“I’ll do my best not to disappoint you, ma’am,” he pledged with a smile.
“I’m sure you won’t, sheriff,” she replied graciously. “But what of the plight of these men?” Lierin scanned the faces of her audience and, with a slight frown, commented on the obvious. “They’ve lost their mounts, and I see no way for them to return to Natchez. Is it a long walk back?”
Ashton chuckled as those in the adverse party were reminded of their situation and began to mutter and grumble. Their shuffling movements raised a welter of dust from the drive, but having already been told their fate, no one dared voice a complaint. “Long enough to give them time to think, my sweet.”
“Shouldn’t we at least take them back to town?”
“She’s a blessed saint,” a man responded as a hopeful murmur rose up around him. Titch’s followers were more than willing to accept some leniency from this woman and waited with bated breath as their host lifted an inquiring brow toward Judd. “Don’t we have a wagon large enough to accommodate these men?”
The huge black pondered the matter in a sober manner until an idea struck; then a wide grin spread across his dark face as he caught the flow of Ashton’s thoughts. “Well, dere is one, Massa Ashton, but de boys done got it hitched up behind de barn. Ah don’t reckon it’d suit dese here gen’lemen at all.”
“Anything’s better than walking!” a rotund fellow declared. His feet were already aching from the strain of standing.
Ashton turned to speak to Hickory, who had come to stand near the end of the porch. “Go fetch the wagon from the stable. We can’t have Mr. Titch strolling all the way back to Natchez and wearing out his new shoes.”
Chuckling to himself, Hickory left at a shuffling trot, and the men responded with mumbled thanks at the prospect of being provided transportation back to town. They began to smile and laugh until a gasp from Horace drew their attention to what came around the end of the house. There was no question the wagon was large enough, for it was made with thick board sides attached to a stout bed and mounted on massive axles. The wide, heavy wheels dropped with a jolting impact into every rut as a pair of draft horses pulled it near. Lierin pressed a perfumed handkerchief over her nose and mouth as the staunch odor of fresh manure wafted to them on an errant breeze. Huge chunks of the stuff were thickly caked to the interior and covered the lowered tailgate. A cloud of distressed flies followed closely behind as if determined not to be left bereft of either home or sustenance.
It was Titch who seemed the most offended as he stared aghast at the contraption. “You can’t be serious!”
“I have nothing else of comparable size, and there is quite a number of you,” Ashton reminded him. “If you’re unduly squeamish, you can always walk. Perhaps next time you will consider waiting for an invitation; then I can be better prepared, but for now, I would suggest you be on your way…whichever way you choose to travel.”
Sheriff Dobbs faced the discontented pack with a widening grin. “You heard ’im, boys. It’s time for you to be leaving. I might warn you also: The next time you presume to take over my responsibilities, I’ll set a fine so stiff, you’ll have to come out here and work for Judd Barnum to get enough to pay for it.” He chuckled at his own humor. “You mosey on into town now, and mind you, if you’re set on walking, don’t dally on Mr. Wingate’s lands. I’ll be along in a moment to see that you abide by what I say. So get on your way.”
Hickory sat on the high seat, clear of the stench and the flies, and whistled through his gapping front teeth and a wide, innocent grin as those who chose to accept the offering climbed in. After all, they reasoned, it was a long way back to Natchez.
Mr. Titch held back, stubbornly resolving to walk behind the conveyance. He cast dire glares toward his erstwhile host as the wagon trundled down the lane.
Sheriff Dobbs stood chortling as he observed their untidy departure. “A few miles down the road, and most of ’em won’t know the wagon even smells, but heaven help Lower Town when they arrive.”
“They should remember this for some time,” Ashton remarked.
Harvey crinkled his brows. “Some of those boys are not too forgiving, Ashton. You’d better look to yourself and your own for a while. Sometimes, it’s the ones who seem the most harmless who carry the biggest grudge.”
Ashton dropped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll try to take care, Harvey…and thanks.”
“Anytime.” The lawman grinned and turned to watch the departing band.
Several who had selected to walk went away limping, and the gallant Mumford Horace Titch, who had ridden in the fore on the way out, was now pushed to the rear in disgrace. It was much later when he relented and jumped up on the tailgate, where he clung tenaciously to the precarious perch until he was forced by discomfort to walk again. Needless to say, he had sufficient time to contemplate the error of trespassing on Ashton Wingate’s property.
Chapter Six
THE rattle of hooves faded in the distance as the sheriff and his men departed. The house settled back into a tranquil calm, but Lierin knew no such peace. She had returned to the parlor, allowing Ashton the opportunity to speak in privacy with his friend before the man went on his way, but as she perched tensely on the edge of her chair she was unable to stop shaking. An inner fear had attacked her when she heard the railing accusations, for she had been afraid that Horace Titch and his band of ruffians were right…that she was the woman who escaped from the madhouse. Since the day she had awakened from the void, she had never felt the anguish and frustration of her memory loss as much as she did now. It was like facing a blank door, knowing there was something on the other side and yet unable to find a latch or knob with which to open it. Beyond the barrier most of her life lay hidden well out of her reach. She wanted desperately to know where she had come from, who her family and friends were, and what events had led her to a collision with Ashton’s coach.
Mr. Logan had spoken in her defense, and the matter hopefully was settled. But while she watched from the foyer, she had noticed something perhaps the others had not discerned. Though Ashton had given every indication that he would protect her to the death against the mob of men, he had seemed somehow reluctant to have the gray-haired attendant see her, as if he himself suffered nagging doubts concerning her identity.
She spread her trembling hands upon her lap and stared with fixed gaze at the thin fingers and the plain, golden band until a flash of pain made her close her eyes. Slowly she rubbed her brow with her fingertips, trying to massage away the ache, and behind her eyelids a vision began to form, that of a hand clasping a long, slim poker with a spike at its head. The iron was raised high, then it came slashing cruelly downward, again and again. Of a sudden her mind was filled with a twisted mask that progressively evolved into the face of a man. The visage was contorted by a gaping maw and terror-filled eyes that bore into her very soul. Cringing away from the horrible phantasm, she mewled in fear, wanting to be rid of these fantasies that kept tormenting her.
Lierin came to her feet with a strangled cry as a hand was laid on her shoulder. In a desperate attempt at freedom, she lunged away from the tall form, but an arm reached out, catching her about the waist and drawing her back against a solid chest.
“Lierin?” Ashton gave her a light shake as she tried to fight him, bringing her back to her senses. “Lierin, what’s wrong?”
Staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes, she pressed a hand over her quivering mouth and shook her head. “I don’t know, Ashton,” she choked. “I keep seeing something…or remembering.” She averted her face, hiding it from his worried gaze, and spoke through her tears. “I see a hand raised, and it keeps on hitting…hitting.” Her shoulders trembled as she began to sob. “I wonder if I might have hurt someone. Perhaps you should have let them take me! Maybe I am the one they want, and Mr. Logan lied!”