Part Three

(Written from Aug. 8 to Nov. 5, 2002)

      Bess was yanked forward by Grayson.  She tried to catch her breath and keep up with his long, quick stride, but her legs were tiring.  Her mouth was stuffed with a cloth, so she couldn’t talk.  Her face was whipped by a limb, stinging in its intensity.  If only she could escape!
      I’ll wait for him to tire, to loosen his grip just a little, thought Bess.  Then I’ll run.
      His grip never loosened, however, and she grew increasingly tired while his steps never faltered.  The trees around her began to look like a blur as they rushed through them.  Bess’s head ached and she felt perspiration soaking her back.  Those were the least of her problems, however.

      Hundreds of mosquitoes and miniscule insects swarmed in clouds about Dan as his horse led him through the woods.
      Jo had consented to Dan going with the posse only on the condition that he ride back to Plumfield before three hours after dark.  Nick had also gone with the posse, which made Jo feel even better about letting Dan go.
      “Look!” Dan shouted, stopping his horse beside a tree and jumping down.  “It’s a piece from Bess’s dress!”  He held the lacy blue fabric between his fingers.
      The posse members slowed to a halt.  The sheriff came up next to Dan.  “Good work, Son!  Now we know we’re on the right track.”
      “See those branches, how they’re broken?”  Dan pointed.  “They weren’t made by our horses because you can see the breaks aren’t fresh.  Prob’ly three or four hours old.  The branches are too big for a rodent to have broken.”  Dan scanned the area.  “There are more over there.  Let’s go in that direction!”
      They mounted and went off, following Dan’s lead.

      Jo paced on the front porch.  Why did I let him go?  He could get hurt or lost.  Even though he knows how to track pretty well.  It was after eleven o’clock right now, later than she had asked Dan to come back.  She bit her lip and sat down in a chair, only to get up the next second.  She thought she had heard something, but it must have been an animal in the woods.  Sighing, Jo paced the porch again and squeezed the ends of her hair.
      They have to find Bess.  Goodness knows what could happen to her out there!  She didn’t want to think of a crazed kidnapper, waving a gun at Bess’s head.
      Amy had come over to Plumfield to wait along with Jo.  Jo couldn’t stand Amy’s worrisome moans and chatter any more than she could stand her own thoughts, so she had gotten a cup of tea and some of Asia’s cookies and persuaded Amy to stay inside for a while.
      “Jo?  Did I hear something?”  Amy popped her head out the door.
      “No, nothing except for my pacing, or maybe an animal somewhere,” Jo sighed.
      Amy stepped onto the porch and stared out into the darkness.  “This is too much to bear.  Jo, what if she—what if the kidnapper—kills—”  Hysteria choked off her words.
      Jo stopped pacing and took Amy’s shoulders.  “Amy, no one is going to kill your daughter.  She may have just lost her way in the woods.  She may be safe and sound inside a building somewhere.  Bess is smart, like you, and even if she was kidnapped she may have figured out a way to escape.”  Jo needed to say these words, not just for Amy, but for herself.  “Bess will be fine.”  Determination edged her voice, as if she could will it to be so.
     Amy clung to Jo, fighting sobs.

     The moon was a mere sliver in the inky dark sky.
     A horse whinnied.  A man groaned.
     “We’re stopping for the night,” the sheriff declared.
     “No!” Dan shouted, clenching his fist as he faced the lawman.
     “The horses are tired, we’re all tired, and we can’t see anything in this darkness!”
     Dan jumped from his horse and was about to confront the sheriff when Nick stepped in his way.
     “Dan—this won’t help anything.  We all need some rest,” he said, laying a firm hand on Dan’s shoulder and leading him to the side of the group.
     “Nick, Bess is out here somewhere and I’m gonna find her!  She could be killed!”  Dan’s chest heaved and sweat trickled down his neck.
     “You’re just gonna run yourself ragged and then you won’t be good for anything,” Nick persuaded.  “An’ Jo wanted you back before now.”
     Dan looked at Nick levelly, moonlight glimmering dimly on his eyes.  “How would you feel if it were Jo?”
     There was silence.  Then, “I would want to go after her.  But that don’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”
     “Nick, I can’t leave.  I jus’ can’t,” Dan murmured, a catch in his voice.  “I don’t want anything to happen to Bess.  I would never forgive myself.”
     Nick paused a moment longer, trying to look into Dan’s eyes.  “Al’right.  But I stay with you and we get a half an hour rest.”
     Dan agreed slowly, knowing it was the best he would get.
     “Sheriff, we’re goin’ on,” Nick said.  “If any of you want to come with us, fine.  I jus’ need one of you to tell Jo our plans.”
     “I’ll go,” the sheriff spoke up.
     “Fine.”
     “Deputies, keep them in line if you find a kidnapper,” the sheriff advised.
     An owl hooted as Sheriff Berkley rode away.

     Morning dawned.  Jo was standing on the balcony, scanning the grounds for any sight of Dan and Nick.  She was angry with Nick—she thought he must have deliberately disobeyed her orders.  But something may have happened to them.  Her worries had escalated and she had barely slept all night.  Amy was no better, pacing and moaning and crying.
     Jo sighed and looked at the sun creeping slowly upwards, pale orange light softly glowing and spreading across the sky.  It was beautiful.  How could things be so beautiful at a time like this?

     They were hidden.  Grayson must have known about this cave, sheltered by trees and bushes.  They had been weary from running all evening, but, in the midnight darkness, Grayson had tied Bess’s wrists and legs with rope from the corner of the cave and stuffed her mouth with cloth.
     “No one will find us here,” Grayson said, a smirk evident in his tone.  He had stayed awake only until satisfied that Bess was asleep.
     But she wasn’t.  From her corner of the cave, Bess opened her eyes and blinked, trying to see if Grayson was really asleep.  There was no light in this small cave.  But his breathing sounded heavy.
     Summoning what strength she had left, Bess pushed herself upwards and stood, leaning slightly against the wall for support.  Her legs were chafed and stiff, and she could barely manage to slide and hop towards the mouth of the cave.  Trying to be quiet, but moving with renewed determination, she was almost at the exit when she tripped over a boulder.  Small stones clattered away, and her thump seemed tremendously loud.  Holding her breath, Bess listened.  Grayson groaned and stirred.  Pushing herself up, Bess limped towards the doorway to freedom, rushing with growing panic.  Grayson was after her!
     Bess fell again, biting her lip.  She was too clumsy with these ropes around her legs!
     A steely hand gripped her hair and jerked her up.  Bess winced in pain.
     “You’re not going anywhere!” Grayson hissed.
     At first Bess didn’t know what Grayson was doing as he pulled her back into the cave . . . but then she felt a rope around her waist, and her body pulled close to his.  She was lashed together with the dirty man she had come to hate and fear more than anything.
     “You’re gonna be right next to me all night . . . and then I’m gonna get a better look at you in the morning.”
     She shivered and tears splashed down her face.
     Grayson cackled softly.

     Day after day they searched, only stopping for a few minutes a day, and sometimes at night.  After five full days and nights of searching, Dan, Nick, and the few other men were at the point of dead exhaustion, as were their horses.
     “We have to stop sometime,” one of the deputies groaned as they drank from a brook.
     “Maybe you gotta, but I don’t!” Dan insisted, clenching his jaw and flopping his hat back on.
     “I think he’s right, Dan,” Nick sighed, taking a sip of the cool water from his cupped hand.  “We’re never gonna find her when we’re half gone from lack of sleep and food!”  He stood up and faced Dan.  “We can let the deputy go back to round up more men, and when they come we can go home.”
     Dan stuck out his lower lip.  “Nick . . .”
     Nick gripped Dan’s shoulder.  “Dan—you know I’m right.  It’s hard for me, too, though I know not nearly as hard as it is for you, but we gotta take some time to really rest.”
     “I couldn’t rest any more at Plumfield than I could in the woods,” Dan said, looking Nick in the eyes.
     “Maybe so, maybe not.  But we’re goin’ home after the deputy’s men come.”
     Dan felt himself weakening, struggling to conquer his weary body and mind.  He dug his toe into the dirt, fought back sudden tears, and accepted Nick’s statement with a glum nod.

      The judge and jury members were seated.  It was the second day of the trial.  Laurie was led to the front of the room, his arms held tightly.  He looked at Amy’s face, streaked with tears.  He saw worried faces from Plumfield.  He saw the smirking face of Mr. Sewell.  At the edge of the front pew, Mr. Kirk, running a hand over his balding pate.  He looked nervous, almost sorry.  It wasn’t enough.  It wouldn’t help Laurie to have his sympathy.  He was being tried for grand theft!  Laurie was pulled down into his seat.  Then, the judge called out, “All rise!”
      The court was now in session.
      Laurie looked sideways at the opposing lawyer.  He sat straight in his chair, eyes steely and calm, pinstriped suit pressed to perfection, hair combed slickly back.
      Laurie didn’t want to know how he looked.  He could only imagine his own ragged and tired features.
      The lawyer by his side patted Laurie’s hand encouragingly.  Laurie tried to hope, tried to believe—but something inside him felt like it was dying.

      Amy wiped away the tears on her cheeks, swallowed the lump in her throat.  Jo and Meg sat next to her, squeezing her hand time and again and wiping away their own tears.
      Amy looked at the back of Laurie’s head, saw his hair sticking up on top, and ached.  His eyes had been so dark, so bloodshot, his mouth etched into a down-slanting line, his clothes unpressed and dirty.  She had tried to tell him to look as good as possible.  A good impression could go a long way with the judge and jury.  She had even pressed a suit for him, but he had not taken it.  “Let them see me how I am.  It won’t make any difference how I look.  They have enough evidence to put me in jail.”  His voice had been bitter, sarcastic, hopeless.
      Amy hated to see him that way.  Giving up.  If he gave up, how could she hope?

      Mr. Kirk was called to the witness stand.  He glanced at Laurie, saddened by his former friend’s appearance.  He had hoped Laurie was innocent, even after seeing the evidence.  The fire was gone from Laurie’s eyes, and that meant defeat, acceptance—guilt.
      Or so it surely seemed.
      The questions came at Mr. Kirk from both lawyers.  He answered them heavily but unwaveringly.  “Yes, Mr. Laurie kept it in his desk.  Yes, it was one thousand dollars.  No, I didn’t suspect anything.”
      The questions and answers droned on.
      Another witness was called.  “How much did Mr. Laurence give you?”
      “One thousand dollars,” the witness said, staring into Laurie’s eyes.

      Laurie felt sick.
      “I call Mr. Theodore Laurence to the stand.”
      Laurie rose on shaky legs and stumbled to the platform, sitting down in the chair to face the crowd.  The eyes were mostly accusing.  But then he looked at his wife, and all the people from Plumfield.  They were smiling, faintly, but encouragingly.  Amy nodded her head at him.  Don’t give up, those eyes said.  You can’t give up.
      “Mr. Laurence, were you friends with Mr. Kirk?”
      Laurie’s head snapped in the lawyer’s direction.  “Yes.”
      “Did you intend to steal the money from the beginning?”
      “Objection!” the other lawyer shouted.  “He is assuming the defendant is guilty!”
      The judge didn’t blink.  “Objection sustained.  Question is ignored.  Please proceed in another fashion, Mr. Ray.”
      Mr. Ray tented his fingers together.  “Well, then, Mr. Laurence . . . did you or did you not steal Mr. Kirk’s money?”
      Laurie swallowed.  “No, I did not.”
      “Where did you get the one thousand dollars you gave to Mr. Phelps?”
      “I’ve had money saved up from working,” Laurie said, frowning.
      “And did the refrigeration cabinet cost more than you expected?”
      “Yes, but, as you know, the rest of the thousand dollars was invested in the product.”
      “Why would you want to spend all that money on a new product?”
      Laurie blinked.  “Well, I thought it would be a good investment.  My wife agreed after we tested the cabinet.  It worked well.”
      “Have you ever invested in something so costly before?”
      “Well, not exactly, but—”
      “How long did it take to earn the one thousand dollars?”
      “I don’t know—a few months, I think.”  Laurie was getting confused.  He had to keep his bearings, had to think straight.
      “A few months?” Mr. Ray tapped a pencil on the desk.  Then he stood up and narrowed the distance between Laurie and himself.  “Did you—use any of Mr. Kirk’s money?”
      Laurie shook his head, feeling faint.  “No,” he murmured.
      The questions went on, and Laurie wondered if this trial would ever end. . . . He thought he knew how it would end.

      The waiting, the agonizing waiting.  The minutes ticked by on the old clock in the front of the room.  Laurie watched the pendulum swing back and forth, back and forth.  It had been twelve minutes.  It seemed like forever.  The jury was still in the back room, deciding his fate.
      Hushed whispers came from around the room and he heard the scrape of feet on the floor.  Babies whimpered and cried, mothers clucked softly, children giggled.
      Laurie’s stomach wrenched and lurched as the minutes passed.  What was taking so long?  Did they do this on purpose?  Or were they really wondering about his guilt or innocence?
      Finally, the door opened and the jury was let in.  The judge took a scrap of paper from one of the jury members.  Laurie’s fate was held on that tiny white scrap.  The word would label him as a criminal or an innocent.
      “The defendant will rise,” the judge said, looking at Laurie.
      Laurie stood, gripping the chair with whitened knuckles.
      The judge looked down at the paper, pondering it for an endless moment.
      Laurie stood still, his jaw clenched, waiting for the verdict, knowing what it would be, but hoping somehow. . . .
      The gavel pounded and the pronouncement was made: “Guilty!”

Part Four is still to come!

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