The Lodestone by Charlene Keel Page B

Mary’s anxious voice came faintly to Cleome through mists of slumber. “Please! Miss Cleome, ’tis your ma. She’s gone. Oh, please wake up!”
    It seemed only moments before that Cleome had crawled into bed. She didn’t even recall closing her eyes. Finally, as if over a great distance, Mary’s words filtered through her exhaustion.
    “What?” she mumbled, trying to sit up. “What’s wrong? Is Mamma worse?”
    “She’s gone, miss,” Mary’s usually quiet tone was now a cry of alarm. “She’s not in her room, nor anywhere in the house!”
    Fully awake now, Cleome threw the covers back and rose swiftly. Mary held out her dressing gown and she thrust her arms into it. Without waiting for the maid to follow, she flew down the hall to her mother’s room. Streaks of gray dawn lit the sky but the rain continued to cascade relentlessly down the windowpanes.
    “You see, Miss Cleome?” Mary said, coming into the sick room behind her. “Who could have taken her away?” A horse whinnied nervously, and there came a tremendous flash of lightning. For a moment, there was silence; and then one by one, the horses started up again, their neighing more frenzied. “They’ve been at it for a time, miss. That’s what woke me. I thought as long as I was awake, I’d look in at Miss Ramona. Where could she be?”
    “She cannot have gone far.”
    Cleome rushed to the window. The rain slackened, and she saw a dim glow beneath the door of the stables. She opened the window and peered out, and that was when it came to them. It was a low, keening sound, and such an unearthly cry that they first thought it was an animal. Then, realization hit them both at once. Cleome whirled about, almost knocking Mary down as she ran past her. At the bottom of the stairway, she ran straight into Drake Stoneham’s arms.
    “What has happened?” he demanded. “The horses are going mad!”
    “Release me at once!” she cried, struggling to free herself. Her concern was so great that her strength took advantage of his surprise and she easily jerked away. She ran to the heavy oak door and pulling it open, she dashed out into the rain that had slacked to a mist. As she reached the stables, Old Sam stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
    “Wouldn’t go in there, miss,” he said quietly.
    “My mother!” she called out above the cutting wind. “Is Mamma in there?”
    He nodded. “Aye, miss. She is that, but don’t fret yourself. I’ll fetch Young Sam to bring her out.” Catching sight of Drake’s broad form looming in the early morning fog behind the girl, he added, “Would ‘e see she don’t go in there, sir?”
    His strange tone struck an icy dread in Cleome’s chest. With one frantic movement, she avoided the restraining arm Drake put out and raced past Old Sam.
    Her mother knelt on the floor in the center of the stable in a puddle of water, her nightdress clinging wetly to her gaunt form. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest, and she was staring at a space above the stalls. At the same time, a low wailing escaped her parched lips. Cleome followed her mother’s horrified gaze. Above Molly’s stall, slowly swinging from a length of rope like a giant pendulum, was a man. He was dressed in her grandfather’s clothes, but the grotesque, discolored face that stared down at them bore only a slight resemblance to William Desmond. Waves of nausea engulfed Cleome and she groped blindly out for support. Drake stepped closer and held her firmly upright on her feet.
    “Steady, now,” he said, giving her a slight shake. “Who is the woman?”
    “My mother,” Cleome whispered. “Ramona Parker.” Then mercifully, she escaped into a cool, comfortable blackness.
    **
    Drake moved into action, quickly taking control of the situation. When Cleome sank heavily against him, he relinquished her immediately to Young Sam, who had entered the stable behind him. He scooped Ramona into his arms and carried the fragile woman out into