Free Dorothy Garlock by Leaving Whiskey Bend Page A

began, one arm sweeping over the town of Lancaster below them, “don’t seem right just yet. The next one might not neither. We’ve just gotta keep goin’ till we find that special town, that right place to quit runnin’. Somehow, I’m sure we’ll know it when we get there.”
    As Hallie stared into her friend’s lined face, she knew that the older woman believed she was telling the truth. From the very first moment that she had met Pearl Parsons, Hallie had been struck by her confidence, by her unshakable belief in herself. If Pearl thought that this town wasn’t right, then it simply
wasn’t right
. They’d just have to move on to the next one. Now was not the time to begin doubting.
    “All right,” she agreed.
    “It’s for the best.” Pearl slapped the reins against the backs of the tired team.
    As the wagon lurched forward, Hallie stole a last look at Mary. The girl’s eyes never lifted, she never so much as blinked, as she was carried off yet again as effortlessly as if she were a branch caught in the currents of a mighty river.
    Somewhere off in the distance came the deep, guttural roar of thunder.
    An hour before dusk the storm finally caught up with them. Constantly peeking over her shoulder, Hallie had watched, her nerves growing more frayed by the moment, as it had approached as steadily and relentlessly as a wolf stalking a wounded deer. No matter how hard they pushed the horses, the storm proved much swifter, and she realized that there was no shelter in sight.
    The speed of the storm was matched by its fury. The sun had long vanished behind a wall of darkening clouds, and the only light by which they could see was provided by long forks of lightning that flashed, one after another, across the broad sky; the peals of thunder following them were as deafening as cannon fire. The air felt heavy, damp, and pregnant with the gale. When the rain finally fell upon them, it was preceded not just by the smell—a sharp moistness that stung the nose—but also by sound; it was as if thousands of booted feet were being stamped at once.
    “This ain’t gonna be pretty,” Pearl said, her face turned anxiously skyward.
    The first drops of rain struck Hallie’s face not with the gentleness of a soft spring squall but as if she were being pummeled by fists.
The storm was angry even at its beginnings; gusts of wind yanked insistently at her clothes and seemed to want to pull the very air from her lungs. Sheets of rain came across the ground toward them as if they were soldiers marching off to war. Try as she might to be brave, Hallie was afraid.
    “What are we going to do?” she gasped.
    “I don’t know!” Pearl shouted over the storm.
    “We have to get out of this!”
    “But where are we gonna go?”
    Anxiously, Hallie peered into the storm. As her gaze swept through the inky darkness, she hoped to find something,
anything
that could provide them with shelter. She knew that the land in which they found themselves had little to offer. After leaving Lancaster behind, they’d passed through a gap in the soft hills out onto a flat, rolling plain of tall grass broken only by staggered copses of trees. As the last light of the day had been squeezed by the coming storm, she’d even seen the faint outline of a river in the distance. But what she
hadn’t
seen was a single farmhouse or ranch, anywhere they could go for help; and the chance of finding one now seemed impossible. In the storm’s oppressive gloom, she could barely see her hand before her face.
    Suddenly, a long tongue of lightning streaked from the sky, crashing hard into the earth below. Even though it struck miles in the distance, the air seemed to shudder. Light filled the sky; it was as if someone had lit a hundred candles in a darkened room.
    “Sweet applesauce!” Hallie cried.
    “Holy shit!” Pearl exclaimed.
    Even as the last of the deafening thunder rolled off into the distance, Hallie’s eyes were locked on the sight that had greeted