Whisper Falls (4 page)

Once I had the backyard mowed and edged, I focused on the front yard and tried not to think about how badly the extra chores screwed up my schedule. Fortunately, my other Tuesday clients had jobs, so they wouldn't care when I arrived.

I was nearly done with the mowing when I noticed a car roaring down the street, a familiar—and unwelcome—green Mini-Cooper. It squealed to a stop behind my trailer.

Not cool. Alexis knew better than to track me down at work.

The car door slammed. “Mark?”

I shut off the mower, rolled my shoulders, and ignored the tightness in my chest.

She studied the fresh grass clippings, not so good for her white, sequined sneakers. Too bad. I wasn't going any closer.

She stayed at the curb. “Did you get my texts?”

I took off my shades, wiped my dripping face on the tail of my T-shirt, then put the shades back on. Yes, I had seen her eight texts come in. No, I hadn't read them. “What did you need?”

“I miss you. I thought maybe you could come over tonight.” She smiled slowly. “My parents won't be home.”

Damn.

I had the odd sensation I got whenever I hit an obstacle on a trail. The bike was going down. It would hurt when I landed. There would be bruises and scratches for days. But for just a moment, I was suspended in midair, dreading the inevitable impact, feeling only detachment.

“You broke up with me, Alexis. What's the point?”

“I want us to talk.”

Right. Talk wasn't all she wanted. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

Her tongue flicked over her lips, shiny and pink with strawberry gloss. I remembered exactly how they tasted.

“I made a mistake, Mark. I want us back together.”

Really? She dumped me in the middle of the dance floor at prom, and it was a
mistake?
Watching her stalk away from me had to rank among the worst moments of my life. I'd stood there, dying inside, in front of a frickin' ballroom full of classmates.

“We're not getting back together.”

“Mark, could you please come over here? It'd be easier to discuss this if I didn't have to yell.”

I shook my head. No way was I getting within reach of her.

“Fine. I'll tell you from here.”

She bent down to brush a speck of nothing from her leg. I had a clear view of what her cami was barely covering. It was embarrassing to think that might've worked on me a couple of weeks ago.

She straightened and crossed her arms. “I've thought it over, and it's okay about the vacation in July. You don't have to go with us for a whole week.”

“Thanks, since I already said no.”

“It'll be enough if you fly down to Florida for the weekend.” She nodded as if everything were all set.

“No.”

This conversation was so weird. Didn't she get that we were over? It wasn't as if she would be alone for long. She was hot and popular. All the guys at Neuse Academy wanted her. She'd find someone else before our senior year started in the fall.

In the two weeks since prom, I'd dealt with the breakup. I'd refocused my energy on mountain biking. Placing well in my age division wasn't a sure thing. I had to train hard every single day. It had been a relief to take off whenever I wanted without feeling guilty about neglecting her. If dating meant I had to choose between girls and cycling, maybe I shouldn't date.

“Please, Mark. I'm okay with your training schedule. Don't worry about the rest of the summer. If you share your calendar with me, I'll work around your races.” Her smile was wide and determined and strawberry-pink.

“Stop, Alexis.”

Between my training and my job, I didn't have a lot of free time. Maybe she thought it would get better later on in the summer. But my schedule wouldn't lighten up until after the Carolina Challenge. If I placed high enough in that race, I'd advance a category. Then training for fall competitions would start.

Why wouldn't she just let it go? She would never be happy unless she was number one in my life, and that wasn't going to happen. “We can't get back together.”

Her perky expression finally slipped. “Why not?”

I shook my head. She knew why not. She'd given me an ultimatum in front of everyone. We'd made our choices on the dance floor. Repeating the argument was just painful.

She wilted, her butt landing on the hood of the car. Shaky hands went for her hair, ruffling it into golden spikes. “I can't believe you're picking your bike over me.”

My breathing grew even and disciplined, as if I were riding up the last, long incline at the end of a race. As awkward as this scene had been, it was almost over. “We can't fix this, Alexis. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too.” She whipped off her shades. Her eyes were wet. She dabbed at them with her fingertips. “I'll make sure the next guy doesn't play year-round sports.”

“Nice.” Just when I was starting to feel bad for her, she said something bitchy. I should be grateful, though. Being angry was a much easier way to end the drama. I wrapped my fingers around the mower's handle, gripping it so hard it should've bent.

“Bye, Alexis.”

“Wait, if we could just—”

I checked my watch and swore. Mrs. Joffrey would be home any minute. The last thing I needed was for her to find me talking instead of working. I flipped the power switch. The mower drowned out the rest of what Alexis said.

When I turned the corner on the next row, she was still standing at the curb, hands over her mouth, sneakers sparkling. When I turned the corner on the last row, her Mini Cooper had disappeared.

I tossed and turned on my straw pallet until well past midnight. But when sleep finally claimed me, my dreams were particularly sweet—filled with crystal capes, fresh breezes, and the gentle touch of a handsome stranger. Even now, he smiled warmly at me.

You must wake up
.

I smiled back. “But I don't wish to.”

He laughed, extended his hand, and squeezed my toe—

Squeezed my toe?

My eyes popped open. It wasn't his voice I'd heard, but that of a girl.

“Susanna, please wake up.”

I snapped to a sitting position and banged my head against the roof of the eaves. Merciful heavens, how could I have overslept?

“What time is it, Dorcas?” I asked as I rolled from my bed.

“Time for breakfast,” she said. “Papa is angry.”

“I shall be there shortly.” I tied a homespun petticoat over my shift, laced up my stays, and pinned on a calico bodice. With shaking hands, I secured my hair to the top of my head, grabbed a cap, and hurried down the stairs.

My master sat in the tall chair at the head of the table. Discontent shadowed the hard planes of his face.

“Where is my porridge?”

I dropped my gaze to the ground. Perhaps if I feigned humility, my punishment might be less severe. “I'm sorry, sir. It will only take me a few minutes to fetch.”

“Be quick. We are waiting.”

His control alarmed me more than anger would have. “Yes, sir.”

I ran to the kitchen and halted in its front doorway, dismayed to find the building occupied. My mistress bent over the stone hearth, poking at a kettle. The tea wouldn't be ready in time for breakfast, but I left this unsaid. I put on a fresh apron, grabbed a rag to wrap about the kettle's hot handle, and nudged her aside.

“Allow me, Mrs. Pratt.”

She backed away, her fashionable leather shoes squeaking across the rough lumber of the floor. “Where is the milk?”

The Pratts's slave boy had left the milk in the same spot every day since they bought him four years ago. How could she not know? I waved toward the rear door of the kitchen. “Hector leaves it in a jar on the cellar steps.”

“Mr. Pratt will want milk with his porridge.”

“Of course.” It wasn't something I would likely forget.

She sniffed, but didn't move. “My husband is greatly displeased with you.”

“I did notice his mood when we spoke.”

After settling the tea kettle, I hoisted the pot of oats from the coals and set it on the worktable. Crossing to the cupboard, I found a tray and six bowls. Mrs. Pratt plopped onto a bench and watched me, humming under her breath.

The porridge was soon divided among the bowls. I added a wedge of cheese to the tray and fetched a pitcher for the cider.

“Will it be much longer?”

My jaw tightened with irritation. Much as I preferred to work alone, an offer of help from her or her daughters would have been welcome this day. Perhaps the wives in other fine households also lifted no finger, but they kept more than two servants for a family of eight.

“No, ma'am. Only a few minutes.”

“I don't like to spend time in this kitchen. It is too small and smells of burnt meat.” She yawned noisily. “I shall never be anything more than an adequate cook. Whatever shall we do when you leave?”

“You will find new servants, ma'am.” When I smacked the pitcher onto the tray, cider sloshed. I'd have to wipe the dishes now. Yet another delay, and one of my own causing. “Mrs. Pratt, breakfast is nearly ready. Perhaps you would like to wait in the dining room?”

“I suppose I shall.” In a swirl of muslin skirts, she rustled through the door.

Breakfast was soon served. My master and mistress, along with their four oldest children, gathered around the dining table and ate without speaking. The only sounds were the click of spoons against bowls and the thud of cups against the tabletop.

I played in the corner with the two littlest ones. Dinah stood at my side, clutching my knee, while Baby John bounced in my arms and chortled at the tendrils slipping from my hastily pinned cap. I tugged Dinah's thumb from her mouth and laughed when she put it back in.

A chair scraped. “Susanna, come,” Mr. Pratt said.

The others froze. After pressing a kiss to Dinah's brow, I tucked her hand into mine and rose, John heavy on my hip. I sucked in a steadying breath as I took the babies to their eldest sister. When my master and I left the main house, John whimpered after me, chubby arms waving.

Mr. Pratt paused at a tree to select a branch. I walked behind the kitchen, having learned long ago it was best not to see the switch. Facing the vegetable garden, I waited.

“Lift your skirt.”

The branch sang through the air and flicked my calf. As always, nothing could prepare me for the first hideous slice. My throat ached with the effort to contain a moan.

Whop
.

My fingers twisted convulsively in my petticoat. Yet I did not sway. I did not scream. I remained still and studied the garden.

Whop
.

The corn had ripened.

Whop
.

Peppers dotted their vines in fat globes of red.

Whop
.

There was a hot stillness when he was done lashing me. Blood seeped from a cut and dripped in a thin trail to my ankle.

He leaned close to my ear, his voice soft and raspy. “I often told your father that he was a fool to teach you so much, but Josiah Marsh would not heed my warnings. I pity you. Girls gain nothing from education but dissatisfaction. It deceives you into believing you're better than you are. And you, Susanna, are not nearly as clever as you think. Even after seven years, you cannot last a month without errors. You are fortunate to have a master who corrects you so tirelessly.”

The switch landed on the ground at my toes.

I held my head high, mute with contempt. If Mr. Pratt was seeking a reaction, he would be sorely disappointed.

“Work is the best cure for laziness. After you finish your chores, find the Negro. Tell him you are there to help with mucking out the barn.” The crunch of Mr. Pratt's boots disappeared around the corner and blended with the sounds of the day.

I waited until I was sure I was alone and then lowered myself onto a stump. With gaze forward and back straight, I focused on the woods, pretending myself away from here, perhaps within my cave. I should have liked to be there now, hidden from view, sitting in the dim, musty depths, watching the water pour down. The very thought of Whisper Falls soothed me. My time there was special. Sacred. Safe from prying eyes or cruel intentions.

Sweat trickled down my legs, stinging the wounds, mixing with the blood. The present intruded. I stood, ignored the ache, and moved stiffly into the kitchen. The thrashing had not been so severe that I would be unable to perform my duties, although they would be completed more slowly. Coupled with the extra work in the barn, I would forfeit my evening break—a loss I felt more keenly than the switch. If Mr. Pratt offered to trade another beating for my hour of solitude, I would gladly accept.

Even more, I regretted losing the chance to see Mr. Mark Lewis again. And I didn't care if he was a demon. He couldn't torment me as much as the devil in whose home I lived.

The meteorologist said the heat index would rise to one hundred by early afternoon. The more training I finished in the morning, the better. I got up early and was on the bike by six AM, heading down back roads to get in some variety.

Today's goal was to improve endurance.

After a couple of moderate hills and a straight stretch through some open fields, I was past the point where the muscles protested. Plenty hydrated. No cramps in sight. I was in the zone.

My thoughts drifted to the scene at Whisper Falls. After a couple of days of thinking it over, I had a pretty solid theory. The whole thing had been some kind of elaborate illusion. A good one, too. The girl, the costume, the disappearing act—all had to be a new type of remote-controlled computer technology, like seriously realistic animation projected on the back side of the waterfall.