Dinah McCall - The Return

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She pointed toward Pulpit Rock. “I’m going over there to take a look.”

He frowned. The idea of her wandering off in any direction bothered him, never mind that she was pointing toward Pulpit Rock.

“If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I’ll go with you,” he said, then wondered at the way her expression blanked.

“No. This is something I’d rather do alone.” Without waiting for him to agree, she walked away.

Luke watched her go, taking careful note of her direction—just in case. The last thing he needed was to have to instigate a search party, especially up here, and especially for her. He doubted if he could round up a half dozen people who would be willing to set foot on this side of the mountain to look for the lost granddaughter of Annie Fane.

Then he remembered what he’d been doing and turned back to the tree. The quicker he got it out of the road, the quicker he could deliver her to the cabin.

The trees were alive with sounds, from the insistent squawk of a blue jay to the chatter of squirrels as they leaped through the leafy branches, using them like a highway as they moved from tree to tree. On another day, this would have been charming, but everything inside her was in knots. Even now, she could hear the echo of her grandmother’s shaky voice, relating the events that had led to her being orphaned.

A couple of minutes passed as she continued to move toward the looming promontory. The closer she got, the denser the trees became. Tension knotted in her belly, and her legs began to shake. Less sunlight filtered through the canopy, which in turn meant less undergrowth beneath the trees. In places she could see bare rock showing through the earth, and the forest was silent, absent of life.

Suddenly she was standing in the clearing and looking up, trying to imagine what freak of nature had created this natural pulpit. It stretched out from the face of the mountain, as if defying gravity, to overlook a spacious meadow. The natural resonance of sound must be amazing in this place. Then her gaze fell to the shadow below the rock, to the place where Grannie had seen her mother die. Sorrow moved through her like a wave.

She walked closer, needing to see—to touch—to be in the place where her parents had died, and as she did, she saw that what she’d taken for shadow was actually barren ground. She knelt, fingering the thick, dark earth and then stood, letting it filter through her fingers, and wondered why nothing grew in earth this rich.

Then she spun, suddenly aware of faint whispers, but there was no one there. In spite of the heat, she shivered as she searched the area for signs of life, but it was as empty as her heart. In the distance, she could see leaves moving in the tops of the trees, and convinced herself that was the source of the sounds. Yet as she turned away, a powerful urge to run overwhelmed her. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but there was a miasma here that had no earthly roots.

“Cath…rine.”

The faint sound of someone calling her name made her jump. She spun, subconsciously expecting to see the specter of Fancy Joslin, but when the sheriff walked out of the trees instead, she silently scolded herself for the fantasy.

“I’m here,” she called back, and as she started toward him, she realized she was glad to see him.

He met her at the edge of the clearing.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “I’ve been calling you for several minutes.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I suppose I was lost in thought.”

He hesitated, then touched her shoulder. “Do you know about this place?”

She hesitated, unwilling to reveal her identity to anyone. “Just what my grannie told me,” she said. “Something about some people dying up here because of a feud.” Then she turned, pointing toward the pulpit. “Isn’t that odd?”

He looked in the direction in which she was pointing, trying to decide what she meant. “Isn’t what odd?”

“That bare spot beneath the pulpit. It’s not rocky like some of the other places up here, and yet nothing grows.”

Luke sighed. What he was going to tell her would only add to the legend, yet the truth of it was there for the world to see.

“It didn’t used to be,” he said. “Story goes that after they carried away all of the bodies, the grass began to die. Supposedly, nothing has taken root there for almost thirty years.”

Catherine blanched as she spun around, looking at the place with new meaning. Unwilling for him to see how the news had upset her, she took a deep breath and turned, and for the first time since she’d walked into the woods, realized that her grandmother’s casket had been left unattended.

“We should be going. I apologize for the delay. Please lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.”

A short while later they were back at the truck. Relieved that her grandmother’s casket was still intact, she ran her fingers along the fine finish on the cherry-wood casket.

“Sorry, Grannie. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” Luke said. “I didn’t think.”

Catherine shrugged. “We can both take the blame.” Then she looked—really looked—at him, appreciating the quiet grace of the man, as well as his strength. It wasn’t until she focused on his face that she found herself caught in a dark, silent gaze.

“You okay?” he asked.

Brown. His eyes are brown, just like his hair. Then she nodded. “Yes.”

He glanced at his watch. It was just after two-thirty. “You want to ride the rest of the way with me?” he asked.

The urge to do so was great, but she didn’t want to think of being isolated without convenient means of getting off the mountain.

“How much farther?”

“About a quarter of a mile.”

“I can make it.”

He didn’t bother to hide his admiration. “You’re not a quitter, are you, Catherine Fane?”

“I am the way my grandmother raised me.”

“I’m thinking she did a fine job,” he said quietly, then settled his Stetson a little more firmly on his head. “Let’s go. If you get into trouble, just honk.”

Then he got into the truck, leaving Catherine to scramble back to her vehicle, as well. Minutes later, they were in motion.

Annie Fane’s journey was almost over.

L uke wasn’t a believer in the supernatural, yet when he came out of a sharp curve and saw a small, two-story cabin at the end of the road, the hair on the backs of his arms suddenly rose. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen in these hills. Fashioned more in the style of a miniature Swiss chalet, it reminded him of a cuckoo clock his aunty had owned. It looked as if the owner had just left for the day, instead of the twenty-odd years he knew she’d been gone. To add to the aura of timelessness, four men seemingly materialized from the deep shadows of the porch and came down the steps to meet them as he parked.

They were tall and spare, with solemn expressions. He didn’t know whether it was in deference to the occasion, or if it was their normal manner. Their faces were shaded by matching weather-stained hats with wide, shapeless brims and their clothes were simple—faded denims and cotton. Catherine pulled up beside him and killed the engine. He glanced over, curious as to what her reaction would be. She looked relieved. It would seem she’d been expecting them.

Still, when she emerged from her Jeep, he got out and moved to her side, approaching the men with caution. Mountain people didn’t like strangers, so even if they knew Catherine, they were going to be wary of him. As they neared the porch, something began to dawn on Luke. He’d been sheriff of Taney County for more than eight years and knew everyone in the area—and these men were strangers to him, too. He thought of the thefts that had been going on up here for years. It would be too easy to believe that in a random act of kindness to Catherine Fane, he’d found the people he’d been trying to catch. But his musing ended when the eldest of the men suddenly took off his hat and reached for Catherine’s hand.