Sycamore Hill (39 page)

“I... I heard her crying again.”

“Again?”

I glanced up and then away. “I’ve heard her crying since the
first. Ellen said it was just the night sounds—animals, boards creaking, that
sort of thing. But it wasn’t. It was... Prudence Townsend.”

“How long have you known about Miss Townsend?”

“I didn’t know who she was, not until yesterday after Ellen’s
funeral.” I stopped, refusing to allow myself to think of Ellen now. I would
only cry again and make a further fool of myself in front of Jordan. I
swallowed hard before continuing in a ragged voice. “I’ve walked by that
pathetic little grave outside the cemetery many times before. I was always
curious about it, but never asked anyone. Sheriff Hallender stopped to talk to
me, and he told me about her... and what she did to herself.” I shuddered at
the memory of that conversation, and then I remembered last night. My arms
goose-bumped again, and I stared at the schoolroom door fixedly, half expecting
her to appear there in front of me. Jordan did not say anything, and I was
scarcely aware of his intent regard.

“What does she have to do with the bump on your head?” I blinked.
Then I focused on him. “She was crying again last night, and I went into the
schoolroom. I wanted to talk with her. She... she appeared. I ran. I could feel
her right behind me, and I went toward the front door. I opened it, and she
said my name. Then something hit me in the back of the head. The next thing I
remember, it was morning, and I was lying in the schoolroom.”

Jordan frowned.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” I demanded bitterly.

“You’ve got a bump on your head,” he said, offering me a faint
smile.

“You think I’m just another lonely schoolmarm letting her
imagination carry her away.”

“Are you?”

“She exists, I tell you,” I said doggedly.

“You said this ghost of yours was the cause of Ellen’s death.”

“I’m only guessing about that. It was the look on Ellen’s face,” I
said, shutting my eyes against the memory. “I’ve overheard people talking about
it. There are others in this town who believe Prudence Townsend is haunting
this place. They just decided not to share the information with me when I
came.”

“Understandable,” Jordan muttered wryly.

“Very!” I agreed. “Though it wouldn’t have mattered much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a total of two dollars in my bag. Where would I have gone?”
I spread my hands. “But she didn’t threaten me then. It was just the crying at
night and knowing she was here.”

“You’re sure someone isn’t playing an elaborate joke on you?”

“A rather macabre joke, wouldn’t you say?” I snapped. “And it’s
been going on for four months.”

“Maybe someone wants you out of the schoolhouse.”

I looked at him. “There are at least three people who have voiced
that wish. Mr. Olmstead and the Reverend Hayes are two.”

“And the third?”

“You.”

Jordan’s eyes darkened. “You know just how to irritate the hell
out of me, don’t you?”

Orphan meowed again, plaintively. “I’ve got to feed my cat,” I
said quickly.

“Forget that damn cat,” Jordan growled. “It can wait. If it were
worth its salt, it’d be filled up with mice. This place must be crawling with
them.”

Orphan sensed she was not wanted, and she scuttled out the cracked
window.

“What else can you tell me?”

“Isn’t that enough?” I asked, sincerely appalled.

“Is there any physical evidence of what happened?”

I thought hard for a moment. “There have been notes scrawled on
the blackboard. And twice there’s been a rope over the front beam,” I told him
hesitantly.

"Where’s the rope? I’d like to have a look at it.”

“Gone. It was there last night. It wasn’t there this morning.”

“Are you sure it was there in the first place?”

“Yes!”

“All right. Don’t get upset,” he said soothingly. “What sort of
notes?” I related them to him. “Anything unusual about the writing?” Jordan
then asked.

“The messages were printed at first, and they weren’t very neat.”

Jordan stood up and paced restlessly about the room. I watched
him, unable to look away. Would I ever be able to forget this man? I remembered
the first time I had seen him on the road. I had responded to him even then. My
life stretched before me, arid and loveless. Then I thought of his child, and
my hand crept down protectively. Somehow I would find a way, even without
Jordan Bennett.

“What’s the matter?” Jordan asked. I blinked and looked away,
realizing that he had been looking at me.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that, Abby. What is it? Are you sick again? You’ve
been sick an awful lot lately, haven’t you?” He eyed me curiously.

“I’m perfectly all right,” I replied stoically. Jordan gave me a
withering look. Then he moved toward the door.

“Jordan?” I appealed, and he looked back at me, his mouth tightly
drawn, eyes narrowed.

“Did you have something else you wanted to tell me?” His
expression was hard and unyielding.

“No, I guess not. I think I’ve told you quite enough as it is,” I
said tiredly. Jordan’s expression grew even colder. “You don’t believe she’s in
there, do you?” I looked toward the schoolroom door and shivered.

“I think something very strange is going on around here,” he
admitted, relenting only slightly. He pushed his heavy jacket back from his
belt and shoved his hand into his pocket in a casual, careless stance. He
obviously was not much concerned, I thought, hurt by his indifference. Yet, I
still wanted him to stay. I ached to tell him about our baby.

“Someone wants to scare you out of here,” Jordan said
thoughtfully. “But I doubt if it’s a ghost. There’s a more rational explanation
than that one.”

“What do you think I should do?” I asked shakily, wanting him to
make the decision for me. His mouth tightened again.

“Since you won’t take my advice and see Doc Kirk, I think you
should lie down and rest,” he said curtly. That had not been what I meant, and
he knew it. His answer seemed to confirm my feelings that, while he had
listened to my incredible story, he was not much concerned over it. Any thought
of confiding in him about the baby dissipated with his look. Unable to bear his
indifference, I averted my eyes. He yanked open the door and left.

It was only after he had gone that I wondered why he had come to
the schoolhouse in the first place.

After fixing myself a light breakfast of warm toast and tea, I did
as Jordan suggested and lay down on my cot to rest. Surprisingly, I slept for
hours, and awakened feeling somewhat refreshed. The dizziness was gone, though
the lump on the back of my head was still tender to the touch.

Deciding that cleaning was too strenuous, I busied myself making
class plans for the new year. I scanned textbooks and jotted down possible
assignments that would be fun and informative for the children.

Around four o’clock I prepared a small can of stew for dinner.
Then I toted water from the well. My headache returned with the heavy work, but
it lessened when I bathed in the warm water. By the time I emptied the tub and
set it away, it was after six and already dark. The sky had been overcast that
afternoon, and I wondered if there would be another storm tonight. I remembered
the leaks in the schoolroom, and I decided to set out some pans to prevent too
much water damage. Having done that, I went to bed.

A loud crash and a muffled oath awakened me. I felt dazed with
sleep for a moment, and then heard another crash. Someone was in the
schoolroom. I remembered what Jordan had said that afternoon about someone
wanting to scare me into leaving, and I felt a sudden surge of anger. Was this
all a hoax designed to terrify me? I shoved back the covers and tiptoed across
to the lantern near the door. Hurriedly, I struck a match and set it to the
wick. Then I opened the door, intending to confront the mischief-maker and
demand an explanation.

The front door of the schoolhouse was ajar. I hooked the lantern
on the bar just inside my door and walked into the classroom. A pan was upside
down and moved from where I had set it earlier. A puddle of water was splashed
on the floor beside it.

Footsteps were coming up the front landing. I looked up, startled
and saw someone standing in the doorway.

“Abby!”

“You!” I breathed.

“I saw the light in your room. What’s going on?” Jordan asked.

“What are
you
doing here?” I demanded in turn. He had
stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes moved slowly about
the room and then came to rest on me.

“I came to see your ghost, what else?” he answered mockingly. He
looked away and noticed the pan. “Did the cat kick over the pan? Or did
Prudence Townsend?”

I didn’t like his tone, but answered nevertheless. “Orphan won’t
come into this room at night,” I told him flatly. “But something kicked it
over.”

“Not some
thing
—some
one
.”

“I don’t see much difference,” I said wearily. He was looking at
me, and the lantern light from behind me cast enough illumination for me to see
the tautness of his expression. His eyes moved down slowly, taking in my long,
loose hair tumbling around my shoulders and down my back, and the white
nightgown I was wearing. I was unaware that the light behind me clearly
silhouetted my body.

“Abby....”

My heart thudded wildly at his hoarse tone. He came slowly toward
me, stopping just in front of me. For a long moment he did not move. Then his
hands came up to my shoulders, caressing and gentle. I tilted my chin up as his
mouth descended. His lips touched mine in a soft, testing kiss. I knew then I
should draw away, but I didn’t want to. He lifted his head and looked down into
my face. Opening his jacket, he drew me against him, pulling his coat back
around me. Then he kissed me again with devastating effect. His kiss went on.
One lingering caress led to another. The heat of his body grew like a furnace
through the thin-cotton fabric of my gown. I knew Jordan was fully aroused.
Knowing that my effect on him was as fast and as profound as his on me was
headily intoxicating. The blood sang wildly in my ears, and my heart drummed in
a frantic race with his.

Jordan moved restlessly, pushing back far enough so that I saw his
eyes were dilated and bright. His hand shook as he raised it to my face. Then
he kissed me again.

“You know I want you, Abby. Let me make love to you. Here. Now,”
he breathed against my mouth before taking it again.

Want... not love, my mind cried painfully. He only wants to use me
again like he did at the river to relieve his physical need for a woman—any
woman.

Jordan sensed my withdrawal. His embrace tightened. “Abby,” he
groaned in protest. “I need you.” His hand moved down my spine to the small of
my back, pressing me hard against him so I could have no doubt. My own need of
him almost threatened to overcome my pride. I struggled slightly, afraid if I
remained any longer in his arms, I would forget everything but this moment and
the intense desire for his possession. Jordan kissed me again, roughly
passionate. I pulled my mouth away, knowing I had to say something, anything,
to stop what was going to happen.

“I haven’t forgotten your obligations to Reva even if you have,” I
managed, grasping at the first thing that came into my head. Jordan’s caress
stopped abruptly. He didn’t move, and his stillness was worse than anything I
had ever experienced. Irrationally, I wanted to reach up and kiss him, to
apologize for the lost moment and the words that meant nothing.

His fingers bit into my shoulders as he shoved me away. His eyes
were still dark and bright but with another emotion equally as primitive as
passion.

“That was as effective as a cold shower,” he ground out.

“You do owe Reva something,” I said, not wanting to allow myself
to relent and apologize. Jordan’s look was full of hostility.

“You still persist in believing Diego is my son.” He sneered at
me. When I did not answer, he went on. “I’d be proud to have a son like him.
But, no, damn you. He is not my son. I’ve never been with Reva... not in that
way. I grew up with her, for God’s sake. It would have been like bedding my own
sister.” His fingers reached out, pinching painfully around my jaw and tilting
my face up with a jerk. “Or do you think me capable of that sin as well?!” He
released me and stepped away as though afraid of what else he might do if he
remained too close to me.

“You wanted me to believe it was true,” I whispered, remembering
the implications he had made himself.

He looked at me in utter contempt. “You believed exactly what you
wanted to believe! You heard just what you wanted to hear! I thought if you had
time to think things through, you’d have the sense not to believe all the
gossip. Until now, I’ve never explained myself to anyone. I didn’t think it
would even be necessary with you. But you’re no better than anyone else. In
fact, you’re worse! You’re the lowest kind of hypocrite there is. Have you ever
analyzed your actions, Miss Abigail McFarland? You turn up your Boston nose
over what you
imagine
is going on with Reva, while you spread yourself
like a whore for me in a field above Altadena Creek!”