Molly Mae Pooley, age thirteen, the youngest of four children, big for her age, raw-boned, fully developed, exclaimed she’d always wanted a baby sister the second she clapped her eyes on the glossy brown ringlets, big, shoe-button orbs of Isabell Reason. Anora suspected not a lot of housework or cooking would get done, but Isabell would be well looked after, fed, bathed, clothed, and entertained.
With her little flour-sack of belongings under her arm, Anora left the house by way of the back door at nine thirty a.m. Molly and Isabell, playing jacks on the kitchen floor, acknowledged her leave-taking with a wave of their hands.
The night before, Isabell, unable to bear another separation, and Anora, steeped in guilt, wept a copious amount of tears; they fell asleep wrapped in an embrace.
She didn’t belong there. Paxton had confirmed that. Unless she could make her own way with the hand she’d been dealt, Anora figured she’d end up right where Mrs. Gregson thought she belonged—in the gutter.
Anora, chin high, determined to win her independence kept hold of her resolve until she reached the road and the end of the drive. Two boys, walking her way, caused her to draw back, hide behind a hedge rose. They looked familiar, perhaps they were among the boys who’d harassed her down at the ferry. Doubts assailed her, she should swallow her pride, turn back to the lovely, two-story house—accept Paxton’s offer of stability with no hope of respectability, survive in style.
Undecided, a quick glance toward town told her the boys had gone into the tannery; they probably hadn’t even seen her. Feeling foolish, exposed, and vulnerable, she pulled the hood of her cape up over her head. Setting off at a brisk pace, fearing she’d change her mind if she didn’t put some distance between her and Paxton’s lovely big house, she headed for the big oak tree to the side of the livery. If she could get that far unnoticed, she could dart behind the stable, go around the stockyard, and behind the businesses the full length of Takenah, well out of sight.
The safety of the big tree lay ten yards away, it’s big, bare branches reaching out to her like a mother’s open arms. A wagon, the sound of pounding hooves moving fast, sent her racing over the rutted road. Glancing over her shoulder, the flared nostrils of the beasts, dust rising to their chins, sent her into a panic. The driver of the wagon, a large, broad, and dark figure, wearing a big, dark leather hat, a hat like Ruben’s, struck fear in her heart.
Ruben? He’d found her and meant to run her to ground.
Heart in her throat, Anora scrambled up the bank to get off the road and closer to the rail fence. The rumble of the fast approaching wagon hammered like thunder in her ears. The screeching jangle of harness and the turning of the wheels drowned out the shouts of the driver to stop.
Tripping on her skirt, she went down onto her knees. The driver of the wagon pulled his team up and jumped down, landing beside her; he crouched over her, a hand to her back. “Anora. It’s Hank. Why are you running? Where are you going?”
Arms over her head, fists doubled up in a tight ball, trembling and babbling, making no sense, she curled against him. Reason told her she had nothing to fear, but the demons in her head assured her Ruben had returned to torture her.
“Anora, look at me. Look up, you’re safe.” Brushing the hood of her cape off her head, he moved a lock of her hair out of her eyes. “Was it the wagon? I’m sorry. I wanted to catch up with you. I’ll give you a ride to the ferry.”
She peeked through the gap between her arms, meeting his warm brown eyes and blinked, grateful to see his face, feel his hand on her shoulder.
“There, now,” he said, placing a hand on her tear-stained cheek. “It’s me. I rushed home and found Isabell and Molly on the kitchen floor, playing with Charity. They said you’d gone already. You shouldn’t have to walk through town alone. Paxton and I brought you here, I’ll see you home.”
“You don’t have to.” Embarrassed, disgusted with herself, she pulled away from his touch. She closed her eyes and straightened her shoulders. “Foolish of me to be scared of a wagon and some horses. I, I have to manage on my own now. No need for you to take me down to the ferry. Thank you for the offer.”
Looking around her—her flour sack?—she’d dropped it.
Hank held it out to her, a grin on his face, eyes twinkling. “Oh, now, refusing a ride home, that is foolish of you. I’ve got the wagon right here. I’m headed that way.” Not giving her a chance to give him any more protests, he picked her up and swung her down off the bank. In one leap, he jumped down beside her, his hands going around her waist, he hoisted her up to the wagon bench.
Unable to look anywhere but to her tightly folded hands, Anora declared herself insane. Hank put the team of mules into motion, and the voice inside her head listed the evidence. Squeezing her eyes shut, she laid out the unspoken charges against her. Lydia would still be alive if Nuttie Norie hadn’t interfered. Nuttie Norie killed her. Lydia might’ve lived if Nuttie Norie had allowed Mrs. Gregson to be called right away. They shouldn’t have listened to Nuttie Norie. Nuttie Norie is insane.
The wagon rolled through town. Without looking up, out of the corner of her eye she saw Hank tip his hat and nod in the direction of the mercantile and knew Mrs. Gregson had spotted them. She couldn’t look. Mrs. Gregson had correctlydiagnosed her infirmity right from the start.
Keenly aware they were attracting a good deal of notice, she squirmed on the seat. Head down and shoulders folded in, she looked neither right nor left. Outside town, out on the meadow, the river held her attention, the water racing along, keeping up with the wagon.
Hank spoke up to say, “Isabell and I will soon be your neighbor. I’m going to get up a cabin as soon as I can. It’s not good for us to live with Paxton.”
The river, down a slight embankment, teased her, drowning out her thoughts, and any response she could make.
“I thought I should build a big house for Lydia. I guess because that’s what I thought Lydia wanted.”
At the mention of Lydia, Anora turned her gaze away from the moving river, and concentrated on Hank’s profile.
“I don’t want Isabell to grow up believing she needs…things…to be happy. Not that Lydia was that way, not at all, but she did have things, nice things, all her life. I didn’t want her to have to go without the things she’d always had.
“We’ll be seeing quite a lot of you, going back and forth. You’ll probably get good and tired of Isabell. Molly too, I suppose. She’ll be with her, when I’m not around.”
Anora spotted a wagon coming toward them from the ferry landing. Soon they’d be at the river. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. She wanted to tell him she loved him…loved Isabell. She wanted to thank him and tell him how much she admired Lydia—Lydia exemplified what a real lady should be. It was her fault Lydia had died. She hadn’t wanted Lydia to die…she really hadn’t. She felt terrible that his beautiful Lydia was gone, and sorry he’d lost his son…that Michael had died all over again.
She wanted to tell him it felt as if she’d died too, faced with the prospect of a half-life, doomed to carry out her sentence in purgatory, run the ferry, live with the demons of the river day in and day out. She wanted to let him know she went willingly, knowing she’d see him and Isabell from time to time. After the wagon coming from the landing and its curious driver had passed, instead of saying all of that, Anora said, “Let me down. I’ll get off here.”
Hank shook his head. “I’ll take you across.”
“No. I have to do this on my own. I have to do it all on my own.”
The ferry had glided away from the landing, headed for the cabin across the river. “I wish you’d let me take you across.”
“I have to do this, if I don’t I could lose it.”
He nodded. “You’re right. I know. But I still want to help you if I can.” He stopped the wagon and started to get down to help her off the seat, Anora stayed him with her hand on his arm.
“You…you and Lydia were kind to me. You saved me. Thank you. Isabell is always welcome,” she said to him. Once her feet were on the ground, she didn’t look back, but started down the hill toward the river.