A Dreadful Splendor (75)

A surge of adrenaline pushed my weariness away. I was tired of secrets, and I was not about to let another get away from me.

I made a dash for the front door, too impatient to put on my coat.

My boots pounded on the frozen ground of the forest path. Every intake of cold air was a knife to my lungs.

Soon, the stables came into view. All the windows glowed. What could be happening in the middle of the night? I paused to catch my breath, bending over with a hand on one knee.

Rasping screams shook the air, followed by a man swearing a stream of curses. I could have swallowed my own teeth.

Light shone through the slates of the stable, outlining the main door. I moved closer. Details emerged from the shadows. There was a neat woodpile to the side with a hatchet sticking out of the cutting stump. The moonlight glinted off the corner of the sharp blade.

Pressing my palms against the main door, I leaned forward, my nose almost touching the wood. There was barely enough of a crack to see inside. Mr. Pemberton was moving about and yelling. His shirt was covered in blood.

The ground disappeared under my feet; I was in a death fall. Before my very eyes was the exact story Flora had relayed. I gasped, then put a hand over my mouth, certain he’d heard me.

The screams came again.

I fought every instinct that urged me to turn around and run. I did not want to see the rest of this scene. Flora’s earlier description came to me.

. . . I knows blood when I sees it, and his shirt was covered.

Perhaps Audra was dead before she went over the cliff. My entire body started to shake. He could have killed her and thrown her body into the ocean.

And now he was using me to help him frame someone innocent!

Joseph came into view. His young face was etched with fear. He too was smeared with dirt and crimson.

“Hold her now, steady!” Mr. Pemberton ordered. “Get the ropes!”

Her. Fear and anger mixed creating a tidal wave of instinctive rage. Auntie Lil’s voice retold the cruelty of Audra’s grandfather as I replayed the horrid images of the bone still in the iron shackles. I grabbed the hatchet, pulling it free from the stump.

Something I could only explain as passionate insanity made me burst into the stable with the small axe raised above my head. I hollered, “Stop!”

Mr. Pemberton stared back at me quizzically. A bizarre quiet filled the room as I took in the entire scene.





Chapter Forty-Seven




There were four men all together, including young Joseph and Mr. Pemberton. All had their sleeves rolled up to the elbows. One of them sat off by himself, his arm at an awkward angle. The straw floor was soaked.

The mare screamed and thrust violently to the side. Joseph and the man holding the ends of the reins gave out a surprised holler as they tried to keep from being trampled.

“Pray! What are you doing here, Miss Timmons?” Mr. Pemberton was at the back end of the horse with the tail draped over his shoulder. His forearms were slick with blood.

I could not peel my eyes away. “Me? What are you—” I began.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “We’re helping this mare foal, and unless you know how to ease this poor animal’s stress, sit in the corner and be quiet. And for pity’s sake, put down that hatchet.”

The horse gave another violent shudder, and I was promptly forgotten as they returned to the task at hand.

I stood still, transfixed. The hatchet dropped unnoticed.

The horse backed up, almost crushing Mr. Pemberton under its weight. “Hold her up,” he hollered. Her eyes rolled back, showing only the whites.

“We’re going to lose her like the last one,” Joseph whimpered.

“Aye,” one of the other men said. “Been goin’ on almost an hour, m’lord. Might be best to put the poor thing out of her misery.” He nodded toward the wall, and I saw he was looking at a long rifle hung on a rack.

“If you’d fetched me earlier, we wouldn’t be considering that,” Mr. Pemberton snapped. He reached forward, his hands disappearing into the beast. “I’ve got the hind legs,” he grunted. “Damn, one slipped back.”

“Breach?” Joseph went pale. “This will kill her.”

A splash of fluid soaked his boots, but Mr. Pemberton ignored the mess. “Come on, girl,” he said through gritted teeth. “One more push.”

The mare swayed on her legs. Then she collapsed, making the men scatter, except for Mr. Pemberton, who knelt at her hind, shouting instructions. Joseph came with fresh hay, padding her sides.

The only sound was the mare’s heaving gasps.

“Now, m’lord?” one of the men quietly suggested.

“No,” he panted. “We can’t give up yet.” He looked at the stable hand. “Come here, Marchand, I need you.”

The man stepped back and shook his head. “She’s having a fit! I don’t need my arm broken too.” The other man sitting in the corner winced.

“Now is not the time to lose your nerve!” Mr. Pemberton looked at them one by one. They all dropped their chins. Then he looked at me. “Miss Timmons?”

“I beg your pardon?” I said.

“Grab that strip of cloth and come over here.” His voice was hard, but there was a desperate plea to his tone. When I didn’t move, he added, “Look at the mare. If we stop now, Mr. March and will have to put her down. We can still give this foal and her mother a chance.”