face at the confectionery. She tugged on the sides of her hood to nearly cover her face and protect her skin from the cold wind, one of the decided benefits to using a hood instead of a bonnet during winter.
She thought wearing a hood might compare to a horse forced to wear blinders, which is why she never used them with Grace because it was disconcerting being unable to see. Or to be seen, for that matter.
Actually, with her features almost completely hidden, Russell would have to get right up to her face to be able to identify her. She could use that to her advantage and surprise him, if she ever got him to answer the door.
Mercy, it was cold! She pounded at the door again with both fists and added a kick for good measure—a painful mistake that nearly stole her breath away.
“Go away!”
She pounded again. “It’s urgent that I see you,” she shouted, without any idea of what she might claim to be urgent if he believed her.
Heavy, agitated footsteps clomped toward the door. She held her breath and bowed her head until the door swung open. With one quick, sudden movement, she had her foot inside, resting against the doorframe. She offered a silent prayer. If he decided to use all his strength to slam the door closed, she would wind up with one very sore foot.
She detected no odor of honey wine, which meant part of the sisters’ plan had not worked, and lifted her face. With his face freshly shaved and his dark hair slicked back, he had also cleaned himself up. “I’ve come to . . . apologize,” she blurted.
He leaned closer. When his gaze finally lit with recognition, his hands balled into fists, despite her claim to have come to offer an apology. He glared at her so coldly, her heart nearly stopped beating.
“I . . . I can’t go to meeting with my heart so deeply burdened by the wrong that’s been done to you, so . . . so I came to apologize and . . . and offer my help.” She caught her breath. Where were those angels anyway? She needed help and she needed it now!
He returned her words with a smirk. “I don’t need your help.”
“I think you do,” she countered. When the wind gusted and tore at her cape, she tried to hold it closed. “If I could come inside, maybe I could explain.”
He cocked a brow. “After all you’ve done to destroy my marriage and poison my wife and the rest of the town against me, give me one good reason why I should listen to anythin’ you have to say.”
Drat. Still no angels!
“Because . . . because I know the others are planning to help your wife to escape, and you’ll never be able to stop them. Not unless I help you,” she said, praying all the lies she had already told and would have to create during the next hour or so would be forgiven because they were well intentioned.
He continued to glare at her. Disbelief filled his eyes and held them steady. Until a flicker of doubt, ever so small, appeared.
“I’ll only take up a few minutes of your time,” she prompted. In that very heartbeat, she felt a distinct pressure in the small of her back, almost like a shove, tripped on the hem of her cape, wrenched her ankle, and fell—straight into the enemy’s arms.
The angels had arrived. Pushy, but effective cherubs.
Caught off guard, he apparently reacted instinctively and grabbed her shoulders to keep her from knocking him off his feet. “You are one ornery, stubborn woman,” he snapped as he set her back on her feet.
“So I’ve been told.” She winced the instant her right foot held the slightest pressure and went down on her knee. She held her breath until the sharp pain gentled into mere throbbing. “I’m afraid I’ve twisted my ankle.”
“Nice excuse. You can turn right around and take your leave. You’ve done everythin’ you’re goin’ to do to ruin my life. I’d be a fool to give you any more opportunity than you’ve already had.”
She tried to get up and nearly toppled over. This time, he left her to her own devices and offered no help. She latched on to the edge of the door for support. “I’ll limp all the way home, if that’s what you want, but you’ll just make it harder on yourself.”
He laughed at her. “I doubt that.”
“Suit yourself,” she snapped, thoroughly disappointed in both the timing and the manner of her so-called reinforcements. “All the good Lord requires is that I tried to make amends. I can go to meeting now and not be judged a hypocrite. If and when you ever decide you want to hear more, let me know. I wouldn’t wait too long, though. For every moment you wait, Nancy will be that much further beyond your reach.”
With her head held high and her backbone stiff, she pivoted on her left foot, grabbed the doorframe, and limped forward. The pain was surprisingly bearable, although she could feel her ankle swelling. She scanned the area just beyond the front door, but the snow covered up anything she might have used for a makeshift crutch.
More than slightly irritated, she looked back over her shoulder and cast him a withering look she had not used since castigating Will for his bad language. “You might offer me something to use for a crutch, considering I hurt myself attempting to reconcile our differences.”
Finally he had enough left in his sorry spirit to respond like a man with some character. “I just started a fire. You may as well sit down and warm up for a few moments before . . .”
She eyed him suspiciously.
“Just come in. Before I lose the little heat I’ve got left, since you’ve had me keep the door open for so long.”
She limped inside, more certain than ever she had not imagined that none-too-gentle nudge in the small of her back. She even accepted Russell’s help so she could make it to one of the chairs in front of the Franklin stove. She sank into her seat, shook the hood back and off her head, and slid her hand into her pocket to check her watch while he went to the corner of the room for more wood.
Still an hour and a half until meeting.
Well, she had gotten inside. Now all she had to do was keep him so preoccupied that he lost track of time and it would be too late to get inside the meetinghouse to attend services. Beyond that, her town sisters would be in charge.
She hoped they had been assigned angels who were a tad more gentle.
Nearly an hour and a half later, using a tree branch for a crutch, Martha made slow, painful progress as Russell Clifford led her through a trail in the woods toward the meetinghouse. Apparently, he had been using this trail, for the snow had been packed down on the pathway, a decided blessing considering Martha’s weakened ankle. She had wrapped it tightly, grateful the injury only appeared to be a mild sprain that should heal within a few days.
She deliberately slowed her pace and allowed him to get a few yards ahead so she could check her watch. Three minutes until services began. She looked around and realized they were just passing the rear of Dr. McMillan’s property, which meant they would never make it on time, even if Russell abandoned her and ran the rest of the way.
The tension that had stiffened her shoulders and wrapped a tight band around her forehead so that her head ached melted away. Until Russell stopped and turned around. “We have to go faster than this or we’ll be late.”
She stopped and waved him on with her crutch. “Go ahead, then. I can meet you there.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He closed the distance between them and glared at her.
She nearly took a step back, but locked her knees and refused to let him intimidate her. “What are you talking about?”
“If I go ahead and leave you behind, what guarantee do I have that you’ll eventually show up and talk to the congregation on my behalf like you promised?” He hooked her arm in his and never gave her a chance to answer him. “We’re goin’ together.”
She trembled. “It’s getting colder. If you insist on escorting me, then let’s not waste time arguing or we’ll both get a good dose of frostbite.”
With his support, she actually did make faster progress. The moment they approached the rear of the meetinghouse, she could hear the congregation, their voices lifted in the opening hymn. She offered a quick prayer of thanksgiving and another asking for protection when he realized the door was locked from the inside.
“There’s no door in the back. We’ll have to go around to the front.”
He paused to stop and stare at the back of the log structure and shrugged his shoulders. He did not seem the least bit upset they were late. Victoria had been right. He was indeed too new to the congregation to know the minister’s habits.
They made quick time walking along the side of the meetinghouse. When they rounded the corner, he rocked to a halt and forced Martha to do the same.
The yard in front of the meetinghouse was packed with wagons and sleighs, all oddly parked side by side to form two large circles with the horses and mules huddled together in the center. She had not seen this before; neither had she seen this many vehicles at meeting since . . . since ever!
He grinned. “Must be packed inside.”
She could almost see his mind working, anticipating the moment she would step forward, endorsing his redemption, as well as his reunion with his wife, as she had promised. It had not been easy convincing him of her change in heart, until he heard her tale of Nancy’s plea for a reunion. It would be far more difficult for both Nancy and herself to escape his wrath once he realized he had been played for a fool.
“You’re sure Nancy is at meetin’?” he asked as he changed his position and gripped her upper arm.
She yanked free. “Of course I am. I spoke to her right before I left. She’s expecting you to be there, too.”
When he turned her toward the door and hooked her arm again, her heart began to pound. “Let’s not keep her waitin’,” he suggested.
Before she had taken a single step, a familiar, beloved voice rang out. Not exactly an angel’s voice, but one that reassured her that gentler, more competent reinforcements had arrived.