“Thank you,” Charlotte said, feeling her heartbeat slow to a regular level. “Where is it?”
“Just head west along the main path. It’s about a mile out. Nice little green cottage. White picket fence. You can’t miss it.” He turned to leave. Before he reached the door he looked back. “Good day, Miss Rose. I wish you better luck at your next dwelling.” With that, he walked out, closing the door softly behind him.
Charlotte considered his words about the cottage. She found the man repugnant, but she couldn’t think of any reason for why he might lie about the available room. Perhaps he was making an effort to be neighborly. She resolved to stay three nights in the schoolhouse, then use the money she received on Monday to rent a room at the cottage, if a room was truly available.
She also decided to tell Max about her eviction, but not until the following day. She needed to work out how to tell him. She felt embarrassed and ashamed, and she knew Max would view her as even more foolish than he already thought her to be.
Evening fell. She removed her shoes and stockings and arranged her carpetbag on the floor to use as a pillow. She kept her dress on and draped the clothes she wasn’t wearing over her body in the absence of blankets. It was a warm evening, which was lucky, because she wouldn’t have wanted to light the fire in the wood-burning stove and call attention to the fact that someone was inside during odd hours.
Alone on the hard floor, Charlotte felt depressed and near tears. She wallowed in her misery and reconsidered the wisdom in her decision to live on her own in a strange place. She hadn’t even been in town for two months and she’d already made a large, irreversible error. Her eviction would undoubtedly become known to the parents of the children, and they would think less of her. Perhaps even the children would cease to respect her.
As she drifted into what promised to be a fitful sleep, she heard a rattling noise at the door. She started fully awake and bolted to a seated position. The schoolhouse door had a lock, but it was a flimsy one, and there was no deadbolt. Her heartbeat quickened as she listened to what sounded like metal scraping metal. Someone was attempting to pick the lock.
“Who’s there?” she shouted, her voice shaky but insistent. The scraping noise stopped. “Who’s at the door?” she yelled again, a little louder.
When no one responded and the sound resumed, a wave of terror washed over her. Someone was trying to get inside, even knowing she was there. Her gaze darted around the room as she thought about a reason for why that might be. She realized it was likely because she was there. Only one person knew of her whereabouts, and it was the one person she knew to be dangerous. The awful thought of Simon visiting her alone in the dark unbidden spurred her into action.
She scrambled to her feet and stumbled to the window, where she struggled to open it. When it stuck even against the entire weight of her body, she let out a panicked whimper and redoubled her efforts. She stepped a few paces away and ran at it, throwing her shoulder into the heavy glass when she reached it. It budged, but only a crack. When she tried to push it again, it didn’t move. She stopped and stared at the window’s small opening, her mind racing to find a solution. A thought came to her. She ran to the stove and grabbed the poker. She shoved the sharp end of it into the small crack and used it to pry open more space. It worked. After several hard tugs, the crack became wider. With both hands she pushed out, eventually opening the window enough to slip through it. She fled the moment her bare feet touched the ground.
Chapter Eight: Stubborn Pride
Max didn’t speak for some time after hearing the story. He stared at her, and Charlotte watched myriad emotions cross his face—anger, relief, and consternation among them.
When he finally spoke, it was in a low voice that held a slight tremor. “I’m going to kill that man. He is evil, through and through. If nothing else, he needs to be arrested and locked up.”
Charlotte sighed. “The problem is, I don’t know for sure it was Simon. I never saw him, so I don’t think the marshal will arrest him.”
Max ran a hand along the stubble on his jaw. “No, I reckon not.”
“I’m sorry, Max. Are you terribly angry with me?”