Must the Maiden Die (26 page)

Gerard, dipping and swinging the paddle,
looked at the sky. "I hope the storm holds off," he said to her.
"We should stay on the water so the hounds can't track us. The men
won't know about the canoe, not right away. They'll think we've
run, until the hounds track our scent to the shore. That should
give us some time."

Keeper had stopped growling and sat on his
haunches with his muzzle resting on the bow of the canoe. The girl
looked beyond the dog to the murky water ahead. Thunder rolled
again, but it was not close.

"We'll be all right," Gerard said, "unless
the water gets too shallow. Or the storm hits. About a mile north
of here, if we can make it that far, there's a place where White
Brook flows into the swamp. If the brook's deep enough we'll take
it. In summer we wouldn't have a chance, but the rains this spring
may give us the depth we need."

His voice was tight, and she listened
carefully, even though she thought he was talking to himself . He
was in trouble because of her. The hounds and the men weren't
chasing him. It was because of her that he to leave his cabin and
hide in the swamp like a hunted animal. She twisted around and
reached out to touch his shoulder, then shook her head and pointed
to the shore.

He stopped paddling and took her hand. "No,
I'm not putting you ashore," he said. "This is not your doing, and
I won't leave you."

But it
was
her fault.

He held her hand tightly when he said, "I
didn't have to run. It was my decision." When she turned away, he
said, "Look at me, Tamar. Look at me!"

He reached out and took her chin in his hand
to make her look into his fierce eyes. "We'll be all right. Tell me
that you believe me."

She tried to tell him, but no sound came. He
raised his hand and curled his fingers gently around her throat. "I
think you'll talk again someday," he said. "I want to hear your
voice."

Then he began to paddle once more through
dark water that reflected the clouds overhead. The canoe followed
the shoreline where green willows drooped and brown marsh reeds
grew thick, and it skirted the ghostly dead tree trunks that rose
out of the water like gnarled hands pointing toward the sky. A
red-tailed hawk perched high up on one, watching, and the girl
could hear wild geese calling and the occasional cry of a loon.
Above them, black clouds began to swirl. But there was no wind
blowing and no rain fell.

Then the canoe trembled and stopped, and she
could hear scraping underneath her.

"We're snared on something," Gerard said,
leaning over the side of the canoe.

The girl looked toward shore, where a clump
of willows stood a short distance away on what looked like solid
ground. She plucked at Gerard's sleeve as he poked the paddle down
through the water, and she pointed at the trees.

He looked up and followed her finger to the
willows, then shook his head, saying, "Unless we're trapped here,
I'd rather stay on the water. That thunder doesn't sound much
nearer. Maybe the storm will miss us."

When he raised the paddle, it came up
dripping with long thin weeds. "It's too shallow here, and we're
caught on something," he said, using the paddle like a pole to push
them backwards.

Keeper suddenly jumped up and began to growl
again, his nose quivering in the direction of the shore.

Without warning a shotgun blasted. Pellets
hit the water some distance ahead.

"Get down!" Gerard shoved the girl flat and
tried to grab the snarling dog, who looked ready to leap from the
canoe. "That can't be from a search party. The hounds are still too
far away, and they're behind us. Maybe it's just a hunter and he's
not shooting at—"

Another charge of shot sprayed the water,
and it was closer than the first.

Gerard leaped from the canoe, the water and
weeds rising halfway up his calves. "C'mon," he whispered to the
girl, reaching for her. "We're a sitting target. Running may be
what he wants us to do, but we won't have a chance staying here.
We'll head for those willows. Keep your head down!"

The girl tried to grab the dog's rope as
Gerard lifted her out of the canoe, but Keeper jumped from the bow
into the water just as another shotgun blast sounded. A spray of
shot to the south of them bent the tall reeds and cattails.

They splashed through the water, Gerard
pulling the girl, with the dog plunging ahead of them. She managed
to snatch Keeper's trailing rope, terrified that to protect them
the dog would dash toward the gun when they reached higher ground.
The water was still knee height as they neared the willows. A few
big drops of rain fell, and thunder rolled with a closer grumble of
sound, but the shotgun was silent.

The girl, sliding on the shifting mud
underfoot, felt as if she were trying to swim upstream; the wet
trousers belted with string around her waist weighed her down, and
her boots were filling with water, dragging her backwards while
Gerard pulled her forward. He was slipping, too, and she thought
they would both be sucked down and strangled by the twisting
weeds.

Then all at once the water became shallow,
and she felt her feet touch more solid ground. And the growling
dog, having gained firm footing, nearly yanked the rope from her
hand.

"Keeper, quiet!" Gerard's voice was low, and
the dog stopped growling, but he lunged at the end of his lead.

Gerard took the rope from her and seized her
hand, and then they were running toward the shelter of the trees to
where they could hide behind the dense, sweeping branches. When
they reached the willows, they crouched down, panting as hard as
the dog. Light rain began to fall.

They waited there, crouching, for a long
time, but the air over the swamp didn't stir. The storm was coming,
though, because the birds had stilled, and the air smelled like
metal. The girl's skin prickled, but maybe it was just because she
was so scared. A pattering of rain on the willow leaves was the
only sound she could hear. The dog began to whine softly, but
Gerard gave the rope a quick jerk. Keeper sank to the ground,
quivering but quiet.

To the west, a streak of lightning was
followed by a deep rumble of thunder. They waited. Finally Gerard
whispered, "That storm will hit soon. Maybe the gunman's left, or
he's gone in the other direction. I'm going to take a look."

The girl drew in her breath while Gerard
took a step forward to see around the trees. He took another step,
and the silence was broken by the explosive bark of the
shotgun.

The gun was much closer.

Keeper lunged at the end of the rope, and
Gerard grabbed the girl's hand. They ran over the spongy ground,
dodging cottonwood trees and dragging the dog, who kept trying to
run toward the gun. From somewhere behind them, another blast sent
shot that brought down a shower of leaves, and now they could hear
a pounding sound that must be the hooves of horses.

They reached a thick clump of cottonwoods
and squatted down to listen. The pounding hoof beats had stopped.
But the girl heard the baying of hounds coming closer, and through
the spattering rain, a rising wind carried the faint shouts of
men.

Lightning snaked over the swamp, and thunder
boomed like drums. The rain was still light. The girl, her clothes
soaked with swamp water, clenched her teeth to keep them from
chattering and put a shaking hand to her neck. The inside of her
throat felt raw, as if something was tearing at it with sharp
claws.

A sudden explosion of shot ripped the bark
of the trees just in front of where they were squatting. Gerard
pointed at another clump of cottonwoods to the left of them, and
near the trees was a waist-high mound of sparsely grassed
earth.

"Head for that," he whispered, again
quieting the dog. "And run! No matter what happens, keep going!
I'll be right behind you. Now, go!"

She didn't want to leave him, and she shook
her head. Then he lifted his shirt and pulled a hunting knife from
the sheath hanging on his belt.

"Go!" he breathed, and the fierce look in
his eyes and the knife gleaming in his hand made her turn and run,
just as she heard a charge of shot spitting into the ground behind
her. Lightning zigzagged, and overhead a thunder clap sounded like
another shotgun, making the ground underfoot vibrate. She could see
ahead of her a knotted mass of tree roots, and tried to jump over
them, but the heel of her boot caught. She fell headlong, sprawling
on the damp ground.

"Get up! Keep going!" came Gerard's shout
from somewhere behind her. Scrambling to her feet, she caught a
glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, and she knew he was
waiting, was making himself a target so she could get clear. She
hesitated, heard him snap, "Go!" and she ran.

When she reached the mound of earth, she
whirled to see the man and dog racing toward her, and then Gerard
reached out and pulled her to him. They crouched behind the earthen
mound, Gerard's knife gripped in his hand, and listened for either
a man or a spray of shot. They waited, while the rain fell, and the
wind whipped through the cottonwoods.

Between rolls of thunder, the girl could
hear the hounds baying just to the south of them. The wind was
beginning to decrease, and the next peal of thunder sounded farther
away. Gerard had his arm around her shoulders, and she could feel
his warm breath against her cheek when he whispered, "Those hounds
are getting closer, but they're still farther away than the
shotgun. And I don't think the constable would be shooting at us.
So who the hell is?"

The girl shivered, and he pulled her closer
so that her head pressed into the hollow of his shoulder. "Stay,
Keeper!" he said to the dog, who had started to creep forward. A
softer rumble of thunder signaled that the storm was moving on, but
the barking hounds sounded as if they were closing in fast.

Then, suddenly, the shotgun roared, sending
particles of dirt flying into their faces. When Gerard brought his
hand up to wipe his eyes, the rope was yanked from his grasp as
Keeper lunged forward, scrabbling over the mound and down the other
side. Again the shotgun cracked.

The girl wrenched herself away from Gerard
and ran around the earthen mound after the dog. She heard the
shotgun again, and yards ahead of her Keeper jerked and then
flattened. Still snarling, he began to crawl forward on his belly.
Through a veil of rain, the girl saw blood seeping from the dog's
side. At the same time a glint of metal flashed in the trees ahead,
and a thin, sharp-faced man holding a shotgun stepped from behind
a cottonwood trunk.

The girl rushed forward, hearing Gerard yell
behind her. Keeper had stopped moving, and lay still. Even so, the
man had raised the gun to his shoulder and was now aiming it
straight at the dog.

"No! Don't...don't shoot!" the girl
screamed, her throat ripping open, her voice bursting in her ears.
"Keeper! Keeper...."

She threw herself over the dog as the
shotgun exploded.

A
poor young girl of the lower orders,
cajoled, or ruined, more or less, is of course no great matter. The
little baggage is turned out of doors.. . and there is an end of
her.

—W. M. Thackeray,
The Adventures of
Philip,
1861

Glynis sat in Cullen's desk chair with the
most recent copy of
Harper's New Monthly Magazine
and
attempted to read, by the light of a kerosene lamp, the current
installment of William Thackeray's serialized novel. But her eyes
skimmed over the lines unseeing. Just as they had done most of the
afternoon and early evening.

After renting a livery horse for Danny Ross
to take her message to Cullen, she had walked to the library, where
she tried to work. Unable to concentrate, she finally gave it up in
late afternoon. When she had stopped at the dress shop, it was to
see a still miserable Emma, who nonetheless continued plans for her
uncertain wedding.

At last, unable to distract herself from
worrying about Bronwen and Jacques, Glynis had gone back to the
fire-house to worry about Cullen and the girl.

Where
was
Cullen? The time on his
desk clock now read nine, and she could see through the open,
office door the late May twilight beginning to fade. A few minutes
before, she had insisted that Liam Cleary should go home for
supper. Although he had been light-headed with hunger, he had left
with great reluctance.

The night was quiet, and the air coming in
through the doorway and open window felt fresh and cool, cleansed
by the storm. Glynis had turned back to the magazine, but then
leaned forward over the desk, thinking she had just heard hoof
beats. After a minute or two, she decided that horses were indeed
drawing closer; she rose from behind the desk, went to the door,
and stepped outside. By the time she had rounded the firehouse and
looked up the short slope, a number of dogs and horses and men had
collected at the far side of Fall Street. Two of the horses and
their riders shortly broke away and headed west. She guessed those
were the Seneca County sheriff's men returning to the village of
Waterloo. But had the girl been found?

She waited impatiently while the remainder
of the group rode toward her: Cullen on the Morgan, and Zeph with
his two bloodhounds loping to either side of his horse; Adam
MacAlistair; the bounty hunter Sledge; a man with dark hair whom
she couldn't at once identify; and Danny Ross, who was leading a
horse which had slung over its back something that resembled a
sack of grain. Glynis watched anxiously until they came close
enough for her to see that the body on the horse was probably that
of Sledge's otherwise absent partner, and not the girl, or a member
of the search party.

The other men from the village had most
likely gone straight on home. And there was no girl with those who
remained.