After the Frost (21 page)

Or maybe not. Maybe they hadn't even gone into town. Maybe they wouldn't even take the train. . . .

He refused to think of the possibility. Belle had to know he would come after them the moment he discovered them gone. Surely she would take the easiest, fastest way out of Lancaster. Wouldn't she?

He dug his heels into Duke's sides.

By the time he got to the train station, both he and Duke were sweaty and heaving. There was a train on the track, belching ash-filled smoke into the air.
Please
, he thought.
Please let them be on that train
. He dismounted and ran inside.

The room was crowded, and there was a line to the clerk. Desperately he scanned the room, a hard lump in his throat. But there was no Belle. No Sarah. His heart sank into his stomach. They weren't here. They weren't here. That meant only one thing: They were either gone or on that train.

He prayed it was the latter.

Rand pushed into the line, ignoring the shocked gasps and
"Excuse mel's"
of the waiting passengers, and leaned into the window.

"Well, hello there, Mr. Sault." A freckle-faced boy, barely more than eighteen, greeted him, looking surprised. "If you could just wait your turn—"

"What trains have left this morning?"

The boy frowned in confusion. "What trains? Well— uh—only two so far."

"To where?"

"Uh—Sandusky left at—uh—early this mornin'. Cincinnati pulled out 'bout twenty minutes ago."

Rand felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Excuse me, mister, but we're waitin'."

Rand turned and glared. The woman clamped her mouth shut and shrank away. He jerked back to the boy at the window. "You know my daughter, Sarah?"

"Why, yes, Mr. Sault. Pretty as a pic—"

"Was she on either of those trains?"

"Uh—"

"A blond woman would have bought the ticket. My stepsister, Belle."

The boy shook his head. "No one like that today, Mr. Sault. And I didn't see Sarah, I know it."

"You're sure?"

"I—I think so."

Rand leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "You have to be sure."

"I'm sure." The boy swallowed nervously. "No one like that."

The woman tapped Rand's shoulder again. "Listen, mister—"

Rand stepped away from the window, exhaling deliberately, forcing himself to calm down. They hadn't taken the train. The idea wound its way through his mind slowly, and just as slowly he forced himself to believe it.

He tried to think, forced himself to consider the options. There was the National Road, of course, but he doubted Belle would have taken a stage. Too slow. He could catch up to them on horseback in no time. The canal would pose the same problem—especially now, when the water was so low that packet boats were forced to stop all along the route.

Which meant only one thing. Belle would have done what he least expected, the one thing he wouldn't think of until it was too late.

She would have hitched a ride.

The thought sent panic rushing through him. If she'd done that, it would take him days, even weeks, to hunt her down. Wagons passed this road every day. A wagon could go anywhere, take any route, go any direction. And once she got to a big city, she could simply disappear.

It had taken the detective he'd hired nearly four years to track her last time, and she'd only gone as far as Cincinnati. This time she was older, cleverer, and she had more to hide.

God. Dear God, please don't let it be true. Please, I can't take it again
.

Someone jostled him, and Rand looked up, surprised to find he was still in the train station. People were staring at him, and he realized suddenly how strange he must look—hatless, sweating, his wet shirt clinging to his chest.

Slowly he left the station. Duke was waiting patiently, but the bay's sides still heaved from exertion, and sweat was drying, foamy and white, on his sides.

"Sorry, boy," Rand murmured, running a hand over the gelding's muzzle. He should let the horse rest awhile, he knew, but he couldn't. Rand clenched his fist on Duke's mane and forced himself to uncurl his fingers, to step away. His gaze traveled down the busy Lancaster street, noting the people milling about, hearing the sounds of the wagons and horses and voices before he mounted the horse again and started down the road. He had to think, had to work out a plan. Something that would cover the most ground in the shortest time. Something that would find them before they had the chance to disappear. Maybe he should round up all the neighbors—tell them some suitable lie about how urgent it was to find Belle and Sarah. It would be hard to pull them away from work—they were all readying to cut corn, none of them could spare the time. But he could come up with some crisis, he was sure, some worry that would spur them all into action. . . .

He could get Kenny Alspaugh and Paul Miller to help, Rand was sure of it. Maybe even Jack Dumont. They could each head in a separate direction. Hell, by the end of the day surely one of them would find something.

Hopefully. Rand closed the distance to the house as quickly as he could.
Please let them be back,
he prayed as he approached it.
Please, God, I'll never ask you for anything again. Just let Sarah be here. Please, please let her be here
.

He was barely to the drive before he was off Duke, leaving the horse standing in the yard while he ran to the porch, up the stairs, and yanked open the door. "Lillian?"

She came running from the kitchen, Dorothy Alspaugh close behind. Lillian's face was pale with worry. "Did you find them?"

His hope died in his chest. "They aren't here."

"No." She shook her head, winding her hands in her skirt, and he saw her struggling for control. "You didn't find them."

"No." He glanced at Dorothy. The older woman was watching them with an expression too worried to be curious. "Hello, Dorothy."

"Rand." She nodded a greeting. "I just came over to help. We've looked all over." She flashed a concerned look at Lillian. "I've been tryin' to tell Lil not to worry —it's early yet."

Dorothy's words seemed to stiffen Lillian's spine. "I told Dorothy we were expecting Belle and Sarah back for dinner." Her eyes warned Rand to watch his tongue. "After all, Belle did say they would only be going for a short walk."

"I'm sure they'll be back soon," Dorothy said soothingly. "They probably just lost track of time."

Rand forced a smile. "You're probably right. Is Kenny home?"

"Y-yes." Dorothy frowned. "He's in the fields."

"I'll be right back, then. I thought I'd just go over there for a minute—just a minute." Rand threw as reassuring a glance to Lillian as he could muster, and then he was out the door, running for Duke.

B
elle absently swatted away a horsefly and pulled her skirt up farther over her legs, kicking her bare feet in the cool, murky water. The day had turned warm in spite of the frost this morning, and she leaned back on her elbows, lifting her face to the sun, feeling good, too lazy to wipe away the sticky melon juice still staining her skin.

"Mmmmm," she murmured, closing her eyes. "This is the life."

She heard the splashing of little feet in the water, and Belle opened her eyes again to see Sarah scoot closer to the edge and lean over to watch the water churn around her toes.

"Careful," Belle said lightly. "It's deep."

"I'm lookin' for fishes." Sarah turned to look at her, the half-eaten melon still in her hands. Her face was shiny and orange with juice.

Belle laughed. "I don't think you'll find many fish here. Got to go to the river for that. We'll do that sometime."

Sarah turned back to the water. "I never been fishin' before."

"You've never been fishin'?"

"Nope." Sarah paused. "Papa said I couldn't by myself."

"Well, you wouldn't be by yourself. You'd be with me.”

Sarah nodded, putting aside her melon to stare at another barge coming up the canal. "Is that Bandit?" she asked, pointing a chubby finger at the mules tugging on the long ropes.

Belle squinted into the sun, pretending to study the mule across the water. It was true there had been a Bandit, along with a Boggs, but the rest was pure fiction, a story she'd made up for Rand one day long ago when they were still friends and they'd been sitting by the canal just like this.

For a moment Belle heard his laughter again, just as it had been that day, loud and rumbling, filling the air until she had laughed right along with him.

Much too long ago. Belle frowned. It was another memory she'd tried hard to forget.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked. "Are you mad?"

Belle shook her head, forced a smile. "No, just thinkin'."

" 'Bout Bandit?"

"Yeah."

"I wish I could see him." Sarah rested her chin in her hands and looked wistfully out onto the water. "D'you s'pose he'd do tricks for me?"

"He might."

"I wish we could jump from the bridge today." Sarah sighed.

The sound was strange coming from such a small child, and it pulled at Belle's heart. She reached out, tentatively pushing a short blond hair from where it stuck to Sarah's face, and Belle felt embarrassingly happy when Sarah didn't flinch at all.

"We will someday," Belle said, glancing at the bridge, though she knew neither she nor Sarah would be jumping anytime soon. The bridge, like many of the other things on the canal, showed signs of wear. Though it looked the same from a distance, there were boards missing from one side, and the wooden railing was rotting away. It would probably fall apart before they even got across it.

"Promise?"

Belle hesitated. "Oh, Sarah, I—"

"Please, Belle?" Sarah's brown eyes were wide and pleading.

Don't lie to her
, said the voice in Belle's mind.
You hated lies when you were a child.
But Sarah was looking at her so hopefully, and Belle felt her conviction waver. Why ruin such a wonderful day? It couldn't hurt to tell Sarah what she wanted to hear. Just this once. After all, she was just a little girl. She would forget it soon enough.

Belle sighed. "All right," she said. "I promise."

Sarah's smile was worth the lie.

"T
here are six of us," Rand said, looking around the table. "That's enough to cover quite a piece. We should at least be able to find out if anyone's seen them."

Jack Dumont put down his cup of coffee and rubbed his eyes. "I'll go out toward the river. I gotta pay a visit to Jenkins out there anyhow."

"Fine. Kenny, you head to Green Castle, and Paul, you can go on out to Amanda. I'll head toward Carroll. That way, I can check the canal. . . ." He let his words trail off when he saw Lillian blanch. She set the coffeepot on the stove with shaking hands. Rand finished lamely, "Then we'll all meet back here."

"We'll find 'em, Lil, don't you fret about it," Paul Miller rose and crammed his hat on his head. "They'll be safe and sound, you'll see. Prob'ly just lost."

Lillian nodded, but her slight smile was forced. "I'm sure you're right, Paul."

"Let's go." Rand couldn't keep the urgency from his voice. "We've only got a few hours till dark." Not that it mattered, he thought, but for Lillian's sake he had to pretend Sarah and Belle were in danger. It furthered his purpose anyway. He wanted to get going. Every hour they spent in planning gave Belle another hour to get farther away. Another hour to escape.

"All right, then." Kenny rose slowly. "We'll meet back in what—say, three hours?"

"Fine." Rand bit off the word. He got to his feet. "And then we'll—"

Laughter—light, childish laughter—floated from the yard, through the open back door. He froze, his order caught in his throat.
Sarah
. He was afraid to turn around and look, afraid to believe.
It's only your imagination
, he warned himself.
Only because you want so badly for it to be her. . . .

"Yes, we did! We used to catch salamanders all the time down by the river." Belle's voice came from the back porch.

Rand spun around, his breathing suddenly tight and painful. He heard steps on the stair.

"I tried. I ain't never caught one."

"You aren't quick enough—" Belle said, stepping into the doorway. She looked up at the crowd gathered in the kitchen and stopped so quickly, Sarah bumped into the back of her legs.

"Belle, don't stop!" Sarah laughed.

"Sarah." Rand heard his voice, but it didn't sound like his. It sounded harsh and scared and unbelieving, and it was the only thing in this whole weird scene that didn't feel like a dream. "Christ, Sarah." He lunged forward, hearing Lillian's screech of relief behind him as he pushed past Belle and clutched at Sarah, holding her so tightly in his arms, she squealed.

He buried his face in her neck, pressed his cheek against her hair, smelling her little-girl scent: dirt and water and the musky-sweet odor of melon. He felt Lillian at his back, felt her hand on his arm, and he knew he should put Sarah down, knew he was embarrassing his neighbors, but he couldn't release her, could no more put her down than he could stop breathing, and he didn't care. Oh, God, he had truly believed he would never see her again, had believed it with every part of himself, and no one else in this room could understand what that meant.

"Papa. Put me down!" Sarah was squirming now, and reluctantly Rand lifted his head and bent until her little feet touched the floor and she scrambled away from him.

It was only then that he saw—really saw—Belle. It was only then that his worry and fear faded away, leaving in its place a suffocating, unbearable anger. He jerked up again. Belle was staring at him, and there was a look on her face he couldn't decipher, a dawning awareness that only made him angrier. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" He snapped. "Where the hell were you?"

She frowned, glanced at the men gathered around the table before she looked at him again. "We were at the canal," she said slowly, carefully.