Kathryn Albright - The Angel and the Outlaw

“But the things you said—”

“He as good as killed Linnea. Matthew murdered our daughter.”

Rose shrank away from him and lay back against her cushions. “Oh, Dory. Do what you must. I want nothing more than to find Hannah. She belongs here. This is her birthright. Bring her home any way you can.”

Dorian took her hands in his. “If there is a way on earth to find her, I will. And when I do, Matthew will have no choice but to hand her over to me.” The vengeance in his voice surprised even him. Slowly he loosened his grip. “I’ll take care of everything.”

The strong September sun had finally burned away the fog that hovered each morning over the peninsula. Rachel lifted her face to its warmth for a moment and then glanced behind her. Two wagons and five carriages loaded with churchgoers and food snaked their way to the point like an army of determined ants.

She sat in the bed of the wagon, one arm resting on a picnic hamper, the other holding tight to the wooden side. She had spent all of yesterday baking. Her mouth watered at the thought of the pies nestled between the slow-baked beans and cold chicken.

“So, how much longer do I have to put up with this prison sentence?” Caleb asked from his sprawled position beside her. “Haven’t I been okay for the past couple weeks?”

“The sheriff said at least two months,” Rachel answered. “You’re lucky he didn’t put you in jail for starting that fire.”

Caleb scowled. “No one cares about those hide houses anyway. One less wouldn’t hurt anything.”

“But they aren’t your property!” she said, exasperated with his attitude. “Besides, you could have torched the entire town. It was irresponsible.”

He clamped his hands over his ears to shut out her voice and glared at her. After a few minutes he looked up at Reverend Crouse. “Is the light keeper coming to our picnic, Reverend?”

Rachel tensed. It had been three weeks since her visit with Mr. Taylor and three weeks spent pondering the man. Impulsively, she’d even ordered a book on sign language from back east, just in case it could help the young girl.

“He’s welcome, as is anyone,” Reverend Crouse answered her brother. “After all, this is a community picnic.”

“It’s not a good idea,” Caleb said.

Reverend Crouse glanced over his shoulder. “Why do you say that?”

“’Cause he shot at those fisherman a while back. He’s not right in the head. Living out here has made him crazy. Enrique said—” Caleb stopped at the amused look in Reverend Crouse’s eyes.

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Rumors have a way of growing and changing over time.”

“I still say you shoulda had the picnic somewhere else.”

They crested the last brush-covered rise and saw the lighthouse. When they neared, Mr. Taylor stepped through the open front door, his jaw set tight. Resentment radiated from him, thick and strong.

“Look at him.” Heaviness lodged in the pit of Rachel’s stomach. “He doesn’t want us here.”

“Whether he does or not is of no concern. This is government property. The town has had a picnic here for the past seven years.” He stopped Jericho at the gate. “In any case, I’ll ask if he and his daughter would like to join us.”

Rachel couldn’t hear what was said between Reverend Crouse and Mr. Taylor but watched while Hannah inched up to her father and tucked her hand in his. She looked once in Rachel’s direction. A moment later she slipped back into the darkness of the house. Mr. Taylor soon followed his daughter and firmly shut the door.

The reverend climbed back into the wagon. “We’re welcome to enjoy the view but he prefers not to join us.” He clucked at Jericho, urging the horse on, and then waved at the others to follow.

“What of Hannah? She might like the games later,” Rachel asked.

“He’ll keep the girl with him.”

Rachel didn’t understand the ambivalence she felt. She’d worn her favorite navy-blue skirt and white blouse, trying to appear tailored like the perfect teacher in order to impress them. And she’d packed enough food in the hope that Hannah and even Mr. Taylor would join them. But now, learning they wouldn’t, a wave of relief washed over her. Perhaps she could relax now and simply enjoy the day.

A hundred feet farther, Reverend Crouse pulled the wagon to a stop on a stretch of level ground. Rachel spread out their large quilt with the faded star design between two small sagebrushes. The wind swirled and caught the edges of the makeshift tablecloth whipping it about. “Caleb! Help me, please!”

Amanda Furst caught a corner as Caleb caught the other.

“Didn’t want you sailing off,” Amanda said.

Rachel glanced up from anchoring her corner with a rock. Amanda, as always, looked prim and proper in her brown satin dress. “Why, thank you.”

Amanda nodded toward the lighthouse. “He won’t join us?”

“Mr. Taylor was invited, along with his daughter,” Rachel answered. “He said no.”

“Well, at least he has some common sense.” Amanda stood and twirled her parasol over one shoulder. “He would make us all uncomfortable. He treated me abominably in the mercantile.”

“He was just looking out for his daughter. And we were gossiping.”

Amanda raised her chin. “I don’t gossip. I was telling the truth.”

Why Rachel should feel the least bit protective of Mr. Taylor, she couldn’t fathom, but she thought a change in topic was warranted to keep the peace. “I see your brother is here,” she said, nodding toward where a few men were setting up tables.

Amanda wrinkled her nose. “Trying to get on Mother’s good side. He’s up to something.”

“I hope he stays clear of my brother.” Sam was well-known as the town terror. A few years older than Caleb, he had harassed her brother more than once when she and Caleb had first arrived at La Playa.

Amanda nodded. “Me, too. I suppose Mr. Morley will be sitting with you?”

Rachel stopped pulling things from the basket and looked up. “I’m not sure. He has relatives visiting from San Diego. I imagine they’re talking business.”

“Oh.” Amanda blushed. “Well…that’s nice. I, ah, better get back to help Mother.” She spun around and returned to where her family was setting out food.

Rachel sat back on her heels. Amanda was interested in Terrance! Before the thought registered any further, a flash of white from the lighthouse drew her eye.

Hannah stood on the catwalk, her chin on the railing, watching the people below. Rachel started to wave a greeting, but then lowered her hand when Mr. Taylor appeared behind the girl and placed his hands on her shoulders. Without turning, Hannah reached up and grasped one of his hands. Such a small gesture, full of trust and innocence. And with it Rachel’s heart softened considerably toward the light keeper.

As if he felt her watching, Mr. Taylor’s gaze caught hers…and held. Something tenuous reached out to her. Almost without realizing it, she rose to her feet, her gaze still locked on his. The wind picked up the ribbons on her bonnet and tickled her cheek, but she barely noticed. His eyes held hers as though he tried to read her thoughts, see into her soul. Before she could muddle through the strange sensation, he pulled Hannah back from the walkway and disappeared from sight.

Rachel let out the breath she had been holding and turned back to setting out the tin plates and napkins. Her cheeks flamed with heat as she tried to concentrate on the dishes, but could only see his face before her. Even her breasts tingled with awareness of him.

Caleb lugged over another basket and dumped it awkwardly in the middle of the quilt.

“My pies!” She reached out and righted the hamper, glad to have a diversion from her thoughts of the light keeper. She held up a squashed cherry pie in her hand. “To think it made the trip all the way here, and then to end up as flat as a sand dollar.”

“Where’s the problem, Rach? I’ll eat it, anyway.”

She lowered the pie, placing a cloth napkin beneath to protect the faded quilt. “No matter, I guess,” she said grudgingly. “It will still taste the same. Besides, we have the apple pie, and there will be ice cream later. Just try to be more careful.” Caleb was getting clumsier every week. Lately he reminded her more of a disjointed rag doll, all elbows and knees, than a flesh-and-blood boy.

Across the quilt from her, Reverend Crouse rose awkwardly, pressing on his knee with one hand. Skirts and coats rustled as those assembled stood for the blessing. Once he was finished, everyone gathered around the tables piled with food to fill their plates.

At Rachel’s makeshift table, the chicken pieces disappeared quickly. Rolls with butter and then molasses cookies followed. Caleb sectioned off a large piece of mashed cherry pie and ate it with boyish gusto. Rachel had just put her tin plate back in the basket when Terrance strolled up.

“Hello, Rachel.”

He towered over her, pulling on one end of his drooping mustache. He nodded to the reverend, Emma and Caleb in turn, and then his gaze locked on her to the exclusion of the others. What was it that Amanda found appealing about him?

“Ready for that walk?”

She glanced over at the other picnickers. They were finishing their meals. “What about starting the children’s games?”

With a wave of her hand, Emma Crouse intervened. “Oh, go on now, you two. I still remember a game or two. And Caleb can help me.”

Terrance pulled Rachel to her feet. “It’s settled, then.” He offered his arm.

He led her along the perimeter of the peninsula. From this high position, she could see a steamer leaving the harbor. Two ships headed toward San Diego, their white sails taut against the wind as they navigated the deepest part of the channel.

A burst of laughter and giggles came from behind her. Rachel looked back toward the picnickers. Emma and Elizabeth organized the boys and girls for the three-legged races, handing out long strips of cloth to bind legs together.

“I should get back and help,” Rachel said, starting to release Terrance’s arm. She glanced again at the children and Elizabeth. Where was Caleb?

Terrance patted her hand back into place. “Those children get you all week. They can do without you for a few more minutes.”

Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be led toward the ocean side of the point. Here the ground dropped steeply down hundreds of feet. Sagebrush and scruffy vegetation covered the higher ground, but in two areas, the wind had bitten into the high land, carving naked sandstone cliffs. Far below, the waves beat against their base. “Is that a beach down there?”

“A small one. You can’t see much from here.”

She searched for something to say. “How are your cousins from San Diego enjoying their stay?” she asked.

“They’re hoping to see a whale or two while here. So far there haven’t been any.”

“I’m not sure it’s the season for them,” she said, trying to remember what a Portuguese whaler had recently told her in town.

Terrance stopped walking and faced her. “Rachel, ah, I don’t quite know how to say this.”

She glanced up at him. “Just say what’s on your mind. I don’t bite.”

He offered a weak smile. “You know that I sit on the school board.”

“Yes.”

“Well, the others have asked me to inquire into your qualifications.”

Suddenly concerned, she met his gaze. “But they’ve already done that—when they interviewed me. They don’t think I’m doing a good job?”