exactly where she was. She would again have to depend on the police to protect her. But could they protect her for a lifetime?
“I think you’d better get out of here!”
He tipped his head, gazing at her with absolute confidence. “You’re fooling me. You’re trying to bluff me. I don’t bluff, Mrs. Burley. Not Bob Saywell. No, sir. You’re scared, Mrs. Burley. I can see that. You don’t fool me at all.”
“I told you,” she said, voice tightening. “Get out!”
“Yes,” he said, “I will—when I’ve said my piece. And I think you’d better listen to that, Mrs. Burley.”
It was his sureness that frightened her.
“Go ahead then,” she said. “Say it.”
“Now that’s better,” he smiled, shifting his feet to bring himself an inch closer to her. “Now that’s a whole lot better! Yes, I’ll say it. I’ll say that you’ve brought an evil to this community of ours…”
He talked on, and the drone of his voice, now wheedling, now sharpening with viciousness, amazed her with its self-righteous conviction. And somehow his words, his face, the turning of his brain seemed to merge with the identity of Ted Burley, her husband. Somehow the personalities fused. And that was because, she realized, it was really a single mind speaking, the mind of a community with a single attitude of narrowness and backwardness.
“… so you see, Mrs. Burley, Bob Saywell, if he were a gambling man, which he’s not, would hold the cards, if he played cards, which he does not. Do you get my point? I mean this escaped gunman, this Tony Fearon’s brother, is prowling around somewhere. Now I know that. And you know that. Everybody around here knows that. But my point is that it seems nobody but you and me and him knows just why. Now we, all three, know, don’t we? But now that gangster, maybe he don’t know just exactly where you are, so he can do what we know he’s trying to do. How about that, Mrs. Burley? That’s about right, isn’t it? That’s maybe what you’re counting on, isn’t it? With your hair colored different and your name changed and living out here on this little farm of Ted’s, why, who’d think it was really Ann Rodick here, just the person this fellow’s after? Am I right?”
She did not answer, so he went on.
“You’re not going to let the word out so this fellow can come and do what he’s after, are you? Not by a long shot! So it won’t be you telling. And that leaves matters pretty much in the hands of Bob Saywell, doesn’t it, Mrs. Burley?”
She blinked, in one sense disbelieving, but in another realizing with frightening clarity the extent of his viciousness.
“You’re threatening me,” she whispered. “In God’s name, why?”
“You ask me why. Now I’m getting to that. Because this community doesn’t deserve this kind of blight you’ve brought into it. This community stands for something—it stands for the word of the Bible, the Good Word. And it doesn’t deserve any of the dirtiness like you’re mixed up in—”
“You filthy—!”
“Oh, no! Don’t you talk to me that way! The devil calling the angel evil, is that it? No, that’s no good, and you know it. You’re the evil here, and hereabouts we live by the Good Word, do you hear that? I take pride in this little community of ours. I take pride in doing what I can to lead this little community of ours over the rough rocks and see that nobody gets hurt too bad. Some of us were picked by the Lord to see their fellow man gets a straight chance at things. No, sir. I take pride and care with this community. I got a responsibility to it, I’ll tell you!”
Almost subconsciously, Ann realized that Saywell’s left hand had drifted up, touching her arm now, fingers opening, closing again, around her bare flesh, lightly, like the test of a python. It was a detached realization because her mind was still confused by this blather of words flowing at her, like the parody of some outlandish sermon performed by a
“I think you’d better get out of here!”
He tipped his head, gazing at her with absolute confidence. “You’re fooling me. You’re trying to bluff me. I don’t bluff, Mrs. Burley. Not Bob Saywell. No, sir. You’re scared, Mrs. Burley. I can see that. You don’t fool me at all.”
“I told you,” she said, voice tightening. “Get out!”
“Yes,” he said, “I will—when I’ve said my piece. And I think you’d better listen to that, Mrs. Burley.”
It was his sureness that frightened her.
“Go ahead then,” she said. “Say it.”
“Now that’s better,” he smiled, shifting his feet to bring himself an inch closer to her. “Now that’s a whole lot better! Yes, I’ll say it. I’ll say that you’ve brought an evil to this community of ours…”
He talked on, and the drone of his voice, now wheedling, now sharpening with viciousness, amazed her with its self-righteous conviction. And somehow his words, his face, the turning of his brain seemed to merge with the identity of Ted Burley, her husband. Somehow the personalities fused. And that was because, she realized, it was really a single mind speaking, the mind of a community with a single attitude of narrowness and backwardness.
“… so you see, Mrs. Burley, Bob Saywell, if he were a gambling man, which he’s not, would hold the cards, if he played cards, which he does not. Do you get my point? I mean this escaped gunman, this Tony Fearon’s brother, is prowling around somewhere. Now I know that. And you know that. Everybody around here knows that. But my point is that it seems nobody but you and me and him knows just why. Now we, all three, know, don’t we? But now that gangster, maybe he don’t know just exactly where you are, so he can do what we know he’s trying to do. How about that, Mrs. Burley? That’s about right, isn’t it? That’s maybe what you’re counting on, isn’t it? With your hair colored different and your name changed and living out here on this little farm of Ted’s, why, who’d think it was really Ann Rodick here, just the person this fellow’s after? Am I right?”
She did not answer, so he went on.
“You’re not going to let the word out so this fellow can come and do what he’s after, are you? Not by a long shot! So it won’t be you telling. And that leaves matters pretty much in the hands of Bob Saywell, doesn’t it, Mrs. Burley?”
She blinked, in one sense disbelieving, but in another realizing with frightening clarity the extent of his viciousness.
“You’re threatening me,” she whispered. “In God’s name, why?”
“You ask me why. Now I’m getting to that. Because this community doesn’t deserve this kind of blight you’ve brought into it. This community stands for something—it stands for the word of the Bible, the Good Word. And it doesn’t deserve any of the dirtiness like you’re mixed up in—”
“You filthy—!”
“Oh, no! Don’t you talk to me that way! The devil calling the angel evil, is that it? No, that’s no good, and you know it. You’re the evil here, and hereabouts we live by the Good Word, do you hear that? I take pride in this little community of ours. I take pride in doing what I can to lead this little community of ours over the rough rocks and see that nobody gets hurt too bad. Some of us were picked by the Lord to see their fellow man gets a straight chance at things. No, sir. I take pride and care with this community. I got a responsibility to it, I’ll tell you!”
Almost subconsciously, Ann realized that Saywell’s left hand had drifted up, touching her arm now, fingers opening, closing again, around her bare flesh, lightly, like the test of a python. It was a detached realization because her mind was still confused by this blather of words flowing at her, like the parody of some outlandish sermon performed by a
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