Grace only stared.

"You're leaving-in the middle of the night-on foot," Louisa sneered, glancing at Grace's bare, bloody foot. "You're running away!"

Grace didn't answer; she didn't have to.

"What happened?" Louisa demanded. "Rathe doesn't know, does he?"

"No."

Louisa threw back her head and laughed. "Tel me what happened. How did you lose your shoe? Why are there twigs in your hair and thorns in your dress?"

"On my way out of town I passed the church. They came and burned it and saw me. I managed to get away."

"Too bad," Louisa said. "Too, too bad."

"Would you lend me a driver and carriage, just to take me to the next railway station?" Grace was desperate. "I've got to be miles away from here before Rathe knows I'm gone."

"How could I possibly refuse?" Louisa asked. "I'l send for the driver instantly. I want you out of here before my guest arrives."

"Thank you," Grace said, wondering who Louisa was expecting. "Would you mind lending me some shoes? I also need to freshen up."

"You can use the kitchen." She waved a hand toward the back of the house. "You know the way."

Grace hesitated.

"What are you waiting for? I told you, I'm expecting someone at any moment."

"Please don't tel Rathe you've seen me."

Louisa smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it."

The triumph in her voice hurt, and Grace turned, stumbling down the hal to the kitchen. She couldn't help it, she pictured Rathe in Louisa's arms.

Oh, she prayed he would not turn to her for comfort after she was gone!

Louisa did not bring her shoes, and using the back of a platter as a looking glass, Grace tucked her hair back into place, removed the twigs and brambles, smoothed and straightened her skirts. Taking off her remaining shoe, she started for the front of the house. If Louisa had deigned to bring her the shoes, she would have secretly gone out of the rear entrance. Now-wel , it was just too bad. Grace would be leaving anyway, so the identity of Louisa's lover was safe.

In the hal she froze, almost going into shock. There was no mistaking the voice coming from the parlor. Ford was saying, "An' Bragg's woman was there, but we lost her. Now what in hel was she doing runnin' around alone at night?"

"She's here," Louisa said bluntly. "She's leaving Rathe, and I'm helping her get to the depot."

There was silence, then Ford laughed.

Grace turned and ran.

"What in hel ?" Ford cried.

He caught her before she even got through the massive front door, chuckling and holding her close. "Look at this! Look what I've got!"

Louisa stood, arms folded, scowling. "Just what are you doing, Wil ? Let her go! She's leaving town, and I say good riddance."

Ford's face was stil swol en, scabbed, one eye black. "So you final y saw the light, huh? Too bad you didn't talk that Texas trash into leavin', too."

"Let me go," Grace panted, twisting.

"Oh, you can go al right, and Natchez'l be a better place, too. But not before I get a taste of what Bragg's been getting."

Both Louisa and Grace gasped at once. Grace's futile struggles increased. Louisa strode over, furious. "You listen heah," she snarled. "You got me -but if you lay a hand on this piece of white trash you'l nevah be welcome heah again-do I make myself clear?"

"Shit," Ford said, relaxing his hold on Grace.

"Remember," Louisa said, her nostrils flared, her jaw taut, "he only turned to her because I got tired of him!"

Ford released Grace. "Not the way I heard it, but I think I can skin this cat another way. The hel with it." He turned his black eyes on her, fingering her amethyst choker. "This is yore lucky day, little lady."

Grace shivered.

Then he tore the necklace from her throat.

Chapter 27.

He awoke with a smile on his face, sighed, and stretched leisurely, then reached for Grace. As he did so he was wondering if he had dreamed her declaration of love last night. He had been on the edge of sleep, but he could have sworn she'd said she loved him. Just recal ing those words made his heart clench with joy and hope.

His hand moved over a cold, empty space.

Rathe turned his head and stared at the place next to him, where Grace should have been. He lifted his gaze to the room, but there was no sign of her. Bemusement was his first lazy reaction, but it was immediately fol owed by consternation. Her side of the bed was very cool, as if she'd been gone for hours...

Where in hel could she have gone in the middle of the night?

It occurred to him she had gotten sick, and he ran to the bathroom-but it was empty.

She must have gone for a very early morning walk. Either that, or-and he grew grim-she was off gal ivanting about and getting into trouble.

He knew without a doubt it was the latter.

But at the crack of dawn? What could she be up to at the crack of dawn?

He had overslept. The sun was high; it had to be mid-morning. He glanced at his pocket watch and confirmed this. He quickly splashed his face with water, then soaped and rinsed under his arms. He would skip the shave. He felt a tiny tug of panic. Soon he was hopping into his breeches.

At the knock on the door he barked out a brusque, "Come in," expecting room service with their usual breakfast. He blinked once at Al en then he buttoned his shirt up too rapidly and mismatched holes and buttons. And he knew his worst fears were right-she was in trouble again. "What is it?"

"Rathe, I don't know how to tel you this," Al en said, shifting uncomfortably. His glance darted around the room, his face turning pink as it settled on the bed.

"Damn-where's Grace?"

Al en was startled. "Isn't she here?"

"You didn't come because of her?"

"No. Rathe, the new school's been burned right to ashes."

Rathe cursed. He slammed his fist onto the bureau, sending his wash water onto the floor. "Dammit al !"

"My sentiments exactly," Al en said dryly. "The mayor's sent a wire for federal troops."

"Do you think we can get them?"

"Not a chance in hel ," Al en said. "The North is sick of the South's problems. The sentiment now is to let the South be, let it rebuild alone, to hel with it. Let's face it, Rathe. Without local popular support, we can't stop this. There were federal troops down here a few years ago, but they didn't stop it, and even if we could get them, they can't stop it now, either. It's going to take years."

Rathe looked at him. "You're not going to stay, are you?"

Al en met his gaze. "No, I'm not. I guess I'm a coward. That, and frustrated beyond endurance. I don't want my back broken next time. And-" He shrugged. He didn't have to say the next word. Rathe knew he had also decided to leave because of him and Grace.

Rathe was just about to depart to go find her when he saw the letter lying on the table. He froze. He reached for it, saw her name-and he knew.

He knew she had left him.

He sank into a chair, reading, the hurt so awful tears shone in his eyes. She had told him he was wonderful, and last night, she had told him that she loved him. And now, in this letter, she was tel ing him again-yet it was goodbye.

But when he got to the end of the letter, he was no longer hurt, but angry. She had misjudged him again. He had already realized that she would never give up her career and her crusading-and he'd already accepted it! She was making another rash judgment about him, jumping to erroneous conclusions, without even bothering to ask him what he was thinking! If she had only asked! Yes, he didn't want her teaching here in Natchez, but there was a whole world out there, for God's sake. He understood, now, why she'd had to teach here, and if he had to do it al over again, he hoped that this time he would stand by her-as he expected her to believe enough in him to stand by him. But no, she had run away.

He was going to find her.

She loved him. He loved her. They were going to resolve this, once and for al . As he opened the door, about to rush through, he came face to face with Deputy Lloyd Baker. "Sheriff wants you to identify some remains," he said.

He rode out to the school with Baker, feeling sick.

Grace was not dead!

But they said she was.

Grace was not dead! It was a refrain, a prayer, he kept saying over and over as he gal oped headlong to the cinders and ashes that had been the new church.

He leapt off his mount before the stal ion had even stopped. There was a large crowd, solemn, uneasy-and everyone was staring at him. Ford came forward, looking smug. Harriet was there, shaking her head, standing side by side with Hannah and John, and a few other colored families.

Everyone was stricken dumb, except for one of the women, who wept openly and shamelessly.

"Where?" he demanded. Baker had said they'd found a burned body. Then he saw what Ford was holding-one of Grace's carpetbags and one of her dainty shoes. His knees became very weak. He felt faint. Someone held him by the arm, supporting him. It was Farris.

"Harriet Gold says these are her things," Ford said.

Rathe looked at him, eyes wide. Horrified. "They are."

"Body's by the fireplace."

Rathe turned to look, in a daze. No-it wasn't Grace-it wasn't! He started to move. Nothing felt real; it was like walking in a dream. From behind him, Ford's voice fol owed. "Can't tel much, 'cause of the fire and al ."

The body was al charred bones-no hair, no flesh, just bones. Rathe felt relief. It wasn't Grace. And then the sun caught on something, drawing his eyes, and he stared at the amethysts and diamonds glinting on the skeleton's neck.

"No."

There was no gold, just the stones, in perfect, obscene order.

"No."

"Let's get you home, Rathe," Harriet said gently.

He didn't see her. He saw only Ford, gloating, hands in his pockets.

Ford lost his slouch. "I wasn't here," he shouted, backing away. "I was with Louisa-ask her-al night!"

Rathe stalked him, slowly, deliberately. Ford moved back farther. "You think I'm crazy enough to murder someone? After what you did to me? I told you-I was with Louisa."

Rathe was blinded with grief and anger, but he was stil sane, and he could not kil Ford if there was any doubt. He fel to his knees. He raised his face to the heavens. The howl that sounded was blood-curdling, soul-shattering. It sounded again.

"Was he here, last night, al night?"

"Yes," Louisa said, reaching out to touch his sleeve. "Rathe, I am sorry...

He stared at her. "Al night, Louisa?"

"Al night. Rathe-" She came close, put her hands on his shoulders. "Darling, why don't you come in and have a drink?"

He looked at her. "I'm going to find out who was there," he said. "And I'm going to kil them al ."

"Rathe, wait," Louisa cal ed as he ran down the veranda stairs. "Rathe!"

His grief was such that it made him want to crawl into a dark corner and weep. Instead, he focused on revenge. He spent three days trying to find out who, specifical y, had burned the school. Many of Natchez' young men were night riders, and while it was no secret who rode-for they al boasted about it-the night of Grace's murder no one was admitting to anything. Three days later, Rathe was in exactly the same place he had started.

"You're making yourself sick," Harriet said. She had come to his hotel room, where he sat, surrounded by Grace's things, stil smel ing her scent, half a bottle of bourbon in front of him. In his hand was her nightgown. He clutched it to his abdomen.

"I love her," he said hoarsely.

"You've got to start livin' again," Harriet said. "She's gone, Rathe, but you're stil here. Go on home to your mama and daddy. Go home to your loved ones."

He looked at her, then drained his glass.

"Do you think I didn't want to hole up and die when my boys got kil ed? There isn't anything like losin' a child, honey. Nothin' is like that."

He hung his head. "It hurts so much, Harriet..."

"She'd want you to go on!"