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She knew then that for Jack, it wasn't enough.
The next morning Tess stood at the kitchen table, crushing salt. She stared at the white pile so hard, it melted in and out of focus, became a mountainous smear. She saw her fingers curl around the smooth wood of the rolling pin, but it might have been another woman's hands for all the connection Tess felt to her body.
She felt ... disembodied, as if her spirit were tagging behind her form. She was scared, terribly, desperately scared, and it took every ounce of her self-control to keep from bursting into tears or screaming at the top of her lungs.
Last night, after the barn, Jack had been so distant and cold. His silence stabbed through her soul and twisted hard.
They'd lain in bed, side by side, touching and yet not melding, their slow, mingled breathing a melancholy march in the strained quiet of the room. She'd waited for him to kiss her, but when he finally did, she wished he hadn't. The kiss was bleak and bittersweet. Then he'd taken her in his arms and held her close. But even then, wrapped in his arms, she'd felt desolate and alone and filled with trembling fear.
He'd whispered, "Good night," then closed his eyes and
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pretended to sleep. But all Tess had heard was "Goodbye."
But she refused to give up. They had time, thank God, to recapture their love and banish Jack's fear. She felt a stirring of hope. Maybe today was a good day for miracles.
The rumbling creak of a poorly sprung wagon slipped through the open kitchen window and wrenched Tess out of her thoughts. Setting down the ridged rolling pin, she wiped her gritty hands on her apron and went outside.
Savannah was pushing Katie on the tree swing. The high, clear sound of their laughter rode on the light spring breeze.
Tess looked around for Jack. He was standing across the road, with one boot hooked casually on the fence's bottom rail. His hat was drawn low across his eyes, as though to shield a too bright sun, but the day was cloudy and cold.
Apprehension stirred in Tess's stomach. Something was wrong. Jack never stood around in the middle of the day. Absently she shoved a lock of fallen hair back into the bun at her nape and moved closer to the porch rail, craning her neck to see who was coming.
The wagon rumbled down the dirt road toward them, churning up a moving cloud of dust that obscured the driver.
"Someone's comin'!" Katie yelled, leaping off the swing. She and Savannah raced across the yard and bounded up the steps, sidling close to Tess.
"Who do you think it is?" Savannah asked.
Tess couldn't answer. Absently she shook her head and shrugged, her eyes still pinned on the rolling cloud of dust. With each crunching turn of the wagon wheels, her anxiety jerked up a notch.
Her gaze cut to Jack. His face was a chalky mask. There
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was no question in his eyes, no apprehension or confusion. He knew exactly who was in that wagon.
Fear rushed through her, chilled her to the bone. She brought a hand to her mouth. Oh, God, Jack, what have you done?
The wagon turned the corner and came into view. Justice of the Peace Ed Warbass was driving.
Tess felt her knees give way. Clamping the hand more tightly atop her mouth, she shot a terrified look at Jack.
Their eyes locked. His gaze was sad and filled with regret. I'm sorry, he mouthed.
It crashed in on her
in a suffocating wave. Consciousness tried to slip away, but she held on to it with desperate, clawing fingers.
Jack had turned himself in for the murders.
"No!" she screamed. Wrenching the tired old linsey-woolsey of her skirt, she dashed down the steps and ran across the road, flinging herself into Jack's arms.
"Tell me you didn't turn yourself in," she whispered urgently.
When he didn't answer, she yanked out of his arms and stared up at him. "Tell me," she yelled.
