Back Roads to Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #6): A Novel (5 page)

Once around the corner, Sarah’s thin legs threatened to crumple. Her breath came raggedly in synchrony with her pounding heart. She opened the door to Allison’s room a veritable wraith—a dirty wraith.

Allison ceased her humming, dropped the armload of clothes she held, and stared at her sister—distraught, wild-eyed, and clutching an old, castoff toy, a cat of dubious vintage and of no importance whatsoever.

“Sarah!” Allison said, annoyed, “where’s the bag I sent you for?”

B
ursting into sobs, Sarah threw herself across Allison’s rumpled bed, clutching the uncomplaining Miss Mouser to her, burying her face in the familiar comfort of the discarded toy as in days gone by.

Allison looked on aghast. Sitting down beside her sister, she put a hand on the dusty shoulder and patted it, making soothing sounds, and soon the tempest of tears abated.

“I’m sorry if the attic was frightening. Was that it?” Allison, an adventurer at heart and rarely faced down by anything or anybody, couldn’t comprehend being terrorized by the familiar attic. Still, if that’s what had Sarah in tears, she’d go up there herself and find a carryall suitable for her needs.

Once again Allison realized her day wasn’t going as well as it might have; she hoped Stephen’s was going better. After all, it was up to him to locate a carriage or check on departure times for the stagecoach and take care of numerous additional matters to assure the success of their venture. It was imperative to get out of Midbury, and quickly. Any lingering and
someone would see and report them to her father. The trip, one way, would take the best part of two days—there would be food to buy, drivers to pay.

Allison shivered when she let herself imagine what it would be like to be intercepted before ever boarding their getaway conveyance; yes, Stephen’s responsibility was a big one. Stephen was not an authoritarian; Allison couldn’t help but feel a little anxiety about how he might be getting along on his own.

She, however, was confined to her room as surely as though she were behind bars at Newgate. And with little to do to put in the time. Any unusual activity on her part would alert her mother, and the entire plan might come to an end before it ever got off the ground. She had to trust Stephen.

Their time of meeting would coincide with the darkness that would serve to cover their getaway. In the meantime, Allison found herself wildly impatient, tense with the possibility of detection and the worry that something might go wrong.

Sorting through items to take with her, she had been constantly on the alert for her mother’s approach. Cleverly, she had pulled a chair close to the door so that anyone entering would be delayed long enough to allow her to flee to the bed and, once again, feign illness. She didn’t know whether to be proud of being such a humbug or ashamed of her deceitfulness.
Desperate situations call for desperate actions
, she consoled herself.

“I’m not afraid of the attic,” Sarah said now defensively, uncurling herself, wiping her wet eyes on Miss Mouser and dirtying herself even more in the process. “I’m not so pigeon-hearted as that, for heaven’s sake!”

“What happened, then?” Allison asked skeptically. Privately she considered Sarah too timid to say boo to a goose, but now was not the time to mention it. “And where is the carrying case? And why have you brought back this—”

About to say “useless old cat,” Allison used rare discretion and changed it to “worn-out toy.” Her questions caused a new spate of tears.

Never known for her patience, Allison was fast losing what little she possessed. “Either tell me what’s wrong or hush up!” she said, adding pontifically, “Tears never help anything.”

How thoroughly she was to learn—firsthand and before too long—the truth of the words so glibly and ignorantly uttered.

“Mrs. Buckle—” Sarah quavered.

“What about Mrs. Buckle? Don’t tell me that busybody followed you. Or was the attic locked and she wouldn’t open it for you?”

“It wasn’t locked,” Sarah gulped, getting control. “And I sneaked in. . . . It was dark. . . .”

“Never mind,” Allison said, calming her sister lest another fountain of tears burst forth. “You’re all right now, and you needn’t go back. But what about Mrs. Buckle?”

“She caught me! Oh, Allie—she caught me!”

“Hmmmm, that could be bad. She’ll probably run to Mama.”

“I don’t think so.” Sitting up at last and recalling what had happened in the attic, Sarah stiffened her backbone. “That’s how come I have Miss Mouser,” she explained. “On the spur of the moment I pretended I was looking for her.”

“How clever of you, Sister!”

“But, Allie—” Sarah should have felt better, having received a compliment of sorts from her older sister. As it was, her pale eyes suffused with tears once again, and her face was tragic in appearance. “I lied to her. All on account of you and your determination to run away and your need of a bag so you could do it—I lied! And what’s more—I sneaked! I sneaked, and I lied!”

Once again Allison had occasion and reason to feel uncomfortable. What had seemed like a lark during its planning had dark aspects to it. And certain people were being hurt, Sarah among them. Allison sighed. Would nothing go right this day?

“Think about it this way,” she placated. “All’s fair in love and war. Everyone says it, so it must be true, right? And this is both—it’s war against Papa and Mama and their unfair decisions, and it’s love for Stephen.

“That makes what you did,” she pressed on, noting the wavering in the desperation in Sarah’s eyes, “perfectly all right. You can see that, can’t you?”

Sarah wasn’t to be that easily persuaded. “I don’t know,” she said feebly. “It seems to me that what you’re doing is wrong, and I’m doing wrong, too.”

Allison had had enough; it was time to move on. Rising briskly, she said, “Trust me, Sister. I know what I’m doing. And just in case you forgot—you begged me to tell you.”

She was right; Sarah could only nod miserably.

“If it’s too much for you to handle,” Allison continued, “then go and leave me alone. But don’t forget—you also promised not to tell. If you do,” she warned, “that’ll be another sin. Lying, sneaking, and breaking your word in one day—tut tut!”

Allison’s face was severe as she laid this load on her sensitive little sister.

If possible, Sarah’s slender face grew even whiter. She sat huddled on the bed, hugging Miss Mouser and swaying back and forth, uncertain of her next move, already guilty of two sins and trembling on the brink of a third.

“I won’t tell,” she muttered. “I said I wouldn’t, and I won’t. But, Allie—you’re in for trouble; see if I’m not right!”

Having shown surprising spunk for the second time in one day, Sarah rose from the bed and flounced to the door, Miss Mouser dangling from one hand and trailing behind her and detracting considerably from the dignity she might have commanded otherwise.

Standing in the middle of the room, biting her lips and watching her sister go, Allison was left in turmoil, and oddly hesitant. Bother!

Now was no time for second thoughts; with a toss of her dark head and a shrug of her slim shoulders, she turned back to her preparations. Allison had always operated from impulse, not from reason, and this time was no different.

And after all, wasn’t Stephen, without a doubt the handsomest lad she knew, waiting for her? And wouldn’t the remainder
of her life—after this flurry of recklessness—be the conventional one of wife and mother? Wouldn’t she and Stephen settle somewhere in the English countryside as her mother before her had done, and her mother before her, and back and back across the centuries? Allison, in turn, would fit into the mold without fuss and flurry, for hadn’t it always been so?

If there was any possibility that adventure, far horizons, new challenges—anything beyond a wild escape to Gretna Green—might lie ahead for Allison Middleton, there was no hint of it in the quiet bedroom, no reason to suspect it. And certainly not with Stephen Lusk.

Though Stephen Lusk had gotten away from Midbury to attend school, he was not a free spirit. Hesitant, cautious, he was seemingly without a daring bone in his comely body or thought in his delicately sculptured head. Allison had to admit it had been her strength of character that had brought them thus far. But what matter! He was so handsome!

As a son of the working class, subservient all his life and with a nature not given to the breaking of new trails, Stephen had agreed with some qualms to the idea of eloping.

“It’s the only way for us, Stephen,” Allison had pointed out, and he had hesitantly agreed.

Their love had seemed hopeless; Allison’s father, if he had so much as suspected what was going on—the secret meetings, the stolen embraces, the desperate plans—would have turned the dogs on the young suitor, would have peremptorily closed the Lusk shop, would have ordered the Lusk family from the premises of business and home. The entire Lusk family would suffer, with no hope of recovering their small degree of comfort and prosperity. Stephen couldn’t chance it, not even for love of Allison; on this he was adamant. Allison, though raging against the probabilities, knew he was right.

But marriage. Marriage, with its indissoluble bonds, would settle the problem once and for all. That’s why it was imperative to reach Gretna Green before being caught, to have the ceremony performed posthaste. Starting out early in the
evening, Stephen and Allison would have an entire night’s travel before their absence was detected and a chase was begun.

Yes, the marriage ceremony would solve everything. Divorces could be obtained, of course, but they were a costly and lengthy business accompanied by considerable disgrace. Quincy Middleton, slave of respectability, though he might gnash his teeth with fury, would be impotent to dissolve the bonds of marriage. What God had joined together, no man—including Quincy Middleton—could put asunder.

At times Stephen shivered, imagining the things that might go wrong and contemplating the fearsome and far-reaching power of Quincy Middleton, and then he would be bolstered and encouraged by Allison’s magnificent confidence and her assurance that everything would turn out well in the long run.

“You know what Papa needs?” she had once asked thoughtfully. “He just needs to come up against someone who has a stronger will than his own, and then he’ll fold up like an umbrella.”

Poor silly child, to think she was the one.

Peeping from behind the drapery, Allison watched her mother leave for her calls. Knowing the schedule well, she was in bed and covered to her chin when—later in the day, back home again and with her wraps removed—Letitia came by to see how her daughter was faring. Sarah, who hadn’t been back since she flounced out in the morning, slipped into the room behind her mother.

“A little better, I think,” Allison said feebly in answer to her mother’s query. “But weak. I can’t get my strength back on tea and toast.” And all the while her strong young body hummed with energy and an eagerness to be up and moving.

“I’ll see that something more substantial is sent up,” Letitia conceded, laying a hand on her daughter’s brow, finding it cool and hiding a smile. Looking around, she asked, “Why is your
room in such a turmoil? You’ve spent the day in bed, haven’t you?”

“It was Fifi,” Allison said quickly, blaming the room’s disarray on the innocent little dog who had, for the most part, spent the day lying quietly on the bed, eating bon bons from the fingers of her mistress. “She’s the only company I’ve had all this long day. She chewed things and dragged them around. She wanted me to play with her, I’m sure. Maybe tomorrow . . .”

“A good night’s sleep is just what you need to set everything right, I shouldn’t wonder,” Letitia said, satisfied that Allison was malingering, playing a little game, and for a reason known only to herself. Perhaps the child had dreaded a scold concerning her treatment of Norville Flagle the preceding evening. Perhaps it was time she learned of the impending ball; it might be well for Allison to begin to think seriously of the advantages of an alliance with the Flagles and their cherished third cousin, Lord Shrewton.

And there was no time like the present to get things underway. So thinking, Letitia said now, “Allison, you will be pleased to hear that your father and I are planning a ball for your birthday—”