Christie And The Hellcat Part 34

"Just like that." She took off her ap.r.o.n and took the seat next to Julie. "We were supposed to be practicing your reading," she reminded. "Now." She pointed to the first paragraph on the page open in front of Julie. "Can you read that aloud for me?"

Julie sighed but began to read, stopping often to ask about a word.

Christie offered suggestions and encouragement, pleased at the steady progress the girl was makingshe had obviously been taught the rudiments, probably by her mother.

"Oh, I meant to mention . . . I saw a boy in the back yard earlier,"

remarked Julie, when they paused at the end of a chapter.

Christie gave her a sharp glance. "What was he doing?"

"Nothing . . . just staring in the window. When he saw me he ran away."

"It was probably the Riker boy. Horrid little brat!" She chewed her lip. What had he been doing in the yard? "Excuse me one moment."

She got up and went outside. But a cursory inspection revealed that the gelding was unharmed and nothing looked out of place. Must have scared him off before he did anything.

She went back indoors. Julie looked up. "Perhaps we should practice your writing for a while." Julie grimaced. "Don't you want to be able to sign your name instead of having to make your mark?"

"My name?" A slow smile transformed Julie's face.

221.

Christie fetched a piece of paper and a pencil and sat next to her.

"Watch what I do." She wrote the words "Julie Fontenot." "There.

Now you try it."

While Julie busied herself tracing out her name over and over, the tip of her tongue poking out in concentration, Christie fetched some vegetables from the pantry and began to peel them. As she stared out of the kitchen window, she pondered again what Joe Riker had been doing in their back yard.

"Deputy Brodie is very strong, isn't she?" came Julie's voice.

Back to that topic, are we? Christie rolled her eyes, glad the girl couldn't see. "Yes. She is."

"Does she hit you?"

"Pardon?" A shocked Christie spun on her heel and stared at Julie.

"When you won't do what she wants you to," clarified Julie, stopping writing and looking up at her.

"When I won't . . . Zee has never raised her hand to me."

"Oh . . . Well, perhaps she will, when you've been together longer." She bowed her head and began to write once more.

"She would never hit me. She loves me. People who love you don't hurt you or force you to do things you don't want to. Surely you know that?" Silence met that remark. "Did he . . . did your guardian hit you, Julie?"

Julie rolled up one of the long sleeves of her dress. Christie's hand flew to her mouth as she saw the vivid bruises on the thin arm. "Oh!"

"He told me it was for my own good. And he was always careful to make sure they wouldn't show." Julie shrugged and rolled down her sleeve.

Christie blinked. Could the girl really be as stoic as she seemed or were her feelings merely dammed, waiting to burst? Christie suspected the latter. Perhaps given the chance and a sympathetic ear, Julie might be able to release some of the pent up hurt and anguish of her long, lonely painful years with Americus Millain.

For the next hour, Christie told funny anecdotes about her adventures with Zee, trying to show Julie there was another way to live and to build up her trust. Then, there came a moment when she sensed the girl was waiting for her, expecting her even, to ask the question that had been hanging over them unspoken. She crossed her fingers that her instincts were sound, took a deep breath, and obliged.

"Julie. Did Millain make you do things with him . . . intimate 222 things," she asked as delicately as possible, "which you would rather not have done?"

The silence stretched, then a teardrop plunked onto the table, startling them both. "Yes." Julie's voice was a mere whisper.

"Oh, my dear." Christie swept her into a hug, rocking the now openly crying girl, stroking her hair and making soothing noises. It was probably the first time since her mother died, Christie reflected sadly, that anyone had held her this way.

Over the next hour, which was characterized by long tearful silences followed by confessional outbursts, Julie told her the pitiful story.

At first, Millain had been kind to her. She never went hungry, and he bought her pretty fabrics and pattern books so she could make herself fashionable dresses. (It reflected badly on him, he told her, if she looked old-fashioned and shabby.) But as the gambling fever and the drinking took hold of him, he changed.

Getting to this point had taken a lot out of Julie. They both needed the brief respite that came when Christie got up to put the pie in the oven and the vegetables on to boil. Then she resumed her seat, invited Julie back onto her lap and into her arms, and the story continued.

The worst had come when Julie turned twelve and became a woman at last. One night soon after, her guardian came home the worse for drink, remarked how much like her mother she looked, and took her to his bed. She tried to fight him off, but he gave her a black eye and nearly broke her arm. She had quickly learned not to resist.

He had praised her then, and called her his "good girl." The comments her appearance caused the next morning also taught him a lessonto make sure any bruises were hidden.

Bedding Julie had become a regular occurrence, and caused her much distress and, to Christie's surprise, guilt. "I'm going to go to h.e.l.l, aren't I?" she said, in between sniffles.

"No, Julie, you're not." But Americus Millain certainly is. She smoothed Julie's hair and thought how lucky she had been to escape having Millain's child. A faint smell of smoke made her glance at the stove, but the meat pie and vegetables were cooking as normal so she shrugged and dismissed it as her imagination.

She found a clean handkerchief and handed it over. "Here."

Julie accepted it and blew her nose. "I'm glad he's dead." She 223.

gave Christie a sideways glance, as though she expected disagreement.

"So am I."

That got her a pleased grin. "You are?"

Christie nodded. "He hurt you. He tried to kill Zee." She rocked Julie some more. "Oh, yes," she said grimly. "I'm very glad he's dead."

Chapter 13.

Zee was sweeping out the cells when the sound of the fire bell made her set aside her broom and go outside to investigate.

The faint clanging was coming and going on the gusting breeze, and it was hard to judge either direction or distance. Zee checked the sky for telltale signs of smoke. There was dark smudge to the northwest.

Loud hoofbeats made her turn just as Hogan reined in his mount in front of the jail steps. "It's your place, Brodie," he shouted. "It's on fire."

She was in the mare's saddle before he finished speaking. Urging it into a gallop, she headed northwest toward Schoolhouse Lane.

If anything's happened to her . . . Or Julie . . .

At last the Old Barn came into view. The odd looking house appeared untouched. Wisps of smoke were still rising from the rear though. Must be the barn.

She rode full tilt up the track alongside the house, scanning half hopefully, half fearfully for signs of Christie. What color dress had she been wearing? Zee's mind was a blank and she cursed under her breath. She turned the blowing mare into the crowded yard, manag-ing just barely to avoid riding down the members of the fire crew, slid out of the saddle, and took in her surroundings in one appalled glance.

The barn was a smoking ruin, still dripping with the water that the soot-stained fire fighters had pumped onto it. The buckboard was a pile of cinders, as was the water trough and log pile. There was no sign of the gelding.

She turned toward the house. It looked as if the fire hadn't spread that far, thank G.o.d.

225.

"It's out," said Marvin, who had spotted her and come to report.

"Anyone hurt?" She had yet to spy either Christie or Julie. The leader of the fire crew shook his head, and she felt almost dizzy with relief.

"Sent the women over to the Shaws' place," he told her. "Your gelding's there too. Miss Hayes managed to get him clear of the barn before the roof collapsed . . . Just as well she had the sense to send for help as soon as she did, Brodie. Fire could've spread to the house."

Zee slapped him on the shoulder. "I'm obliged to you." She a.s.sessed her surroundings again and shook her head. "Any notion what started it?"

"Thought I caught a whiff of kerosene."

"Arson?" She chewed her lip.

"It could be." He tipped his hat then and went back to join his crew.

She took one last look around the ruined yard, then set off to the Shaws' house, taking the most direct route and vaulting the boundary fence. She was just raising one gloved hand to knock on the front door when it opened.

"She's fine, Zee," were Curly's first words. "Absolutely fine."

"I'll be the judge of that," growled Zee. "Where is she?"

"In the parlor. It's through"

But Zee knew where the parlor was and had already pushed past him. Ann Shaw came out of the kitchen, took one look at her, and stood back.

"When there's a stampede," Zee heard Ann telling her husband, "it's best to get out of the way." Then her attention was fixed elsewhere, for the parlor door had swung open and a soot-smudged whirlwind was flying toward her crying, "Zee!"

Zee braced herself just in time, as Christie flung herself into her arms, threatening to overbalance them both. Christie looked like a drowned rat and reeked of wood smoke but to Zee she had never looked more beautiful. She returned Christie's enthusiastic embrace and tried to speak, but couldn't for the lump in her throat. Instead, she simply gazed at her, grazing her thumb over soft cheeks, drinking in the sight of her.

Zee had an overwhelming urge to kiss those soft lips and gave in to it. Time pa.s.sed, then a soft clearing of the throat made her 226 remember her surroundings. She broke the kiss (to a murmur of protest from Christie) and looked up, blinking.

Familiar dark eyes were regarding the two of them.

"You all right, Julie?" asked Zee.

The girl nodded. "Thanks to Miss Hayes. She made sure I got to safety."

"Good girl." Zee gave Christie an approving squeeze, and got one in return.

Now she had Christie in her arms, she could relax and take in her surroundings. Julie didn't look much better than Christie did. The two women were in one piece, but their dresses were surely beyond salvage.

"The fire crew made us leave," said Christie. "Is it bad?" From her expression, she was bracing herself for the worst.

"Barn's gone. Yard's a mess." Zee shrugged. "But we can fix 'em both."

"Thank the Lord!"

Christie released herself then laced her fingers through Zee's and led her into the parlor. Still holding hands, they sat on the settee, pressed together along their length, though there was room and to spare. Julie chose a chair.

Zee found herself wanting to do nothing except gaze at Christie and grin. Julie's lips twitched, and she picked up a magazine and pretended to read.

"Er." A wary looking Curly stood in the doorway. "Ann sent me to see if anyone would like some lemonade."

"I'd love some," said Christie, smiling at him. She touched her throat. "The smoke, you know." Julie nodded.

"Me too," said Zee. After he'd gone, she placed her hat in her lap, took off her gloves, and ran her free hand through her hair. "So," she said. "How did it start?"

"We think the boy did it," said Julie.

"Boy?" Zee sat forward. "The Riker boy?"

"It must have been him," agreed Christie. "Julie saw him earlier . . . in the yard. He ran away then, but he must have come back."

Zee let go of Christie's hand and surged to her feet. "Why, that little"

"We don't know it was him for certain, though," cautioned Christie.

227.

Zee crammed her hat back on and picked up her gloves. "I'd bet those odds. Anyway, whoever did it'll have left tracks."

Christie stood up. "I'm coming with you."

"Not this time, darlin'." She ignored the look of outrage. "You'll only slow me down." She raised a hand to forestall Christie's protest.

"And 'sides, if you don't mind me saying so, the two of you could do with a wash and brush up and a change of clothes."

Christie glanced down at herself. "What does that matter when"

"It matters to me," said Zee. "Tracking the culprit may take a while, and I want you to be comfortable." Christie's expression soft-ened and Zee followed up her advantage. "Besides, it's my job and I'm d.a.m.ned good at it. Let me do this, darlin'. I'll meet you back at the house later."

Christie sighed. "All right."