Dark Crossings by Marta Perry Page B

would she
confront him with what she’d learned? She hoped he’d talked to the sheriff, who
maybe knew all about this. But she prayed he’d also taken time to see Bishop
Esh. That was a conversation she would love to eavesdrop on.
    Feeling depressed despite the pretty day, she gathered walnuts
first. When her bag got heavy, she trudged back to the house, dumped her bounty
in a bushel basket and returned to fill the sack again. With an edgy feeling
she’d never had in Wild Run Woods before, she glanced around a lot and didn’t go
clear into the shaded ravine, despite the fact that there were two more
good-size walnut trees there.
    Abby felt not only sad, but nervous today in these woods she
knew so well. She treasured happy memories of wildcrafting here with her mother
and grandmother, but that hardly helped. She jumped when she startled a doe and
fawn from the underbrush, where they must have been sleeping or grazing by a big
hollow log that sported wild wood ear mushrooms she’d need to cut soon. She
called after the fleeing animals, “Sorry! It’s your home, too!” But the deer
just ran faster, as if Abby was a danger to them.
    She lugged her load of walnuts back once more. Now, where had
she put those extra hemp sacks? Because this one had a tear in it. She saw Ben’s
truck was parked at his place now, but she didn’t see him outside. At least if
he glanced or came over—which she hoped for, but wasn’t expecting—he’d surely
see that she was out in the open and not taking risks. Even when she next cut
the branches of bittersweet growing along the old road that led to the bridge,
she would be in a clearing. Ach, how she hated to
have to fret for her safety now. Fret not, it warned in the book of Psalms. That
only causes harm.
    The diamond thief had ruined everything, and she sure hoped it
wasn’t Ben. She couldn’t believe he would steal. But he’d had enough money for
his land, house and planned remodeling. And he’d suddenly fled back here when he
was surely doing well away. She could see why he hadn’t told her that people
thought he might be guilty, though.
    Toting two large, empty baskets on her next trip down the old
road, Abby crunched through the carpet of leaves as others blew around her.
After she was done, she’d be tempted to go back for those wood ears near the
spot where she’d seen the deer. She took out her knife and began to cut bouquets
of the red-orange berries along the narrow road. Foliage on both sides,
including lots of tall weeds, choked the former route, almost making it a mere
pathway.
    Why was bittersweet given its name? she wondered, examining the
vibrant berries close up. She’d never tasted them to see if they were bitter. Or
maybe it was named for the time of year. The berries bloomed in a glorious
burst, but soon dried. Bittersweet—that’s how she thought of her relationship
with Ben now.
    The leaves rustled loudly in the breeze. Was the weather going
to change?
    She froze, the new-cut branches in her hand, a nearly full
basket at her feet. The rhythmic sound grew closer. Footsteps? Hoping it was
Ben, she spun around, only to scream in horror. A man, or a tall person at
least, appeared wearing a big hempen bag—the one she’d left outside at the
house?—like a loose garment. More hemp covered his head like a hood. There were
slits for his eyes and nose, and the fabric was tied at his neck like a
scarecrow. He was coming straight at her, with her own spade in his gloved
hands. And he was swinging it before him as if he was reaping grain with a
scythe.
    Grasping only her small cutting knife, Abby ran. She tore down
the road at first, but heard him behind her. Picking up her skirts to her knees,
she veered into the forest for a shortcut home. Whoever it was, she had to know
this area better than he did.
    Thank heavens, she heard him fall and grunt. But still she was
terrified she wasn’t going to make it home in time. Someone was after her in
broad daylight. But