Kelly returns to the table, sits down quietly. Thank you,I sign. Didn’t know.
“You’re welcome, Hester. Though I dislike causing you pain.”
It isn’t long after Kelly leaves that I hear chickens flappingaround the back yard, making a terrible ruckus. A fox, perhaps? No. Soundsbigger. Maybe it’s Mary Arden.
I wait for Willard to go outside to check on the poultry but hedoesn’t. Did the handyman leave while I was having tea with Kelly? Gabrieldoesn’t stir from his room either. After a tiring day at the forge, he often takesa nap before supper. The snoring has already begun.
Stepping out onto the back porch, I listen, but the rain fromthis morning makes it difficult to deduce much from a person’s footsteps. Whois it? The wind gathers force and the shutters slam against the house. I covermy ears with my hands. Something flies through the air behind me.
I wake up in the arms of a stranger. The fellow is walking ata fast pace, as though carrying an unconscious woman is no trouble at all. “Scarlett’sleaving on the last train,” he says. “We’re to drop her in the box and put thelid on. Clean and simple. Insisted it had to be done tonight.”
Drop who in the box? Me?
Another man is walking on the right. He smokes cheap cigarettes,and the odor of old tobacco smoke has permeated his being. “Well, I prefer abit of notice,” he says. “Professional courtesy and all that. What if I hadplans for the evening?”
“Exactly right. Our personal lives count for something, don’tthey? We’re more than just hired muscle.”
Sensitive hoodlums. Men like these bring out my violenttendencies. I punch the face of the one holding me prisoner and kick at hisside. It doesn’t seem to bother him a bit. What in tarnation? A right cross isusually quite effective. Without breaking stride, the oaf adjusts his grip onmy body, pinning my hands against his chest.
“A little she-devil, ain’t she? A regular hoyden.”
“At least this one can’t scream,” the other criminal replies.“I hate when they do that. My ears ring for a week.”
“You really should think about using cottonwool plugs. It’schanged my life as far as work is concerned.”
“Would the boss spring for them? Since it’s a job-related expense?”
I sigh to myself. Must I always get the stupidkidnappers?
A long drawn-out creaking hits my ear, as though an old door isbeing pulled open. We enter a building that smells of dead flowers and incense.Even though I fight them, Scarlett’s men follow his directions to the letter, anddrop me into some kind of box. My head hits the bottom, and I loseconsciousness once more. Yet the cold stone under my body revives me. Marble, Ithink. I slide my fingers along the sides of the box, only to discover a heavylid above. I push and push to no avail. How I dislike being confined. Especiallysince this isn’t actually a box—it’s a sarcophagus. An above ground coffin keptin a crypt, usually locked away and forgotten.
James Scarlett, I despise you. Loathe you to eternity.You’re a vile, monstrous creature!
Oh, stop ranting, Hester. Think while the oxygen lasts.Where are you? Stonehenge only has one cemetery with a crypt. Holy Trinity. AmI in the Grayson death chamber? If so, Mama is just across the room in her ownmarble box. And I must be trapped in the one meant for Father—unless the bankhas foreclosed upon it.
Damned irony. Is there any other kind?
Growing light-headed, I pound my fist against the stone, lividonce more that this, my murder, has played out so conveniently for Scarlett.And with so little respect. Couldn’t be here to kill me himself. Oh no, he hasa train to catch. I’ll slap Death in the face when He comes for me —
Something heavy hits the sarcophagus and sound waves rumbleover me. The marble box and I both quake under the impact. Oh thepain—the cold sharpness that crisscrosses my skull. And I’m nauseous, I have noequilibrium. It sounds as though the world is underwater, as if a lake swirlswithin my brain. I cover my head and find a sticky wetness about the sides ofit. Blood.
My eardrums have burst.
34
Quid est veritas?
What is truth?
Theunderwater sensation dissipates quickly, leaving my hearing raw and exposed, evenmore sensitive than before. Each noise is a hot poker. I try to shut off my ears,but I lack control over my own body. The blows against the marble continue, andI think I might die from the vicious sound waves until a gust of air rushesover me. The stone lid must have chipped, creating a small hole. I suck thebeautiful oxygen into my lungs, and hear my rescuer breathing heavily outside.He must be strong to rain down such wrathful strokes.
“Not long now,” the man says. “And you’ll be free.”
Tears fill my eyes, and I wipe them away. ‘Not long now andyou’ll be free?’ These are the nicest words he’s ever said, and one ofthe few times I’ve heard my father speak directly to me.
Eventually he creates a big enough divot in the marble for himto stick his hand inside and take hold of the lid. He pushes with all his mightand moves it back a bit—then he reaches inward. I feel him grip my feet andpull. My body scoots along until my legs are draped over the side of thesarcophagus. Father puts his hands around my waist and draws me out like anungainly calf being extracted from its squalling mother.
He sets me down and moves away quickly. “We’re even now,” hewhispers.
Even? What is he talking about?
My father dusts off his clothes. “No more, Hester. I did what Icould, and that’s the end of it.”
How did he know I needed help?
I reach toward my father, and he flinches, smelling strongly offear. He drops something—his hammer, maybe—and turns for the door. I step tothe side, right into his path.
“I said we’re square. Move.”
My entire life, I’ve wanted him to
