A Deep Divide

by Kimberley Woodhouse

  She walked over to the door and tried the knob, but it held fast. Locked tight. She went to the window and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Maybe she could break the glass! But as her gaze focused beyond the panes, she saw barbed wire crisscrossing its way across the frame. There was no way she could fit through without hurting herself.

  She turned back to the door and stared at it. It was the only way of escape. But how could she do it? Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Then the door opened with a squeak of hinges and the man entered.

  “There’s no use tryin’ to get out, Miss McMurray. But like I said, I will treat you well as long as you behave yourself.” He set down the tray he’d been carrying. “Here’s some food and a pitcher of water. You may wash yourself up over there. You’ll notice a water closet is attached to this room. Help yourself to clean clothing, and there’s plenty of books on the shelves. I’m sure it won’t be too long before you’re back home again.” He turned on his heel, shut the door, and then she heard the lock click again.

  Emma Grace ran to the door and squinted so she could see through the keyhole. Nothing. Just a wall on the other side of the hallway.

  “Let me out, mister! Let. Me. Out!” She pounded on the door with her hands and kicked it with her feet. “My papa is gonna be so mad at you! I hope he comes and shoots you!” She slumped down at the door. But then her stomach rumbled. That achy, raw, awful kind of rumble. The kind that could only be satisfied with food. But she didn’t want to eat. She wanted to go home.

  But how long would that take? Wouldn’t Papa do anything to get her back from this bad man?

  Mother’s words kept coming back. “I pity the man who ever crosses you, Emma Grace. That fierce independence of yours will either protect you or push everyone away.”

  But she didn’t want to be independent right now. She wanted Mother. And Papa. Tears slipped down her cheeks. What was the man going to do with her? He said he wasn’t going to hurt her, but he’d taken her and locked her up. Bad men did bad things. So how could she believe him?

  Sobs shook her shoulders, and she hugged her knees to her chest. What was she supposed to do?

  Sucking in her bottom lip, she tried to stop the tears and swiped at her face with the back of her hand. She wasn’t in a horrible dungeon. She wasn’t tied up. But no matter how clean and neat the room might be, no matter that there were plenty of toys and books, it was still a locked room. Her prison.

  Standing up, she worked at the wrinkles in her dress and straightened her shoulders. Walking over to the small table where the tray of food sat, she then picked up a napkin and a biscuit and positioned herself in a chair to eat. But the smell on her dress overwhelmed her. She’d have to change her clothes first. But she didn’t like the idea of wearing clothes that weren’t hers.

  Glancing around the room, she fisted her hands at her sides. New determination filled her. She’d wear the clothes and sleep in the dumb bed. She’d read every book on those stupid shelves if she had to—anything to pass the time. She’d survive and find a way to escape if her family didn’t rescue her. Then she’d come back with the sheriff and make sure that man could never hurt anyone ever again.

  Emma Grace counted the scratches on the doorpost and then made another. Eighteen slashes. Eighteen days.

  The first few days had been full of tears. But after that, she fell into an odd routine. The man that took her came to see her several times a day. Sometimes it was with her food. Sometimes with a new toy or book. Sometimes he even stayed and played checkers with her. He never put his hand over her mouth again or grabbed the back of her dress. In fact, he hadn’t touched her. He really wasn’t all that bad. He never yelled at her or hurt her. He even smiled once in a while when she beat him at checkers.

  And every day, he brought some sort of a treat. Candy, cookies, cakes. She’d read every book on the shelf. The Swiss Family Robinson, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Treasure Island. Every day she wished that she could escape into one of the adventures. For real.

  But then the man would come back. And she’d realize she was still locked up.

  Flopping back onto the bed, she stared at the wooden planks in the ceiling. How much longer would she have to stay in this room?

  Thumps sounded outside the door. A lot of thumps. More than usual. It was more than just one man’s footsteps . . . wasn’t it? It made her heart jump in her chest.

  She held her breath. Was she imagining things? Or was today the day she could go home?

  She sat up straight on the bed and then jumped off. Closing her eyes, she listened as the thumps got closer. How many other times had she gotten her hopes up? It was best to just think it was food coming.

  The familiar sound of the key in the lock made her open her eyes, then the knob turned.

  The door swung open, and Mr. Cooper stood there with a smile.

  She ran to him and hugged him. “Mr. Cooper! You’re here to take me home?”

  “I sure am, Miss McMurray.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She clapped her hands together and then grabbed onto his hand.

  But as they exited the room, the man who had kidnapped her stood in the hallway with his arms crossed. Why was he still here? Shouldn’t he be in trouble? Where was the sheriff?

  “I told ya it wouldn’t be long before you went home. See?” The man smiled at her. In all this time, she never knew his name. Every time she’d ask, he’d leave. He leaned down and looked at her. “You know, I sure will miss seeing all those pretty pink dresses.”

  Looking down at her clothes, she frowned. Pink. Everything had been pink for the past eighteen days. And she was sick of it. Had he picked it all out?

  Mr. Cooper tugged on her arm and led her down the hallway as he spoke over his shoulder to the man. “Thanks for your assistance.”

  Assistance? “But—”

  Mr. Cooper squeezed her hand and put his other hand over her mouth. Just like the man who kidnapped her had done. “No questions, now. Let’s go find your father.” His smile didn’t seem as nice as it always had. He escorted her out of the small house.

  Emma Grace wanted to kick Mr. Cooper. She put on her best scowl and pulled her hand out of his.

  Then she looked ahead and saw her father standing by the carriage. The same carriage she’d been taken out of. As soon as he spotted her, he held out his arms. “Emma Grace!”

  She ran toward him. She was finally going home!

  Papa scooped her up and swung her around in a circle. “It’s so good to see you. Oh, how I missed you.” After several more twirls, he placed her up in the back seat of the carriage.

  Relief poured through her, and her anger melted away. Then the tears started. She was safe with her father. No longer a captive and locked up in that little room.

  Papa handed her his handkerchief. “I’m so sorry. I know this hasn’t been easy for you. You just let it all out. I’ll be right back.”

  The tears turned into great big sobs. She’d been so scared. Never knowing if she would ever see her family again. She covered her face with the handkerchief and cried until there weren’t any tears left. It was hard being brave.

  Wiping at her face, she had to blink several times to be able to see, and when she looked up, Papa was slapping her kidnapper on the back and smiling.

  Wait . . . what was he doing? She looked between the men. Mr. Cooper and Papa were both smiling and talking to the man like they were old friends. Shouldn’t Papa be furious with the kidnapper? In the last eighteen days, she’d often imagined that he came to rescue her and had to fight the bad man.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Was she really seeing this?

  Opening her eyes back up, she took a deep breath. She was really seeing this. It was real.

  Her father shook hands with the bad man.

  Then the man shook hands with Mr. Cooper too. And Mr. Cooper handed him a small bag.

  The kidnapper went back inside the house. Like he hadn’t just kidnapped her and hel
d her in a room for almost three weeks.

  Papa and Mr. Cooper walked toward the carriage. “It worked. . . . There’s a sucker born every minute.” Her father’s words floated to her. But she couldn’t hear the rest. Why was he whispering?

  What worked? Why weren’t they mad at that man?

  Mr. Cooper climbed up into the front seat and so did her father. Neither one even looked at her. They just started talking business, like she wasn’t even there. Something about a new spur for the railroad.

  “Papa?” Her voice squeaked.

  He turned back to her. “Yes?”

  “Why were you shaking that man’s hand? Why didn’t the sheriff come arrest him? I was kidnapped.” Her eyes throbbed from crying, which made her head pound, but she crossed her arms over her chest and ignored the pain.

  “Oh, it was just business, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about it.” Papa reached back and patted her knee.

  But she would worry about it. Nothing made sense so she pressed. “What worked?”

  He turned back around with a long sigh, his eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

  “I heard you say ‘it worked.’ So, what was it?” As much as she was glad to be out of that room and with her father, it upset her that they didn’t do anything to the bad man. In fact, she was madder than she’d ever been in her whole life.

  “It’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, Emma Grace. It was just business, trust me.” He smiled. The kind of smile she’d seen him give at the railroad office a hundred times. “Now, why don’t you lie down? You must be exhausted, and we have a long drive home.” Without waiting for another response, he turned back around and started talking to Mr. Cooper again.

  “It was just business, trust me.” The words ran over and over in her mind as she watched them. Back and forth they chatted.

  The whole thing played through in her mind. Mr. Cooper putting his hand over her mouth and thanking the man. Papa shaking the man’s hand. Then he and Mr. Cooper acting all happy that something worked. . . . It didn’t make sense. She’d been kidnapped. Locked up. Why weren’t they mad at the man?

  “Trust me.” As Papa’s words repeated in her mind again, she looked down at her dress. He knew her favorite color was pink. He always brought her gifts that were pink. Always. And every dress in that room the last few weeks had been pink. Even the coverlet and pillows on the bed had been pink.

  How did the man who took her know her name and her favorite color?

  Well, it wasn’t her favorite anymore. She hated it. She’d never wear pink again.

  She laid down on the carriage seat and tucked her knees up close to her chest. Letting her anger grow in her belly, she watched the back of Papa’s and Mr. Cooper’s heads and gave them the meanest look she could. Neither one of them should have been nice to her captor.

  Mr. Cooper turned around and dropped a small brown bag in front of her. “This should make you feel better.” Striped candy sticks stuck out of the top.

  No. It wouldn’t make her feel better.

  She wouldn’t trust Papa. Or Mr. Cooper.

  Wrapping her arms around her knees, she whispered to the backs of the men in front of her, “As soon as I’m old enough, I’ll get away. Forever.” She could have her own adventure like in the books she’d been reading. “Forever.”

  “What was that, Emma Grace?” Papa peered over his shoulder at her.

  “Nothing.” She practically spat the word.

  “Mind your manners, young lady. And don’t interrupt us when we’re talking.”

  As soon as he turned forward, she mimicked his words with her lips. But her little-girl heart was broken.

  NINE YEARS LATER

  1900

  BOSTON

  Emma Grace slid the sheer lace curtain an inch to the right to take a closer look at the happenings below her second-story window.

  Just as she expected, her father stood in the circular drive, talking to yet another one of his business friends. With a sweep of his arm—a gesture all too familiar to her—her father invited the man inside. And if Emma Grace knew her father at all, the guest had also been invited to dinner.

  Her father was up to his matchmaking yet again.

  Before she could arrange the curtain back, her father’s guest looked up and caught her eye. He nodded with a smile that showcased his crooked teeth.

  Well! Never let it be said she let a man know when he’d surprised her. Emma Grace opened the curtain fully and tied it back with the satin sash. She graced him with her own nod and a raise of her eyebrows, but she refused him a smile. She knew why he was there. And she didn’t like it a bit.

  If only her mother were still alive . . .

  With a sigh, Emma Grace turned from the window, sat at the vanity, and stared at her reflection. Only a quarter of an hour before she was expected to dinner. Maybe she could pretend to be sick? A headache?

  No, Papa—Father as he liked to be called now—would know. Emma Grace had the constitution of the strongest stallion.

  She might as well face the dreaded meal with her best foot forward. Father would be more inclined to hear her out if she were a gracious hostess at dinner. She’d give him one last chance. Not that he would change.

  She fully expected to put her plan into play. At seventeen years of age, she was ready. She’d planned for this since she was a little girl. Only a few more months until she could leave.

  Sliding her fingers over the top of the intricately carved box that had been her grandmother’s, Emma Grace thought of the contents locked inside. Underneath a few family trinkets, jewels, and treasured daguerreotypes of her grandparents lay the family birth record she would change and letters she’d prepared. Everything she needed to start over.

  With one last check in the mirror, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and pasted on what she hoped was a sweet smile.

  Two hours later, the man left. A Mr. Brogan. A man she hoped to never see again. Dinner was over, and she was tired of waiting to speak to her father alone. But after seeing the man out, Father walked to his office without a word.

  Marching after him, Emma Grace rehearsed what she wanted to say as she stood in the doorway. “I need to speak with you.”

  “I’m expecting another visitor, Emma Grace. This isn’t a good time.” He didn’t even look up from his desk.

  “You need to make time, Father. I’m tired of your matchmaking.”

  This time, he looked up over the rim of the reading spectacles perched on his nose. “It doesn’t concern me if you’re tired of it. You’re getting married, daughter. That’s the end of it.”

  She rushed forward. “Oh really? To whom? That Hawkins man from New York you swooned over last week? Or is it that slimy man from St. Louis? Oh wait. I forgot Mr. Sweeney from Detroit.” Her temper continued to build.

  Father removed his spectacles and threw them down onto the desk. “You impertinent girl. I won’t allow you to speak to me in this manner. What has gotten into you?”

  For years, she’d wanted to lash out at him—to let him know that she knew exactly what he’d done. She bit her tongue, but the words spilled out anyway. “No need to keep the charade going any longer. I know you were behind my kidnapping when I was a child. Now you’re arranging my life without any thought to my wishes, but I’m sure it will greatly benefit you.”

  His eyes widened for a moment. Then they narrowed and he looked back down at the papers spread out before him. “So you know.” He shrugged. “You weren’t hurt in any way. You were treated well. It was simply business. That spur was worth a great deal of money.”

  The words took all the bluster out of her. Her breath caught in her throat, and the room began to spin. No apology. No feelings whatsoever. Just. Business.

  Emma Grace moved to a chair and sat. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe naturally. She couldn’t let him know how his words affected her. If that’s how things were going to be, then fine. Steeling herself, she fisted her hand
s. She had a plan. It would work. And maybe one day she’d be able to forget all of this.

  Father looked up at her. “This is also business. But it’s for your own good. For your future.”

  “I’m not going to marry a man because you order me to.”

  “Oh yes, you are.” He leaned over his desk, his palms flat, his eyes narrow. “I can do whatever I want. And if that means banishing you to a tiny hovel, locking you up, taking away your clothes, jewels, money, and making you destitute, then I most certainly will.”

  Was he serious? Who would even think of doing that to their own daughter? Not that she even cared about any of those things anymore.

  He picked up a pile of papers. “You know what these are?”

  She shook her head.

  “Contracts. Legal and binding to whomever marries you.” He rattled the papers as he walked around his desk. A slight smile lifted his lips. “These men paid handsomely to have the chance for your hand . . . and to eventually inherit my empire.”

  If she hadn’t already been sitting, she would have plummeted to the floor. So that’s what it was all about.

  Once again.

  Money.

  The railroad.

  His empire.

  Not his cherished little girl.

  She held his gaze, determined to not let him see her true feelings. “I see.” Every bit of anger she’d been ready to heap upon his head had been destroyed. Just like her heart. There were no more words. No chances for him to change. This was her fate.

  Unless she followed through with leaving. Did she have a choice?

  Not anymore.

  Her stomach dropped. Her eighteenth birthday seemed too far away. The plan wouldn’t work until then. What could she do?

  “Mr. Wellington is first in line. He will be here in thirty minutes, so you need to excuse yourself before then. We can talk again in the morning. I don’t care which one of them you marry, because I will benefit no matter what. But rest assured, you will be married before your eighteenth birthday.”

  She didn’t cover her gasp.

  Which only made him smirk. Obviously his intention had been fulfilled. To put her in her place. To show his power. To leave her no way out. He went back to his chair behind the desk and sat. “Good night, Emma Grace.”