Hearts Made Whole (24 page)

And nothing or nobody would sway him from doing the honorable thing.

Ryan glanced over his shoulder to the cottage and the lighthouse in the distance. The lake spread out beyond it, choppy and gray in the growing breeze of the morning.

A thick stand of poplars protected him from the chill in the air, yet he was cold to the bone anyway. He knelt next to where he'd laid his trap, marking the area with a piece of red cloth, so that the boys and Monsieur Poupard would know to steer clear of the spot.

He brushed some leaves around the metal jaw to conceal it. If Monsieur Poupard could make a living from trapping muskrat, then surely he could bring in a few extra dollars from the trade. He'd need the additional cash if he hoped to provide for Tessa and the boys and still save enough money to pay his debt to the grieving family he'd hurt during the war.

The shriek of a gull called Ryan's attention to the cottage again. He expected Tessa to come out any minute. After Mr. Finick and Arnie had left, he told Caroline he'd wait outside as Tessa got ready to ride into town to visit the pastor.

If he was going to marry her, he figured he might as well do it first thing in the day . . . before he talked himself out of it.

Hugh and Harry had long since left for school, but not before watching him with curious and troubled eyes. He suspected they were disappointed in him after finding him drunk and in bed with their sister outside the bounds of marriage.
But they probably didn't know how to give voice to their feelings.

And they were right to be disappointed. He'd let everyone down, including Caroline, and even himself . . .

He should have been stronger. He shouldn't have considered drinking anything at all. If he hadn't allowed himself a drink, he might have been engaged to Caroline this morning instead of her sister.

The thought that he'd taken advantage of Tessa, even if she'd been a willing partner, made him sick to his stomach. He straightened and let his hand slide into the satchel he'd hung over his shoulder. His fingers found a tin flask there, the one he'd carried with him all through the war.

With a quick glance in the direction of the cottage, he took another swig, letting the liquid burn his throat.
Last sip
, he told himself again, just like he had a dozen other times over the past hour as he waited for Tessa. He twisted the cap back into place and stuffed the flask back in his satchel, then wiped a hand across his mouth. Part of him wanted to wipe away the evidence, while another part of him didn't care.

Maybe it would be easier to endure the day if he numbed his pain, if he became oblivious to what he was doing. Even though Tessa was a nice girl, she wasn't the one he wanted. And he would need all the help he could get to make it through the wedding.

At least those were the excuses he was giving himself every time he took a drink.

He stepped away from the trap, his feet crunching through the dry leaves and twigs. Something sharp poked into his back.

“What in the name of all that's holy,” he muttered, starting to spin to see what he'd bumped into. A branch maybe?

But the second he turned, the sharpness punctured his flesh. “Don't y-you m-move,” a voice stuttered.

Before Ryan could think of what to do, one of his arms was wrenched behind his back, quickly followed by the other. The tightness of a rope wrapping around his wrists finally jarred him out of his numbness.

He jerked hard to pull himself free, but the point in his back dug deeper and paralyzed him with agonizing pain.

“I s-said not t-to move.” The voice could belong to only one person.

“Arnie.” Ryan let his shoulders relax. “What are you doing?”

“You're c-coming with m-me.”

“You don't need to tie me up. All you have to do is ask politely and I'll come with you.” He tried to give the young man a grin over his shoulder, but the sullen eyes staring back at him took all the humor out of the situation. In fact, there was something deadly in Arnie's expression that sent a warning through Ryan's clouded mind.

Arnie yanked on the knot binding his wrists together. The pressure chafed his skin, and the pain rippling through his injured arm nearly made him pass out.

“What's going on, Arnie?” Ryan asked.

Arnie tugged on the rope, dragging him farther into the woods, leaving him no choice but to stumble backward. Either that or have his arms dislocated from his body.

Ryan couldn't make sense of why Arnie was tying him up at knife point. Was Arnie jealous?

“Listen,” Ryan said, trying to keep up with Arnie, which wasn't easy to do while being dragged backward. “I know you're upset about Caroline's refusal to marry you, but that doesn't have anything to do with me.”

Arnie didn't reply, except to continue to haul him into the thick woods, away from the lighthouse.

“Come on, Arnie,” Ryan pleaded, digging in his feet despite the pain in his arms and shoulders. “Let me go!”

Arnie stopped abruptly, and before Ryan could react, the young man pressed the knife against his throat. The blade scraped his skin like a razor, making him wince. Ryan knew that the alcohol in his system had dulled his ability to react, that if he'd had his senses and strength at full capacity, he probably would have broken free of Arnie by now. In fact, he probably would have heard Arnie sneaking up on him in the first place.

As it was, he was in no condition to fight off Arnie.

“If . . . if you c-cooperate,” Arnie said, “then m-maybe I'll let y-you live.”

The wind rattled the dry leaves overhead. Through the leafless spots, he caught sight of the gray-blue sky. It reminded him of Caroline's eyes, especially their smokiness when she was troubled.

Could he overpower Arnie? He tensed and tried to make himself think of how.

As if sensing his thoughts, Arnie drew back the knife and then rammed the butt of the knife against Ryan's injured arm.

Ryan couldn't hold back a cry, and his knees began to buckle. Arnie pressed the blade against his throat again, and the cutting pain forced Ryan to stay on his feet.

“If y-you don't c-cooperate,” Arnie said in a harsh whisper, “I'll cut you up and t-turn you into f-fish bait.”

C
aroline stepped back and studied Tessa, who stood in the middle of the kitchen. In contrast with their mother's beige wedding dress, Tessa's skin and hair looked even darker and more radiant.

“You look beautiful,” Caroline said, realizing just how much Tessa took after their mother.

After plying her sister with several cups of coffee, Tessa was still groggy and grumpy. But she'd managed to rouse herself enough to don the wedding gown. At first Tessa had protested, saying she would wear her Sunday best, but Caroline had insisted.

“So you're not angry with me?” Tessa asked, tucking a last loose strand of hair into a messy knot.

Caroline suppressed a weary sigh. How could she be angry? Not when it was partially her fault that Tessa was in the current predicament. If only she'd rebuked Tessa for flirting. If only she'd set a better example herself. If only she hadn't invited Ryan to sleep in the house. If only she'd exercised more caution.

If only she'd accepted Ryan's offer of marriage last night . . .
Maybe then he wouldn't have felt insecure and hurt. Maybe then he wouldn't have needed to drink. Maybe then he wouldn't have turned to Tessa for comfort.

She shook her head, ignoring the regret she felt when considering how close she'd come to getting engaged to Ryan. She had to put it out of her mind once and for all. Ryan was marrying Tessa. There was no other choice.

“What's the use in my being angry?” Caroline answered, unable to keep her voice from breaking. “He was only offering to marry me because he wanted to help me out, not because he loved me.” At least that was what she'd been telling herself. Whether or not she fully believed it was another matter altogether.

Guilt passed over Tessa's face, and she lowered her chin.

Caroline hadn't asked her what had taken place. She supposed part of her was afraid to hear the truth. She didn't want to think that Ryan had desired Tessa the same way he had her. Surely it was all a terrible mistake, the result of the drinking. A mistake he wouldn't have made if he'd been sober.

Nevertheless, she couldn't stop thinking about the two of them in bed together.

“I know you like him,” Tessa said, picking at the lacy hem of her sleeve. “But I like him too. He's handsome, and funny, and sweet—”

“He'll make a good husband,” Caroline said past the ache in her throat. She spun away from Tessa, tears pricking her eyes, tears she didn't want her sister to see.

What was done was done. There was nothing she could do to change anything now. The only thing she could do was endure the rest of the day. Then she'd leave. She'd go to Esther's and stay with her friend, at least until she could pick up the pieces of her broken heart.

“Finish up quickly,” Caroline called over her shoulder. “I'll meet you outside.”

Earlier, Ryan had put on his Sunday best and had hovered around the kitchen, his shoulders slumped, his demeanor imploring her to look at him.

But she'd refused to glance at him, even briefly. She hadn't wanted to see the apology that was sure to be in his eyes.

Finally he'd shuffled outside with his traps, and though she hadn't wanted to think about him, she watched him head off slowly, almost dejectedly, toward the woods. She didn't want to be happy that he was upset, but part of her was glad that at least he was a little despondent about the whole predicament.

Caroline grabbed a basket from near the door and went across the yard toward the cellar. Finally alone, a sudden sob caught in her throat.

“Stop it this instant,” she chided herself. “He's not worth the tears. Not when he can jump into bed with any pretty face he meets. I'm just glad I found out what he's really like before committing to him.”

But another sob pushed for release. She wasn't fooling herself with her tirade against him. No matter his faults and weaknesses, she'd allowed herself to fall in love with him. And the truth was he
was
worth the tears. Deep down, past his wounds, he was a good man.

As she stopped in front of the cellar, her mind filled with images of their time together locked inside, of sitting shoulder to shoulder in the dark, cramped space, of bearing their secrets to each other. Even though he'd been sick and she'd been worried, they helped each other through the difficult time.

Wasn't that part of the blessing of having a partner, so that they could help bear each other's burdens?

A gust of wind pushed against her, swirled her skirt, and crept underneath, sending chills up her body. Leaves blew against the wooden-plank door and rattled the lock.

The skin on the back of her neck pricked, as if someone were watching her. She glanced around, taking in the tower, the keeper's cottage, the boathouse, and the lake beyond. She scanned the marsh with its long grass turning golden, and finally she studied the woods where Ryan had gone.

No one was there, not even Ryan. Yet as her fingers closed around the cold iron of the lock, her pulse quickened unsteadily. She considered waiting to retrieve the vegetables she needed for a stew. What if someone was out there waiting to lock her in again?

“You're just being silly,” she whispered to herself. She was allowing worry to control her again, and it was about time she stopped.

With trembling fingers she fumbled at the lock, slipped the lever, and opened the door wide. At last, she forced herself to step inside, setting the basket against the door to prop it open.

Inside, she swiftly gathered what she needed, tossed the vegetables in the basket, and then scrambled backward.

Halfway out, she bumped into a man's shoes and legs. She gave a start and yelped.

The man didn't budge, and she had to let go of the basket to squeeze past him, crawling across his scuffed, overlarge shoes.

She looked up and released a breath of relief at the sight of Arnie towering above her. “Arnie! You startled me.”

He didn't say anything. Nor did he move. Instead he glanced about the yard, almost nervously.

She stood and untangled her skirt, brushing off the dirt and bits of leaves. “I didn't expect to see you again this morning.”

His nose was red and dripping, and he lifted his arm to wipe it with his sleeve. “I n-need you to c-come with me. N-now.” His hand clamped around her wrist.

She froze, staring down at his grip, then up at his face—at the shifting of his eyes and the hard set of his jaw. Her insides twisted with worry. “What's wrong? Has something happened to Ryan?”

He hesitated, glanced at the woods, and then nodded. “He . . . he needs your h-help.”

All thoughts of keeping Ryan at arm's length fled. If he was in trouble, she had to go to him. “Where is he?” She started forward, but Arnie's tight hold on her wrist stopped her.

“I'll t-take you t-to him,” Arnie said. There was a sharpness to his voice that worried her even more.

“I'll go tell Tessa.” Once again she tried to break free, but his grip proved too firm.

“There's no time f-for that,” Arnie said. “We h-have to go now.”

The urgency in his tone propelled Caroline into action, and she didn't resist when he pulled her toward the woods.

“Is he hurt?” she asked breathlessly, trying to keep up with his fast pace.

Again he nodded. “There's b-blood.”

Her heart plummeted, and she stumbled. But his grip on her arm kept her from falling. He led her through the thick woods, over fallen logs and under low branches, until they reached the clearing by the old windmill. Beyond it was the old well that Hugh had fallen into and that Ryan and the boys had subsequently filled with dirt and rocks.

The crumbling ruins of the windmill stood only a short distance from the shore. Just to the north rose a tiny spiral of smoke. Monsieur Poupard's log cabin.

Caroline's breathing was ragged, her chest pinched by the time Arnie finally stopped. She bent over, trying to catch her breath, and was surprised when Arnie didn't relinquish his hold on her wrist. If anything, his clasp seemed to tighten.

“This w-way,” he said, jerking her toward the bricks that still formed a circular wall of what had once been the base of the windmill.

“What happened to him, Arnie?” she asked through her huffing. “Why is he here?”

Arnie didn't answer but instead narrowed his eyes on the open doorway.

She followed, confusion mingling with her worry. Each step closer to the ruins, her dread mounted. What would she find inside?

Arnie stepped over a pile of bricks and stones in front of the door and then ducked into the windmill. The broken, jagged walls were all that remained. The roof and the windmill itself were long gone. With the exception of one shadowed corner, the daylight flooded the interior.

It took her a moment to distinguish Ryan. He was sitting against the wall, legs outstretched with his hands behind his back.

“Ryan!” she cried. In the dimness of the corner she couldn't see anything wrong with him, didn't spot the blood Arnie had mentioned.

At her voice, he sat forward. “Caroline,” he croaked. “Run!”

Run? Why?
She started toward Ryan, but Arnie yanked her back with enough force that she careened into him and caught a whiff of fish and onions on his breath.

“Arnie,” she said, struggling to tug her arm free and put some distance between them. “Would you please let go now? I need to help Ryan.”

“Get out of here, Caroline!” Ryan called again.

“Arnie,” she said louder, “let me go to him. Isn't that why you brought me here? To help him?”

For once, Arnie didn't blush, didn't shuffle his feet or act in any way embarrassed. Instead his jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed with a wildness that took Caroline by surprise.

“The b-best way to h-help Ryan is to m-marry me.”

She gentled her tone as though talking to one of the twins. “Arnie, do you remember what I explained to you earlier? I can't marry you.”

“You c-can if you decide t-to.” His fingers dug into her arm. A vicious look came over his face, reminding her of Mr. Simmons when he'd lashed out at her father.

Fear tingled up her spine. She'd never been afraid around Arnie before. He was always so kind and soft-spoken with her. What had happened to the young man she once knew?

“Let her go, Arnie,” Ryan demanded, wriggling his arms. “Do with me what you want, but let Caroline go unharmed.”

Was Ryan tied up?

She looked more closely and saw that a rope was wound around his feet in a tight knot. Although she couldn't see his hands behind his back, she guessed he was attempting to get loose, but unsuccessfully.

She made a move toward him, to unbind him, but once again Arnie stopped her. Pain shot into her shoulder and down her arm, and she couldn't prevent a half scream, half gasp from slipping out.

Ryan thrashed. “Don't hurt her! Kill me, set me on fire! But let her go.”

Before she could think past the burning in her shoulder, Arnie twisted both arms behind her back and wound a rope
around her wrists several times before knotting it. He pulled her backward and looped the rope around an iron post sticking up from the ground.

She was too shocked to react.

“You c-can save Ryan's life,” Arnie said, “b-but only if y-you marry me.”

Ryan shook his head. “Don't do it, Caroline.”

Arnie shoved her aside at the same time he unsheathed a long hunting knife. He strode across the ruins toward Ryan.

“No,” Caroline squeaked, filling with panic. She wanted to believe that Arnie wouldn't really hurt Ryan, that something strange had gotten into him and that he'd be back to his usual sweet self in a minute.

But when he reached Ryan, he raised the knife up and brought the hilt down onto Ryan's injured arm with such force that Ryan cried out, writhing in agony.

Arnie lifted the weapon again, the blunt end poised to thrust into Ryan once more. Ryan braced himself for the blow.

“No!” she screamed.

But her protest did no good. Arnie swung the knife, driving the butt end against Ryan's arm with all his weight.

Again Ryan cried out, the anguished sound echoing among the ruins like a wounded animal.

A sob rose in Caroline's chest, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Please, Arnie. Please! Don't hurt Ryan anymore.”

Arnie swung around and twisted the knife so that the blade pointed upward. The tip was smeared with blood.

Was that Ryan's blood? Her stomach swirled with fear. Then everything made sense. Arnie had hurt Ryan. Arnie had tied him up. And Arnie had brought him out here as his prisoner.

But why?

“If you don't m-marry me,” Arnie said as if sensing her question, “I'll k-kill him!”

Ryan now lay twitching on the dirt floor, gasping for air.

Caroline hesitated. She'd decided not to marry Arnie. She had no reason to do so now, not with Ryan marrying Tessa and agreeing to take care of everyone.