Sitting on a nearby boulder, I listen to his journey into theravine. How are you holding up?
He grunts from exertion as he climbs. I’ll pass on the pienext time the sewing circle offers it.
Please eat the pie, I answer. Skip the climbinginstead.
“A fine effort, Craddock,” Kelly says.
Gravel pelts Tom a moment later and he curses softly. “Is thestrain of watching too much for you?”
The doctor laughs. “For a lesser man, maybe, but I could dothis all day. Don’t hurry on my account.”
It takes a while, but Tom makes it to the canyon floor. “Safeand sound,” he yells.
Tom searches for Freckles for hours. To pass the time, we arguetelepathically about politics, quote poetry, and discuss things of interest inthe canyon. He tells me the creek has chunks of ice floating in it, the rocksby the water frosted and shining. Leaning back, I close my eyes and listen tohis movements.
Kelly sits across from me, sorting his pack of medical wonders.He explains each item: the magnifying glass, tweezers, envelopes and linen sheets,glass specimen jars, scraping tools, thin cotton gloves and several chemicalcompounds. Is such a collection typical of most doctors? I admire individualswho prepare for all possibilities, but this is a little unsettling.
“We have bones down here, Kelly,” Tom suddenly shouts. “Bits ofan arm or leg, I’d say. I’ve put a stake nearby. Don’t see any other parts asyet, but I’ll keep looking.”
Kelly hustles to the edge of the ravine. He and Tom call backand forth as more discoveries are made. Quite a few bones, a ring, and scrapsof gingham.
In spite of the wind, I hear a sly, cunning presence creepingthrough the cedars. I rise to my feet, facing west. Not alone, Tom. Badfeeling…
He immediately disconnects from me. “Watch your back, Kelly,”he calls. “Protect Hester.”
But Tom isn’t fast enough with his warning. Footsteps rush up behindKelly and the doctor cries out in surprise, as though he has been pushed towardthe ravine. I cover my mouth in terror and wait for the crash of bone andmuscle striking rocky earth. It doesn’t happen. Rather, Kelly makes a gutturalsound, like he’s holding on to something for all he’s worth.
Tom? What do I do? How can I help him?
“Forget Kelly,” he yells. “Run!”
I reach for my cane, but I am grabbed from behind and spunaround. The strong fingers are swathed in wool, and my attacker clamps themaround my throat, almost lifting me from the ground. I claw at his face. But mygloves are soft and slide over his flesh, allowing me no purchase. He swings meto the side and squeezes harder. My eyes stream with tears.
Help me. Can’t breathe…
Fight, love—buy yourself time. We’re coming.
In desperation, I pound on my attacker—his sternum, throat, andnose. Then I kick him hard with the pointy tip of my boot. He flinches and hisfingers go slack. My topaz necklace catches on something—his wool mitten,perhaps?—and breaks just before the man throws me to the ground. I fall flat onmy back, and immediately reach for the knife under my skirt. The blade fliesstraight and true, finding its target.
A low whimper, and seconds later, the knife drops to theground, clattering between some rocks. My enemy steps toward the fallen blade,no doubt with the intent of retrieving the weapon and using it against me.Fearful, I scoot back, trying to put some distance between us. This fellowhates me. His emotions smell like a sea of blood. I reach under my skirt again,take out the second knife, and hold it between my fingers, tracking the villainby the sound of his breath. It smells faintly of food, some kind of meat.
He pauses, and I feel him watching me, as though he’s weighinghis options. Then he turns and flees toward the forest, breaking through thetrees. Suddenly exhausted, I lie back on a patch of stony earth and wipe themucous from my nose.
Alive, Tom. Alive.
While I was being attacked, he climbed desperately. I heard himin my mind, bartering with the universe for a pardon. Spare Hester. Take meinstead. Kelly, on the other hand, muttered obscene phrases that I neverdreamed existed. The man is a cursing wordsmith. Had Willard been there, hewould have erected a bronze bust in Kelly’s honor.
The doctor hoists himself over the ledge. He examines mythroat, and checks for other wounds. “Hester Grayson,” Kelly says, breathingheavily. “One day you’ll give me a heart attack. Followed by a stroke. Anervous tic. Gout—”
Tom clears the rim, scrambles to my side, and interruptsKelly’s list of grievances. He hugs my quaking body for a few minutes, strokingmy hair—I’ll be back, my brave, bonny lass. Keep a knife in your hand andwait here—then leaves with the doctor to search for my attacker.
I worry for what seems like an age and then they return,discussing the would-be killer’s footprints. “Average size,” Tom says. “Commonbrand of boots. No distinguishable markings.”
“Wish I’d seen the bastard, but he was so quiet. Didn’t hear athing until he shoved me over the side.”
I share what I remember of the assailant with Tom. Strongbuild but slim. Tall, though not quite your height. Smelled of meat, like he’drecently eaten it. And his hands had the same odor. As if he’d made food andfailed to wash afterward. Pungent emotions, too. Lots of rage.
Tom shows my knife to Kelly.
“The depth of the bloodstain on the blade is shallow,” thedoctor points out. “I think you winged him, Hester, and he panicked.”
Kelly wipes the dagger clean and hands it back. Slipping itinto the sheath on my leg, I remember the loss of my necklace.
Tom, your grandmother’s topaz—the attacker broke the chain.He may have taken it. I didn’t hear the necklace fall to the ground.
He tells the doctor about the topaz, and they search the immediatearea. Despite their efforts, the heirloom remains unfound. I feel awful forlosing something so dear.
Me paenitet. So sorry.
You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.
Sitting down beside me, Tom squeezes my hand, and then reachesfor his pack. “Kelly, take a look
