19

It seemed almost that Elise danced up the front steps to the veranda, and in through the front door of the house that half hour later, humming some familiar bit of jazz music to herself. William stood waiting for her just inside the doorway to the front parlor, his eyes on her as she closed the door and turned to smile at him.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, trying to force a control over the urge within him to immediately wipe the smile from her face—he would give her one last hope, one last chance to confess the relationship she had been hiding all these months—and, God help her, she had better make that confession.

“I just went for a walk,” she said, the smile never changing, taunting him all the more with the lies that lay behind it.

He walked toward her, clenching his hands into fists at his sides, his voice rising in tone with the rage he fought to control. “I asked you, where have you been?”

Her expression changed, the smile weakening, becoming almost forced. “I just went for a walk. I—”

The rage snapped within him. He slapped her hard, then stood staring at the shocked look that came to her eyes. “Damn you! Tell me the truth!”

Her hand went to her cheek, covering the reddening mark his blow had left. Her eyes were large and horrified, filling now with tears—but there was no pity left within him. “Daddy, I—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me!”

Martha entered the hallway from the parlor behind him, her voice frightened and worried as she reached to try to take his arm—but he would have expected nothing less from her. She had accepted the discovery of Elise’s lies, and the relationship the lies had covered for, without comment—but that was what was wrong with Elise now, Martha’s constant coddling, and that coddling would stop now. “William, please don’t—”

He turned on her, holding his fist just inches from her face. “You shut your goddamn mouth and stay out of this!” he shouted at her, and then turned back to Elise. “Don’t you even try to lie to me again! I saw you with that boy today! I saw you with that half red-Indian trash’s hands on you!”

A look of terror that she could not conceal came to the girl’s eyes. For a moment she seemed almost to fight to control her emotions before she could speak, and then her voice came, weak, but almost determined, to him. “Daddy, I don’t know what you think you saw, but—”

He raised his fist and almost struck her again, but instead watched her shrink away, toward her mother as Martha moved around him and to her side. “Don’t you dare lie to me! I saw you, goddamn it! How long has this been going on? If he’s put his hands on you I’ll—”

“Daddy, please, you don’t understand—” Her voice was pleading as it cut into his. “It wasn’t—”

“Shut up!” he screamed at her, frightening her into silence. The huge rooms of the old house echoed his voice back to him over and over again as he stared at her, his anger only increasing as he watched Martha put her arms around the girl and draw her closer. “It’s over,” he said, forcing the words through barely parted teeth. “He’s only been using you, and you’re too damned stupid to see it—but I’m no fool. I know what he’s after, and he’s not going to—”

“But, it’s not—”

“You’ve been taking me for a fool all these months, you and him both—but you won’t again. You’re never going to see that dirty half-breed again even if I have to—”

“No, you can’t—” Her eyes were filled with fear, with more horror than he had ever before seen there in all her life. “You don’t understand. I—I love him, and he loves—”

“Love—” William almost laughed at the word, at the notion of his daughter in love with the dirty, dirt-farming trash, and even at the sincerity and fear in her eyes—but he could not laugh, for anger filled him instead, anger and disgust at the lies and the stupidity of a sixteen-year-old girl who had no notion of the trouble she could cause. “You don’t even know what love is—and he doesn’t give a damn about you,” he said cruelly. “All he cares about is getting his hands on my money, and getting under your skirts in the—”

“William!” Martha’s eyes were shocked, as was her voice, but he ignored her, staring instead at Elise. He started to speak, but her voice cut him short.

“He does love me! We’re going to be married! We—”

“I’d kill you both before I’d see you married to that goddamn half-breed!” he shouted at her, almost striking her again. “You won’t see him again, not even if I have to kill him with my—”

“No!” she screamed, grabbing at his arm and pulling at him, the tears beginning to stream down her cheeks now. “You can’t hurt him; you won’t! Please—you can’t—”

William stared at her, seeing suddenly in her fear her very weakness. She might be just as stubborn and willful as he—but she had given him a tool now to use against her, a tool that would assure the destruction of the relationship more assuredly than anything else ever could. That tool would be her very love itself.

He pushed her hands away deliberately, and stood staring at her, feeling nothing more for her in that moment than disgust, anger and outrage. “Janson Sanders is dead for crossing me—” he said, staring at her—yes, he would love to see Sanders dead, love to see him dead and bloody and buried where he could never cause trouble again. But there were better ways to handle such matters. Dying hurt only once—but there were ways to make a man hurt for so much longer, ways to make him wish that he were dead a thousand times over in every day that he lived and walked and breathed.

“William, you can’t—” There was horror in Martha’s voice, but he did not even look at her. He stared at Elise instead, watching the fear in her eyes, fear that grew with each moment that passed.

“Daddy—oh, please, God—no—you can’t—” The tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked as she shook her head back and forth. She stepped out of her mother’s arms, her eyes never leaving his, her nails digging into the palms of her hands until he knew they were cutting into the flesh—but still he would not speak. “Please—I—I’ll do anything you say—please, just don’t hurt him. I’ll never see him again—please—”

He stared at her, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the words he had known she would speak—she would learn, just as would any other man or woman on this earth, that he was not a man to cross. He would have loyalty and obedience from a daughter, just as he would have it from any other of his people—and she would learn that lesson, and she would learn it well, before this day was over. She would destroy Janson Sanders with the very love she professed to hold for him, destroy him and drive him so far away from her that he would never come back again. If the boy cared anything for her at all, it would be the best way to hurt him, the best way to make sure he never healed—and, if he cared nothing, then William would be rid of him anyway, and would have taught him in the process that the Whitleys were no fools, even though Elise had made a good show of herself as one. Either way, the relationship would be over, the boy gone, and Elise would be back under William’s control—and she would never again forget that her foolhardy passions had served only to destroy the man she had thought she loved.

“You’ll do what I say?” he asked her, his voice a deadly calm now.

“Yes, anything—” she said, her voice seeming to seize upon the chance. “Anything—if you won’t hurt him. Just, please, promise you won’t—”

He stared at her for a moment, knowing that he had won, inwardly celebrating the triumph even as he sealed Janson Sanders’s fate. “You’re going to tell him that you never loved him, that you’ve only been amusing yourself with him, and that you’re tired of the game—and you’re going to tell him to leave, that you never want to see his face again as long as you live—”

Her eyes had become more disbelieving with each word. “He’ll never believe I don’t love him, that I never loved him! He’ll know I’m—”

“You’ll convince him.”

“But, I can’t! He knows how I feel about him!”

“Then you’ll see him die!” He shouted the words at her, and then stood looking at the horrified expression that came to her face, knowing truly in that moment how completely he had won. “You’ll tell him you never cared for him, that you were only trifling with him, and that you’re tired of it now, and of him—” He watched her eyes for a moment, seeing the desperation there. “And don’t think you can run off with him. I’ll find you wherever you go, and, when I do, I’ll take the pleasure of killing him with my own hands—” He waited for a moment, allowing the full impact of his words to sink into her. “If you want to be responsible for his death, then just try leaving with him, or try even once not doing just exactly as I say. You’re going to drive that boy away from you for good. Anything else, and his blood’s on your hands.”

She stared at him for a long moment, a hell going on behind her blue eyes. Her tears had stopped now, and he saw a set, pained, but horribly resigned look settle about the corners of her mouth.

“Are you going to do what I say?” he asked her. “Or are you going to watch him die?”

Her expression did not change. There was no longer any of the innocence of youth in her eyes, only a cold, stark resignation to a reality she could not deny. “I’ll do what you say,” she answered, her voice flat, drained of emotion. “I don’t have any choice.”

She turned, glancing briefly at her mother, and then started toward the staircase. After a few steps, she stopped and turned back to look at him again. “I hope you know I’ll always hate you for this,” she said. She stared at him for a moment longer, then turned, and, without another word, she mounted the first step.

The single room of the old house seemed chilly that evening in spite of the fire Elise had lit in the fireplace. She stood staring down into the flames, going over in her mind the thousand things that must never seem amiss tonight—the gathering darkness outside would help to hide the smoke from the chimney, the dark cloth over the windows concealing the light from within, just as it had done on so many other late evenings when she and Janson had met here to be alone together. There would be nothing to alert him that anything was different this time, nothing to tell him that their relationship had been discovered, and that it would end, that it must end, for his sake this night.

She had sat in her room for hours before coming here, trying to think of some way, of any way, she and Janson might still be able to leave here and be married—but there was no way. Her father would find them, and at that time she would see Janson die—“. . . his blood’s on your hands,” her father had said, and that would be true, months from now, even years from now, once her father found them. She would have to drive Janson away from her, drive him away so far and so completely that her father could never find him—there was no other choice. She would have to drive him away, and then she would have to wait—for it would be only a matter of months before her condition would become known, and before William Whitley would discover that Janson had gotten her with child. Then her father’s anger would turn on her—for ruining her name, for ruining his, for getting herself into this predicament, for saddling him with a child he would have to deal with, a child with one-quarter Cherokee blood in addition to his own. She would be spirited off somewhere to await the birth of the baby, and then she would return to Endicott County alone, for she knew her father would never allow her to keep and raise the child herself—the scandal could ruin the family name forever, and William Whitley would never allow that; but he would make sure the baby was given a good home, a good family, and that was all she could hope for now. Janson would be safe, and the baby would be safe, and she would be alone—but she could not think about that now; if she did she would lose her resolve, and she knew she had to keep her mind clear and her courage up to tell Janson what she would have to tell him this night.

She pulled one of the old straight chairs toward the fireplace and sat down, continuing to stare into the flames. The fire had already been laid before she had arrived, waiting only for the touch of a match to the kindling to start its blaze, and the sight of the burning logs made her heart ache all the worse—Janson must have stopped here before going into Goodwin earlier, taking the time to lay the fire so she would not have to be cold, and that knowledge of what he had done made what she knew she now had to do hurt all the worse. She pulled her sweater tighter about herself, hugging her arms for warmth, but the chill seemed to be coming from within her now just as much as from without, and she found herself wondering if she would ever be able to feel warm again.

She had arrived here early tonight, hoping for time to prepare herself and her mind before Janson could arrive. Her father had allowed her to leave the house without protest, sure of himself and his power over her, making her hate him all the more simply for that assurance—she had carefully chosen this position before the fireplace, hoping that the shadows it cast, plus those thrown by the kerosene lamp on the table behind her, would help to hide the bruise on her face. She knew she would have to remain at least partially turned from Janson as they spoke, making sure he would never see the left side of her face, or he would know immediately they had been discovered, and that her words were not her own.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm the pounding of her heart, rehearsing in her mind the things she knew she must say—oh, how different these words would be from the ones she had intended to give him this night.

The sound of his footsteps came up the narrow board steps and across the rickety front porch, and the door opened behind her, sending a chill gust of wind into the room for a moment. She did not turn, and did not have to, sensing his presence as he entered the room and closed the door quietly behind himself.

“What’re you sittin’ there s’ still for?” he asked, his tone light, a smile in his voice that she could hear, sending an even further stab of pain through her. “You wanted t’ see me bad enough earlier.”

The sound of his voice cut right through her, bringing a lump to her throat. She swallowed it back and glanced quickly at him, and then away again—she had to look at him one last time while he still belonged to her, take one last memory that would remain in the years ahead.

“I have to talk to you,” she said, her voice sounding so terribly flat and lifeless in the room—is that me? she wondered. It sounded so cold, so absolutely dead of feeling—is that really—

“Yeah, I remember.” The smile was still in his voice, his words holding added meaning, and her heart pained at the memory of having made this date to meet him, of how he had wanted to touch and hold her when she had needed to talk, and of the reasons she had wanted to speak to him in the first place—oh, how would she ever be able to do this? How would—

“You wanted t’ talk, s’ go on an’ talk,” he said, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it across the edge of the table, and then starting across the room toward her—he was going to take her in his arms; she knew it. He was going to—

“I think we’ve made a mistake—” she said, rising from her chair and moving toward the fireplace, not looking back. Her words were rushed, determined to keep a distance between them—if he touched her, she knew she would fall apart. She knew—

He stopped where he was halfway across the room and stared at her. She could feel his eyes, feel them touching her, though she did not turn to look at him. “A mistake?”

“Yes—that is, I’ve made a mistake.”

He did not speak, and she knew that he was waiting.

“I should never have let it go this far; I realize that now, but, well, I can’t change what already has been,” she said, staring at some spot above the mantlepiece before her, not daring to look at him, for she knew she could never speak the words if she had to look into his face.

“Let what go this far?”

“The two of us—I’ve just come to realize that what has been happening between us is nothing more than a mistake. We have nothing in common, nothing we could ever hope to build any kind of life on. If I’ve led you on in any way, I’m sorry, but—”

“Quit foolin’, Elise. I don’t like this,” he said, a note of warning in his voice.

“I’m not ‘fooling’; I’m absolutely serious. After tonight, I don’t want you ever to try to see me again or get in touch with me for any reason.” She tried to make her words sound firm, but knew somehow that she failed miserably. There was a terrible ache inside of her as she finally turned her eyes toward him, a loneliness for the love she was at that moment destroying—but it was too late, and she knew she had no choice in the matter anyway. She had to do this—she had to, to make him safe.

“Stop it, Elise—”

“I mean what I’m saying. Don’t ever—”

“Stop it! You cain’t tell me you don’t love me.” He came closer, stopping before the fireplace to stare down at her as she turned her eyes away again, and she thanked God in heaven that he had chosen to stand on the side away from the bruise on her face. From the corner of her eye she watched the firelight playing off his features, off the high cheekbones and the firm jaw, and a pain went through her again.

“I do not love you, and I never have. It was nothing more than a silly infatuation—and it’s over now—” Each word seemed to drive a dagger into her heart. She refused to look at him again, but stood staring down at the logs burning in the fireplace.

“That’s a lie,” he said, his voice rising in tone. “I don’t know why you’re doin’ this, but I don’t like it. You cain’t make me believe you don’t love me. You even let me lay with you—”

She clenched her hands into fists at her sides—she knew there was only one way, only one thing that would push him far enough away to make him safe. She took a deep breath, and then steeled herself for what she knew she had to do. “Love you—” she said, the bitterness in her voice genuine, but directed at life, and never at him. “Don’t be absurd. How could I love you?”

Silence lay between them for a long moment—please say something, she begged inside. Please—“You don’t mean that,” he said quietly.

“Do you really think I could love someone like you?” she asked, raising her chin and glancing at him for a moment, and then away again.

“Like me?”

Goodbye Janson—she told him silently. “You’re nothing but a dirty, sweating farmhand—do you really think I could love someone like you?”

He stared at her for a long moment, not speaking. “I don’t believe you,” he said at last. “Somethin’ has happened, an’ I want t’ know what it is.” His words were clear and determined, his voice strong—he did not believe, would never believe, that everything between them had been nothing but a lie.

Dear God, don’t make me do this! Don’t make me have to completely destroy him just to make him safe! Please, make him believe me! Make him believe—

“The only thing that has happened is that I’ve gotten tired of this game,” she said, trying to keep the shaking from her voice. “It’s over. You’ll just have to understand—”

“‘Understan’—hell! You’re gonna tell me what’s happened! Somebody’s found out about us, ain’t they?” She could feel the rage building within him—not at her, but at whoever, or whatever, was doing this to them.

“No one’s found out!” She raised her voice in agitation, her words sounding an anger she did not feel.

“You’re gonna tell me th’ truth, an’ you’re gonna tell me right now,” he demanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

There was no choice, no alternative left. She knew what she had to do. She knew—

“How do you think I could love you—you dirty, ignorant, half-savage dirt farmer—” The words tore her heart in half. “You make me laugh.” That was it. It would be over. He would be safe.

There was nothing but silence in the room for a long moment. She felt almost as if she would scream if he would not speak, if he would not at least curse her or damn her soul to hell forever. When he did speak, she wished that it were a curse, wished that it were anything other than the soft, gentle voice that came to her, a voice filled now with nothing but love and concern.

“What’s happened? Who’s found out about us? Is it your pa?”

He reached to place a gentle hand on her back, and she leapt away from him almost as if she had been scalded. “D—don’t you touch me!” She screamed the words at him, then quickly turned away again before he could catch sight of the bruise on her face—if he touched her again, she knew she would fall apart. She knew—“Don’t you ever touch me again!” She groped desperately within her mind for something, for anything, to scream at him that might make him hate her as he must. “You—you disgust me, you dirty half-breed—”

“Stop it!” he yelled, reaching for her again, determined to turn her to face him even as she tried to push his hands away. “I know somebody’s makin’ you do this, so just stop it! I know you love me! There ain’t nothin’ in this world that’ll make me believe you don’t! I can feel it!”

“Let me go!” she screamed at him, slapping him hard once across the face as she tried to struggle away. “I don’t love you! I never loved you!”

“You do! You know you do! I remember all th’ times we laid t’gether, th’ way you touched me—you cain’t tell me you don’t love me! I know you do. I feel it.” He struggled with her, trying to turn her to face him. “Somethin’s happened. I know it has. Your pa knows, don’t he? He’s makin’ you do this. He—”

He finally managed to grasp her shoulders and turn her toward him. An awful look of comprehension came to his face as he saw the bruise darkening her cheek. Her hand flew up to cover it, but it had not been quickly enough.

“Your pa—” His green eyes showed shock, concern, and a growing rage within them. “He’s found out about us. He did this to you; he made you say all these things—”

“No! You’re wrong! He doesn’t—”

He reached to gently pry her hand from her face. “Oh, my God—what’s he done t’ you?”

“No, it wasn’t—I bumped it. It wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie t’ me. It was your pa, wasn’t it?”

“No—” She stared up into his eyes. “It wasn’t—I don’t love you. I—I never have. I—”

“Yes, you do, an’ I know you do. Just like I love you—” He looked into her eyes in the flickering light for a moment, then repeated, drawing her closer against him. “I love you.”

The ache welled up inside of her—he was assuring his own death with those words. Her father would never let him live now. Never—

She opened her mouth to deny her feelings, to tell him that she hated him—anything that would take him from her forever, anything that would make him safe. But she could not speak. She stared up into his green eyes, feeling herself quietly fall apart inside. There was nothing left, no strength, no energy—only a horrible ache within her. She struggled hard to maintain control, but failed. The tears came, and she could not stop them.

He held her, gently stroking her back, his lips in her hair, speaking soft, soothing words to her as she cried—he would never leave her, never. No matter what her father might do to him, no matter what hells they might have to face to be together. He would always love her, always be with her, always—

The words of love and promise terrified her even as they should have comforted. He loved her and would never leave her—and those words did nothing more than to assure his death at the hands of her father.

“No—you’ve got to leave! You can’t stay here! Daddy’ll kill you! He said he would; he’ll kill you!” She held him at arms length away, looking up at him, the tears still streaming from her eyes and down her cheeks.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, at least not without you—”

“But we can’t! We—”

“We knowed we’d be leavin’ one day; we’ll just be goin’ sooner than we expected. I may not have enough yet t’ buy my place back, but it might be enough t’ put down on it, an’ we can take a mortgage for th’ rest. It may be hard goin’ th’ first few years, but—”

“No!” She screamed the word at him, silencing him immediately. “He said he’ll kill you if we try to leave together! He can find us anywhere we go, especially if we go back to Eason County! I can’t be responsible for—”

“I don’t care what he says, Elise. I ain’t goin’ nowhere without you.”

“But—”

“No,” he said, touching a finger to her lips, and then moving it to gently touch the bruise on her face. “Ain’t neither one of us can stay here now, not after what he’s done t’ you. I ain’t leavin’ you. We’ll go, but we’ll go t’gether.”

“But, he said I’d see you die once he finds us. He said he’d see us both dead before he’d let me marry you. I can’t let—”

“There ain’t no lettin’ to it, Elise. I ain’t leavin’ you, not now, an’ not ever.”

“But, if he finds us—”

“No—” he said, his green eyes moving over hers, his fingers still lightly touching the bruise at her cheek. “I ain’t gonna leave you. There ain’t much in this world I can promise you, but I will promise you that. I won’t never leave you. Never—”

He drew her closer into his arms and held her against him, repeating the words, even as she began to cry anew. “I won’t never leave you. Never—”

But all she could hear was her father’s voice, and his words, time and again, drowning out Janson’s own: “I’ll find you wherever you go, and, when I do . . . his blood’s on your hands.”

His blood’s on your—

There was nothing but a complete, dead exhaustion as Elise reached home that night. She was altogether drained of feeling and emotion after the past hours—Janson would not leave, no matter how she had begged and pleaded for him to protect himself. He would not leave her, not give her up—they would leave together, just as soon as she could slip away from the house undetected. They would have their life together, just as they had dreamed, just as they had planned, no matter what it was he might have to risk to allow that to be. She had not told him about the baby, and she knew she could not, not until they were safely away from here. There was enough for him to worry about already, with her safety now as well as his own to think of, for her to add that extra burden as well. He had not even liked the idea of her having to return to the house tonight to face her father, worried about what might happen to her should she rouse his anger again, but there had been little choice. Her father would be waiting for her, waiting to make sure she had done exactly as she had been told—she had to go home, had to wait those hours, those days, until they could leave here safely. Janson would meet her then, once she could slip away undetected, and they would leave together, with hopefully enough time to be out of the County before she could be missed. Until that day, she could only pray that her father would believe his plans had worked so that he would not be watching her all the more closely—that would make communicating with Janson in the meantime all the more difficult, and it would make leaving nothing less than dangerous for them both.

She walked across the front veranda and entered the house, closing the heavy wooden door behind herself, then turning to find her father staring at her from the open parlor doorway to her right, her mother only slightly behind him, the older woman’s face worried, concerned—he had been waiting for her, waiting just as she had known he would wait, waiting to make sure she had destroyed herself, and Janson, just as he had intended she would. She felt a fresh surge of anger and hatred as she stared at him, anger and hatred that she did not even try to conceal.

“Did you do it?” he demanded, taking the cigar from his mouth and looking at her in much the same way he looked at his house or his automobiles or his horses, or at anything else he fancied he owned.

“I did it,” she said, her feelings for him apparent in her voice.

“Well?” he prompted, his eyes never leaving her.

“He’s gone, if that’s what you wanted to know.” She stared at him for a moment longer, angered even more by the smug and satisfied look that came to his face. “And may you rot in hell for it,” she said, seething with anger, then she turned and started toward the staircase, never once looking back.

Martha Whitley stood at the bottom of the stairs a moment later, watching her daughter ascend into the darkness above. There was a sense of surprise and sudden awareness in her now as she watched Elise disappear from sight, awareness as she had never known before.

She turned and looked at William, finding a look of self-satisfaction on his face—yes, he thought he had won, thought he had defeated the feelings his daughter and Janson Sanders had been hiding for so long. But, oh, how wrong William was. It had been written plainly on Elise’s face only a moment before—love, anger, defiance; if only William were not so blind to anything other than himself—but perhaps it was best that he was blind. Perhaps that was the only hope Elise and the boy had left.

Janson Sanders was not remotely what Martha would have chosen for her daughter. He was a decent-enough young man, well-mannered, hardworking, sober, religious in his own way—but he had no home, no money, no social standing, no prospects in the future of ever becoming anything more than what he was now. He was a dirt farmer, a hired hand, and was so far beneath Elise that she should never have given him a second thought—and, for heaven’s sake, Martha could never forget that he was only half white. Elise could have made no worse choice if she had planned it, though Martha could not believe the boy capable of a deliberate plan of using Elise just to further his own aims, as William thought. They had simply allowed themselves to be carried away in their fancies, their dreams, for, as Martha well knew, to a sixteen-year-old girl, dreams could quite often be more real than life.

When William had told her of his discovery, of what he had seen in the woods earlier in the day, Martha had been surprised, shocked, and more than a little dismayed—Elise, and the half-Indian farmhand, it was almost more than she could believe. But William had seen, and he knew, and then Elise had confessed—they had planned to run away together, had planned even to be married, and only the grace of God had allowed William to find them out before it had been too late.

But what William had done then had been unforgivable. He had struck Elise, struck her when he had never before struck any of the children. He had threatened Janson Sanders’s life, and then had forced Elise to tell the boy the cruelest of lies in order to end the relationship. Martha had pleaded with William, had tried to reason with him, had tried again and again to convince him there were better ways to end the romance, ways not so cruel to Elise or to the boy, but he had refused to listen, cursing her as he had never before cursed her in the twenty-seven years of their marriage. And now he had perhaps sealed all their fates.

There was nothing Martha could do now, nothing to put to a stop what William had set in motion, and nothing to change the decision she had seen in her daughter’s eyes. Elise was not yet a woman, but she was also no longer a child—Martha had never before seen that so clearly as she had tonight. It had not been the face of a heartsick child that her daughter had worn, but the face of a young woman instead, a young woman angry at the injustice she believed done her, and determined to protect the young man she thought she loved, no matter the cost to herself. There was nothing Martha could do to stop that now, nothing, for, though she feared her daughter had made the wrong decision tonight, a decision she might live long to regret, she feared even more what William might do should he find out his threats had not worked.

She looked back up the stairs toward where her daughter had gone, sad for her little girl who was no more, and sadder still for the young woman who had taken her place. She knew Elise would not have an easy time ahead, especially not if she had chosen still to be wife to her farmhand, for Martha well knew that Elise would never again know another easy day in her life if she wed Janson Sanders.

But she could not tell her daughter that. She could not tell her daughter anything. She herself well knew there was no way the girl would listen. There were too many memories inside her of another sixteen-year-old girl who had chosen against her own parents’ wishes, a sixteen-year-old girl she herself had been all those years ago. She had taken William then, had taken him in defiance of her family and her friends and everyone else she had known. Sixteen-year-old girls rarely listened to reason; they listened to their hearts instead.

Martha Whitley turned away from the staircase, her mind suddenly filled with thoughts and memories and with more pity than she had ever known before.

It was a long time before she realized who that pity was for.

It had begun to rain, a cold, insistent drizzle that soon built into a steady downpour. Janson was soaked through to the skin by the time he reached Mattie Ruth and Titus Coates’s house that night. He walked up the slanting front steps to the old porch, pounded on the front door, and then waited, trying to pull his sopping coat tighter about himself.

After a long moment, the door swung inward and Titus stood peering out at him, a kerosene lamp held high over his head to try to better see the unexpected visitor. The old man was dressed in a faded nightshirt alone, his bony legs peaking from beneath it, with Mattie Ruth just behind him in a heavy cotton nightgown that brushed the floor, her hair hanging in two thick, gray braids down over her shoulders.

“Janson—that you, boy?” Titus asked, squinting into the darkness that lay beyond the edge of the lamplight. “What’re you doin’ out this time ’a night?”

But Mattie Ruth pushed her husband aside before Janson could answer him. “Titus, cain’ you see th’ boy’s clean soaked through?” She moved up to view Janson better, taking the lamp from her husband’s hand. “Lor’, boy, what’re you doin’ out on a night like this? You’ll ke’ch your death—well, com’on in out ’a th’ cold an’ th’ wet,” she said, stepping back for him to enter.

But Janson shook his head. “I don’t want t’ drip all over your clean floor, Mattie Ruth. I just wanted t’ know if it’d be all right for me t’ sleep in your barn t’night. I didn’t want you thinkin’ I was some kind ’a thief or no-good, puttin’ myself up without askin’.” He could not help but to smile to himself, watching her own eyes light with the same memory that came to him—that seemed a long time ago now, that night she had caught him in the storeroom off the Whitley’s kitchen, that first night when he had tried to steal food to eat. That had been before he had met Elise, before he had met any of the Whitleys, before he had—

But he shook the memory away, watching Mattie Ruth smile and shake her head good-naturedly—at least she was not armed with a cast-iron skillet this time. “Lor’, boy, don’t you think I know by now that you ain’ a thief or a no-good—but what do you need t’ be sleepin’ in th’ barn for? You in some kind ’a trouble?”

“Not exactly trouble, at least not yet—”

“You an’ Mist’ Whitley have words?” Titus asked, staring at him from just beyond Mattie Ruth.

“Not exactly words—but you ought t’ know that Whitley’s said he’d kill me if he ever saw me again—” It would not be fair to involve them without their knowledge that Whitley’s anger would extend to them as well should it ever be found out that they had given him shelter. It was not fair to involve them in this at all, but he had little choice. He could not stay in his room any longer, for Whitley had to believe he had left the place for good, and the old house might not be safe, for Elise might easily have been followed there tonight. Mattie Ruth and Titus’s barn was the only alternative. He knew that it was dangerous to stay anywhere on Whitley land now, especially so close to the big house itself, but he could not leave. He had to remain close-by in case Elise should need him. She was still there in the house with her father—if she should make one slip, if she should give herself away, then Whitley might hurt her again. There was no way Janson could leave Whitley land, not yet, or ever, until she was safe with him; no way he could leave, no matter the risk he was taking. Her safety meant more than did his own anyway.

“Mist’ Whitley said he’d kill you?” Mattie Ruth stared up at him for a long moment. “Lor’, boy, what’ve you done?”

“I fell in love with his daughter,” Janson answered simply.

She and Titus both stared up at him, neither speaking.

“An’, I’m gonna marry Elise, that is if he lets me live long enough t’ do it.”

Neither spoke, and for a long moment Janson could not tell what they were thinking. He watched their faces for a moment, faces shrouded in dim yellow light and deep shadows cast by the kerosene lamp in Mattie Ruth’s hand, and it struck him how strange it must sound to them that he was going to marry Elise Whitley, a girl who had everything in the world, when he had come to their door tonight in bare feet and patched overalls, his wet coat tattered and frayed, his only pair of shoes slung over his left shoulder, and everything he owned existing in the battered portmanteau in his hand—but then the feeling was gone, for he knew somehow that he and Elise had taken the last step somewhere in this day, and that there was no going back now.

“You an’ Miss Elise?” Titus asked at last, his face still cloaked in that unreadable light and darkness.

“Yeah.”

“An’, he foun’ out about you, what you’re plannin’?”

“Yeah—he told Elise she wasn’t t’ have nothin’ more t’ do with me, that she was t’ break off with me for good, or he’d kill me. She tried, but—well, I wouldn’t believe her. We’re gonna leave t’gether as soon as we can, an’ we’re gonna get married an’ go someplace where he cain’t never bother us again. But, he’s gonna be watchin’ her close; it may be a while before she can get away without him knowin’ an stoppin’ her.”

“An’ you need some place t’ stay ’til then?”

“It wouldn’t be more than a few days, or a week at th’ most. I’d be careful that don’t nobody see me—but you got t’ know that Whitley’d be madder’n th’ devil if he found out you were hidin’ me. He could throw you off th’ place, an’ I don’t know what else—”

Titus looked toward Mattie Ruth, and Janson did as well, waiting for her to speak. He knew the decision lay in her hands, just as his life, and perhaps Elise’s as well, lay in her hands at the moment—but he would never blame her if she should turn him away. Her home, the home she had lived in for most of her married life, the home where she had borne and raised two sons, both now dead, could be lost if they gave him shelter and were ever found out. Their livelihoods rested with William Whitley, and Janson knew their loyalty should rest with him as well.

After a long moment, Mattie Ruth nodded her head, her decision made, and Janson put his fate in her hands. “You stay here long as you need t’, boy,” she said, moving out onto the porch to hold the lamp higher as she stared up at him. “There ain’ no better husban’ Miss Elise could fin’ for herself than you. You got t’ love her a lot t’ be willin’ t’ take on Mist’ Whitley t’ have her. We’ll do anythin’ we can t’ help you, boy; all you got t’ do is ask—”

Janson lay on a bed of hay in the barn a short time later, shivering beneath a damp quilt Mattie Ruth had given him. He could hear the sound of the rain outside, falling steadily on the tin roof, dripping through and into a rusting tin can nearby, the sound slowly turning from a sharp pinging into a dull plop as the can filled.

He twisted uncomfortably under the quilt, pulling the portmanteau closer and trying to use it as a pillow. Inside the worn old leather case was everything he owned in the world, and more. Inside it were the dreams of a lifetime, and the future he and Elise would share together; inside it was the money he had saved over the months of working on the Whitley place, the money that would help him to buy back his parents’ dream and his own, the money that would buy the home and land he had promised Elise they would have. It was not as much as he had hoped to have before they left here, but it was still more money than he had ever before owned at one time in all his life. There would not be enough to buy his land outright, but they would make do; he might have sworn never to use credit again, never to have another mortgage against the home and land he had lost before, but he would do it now to give Elise all he had promised her. There would be hard years ahead, but they would survive them. They had survived hell already just to be together.

He shifted uncomfortably, unable to sleep, the sound of the rain grating on his nerves. He was worried about Elise, worried about her, as he would remain worried until they were far away from this place. For the first time in these months he knew with a certainty that she might not really be safe there in the house with her own father. He had never before believed the man capable of deliberately hurting his own daughter, no matter his threats, and no matter what else he knew William Whitley might be capable of doing—but Whitley had hurt Elise today, and Janson knew he might very well hurt her again. He now held no doubt that William Whitley could be capable of doing anything, and to anyone, if it suited his purposes.

The memory of Elise’s bruised face haunted him still as he lay staring into the darkness. He knew the bruises she had suffered over the past hours had gone much more than skin deep, and for that he could have very easily killed her father. The man had forced her to deny the love she felt, had forced her to face Janson and say things to him that neither she nor Janson would soon forget, things that had been meant only to drive them apart, and things that had scarred her in a way that might never heal. Janson had known from the moment she had spoken the words that they had been nothing more than a lie, just as he had known that it had been Whitley behind the lies from the moment they had been spoken—Elise loved him; that was the one thing in life that Janson would never doubt again, the one thing he would always be certain of. Elise Whitley loved him.

Janson pulled the damp quilt closer about himself, trying to shut out the cold and the damp and the sound of the rain. It would be a long night ahead, a long night of lying awake listening to the rain on the rusting tin roof, a long night of worrying his mind and his heart over Elise—only a few more days, he promised himself silently. Only a few more days, and we’ll leave together. Only a few more days, and—God help me—William Whitley will never hurt her again.

Elise slipped quietly from the side door of the Baptist Church there in Goodwin that following Saturday morning. She stopped on the steps that descended into the churchyard, listening to the sound of the choir practice from within the building behind her, her eyes moving over the area around the church to make sure she was not being observed before she moved on. Once she was satisfied that no one had noted her departure from the practice, she quietly slipped down the remaining steps and made her way across the near-empty parking area toward the old graveyard that lay to one side of the church. She stopped again no more than a moment later, one hand on the black-painted iron gate, looking about to assure herself again that she was alone, then she entered the graveyard and turned to close the gate again quietly behind herself.

The cemetery stood silent before her as she turned back, the sounds of the Baptist hymn left far behind her now. She stared at the rows of silent gravestones that lay ahead of her, shivering involuntarily and pulling her sweater more tightly about herself—why, she wondered, after the days of fear and constant worrying, unable to see Janson because of the danger he had put himself in just for her and the love they shared; why, after the days of being constantly watched and observed, had they chosen this of all places to spend the few moments away from the watching eyes of her father and her family?

She forced herself to walk forward, making her way through the gravestones, going deeper into the old cemetery, away from Main Street, her fear for Janson gnawing at her as it had been for days now. The quiet of the old graveyard seemed to seep into her as she walked, the very finality of it, and she stared around her, realizing for the first time in her life how very uncompromising the end of life could be. Her father’s words kept rising to her mind—“ . . . just try leaving with him . . . and his blood’s on your hands.”

“. . . just try leaving with . . .”

She felt a light touch on her shoulder, and for a moment she felt a sudden and irrational fear that one of the spirits of the dead had risen up to meet her. She jumped, startled, and turned to find Janson behind her, smiling at the very real fear in her eyes.

Suddenly she was in his arms, warm and safe from all the things that had haunted her mind in the last days.

“I’ve been waitin’—” His words were warm against her ear, his arms tight about her, as if he would never let her go.

“I didn’t know if I’d be able to get away, if it would be safe.” She stared up at him. “No one saw you, did they? Oh, it’s so dangerous for you to be here. Someone could come. Someone could—”

But he silenced her fears with gentle lips on hers, pressing her body tightly to his. For a moment, she was lost in the warmth and nearness of him, worlds away from the fears and worries that now filled her days. When the kiss ended, she was breathless, staring up at him with eyes that searched his own. He looked tired, though he had put on a good face for her. He was clean shaven, in clean dungarees and a workshirt, his hair neatly combed back, as if there were nothing wrong, just as if he were not hiding out even now for his very life—but she knew differently, as did he. She could see it in his eyes, in the set of his jaw. He knew the danger being here with her placed him in. He was making a good show of trying to ignore it, as if it were nothing, but they both knew the truth.

She held him at arms-length away, staring up at him, assuring herself that, at least for the moment, he was safe. “Mattie Ruth said you had been staying with her, out in her barn—oh, I’ve been going out of my mind worrying about you, wondering if you were safe, if you were warm and dry—” What an answer to her prayers Mattie Ruth had been, coming to her the day after she and Janson had last parted, telling her she knew about the relationship, and that Janson was safe at her home, and that he would remain there until the day she and Janson would be able to leave together. Mattie Ruth had brought her messages from Janson each day since, telling her that he loved her, and that he was safe, and asking her to meet him here in the church cemetery if she could leave choir practice without her father knowing. Those messages had given Elise the little peace of mind she had known in the past days.

“I’m all right,” Janson said, smiling and touching her cheek for a moment.

“Are you eating? Is it dry? Have you been able to keep warm—it was so cold last—”

“I’m all right,” he said again, clearly not wanting to discuss the subject, and she felt a stab of pain go through her at the knowledge of what conditions that loving her might be forcing him to live under. “How’ve things been at your place? If your pa’s hurt you again, I’ll—”

“It’s okay,” she said, cutting his words off. There had been enough threats of death already in the past few days; she did not want to hear any more. “Daddy’s been leaving me alone. He believes it all worked, that you’re gone. But he’s watching me still. Either he or Bill or Franklin have been with me almost constantly since that night—”

She shuddered even now at the memory of Bill’s reaction to her father’s discovery. He had gone into a violent rage, threatening to hunt Janson down and kill him even then. Elise had never seen her brother like that before, had never dreamed to see anyone like that, and it had terrified her. It had been nothing less than her father’s physical restraint that had stopped him—Janson Sanders was long gone, William Whitley had said, and was not worth the time or the trouble it would take to end his life. Bill had not been easily stopped, screaming violent obscenities at both her, her father, and her mother, until the rage had at last cooled—but still, even now, he looked at Elise in a way that made her uneasy, looked at her in a way that made her wonder if he did not know, or at least suspect, that Janson was still somewhere nearby, still somewhere within Endicott County. Somehow she was now almost as frightened of him as she was of her father, frightened for Janson’s sake, and for her own, and for what she knew they might both be capable of doing should they ever see Janson again.

“I guess they thought it was safe enough to leave me at choir practice, or maybe Daddy finally believes that you’re gone, but he drove me this morning, and he’ll be picking me up in a little while. I—”

There was the sound of a car coming along the side road beside the cemetery, going toward Main Street, frightening her into silence. They moved quickly out of sight behind a monument, then stood looking at each other, both praying they had reacted quickly enough to not have been seen. Elise realized suddenly that she was holding her breath, filled with worry that it had been her father or Bill, and that they might have been seen before they had moved into cover. She forced herself to exhale slowly, listening as the car seemed to slow for a moment, and then pick up speed and drive on past. She looked up at Janson, finding the same worry there in his green eyes.

When the sound of the car had at last died away, he bent to gently kiss her and brush her hair back from her eyes. “You know, it’s been drivin’ me crazy these last days, worryin’ about you,” he said, “not bein’ able t’ see you.” His eyes were warm on her, filled again with nothing but love and concern.

“I know. It’s driving me crazy, too—”

“Here, I want you t’ hold ont’ this,” he said, reaching into a pocket of his coat to pull out a handkerchief he had knotted something into. He put it into her hands, then closed her fingers tightly around it, holding both her hands in his. “It’s part ’a th’ money I been savin’—if your pa tries t’ hurt you again, or if we get separated somehow in leavin’, this is enough money t’ get you t’ Eason County an’ t’ make sure you’re okay—”

“But—” She felt a superstitious fear rising within her, compelling her to whisper a secret prayer to counteract his words.

“No—just in case you need it—t’morrow, while everybody’s in church, do you think you can slip out an’ meet me here?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, try if you can. I’ll be waitin’ here for you; bring only what you have t’, an’ we’ll leave.”

Tomorrow—tomorrow they would leave together, she told herself. Only one more day, one more night, and they would never have to be separated again—only one more day, and she would leave here forever.

There was a sudden, unexpected touch of homesickness to the thought. Once she left here, she would never be able to come back again, never be able to see her mother or Stan, never be able to see the house or this place she had grown up a part of—never be able to come home again. For a moment, she felt a sadness and a sense of loss she had never expected to feel. She looked up into Janson’s green eyes, knowing she could never have both him and the security of the home and family she had always known. There had to be a choice—and she knew that choice had already been made.

“I’ll meet you tomorrow,” she said, staring up at him, knowing in that moment those words would change her life forever.

Phyllis Ann Bennett eased the LaSalle forward, craning her neck, trying to see—damn them for moving behind the monument! If only she could manage to get a little closer without them hearing the car—

Yes! Yes—she had been right! It was Elise and that damned farmhand! Elise Whitley in the arms of a dirty, sweaty, sunburned trash farmhand! Oh, it was almost too good to be true! Elise and that half red-Indian trash!

She had thought it had been them she had seen in the graveyard the first time she had driven by a few minutes before, but they had moved out of sight before she could be certain. She had gone into town and circled around to come back, creeping along so as not to warn them before she could bet a better look. Oh—she could almost laugh and dance with the discovery!

How she hated Elise Whitley, with a passion she had felt toward few things in her life. Elise had been somewhere behind all her troubles and problems, and now, when it had at last seemed as if her life was straightening out, as if J.C. would propose at any moment, then Elise had ruined that as well. Elise had lured him away, getting him to divide his time and his attentions between the two of them. She was stealing him away, stealing him away deliberately—and Phyllis Ann knew she was doing it out of nothing more than sheer spite.

Well, we’ll see who has the upper hand now, won’t we? Phyllis Ann thought, smiling to herself. She knew Elise did not really want J.C., that she had never wanted him, and that she was apparently even carrying on with this trash farmhand now—she never did have any taste, Phyllis Ann thought, except in J.C. of course.

Phyllis Ann hated the red-Indian almost as much as she hated Elise herself. He had dared to threaten her once, had dared even to stop her from giving Elise what she had so richly earned for her disloyalty—they were probably carrying on even then, she told herself. Well, they deserved each other, Elise and her red-trash farmhand—and, oh, they deserved so much more!

We’ll see who has the last laugh, Miss Whitley! Phyllis Ann told herself, thinking delicious thoughts of the trouble she could stir with this bit of information. Oh, such delicious thoughts indeed.

She slowly turned the LaSalle around in the road and drove toward town again, laughing quietly to herself all the while. Elise Whitley carrying on with that piece of red-Indian trash—William Whitley would not be pleased to hear of this. Oh, he would not be pleased at all.