Mariel (26 page)

The night of the board meeting, Mariel delayed as long as possible leaving the Cloister. She wanted to have to hurry. That way she could be sure not to have the time to speak to Ian if she saw him on the village green.

Walter was waiting for her when she arrived at the barn. She could not find a smile to answer his grin. Instead, she said, “I thought you would be at the Three Georges by this time.”

“I knew you wanted the automobile, my lady. I polished it for you today, so you can be proud to drive it into Foxbridge.” He stretched his tired muscles. “I doubt if I will go into town tonight. It has been a long day. I think I will simply pack away my tools and call it a day.”

“Good night, then,” she said as she climbed into the driver's seat. She envied him his apparent ability to sleep with such ease. It seemed as if it had been an eternity since she found her slumber so easily.

The key started the motor purring. She backed it carefully from the barn and turned onto the path leading to the gate. Mr. Gratton would be fuming by this time, wondering why she was late. He knew she would not miss this meeting.

As she drove, Mariel rehearsed the speech she would use to convince the school board they had no choice but to vote for the textbooks. She knew they would be as unaccepting of her ideas as usual. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered to run every year for the position. She smiled into the rose-colored sky. The answer was simple. If she was not there, they would do as they wished and ruin the school in Foxbridge. She intended for the town to move into the twentieth century with the rest of the world, but it was not easy for people who clung to the ancient ideas of another era.

She turned the corner and checked her watch. Delaying over supper had made her later than she wanted to be. She increased her speed. With a smile, she thanked Walter silently. Under his care, the automobile worked perfectly. Since he had come to the Cloister, she never had to worry whether it would get her about on her errands.

When the lights of Foxbridge appeared in the valley below, she tightened her grip on the lever. She knew this road well and respected the steep hill leading into the village. Many years ago, she had seen an overturned carriage at the bottom. The image of the crushed vehicle returned to her mind nearly every time she came this way.

Keeping her foot near the brake, she watched as the trees fled past. She frowned as she pressed the pedal to slow the vehicle. In the dusk, she felt she was traveling too fast.

Panic replaced her misgivings as she stamped the brake again with her foot. Nothing happened. If anything she was moving more quickly. Concentrating on what she could do, she realized she must steer the car around the wide corner at the bottom of the hill. She nearly bounced off the seat as one wheel hit a stone. With her grip painfully tight on the lever and her feet striking the pedals controlling the rear wheels, she struggled to bring the vehicle back into her control.

Nothing happened.

In terror, she swung the lever back and forth. No response came from the wheels, which were spinning too fast. She screamed as she looked up to see the stone wall directly in front of her. Releasing the useless lever, she instinctively raised her arms to protect her face.

“Ian!” she shrieked, fearing she would never see him again.

A burst of pain rushed through her as an explosion of sound crashed around her. As the automobile impacted with the ancient wall, her scream faded into silence. Metal screeched at a higher pitch than a human throat could create. It fell in on itself as sparks brightened the twilight. One spark fell on the battery terminals, instantly igniting. A second detonation echoed through the night.

Chapter Twelve

Ian struggled to concentrate on his sermon for Sunday. Last night, he had found an old one he could reuse. He did not want to do that, but he might have no choice. Since his argument with Mariel, he had not been able to think of anything but the mystery surrounding her refusal to marry him. She loved him. That never had been the issue, only the reason for her stubborn rejection of his proposal.

He dropped his pen to the table. Tired palms eased the weariness of his eyes. This battle to try to pretend he could exist without her was foolish. He could not sleep at night in the bed, which seemed too lonely without her softness next to him. All day his mind dwelled on her, blocking every other thought.

For the past two evenings he had sat here, succeeding in doing nothing. He drew curlicues in the margin of the empty page. Ashamed to admit before Mrs. Reed his inability to think of anything but Mariel Wythe, he continued to pretend he was working. His ears longed to hear the sound of her light footsteps on the wood floors. He wanted to feel her fingers massaging the tightness out of his neck before they roamed along him to inflame his desire to its fervid pitch.

Suddenly, he jumped from the chair. He glanced around, baffled. Picking up his cane from the floor, he went to the window. The housekeeper looked up in concern from where she sat on the other side of the lamp.

“Reverend, is there a problem?”

“Did you hear that?” he asked. When Mrs. Reed did not answer, he ignored her confused expression. “She called to me, but she isn't here.”

“She? Who did you—?” She interrupted herself as a flash of lightning cut through the darkness. A crash of thunder followed too closely. “A storm? I saw no clouds tonight.”

Ian crossed the room and' grasped his cloth coat from the peg by the door. “That is no storm.”

She followed him to the door to watch as he raced away into the darkness faster than she thought him capable. Across the green, the lights from the small schoolhouse next to the church poured out onto the jeweled grass. Other figures rushed from the building. They called to Reverend Beckwith-Carter, but he did not answer as he continued toward the shore road.

Mrs. Reed put her hands over her mouth as she knew suddenly what the pastor feared. Lady Mariel would have been coming from the Cloister for the school-board meeting. Tonight she intended to demand acceptance from the other members on the textbook issue. None of the silhouettes emerging from the school was skirted. If she drove that infernal machine of hers …

Pain burned in Ian's side as his cane struck the ground again and again in rhythm with his pumping legs. He paid no attention to it, or to the anguish in his weakened leg. As he rounded the corner at the bottom of the hill, he stopped. The horror of the scene stripped him of every voluntary motion.

Flames lapped the dark sky. Only because he knew the automobile must be at the center of the inferno could he guess its original shape. Heat scorched his face, although he stood a good distance from the fire. Small fires began and died in the dew wet grass.

Moans could be heard behind him. Others were discovering what he had seen. Shouts called for volunteers for a bucket brigade to keep the fire from spreading. He forced himself to move. There must be something he could do. A hand grabbed his coat sleeve.

“Reverend, you can't! Don't kill yourself! She's dead.”

The words broke his shock. He shook off the hand and rushed forward, but more cautiously. The warnings of the people behind him did not impact on his brain. Only one thought remained. Somewhere in that twisted, burning mass of metal and wires, Mariel had been riding. She could not be dead. The voice that had called to him had been desperate, not resigned to her fate.

Someone appeared next to him with a lantern. He did not look to see who it was as he ripped its handle from its owner's grasp. Ignoring the fire, which held everyone else's attention, he swung the light to see the deep ruts where the tires had left the road to cut across the grass and smash the automobile against the wall.

With a gasp, he ran to a spot twenty feet from the fire. He dropped to his knees and picked up the slender wrist of the form crumpled on the grass. It took his tremulous fingers several seconds to find her pulse. He whispered a fervent prayer as he felt it thready beneath his touch. Although she clearly was hurt, Mariel lived.

“Someone! Help! Over here!”

When a man raced up, he was surprised to see it was Walter Collins from the Cloister. He had not thought to see him here. Then he remembered the handyman often came into Foxbridge to enjoy the camaraderie of the Three Georges.

“Reverend? I'm sorry. I—”

“Be silent!” he ordered. “Tell some of those people over there I need help. Then hurry back to the Cloister and let Miss Phipps know Lady Mariel has had an accident, but is alive.”

“Alive?” Involuntarily the gray haired man looked at the burning automobile. Only when the pastor turned back to regard something on the ground did Walter notice the shadow in front of Reverend Beckwith-Carter. “She survived that? How?”

“She must have been thrown free before the impact.” Ian looked up, his face twisted by his fear. “Hurry, man!”

Collins turned on his heel to race along the road toward the Cloister. He did not need to get aid from the others. The pastor's raised voice had caught the attention of the firefighters. Shouted orders sent a boy running to find the doctor. No one dared move Lady Mariel until Dr. Sawyer checked her.

Unashamed of the tears coursing along his face, Ian whispered, “Stay with me, Mariel. Don't die now. Don't die when you think I am angry with you.” He found no comfort in knowing her heart had called out to his in the seconds before the crash. During the horrid hours of the last two days, he never once doubted she loved him.

A hand patted his shoulder awkwardly, but he did not look up as he pressed her limp fingers to his cheek. In the glare of the fire and the pale light of the lamp, he saw blood etched across her face. Dirt outlined the pattern of the scratches distorting her features. Her heavy coat was ripped. Someone bent to smooth her skirts around her ankles, careful not to touch her.

“Reverend, the doctor is here.” When he did not appear to have heard, Mr. Gratton cleared his throat as he did when he wished to gain the attention of his quibbling boardmembers. He repeated the words.

Dazed, Ian glanced at the crowd around them. His eyes settled on the doctor. He rose slowly. Someone pressed his cane into his hand. His thanks was automatic as he watched Dr. Sawyer.

“Will she live?” he demanded, afraid to know the answer.

“Let me examine her first, Reverend.” The doctor's voice softened as he said, “Your house is closest. Can we take her there?”

Numbly, he nodded. He would play the doctor's game. The McNaughtons' house was nearer, but there was no use acting as if Mariel was only another of his flock. Before all these people, he had bared his love for her tonight. He did not worry if it would surprise them or not. All he thought of was fighting for Mariel's life. Without her in his, he knew he would never regain the joy she had taught him.

“Get a bed ready for her. We will bring her.”

Ian followed the orders, with several trailing him to be sure he did not hurt himself as he staggered toward his house. Mrs. Reed ran forward, the question she did not dare to speak displayed on her face.

“Mariel is alive.” As he spoke those words to console her, he felt a strength he thought gone settle on him. He took Mrs. Reed's arm and turned her toward the house. “Come. We will put her in my room. It is the best in the parsonage.” He did not add he wanted Mariel to be in familiar surroundings until she could be moved to the Cloister. That truth could not be revealed now.

“Reverend, what happened? Why did the automobile crash like that?”

“Later,” he ordered coldly. “Now all we must think of is making sure Mariel stays alive.”

Pain cut across her head. With a moan, Mariel raised her hands to her face. Gentle fingers blocked her motion. She moved her head to look at the one who held her, but only darkness surrounded her.

“Don't move, honey. Let the doctor finish checking you. You seem to have escaped the accident with only a few scratches and bruises.” Relieved laughter filled her ears. “You were very lucky.”

“Ian!” Hot tears stung her aching eyes. Her hand slid along the bed covers and recognized the pattern of his coverlet. Being in his bed where she had learned of the power of his love for her urged her to speak the truth. “I thought I was going to die without seeing you again. I did not want to die when you thought I was angry with you.”

“Hush,” he ordered. He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “Let Dr. Sawyer tend to you.”

“Doctor?” In confusion, she noted the fingers moving along her left arm. “Ian, will you turn up the light so the man can see what he is doing? How do you expect him to examine me in the dark?”

Ian forced his gasp down his throat before it could escape to betray him. Behind him, he heard Mrs. Reed whisper a supplication. He looked from Mariel's face, turned toward him, to the doctor on the other side of the bed. Except for a few scrapes, she appeared normal.

Dr. Sawyer took her face gently in his fingers and tilted it toward him. When she groaned, he commiserated softly, “I am sure your head aches, my lady, but I will be done in a moment.” His jovial words did not match his intense expression as he grasped the candle on the nightstand. Holding it close to her face, he watched her reaction intently.

“What is so hot?” gasped Mariel. “Ian, is the car still burning? It exploded.” Suddenly her voice rose in panic, “What is wrong? Why can't I see?”

The doctor did not answer her question. Instead, he spoke to the other man, who could not hide his concern. For weeks, it had been a secret to no one in the small village that the reverend enjoyed the company of Lady Mariel Wythe. He wondered if what he must say would change that.

“Reverend, if I could speak to you in the hallway …”

Mariel shoved herself up from the pillows, disregarding the whirling of her head. “No!” she cried. “If it is that horrible, I want to hear it. Now!” Swallowing her hysteria, she forced herself to say more calmly, “I am b-blind, doctor.” In spite of herself, she stumbled on the word. She took a deep breath and asked, “Will my sight return?”