Season of Fear Read Online Free Page A

and miles. But at the end of the day. Father came back alone, saying that Mother had wanted to ride a while longer, and that they had decided to divorce."
    Sara's voice cracked, and for a moment Robin thought she wouldn't go on. But the girl steeled herself and squared her chin. Robin felt a rush of admiration for her.
    "Mother didn't return that night. Father didn't seem to care. But by morning, some of the hands found her out on the prairie. She was dead. Her head—her head was crushed with a rock."
    Emotion was etched on Sara's face.
    "They had an inquest in town, and the verdict was that it had been an accident. That she had fallen off her horse, and struck her head on the rock. Her horse stood grazing nearby."
    She looked directly at Robin now, her eyes sharp and bright. "But it was no accident, Robin. My mother had never fallen off a horse in her entire life. She had ridden Spice for years. There was not a jumpy bone in his body. She did not fall off that horse."
    "But the verdict," Robin insisted. "Surely, if there was any doubt—"
    "They didn't dare, Robin. They didn't dare give any other verdict. There was only one person who could have been responsible for Mom's death, and to accuse him would leave half of the town unemployed. My father!"
    She was crying now, and Robin put her arms around her and held her close. What ugly ideas for such a young impressionable girl to grow up with. How it must hurt!
    "I want to believe him, Robin, I really do. But he's been so different since that day. And there was no one else out there. She did not fall off that horse."
    "But if she was upset, if she was angry," began Robin.
    Sara stopped her, her eyes blazing. "Don't you think I've tried to convince myself of that all these years? That the gossip in the town is untrue, that we're ostracized for no reason? But I know the truth. It was no accident. You see, I saw Mother and Father ride off that day.
    "You could always identify Mother on a horse, even at a distance. She grew up in New York City and began to ride as a child in the riding stables there. She rode English style, though everyone out here thought it was strange, complete with jodhpurs and knee-high boots and a tailored coat. You could see her posting as she trotted across the prairie. English riders are funny. Robin. They are very cautious. She never went anywhere on a horse without wearing her black velvet riding helmet. She wore it that day. I saw it. But when they found her body, there was no helmet in sight! It had not merely fallen off—it had totally disappeared. Someone was out on the prairie with her when she died, Robin, and that someone took her helmet with him."
    Robin shivered as a chill traveled the length of her spine. It was hard for her to believe that a mere three days before she had been snug in her home in Chicago, living a solitary and uneventful life. The tale that she had just heard was horrifying and ugly. She tried to picture the man who had sat at the head of the table, raising the rock that killed his wife above his head. No, somehow, some way, it didn't ring true. He was gruff, he was insensitive. That she would admit without a moment's hesitation. Yet he had had a few moments of kindness, of charm, when she had met him.
    Wouldn't a person who could act in such violent and ruthless ways have to be totally bad? Couldn't you tell just by looking at him? And why, anyway, would he have any desire to kill his wife, no matter how they may have argued?
    Robin was surprised at the number of defensive arguments that crept into her mind as she sat absorbing the information she had just heard. She wanted to believe Alexander Ridley innocent. That she knew. But did she feel that way because she wanted to ease the pain in the heart of the young girl before her? Or did she really feel that she had had a glimpse into a man who was incapable of performing such an inhuman act?
    Robin looked down at her just-finished letter to Herman as it lay on the desk before