A/N: Look out...LOOONNG chapter ahead!
The trouble for Clara had only just begun, as she was soon to find out.
Not two days after Brian's fall from the loft, he was practicing cartwheels and handstands in the schoolyard during recess. When Colleen saw him, she was not happy.
"You better stop that, Brian," she warned. "Dr Mike said no more flippin'."
"I ain't flippin'," Brian contradicted. "I'm practicin'. Besides, Ma didn't say I couldn't do cartwheels anymore." He went into a lunge, tipped over, and landed on his bottom, earning laughter from the children that stood watching.
"Anymore? You can't do 'em at all," scoffed one of the older boys. He was thirteen and his name was James Coleman.
"Miss Clara says the only way to learn is practice. Everybody falls down." Brian rose and dusted off his trousers.
James scoffed. "Yeah? Well, my pa says she ain't a real acrobat anyway."
Brian frowned on behalf of his friend. "She is, too!"
The older boy scowled. "She ain't! Cartwheels, handstands...anybody can do that!" And to demonstrate he went into a series of quick, somewhat crooked cartwheels, earning the cheers and applause from several other children.
Brian stood with his arms crossed. "She does more'n that and you know it. She can flip!"
James rolled his eyes. "So? I can do that, too!"
"Can not."
"Can too!"
"Brian," groaned Colleen, not eager to see her little brother get into a playground fight against a boy twice his size. "Just let it go."
Brian looked at his sister with a frown. "But you know he can't do a flip."
James puffed out his meager chest. "Oh, yeah? I'll show you!" And the young man took off at a run. The schoolyard let out a collective gasp; partly of shock, partly of eagerness.
Colleen and Brian were the only ones who didn't want to see James try the stunt. They knew darn well he could do no such thing...at least, not that they had ever seen. "James..."
"James, no! Don't do it!" cried Brian.
It was too late. James leapt into a round-off and then a clumsy, crooked back handspring. As his hands hit the ground, the right one hit at a bad angle. For a second the arm seemed to bend in the wrong place, then there was a muffled, sickening 'snap'. The youth crumpled to the ground with a cry.
Revered Johnson, of course, had heard the commotion. He hurried outside, ready to break up a fight. His eyes widened in surprise at seeing the big, tough James Coleman curled in a ball on the ground and whimpering like a dog that had been kicked. Good Lord! His pace increased as he dropped next to the boy. "What happened?" he asked.
Brian cringed. "James tried doin' a flip and hurt his arm."
The Reverend closed his eyes. He should have seen this coming. The entire schoolyard had been going gymnastics crazy for over a month. Add to that young men with a penchant for showing off, and you had a recipe for disaster.
"We tried stoppin' him," put in Colleen. "He wouldn't listen."
James yelped as the Revered took a cursory glance at the arm, which was rather misshapen. Hating to see anyone in pain, especially a child, Reverend Johnson sighed. There was only one thing to do. "All right. School is dismissed. Everyone go home. I need to get James to the clinic. James, can you walk?"
The boy nodded and rose slowly to his feet. As the Reverend walked him toward town, the rest of the children scattered.
"Colleen?" said Reverend Johnson.
"Reverend?"
"Could you run ahead and tell your mother to expect us, please?"
"Sure." And so, with Brian in hot pursuit, Colleen took off down the road toward the clinic.
It did not take much for Dr. Quinn to tell that James' arm was broken- the right radius, to be exact -and it needed to be set. The small crowd that had gathered outside upon seeing the Reverend take an injured boy in cringed upon hearing the cries of pain that came out as the bone was set into place with a click. By the time his parents and little sister had arrived, the boy lay pale and moaning upon the exam table as a wooden splint was tied to his arm.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Mr. Coleman.
"It's a broken arm," answered the doctor. "I set it and I'm putting on a splint. Thankfully the break doesn't appear too serious." She offered a look of sympathy to the groaning boy.
"He'll be all right, won't he, Doc?" asked Mrs. Coleman, anxiously stroking the head of her wide-eyed daughter.
"Yes, he'll be fine. A boy his age should heal in five or six weeks...as long as he keeps it still for a while," answered Dr. Mike.
Mr. Coleman frowned. "How'd he manage that?"
The doctor pursed her lips. "Well, from what the Reverend has said, he was showing off in the playground and took a hard fall."
Mr. Coleman shook his head. "Boy, how many times have I told you to quit showin' off?" He slapped his palm with his hat, caught a firm look from his wife, then sighed and turned away. "Hope this teaches you a lesson, boy."
James averted his eyes from his father's gaze. At least with a broken arm he could avoid any further punishment. "Yes, Pa." He winced as the doctor brought him up.
Dr. Quinn unfolded a sling and put James' arm into it. "All right. Now I want you to keep your arm as still as possible for the next month. I'll take off the splint then and see how it's healing." The sling was tied off, and she turned to regard the boy. "How are you feeling?"
James grunted, but a glance at his father made him push back the terrible throb in his arm. He couldn't stand it if his father saw him cry. "It's all right...long as I don't move it."
"Good. Don't." She turned to his parents. "He can go home now. Just be sure he rests that arm. If it becomes too painful, bring him in and I'll give him something for it."
"Thanks, Doc," said James' mother with a slight smile. "We'll pay you soon as we can manage."
"That's fine."
Gingerly the young man slid off the exam table and followed his parents out the door. The doctor frowned as Colleen and Brian filed in, grimacing.
"Is James gonna be OK?" asked Colleen.
Dr. Quinn nodded. "Yes...but I'm curious. While his arm was broken in a way that would suggest a fall, it couldn't have happened just from tripping. Did either of you see what happened?"
Brian gave a guilty frown, then piped up. "I...I was doin' cartwheels...or tryin' to...and James said anybody could do that. Then he said he was gonna do a flip."
Gymnastics again. I can guess what put that idea into his head. The doctor's frown deepened. "A flip? Has he done that before?"
Colleen pursed her lips. "No. Everybody knew he couldn't. Brian and I told him not to...but he did it anyway." Her arms knotted and she sighed.
The doctor shook her head. "Well, I'm afraid that's what happens when children try to do dangerous stunts. They get hurt." A disturbing thought formed in her head. "Didn't you say Clara sometimes does her stunts in the schoolyard with children watching?"
Brian nodded, frowning as if he knew where his mother's train of thought was headed. "Yeah, but she never wanted 'em to try anything. She always said tryin' stuff like that without someone teachin' ya is dangerous."
"She did?"
"Yeah, all the time. It's what she kept tellin' me when she was teachin' me...don't try anything you're not ready for."
Somehow Dr Mike wasn't surprised. Still, there was a sense of guilt for immediately blaming Clara for Brian's near-disaster in the barn. Children were children, and often did not do as they were told. They were also known imitators. Michaela sighed. It was hard to know how to feel about such a difficult matter. The fact remained that Clara meant no harm to anyone, least of all the children. Unfortunately not everyone knew that, and the town was quick to point fingers and find a scapegoat.
True to Dr. Mike's worries, word spread quickly about the schoolyard incident. Jake and Loren, true to form, used it as evidence that the 'cross-dresser' was a bad influence on the town and should leave. All too many agreed with them, and soon ninety percent of the town was calling for Clara's removal. By that evening, the matter was taken directly to the Reverend. As much as he protested, Loren and the others had insisted on calling a town meeting that Saturday.
Clara, having been gone all day to give Jasper a bit of exercise, didn't hear about the meeting and so rode up to the church at 3 in the afternoon as usual for the piano lesson.
She knew something was amiss upon seeing the multitude of wagons parked outside. With a twisting stomach, she mounted the steps. A loud argument reached her ears at the doorway, and she stopped to listen while still remaining out of sight.
"I'm not talkin' 'bout the piano," groused Loren Bray in a loud voice. "I'm talkin' 'bout the safety of our children!"
"Anybody can come to church every Sunday. It's what they do during the week that matters," added Jake Slicker.
"Yeah, Jake? Well you ain't exactly a saint," put in Sully in that quiet but firm voice of his.
Clara frowned in confusion. What on earth...?
Jake scoffed. "Maybe not, but I don't go 'round town in a dress, do I?" This comment was greeted with jeers and some laughter.
"For Heaven's sake, do you hear yourselves?" This was Dr. Mike in one of her well-known 'speech-making' voices. "Gossiping about a woman who's never done you any harm!"
"You call a child being hurt on her account 'no harm'?" demanded a firm female voice.
"That's right," put in Jake. "That never woulda happened if she'd never come. You see her out there every week, poisoning the minds of our younguns with that indecent flippin' of hers."
Clara's ears burned with shame. They're talking about me...is that what this whole meeting is about? The young woman wished to sink through the floorboards.
"Children do foolish things whether or not they see an adult doing it or not," pointed out Dr. Mike.
"I'm sure she never meant any harm," put in Reverend Johnson, who sounded as though he was trying desperately to keep a handle on the situation. "Clara Braun has never been anything but kind with children."
"What about Brian?" said Loren in a rather quiet voice. "I'm sure I ain't the only one that's seen it. She's attached to the boy, but...there's somethin' not right about it. You all heard what almost happened to him in the barn. And it was her that caused it, teachin' him all those stunts."
"I'm surprised at you, Dr. Mike. I never would have thought you'd let your child around someone like that," remarked Jake.
"That's none of your concern, Mr. Slicker," said the doctor firmly. "She never meant for him to climb the loft, and she certainly never wanted anyone to be hurt-"
"Too late. A boy's got a broken arm. Who knows how much farther it'll go?"
"That's what I'm sayin'!" exclaimed Loren. "The plain fact is, she don't belong in our town. She wants the circus, let her go!"
"Loren!" cried the Reverend in protest. But it was clear that he and Dr. Mike were in the minority. The din of the church rose to a fever pitch, calling for the 'crazy woman' to be driven out of town.
Clara's eyes stung with anger and hurt and her stomach wrenched. I never should have stayed here! Stricken by the realization that an entire town had rejected her, the woman stumbled back into the alcove, knocking over a pile of hymnals in the process.
The noise made the entire assemblage look up to see the tearful, hurt Clara standing in the doorway.
Reverend Johnson's face fell with guilt and apology. "Clara...?"
Tears overflowing her cheeks as she stared at the unwavering crowd, Clara backed up, then turned and ran out the door. All she could think of was wanting to leave as soon as possible...right that moment.
Johnson's face fell and he swiftly left the pulpit to run after her. "Clara!" He raced outside to find a crying woman fumbling with her horses' reins. He quickly ran up to her. "Clara, please...please try to understand-"
Clara spun to face him, hurt staining her face. "What is there to understand? The only thing I understand is that every single person in that room wishes I was gone."
"No! Not everyone," protested the Reverend. "People here have come to care for you. What about Dorothy? And Grace, and Robert E? They want you to stay. So does Dr Mike. And..." He blinked at his moist eyes and took Clara's hand. "I want you to stay."
"And what about the hundred other people?" asked Clara bitterly. She pulled her hand away. "No. The only thing I've done here is cause division. They're right. Everyone will be better off if I'm gone."
"Clara..." Reverend Johnson felt his heart tearing down the middle.
Tears streamed down Clara's cheeks as she gathered Jasper's reins. "Go tell your people they're getting their wish."
A lump threatened to overtake Johnson's throat. He put his hand on Clara's stirrup. "Please...don't go...I..."
Clara offered the Reverend a sad smile. "Goodbye, Timothy." And with that, she wheeled Jasper around and heeled him into a gallop, a cloud of dust rising behind her.
In that moment Reverend Timothy Johnson made the decision of his life. He would leave his bigoted congregation behind and go after the woman. Setting his jaw, he walked around the back of the church, untied the horse, and leapt onto the animal's back without bothering to saddle it. With a kick, he aimed the animal for the Eastern Road, where Clara had gone.
He couldn't let her leave..not until he'd told her how he felt.
Clara rode hard, blinking the rapid tide of tears as she made straight for the Quinn homestead. Her purpose was clear, her resolve, iron.
She would ride back to the homestead just long enough to gather her things, and then she would be gone. The cold weather nor the long journey did not phase her in the least. All Clara Braun wanted was to get as far away from this town as possible. Bitterly did she repent of listening to the well-meaning lady doctor.
I should have left weeks ago. Maybe none of this would have happened. She choked back another sob as the homestead came into view.
As Clara packed her saddlebags, she was glad that the children had gone swimming. She couldn't bear the thought of telling them goodbye...especially Brian. The boy had been her first friend, and she had grown to love him the way she had loved Dylan, the nephew she had left behind in Sacramento. Now, just like Dylan, she was leaving Brian.
The woman choked back another sob as she loaded the saddlebags into the horse. I'm sorry, kiddo. I'll miss you.
With one last look at the place she had called home for the last seven weeks, Clara turned and rode away, heading East.
With the pace at which Reverend Johnson was going, he doubted ever catching up with Clara. She surprised him by trotting back along the road from the old Sully homestead. His high spirits at seeing her fizzled out when he saw the loaded saddlebags tied to Jasper's back.
Clara did not take long to see him. Her head snapped up upon seeing him.
"Clara...?" It was all Timothy could say through his closed throat.
Clara pressed her lips together with the pain of seeing him. Don't...just go away. Jasper, who had been walking off his two-mile gallop, was kicked back into a trot.
"Clara, wait!" cried Timothy. He heeled his horse into a canter to catch up with her.
"You're not changing my mind, Reverend," insisted Clara when she saw him out of the corner of her eye.
"I could try, couldn't I?"
"Nothing you say can change how your town feels."
Timothy sighed. "No...probably not...but nothing they say can change how I feel." He bucked up his courage and rode his horse in front of Jasper. "And I can't let you leave until you hear me out."
Clara looked skyward, trying to fight more tears. "Please, just...don't say it. Don't say anything."
Here goes...Timothy took a deep breath before looking into Clara's eyes as best he could. "I don't care what anyone else thinks. You are the strongest and most patient, talented, pious, and beautiful woman I've ever met...and I love you." His voice cracked, but he held his gaze.
Clara's head snapped up. She was going to deny it, tell the clergyman he was crazy...but then she saw the look of utter honesty in his eyes. He meant it. The realization that someone loved her for who she was brought the most fleeting sense of joy she'd ever felt before it faded. Timothy's look of pleading tore a hole in her heart, and she looked away. "Don't say that..."
"But I mean it," insisted Timothy. "Please, Clara...please don't leave."
"If it was just you, I would," whispered Clara, her face twisting with hurt. "But it isn't. They're not going to change. I've seen it before. To them, I'm a freak. Let them think that. I'll leave them in peace and they'll never see me again. If you love me, don't ask me to do something I can't...and I can't stay...not even for you." Trying unsuccessfully to blink away the burning in her eyes, Clara turned Jasper around the Reverend's horse and back into a canter.
Reverend Johnson didn't have much time to sit on his horse and wonder what to do. A distant thunder had caught his ears. Odd. The sky is clear...He frowned and looked about, wondering what was going on. Instead of fading away, the 'thunder' seemed to grow closer and closer, as if coming from the ground itself.
It was with a start that the Reverend realized what this sound was. A stampede...and it was headed right for Clara.
The wild scream of a frightened horse bugled across the meadow, followed by the scream of a woman.
Timothy's heart rose into his throat. "Clara!" Once more he kicked his own horse into a gallop.
Clara had heard the stampeding horses and identified the sound long before the Reverend had. Jasper heard it, too, and came to an uneasy stop right in the middle of the trail. He wheeled, snorted, and toe-danced about, refusing to go further.
"Come on, boy, come on!" Clara tried desperately to move him. They had gone into a shallow valley and the only way out was forward or back...and the horses were coming from behind. They had to move or they would be caught in the stampede. "Heyahh! Move, Jasper!" She kicked him and even slapped his rump with the reins.
All this did was make Jasper panic even more. The whites of his eyes showed and his ears lay back. He began to buck and rear, stomping and whinnying in fright.
Clara was thrown from his back, left wrist tangled in the reins. She screamed upon looking up.
A large herd of wild mustangs rounded the corner, snorting and blowing.
Jasper panicked and took off, dragging Clara for a short ways until the reins dragged beneath a fallen log and took her hand with it. Now Jasper was caught fast and Clara's arm was trapped under the log, her wrist and hand exposed on the other side...with the horses. Somehow the reins were untangled and Jasper ran loose, but Clara was still caught fast.
She screamed again. '"Help! Help me!"
Reverend Johnson raced forward, bringing his horse to a sudden stop as he watch the herd pass by. "Clara!" he shouted, looking in vain for the acrobat. "Clara!"
The wild whinny of a horse made him turn and look just as Jasper took off running. But then, where was Clara?
"Help me!" came her voice.
Timothy Johnson had never been so frustrated in his life. He heard her calls, but couldn't see her, even riding into the herd and looking about. He called until his was hoarse, still with no sign of Clara.
The herd passed, leaving behind nothing but a tearful preacher, his horse, and a cloud of dust. Then someone down near a large fallen log whimpered.
Reverend Johnson dropped from his horse to look around...and froze in horror.
Clara lay bruised and dusty, pinned beneath the log. On the opposite side her hand had been all but torn apart. Skin and muscle lay in bloody shreds while fragments of bone stuck out in all directions. It didn't even look like a hand anymore, save for the single untouched fingernail on her delicate thumb.
She'd been trampled.
The woman, who was trembling with shock and pain, stared at him with side eyes. "H-help me," she cried in a ghost of a whimper.
"Oh, Lord!" The Reverend closed his eyes for a moment to swallow the bile that had risen and dropped beside Clara, stroking her hair. "I'm here, Clara. I'm here." He turned to look at the log, trying to figure out how to move it without further injuring Clara's hand. In the meantime he tore off his jacket and laid it over her.
Oh, God, what can I do? She needs help...but I can't move that log by myself...and I can't leave her here! Unable to think beyond his worry, the brokenhearted Reverend could do nothing but pray. His lips didn't work, and all that came out of his mouth was a desperate plea;
"Oh, God...God, help us...God, please...please help..."