Tomorrow he'd ask Ed Warbass to arrest him. Cage him. It wasn't much, he knew; he deserved something colder and infinitely worse. But it was all he could do, the only way he could keep his loved ones safe. The only way he could atone for the atrocity he'd committed on that poor, innocent family.
He sank again to his knees, barely feeling the cold
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dampness of the floor. His chest ached with the need to cry, but his eyes remained painfully dry.
I'm sorry, Lissa. The words churned through his mind in a litany of agonizingly sharp regret. With each repetition he was reminded of how meaningless and stupid the apology sounded, how hollow. In the past weeks, Lissa had given him things he'd thought long gone. He'd even started to think he wasn't such a failure.
Memories and moments crystallized in his mind, lodged like shards of glass in his soul. Lissa, soothing the sweat-dampened hair from his eyes and touching his cheek, guiding him through the pain-filled darkness of the near blackout; Lissa sitting in the big rocker on the porch, with Katie curled in her lap, drawing pictures of letters in the cool night air; Lissa naked, astride him, bending down for a slow, lingering kiss.
Regret and shame coiled together, tasting acrid and bitter in the back of his throat.
Christ, it had felt good to finally be a father. A husband. It was better than he'd ever imagined it could be, and he'd spent a lifetime imagining it. So many nights he'd lain on his lonely couch bed, staring at the darkened ceiling, breathing hard, aching to be invited into a loving circle that existed only in his mind.
Until Lissa had made that circle a reality. She'd brought the children together and formed a strong, lasting bond of love. And, miracles of miracles, she'd held her hand out to him.
Fool that he was, he'd taken it, clung to it, held it to his heart and let himself believe... .
The selfish act had hurt them all. He'd let the girls, and Lissa, believe in the circle, and then he'd ripped the shit out of it and stomped on all their hearts. With each breath he took now, he saw his dream?their dream?slipping be-
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yond his grasp, slipping through fingers too numb and useless to know how to hang on.
He never should have tried to be a father and husband. He had failed, and the failure had caused the horror he'd always known it would. That and so much more. His failure was worse than not trying. He'd let them all down and left them with the most painful memory of all. Happiness.
Chapter Twenty-six
The schoolhouse bell clanged in a slow, melancholy march. Tess pulled the heavy shawl more tightly around her shoulders and glanced uneasily around.
Low-slung clouds slid through the robin's-egg blue sky, casting dark, sinister shadows on the ground. On either side of the dirt road, giant cedar trees reached toward the heavens, their deep green coats rustling softly in the breeze.
The horses plodded methodically onward, their hooves striking the hard-packed earth in a muted march that accentuated the throbbing echo of the bell. With every rumbling, clanking turn of the huge metal wheels, Tess's anxiety increased. She couldn't put her finger on what was wrong. She tried to tell herself it was just the horror of the crime, but she couldn't make herself believe it. There was something else, something dark and dangerous eddying around her family. Something that scared her to death.
The schoolyard was crowded and silent when they finally arrived. Jack expertly maneuvered the wagon amidst the mass of people and horses, and pulled up alongside the fence. Many faces turned their way. None of them called out a greeting or waved hello.
Tess glanced sideways at Jack. He was sitting as straight as a bowstring, staring dead ahead. The battered Stetson was drawn low on his brow, as if to shield his face from
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the townspeople. On the reins, his hands were tight, white fists. His mouth was a tense, colorless line.
He looked like a man on the verge of exploding.
She reached out for him. "Jack, are you?"
He turned to look at her. Tess gasped at the raw, unmasked pain in his eyes, and for a moment she was left breathless. It was more than loss, more even than grief. Something darker, deeper, more akin to terror than mourning.
He started to speak, then changed his mind and jumped down from the wagon. The girls followed.
Tess got down from the wagon and stood beside Jack. Holding Caleb close, she stared up at her husband, feeling a strange sense of foreboding. Something was wrong. Something different and infinitely more dangerous than a murder.
"Jack, I?"
He pushed past her and headed for the schoolhouse, head held high, shoulders stiff.
Katie gave her a tiny shrug, then scurried to keep up with Savannah and Jack. Tess had no choice but to hurry along behind.
The family came together in a military straight line at the schoolhouse steps. They closed ranks, taking strength from one another's presence as they sidled wordlessly together. A silent "chin up" glance passed between the girls.
Jack looked at no one. His gaze was pinned on the closed door, and there was no trace of emotion on his face.
They climbed the stairs and entered the school. The room was filled to overflowing with gesturing, chattering people. Phrases and snippets of conversation rose above the din, leaving no doubt what everyone was talking about. "What do you think?" "It's horrible, I heard?" "Indians?"
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Suddenly voices sputtered and stopped. The din melted into a buzz, and then became nothing at all.
One by one the townspeople turned toward them. Faces paled. Mouths compressed. Eyes narrowed into suspicious slits as they watched Jack.
Realization spilled like ice water through Tess. They think he killed those people. She glanced up at Jack's stern, emotionless profile and knew that he knew it as well. But there was something else in his eyes, something that scared her so badly, she couldn't speak. Guilt.
Yesterday. The memory of Minerva's word flashed like lightning through her mind, rooting her to the spot. Minerva said the murder had taken place yesterday or the day before. Yesterday Jack had been wandering the island alone, with no memory of what he'd done.
Tess felt a numbing rush of fear. The townspeople be damned. Jack thought he'd killed those innocent people.
She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a quiet sob. She wanted to say something, anything, to relieve the stark, unrelenting hardness in his face, but no words came to her. There was nothing she could say. He wouldn't listen.
It would never be enough, she realized with an unfamiliar surge of anger. She could believe in him forever, love him for all time, and it would never be enough. Not if he didn't believe in himself.
"Okay, folks, let's get started," called out a voice from the front of the room.
"What'dya know, Ed?" yelled someone.
The man at the front of the room held out his hands for silence. "Not much yet, Charlie. As you all heard, Henry and Selina Dwyer were found murdered today. Judging by the evidence, we think they were killed early yesterday. Maybe the day before."
"Who done it?" another angry voice demanded.
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Ed shrugged. "We don't know that yet, Will. All we know for sure is that the murderer wore size-seven shoes with seven rows of nails in the sole. I also found an interesting bit of evidence in the Dwyers' root cellar. I've dispatched a letter to Victoria asking for a special officer to help us investigate."
"Well, what can we do?"
"If any of you saw or heard anything out of the ordinary, I'd be much obliged to hear it. Try to think back on anything unusual that happened after that storm. For the rest of you, just go home and stay home. And keep your houses locked tight. There's a murderer on the loose?and he might be one of us."
The drive home seemed endlessly long. The family sat in utter silence. Dark undercurrents swirled around them, shrouding them with a sense of impending doom.
Tess sat stiff as a new nail, her hands coiled in a bloodless ball
in her lap. Every now and then she cast a sideways glance at Jack, but every one was like a stab to the heart. He sat perfectly straight, his eyes focused dead ahead. Sorrow formed a network of lines around his mouth and eyes, adding a dozen years to his face.
When they got home, Tess put Caleb to bed, then herded the girls together and led them to their room. When she looked into their frightened eyes, she felt a surge of anger so strong, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. But she said nothing. There was nothing yet to say until she talked to Jack.
"Night, Mama," Savannah said tonelessly.
"Yeah," Katie murmured.
Tess drew them both into her arms for a long hug, then kissed them good night and watched them crawl into bed together.
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"Are we gonna say prayers tonight?" Katie asked quietly.
Tess forced a comforting smile. "Not tonight, sweetie. I need to ... talk to your daddy."
"T-Tell him we love him," Savannah whispered.
The softly spoken words, whispered by a child but filled with adult fear, was almost more than Tess could bear. It was all she could do to nod.
"Good night, girls."
Turning away, she closed the door behind her and headed toward the barn. It took her a moment to regroup, then she strode purposefully down the dirt road, her chin forced up.
She wouldn't let Jack retreat again. They'd come too far to go back now.
But her good intentions wavered as she neared the barn. Indecision slowed her step. At the door, she paused. Light slid through the darkened slit of the partially open door, crossing her skirt in a snakelike golden streak. From inside came the ragged strains of Jack's labored breathing.
The sound cut through her indecision and revitalized her. Jack was in there, alone, and he was hurting. Tilting her chin again, she slipped inside.
"Help me, God." Jack's prayer was a harsh, anguished moan. "Please ..."
Sadness settled like a hard lump in Tess's heart. He looked so sad and lonely and afraid, standing there at the workbench. His back was to her, but she didn't need to see his face to see the fear in his eyes. The emotion was in every muscle and fiber of his body, in the rigid way he stood, and the thickened rasp of his voice. Even from this distance, she could see the wrinkled red fabric stretched out in front of him. The dried blood was a black splotch across the buttons. Next to the long Johns was a muddy pair of work boots. Tess knew they were size seven.
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Jack had gathered the evidence, thin as it was, and convicted himself.
"Please," he whispered again. "Please ..."
Tess's heart twisted painfully in her chest. Tears stung her eyes.
She understood the formless, aching prayer so well, remembered the tone of voice?harsh with need and low with longing. She'd said the words a thousand times herself, only no one had ever heard them. To the rest of the world, Tess's prayer had been nothing more than the futile movements of a deaf girl's lips. No one had ever heard. No one except God.
She knew how Jack felt, knew it with a certainty that no longer surprised her. Somehow they were linked, she and Jack, and she knew parts of him as well as she knew herself. She knew and understood. He was scared, desperate, lonely.
Loneliness, she knew, was the worst. It made everything more terrifying and overwhelming. She came up beside him without making a sound and touched his arm. "Jack?"
He straightened suddenly, spinning away from her. "What in the hell are you doing here?"
Tess looked in his eyes and saw her worst fear. He was ready to throw it all away again. Ready to run. "Damn it, Jack, don't do this. Don't go backwards again. We've come so far."
He paled. "Go away."
"Jack, you can't shut me out again. I won't let?"
He grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her toward him. She slammed into his chest so hard, the breath blasted from her lungs in a painful wheeze. Her head snapped back. Gasping, she stared up at him.
"It's over, Lissa." Pain glazed his eyes and turned his voice into something scratchy and harsh. "Let it go."
Tess stared at him in horror. The inevitability of this
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moment slipped around her neck like a noose, tightening slowly. Irrevocably. "No," she said in a shaking, desperate voice she hardly recognized. "I won't let you do this."
"You don't have any choice."
Tears blurred her eyes at his calm, quiet words. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to cry. "I love you, Jack."
"And I love you." His words were spoken quietly, and with such an aching sadness, Tess felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach.
She knew then that for Jack, it wasn't enough.
The next morning Tess stood at the kitchen table, crushing salt. She stared at the white pile so hard, it melted in and out of focus, became a mountainous smear. She saw her fingers curl around the smooth wood of the rolling pin, but it might have been another woman's hands for all the connection Tess felt to her body.
She felt ... disembodied, as if her spirit were tagging behind her form. She was scared, terribly, desperately scared, and it took every ounce of her self-control to keep from bursting into tears or screaming at the top of her lungs.
Last night, after the barn, Jack had been so distant and cold. His silence stabbed through her soul and twisted hard.
They'd lain in bed, side by side, touching and yet not melding, their slow, mingled breathing a melancholy march in the strained quiet of the room. She'd waited for him to kiss her, but when he finally did, she wished he hadn't. The kiss was bleak and bittersweet. Then he'd taken her in his arms and held her close. But even then, wrapped in his arms, she'd felt desolate and alone and filled with trembling fear.
He'd whispered, "Good night," then closed his eyes and
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pretended to sleep. But all Tess had heard was "Goodbye."
But she refused to give up. They had time, thank God, to recapture their love and banish Jack's fear. She felt a stirring of hope. Maybe today was a good day for miracles.
The rumbling creak of a poorly sprung wagon slipped through the open kitchen window and wrenched Tess out of her thoughts. Setting down the ridged rolling pin, she wiped her gritty hands on her apron and went outside.
Savannah was pushing Katie on the tree swing. The high, clear sound of their laughter rode on the light spring breeze.
Tess looked around for Jack. He was standing across the road, with one boot hooked casually on the fence's bottom rail. His hat was drawn low across his eyes, as though to shield a too bright sun, but the day was cloudy and cold.
Apprehension stirred in Tess's stomach. Something was wrong. Jack never stood around in the middle of the day. Absently she shoved a lock of fallen hair back into the bun at her nape and moved closer to the porch rail, craning her neck to see who was coming.
The wagon rumbled down the dirt road toward them, churning up a moving cloud of dust that obscured the driver.
"Someone's comin'!" Katie yelled, leaping off the swing. She and Savannah raced across the yard and bounded up the steps, sidling close to Tess.
"Who do you think it is?" Savannah asked.
Tess couldn't answer. Absently she shook her head and shrugged, her eyes still pinned on the rolling cloud of dust. With each crunching turn of the wagon wheels, her anxiety jerked up a notch.
Her gaze cut to Jack. His face was a chalky mask. There
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was no question in his eyes, no apprehension or confusion. He knew exactly who was in that wagon.
Fear rushed through her, chilled her to the bone. She brought a hand to her mouth. Oh, God, Jack, what have you done?
The wagon turned the corner and came into view. Justice of the Peace Ed Warbass was driving.
Tess felt her knees give way. Clamping the hand more tightly atop her mouth, she shot a terrified look at Jack.
Their eyes locked. His gaze was sad and filled with regret. I'm sorry, he mouthed.
It crashed in on her
in a suffocating wave. Consciousness tried to slip away, but she held on to it with desperate, clawing fingers.
Jack had turned himself in for the murders.
"No!" she screamed. Wrenching the tired old linsey-woolsey of her skirt, she dashed down the steps and ran across the road, flinging herself into Jack's arms.
"Tell me you didn't turn yourself in," she whispered urgently.
When he didn't answer, she yanked out of his arms and stared up at him. "Tell me," she yelled.
He flinched. Sadness twisted his features, made him look infinitely old and tired. "Yesterday after the town meeting I told Ed Warbass to arrest me."
"Damn you, Jack Rafferty," she hissed.
He tried to smile, and failed. "There's no doubt about that, Lissa."
She smacked him, a hard, stinging crack across the face that surprised them both. "Don't you dare be flip." Her voice cracked, frayed. Tears flooded her eyes and clogged her throat. "Don't you dare...."
Tess squeezed her eyes shut and fought for a shred of self-control. She had to be cool and composed, had to
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calmly and rationally convince Jack?and Ed?that this was all a horrible mistake.
She tried to find the scientific detachment that had always come so naturally, but it was gone now, buried beneath an avalanche of terror. She pressed a shaking, ice-cold hand to her throat. She couldn't find it within herself to be rational. It felt as if her insides were melting, crumbling away. Everything she'd ever wanted, ever dreamed of, was here, standing in front of her, close enough to kiss. And it was slipping beyond her grasp like an elusive fog.
The wagon pulled up in front of them. "Whoa, boy," Ed Warbass said, reining the horse to a stop.
Jack looked up. "Hi, Ed."
Ed pulled the hat off his head and crushed it in his lap. "Hi, Jack." He nodded at Tess. "Miz Rafferty."
She ran up to the wagon, clutching at the splintery wooden side. "He didn't do it, Ed. I swear he didn't do it."