'Is there any way you can keep those people from blocking the school entrance?' Jeannie asked. 'It's important for me to be able to go to work.'
'Ma'am, all we can do is disperse the crowd and arrest anyone who isn't cooperative or is causing any harm.' Painter shook his head. 'I'm afraid we just don't have enough manpower to keep officers at the school all the time.'
'Jeannie?' Reaching down, Marta took Jeannie's hand. 'Most of the children didn't come to school today.'
'What?' Jeannie stared up at Marta, who squeezed her hand.
'We had numerous parents call to say that they saw WXBB's morning newscast showing the crowd outside the school. They're afraid, Jeannie, and I can't blame them.'
'This situation is intolerable!' Rising off the sofa, Jeannie lifted her cane. 'Our children are being punished by that swarm of reporters and that picket line of so-called Christians. And it's all my fault. Because of me, the children can't even come to school.'
'This isn't your fault,' Marta said. 'You've done so much good for the children. You've helped them in a way none of us can.'
'But now my coming to the school will harm them.' Jeannie walked over to Sam. 'I thought I was doing the right thing going to school today, but I see now that as long as things stay the way they are, I can't continue my work at the Howell School. My presence would pose a threat for the children and the staff.'
'The staff is one hundred percent behind you,' Marta said.
Jeannie smiled that warm, gentle smile that tore at Sam's heart. He couldn't let her smile or her tears keep getting to him this way!
'Marta, you and the others will have to carry on without me. Until I have control of my life again, I can't come back. But I would appreciate being kept informed on each child's progress.'
'I'll call you every day and fill you in on all the details.' Marta gripped Jeannie's free hand tightly.
'Thank you.' Jeannie closed her eyes for a brief moment, absorbing Marta McCorkle's fear and concern. 'Don't be afraid. Everything will be all right.'
'I know it will.' Marta bit her bottom lip. Tears gathered in the corners of her hazel eyes. 'I'll handle things.' Marta glanced at Sam. 'Please take care of her. She's very dear to all of us, you know.'
Sam swallowed hard. Damn sentimental females! He nodded. What was he supposed to say? Hell, he owed Jeannie Alverson his life, and he was going to do whatever was necessary to keep her safe.
Jeannie looked at Sam. 'I'm sorry I overreacted. You were right and I was wrong.'
Sam didn't say anything; he simply nodded again. Maybe now she'd follow his orders without question. It sure would make life a lot simpler if she did.
One of the young policemen standing in the foyer called for Lieutenant Painter. 'I think you'd better come here, Lieutenant. Take a look outside.'
'Stay here,' Sam told Jeannie.
'All right.' Jeannie held on to Marta's hand.
Sam stood behind Lieutenant Painter, looking over his head, when the man gazed out the panel window on the right side of the front door.
'Damn,' Painter said.
A live news team from WXBB had one camera aimed at the Howell house and another at a small group of Righteous Light brethren surrounding their leader. Reeves, his mane of sandy red hair glowing like fire in the morning sunshine, stood atop a folding chair in the midst of his followers, who waved their signs in the air and looked to Reeves for cues. A shout of 'Repent, devil's daughter!' rose from the disciples.
'I ran a preliminary check on Reverend Reeves,' Sam told Painter. 'He talks a good game, and he appears to be a spellbinding speaker. I'd say he sees an opportunity for publicity and intends to use his damnation of Jeannie Alverson as a stepping-stone to national recognition.'
'I'd say the man could be dangerous.' Painter motioned to the two uniformed policemen. 'Go outside and ask the reverend to take his band of merry men and women somewhere else before I have their butts tossed in jail.'
'Yes, sir,' the two men replied in unison.
Painter opened the door for his men. 'Whatever you do, Dundee, keep Ms. Alverson inside.'
Sam stood in the open doorway, watching Painter walk out onto the veranda. Suddenly a war cry of 'Witch!' rose from the Righteous Light disciples. Reverend Reeves, sweat dripping from his flushed face, pointed a neatly manicured index finger toward the Howell house and demanded that Jeannie end her unholy alliance with the devil. The WXBB newswoman shared with her audience the hoopla surrounding the Howell home, where the Mississippi faith healer lived. The camera zoomed in on Reeves's face, showing plainly the righteous indignation of the evangelist determined to bring Jeannie Alverson to repentance.
Sam realized that Reeves considered himself a power to be reckoned with. His gut instincts warned him that the scripture-quoting evangelist was evil incarnate, a disciple of hate, not of love. And Jeannie was right. The man probably did intend to kill her.
What Sam needed was a complete, detailed report on Reeves's life. Somewhere there was bound to be a well-kept secret, a little flaw in the man's holier-than-thou armor. Sam hoped he could show the police proof that Reeves was a real danger to Jeannie before the man actually tried to harm her.
He had to find a way to stop Reeves. Even if that meant killing him to defend Jeannie. If it came down to that, he'd have no other choice. But what would she think of him then, gentle, tenderhearted Jeannie? Would she be able to understand the savage warrior in Sam, the primitive nature inside him that made him capable not only of dying to protect her, but also capable of killing, if need be, to keep her safe?
Sam shouldn't give a damn what Jeannie thought of him. But, heaven help him, he did.
« ^ »
Later that Friday evening, Jeannie decided to face the mounting correspondence piled on her desk. She divided the letters into three separate stacks on top of the pale pink heirloom quilt that covered her bed. Every day, more and more letters poured in from across the United States, and now requests were coming in from Canada, Mexico, South America and Europe. In a week's time, her sane, sensible, orderly life had been completely destroyed. Poor little Cassie Mills, in all her sweet innocence, had opened a Pandora's box of problems for Jeannie.
'Why do you read those things? You should throw them in the trash.' Sam Dundee stood just inside the open door, pure masculine beauty in his tailored gray pin-striped suit and coordinating burgundy-and-gray silk tie.
'I divide them into categories.' Jeannie patted the stack directly in front of her. 'These I throw away—' she pointed to the stack on her left '—and these, too.'
'Let me guess.' Sam closed the heavy wooden door behind him. 'The throwaway letters are from journalists requesting interviews and from crackpots condemning you as a witch.'
Jeannie looked up at Sam, standing by her bed, his steely blue-gray eyes piercing in their intensity as he stared at her. Her heart skipped a beat. 'These—' she cleared her throat '—are from people asking for my help.' Lifting the large stack of letters in her hands, she pressed them to her bosom. 'They break my heart. So much misery and suffering, and I can't even offer them hope.'
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Sam looked away, not wanting to see her cry. Why the hell did she care so much about people she didn't know? And why weep over the fact that she couldn't permanently heal the whole world of its illnesses? Because Jeannie was that kind of person. She cared too much, and that caring caused her great pain.
He realized there was a lot he didn't know about Jeannie. And he wanted to know everything, yet at the same time he was afraid to find out more.
Sam walked over to the window and looked outside. Early-evening shadows, violet blue and cool, wavered in the August twilight. He kept his back to Jeannie, hoping she wasn't crying and hoping she didn't realize what he was thinking. Sam Dundee was a man who'd seldom been afraid of anything, and yet Jeannie Alverson frightened him in a way nothing and no one ever had.
In some ways, she reminded him of his niece Elizabeth. Both of them were unique women, born with special talents. But there was a vulnerability in Jeannie that Sam had never seen in Elizabeth. A sadness that ran so deep