Chapter 6 - THE GREENHOUSE RUN
Sarah heard Daniel call Emma's name through the rain. The little girl surged forward, but Sarah caught her gently around the waist before she could run into the open driveway.
“Daddy's there!” Emma cried. Her joy was enormous and immediate, stronger for a second than the fear that had chased her from the broken music-room window.
“I see him,” Sarah whispered. “But we need to stay together.” Beyond the hedge, she saw Victor beside Daniel's car, his dark coat gleaming wetly beneath the floodlights.
Calvin emerged from the greenhouse behind them, breathing hard. He had lost his flashlight somewhere among the potting tables and now searched the garden with frantic, angry eyes.
“There!” he shouted toward the driveway. “I've got them!” The distant reply came through his radio, clipped and distorted by the storm. “Hold your position.”
Sarah knew running directly to Daniel could deliver Emma into the middle of three men. She turned instead toward the orchard path Eli had illuminated from the gatehouse.
“Follow the lights,” she told Emma. The little girl obeyed, stepping over wet roots and keeping one hand fixed around Sarah's fingers with desperate determination.
The orchard was small but old, its low apple trees casting knotted shadows across the grass. Rain rattled through leaves and made the path slippery beneath their shoes.
Behind them, Calvin jumped a narrow planting bed and nearly fell. He recovered with a curse, then ran harder, his boots thudding against the soft earth.
Sarah could see the gatehouse ahead. A warm square shone from its kitchen window, and a figure moved inside, looking out toward the illuminated orchard path.
Eli Hart opened the door just as they reached the low stone wall. He wore a flannel shirt beneath a waxed coat, and his white hair was flattened by rain.
“Inside,” he said. “Quickly.” He guided Emma across the threshold, then leaned into the garden to check the distance between Sarah and the approaching man.
The gatehouse smelled of coffee and firewood. A little brass clock ticked above the stove, ordinary and reassuring in a way that made Emma almost collapse with relief.
Sarah closed the door behind them. Eli dropped the heavy interior bolt and pressed his palm against the old frame, listening while Calvin ran past the outside wall.
“Sheriff's deputy is five minutes out,” Eli whispered. “The dispatcher knows the east gate, but the men may try to block it.” He looked at Emma's trembling hands.
Emma had begun shaking again now that she was still. Sarah wrapped a wool blanket around her shoulders, tucking its edge beneath her chin as Claire once had.
“There's a cellar below the kitchen,” Eli said. “An old storm shelter. I can put both of you there while I tell the deputy what I saw.”
Sarah considered it. The shelter could hide Emma safely, but its only exit opened into the gatehouse itself. If the strangers entered, they could trap everyone beneath them.
“We need a way out the other side,” she replied. Eli pointed toward an old tool-room door, which connected to a narrow lane beyond the eastern garden wall.
A hard knock sounded at the front door. Emma flinched so violently that the blanket slid from one shoulder. Nobody answered. The knock came again, louder and more deliberate.
“Mr. Hart,” called a familiar, smooth voice. “It's Victor Hale. Daniel sent me. Please open up.” Sarah recognized it immediately from Christmas dinners and company gatherings.
Eli met her eyes across the tiny kitchen. Sarah shook her head once. The old man moved his hand away from the bolt and reached for the telephone instead.
Victor spoke again. “I know you're protecting the girl. But you don't understand what you're involved in. Open the door, and this doesn't get worse.”
Sarah knelt beside Emma. “He's lying,” Emma whispered. She sounded shocked, as though discovering deceit hurt almost as much as learning strangers could climb over fences.
“Yes,” Sarah answered softly. “And knowing that helps us make a good choice.” She took Emma's hand beneath the blanket, keeping her voice as steady as possible.
Outside, Calvin reached the gatehouse porch. Sarah heard his boots on the boards and the metallic jingle of something being lifted from his jacket.
Eli whispered into the telephone, reporting the men at his front door. The dispatcher asked him to stay inside, keep the line free, and avoid any confrontation.
A window rattled. Calvin struck its wooden shutter with a heavy object. Victor told him to stop, but the sound returned, sharper, making glass shiver in its frame.
Sarah looked toward the tool room. A hanging row of keys rested above a workbench. Beside them sat a yellow raincoat and Eli's old garden handcart.
“Does that lane reach the county road?” she asked. Eli nodded. “It does, but the gate at the bottom sticks. You'll have to lift the latch first.”
Emma gripped Sarah's hand. “What about you?” she asked Eli. He crouched carefully so his face came level with hers. “I'll be right behind, little songbird.”
It was Claire's nickname for Emma. Hearing it from Eli broke something tender in Sarah's heart. She wrapped the blanket tighter and drew the child toward the tool room.
A heavy blow shook the gatehouse door. Eli turned his key in the tool-room lock and pushed the interior door open, revealing a covered passage leading toward the lane.
“Go,” he told them. “I'll bring the telephone with me.” The portable receiver was tethered to an old cord, so he set it down and hurried after them instead.
Sarah guided Emma into the narrow lane. Wind rushed beneath the raincoat hanging by the door, and branches scraped the stone wall with a sound like hurried footsteps.
At the lane's lower gate, Sarah found the latch exactly where Eli described. She lifted its stubborn iron bar while Emma watched the path behind them with wide eyes.
The gate swung outward onto a gravel turnout. A beam of headlights swept across the road, and Daniel's voice called through the rain again, close and unmistakably real.
Emma ran two steps toward him before Sarah stopped. A shadow moved out from behind the gatehouse wall, and Grant Mercer stepped into the narrow opening, blocking their path.
May you like
Grant's black jacket was soaked. The metal bar from the shattered music-room window hung beside his leg. He looked from Sarah to Emma, then smiled without warmth.
“End of the road,” he said. Behind him, Daniel pushed through the headlights, his face pale with fury as he saw the stranger standing between him and his daughter.
