Pa shot up from his chair. “What’s the matter, Deirdre Jane? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“I . . . I just need to take the air, I think.”
“You want me to come out with you?”
Deirdre shook her head. “No. I need to be by myself for a while, Pa. I’ll be back afore dark to help with supper.”
She tied on her cloak and went out, tearing through the grass and up the rain-slicked hillside before she could lose her nerve. The lighthouse loomed over her, the cozy stone shack at its base streaming a friendly column of smoke from its chimney. Georgia was tied to the hitching post, her spotted flanks shining with sweat. He’d ridden hard after leaving her. Ridden hard to get back to Ingrid.
Deirdre stalked to the door and raised her fist, giving three brisk knocks.
Ingrid opened just as she raised her fist for the fourth. Her great belly nudged outward, round and full as a bushel bale. She smiled. “Deirdre. I didn’t know you’d come home.”
Deirdre opened her hand and sent a stinging slap to Ingrid’s cheek. The other girl stepped back, her eyes widening.
“How could you, Ing?”
“How could I what?” Ingrid lifted her chin. Deirdre’s handprint blazed red against her pale skin. “I was with his child before you even lay with him.”
“His child. And how can you be sure it’s his? I know you.”
Ingrid smirked. “What does it matter?” Ingrid said haughtily. “All of our farmhands have gone. Left to work for the railroad. Only my brothers are left to see to our farm. Robbie was here, and you were gone. I had to marry someone, Deirdre. You’d have done the same, if it were you.”
“No, Ing. I wouldn’t have.” Deirdre fought back the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She wouldn’t give Ingrid the pleasure of seeing her cry. “No wonder you didn’t write to me in Charleston. No wonder you were so keen to have me do the vinegar rinses. How long have you secretly hated me?”
Ingrid pressed her lips together. “I don’t hate you. I never could. Life’s just easier for girls like you. Girls with pretty faces and straight teeth. All you need do is blink your eyes and men fall at your feet. For me, I always had to give more than a smile to turn a man’s head. You can’t see how you’re the lucky one.” Ingrid rubbed her belly. “But you needn’t worry about Robbie. I make him plenty happy.”
“Is that so?” Deirdre pulled the barb of hurt free and used it as a weapon. “He picked me up at the station. Pulled the wagon over on Ballard Creek and showed me just how much he’s missed me. He probably still smells like me, if you doubt it.”
Ingrid scowled. “I never meant to hurt you, Deirdre. But you’d do well to stay away from my husband.”
“He wrote to me. Sent me a lock of his hair. Told me he loved me.” Deirdre hated the tremor in her voice. The desperation.
A tear leaked out of Ingrid’s eye. How dare she cry!
In the shadows behind Ingrid, Deirdre caught a flicker of movement. Robbie emerged from the murk. He laid a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder. “Ingrid, let me talk to her.”
“No. Anything you can say to her, you can say in front of me, husband. We both deserve as much.”
Robbie’s eyes hardened. “Go back in the house, Ingrid.”
Ingrid gave an exasperated sigh, and turned away, muttering as she waddled back into the cottage. Robbie took two steps toward her, and Deirdre stepped backward. He smiled sadly.
“I’m sorry, Deirdre. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was only with Ingrid once. And then . . . this.”
“How long have you known about the baby?”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his hair. “She told me in May. Right after you left.”
“I hate you,” Deirdre spat. The tears came boiling out of her eyes, hot and fast. “If you only knew what I’ve given up for your sake.”
“I’m sorry. I meant everything I said in my letter. I did. We could still do everything we did before. Ingrid will never know. I don’t love her.” He took another step toward her. “You’re all I think about. Those sounds you make. Your body.” His hand brushed her waist and she flinched away.
Disgust rolled through Deirdre. “I wanted to be your wife, Robbie! I wanted to have your children. Now I can’t stomach the sight of you. The two of you deserve all the unhappiness that will surely befall you.” The words held all the gravity of a curse.
“Don’t you dare speak those words over me and my house, Deirdre Werner.”
“Are you afraid of me?” Deirdre barked a laugh.
“Maybe I am. A little. People talk. Say you brought on that flood and everything that followed.”
Deirdre lifted her chin. “I want my portrait back. I paid good money for that.”
Robbie reached into his trousers pocket and produced the cabinet card she’d sent him. “I keep it with me all the time. You sure looked pretty.”
Deirdre snatched the photograph, remembering how she and Esme had argued over Robbie’s loyalty on the day she left Charleston. Dearest, darling Esme. Steadfast and true. Deirdre swallowed back a sob.
“I’m real sorry about your ma,” Robbie said.
“So sorry you had to pull me over on the side of the road to have one last poke! All you think about is yourself. You always have. I hope Ingrid knows how faithless and feckless you are.”
“I didn’t mean it to be like that. I don’t know what came over me back there, on that bridge—didn’t even feel like I was there, just like I was watching.” Robbie reached for her again. “Ain’t there any way we can work through this, Deirdre?”
“No. And don’t come calling for my help when Ingrid’s time comes. Maja delivered every one of her babies on her own and so can Ingrid.”
Deirdre turned on her heel and walked away, her back straight and proud.
Once she was in the cool safety of the cedars down the mountain, she fell to her knees and sobbed out her hurt and grief. This was all Gentry’s doing. She’d fallen into his trap, into his web. It had been him, there on the bridge, taking hold of Robbie’s body so he might trick her and take what she’d promised with her own blood. She was sure of it. She saw his hand in everything now—how he’d used Phoebe to drive her and Esme apart. How he’d manipulated her to poison Phoebe so she might weaken to him. She was too foolish, too lovelorn and impulsive to see it before. Rage pummeled through her. She screamed, the torn edges of her voice shattering the silence and bouncing off the trees. High above her, a limb cracked, and then crashed to the ground.
TWENTY-NINE
GRACELYNN
1931
I wipe the sleep from my eyes and blink at the wan light coming through the tiny window above me. It ain’t yet dawn, but the moon is a waxing crescent, casting everything in the jail cell in an eerie gray pallor. I sit up, my head throbbing from hunger and dehydration.
If I’ve counted the days right, it’s the morning of my trial.
Yesterday afternoon, I overheard Sheriff Murphy talking in hushed tones to his deputies. They ain’t got permission from any prosecuting attorney to try me for any sort of crime. There’s been no hearing. No formal charges. It’s because they ain’t got proof, just circumstantial evidence. But they’re gonna do it anyway—in a kangaroo court of their own making, with Bellflower as magistrate.