Chapter Nineteen

Cora

Wandering around the barnyard, searching for the girl, Cora had never felt so helpless. She tried not to think of Justine lying somewhere hurt and calling for Cora to come find her. The images in her head fanned the flames of terror. She walked between the fruit trees behind the house. The branches were heavy with blossoms. Bees flew from bloom to bloom. The perfume hung in the air, sweet and floral. Any other time she would have been filled with delight.

In the summer, she and Justine would harvest plums and peaches. They’d make preserves and pies. She pushed away the images of Justine lost and hurt, and thought instead of working together, side-by-side, in the big, sun-drenched kitchen.

A cat trotted through the trees. While Cora couldn’t hear her meows, she saw the way the cat opened and closed her mouth. She wanted something to eat, but it would have to wait. The cat insisted, though, weaving between Cora’s legs and almost tripping her.

She shooed the cat away in irritation.

Painful memories rose from beneath her frantic thoughts of Justine. Her brothers had claimed she’d never be able to care for a child.

No man would be so foolhardy to marry you, Cora…

From the moment of conception, you’d be an unfit mother…

The words stung. Perhaps even more than they had when her brothers first said them. They went on to say she was unsuitable for most every occupation. Perhaps she could find employment as a seamstress, but they didn’t want a member of the Singleton family working as a common laborer.

She stumbled over the cat again. It trotted away, unharmed, and rubbed against a tree trunk. Nick had a handful of cats that roamed the barnyard. Justine had named all of them. This one was probably looking for Justine too, hoping to be fed. The pretty tortoise-shell flopped to the ground and rolled to her back. The cat had young, Cora noted, kittens she’d recently nursed. She stared at the cat. Her thoughts spun. Somewhere this mother cat had a litter of kittens.

Nick had said the cats liked to have their young in the hayloft.

Cora hurried to the barn. The cat ran ahead, hopped to a windowsill and vanished through the half-open window. The door to the barn was heavy and had given Cora trouble before. After several attempts, she managed to free the latch. Despite that, the door refused to budge. She tried kicking and shoving. Finally, she resorted to backing up several steps, running at it and hitting it with her shoulder. The door creaked open enough for her to enter.

Rubbing her shoulder, she stepped into the gloom. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light as she walked along the stalls. Nick told her he and Henry had searched the barn, but he made no mention of the hayloft. Or had he? She’d been so frantic, she couldn’t recall his exact words.

“Justine!” she called the girl’s name out of instinct.

The silence inside her head had never been more agonizing. Gritting her teeth and steeling her resolve, she moved past the horse stalls, past the feed room and to the ladder at the back of the barn. The hatch was closed. Did Nick always keep it closed?

She ascended the ladder.

“I’m coming up,” she said.

Dust motes swirled around her. Perhaps she spoke to no one, but her words gave her a sense of relief somehow. A memory flashed in her mind. Her brothers, ten years her senior, invited her to play hide-and-seek. No more than six or seven at the time, she’d delighted in their attention. But they’d tricked her, luring her into the dank basement and locking the door behind them.

The darkness had terrified her. It took hours for her parents and servants to find her. Why would the memory return to her now of all times? She threw it off, climbing the ladder rung by rung. Darkness drew closer with each step. The dust choked her breath. When she reached the top, she paused.

“Don’t look down.” This time she spoke to herself.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed herself to release her grip on the last rung. She set her palm on the door and pushed. The door didn’t lift even a fraction of an inch. Gritting her teeth, she shifted and pushed harder. Still nothing.

She growled with frustration. Lowering her hand, she let her head fall to the top rung and rested her forehead.

How can you hope to care for a baby, when you’re as helpless as child…?

With a growl, she descended the ladder. She went to the feed room, looking for something that might help lift the hayloft door. Looking around, she spied a broom. How that would help, she wasn’t sure. She snatched it from the corner and hurried back to the ladder.

“Tricky business climbing a ladder with a broom,” she muttered.

She gripped it between her thumb and forefinger and climbed the ladder using one hand and three fingers of her other. When she reached the top, she banged the door with the handle. Dust fell between the cracks. Coughing, she ducked her head. Grit and small pieces of straw fell down the back of her neck. They slipped past her collar and settled along her back and waistband.

Muttering a soft curse, she dropped the broom. It fell to the ground.

“Now what?”

A small thump resounded through the rung. She drew a sharp breath and immediately regretted it. Another round of coughing shook her. When it passed, she raised her hand to the door. This time she felt more than a thump. She felt a definite pounding rhythm.

“Justine,” she whispered.

Once more she clambered down the ladder and ran to the feed room. She could open the hatch, but she would need all her strength. Not just one hand. She searched the shelves and found a coil of rope and an iron crowbar. The rope, she slung over her shoulder and the crowbar, she hooked over the rope.

Climbing the ladder this time was somewhat easier with both hands, but she very nearly dropped the iron bar several times. When she reached the top, she hooked the crowbar on a rung. She tightened the rope under her shoulders and with her teeth managed to knot the ends.

She glanced over her shoulder, but jerked her head around muttering to herself. “Don’t look down.”

Forcing her hands from the rung, she tested the rope’s hold. Satisfied it would hold, she wedged the iron bar between the door and frame. The door lifted a half inch. Not enough, but the movement allowed her to shove the bar and gain more leverage. She pushed harder, prying the door up. This time it moved several inches.

Justine’s slender fingers wrapped around the edge of the door. Cora dropped the crowbar and pushed with both hands. With their efforts combined, Justine and Cora lifted the door. Once it was halfway up, Justine pushed it the rest of the way. It thudded open. The bang resounded through the ladder.

Justine crouched over the doorway, a trembling smile on her tear-stained face. “I knew you’d find me.”