The Witch of Tin Mountain(30)

Deirdre turned and went back to the parlor, no longer content to eavesdrop while her future was decided for her. She sank back into her chair, rocking Collin gently, and fixed Pa with a frown.

“Just look at that.” Hannah smiled. “She’s a natural mother. You want a family of your own someday, isn’t that right, Deirdre?”

“Yes’m, I sure do,” she said steadily. “And Hannah’s right, Pa. I should get a say in where I go.”

“Oh! I’ve an idea.” Hannah leaned forward in her chair, her green eyes sparkling. “I’ve a maiden aunt in Charleston. She runs a finishing school for respectable young women. She’d take Deirdre in on my recommendation.”

Deirdre’s heart jumped. The room seemed to shrink, the walls drawing in around her. Charleston was so much farther than she ever thought she’d go—too far away from Robbie. She’d never even been fifty miles outside of Tin Mountain.

Pa scratched his head again. “I’m much obliged, but we couldn’t afford to pay much in the way of schooling, ma’am.”

“Nonsense!” Hannah said, leaping to her feet. “Deirdre might repay me later, with her service. She’s already helped me so much. Why, you can’t say no.” Hannah rubbed her frantic hands together. “I’ll send Mary to the post straightaway. She can telegram Aunt Beryl to tell her you’re coming. It’s a marvelous school, Deirdre. You’ll learn manners and etiquette—and even dancing! She gives the finest debutante balls. You’ll be a proper lady by the time you return.”

“I ain’t got much interest in all that, ma’am. I—”

“And you’re certain your aunt will take her?”

“Of course she will! Beryl owes me a favor. She wouldn’t think of turning Deirdre away.”

“Pa, I really think we should—”

“Deirdre’s much obliged, Mrs. Bledsoe, and so am I,” Pa said, cutting Deirdre’s words short yet again. He stood and clapped his hat over his hair. “Go pack up your things, poppet. I’ll see you to the station. They’ve just finished a new depot, closer than the one in Fayetteville. The last train leaves in an hour.”

The floor seemed to drop out from under Deirdre’s feet. “You can’t mean now? I haven’t gotten to say goodbye to everyone. I’d like to see Robbie, and Ing.”

“It’s best if you leave tonight. The fewer people who know where you’re headed, the better. Now, go gather your things. I’ll wait in the wagon.” Pa stalked out of the room in that resolute way he had when he’d made up his mind. Hannah followed him, chattering on about Charleston and all the fine things it had on offer.

Deirdre buried her nose in little Collin’s hair and drew in his milk-sweet baby smell. She squeezed her eyes shut against her sudden tears, then handed the slumbering babe off to Mary. She flew up the back stairs to her tiny attic room, locking the door behind her. She’d never once defied her father, but the temptation was fierce. All she’d ever wanted was a simple life—to marry Robbie and have a family of her own. And now, it seemed even her simplest of wishes had flown far out of reach. Pa was overreacting over Gentry. He had to be. And what if Robbie tired of waiting for her, and married someone else?

She’d run away. Go to Robbie, and they’d elope. Pa would understand and forgive her, eventually.

Deirdre lit a lamp with shaking fingers, turning the wick low. Greasy light stretched across the ceiling. She thought of Pa, sitting out in the cold, water drenching his shirtsleeves and running off the brim of his hat as he waited for her. She pushed back her guilt, went to the wardrobe, and began to pack, shoving her dresses and shifts into her carpetbag, then placing the grimoire atop the rest.

She tucked her hair as well as she could into her oilcloth bonnet, and pinched her cheeks for color, wanting to look as fetching as she could before she went to Robbie. As she was finishing her ablutions, a low creaking came from behind her. Deirdre turned from the washstand and faced the corner, where a hoop-backed rocking chair sat beneath the eaves. Though the only window was closed, and no draft came from beneath the door, it rocked as steadily as if someone were sitting in it.

It was merely a silly fancy. Her imagination gone wild.

She turned back to the mirror. The carpetbag dropped to the floor.

There, reflected in the mirror’s scratched surface, sat Ambrose Gentry, rocking back and forth, although the chair itself remained empty. His cunning green eyes sparked with mischief at her gape-mouthed expression. Inside her head, his deep voice wound silkily between her ears:

Run little rabbit, run. Wherever you go, I’ll find you.

Deirdre tried to scream, but only a feeble whine issued forth. She hurriedly snatched up her satchel and ran from the room, barreling down the stairs and out the servants’ entrance, into the frigid rain. She was halfway to the road when someone caught her from behind, grasping her with strong arms. Deirdre thrashed and screamed, kicking out at the air.

It was too late. He’d gotten her. He’d do whatever he wanted with her now.

“Deirdre! It’s only me. It’s your pa.” Pa turned her, steadying her in his arms, his warm brown eyes tender and crinkled with concern.

Deirdre collapsed into Pa’s embrace, weeping into his coat. “I saw him, Pa. I’m afraid.”

“I know you are. And with good reason. Let’s get you on that train, poppet.”