Setting the bowl of boiled greens on the table, Anora spotted something familiar. Isabell, with her dolly in her lap, sat brushing the dolly’s hair. It couldn’t be, but she knew, Anora knew. She recognized her mother’s hairbrush, the brush Ruben had confiscated, presented to his bitch.
But how had Isabell come to have it in her possession? The obvious answer to that question sent a lightning rush of terror through her body.
Without thinking, she snatched the tortoiseshell hairbrush out of Isabell’s hands and shook it in the child’s face. “Where did you get this?”
Startled by her sharp tone, in the process of buttering a biscuit, Hank dropped his knife.
“Let go, Isabell. Give it to me, give me the brush.”
Isabell, eyes big and round, lips trembling, obeyed.
Knees buckling, Anora fell back into her chair at the table. Tears washing down her cheeks, her trembling fingers fondled the hairbrush, feeling the familiar, cool, smooth tortious shell, the soft bristles.
Isabell, hugging her dolly to her chest, brown eyes swimming in tears, said to her papa, “It’s mine. He gave it to me, Papa. The prospector man. I told you about the prospector man.”
“You told me, squirt,” Hank said, and brought her to his lap. “Tell me again. Tell Anora. What did he look like again? I know you told me, but I don’t remember what you said.”
Turning to face Anora, Isabell said, “Molly and me went over to the churchyard to play tag with some other kids, then she had to go to the liberry to meet her papa. I know I’m not supposed to leave Uncle Paston’s yard, but I went with her. Am I in trouble? I’m sorry. Aunt Melinda won’t let me go anywhere. She and some other ladies were busy praying. I’m tired of praying.”
Anora, her hand over her mouth, listening, horrible scenarios playing in head, swallowed down a scream.
Gathering her wild thoughts, stuffing them under a very heavy calm, she said, “I’m the one who’s sorry, Isabell, go ahead. I’m not angry with you. I yelled at you and I’m sorry. Tell me what the man looked like. Try to remember everything about him. It’s important.”
Isabell nodded. “We saw the prospector man at the liberry sitting on the steps, like yesterday. He had a peppermint stick. He gave us a piece.”
“But what did he look like, Isabell?” Anora asked, bracing herself, seeing in her mind’s eye Ruben’s maniacal, evil face.
Cocking her curly head to one side, her finger to her mouth, Isabell squinted her eyes. “He had a big, dusty beard and mustache. Kind of stringy and dirty like the moss that hangs from the trees, you know. I bet he sleeps outside, he smells like smoke. His leg hurts, he told me it hurted a lot. He broke it.
“He wanted Molly to stay and talk to him. But she had to meet her papa. He wanted me to stay too, but I had to scoot back to Uncle Paston’s before Aunt Melinda found out I’d left. He called me a bright little penny. He said a bright little penny like me should have a pretty brush for my pretty hair. He said it belonged to his mama, but she dieded. I told him my mama dieded too.”
Hand shaking, Anora returned the hairbrush to Isabell. Ill, sick with fear, bile bubbled up in her throat, perspiration blossomed on her upper lip and between her breasts. A heavy weight slammed into her chest, she couldn’t stand, couldn’t move.
Hank gave Isabell a loving squeeze. “Would you like a biscuit? Maybe some honey? The honey’s on the counter, would you get it for me and bring it to the table, please.”
Isabell jumped down. “Sure, Papa. I like Anora’s peach preserves the bestest.”
Feeling a desperate need to run, run away, Anora pushed her chair back and started for the door, but didn’t open it. “He’s out there, Hank. He’s out there. He just told me he’s come to finish me off. He wants to be sure I don’t sleep.”
He followed her to the door. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her back into his body. “That’s right, he wants us to be frightened, so frightened we’ll be too paralyzed to do anything about him, and his big plan.” Turning her to face him, he told her, challenging her to look deep into his eyes. “You won’t stay here tonight, you’re coming home with us.”
“No…oh, no…Hank, don’t you see, he knows about you and me. He knows where to find both of us. Isabell…Hank, I can’t put her in that kind of danger. And Molly, oh, my God, she’s exactly what he likes, she’s young and…and…becoming a woman.”
“Isabell is already in danger. Tomorrow, we’ll warn Maybel to keep a close eye on Molly for the next few days. And tell her to warn Molly not to talk to strangers—especially this prospector man.
“I spoke with Paxton today, he wants to meet you at the stage stop tomorrow right after church to sign papers. Once that’s over, you won’t be out of my sight. Isabell…well, we won’t let her out of our sight, either. After tomorrow this place will no longer be yours to worry about, and you’ll have no reason to stay on.”
“But I told Paxton a week.”
“I know what you told him and to hell with it, we stay together.”
»»•««
The days had grown short, night falling early. Under the cover of darkness, Hank, with Isabell and Anora beside him on the buckboard, went up the hill past the orchard. Anora’s contagious case of paranoia had him imagining Ruben’s hungry eyes watching their every move.
His cabin, dark, uninhabited, wouldn’t have given him a second thought any other night, but tonight he ordered Isabell to stay with Anora. Going inside alone, he lit two lanterns and made a quick, but thorough, check before giving the all clear for them to enter.
“I’ll go bed down the mules,” he said. Stopping on the threshold, he scooped Isabell up into his arms. “You get to bed, squirt. Anora will tuck you in, all right? I’ll come say good night.”
“Oh yes, I’d love to,” Anora said, dropping her small bag of clothing in the chair beneath the window.
Hank set Isabell down on her feet, and she took hold of Anora’s hand. “Sing me a lullaby, Anora? I miss Mama. She sang to me all the time.”
Bending down to speak into the little girl’s eyes, Anora said, “I doubt I can I can sing as beautifully as your mama, but I’d love to try.”
Hank nodded to them both. “Close the door behind me and drop the bar.”
Leading the team and wagon around the far side of his home, Hank cursed the day Ruben Tillery, Ben Talbot, whatever his name, was born. He asked himself, What would a man like that come back for? He should be in California, fleecing rubes.
Answering his own question, the voice in his head replied, For the pleasure of torturing Anora?
No, it had to be more than that. The fire in Marysville? Hank wondered if there could be a connection, if so, what? And why did the devil have to show up now when things were going to finally turn out right?
Ben couldn’t know about Anora selling out, could he? She hadn’t told anyone. He’d found out just two days ago. And Paxton said he didn’t want anyone to know until he had the signed papers in his hand. Ruben couldn’t know. Which brought Hank full circle to conclude, Ben had returned on a mission to destroy Anora.
»»•««
Anora sang Isabell her lullaby and then tucked her into her narrow cot up in the loft. “Will you sleep with Papa?”
Taken aback, the question coming out of nowhere, Anora didn’t know what to say. “I…I don’t know. Where would you like me to sleep?” she asked.
“I think you should sleep with Papa. He’s been alone since Mama dieded. I’m used to sleeping alone, but he isn’t. I hear him sometimes. He gets up and walks around.”
“Yes, but your papa and mama were married. I’m not married to your papa.”
“He wants to marry you.”
“Yes, and I want to marry him. I think we’ll have to talk it over. You go to sleep now. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“But…”
“No more buts, sleep, go to sleep,” Anora said, kissed Isabell on the forehead, and started back down the ladder to the big room below.
“Anora,” Isabell said to the dark, “you can have the hairbrush. I’m sorry it made you cry.”
Anora, suspended between floors, up on the ladder, pressed her forehead to the rail and closed her eyes. “The hairbrush reminded me of my mama, that’s all. She had one just like it,” she said, sending her voice up to the little girl, her throat dry, cutting off her last syllable. “It’s yours now. Take good care of it. I lost Mama’s, It would make me happy to think someone like you had found it. Now go to sleep. I’m not sad anymore.”
“Night, Anora, I love you,” Isabell said.
“Goodnight, I love you too,” said Anora, moving down off the ladder.
Hugging herself, feeling the chill of the damp night, she stoked the fire in the hearth and decided she had to use the outhouse.
»»•««
Hank returned to the cabin to find the door wide open, a fire blazing in the grate and Isabell blissfully asleep, but no Anora. Fear struck panic in his heart. He went outside, going from one end of his porch to the other, not knowing where to look. It would be just like Ruben to pick them off one at a time.
Startling him, Anora stepped up onto the porch, candle in hand, face and form in the shadows. “Lose something?” she asked. And he heard the giggle in her voice.
“Jesus Christ, Anora, don’t ever do that to me again.” Holding up the lantern to see more of her, he said, “Yes, I thought I’d lost something, or rather someone.”
“You probably took care of your business down at the barn,” she said, sweeping past him, going ahead of him into the cabin.
Once the cabin door had been shut and secured behind them, Hank became self-conscious, uncertain what or how he should approach the subject of their sleeping arrangements. He wanted her in his bed, but he didn’t want to frighten her—he had to go slow. Rubbing his fingers, looking everywhere but directly at her, he asked, “Would you like some coffee?”
They both headed for the pump and the coffee pot on the stove and collided. “Sorry,” he said.
“No, I’m sorry. I’ll fix it for you. You must be cold coming from the barn.”
“No, no thanks, I’m fine,” he said. “It’s cold out there, don’t want to have to go outside in the middle of the night.”
∙•∙
This wasn’t the first time Anora had been inside Hank and Isabell’s new home, but tonight, being there had her feeling guilty…naughty. She didn’t belong there. She belonged down at her cabin. There’d be talk, a lot of talk, if folks in town found out she’d spent the night with Hank Reason.
Rubbing her cold hands together, she wandered across the room to the big hearth. Standing in front of the grate to warm herself, she looked around, gathering her composure.
A rocking chair and a large wooden settee, with a hooked rag rug on the floor between the two pieces of furniture, gave the space a welcoming, cozy feel. Next to the settee she smiled to see Isabell’s rag doll sitting in the smaller rocking chair. Down the length of the room, in the kitchen, at the back of the open space, she took note of the long, plank board table and four Quaker-style chairs. By the front door, there sat a chair and table beneath a big window that looked out to the orchard—a place where a person could sit and sew or read, do accounting and planning. A tall bookshelf full of books on propagating, grafting, furniture making, novels, and histories of other countries stood to the side of the window. On the other side of the room, toward the far end, below the loft, a curtain had been drawn back to expose the big pole bed where a plump down mattress beckoned.
Hank, reading her mind, went over to the bed and took up a fluffy, goose down pillow. He pulled aside a curtain in the corner that concealed a closet and retrieved a couple of wool blankets. “You take the bed, I get the fire.” Going around her, he grinned and then laid out the blankets before the hearth.
She groaned. “I can take the floor. I’m so scared, I’m not going to sleep anyway. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t want to come to you out of fear. I want to come to you happy and content. Can you understand what I’m trying to say?”
Holding a pillow to his chest, he nodded. “I think I do. And no, I don’t want you to come to my bed with doubts, and I don’t want you to wake up with regrets. I’m fine with this arrangement for now.”
Expelling her breath, she said, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said, coming back across the room, a hungry gleam in his eyes, backing her into the shadows. Stopping an arm’s length from her, he said in a low voice, husky with desire, “I want you, God, how I want you. But tonight is not the time. Soon you’ll come to me, and you and I will be in that bed together and we are going to make love as no two people have ever made love before. But tonight I’ll sleep on the cold, hard floor, gladly, knowing you’re near. Can you sleep, Anora? Will you rest your eyes, let go of your fears and sleep in that big bed; don’t think about tomorrow, just be here with us tonight, warm, safe, with us?”
She fell into his arms, holding him close. “How do you always know what to say? God wouldn’t…couldn’t, be so cruel as to bring us this close to having what we both want—allow Ruben, through his crazed machinations, to crush us both. Surely he couldn’t be so cruel.”
“We won’t let him. God’s busy. We’ll take care of this one on our own, don’t you worry.”
Standing on tiptoe, Anora pressed her lips to his in a long and heartfelt kiss. When they drew apart, she said, “I can sleep now. I can sleep, and I’ll dream of loving you the rest of my life.”
“It’s going to be a long life, Anora. I know it. You and I were meant to be.”
She nodded in agreement, even though she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. He let her go then, blew out the lantern, and snuffed out the candle.
∙•∙
Hank shed his trousers, peeled off his shirt, keeping his gaze to the fireplace. In his long johns, he lay himself on the floor and pulled the blankets up under his chin, the voice in his head mocking him. Mighty big talk, Mr. Reason. It’s going to be a long, hard, cold night. Closing his eyes, he prayed for sleep.
He could hear her moving around over there, in the dark alcove. He closed his eyes imagining what she’d look like, her hair falling over her shoulders and down her back.
In the darkness, her whisper came to him like a siren’s call. “Ohhh, Hank, your bed…it’s like lying on a cloud. A warm cloud.”
Throwing his arm over his eyes, hands balled up, he willed himself to stay right where he lay.
»»•««
“You made eggy toast like Mama,” Isabell said, and hopped into her chair at the table. “Papa trieded to fix eggy toast, but it fell apart. We had eggy clobs instead. I like eggy toast.”
Eyes a little bloodshot, Hank sat across from his daughter. “You ate all of my eggy clobs.”
“I put lots of butter and sugar on ’em,” Isabell said as an aside to Anora.
Anora handed Hank his breakfast, then sat and poured out the coffee. “I need to get down to the ferry. Sometimes folks come in to go to church.”
“We’ll all go,” Hank said. “We’ve got a little rain this morning. I doubt anyone will try to travel, but we’ll all go. And we’ll get you loaded up and move your things up here today.”
Anora put her hand out for him to hold. “I don’t know, what will people think if they see me moving out of the cabin? Besides, I don’t have anything to pack up.”
He shook his head at her and slathered butter on his eggy toast. “We could use the wardrobe. Always need a place to hide things. We can use your pots and pans…even the plates and bowls. You’ll be surprised what you have. Even the table and chairs, we can put them out on the porch or under the trees. We could have picnics out there.”
She shook her head. “I’m not bringing anything that reminds me of Ruben.”
She paused, tipped her head to the side, mentally taking inventory of the cabin. “My quilt, I want Mama’s quilt and Papa’s mackinaw. The table and chairs would look nice on the porch or out in the yard. I could paint them. All right, all right, today we move,” Anora said, palms flat on the table.
»»•««
Hank and Isabell walked Anora down to the ferry. “I still think we should come with you,” Hank said, casting off the moor line. He reluctantly gave her the rope.
“I’m only going up the bank, not even out of sight. I’ll be with Paxton,” she said.
He nodded. “I know. You’re right. Paxton will see you stay safe. But I don’t like it. We’ll make ourselves useful, do up the dishes while we wait for you to get back.”
“This won’t take long,” Anora said. Ringing the bell once, Roscoe and Pete held the ferry steady, letting the cable out nice and easy. Anora waved to Hank and Isabell, who watched until the ferry came to ground on the Takenah side.
Paxton arrived on his big red horse, dismounted, and waved to Hank. Anora tied off the ferry, glancing across the river to see Hank and Isabell heading up to the cabin.
Near the construction site, Paxton wiped the rainwater off a board and then laid it across the saw horses. From the inside of his coat, he produced a scrap of oilcloth and laid it out on the board. Anora smiled to herself; Paxton, he would forever be the efficient businessman.
“Before I sign anything, you need to know the ferry needs some work,” she said, coming within a few steps of his makeshift table. “New cable for one thing, and side rails, and the bottom probably needs fresh tar before winter.”
Paxton nodded. “Yes, I thought about all of that and decided to get all new rigging, and a bigger ferry. I’ve got the boys working on it. Probably be ready to put into the water in a couple of days. We’ll get ’em up the tree and get new cable, and I thought a leather guard for the trees.”
She liked the sound of that. “Good, that’s very good. More than time for a bigger ferry. One more thing, Roscoe and Pete, I don’t want to leave them to work the ferry. They’re getting old. I want to retire them, take them with me.”
He nodded. “Won’t need ’em. The way I have it worked out,” Paxton said, “I won’t be needing the oxen, so I have no problem with you taking them.”
Handing her a freshly inked pen, she read the sad look in his eyes, the look that didn’t match his friendly smile. “I wish you the best,” he said, his hand on her shoulder. “And Hank is the best.”
Taking the pen, Anora signed her name—Anora Claire Sennett, not Tillery, or Talbot. She hadn’t written her given name in a very long time and thought it strange and a miracle she remembered how.
Paxton handed her the pouch of gold coins, and they shook hands. “I know it’s not standard, but would you mind if I gave you a kiss?” he asked.
She didn’t pull back, instead braced herself for one of his insults.
“I’ve had a long talk with myself. I’d like to keep you, love you, as a sister, part of the family.” That brought a smile to her lips. “I think Lydia would like that. She thought very highly of you, Anora. You’re good for Isabell, and good for Hank.”
Anora accepted his kiss. It proved as innocent as he had promised. The exchange brought a tear to her eye and a lump to her throat. She had doubted her decision to sell the ferry and land, now those doubts evaporated.
Paxton mounted and started up the track. With her pouch of coins tucked into the breast pocket of her rain slicker, Anora found herself stalled, bent over the mooring pylon, working to unsnarl the tangled rope. Muttering curses, she knew she hadn’t tied it off like that. At least she didn’t think she had. One more loop and she’d have it free.
Anxious to get across river, the second the rope gave way, she jumped onto the ferry deck, not bothering to look back, only forward, across the river to the life that waited for her there.
Cranking up the tongue of the ferry, she heard a splash of water off to her right. She dismissed it, assigning the sound to a fish jumping, or a duck making a landing.
Bent over, eyes down to the ferry deck, a pair of muddy, wet black boots attached to a set of wet trousers planted themselves on the other side of the rudder, inches from her head.
Ruben.
Instinctively, she cowered, pulling her head into the collar of her coat ready to tuck up into a tight ball. Denying herself the option, she sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Her hand going to the rudder, she straightened. Throwing her shoulders back, she came face-to-face with a Ruben she’d never seen before.
The man, thin, gaunt, and pale, glared at her through Ruben’s eyes, eyes black and dead as coal. His purple lips parted, revealing crusted yellow teeth, his breath reeked of the familiar putrid mix of whiskey and vomit.