The Mist on Bronte Moor

Chapter 20


‘Run, Heathcliff, run!’ she whispered.

‘They have let the bull-dog loose, and he holds me!’

—E.J. Brontë





My hand remained in my pocket as Charlotte, Mary, and Anne moved around the room gathering their bonnets and drawing kits.

Only Emily remained seated, her eyes fixed on my pocket.

“Are you two coming?” Charlotte asked.

I glanced at Emily. She shook her head. “No, we’re going onto the moors.”

Charlotte pursed her lips and marched out of the room with Mary and Anne behind her.

Once the noise of their footsteps had faded, I said, “If we leave for Top Withins in a while, we’ll get there near dinner. Harthorn is bound to be out hunting. He has to eat, doesn’t he?”

“I suppose he does.” Emily nodded. “But what about the wolf?”

There was no trace of fear or hesitation in Emily’s voice. Her question seemed like a test to see how afraid I was.

I chewed my lip, thinking for a minute. “Hugh said the wolf has been trained to kill him by scent. I don’t think it will harm us.” My voice sounded confident, but in reality, I was uncertain.

Emily nodded. “All right then.”

I paced up and down the small room. “But what if he is home?”

Emily remained silent.

I paced some more and chewed my thumbnail. Harthorn knew me now. If he saw me on his property again—I shuddered.

“We could say Papa sent us to lecture him on the benefits of church. The worst he’ll do is send us packing. In that case, we’ll have to wait at the bottom of the hill until we see him leave the house. As you said, he must eat.”

“Or drink,” I said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“That night I went to find Branwell at the Black Bull, Harthorn was there. I bumped into him.”

“Did you?” Emily asked.

“Yes. And I’m sure he recognized me by my hat. It’s not exactly hard to forget.”

“Well then,” Emily said, “you needn’t worry. You’re wearing a bonnet today.”

I smiled weakly. She had a point.

Emily packed a light dinner of cold tea and bread for the both of us as Tabby hovered over her.

“Ya ought not t’ go out on t’ moors alone.”

Clearly, she no longer trusted Emily after the Top Withins incident.

“We’re not going onto the moors,” Emily lied. “Only to the edge.”

Tabby peered at our sack of food.

“Only for a little picnic,” Emily added, “then we’ll go join Branni and Charlotte in the graveyard.”

Tabby’s face relaxed.

We made it out the door without another word from Tabby but had just walked a few yards when Grasper came scampering up behind us.

“Grasper, no!” Emily whirled around. She pointed in the direction of the parsonage. “Go home!”

As she did, we caught sight of Tabby waving from the back door. “Ya forgo’ ya mutt,” she shouted.

Emily put her hands on her hips. “We can’t send him back now. She’ll get suspicious if I refuse to take him.”

Grasper barked and wagged his tail.

“Let him come then. But we’ll have to leave him outside, or that wolf will have him for dinner.”

“That won’t matter,” Emily said, “he’d never run off without me.”

We walked at a slow pace to the waterfall and stopped to eat, then crossed the stone bridge and headed for Top Withins. We arrived at the foot of the windswept hill about an hour before dinner, as I’d predicted.

The two of us gazed up at the bleak, stone farmhouse. This time, we weren’t merely walking past. We were going inside. All my instincts told me to run and abandon my crazy plan, but I couldn’t. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to help Clara. I’d promised Hugh. Even if Clara couldn’t escape Harthorn, at least she would know Hugh was still alive. I could give her that.

We started up the hill. With each step the farmhouse loomed larger before us. My muscles ached, but my resolve didn’t waver. Emily never complained, no matter how difficult or uncomfortable things became. She marched up the hill with Grasper and reached the top before me.

As I climbed toward her, she shouted something at me, but the wind raged, shrieking as if possessed, so it was impossible to hear her words. I scrambled to the top and stood next to Emily. The wind lashed at my body with wild fury. My eyes watered, and the farmhouse blurred.

Emily, whose eyes had more time to adjust, gripped my arm. “Look,” she hissed.

“What?” I blinked rapidly, but the farmhouse remained a gray blur.

Grasper yelped and wriggled in Emily’s arms. “Come on.” She tugged at my dress.

I didn’t move. Desperate to get the sting out of my eyes, I rubbed them with the palms of my hands. Blinking again, the farmhouse finally came into focus.

Harthorn’s wolf lay sleeping in front of the farmhouse door.

“Move behind the tree,” Emily said, pulling at my dress.

But I couldn’t move. I remained rooted to the spot like the withered tree beside me.

Grasper whined and struggled to get out of Emily’s grip. She scrambled for shelter and crouched low to the ground.

The wolf stretched in its sleep.

“Heather, I think he’s waking up. Do come!”

My scalp and neck tingled to life, but my legs refused to cooperate. I fell to my knees and crawled toward Emily.

Grasper yelped again. “Quiet, boy,” Emily whispered.

The wolf pricked up its ears and raised its head.

A lump of fear the size of a rock formed in my chest. Grasper barked and wriggled frantically.

“No, boy!” Emily said, wrapping both her arms around his small body and holding him close.

The wolf leapt up and looked directly at the tree, its muscles taut. I felt light headed with terror.

Grasper wrenched himself free and raced forward, his barking lost in the wind.

“No, Grasper.” Emily jumped up.

“Sit down!” I grabbed Emily’s cape and tried to pull her down.

Grasper ran toward the wolf, stopping only a few feet away from the huge beast. He barked at the wolf as if it were a tabby cat. I couldn’t believe it. He was only a little terrier. My heart raced around my chest as wolf and dog snarled at each other.

“He’s trying to keep the wolf away from us,” Emily said. “He’s risking his life to protect me.”

The wolf circled Grasper.

“It’s going to attack,” Emily cried. “I have to do something.” She charged forward.

“Stop!” I screamed.

Emily sprinted toward Grasper. The wolf jerked its head up, and Emily stopped abruptly. Clearly, she’d run off without a plan. The wolf fixed its eyes on her and bared its fangs.

Stay still, Emily. Don’t move.

She lost her footing and stumbled an inch. That was enough. The wolf sprang forward, its muscular body flying through the air. It landed on her chest, knocking her over like a weightless rag doll. She dropped with a sickening thud, her head smashing onto the ground and her body pinned down by the wolf’s weight.

A long, silent scream stuck in my throat. I willed my legs to move, but again they failed me. The wolf sunk its teeth into Emily’s arm. Her body convulsed with pain.

I picked up a large stone and ran forward. The wolf raised its head. Blood smeared its snout and soaked Emily’s sleeve. I lifted my arm and aimed the rock. The wolf curled its bloodied lips and snarled.

“Heel!” a voice boomed.

My hand froze in midair. Harthorn stepped out from the side of the house.

How long had he been there?

The wolf immediately released Emily and trotted off to his master. I weakened with relief, and the stone fell from my hand. Grasper ran to Emily’s side and licked her face. She groaned.

Harthorn marched toward Emily and glared down at her. “Stay ’f me land,” he growled. “Yer lucky he only nipped ya. Next time, I’ll let ’im ’av ya fer dinner.”

Emily staggered to her feet and backed away from Harthorn. She cradled her blood-soaked arm against her chest and walked without taking her eyes off him. Grasper trotted beside her.

I held my breath. Every step Emily took was agonizing. My eyes darted from Emily to Harthorn. I prayed she would keep moving and Harthorn would remain where he stood.

Then, a movement in the farmhouse caught my eye. Clara peered out of the upstairs window. Her long hair hung loose and wild around her pale face.

Harthorn must have noticed my gaze because he turned toward Clara. In that instant, I knew my chance had come. Without taking my eyes off the back of Harthorn’s head, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Hugh’s ring. I held it in the air, so Clara could see, and then I tossed it in the direction of the withered tree. Emily reached my side just as the ring landed with a clink on the ground.

In one swift motion, Harthorn spun around and moved toward me. I stumbled back in surprise. He peered down at me as if I were the mangled offerings of a rabbit trap. Then he snarled and raised his arm in the air. I was certain he was going to hit me.

Emily clutched my arm, her hand sticky with blood.

“Run,” she whispered.