She Can Tell (18 page)

Rachel stopped, leaned on her knees, and gasped. Her throat was clogged with soot and smoke. The world tilted as she was scooped off her feet and whisked across the asphalt. Her hand settled on a huge, tanned forearm. She looked up. “David?”

He set her on the back of a truck and crouched next to her. “I came back to help when I saw the fire trucks.”

An EMT placed an oxygen mask over her face. Rachel inhaled. And coughed some more. A shadow fell over David. Mike was standing behind him. In the background, paramedics were working on Edna. David stood up, turning around as Mike held out a hand and introduced himself.

“David Gunner.” David accepted the handshake.

“How do you know Rachel?” Mike waved off the offer of a mask. He-Man wasn’t even breathing hard. But then, he’d only be in the building for a few seconds. Rushing billion-year-old Edna had been like flogging a tortoise. Rachel sucked oxygen. Someone handed her a bottle of water. She rinsed out her mouth, tilted her head, and poured cool liquid over her face.

“Old friends,” David said. “I’ve known Rachel since we were kids.”

Something flickered in Mike’s eyes. Or maybe they were just irritated from the smoke. He squatted in front of Rachel. “You all right?”

Tears ran down her cheeks, and her eyes burned. She poured more water over her face and dried it on her sleeve. “Peachy.”

His face was serious, but his eyes brightened. “Were you here for the meeting?”

She shook her head. “No. Just stopped by to see Edna.”

He digested her answer, then gently replaced the mask on her face. His fingers slid behind her head as he adjusted the elastic band. God help her, she wanted to lean into him and let him comfort her the way he had the day before. She could practically feel the strength and warmth of his body.

“I have to go.” He stood. His head swiveled as he scanned the chaotic scene. Strobe lights swirled on emergency vehicles. Firemen hustled with equipment. The soot-streaked crowd huddled in groups on the periphery. Water, smoke, and debris littered the parking lot. Mike turned to David. “Can you stay with her?”

“Sure,” David agreed.

Mike disappeared into the crowd. The EMT brought more water and then suggested she go to the hospital to get checked over. Rachel declined.

“You’re sure?” David looked doubtful. “You don’t look so good.”

“Gee. Thanks.” Rachel rinsed her mouth again. “I want to go home. It’s nearly time for the horses to be fed, and I would kill for a shower.”

“At least let me drive you.”

“No. I need my truck.” Rachel tipped the bottle and chugged the remaining liquid, but her throat still felt like someone had rubbed it raw with charcoal briquettes.

David sighed. “I’ll follow you home.”

Rachel took a few more hits of oxygen before testing her legs. “I’m ready.”

A twinge of nerves stroked along her spine. Leftover adrenaline?

She looked over the scene. Smoke still flowed from the brick building. The sirens had been turned off. Radios chattered. Firemen were going in and out of the building with hoses and other equipment. Two EMT units assessed a few black-smudged people. A few state police cars had joined the slew of rescue vehicles.

On the other side of the lot, the stocky man from the foyer crowd stood in the same group of rough-looking guys that had crushed her in the municipal lobby. His navy blue eyes locked on Rachel, and his sneer sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through her stomach. She coughed and covered her mouth.

“Rachel?” David supported her elbow.

“Who is that?” She nodded toward the motley group. “Black hair, dark blue eyes.”

David’s head swiveled. “In the black T-shirt?”

“Yes.”

“That’s Will Martin. You want to stay away from him. He’s friends with Troy, and he’s dangerous.”

Sarah looked through the kitchen window. Rachel and David walked across the lawn from the barn to the house. She could hear their muffled voices but couldn’t make out the words. At Sarah’s feet, Bandit bristled. His body tensed. Not wanting him to wake the girls she’d just put to bed, she grabbed a chew and locked him in the den with it.

Rachel’s face was smudged with soot and her eyes were red-rimmed. “I’m going to shower for the next half hour. Thanks for helping me, David. I know you’re not a horse guy.”

“No problem.” David shuffled his feet and stared at his work boots. “Doesn’t take much skill to dump grain in buckets.”

Did David have a thing for Rachel? She couldn’t blame him if he did. Her sister was amazing, while Sarah was a weak imitation. Why couldn’t she be half as strong as Rachel?

“I appreciate the help anyway.” Rachel squeezed her eyes shut tightly and reopened them. A few tears ran down her cheeks. They were likely just watery from smoke irritation, but it looked shockingly as if Rachel had been crying. Sarah couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister cry. Their mother’s funeral maybe? Rachel’s inner warrior didn’t let down her guard very often.

“Go shower.” Sarah opened the refrigerator. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Rachel headed for the hall. A few seconds later, the wooden stairs creaked and the shower turned on with a squeal of old pipes.

Sarah pulled out the casserole she’d made the girls for dinner.

Boots scraped on the kitchen floor. She looked over at David. With his size, how could she have forgotten he was in the room? “Hungry, David?”

“Ah. Sure. Thanks.”

“Have a seat.” Sarah scooped out a large portion of noodles and chicken and popped the plate into the microwave.

David crossed to the sink and lathered up his hands and forearms. “She’s tough. She’ll be OK.”

“Someone has to look out for her. God knows she won’t take care of herself.” Only Sarah and Mrs. Holloway knew the fragile heart of the person underneath that prickly exterior. Well, maybe David did too. “Thanks for helping her tonight.”

“I did as much as she’d let me.” He sat down in a bulky captain’s chair. Her sister wasn’t much of a decorator. The table, a worn dark pine monstrosity leftover from the early seventies, was equally hideous. But Rachel didn’t give appearances priority. Whatever Granddad had left was good enough for her.

Sarah thought about the pretty kitchen she’d left behind. Ruffled curtains and polished furniture hadn’t covered the ugly truth. She’d married Troy to escape her parents’ house. He’d said he loved her. Really, he just wanted to sleep with her. She’d refused until they were married. Coming from a publically dysfunctional family, she’d strived to be the good girl. She always did what would seem right to others. Now she was left with the fallout.

The microwave dinged. Sarah pulled out the steaming plate and set it down in front of David. He looked surprised when she set silverware and a napkin by his plate.

“Do you have a girlfriend, David?”

He lowered the forkful of food that had been on its way to his mouth and stared at his plate. “Not at the moment.”

Oh no. Wrong question. She’d made him more uncomfortable. Trying to think of a new conversation topic, she moved toward the counter. “Coffee?”

David had resumed eating. He nodded midchew and swallowed. “This is incredible.”

“It’s not much. The girls like simple food.” She brought down a mug, set it on the counter, and poured, every task taking longer one-handed. Which reminded her. “Would you mind carrying an old trunk down from the attic when you’re finished?”

“Not at all.” David scraped the last bit of food from his plate. “Let’s go now. Coffee’s not done yet anyway.”

He followed her upstairs. On the second floor, Sarah paused to listen at Rachel’s bedroom door for a few seconds. The rushing sound of water was muffled by the closed door. The narrow flight of steps to the attic was at the end of the hall. Except for the cleared landing and a center aisle, furniture, boxes, and other odds and ends were haphazardly piled to the seven-foot ceiling.

“This one?” He pointed to the small black trunk at the top of the steps.

“That’s it. I think that’s the one my grandfather used to keep in the den.” Sarah touched the filthy, tattered black leather. “Can you manage it by yourself? The handles have rotted through.”

“I’ve got it.” David lifted the trunk in his arms with a grunt. “It’s not too heavy.”

It had felt heavy when Sarah had been pushing it through the maze of clutter. But then, David was at least twice her size and didn’t have a broken arm.

Downstairs, David asked, “Where do you want it?”

“In the living room.”

He made a left and set the box down in the old parlor in the front of the house, empty except for a couple of end tables. The upholstered furniture hadn’t survived the house’s years of neglect. Sarah switched on the only lamp.

David fingered the lock. “I don’t want to break it. The trunk itself looks like an antique. Do you have a small screwdriver?”

Sarah fetched one from the kitchen, then retreated to collect two mugs of coffee, which she brought in one at a time. David popped the lock and raised the lid.

Inside was a jumble of yellowed papers and books. Perching on the edge of a table, Sarah lifted a leather-bound journal from atop the pile. The binding creaked as she opened it. The faded script would need more light than the one meager lamp at her elbow.

David sifted through some of the papers and came up with a modern manila envelope. He slid some papers from inside and scanned them. “This says the farm is listed on the National Registry of Historic Places.”

“Let me see.”

With an odd expression David handed her the pages. “Does it seem weird your grandfather never mentioned it to you?”

“My grandmother was the one who filled out the forms. She died before I was born. Guess it wasn’t important to Granddad.” Sarah scanned the pages. “Oh, it says here that the house was part of the Underground Railroad.”

“How can a railroad drive under the ground?” Alex’s sleepy voice came from the stairs. She sat on the bottom step, blanket under her arm, peering through the spindles.

Their footsteps must have woken her.

“Excuse me, David. Let me put her back to bed. Help yourself to more coffee.” Sarah rose to herd the child back upstairs.

“That’s OK. I should get going. Thanks for dinner.”

“Wait right here, sweets.” Sarah patted Alex on the cheek, then followed David to the kitchen door. “Thanks for bringing my sister home safe.”

“You’re welcome. Good night.” He ducked out.

Sarah locked the door behind him and returned to herd her daughter up the steps. Knowing Alex wouldn’t let an issue go any easier than Bandit would relinquish a bone, Sarah answered the child’s question. “It wasn’t a real railroad. A long time ago, during the Civil War, runaway slaves used to hide here.”

However much of the explanation the little girl understood, the child’s nod was too serious for her age. Sarah’s heart squeezed. She should’ve left Troy a long time ago, but she’d kept hoping he’d grow up.

“Where did they hide?”

Wishing she could pick her daughter up, Sarah wrapped her arm around Alex’s shoulders and steered her down the hall. “I’m not sure. The attic or basement maybe. I’ll have to do more research to find out.”

With Alex tucked into bed, Sarah stopped at Rachel’s door. She didn’t hear any sounds. She turned the knob slowly and opened the door a crack. Rachel was sound asleep on the bed, facedown and wrapped only in a towel. Sarah tiptoed in and covered her sister with a blanket.

Sarah leaned closer. Rachel was breathing easily, but she looked more battle scarred than Sarah. Rachel hadn’t covered the stitches on her cheek, and the puckered scars on her shoulder and arm were deep red after what must have been a long, blistering shower. The angry color would fade, just as the cut on her cheek would knit. Rachel was a warrior at heart. Her strength wasn’t in question. She would cope with her physical injuries.

But the scars on her sister’s soul were a different story.

On the edge of town, the Watcher turned left in a small, exclusive development. The road curved gracefully between stately homes. Intermittent streetlights illuminated extra-large lots with diffuse amber circles. He looked ahead. The tall brick colonial at the end of the street was dark.