Dorothy Garlock (29 page)

He smiled. “It’s dangerous over there. If a fellow’s not careful, he could lose a finger or two.”

“I think one of my mother’s pies was gone before I even set the tray down.”

The band chose that moment to wind down their song and the inside of the barn erupted in applause. Over a dozen people took
that opportunity to head toward the food table, Charley Tatum in the lead.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Cole said into the relative quiet. “I like your blouse.”

Sophie blushed at the compliment but was pleased that he had noticed her attempt to dress up for him; she’d bought the new
white blouse only a few days earlier, admiring the way that the neckline dipped slightly, hoping beyond hope that Cole would
feel the same.

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” she offered in return.

“If there’s one thing I’ve always been good at, it’s cleaning up.”

They talked easily with each other, as if they were the only two people in the barn. Sophie spoke of how much work her mother
had done in the kitchen, while Cole told of a letter he had just received from Jason in California, reciting it nearly word
for word. He’d just finished when the band started playing again.

“Would you like to dance?” Cole asked.

Sophie was so surprised that she couldn’t respond with words; instead, she grabbed him by the arm and led him out to the center
of the barn, her smile brighter than the bonfire.

“Take it easy with me,” he cautioned, so she did.

The melody of the song was quick, a furious scratching of the violins with the wheezing and bellowing of the accordion, the
other instruments pitching in for good measure. Nearly a dozen people joined them, exulting in the music and the company of
friends.

Cole made certain to find his balance, his good leg planted firmly on the dirt floor, and began to clap his hands to the tune.
His dancing skills were minimal, a hesitant bobbing of his shoulders and bending of his good knee, but he seemed genuinely
glad to be there. For her part, Sophie danced in front of him, her body a whirling dervish of dark hair, slightly raised skirt,
and no small amount of happiness.

On and on they danced, the music seeming to stretch into the night. The way that Sophie was feeling pushed her ever on, until
she finally began to spin, and everything around her dissolved into a mess of colors and sound. Still, with every twirl, she
always returned to Cole’s eyes.

They danced until they were spent, both of them breathing heavily, Sophie’s black hair wet with sweat. This time, when the
music ended, they were both clapping, their heart pounding in their chests but their mood light and ebullient. Cole took her
by the hand and led her off the makeshift dance floor.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

“It’s either that or I have to dunk my head in the horse trough.”

“Whatever am I going to do with you?” Sophie laughed before heading off into the throng.

Graham Grier walked the last half mile to the Hellers’ farm. From the moment that Sophie had left him standing in the dark
night shadows of her family’s barn a week earlier, he had done nothing but stew in his own frustration, plotting how he would
regain his honor, how he would regain Sophie’s hand. Kicking at the dry brush that lined the road, he heard the first sounds
of the barn dance drifting along the evening air, a shout here and a snippet of laughter there, but the joyous noises only
served to enrage him further. Graham was very angry.

He was also quite drunk.

Tipping back the whiskey flask that he had stolen from his father’s office, he took a deep slug of the liquor, savoring the
way that it burned down his gullet, giving him more courage to do what he knew was needed. He’d already had plenty of the
booze, more than he’d ever drunk before, but that wasn’t about to stop him. Sloshing the whiskey around in the flask, he was
happy to hear that there was at least a bit more left.

“And I’m gonna drink it too,” he vowed.

Weaving tipsily, Graham struggled to stay upright as the farmhouse entered his view. He’d come out to the farm often when
he’d been younger on visits to Sophie, but it seemed that all of his recent trips were now rife with bad intentions: burning
the barn in the company of Ellis and Riley, confronting Sophie a week earlier, and for what he was about to do.

Especially for what I’m about to do…

Graham held no doubt that Cole Ambrose would be in attendance at the barn dance; there wasn’t any part of him that could imagine
Sophie not inviting the man. He had given the crippled bastard a chance, warning him to stay far away, but he hadn’t paid
attention. Now he would have to reap what he sowed.

Drowning himself in liquor served another purpose: easing away all thoughts of Carolyn Glass and the bastard child that grew
in her belly. That unborn baby and the night it had been conceived was Graham’s cross to bear, his burden. Sophie had wanted
him to tell her the truth, but he knew that if he were to be honest, she would never speak to him again.

Cresting a low rise at the edge of the Hellers’ property, Graham finished off the last of the whiskey, some of it dribbling
down his shirt. Angrily wiping his mouth, he nearly tipped over, his head suddenly lurching, but he kept his balance and looked
out over the grounds.

The rebuilt barn was the spitting image of the one he had helped to destroy, right down to the red and white paint that covered
it. He was surprised to see a blazing bonfire so close to the building; he would have thought that Hermann would have had
enough bad associations with his buildings and fire to allow such a thing. He was too far away to make out any individual
faces, but he knew that his quarry was there… he was certain of it. Stumbling forward on unsteady legs, he headed toward the
bonfire and the barn beyond.

“Hey, Graham!” someone shouted, but he never turned his head.

Somehow, he managed to make his way to the open barn, dropping the flask and grabbing on to one of the doors, holding on for
dear life. Loud music poured over him, disorienting him further. The whiskey had a hold on him and his vision swam; the sight
that looked back at him from inside the barn was one of swirling movement.

Fighting back the urge to vomit, Graham began looking for Cole Ambrose in the depths of the barn. The going was harder than
he had anticipated; stumbling along, bumping into someone, then a chair, then another person, all the while the effects of
the whiskey grew stronger and stronger on his addled head. The way things were going, running into the crippled son of a bitch
was bound to happen by dumb luck.

“Goddamn it all,” he muttered to himself.

Suddenly, the music came to a halt, the dancers stopped moving, and a round of applause broke out. As couples moved off the
dance floor, Graham searched the room for some sign of the teacher. He had just managed to avoid being run down by a man making
a beeline for a table overloaded with food when, through a part in the crowd, he saw Sophie. She had her back to him, pulling
a loose strand of her black hair behind her ear, Cole Ambrose smiling at her over her shoulder.

Looking at the man who he’d already beaten down like a rabid dog, Graham could not help but sneer; that this cripple was usurping
his rightful place at Sophie’s side was an insult that he could not stomach. He’d meant what he’d said to Sophie a week earlier;
this was a man who could no more provide for her than he could run a mile! But what would Sophie say about what he was about
to do? Would she attempt to interfere? Would she understand that he was doing it for her own good?

But can I go through with it?

The truth was Graham wasn’t entirely certain why he had come to the farm. If Ellis knew what he was doing, he would be furious
with him for having jeopardized their future plans. He had some hopes that he could repair what he had broken with Sophie,
but somewhere inside him he knew it was all an illusion, a broken mirror that could never be put back together; simply trying
to pick up the shards would get his hands cut and bloodied. All that remained to him, the only option he could see, was to
hurt the cripple, to show Cole Ambrose what a real man looked like.

Then Sophie walked away, leaving Cole alone.

Cole saw Graham coming. Sophie had moved only a few feet away when the man came stumbling toward him, swaying and wobbling
like a farmer who suddenly found himself out to sea in the midst of a raging storm. For a moment, it looked as if he would
fall, but he somehow stayed upright, finally coming to a halt just in front of Cole. Graham’s eyes were bloodshot red, his
lips wet with spittle, and he reeked of liquor.

This was a confrontation that Cole had been expecting. Sophie had told him all about Graham’s late-night visit of a week earlier,
of his failure to give her a clear explanation as to why he had joined with Ellis Watts to terrorize her family, saying only
that it had something to do with a mistake he had made.

“I told you… to stay away from her,” he mumbled.

“I remember.”

The memory of the vicious beating Graham had given him outside the school remained fresh in Cole’s head; most of his bruises
had only just faded, though a cluster of mottled brown still marked his cheekbone. His first thought was to return the favor,
to ball up his fists and pummel the man senseless, but he couldn’t find the anger in his heart. Surprisingly, the only emotion
that Cole could find for Graham was pity.

“You had best leave, Graham,” he said. “There isn’t any…”

“Don’t give me that shit, goddammit!”

Heads turned at Graham’s outburst, the pleasant air of the barn dance upset by his drunken words and tone. Out of the corner
of his eye, Cole saw Sophie abruptly turn, her eyes growing wide at the man responsible for the commotion; he could only hope
she would stay away.

“Why did you come here?” Cole asked.

“Because you didn’t listen to a word I said!” Graham shouted. “You were supposed to stay away from her! You’re not good enough
for Sophie, and you never will be! She should be with me!”

“What Sophie wants isn’t for either of us to decide,” Cole answered solemnly and carefully; Graham was clearly a powder keg
that was ready to explode. “Neither one of us has the right to tell her what’s best for her.”

“You worthless cripple! I told you what would happen if you didn’t stay away from her!”

“There hasn’t been a threat uttered that would make me do that.”

Without warning, Graham lurched toward Cole, looping a punch that clearly had little chance to reach its mark; the alcohol
the man had consumed had deteriorated both his judgment and his body. Cole easily blocked the punch with his forearm and reared
back to throw a right hand of his own. His fist struck Graham square in the jaw, snapping his head abruptly to the side, and
the man’s knees instantaneously left him. He fell to the ground as if he were a limp doll, his arms and legs splaying in the
dirt, unconscious.

Looking down at Graham’s still body, Cole found no pleasure in what he had done. There was no joy to be had in defeating such
an impaired man, regardless of the irony, even one that had only days before felt no such reluctance in attacking him.

“Cole, are you all right?” Sophie worried as she rushed to his side.

“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.”

“Someone best go and call the police,” Charley Tatum said. “This boy needs a night in jail to cool his head.”

Cole watched as Sophie’s eyes found her father’s where he stood among the group of people looking down at Graham. Hermann
Heller seemed deep in thought, his brow furrowed and his face a mask of concentration, but when he looked up, his eyes seemed
clear.

“Go on up to the house,” he said to Karl, “and call the sheriff.”

Sophie’s hands stiffened around Cole’s arm, but he knew that the right decision had been made. It had been a mistake to allow
the three men who attacked Sophie and her family to get away with their crimes. Now, finally, it appeared that justice would
be served.

I
T WAS WELL
after midnight when Sophie took Cole by the hand and began to pull him toward the woods behind her family’s barn. Many of
the barn dance’s revelers remained, the sound of their voices carrying in the night air, but the gathering was clearly winding
down. Though several hours had passed since Graham Grier had confronted him inside the barn, hours since the drunken man had
been hauled away by the sheriff, Cole’s heart thundered like a jackrabbit’s.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You’ll just have to trust me,” Sophie answered mysteriously.

“With everything that’s happened, I don’t know if it’s such a good—”

“There’s nothing to fear out here.”

Stepping into a rut of a path that cut among the tall grass, they plunged into the tree line and were swallowed by the darkness.
Tall elms and oaks towered over their heads, their branches swaying slightly in the breeze. Sounds assaulted them from all
around; the rustling of branches and the occasional creak or groan seemed to come from every direction at once, setting Cole’s
nerves on edge.

“Sophie, I just don’t—”

“Hush,” she silenced him. “I know what I’m doing.”

Picking his way slowly along the darkened path, Cole held tightly to Sophie’s hand as she led him farther into the woods.
He couldn’t help but stumble occasionally, tripping over a rock or errant tree branch, but every time she was there to steady
him, patiently waiting until he had balanced himself before moving on. Wherever she was taking him, he knew that it was a
place with which she was intimately familiar.

Still, Cole couldn’t help but to think about what had happened earlier. When Graham had collapsed onto the floor in a heap,
he’d instinctively known that the beginning of the end was coming. Ellis Watts was not the type of man who would sit idly
by for long. While Graham’s drunken arrival wasn’t likely to have been planned, it signaled that things were changing quickly.
It wouldn’t be long before Ellis and his flunky showed up to finish what they had started.