Lilah stumbled to a halt as the sheriff reined in his horse and dismounted. She looked to the sheriff, then me.
She turned and went to Sheriff Loftis.
“Lilah, don’t!” My voice cracked, along with my hope.
The sheriff drew his pistol low at his side, unsure if I was the villain or victim in this strange play. “Miss Maeve Donovan reported her daughter missing, and stated that she left the ice cream social early. Who is that man?” He gestured with his gun barrel to Papa, still unresponsive with his head on the steering wheel.
“He’s our father, Dr. Matthew Pruitt.” I looked desperately to either side, as though someone might come to rescue us, but found only oceans of waving grass.
The sheriff’s sharp eyes slid over Mr. Lybrand’s highly recognizable green Ford. “He’s a thief for certain, and maybe a murderer as well. Miss Maeve asked my deputy to go to her home and check on the well-being of Miss Agatha Pimsler. He returned, right as Miss Maeve told me her daughter was missing, to report that the Pimsler woman was dead.”
Lilah let out a short gasp. “She was fine when she came to see Mama this morning. What happened to her?”
“We can’t say yet,” Sheriff Loftis said, “but Miss Maeve assured me the woman was lying down for a nap and in good health the last time she saw her.”
“That’s a lie,” I blurted. “Ask Mr. Lybrand. He knows what really happened.”
Loftis scrutinized me from under the brim of his cowboy hat. “I plan to talk to everyone who set foot in that house today, Lybrand included. My deputy has him waiting at the courthouse for questioning as soon as I return. Miss Maeve said he’s been behaving strangely of late.
“Then again, Lybrand could have nothing to do with the woman’s passing.” The look he gave my unconscious father was one of contempt. “Matthew Pruitt’s name was mentioned when Mary Mayhew disappeared from Argenta all those years ago. Now here he is, back in the area just as this nasty business happens.”
Lilah’s alarmed stare fixed on Papa. “He didn’t do anything to Miss Pimsler, Sheriff. He isn’t a bad man; he just thinks things are real when they aren’t sometimes.” She wet her lips, and knotted her hands together. “Right now, he believes Mama is going to hurt me. He thought he was rescuing me.”
Loftis flicked a sharp glance at me and laid a hand on Lilah’s shoulder. “What about your sister? Does she have a similar affliction?”
My breath went solid in my chest. Please, I silently begged. Please, Lilah.
A tear slid down her cheek. “Verity needs someone to help her. They both do.”
“We’ll see to it,” Loftis said with oily ease. “Why don’t you climb on into the car? I’ll drive us all back to town. Your mama’s waiting for you.”
Lilah seated herself in the Ford, averting her eyes from Papa’s slumped form. I made to follow, desperate for her to hear me out.
The sheriff gripped my forearm. “Before we go, let’s see if you’ve helped yourself to anything else that doesn’t belong to you.” Without waiting for me to respond, he reached inside my pockets. The pouch of money from Mr. Lybrand appeared in his fist. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he said.
I had far worse things to dread than being thought a thief. It was late in the afternoon now, the day of the solstice. My sister would die at sunset.
“Mr. Lybrand gave me the money pouch, and he let Papa take the car,” I said. “He knows that Miss Maeve is dangerous. She killed Miss Pimsler. You can’t send Lilah back to her.” I looked to Lilah then, her face ghostly pale against the black leather of the car seat. “I’m sorry, Lilah. I wish you didn’t have to hear these awful things, but they’re true.”
“Very, don’t.” Her voice broke. “Please, stop.”
“That’s enough out of you, Miss Pruitt,” Loftis said, letting go of my arm. “Until we get back to the courthouse for questioning, you’ll do well to keep your mouth shut.” With a metallic rattle, he unhooked the handcuffs from his belt.
I bolted. Legs churning, I sprinted into the field, through the windswept grass. I had no plans, no idea of where I could hide. My only thought was of staying free so I’d have a chance to somehow rescue Lilah.
Heavy footfalls pounded behind me, speeding up to match my racing heart. I dodged a swiping hand, stumbled, and kept going.
The sheriff’s arm hooked around my waist. I crashed to the ground, roaring my frustration. Loftis rolled me onto my back and pressed me to the ground with his knee. I landed one solid punch to his jaw. His head jerked to the side. I heard Lilah calling my name, running to us.
The sheriff captured my hands. My screams dissolved into a sob. “You’re sending my sister to her death,” I wailed.
Lilah halted a few feet away, face pale. “Don’t hurt her!”
“I’m not going to,” Sheriff Loftis barked. The iron bands of the cuffs snapped around my wrists. Panting, he pulled me to my feet and led me back to the car. Papa lay with his eyes still closed. A purplish knot bulged on his temple.
“Papa! Help me!”
He roused for a moment before his head dropped again, chin resting on his chest. Sheriff Loftis let me go, pulled a length of rope from his horse’s saddlebag, and bound Papa’s hands. With a grunt of effort, he hauled Papa across the bench seat to the passenger side.
Lilah watched her rescuer shove me into the back seat, then tie his horse to a tree to retrieve later. Sheriff Loftis took the driver’s seat, and we sped back toward Wheeler. Frightened tears streaked the grime on Lilah’s face, but I knew it wasn’t from fear of Miss Maeve. She was scared of me.
When we arrived, only a few dozen people lingered on the court square. Ladies in pale dresses dotted the courthouse lawn like clouds run aground, drifting about folding tablecloths. Men hauled the chairs and tables onto wagons to be taken away. I scanned the faces for a glimpse of Hettie or Big Tom. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I remembered telling Abel to let them know I’d gone home feeling sick. In the time it would take them to get back to the farm by wagon, find me missing, and return to town to make inquiries, it would be too late. The sun would set and Lilah would be drowned.
Our roaring arrival drew the attention of the little crowd. All around the lawn, hands fell still. Curious stares turned to confusion, then shifted to worry, as the onlookers took in my father, slumped unconscious in the front seat, and me cuffed in the back.
The Ford bounced over the sidewalk. Loftis eased it to a stop next to the redbrick jailhouse. A deputy loitered nearby, smoking a cigar in the shade.
“Help me get him out,” Loftis ordered. Together they dragged Papa from the car. Sheriff Loftis nodded to another deputy, then toward me. “Her, too.”
The man approached, thumbs hooked in his gun belt. This was my final chance to make Lilah understand. Cuffs jangling, I clutched the sleeve of her party dress. “You have to listen to me. This isn’t one of your stories, Lilah. It’s real, and the bad guy isn’t who you thought. Miss Maeve truly means to hurt you. Don’t let her take you into the woods. Please.”
Lilah’s hazel eyes searched mine. Quick as a breath, she pulled me close and pressed her cheek to mine. “When Papa said frightening things, you always told me I shouldn’t be scared,” Lilah breathed into my ear. “You taught me to hold on to what was real. Now you must try to do the same.” A tear slid down my cheek. I couldn’t tell if it was mine or hers. “I love you, Very.” She stepped out of the car, arms folded over her chest as if against a bitter wind.
The iron-barred door of the jailhouse gaped open, showing a cramped, bleak cell. Loftis and his helper hauled Papa inside. Whispers hissed through the crowd. The other deputy loomed over me. “Come on then. Don’t be difficult.”
I looked at my hands, heavy with iron shackles. There was no escape. I was surrounded by men with pistols and a knot of curious townspeople. Tilting my chin up, I gritted my teeth and allowed the deputy to assist me out of the car. He let go of my arm only when I stepped into the dim jailhouse.
Loftis finished untying Papa’s hands, then removed my cuffs. “My sister’s blood will be on your hands if you don’t stop this,” I said. He couldn’t meet my fiery stare as he returned the cuffs to his belt.
The jailhouse door slammed shut with a clang. I rushed forward, gripping the iron bars, and watched Sheriff Loftis take Lilah’s hand with surprising gentleness. “Come on. Deputy Finley will take you home.” He escorted her to the car and helped her climb in beside the officer who waited behind the wheel.
“Someone stop them!” I shouted, desperate. The people watching the scene edged back, some looking wary, others frowning in my direction. No one was willing to buck the sheriff for the sake of an unhinged-looking girl ranting from behind prison bars.
They drove away. Lilah looked back, her eyes holding mine until the car rounded a corner and she was lost from sight.
Among the scattered observers, a flash of gold hair caught my eye. Abel watched the scene from a short distance away, his eyes shadowed, his brow creased with … what? Contempt? Disappointment?
Della was at his side. I motioned for her to come closer, but she shook her head. The rejection felt like a punch in the gut. Abel leaned down, saying something in her ear, still looking at me with that grim expression. I gripped the bars with bloodless fingers. “You have to help her. Please. Miss Maeve is going to kill her at sunset,” I shouted.
Sheriff Loftis barked at me to hold my tongue, then stalked over to where Della and Abel stood. He spoke to the pair, arms folded. Della nodded once. They didn’t so much as glance my way as they left.
Something in my chest caved in. My friends had decided I was crazy after all.
The sheriff watched Della and Abel go, and the final stragglers who’d lingered to take in the show followed their lead, until only Sheriff Loftis remained on the courthouse lawn. He marched to the cell door, spurs jingling. “I’m going to interview Mr. Lybrand about Miss Pimsler while we wait for the coroner to come from Siloam Springs. I’ll talk to you next.”
He looked at Papa, slouched like a sack of potatoes in the corner. “And I’ll contact the asylum your father escaped from, let them know we’ve got him. There are similar places for women with your—” He stopped to search for the word. “—tendencies. If you don’t end up in a prison, I’m sure we can find a spot for you in one of them.” With that he retreated to the courthouse.
I smacked my palms against the rough walls of the jailhouse over and over again. Bits of brick ground into my skin. At sunset, Lilah would be dragged into an endless half life. And I was locked up within sight of the woods where Miss Maeve would drown her, trapped as surely as my sister would be. I clenched the bars and screamed, blood from my cut palms flecking the iron.
“Verity, stop.” Papa’s slurred voice drew me up short. I turned to find him staring blearily around the cell. “Where are we? Where’s Lilah?”
I sank to my knees in misery. “Sheriff Loftis found us, and we’re in the jailhouse. He’s taken Lilah back to Miss Maeve.”
The news seemed to blast away Papa’s stupor. He rose, a bit unsteadily, eyes darting wildly from one corner to the next. He sprang onto the bench that sat against the back wall under a tiny window. Papa’s long fingers searched the edges of the rusted roof for any weak spots.
I joined him, but the effort proved futile. Outside, the sun scraped the treetops. It would set in little more than an hour. “There’s no way out, Papa.”
The jail’s tin roof trapped the heat, and I reached absently for my hat to fan myself. My fingers closed on Hettie’s pearl hatpin. I pulled it out, staring first at the pin, then at the lock on the door. Papa followed my line of sight and caught on. “Brilliant, Verity,” he whispered, taking the pin and bounding over to the door.
Papa maneuvered it into the lock while I cast wary glances around the blessedly empty court square. Only a few straggling shoppers meandered along the storefronts across the road. None of them looked our way. “Almost there,” Papa muttered through clenched teeth. The delicate metal bent in his fingers. I held my breath.
The pin snapped, ringing in my ears like a gunshot blast.
“Damn it,” Papa said, flinging it aside. “Do you have anything else?”
“That was the only hatpin.” I tugged a hairpin from my coiffeur. “Will this work?”
Papa tried it. “No. Too short.” He leaned his forehead against the bars and closed his eyes.
I slid back to the ground, head to my knees. To lose hope somehow felt far crueler than to have never had it at all. A sob built in my chest. I struggled for a deep breath against the biting pressure of my corset.
Gingerly, I traced the hard ridges of flat metal strips running the length of my torso. I exhaled sharply as the idea struck. Papa lifted his head. “What’s the matter?”
“Just a minute,” I said, scuttling into a shadowy corner, where I stripped off my dress. Standing in just a chemise, I fumbled over the laces of the corset and wrenched it off. Then I laid into it with teeth and fingernails, shredding the seams, until the first bit of metal boning poked out. At last I held the thin piece of metal between my fingers.
“Make sure no one’s looking our way,” I said, edging Papa away from the lock. He scanned the empty square, then hurried to the window in the back wall to check the street before giving the all-clear.
With the precision of a surgeon, I slipped the metal into the lock. Thank Heaven I’d paid attention when Della explained her technique for breaking into her parents’ chest of drawers. But hearing how to pick a lock was a far cry from having practice myself. Seconds stretched, and the sun sank ever lower. Despair started to rise in my throat.
Then, without warning, I felt the metal slide into place between the tumblers. Not daring to breathe, I pressed down. A small click. The lock fell open.
Papa moved to open the door. “Not yet,” I said. I stepped back into my dress and did a quick check of the sidewalk. Under a red-and-white-striped pole, the barber swept the day’s cuttings onto the sidewalk with maddening leisure. Finally, the man sauntered back inside his shop, unaware that his peaceful evening routine was delaying a prison break.
“All right. Let’s go.” I slipped out first, Papa following a split second later, and pulled the barred door carefully closed behind us. The urge to run rose like a flood tide, but I forced myself to walk across the road and down the sidewalks toward the edge of town.
Papa took my arm. “We are only out for a stroll,” he said, raking hair over the swollen bruise at his temple.
As we passed the bank, a young man stepped out in front of us. My heart scrambled into my throat. “Evening,” he said, tipping a hat to me and nodding to Papa. He must have missed our arrest, or else he would’ve recognized us on sight.
“To you as well,” Papa replied. The clerk settled the hat on his head and started down the sidewalk, glancing once over his shoulder at us. I gave a tight smile and, when he turned back, we ducked down the alley.
“Hurry,” Papa said, breaking into a run. Together we sprinted toward the woods.
My lungs began to ache, but I willed myself on, legs churning, skirt balled in my fists. All the while I tensed for the sound of pursuit. I heard only the whipping of grass against my legs and Papa’s pounding steps beside me.
The woods drew closer, the shadows of the trees reaching for us. Papa broke through first, and was swallowed almost immediately by the gloom. My heart thudded in time with my racing feet.
I ran as hard as I could into the darkness.