After the Frost Read Online Free PDF Page B

"You look just fine, Sarah," he said, forcing a weak smile. "No one's going to make fun of you. Why, with that new dress, you're the prettiest girl here."
    She looked at him doubtfully. The organ music grew louder, there was a commotion on the steps behind him, and Rand turned to see the Sunday-school students gathering beneath the huge maple tree to take their lessons in the warm morning air.
    "Look, you see? They're already starting. Why don't you go on over and say hello?"
    She tried not to look over, though he could tell she wanted to. "No."
    Rand looked over his shoulder. "I guess you don't want to see Mary Helen, then, do you? Or Lizzy—why, it looks like she's brought her doll too."
    Sarah's pout disappeared. She got to her knees, hesitating as she looked at the crowd of children. "Where?"
    "Maybe it's even a new doll," he said as casually as he could. "I can't tell from here—"
    "All right." She stood up. "I'll go see 'em for just a minute."
    Rand lifted her out of the wagon, careful not to meet his stepmother's chastising gaze as he set Sarah on her feet and watched her run off to join the other children.
    "You spoil her, Rand," Lillian said as they started across the lawn. "You need to tell her what to do, not cajole her. If you don't watch it—"
    "Don't say it." He held up a warning hand.
    Lillian frowned. "We should talk about this, Randall. She has too much of Belle in her as it is."
    "Don't say her name to me today. I don't want to hear it. We can talk about this tomorrow." Or the next day, or the day after that. Or never . He pushed back his broad-brimmed hat, already feeling sweat gather on his forehead. "It's Sunday, she won't be coming around. Let's not ruin the day."
    It was the only good thing about this morning, the one thing he counted on. The entire goddamned night he lay awake in bed, staring at the planked ceiling and torturing himself by wondering when she was coming back. And the one thing—the only thing—that had comforted him was the knowledge that today was Sunday. Belle hadn't been in a church since she was old enough to say no, and he doubted that aversion to religion had gone away. At least he hoped it hadn't.
    It was possibly the only time in his life he actually wanted to go to church.
    They approached the steps of the small brick building just as the congregation burst into hymn. The singing streamed from the doors to float on the air, and Lillian quickened her step. "Good heavens," she murmured. "We're already late."
    "No one will even notice," he reassured her in a low voice as they went through the doors and into the tiny vestibule. The chorus was painfully loud, the voices only increased the hammering in his head, and he swept off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, wishing he could turn around and head back home. But it was too late now. They were here. They paused at the entryway, and his gaze ran over the congregation, searching for an empty space in the pews. He'd just have to make sure they went directly home afterward. No going to dinner at someone's house, no visiting—
    He stopped short.
    She was here.
    She was here, in church, and she was dressed all in yellow, with an old straw hat perched on her braided blond hair. She was standing alone at the end of one pew, turned toward the aisle, and she held a hymnal in her hand. But it was closed, and she wasn't singing.
    She caught sight of him, and her head jerked up as if she were waiting for him. And then she smiled—a defiant, challenging, "try to do something about it" smile that sent a familiar ache deep into his stomach. An ache followed by anger so intense that for a moment he couldn't breathe.
    The music stopped. The hymn was over. He heard the thud of closing hymnbooks, the rustle of clothing as people turned to stare.
    "Rand." Lillian's voice was low and urgent in his ear, her face flushed. "Rand, for heaven's sake, let's sit down."
    He barely heard her. Anger made him hot and stiff, and he struggled to control