Echoes of Drowning Creek

By Marilyn Nichols Kapp

The outbreak of war, an unstable mother, poverty, the law, the lawless and even nature seem bent on shattering Miranda (Randy) Heydon's dreams. Through much determination, a little bootlegging, some justifiable blackmail, horse thievery and unabashed conniving, Randy struggles to obtain justice for her murdered brother. Along the way she learns that love is where you find it and the hearts desire she always thought just beyond her fingertips has been within her grasp all along.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590880777

Book preview

Prologue

November, 1925

Stella lay beneath the heavy quilts waiting for the pain to come again. Had a twisting spasm torn her from a fitful sleep, or was it only part of the plague of dreams that had haunted her these last few months? Dreams in which she had been either swept to the heights of ecstasy, or cast into a bottomless pit of shame. In one, she stood naked before the accusing eyes of God.

Lying there, listening to the sleet beat a broken rhythm on the tin roof, Stella grew afraid. What if God chose this night to inflict the punishment that she knew would come, had expected for months?

November, her seventh month of pregnancy, the threat of snow heavy in the air. The time was right for retribution. She should have known when the aching started.

The first pain struck, low in her back, on the day the weather turned. It had rained for nearly a week. Then a cold wind cleared the skies and pushed the temperature well below freezing. All day yesterday, the thick dark clouds hovered over the mountains to the south and east. The wind lay quiet but she could still feel it lurking around the corners of the house, like an animal waiting to pounce. Last night, the sleet began to fall. Soon that would turn to snow. And the pain hovered there in the background, skulking, building like the storm, waiting to spring.

The longer she listened to the icy needles pelt the window, the more sure she became that God would have His due. She and the baby would die here, alone, snowed in, no one to help her. No one at all but herself and God.

Caleb stirred beside her as if reminding Stella that he was there. She longed for his comfort and support. He was with her when she brought all three of their children into the world. But not this time. She didn’t want him there. Seeing the love and trust in his eyes would be more than she could bear.

Besides, Caleb’s faith in God was the guiding force in his life. If he suspected trouble, he would insist on prayer, never knowing that her doubts far out-weighed his faith.

And Nola? Stella’s one child still at home was only eleven years old. She was spoiled and irresponsible. Yes, Stella would be alone all right.

She could see herself on the desolate shores of a vast river of remorse. Forgiveness lay on the other side. Faith was the only bridge across the rising waters. Repeatedly, she had tried to cross the chasm and take the step to safety. But faith was such a fragile thing. It seemed the weight of her sin always buckled the bridge and once again she would fall into the murky waters of guilt.

At that moment, just as her memory began to graze the past, it seemed as if the demon serpent wound itself around her womb and began to squeeze. The pain spiraled, cutting, tearing, and burning its way through Stella’s body.

She gasped and bit her lip, determined not to cry out. When the pain subsided, she sat on the edge of the bed, then sank to her knees beside it. Years ago, she had given her life to God. One moment of weakness had taken it all away—had stranded her on that deserted shore. She had to give herself back to Him. But try as she would, Stella could find no words of prayer.

She knelt there, her heart growing heavy as stone, until her limbs were numb with cold.

From its shelter somewhere under the floor, the rooster crowed, announcing the approach of dawn. Stella stood and felt for the box of matches she kept on the table near the bed. A plan started to take shape in her mind. If she couldn’t talk to God, or even feel his presence, how could she ask His help? She’d have to save herself.

As she struck the match to light the kerosene lamp, she felt a warm dampness in the crotch of her cotton bloomers.

She cupped her hand around the flame to shield it from a draft, touched it to the wick, and carefully replaced the chimney. Only then did she lift the skirt of her flannel gown and peer at the dark red stain. The spot was small, but she knew it would grow. She had been through this before. But those times, she had been in the early stages of pregnancy. The miscarriages had been swift and not nearly so painful.

With growing dread, she crawled back into the warmth of the bed and turned to shake her husband awake.

Caleb, you best holler Nola up to get your breakfast.

Caleb flopped over on his back, shading his eyes from the light.

Why? What’s the matter? He jerked his arm from his face and stared at his wife. Seldom had she failed to cook a meal for them.

She swallowed hard, almost choked on the lie that she forced from her mouth. My back bothers me some. I think I got kidney trouble again. Maybe I ought to stay in bed for a little while this morning.

I thought the Lord healed you of that. He yawned, flung the covers aside, and sat up, combing his fingers through his hair.

I’ll just take some red alder tea and see if that helps. She wanted to throw her arms around him and say she was sorry, but she lay there in silence and watched him dress.

Suit yourself then. I reckon I better get the fire built. That young’un will never get it started. I’ll come back and build one in here in a minute. He eased the slop jar from under the bed and carried it out.

The minutes ticked by slowly as Caleb roused the protesting Nola and they began the morning routine.

Stella watched the black night fade into gray day and listened to the bickering, giggles, and squeals of mock horror from the kitchen as Caleb teased his daughter.

Peals of laughter rang from the other room as Stella caught and held her breath, hoping there would be time. The contraction left her weak and drenched in perspiration.

It seemed an eternity before Caleb came into the room to add wood to the stove and tell her that he was leaving.

You going to send Nola to school today? I’ll wait and walk with her as far as the swinging bridge, if you are.

Not today. She’d have pneumonia before she’d gone a mile in this weather.

Well, I’ll be off then. He set the sweat-stained felt hat on his head and stood a moment, hand on the footboard as though reluctant to leave. Finally, he grumbled something about the wind blowing through Ned Henry’s stripping room and tobacco gum plugging his nose until he could hardly breathe, then went back to the kitchen.

Nola, you take good care of your Ma now, Stella heard him say. A gust of cold air surged through the little house when he opened the back door, picture frames swayed on the wall when he closed it.

Stella raised up on one elbow and looked through the window. Tears blurred her vision as she watched the familiar sight, the plodding gait, shoulders stooped, hands dangling from wrists three inches below his coat sleeves. He reached up and pulled the hat lower against the icy rain and disappeared behind the huge rock in the corner of the yard.

Stella lay back on the pillow and, for a moment, wondered if she’d live to see her husband again. Then the onset of another pain wiped all else from her mind.

When she was sure that Caleb was too far away from the house to return for any reason, she called to Nola who was singing as she rattled the dishes in the kitchen. The child finished the chorus of Swing Low, Sweet Chariot as she came into the room.

You feeling any better, Momma?

Stella shook her head. I don’t think it’s my kidneys, Nola. I want you to do something for me and mind every word I say, now.

What do you want me to do, Momma?

Get dressed as warm as you can and go get Oscar Rose to bring his car. I’m going to town.

But Momma, you ain’t able to go nowhere. Daddy said you’re too sick to get out of bed. Nola frowned her disapproval.

Don’t argue with me girl, I know what I’m about. Now get going. And, Nola, Stella motioned her daughter to her side and took the girl by the hand, tell him the baby’s coming and things ain’t right. I want a doctor.

The color drained from Nola’s face. Oh, Momma, are you...

Hush now, and do as I say. It’s the baby that I’m worried about. Now go. And hurry, there’s a lot to do and I have to depend on you to do it.

After Nola left, Stella got up and found some rags to pad herself. The nightgown was ruined from being wadded between her legs to catch the flow of blood.

More than anything she wanted to use the privy, but walking the distance through Nola’s room and the kitchen to the back door seemed more than she could handle, much less the fifty yards or so beyond. She thought of what was to come in the next few hours and scoffed at herself for being hesitant about a little thing like going to the toilet.

She put her coat on over her gown and walked out on the back porch. As she stepped onto the ground the pain struck again. And with it came a new sensation, like the bursting of a bubble. Seconds later, water, warm and sticky, flowed through the rags and down her legs to spill onto the snow which dusted the layer of ice on the ground.

She struggled to gain the porch before the whirling darkness engulfed her. As she pitched forward, thought of the unborn child held her mind.

Wavering between light and darkness, Stella was vaguely aware of trying to bargain with God, telling him to do his will with her, but the child was innocent. She even promised not to love it if He’d only let it live.

Once, she opened her eyes and saw Nola’s face swimming through the snowflakes. Then she was on the sled bumping down the narrow path to the road where Oscar Rose was waiting.

The rest was like a grouping of pictures framed in spinning, smothering white and held together by a string of pain.

Most clear was the vision of Nola, standing on a log, her head bowed, holding the mule by the bridle reins as Stella rode away in the car. Nola lifted her hand and waved. Stella’s heart wrenched at the sight of the girl in the feed-sack dress. The hem hung four inches below a coat that was much too small. Then the image was lost in a swirl of snow.

Stella blinked against stinging tears and turned her mind to her other daughter. Becky, she said hoarsely. At the courthouse. I need her with me. Becky was the sensible one. She’d know what to do.

At some point, the car slid off the road into a ditch. She didn’t know how or when Oscar got it out.

Then Becky was in the car and they were going up a long curving driveway to a huge white house. Someone carried her up steps, through wide doors. And there was her face. Angry, glaring, she descended from the darkness above, and Stella was sucked under by the steely grip of panic.

She swam upward, fighting the raging current of pain and fear. Why didn’t they let her go to bed? Why was she lying on this cold hard floor? It was dark again. Then Becky was holding her hand, asking, Who Momma, who said your name meant star?

Stella bit hard on her tongue, in terror of saying too much, for the pleas for forgiveness and promises of atonement were all there inside her head.

She remembered Doctor Ballard’s face etched with alarm. Then it was over and gentle hands lifted her, carried her to someplace warm and soft, just as Caleb had all those years ago. She thought the baby must be dead.

Get me some water. A pan of warm and one of cold. Quickly! Not even the doctor’s efforts gave her any hope. She closed her eyes against the scene. A lifetime later, she heard a cry. The sound was thin and strangled but it was a cry.

Well, I’ll be damned, the doctor whispered. Mrs. Heydon?

Stella opened her eyes. Through a sea of tears she saw tiny fists clawing the air and a little face so contorted with anger, she thought the baby would surely choke to death now.

Dr. Ballard wrapped the baby and lifted it. Stella made no move to take the child, but her heart went out to it. The poor little thing was ugly beyond belief. Besides the bluish wrinkles and long bony limbs, a pink fuzz covered its skin and the tiny round head was crowned with jet black hair. Stella nearly cried with relief. So many times she had prayed, Please God, not that deep burnished red.

Placing the bundle by her side, Dr. Ballard announced with a note of pride, Seems your new daughter has a will stronger than her body, Mrs. Heydon. She should be hospitalized, though. Her lungs are not fully developed. But that’s to be expected in a premature infant. With the proper care, she could be all right.

Stella thought her heart would break. Her breath came in great shuddering gasps. Tears overflowed her eyes and spilled across her temples into her hair. But keeping her promise to God, in payment for her sin, Stella turned her face away.

THE BLANTON HOSPITAL had once been a fine home, as old as the town itself.

Stella felt it odd to go there once a day, look at the baby for awhile, then go off and leave it in someone else’s care. The child didn’t seem like her own for some reason. She still couldn’t think of it as Miranda or even her. That would make it real.

Part of Stella wanted to leave the child forever in the little glass case they called an incubator. She wanted to forget it had ever been born, deny how it came to be. Yet another part of her, the deep down secret part, longed to hold her baby, nurse it, feel it in the crook of her arm when she went to bed at night. But if she ever picked it up, loved it just the slightest little bit, wouldn’t that be the same as loving Taggert?

Once again, Stella left the room, went down the wide curving stairs, and out into cold December wind. She pulled the thin coat around her and turned east toward the center of town. It was two miles to the house where her sister, Tea, lived. Stella had insisted on going there the minute Dr. Ballard took the baby away to the hospital. She had gotten out of Carlotta Redwine’s soft warm bed, gathered what little dignity she had left, and stood on her own two feet. With the help of Oscar Rose and Becky, Stella had walked right out of that house.

That was three weeks ago. Tomorrow she would take the baby home. What was she going to do then? It had to be fed and every time she held it to her breast she’d run the risk of going back on her word. How could she keep her promise to Him? She must, for the child’s sake.

God was a stern master and she had sinned against Him as well as Caleb. She had committed adultery and given birth to another man’s child! Then in that moment of terror on her back porch, Stella had bargained her love for the life of her child. That vow was one she had to keep. Hadn’t life shown her that God’s wrath was a terrible thing?

Head bowed against the wind, Stella turned right onto Main Street and sought the shelter of buildings. Glancing up, she thought the streets crowded for a weekday. Then she realized it was Thursday, sale day at the stockyards. Every farmer in the county was probably in town today. She retraced her steps to the corner. Maybe she could find Oscar Rose or someone else from Drowning Creek and send word to Caleb that she’d be home sometime tomorrow.

Waiting for the policeman to motion her across the street, Stella watched a group of men bunched around a truck in front of the pool hall on First Street. She saw a man detach himself from the group and very casually glance around. He took the dangling cigarette from his mouth, flipped it toward the gutter, and motioned to someone she couldn’t see. A man came out of a recessed entry and stepped into the sunlight. Stella recognized her son immediately. Josh too, flipped his cigarette to the sidewalk. Then he pushed his hat to a cocky angle on the back of his head and followed the first man around the corner.

Stella opened her mouth to call out, realized what was happening, and the words died in her throat. From talk she had heard, she guessed that Josh was selling moonshine from a car parked somewhere on Irvine Street. She wanted to go after him, take him by the shoulders and shake him like a rag doll. Instead, she found an empty bench on the courthouse lawn and sat beneath the bare branches of a huge oak tree.

Tucking her hands deep in her pockets, she settled back to wait. He would come this way again, she was sure. And when he did, she would certainly give him a good talking to, one he wouldn’t soon forget. She tied the scarf tighter around her head and tried to snuggle deeper into the thin coat. The wind blasted across the lawn, bringing tears to her eyes and a sting to her nose. Despite the discomfort, she loved being right where she was. She loved the crowd, the stores decorated for Christmas, and most of all, the noise.

In the past three weeks, Stella had come to wish she lived in Blanton. It was nice to be downtown every day. And when she walked back to her sister Tea’s home, the house was always warm from a gas flame that never died out. She could run hot water in a big old tub, get in, and stretch her legs all the way out. She could take a bath every night if she wanted to. And the radio. At first, she had pretended not to listen to the programs Tea had on. Then it occurred to Stella that the pretense was just as sinful as the listening. She sighed. Was she going to add envy to her list of sins? But, she didn’t want to think of sin right now. There would be time for that when she took another man’s baby home for Caleb to raise.

Stella’s stomach knotted with guilt and her determination mounted. She would have to be harder on her children—make sure they never had to carry the weight of wrong deeds done. She would wait here for Josh until judgement day if she could talk him out of the way of life he had set for himself.

Her stomach was still queasy when several minutes later, Josh turned the corner. She left the bench and went to meet him.

He hadn’t seen her yet. He strolled along with his hands in his pockets, his boots untied and gaping at the top, his coat open and flapping in the wind. Except for the hat, he looked the same as he did the day he came home with his first squirrel hanging from his belt. The hint of a swagger was still in his walk.

He saw her and his face split in a wide grin as he loped to meet her.

Ma! What are you doing here? Little Randy’s all right ain’t she? He fell into step beside her.

Yes, the baby’s fine. Son, I want to talk to you. She took his arm and steered him around the corner and down East Main.

I want to talk to you, too, Ma. I know how Pa feels about taking money from anybody but I want to help with the hospital bill. I know it has to cost a fortune to keep little Randy there. He took a bag of Bull Durham from his pocket to roll a smoke.

You know he won’t hold for that, Stella said. You’ve got your own family to think of. We’ll take care of the hospital. Dr. Ballard said not to worry.

Stella had no idea how they would settle with the hospital but when Caleb had come to visit at Tea’s he’d said he would find a way and she knew he would.

And I know how he feels about owing money, too, Josh argued. The wind snatched the thin cigarette papers from their wrapper and released them to drift down like giant snowflakes to the littered walk. I’ve got some cash. I can help. He gave up on rolling the smoke and crammed the tobacco pouch back in his pocket. He brought out a wad of bills and held it toward her.

That’s another thing, Josh. Don’t you think we know how you get that money? She stopped, took his arm, and turned him to face her. Your Pa would never touch one cent of that dirty money. She saw the way his lids dropped lazily over the sky-colored eyes and knew he was angry. She might as well be talking to the wind. Still, she had to try.

There’s honest work...

Where, Ma? Tell me where to find it.

You mustn’t sin like this, she pleaded. God will provide.

Would it be less a sin if I let my family starve? I don’t reckon so. If you have to look at it that way Ma, think of ‘shinin’ as His way of providing!

She saw his throat tighten and wished with all her heart that she could take his burdens as her own. The government says...

The government says times are good right now, but I don’t think they got their information from around here. Nobody has bothered to ask the farmers or the miners. He jammed his hands into his pockets, and glowered. The only thing the government has done for me was to pass the Prohibition Act. People ain’t going to quit drinking whiskey and if I don’t provide it somebody else will. At least what I make is safe to drink.

Josh, none of it’s safe! She released his arm and started on down the street.

You know what I mean, Ma. What I make is clean. I’m careful about what goes in it and I use good copper. I ain’t trying to get rich, just feed my wife and son. He raised his head and straightened his shoulders. A note of pride crept into his voice. And nobody’s going to get poisoned on what I make.

It poisons the soul, Josh, Stella wondered how a man could be so proud of something that was so wrong. I don’t want to hear any more about it, Son. If I can’t talk sense into that head of yours, the less said the better. We’ll pray for you. She had every intention of keeping that promise if she could ever pray again.

They walked in silence until they reached the corner of K Street. Josh cleared his throat and spoke.

We’re going to move, Ma.

Stella sighed. Josh and Sally were always moving, always looking for that better place.

Where to this time?

He grinned. Know that little house around the hill from you all?

Oh, Josh! Do you mean it? You’re not teasing me again, are you? She stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk and hugged her son. The thought of having her grandchild within walking distance lifted her spirits higher than they had been in months.

He left her at the gate with a promise to pick her up at the hospital tomorrow. She turned up the brick path to the house, hoping Becky would not be late again tonight. She would be happy to know Josh was moving back to Drowning Creek. Then Stella remembered the spring in the gully behind the house around the hill. Water was the number one necessity for making moonshine. A deep ravine was a perfect place to hide a still.

Stella shrugged in resignation. At least there was one thing to be thankful for. The new baby was a girl. Even though the child would be an ever-present reminder of the terrible wrong she had done, she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of her life worrying about another child dodging the law.

One

Belly-down on a bed of icy leaves Randy Heydon cupped her hands and held them to her mouth. A pale moon crept over the peak of Pilot Knob and brought with it a biting wind that whistled through the ravine, stung her cheeks, and filled her eyes with tears. Dampness from the frozen ground seeped through her clothes and lay on her skin like a chilling fog.

For the hundredth time, she puffed warm breath on her fingers then stuck them under her arms to hold the heat a little longer. The cold was misery, but worse was the prickle of impatience crawling along her flesh.

Months of hoping, scheming, and lying awake at night anticipating the sweet release of vengeance, had brought them here. Now that it was almost time, the minutes stretched ahead, each second an eternity all its own.

She sighed and squirmed closer to Toby, grateful for his support.

Toby laid his arm across her shoulders and leaned close to whisper, Patience, Sweetheart. It’ll be easier if you don’t think about it. Just think about tomorrow.

Tomorrow! The rush of warmth that filled her was almost enough to dull the chill. Tomorrow would bring something new, something as bright and shiny as the lone star winking through the net of swaying limbs above her head.

First though, was getting through tonight.

She shivered and tried to concentrate on the activity around the fire glowing in the hollow below. Sight of the flames and the men stretching their hands to the heat, only intensified the cold on the ridge.

Soon the waiting and the heartache would be behind her. Any minute Zeke Isaacs would walk into the trap that Josh, Toby, and she helped the sheriff set. Unbidden, a question grazed her thoughts. When Isaacs was finally tried and convicted would it lessen the sour taste his name brought to her mouth? If he went to jail it would be for bootlegging, not the killing of Josh’s wife and children.

The injustice of it brought another surge of prickly skin. She slid the cap from her head and raked her fingers through the thick tangle of her hair. God, she hated waiting. When this was over, she dared anyone to ever mention patience to her again!

Just a little longer, Randy, Josh promised softly.

She nodded grudging reassurance through the darkness at her brother. They had waited too long, been disappointed too many times, to let a restless moment spoil it now. Sighing again, she forced herself to settle down and pass the time by watching the men who guarded the moonshine still on the floor of the ravine.

One of the men, the younger of the two, straightened from his crouched position and fed the end of a long log into the small stone furnace. From the scant amount of smoke rising above the flue, Randy judged the wood to be ash or hickory. Both burned hot and clean.

Raising her head, she sniffed for the familiar odor—like soured dough—but her nose was too cold to smell the cooking mash.

Josh, Toby and she had lain there, enduring the discomfort, since the last light of day had faded into dusk. But it would be worth every minute of the ordeal, if after all these years, her brother could at last find peace of mind.

Josh stiffened beside her and turned to peer through the night toward the old abandoned logging road.

Miranda listened. All was quiet except for the hoot of an owl somewhere down the ridge. Then she heard the low groan of an engine straining up the hill. The sound faltered, was followed immediately by the grinding of gears as the driver shifted to low. Then two piercing beams of light swung around a bend. She flattened against the ground.

A sharp intake of breath from Josh made her wonder what he must be feeling now. Her own heart was pounding wildly. She swallowed hard. Josh would be in even more danger if anything went wrong tonight.

Toby raised the rifle to his shoulder and laid his cheek against the stock.

Miranda tensed as the car lights went off. The engine stopped. She heard the door slam and someone cough. Below, in the circle of firelight, the smaller man was checking the bead in the proof vial. He dropped the bottle and grabbed for something inside his coat. Both men stared at the path on the other side of the ravine, visibly relaxing when a big man in a dark overcoat strode down the path into view.

Zeke, where the hell’ve you been? grumbled the man in the Mackinaw jacket. The voices carried clearly on the cold night air.

None of your business, Mac, replied Zeke. Open up the hole and be quick about it. I want to take inventory and get out of here. He turned on his heel, his head swiveling from side to side as his gaze roamed the rim of darkness. We’ve been too long in one spot. I get the willies after a couple o’ weeks. We’ll move out of here after this run.

Mac took a ring of keys from his pocket and the men disappeared below the sagging roof of an old lean-to. Josh had cut those poles and built the shelter years ago. The coincidence was satisfying. It fit the natural order of things that Zeke be taken here at the still her brother had started.

Josh, Miranda whispered above the roaring in her ears, you sure the law will get here in time?

Toby answered Miranda’s question.

They’ll be here, if they ain’t already. Don’t you worry, Randy. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

It won’t be long, now. Toby, keep an eye on Isaacs. I’ll be back in a minute. Josh pushed to his feet and strode away, his footsteps swishing softly in the layers of forest carpet.

Where’s he going? she whispered.

He’ll be back.

Below, the men came out of the shed. The one called Mac carried a jug. He uncapped it, raised it to his lips and drank. The smaller man grinned as Mac lowered the jar and shook his head.

This is a good run!

He wiped his chin on his coat sleeve.

Isaacs watched the woods, tugging at his gloves.

Randy kept her eyes on Isaacs.

He seemed much too jumpy to her. She had thought a man of his reputation would have nerves as tough as a locust post. What was worrying him? She’d heard nothing out of the ordinary, seen nothing unexpected. Had Josh’s movements given them away?

Something was wrong. Randy dug her fingers into Toby’s arm. He’s going to bolt, Toby. I know it.

Below, the little man took the moonshine then froze, the container almost to his mouth.

Hands in the air! Someone shouted.

Mac swore.

A dozen men poured out of the forest, some sliding, some jumping down the bank into the hollow.

Damn! Toby muttered and swung the rifle.

Randy craned to see the direction of his aim. Isaacs was already halfway up the bank, sprinting for the woods. He had heard something!

No, Miranda cried, jumping to her feet. Don’t let him get away. She flung a handful of leaves at the fleeing figure. Her shoulders drooped as turmoil erupted below. The crack of Toby’s rifle was like an explosion inside her head. Gunpowder burned her nostrils and left a metallic taste on her tongue.

My God, Toby. Don’t kill him, Randy whispered.

"I’m not. I just wanted to stop him.

On the fringe of firelight, Isaacs crouched, arm raised, pointing in their direction. A spurt of fire, a sharp report and a twig snapped from a branch above her head.

Another shot echoed from the cliffs. The jug of liquor smashed. Flames leaped, died, and flared again as the alcohol splashed the coals.

Randy couldn’t believe her eyes as Isaacs reached the top of the bank and disappeared into the woods.

Oh, God. Stop him, please! She couldn’t go through another day hanging around that poolroom, dressed like an urchin, scared to death Isaacs would catch her there. If they failed tonight, Isaacs wouldn’t drop his guard for a minute.

She brushed the hair from her face and turned toward the thicket where her brother had disappeared. Her stomach knotted with fear. Josh was unarmed. If he should meet Isaacs in the woods...

Making no effort to hold her voice down, she cried, Josh! Where’s Josh?

Here! Josh crashed through the underbrush as the sheriff’s men scrambled after Mac and the little man. What happened?

Tears scalded her cheeks as she ran toward her brother, fists clenched, arms waving. Did you see that? Did you see? The bastard got away!

I promise you, he won’t get far. Josh’s voice was low, even, but the tone dried her eyes and made her heart skip a beat.

He dropped something on the ground and squatted, Toby, strike a match!

Toby flicked a lighter and shielded the flame from the wind.

Josh yanked open a leather satchel and peered inside. Rocking back on his heels, he whistled softly.

Jesus Christ! Would you look at all that dough, Toby whispered.

Bundles of ten, twenty, and fifty-dollar bills lined the bottom of the bag. Josh took one package of bills, quickly flipped through it and grabbed two more like it, leaving the rest in place.

What are you doing? Miranda gasped. Surely he didn’t mean to steal, not even from a crook like Isaacs. She watched, relieved, as he stood and tossed the satchel over the bank toward the shed in the ravine below.

He wiped one palm with the other and said, "There. Let Mister Isaacs explain all that cash to the sheriff." He turned to Miranda and held the packet out to her.

Isaacs took much more than this from me. My wife and sons are gone forever. But this is about the amount of money I had on me the night his goon ran my car into the river. This is what he wanted and it’s the only thing I’ll ever get back. You know where to put it, Sis.

She hesitated, confused about the right or wrong of his actions. Then it occurred to her that money was the only thing important to Isaacs. To him, the deaths of Sally and the boys had been nothing more than kicking a dog out of his way. If losing the few dollars could hurt him at all, well, a little justice was better than none. She nodded and crammed the bills into her pockets.

Josh looked up and gazed across the gully toward the sounds of the search. The sheriff’s men were moving off into the night. Knowing her brother’s reckless temper, her heart sank. Would he lose all control as he had before, only this time do something he’d regret for the rest of his life? Surely her brother wouldn’t kill a man.

Josh, we have to get out of here, she pleaded.

Go home, Little’un. There’s no more you can do. If Isaacs gets away, we’ve failed.

The sheriff will get him. Let’s go home now. She tugged at his sleeve.

If he does, there’ll be no satisfaction for me unless Isaacs knows that I’m responsible.

The soft tone was back in his voice but the underlying quaver made her think of a wire stretched tight enough to hum.

What are you going to do, Josh?

Find Baxter and lend a hand, I guess. Toby, he reached out and rumpled his sister’s hair, take good care of her, you hear? He turned and headed down the banks of the spring-fed branch.

Let’s go before they mistake us for Isaacs’ men. Toby grabbed her hand and they ran toward the road.

Will Josh be all right? Miranda asked as they stumbled along the rocky lane. She needed the reassurance that even a hollow promise could give. Her brother had never been one to hold his feelings or his temper. Tonight his quiet words and steady hand had been almost as frightening as his mindless rage the day his family drowned.

Josh knows these mountains better than anybody. And you saw how calm he was.

Randy told herself Toby was right, rage could only burn so hot for so long. It was time Josh’s burned out. He’d find Baxter’s men and lead them in the hunt. Even if they didn’t get Zeke tonight, hadn’t Baxter seen him at the still? The arrest could be made tomorrow. The things she told herself did little to lessen the emptiness left in the wake of her own disappointment.

They got into the car and Toby took her hand and squeezed it. Her spirits rose a little. Surely Josh wouldn’t do anything foolish. She really didn’t need to worry. Josh was a grown man. Besides, she had promised Toby this would end her part in bootlegging and revenge. She shoved the nagging fear away but it went only as far as the back of her mind and settled in.

Reaching the wide place in the road at the foot of the path to the house, Toby turned off the engine. He reached for her and she leaned into his arms. Here, she felt safe. Not even Zeke Isaacs could touch her here.

She lifted her face and Toby found her mouth with his. The touch of his lips eased a door closed against the pain of failure. The familiar fire flared, spiraled through her veins to collect itself into searing sweetness in the woman part of her body. Breathless, she pulled away.

Toby groaned and straightened in the seat.

Randy was seized by a sudden, terrible fear that tomorrow’s plans would go the way of tonight’s. Throwing her arms around him again, she sought his lips once more.

The power of his embrace, the faint aroma of tobacco mingled with the lingering scent of the woods, and the magic of his hands blended with the wonder of him loving her. The sweet harmony fanned the flames of desire until she was consumed with a need that made her strain against him.

Toby dragged his lips from hers long enough to moan, Why wait, honey? We’ll be married tomorrow anyway. I need you now...now, baby.

I want you too, Toby. She tugged his hand away from her breast. Only one more night to wait.

For heaven sake, Randy! He let her go and turned away. Shaking his head, he shouldered the door open, jumped out, and leaned across the car.

She sat very still for a long moment. Maybe it was senseless to wait another day, especially when she felt like this. But years of her mother’s admonitions had ingrained her with the awful certainty of dire consequences if she should ever give in. With a heavy sigh Randy got out of the car and stood on shaky legs.

Silently, they climbed the steep path, Randy painfully aware of the deliberate distance Toby kept between them. At the big rock in the corner of the yard, he stopped and ran his fingers through his hair.

I better not go any closer, your Ma will have a fit. He took a step toward her, paused, then roughly pulled her against him. Randy’s knees felt like jelly. She circled his neck with her arms, clinging, terrified to let go.

He pulled away at last and cupped her face in his hands.

See you early in the morning, he said. Then he turned and was gone, swallowed by the night.

Randy forced one foot in front of the other, across the yard to the big locust tree. With trembling hands, she drew out the wad of cash which Josh had given her and wrapped it in the woolen cap. Poking the bundle inside the cavity above the first limb, she pressed her cheek against the tree trunk. The roughness of the bark helped to quiet her pounding heart. When she was sure her mother wouldn’t be able to read the yearning in her eyes, Randy went inside.

Stella was sitting in her rocker in the halo of light from the kerosene lamp, mending a shirt and waiting.

Where have you been, Miranda Heydon?

Randy steeled herself for the coming sermon.

You been with that Rose boy again? Ain’t I told you to find a nice feller that knows the Lord and settle down? Land sakes, girl. Caleb would turn in his grave if he knew the things...

Randy closed her mind to the words. She’d always known there was something different in the way her mother felt about her. Through the years, Randy had come to accept the fact, but she’d never understood.

At some point along the road of growing up, Randy abandoned hope. Even as a small child, she felt she must be lacking something very important if her own mother couldn’t love her. Then in her first year at school, Toby had singled her out and become her friend. With him she felt whole, worthy of being loved. Deep inside, she believed with all her heart the day she became Toby’s wife the world would change for her. If he loved her enough to marry her she would be somebody, amount to something.

Stella’s voice intruded. And look at what you’ve got on! Britches of all things. You know the Bible’s against a woman wearing a man’s clothes.

Amount to something. Randy wasn’t quite sure what it meant but it had been her father’s yardstick for measuring people. And whatever it was she was sure she’d have it once she married Toby.

Don’t think I don’t know what you do when you’re out runnin’ around. The place for a girl your age is home in bed at this time of night. I’m tellin’ you, you’re gonna come to no good end. A girl’s got no business taggin’ around after her brother.

Mention of Josh brought back the disappointment of Isaacs’ escape and Randy’s throat tightened. For a moment she wondered how it would feel to really win. Just once, she would like to come out on the up side of something.

Answer me now. Where’ve you been? Stella demanded.

Me and Josh had something to do, Momma. She took off her brother’s tattered coat and tossed it on a chair. The tirades had stopped upsetting her long ago. The tone of Stella’s voice no longer held concern. The words seldom varied. Anything new would take more thought. That would take more caring. Randy felt Stella had stopped living or caring the day she buried Daddy.

For just a second, Randy wondered if she would ever love anyone that much. She sloughed the thought away. She loved Toby with all her heart. He was her doorway to a world of sunlight and flowers, a world where she would become a regular human being just like her sisters and everybody else.

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