Free This Other Eden by Marilyn Harris Page A

feet.
     
    A
residue of anger left over from the entire miserable morning flared within her.
She stepped closer to the edge of the garden, which was being trampled into
oblivion, drew herself up to her full five feet, and shouted, "In the name
of God, go home! The lot of you. This isn't Tyburn or Newgate. There will be no
head on a pike to amuse you. Haven't you seen enough? If you want more, go home
and beat your wives, or yourselves. It matters little to me. But clear this
place. Now!"
     
    A
stillness fell over the faces, all turned in Dolly's direction. She took the
weight of their stares and in spite of her furiously bobbing head, shouted
again, "Go home, I say! The entertainment's over."
     
    She
began to move slowly through the parting crowd. At the door of the cottage she
stood on the stoop, a helpful elevation of almost a foot, permitting her to
look out over the faces. With a surge of emotion, she added, more softly,
"Go home and pray. For Marianne, for her father, for Thomas Eden."
     
    Parson
Branscombe murmured, "Amen," and pushed through the crowd in an
obvious attempt to align himself with Dolly.
     
    But
Dolly was in no mood to be aligned with anyone. She took a last glance over her
shoulder at the backs of the departing crowd. Then she stepped over the sill
into the darkness of the tiny room, her failing vision temporarily rendered
useless by the transition. Somewhere she heard weeping.
     
    "Is
that you, Jenny?" she called out, her eyesight beginning to clear. "Jenny,"
she ordered, recognizing the weeping. "That's enough. I need help."
When the woman weeping in the comer could not or would not respond, Dolly
hastily emptied the contents of her apron out onto the table, and watched with
dwindling patience as again the woman buried her face in her hands. Through
this wet strangle, Dolly heard dreaded words. "She's gone, Dolly. She's
passed."
     
    Dolly
struggled to digest the simple words. She blinked in the semidarkness, her eyes
focused on the weeping woman slumped on a low stool. Then as if by sheer dint
of will she hoped to alter the flat pronouncement, she snapped, "Nonsense!
She isn't dead!"
     
    Leaving
her medicines where they lay tumbled on the table, she tried to steady her
furiously bobbing head. As she passed the door which led out into the garden,
she spied Hartlow sitting placidly beneath a beech, holding the toy in his
hands, an awesome vacancy in his face. Quickly she dismissed the grinning giant
in the sundrenched garden and proceeded on through the low doorway to
Marianne's room.
     
    One
small window on the back wall was the only source of illumination. But it was
enough. What lay facedown on the bed scarcely resembled a human being. Still
bared to the waist, her back a mass of glistening wet red, one arm, its wrist
scraped and bleeding, her lovely face bruised from repeated contact with the
whipping oak, was Marianne. Her eyes were closed, mouth opened, no sign of
life.
     
    Dolly
moved toward the low couch, and dropped laboriously to her knees. Without
touching the girl she leaned her face close to the opened mouth, pressed her
cheek against the lips caked with dried blood. In that awkward position she
held perfectly still.
     
    Nothing,
not even the faintest hint of breath.
     
    With
an energy born of fury, Dolly pushed to her feet and bodily lifted the girl,
turned her over onto her back, feeling the wet blood coat her hands. She pushed
the blood-soaked hair away from the face and in rapid order delivered two
stunning slaps to the sides of her face. The echo of the blows resounded
through the still house.
     
    She
hesitated to see what response she had elicited and seeing none, she did it
again.
     
    A
voice cried out behind her, "Stop it!" and she turned to see Jenny,
clinging to the door, her face shocked.
     
    But her attention
was drawn back to the lifeless head on the pillow. It stirred. The chin tilted
upward, the thin, purple lips parted. Dolly froze, afraid that her vision