A Whisper in Time (21 page)

I ran home and got ready for a stake-out. Food, drink, stadium blanket. I grabbed the iPad and put a note—just in case—on my dresser. The last thing I did was program the home security system to text me if anyone entered the house, and then I hiked back to the falls and positioned myself, hidden among the trees, to see as much of the cave and bluff as possible.

The first half hour passed slowly. I watched with vigilance, which was stupid on a logical level. If she were in old Raleigh, it would be mid-morning or later before she could safely, realistically walk back. That assumed she was coming back today.

Stop. She was.

That’s when the emotions hit, rolling over me like a tsunami. The first wave brought anger—fierce, white-hot anger pulsing through my veins. How dare she? How dare she scare me and my parents this way? There had better be a damn good reason—and even then, it wouldn’t be okay.

The second wave of emotion was even worse. Raw, agonizing betrayal. She’d planned this, executed this, and deliberately kept it away from me. Could I ever trust her again? This was a huge lie, a huge slap in the face. It made me deeply…sad.

And that sense of sadness was the final, lingering emotion. This action changed our relationship, and not for the better. I wanted the old relationship back. I wanted the pure Susanna. The Susanna I trusted. And she was gone.

I turned my attention to the iPad. Might as well use the time that I was sitting here doing nothing. I checked my Bible order. It was on the way.

Next I visited the VisitVirginia site and booked subpar lodging, hoping that my mom decided to stay home.

It had been a while since I’d checked historical records for Worthville. I searched on it, except this time I added the names of people I remembered.

Phoebe’s name popped up nowhere, but the last name Marsh did. Susanna’s brother Caleb had made a Last Will and Testament and it was available online. He’d lived to be pretty old and left his farm to a son. They must have survived the tornado that hit the area in 1805.

I’d have to remember to pass that along to Susanna after she returned. Well, not right after, because I was mad at her and I was going to take all the time I needed to get that out of my system.

Who else should I try? Pratt?

Nope. Didn’t want to think about him.

Maybe I should put some attention on this century and Susanna’s identity. I started a search on court orders and found a bunch of information, so much that it would take some effort to narrow it down.

I had plenty of time today.

An hour later, I had some interesting things to consider.

I’d finally checked out the marriage certificate thing for North Carolina—and South Carolina, Tennessee, and even Nevada. We had to have a photo ID and probably a Social Security card at every one of those places.

At the moment, I was so pissed at Susanna that my reaction to this reprieve wasn’t worth analyzing.

Moving on.

There are a lot of judges in Wake County. They all seemed to belong to the same clubs with photos popping up in the society pages. Which meant they might be friends with Judge Nelson. Not good.

But the best fact was unexpected and potentially very helpful. Judges had law students filling in as interns. I’d have to see how hard it was to find one who liked to talk.

Cramping muscles reminded me of my whereabouts. After shutting off the tablet, I stood, stretched, and did some pacing along the trail. The waterfall droned on, but it still didn’t sparkle.

My stomach rumbled. It was weird how much energy it took to sit still and search the internet for nuggets of information.

I checked my watch. A little after eleven. I was hungry—and the later it got, the more likely Susanna was to show up.

I’d just finished cleaning up my snack when I noticed a glint in the falls. A sparkle or two. Not much. There was definitely something going on. I went over to the falls and slipped my hand in the flow. It wasn’t wet. It also stopped my hand at the wrist.

What did that mean? Was this reassurance that things were okay? Or was it hedging its bets, giving me potential access in case things were about to go wrong?

I heard voices coming from the other side. No, make that one voice. In a swirl of pale blue fabric, a girl appeared, leaping onto the boulder at the cave’s mouth, golden curls flowing down her back like a shimmering cape.

She wore better clothes than Susanna ever had. She was model-beautiful and happy as she leapt from rock to rock on bare feet. There was something familiar about her. I stared hard, waiting for the glimmer of memory to surface.

And then recognition came. She was Dorcas Pratt, several years older than when I’d last seen her two months ago.

Placing my hand in the flow, slowly so that I didn’t startle her if she noticed, I tried to see how far I could cross. But the waterfall stopped me at my wrist again. I withdrew my hand, backed away, and sat down on the flat rock to wait and watch.

Dorcas tiptoed into the cave, sat on the low rock that served as a great bench, and kicked her legs before her, humming a soft tune.

I stared, rigid with fear. If there was one Pratt nearby, there might be two.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-N
INE

A S
ECOND
B
LOW

Morning was a good time to walk. The day was bright, the temperature mild.

Many traveled the Raleigh road this day. I remained among the trees, safe from prying eyes. The thick soles of my modern shoes made the walk easy.

It was mid-morning as I passed the turnoff to the farm where I was born and had lived until I was ten. My footsteps slowed, nerves fluttering. My brother’s care for the property was evident. Fences had been mended. The lane had been cleared.

The sight of it made me pant with homesickness. What would my reception be if I visited?

Without reflecting on my decision, I turned onto the lane and reached the yard moments later. There was a stillness to the farm, as if it awaited something.

Caleb’s wife appeared in the door, a basket in hand. The edge of her cap shaded her eyes. Otherwise, I suspect she would’ve seen me instantly.

She left the porch and made a turn toward the vegetable garden. With a whip of her head, she glanced my way and halted. Her smile held polite curiosity. “Hello?”

“Hello, Frances.” My voice was gruff.

Recognition dawned in her widening eyes. Dropping the basket, she grabbed for the porch railing. “Susanna.”

I nodded. “I did not drown.”

Her free hand clamped to her forehead, and she shook her head, speechless.

A little girl came running to the door with cries of “Mama, Mama.”

“Go, Mary,” my sister-in-law choked out, and then immediately reversed herself. “No. Find Papa. He is in the barn.”

My gaze hungrily followed the tiny girl—my niece Mary—across the short distance to the barn. She reminded me of Phoebe, dainty, lovely, graceful with innocence. Mary disappeared into the cavernous structure, strong and newly-built, more evidence of industry.

“How old is she?” I asked.

“Three.” Caleb’s wife wrapped her arms across her chest, as if protecting herself against a deep chill. “Why did you let us think you were dead?”

“I am free of the Pratts, Frances. I cannot go back there. I risk much to be here now.”

“You are not free. For the rest of your life, you will always watch over your shoulder.” She hung her head. “Why did you run away with release close at hand?”

“Do you know Jethro Pratt?”

She shuddered. “I do.”

“He took pleasure in my pain, Frances.” I reached out to her and she strained away. “He shackled my ankles and observed them sicken and bleed. If I had not left, I would have died.”

“You cannot know that—”

“Hullo.” There was a shout from the barn. My brother crossed the yard, holding his young daughter in his arms. Two boys stood in the entrance to the barn, watchful and silent.

“Do we have a visitor?” Caleb asked with a smile as his gaze fell on me. His good humor vanished, replaced by blazing eyes and twisted lips. He swung the girl down and barked, “Go inside. Now.”

She blinked, lower lip trembling, and ran to do his bidding.

He stalked closer until he drew even with his wife. My brother registered no surprise at seeing me, although his fury was fearsome, the heat of it blistering across the space between us. “Where have you been for the last four years?”

“I live very far away.”

“Where?”

“I cannot say.”

“Can not—or
will
not?”

“In this case, they are the same.”

Caleb sneered. “Has the boy married you?”

“He has not.”

“Whore.”

A vile word—
whore
. I staggered a step backwards from its impact. It had been hard to hear from Mr. Pratt—but to hear it from my brother?

Despair weakened my resolve. I watched Caleb silently, even as all the joy of visiting with my sister, of seeing my niece and nephews, drained away from me, leaving me debased.

Would contempt always be my lot in this world? If I were ever to return, if somehow my name were cleared, would I still always be
the whore who lived in sin with Mr. Lewis
? For Caleb to believe this of me scarred my heart as surely as my master’s switches had scarred my limbs.

His wife placed a hand on his shoulder. “Caleb.”

He shook her off and took a step closer to me. I stood my ground, not taking my gaze from him.

“What are you doing here, Susanna?”

“I have come to ask for the Bible.”

He gaped, surprised at last. “Why?”

“I cannot marry Mr. Lewis without it.”

“Do not mock me with your falsehoods. There is nothing to block a sacred union with him except unholy will.” He snorted. “You dishonor our family. I shall not defile the Scriptures with your foul hands.”

I studied him, this man who had teased me goodnaturedly when we were children. Taught me how to fish and ride a horse. Tugged my braids and swung me around until I had laughed myself breathless. I did not recognize the man who frowned at me as if I were dung to be kicked aside—all because he believed something that was not true.

He lifted an arm and pointed toward the lane. “You are not welcome here. Leave and never return.”

I gasped, shocked at the ferocious finality of what he was saying. “No. You cannot mean that.”

“Get off my property before I tie you up and turn you over to the magistrate.”

His demand fell like a second blow. “You would not do that.”

“I would.”

Frances clasped her hands together, as if in prayer, her gaze locked on her husband’s face, but she said not a word.

“Caleb, please, do not send me away like this,” I said, desperation making me beg. “Please let me have the Bible. I am lost without it.”

“Stay a moment longer and you will be in jail before nightfall.”

I ran, blinded by tears, feet pounding and stumbling. I didn’t notice my surroundings until I’d reached Rocky Creek. Only then did reason reassert itself. I was close to the falls. Now was not the moment to lose my vigilance. For a few moments longer, I must not think on the sorrows of this day.

To avoid travelers on the well-worn trail, I paralleled the creek bank in the shelter of the trees. Progress was slow but detection unlikely.

The forest ended at a meadow of tall grasses edging the Pratt property. I paused, listening and watching for the presence of people.

Safety awaited me a hundred feet up the creek bed and through the falls. I darted onto the bank and into the shadow of the granite bluff, picking my way carefully across slippery boulders.

“Hello?” a girl’s voice called.

Shock froze my limbs. Before me, in the cave behind the falls, the girl stood, bare feet peeking out below a pale gown with a muddy hem, with golden curls flowing freely to her waist.

“Susanna?”

“Dorcas!”

Her smile was warm and cheerful.

We approached and then halted, a few inches apart, grinning foolishly. There could be no surprise happier than my beloved Dorcas.

“You are not dead.” She giggled. “I am overjoyed.”

I breathed in the delight of her. “And you are most improperly groomed.” I caught her in my arms and rested my chin atop her golden head.

It took long minutes to slake my thirst for the feel of her. When at last I stepped away, it was to study her carefully. “Let me see you.”

She laughed and twirled slowly.

“Yes,” I said. “You have grown into a fine young lady.”

“And you look just the same.”

“Thank you.” I reached for her again. “This is an unexpected treat.”

“I know.” She sighed dramatically.

I laughed. “Why are you not surprised to find me here?”

Her smile vanished. “Papa does not believe you were swept away. He still comes here to look for you.”

“My sweet Dorcas.” I kept my smile in place, not willing for her to see how much this news shook me. But he wasn’t here now. I wouldn’t waste my precious moment with her on fear. It was a day for hugs. I relished the feel of her, the girl I had raised from a baby and loved as my own. “You are a rare beauty. I am so happy that we have met again. What brings you to this place on this day?”

“You spoke of a refuge once, when you were in jail. You did not say directly where it was.” She gave me a pitying look. “You might as well have told me, for when I found this place, I knew instantly that you had loved it before me. It is my refuge too.”

“A refuge from what?”

“Papa’s wife. She was our servant after you.” Her face grew thoughtful. “Papa ignored her when she first arrived, but she never ignored him. Especially after Mama died. Joan hoped to take her place, I think, and she succeeded.” Dorcas beamed at me, eyes twinkling. “She wants me to call her ‘Mother,’ but I prefer ‘ma’am.’ It annoys her most dreadfully. It is a good thing she does not know that, in my refuge, she is merely Joan.”

“I am glad you love this place of respite, as I do.”

“Do you love it still? I never see you here.”

I blinked at my own foolishness. Had I said too much? “I…”