youth’s pointing finger.
Someone had tacked a scrap of dirty paper to the door of the school. In a scrawling but surprisingly fine hand, the person had written, Keep running.
9
Griff noticed his brothers Ned and Jack standing more still than he ever saw them, even when they slept, and staring at the teacher. She too stood motionless, poised on the balls of her feet as though she were about to gather up her wide skirt and run.
“What—?” He saw the note pinned to the door and stopped.
Run indeed. She was running away and someone knew it. He had guessed it. Females who looked like Esther Cherrett didn’t take positions in the mountains unless they thought they were doing some kind of missionary work as if none of the people in the Appalachian Mountains knew about God’s grace. They were poor and uneducated, but they knew the Lord.
Whoever had written that note wasn’t uneducated. The handwriting was clear, even if the paper looked torn from another sheet of something and the pen needed trimming to get rid of the blotches of ink.
“Did you just find that?” Griff asked.
Esther jumped as though he’d pulled her hair down. She turned on him. “You shouldn’t creep up on people.”
“I’m right sorry, Miss Esther, but I never creep anywhere.”
“He just walks quiet,” Ned said. “I wanta walk quiet too. Better hunting that way.”
“Do you know where this came from?” Griff kept his gaze fixed on Esther’s face, her eyes with their gold lights in the morning sunlight, her skin flawless and glowing as though some of that sunlight shone from within, her hair shimmering with hints of copper and bronze amidst the glossy deep brown like polished wood. It all made his mouth go dry. And if he dared look at her mouth or her form, he would want to take the advice of the note writer and keep running.
She clasped her arms across her middle, held on to her upper arms, and gazed past his shoulder. “I don’t know. I found it when the boys came to fetch me.” Her vibrant voice had taken on a bit of a tremor. “I don’t know who wrote it or where it came from or when it got here or—or anything but what you see.”
“It don’t—doesn’t look like the writing of anybody around here.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you—Ned, Jack, go back to the house and get your breakfast.”
“We have to gather the eggs,” Jack said.
“Then gather them and go back to the house.”
The boys, raised more by Griff than their father, obeyed.
Griff turned back to Esther, who hadn’t moved. Even the light tendrils of hair framing her face seemed to hang motionless in the breeze off the ridge.
“Do you have enemies, Esther Cherrett?” he demanded. “Did you bring trouble to my family?”
“No.” She didn’t meet his eyes at first, then shifted her gaze to hold his with an intensity that turned his insides to pine sap. “I can’t say I have friends either, Mr. Tolliver, but I couldn’t bring more trouble to your family than you already have.”
“You’d best be right.”
“A warning of some kind, Mr. Tolliver? Or else what?”
He shrugged. “You can find your own way back east, and fast.”
“You’re telling me—” Her voice rose in pitch, and she paused to take a deep breath. “You have someone stab you. You tell me there’s a feud. Your older sister isn’t married and is likely . . . in trouble she shouldn’t be in, and you’re concerned about me bringing you trouble? I have never in my life known anything like this, and gunshots in the middle of the night and women screaming in the woods without anyone caring to find out—you’re laughing at me.”
He was. He couldn’t help himself. “Women screaming in the woods?” He held his side, which suddenly didn’t feel as healed as he thought it was. “Oh my, that’s a good one.”
“What is so amusing?” She took on that high and mighty city lady voice, and surely her nose went a bit elevated. “I did not imagine it.”
“No,
Someone had tacked a scrap of dirty paper to the door of the school. In a scrawling but surprisingly fine hand, the person had written, Keep running.
9
Griff noticed his brothers Ned and Jack standing more still than he ever saw them, even when they slept, and staring at the teacher. She too stood motionless, poised on the balls of her feet as though she were about to gather up her wide skirt and run.
“What—?” He saw the note pinned to the door and stopped.
Run indeed. She was running away and someone knew it. He had guessed it. Females who looked like Esther Cherrett didn’t take positions in the mountains unless they thought they were doing some kind of missionary work as if none of the people in the Appalachian Mountains knew about God’s grace. They were poor and uneducated, but they knew the Lord.
Whoever had written that note wasn’t uneducated. The handwriting was clear, even if the paper looked torn from another sheet of something and the pen needed trimming to get rid of the blotches of ink.
“Did you just find that?” Griff asked.
Esther jumped as though he’d pulled her hair down. She turned on him. “You shouldn’t creep up on people.”
“I’m right sorry, Miss Esther, but I never creep anywhere.”
“He just walks quiet,” Ned said. “I wanta walk quiet too. Better hunting that way.”
“Do you know where this came from?” Griff kept his gaze fixed on Esther’s face, her eyes with their gold lights in the morning sunlight, her skin flawless and glowing as though some of that sunlight shone from within, her hair shimmering with hints of copper and bronze amidst the glossy deep brown like polished wood. It all made his mouth go dry. And if he dared look at her mouth or her form, he would want to take the advice of the note writer and keep running.
She clasped her arms across her middle, held on to her upper arms, and gazed past his shoulder. “I don’t know. I found it when the boys came to fetch me.” Her vibrant voice had taken on a bit of a tremor. “I don’t know who wrote it or where it came from or when it got here or—or anything but what you see.”
“It don’t—doesn’t look like the writing of anybody around here.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you—Ned, Jack, go back to the house and get your breakfast.”
“We have to gather the eggs,” Jack said.
“Then gather them and go back to the house.”
The boys, raised more by Griff than their father, obeyed.
Griff turned back to Esther, who hadn’t moved. Even the light tendrils of hair framing her face seemed to hang motionless in the breeze off the ridge.
“Do you have enemies, Esther Cherrett?” he demanded. “Did you bring trouble to my family?”
“No.” She didn’t meet his eyes at first, then shifted her gaze to hold his with an intensity that turned his insides to pine sap. “I can’t say I have friends either, Mr. Tolliver, but I couldn’t bring more trouble to your family than you already have.”
“You’d best be right.”
“A warning of some kind, Mr. Tolliver? Or else what?”
He shrugged. “You can find your own way back east, and fast.”
“You’re telling me—” Her voice rose in pitch, and she paused to take a deep breath. “You have someone stab you. You tell me there’s a feud. Your older sister isn’t married and is likely . . . in trouble she shouldn’t be in, and you’re concerned about me bringing you trouble? I have never in my life known anything like this, and gunshots in the middle of the night and women screaming in the woods without anyone caring to find out—you’re laughing at me.”
He was. He couldn’t help himself. “Women screaming in the woods?” He held his side, which suddenly didn’t feel as healed as he thought it was. “Oh my, that’s a good one.”
“What is so amusing?” She took on that high and mighty city lady voice, and surely her nose went a bit elevated. “I did not imagine it.”
“No,
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