by Linda Ladd
"Pete? I want to talk to Beth alone for a moment."
Peeto seemed undecided about the idea until Luke's face took on an impatient look.
"Just for a moment, Pete, then you can come back."
Peeto glanced at Bethany again and reluctantly climbed down from the bed to take his leave. Luke immediately pulled Bethany into his arms, relieved when she came willingly, and stroked her soft curls.
"What is it, my love? What's frightening you? Tell me."
Bethany remained silent, her face buried in the fine linen of his shirtfront, and he held her close for a long moment. "I lied about Hugh," she whispered finally in a tortured voice. "He didn't mistreat Petie."
Luke felt as if she had struck him across the face. He could only stare at her as she burst into tears. He shook away his surprise, his arms tightening around her.
"I don't understand. What are you saying?"
Bethany couldn't bear to look at him, but she knew she had to tell him now. She had no choice. She sat up, wiping her tears with her fingers. "He didn't hurt Petie like I said, but please, please, Luke, don't make me tell you anything else!"
Luke shook his head in confusion, trying hard to make sense of what she was telling him.
"I can't just let it go, Beth. Surely, you see that. Not now when you're tearing yourself apart like this. You've got to tell me what's going on here." Luke waited, but Bethany refused to look at him. "All right, then, I'll have to ask Pete. He knows, doesn't he, Beth?"
He started to rise, but Bethany clutched his arm to hold him beside her. "Please," she begged, tears flowing again. "Don't do that."
Luke's heart twisted at the very real pain she was exhibiting, and he held her tight again, closing his eyes.
"Whatever it is can't be that bad, Beth. You have to tell me, or I can't help you. Don't you trust me? Is that it?"
At his words, Bethany lay quiet in his arms. Eventually, she spoke, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
"I didn't hit Hugh with the poker, Luke. Petie hit him."
"Pete! Why?"
"Because, because…" Bethany's explanation faltered pitiably as she swallowed hard, then, she continued, her words very low. "He did it for me."
Luke frowned, still not understanding. He waited.
"One night…Hugh was drinking a lot," Bethany began haltingly. "He always drank the most at night, all night sometimes, but this time he came into the nursery where we were. I thought at first that he was coming to see Petie, and I was glad because he never paid any attention to him."
She sobbed suddenly, and Luke stroked her curls as she continued. "But, he hadn't come for that. He was so drunk, Luke, staggering all over and knocking things off the tables, and we both got real scared of him. Then, all of a sudden he grabbed me, and he started…he started to tear at my dress." Her words came in a rush now, her voice trembling at the memory. "I couldn't get away. I couldn't fight him off because he was too strong-"
Fury such as Luke had never felt shot through him, flaming through his veins like liquid lava until his whole body was rigid with anger, every muscle rockhard, his face turning to icy, lethal granite. Everything began to make sense then-why Bethany had risked so much to steal away with Pete in the dead of night, why she had been afraid the first time he had made love to her, so many things he had questioned since he met her in Natchez.
"Hugh was the one who tried to rape you?" he managed to say in a stiff, unnatural voice.
Bethany's fingers tightened where they held his sleeve. "Yes, but Petie stopped him. He hit him with the poker to make him let go of me." She sat up, studying Luke's dark, angry face, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I was so afraid. I was afraid he would die and they'd put Petie in some terrible place like the charity orphanage where I grew up. I had heard people whisper about Petie and call him a halfbreed and a savage, and I knew if they thought he had attacked Hugh, they would take him away from me. I had to run away with him. Don't you see, Luke I had to!"
Luke swallowed hard, aching inside when he thought how alone, frightened, and desperate Bethany must have felt that night in St. Louis. "Of course, I understand. You had to do it, and you did the right thing. But, why didn't you just tell me the truth in Natchez when I first found you?"
Fresh agony rolled over Bethany's heart. "Because I wanted you to treat Petie like a son someday. I wanted you to love him, and I was afraid you wouldn't if you knew what he had done to Hugh. I knew you had left him once, and I didn't think you cared about him. I was afraid you wouldn't want a little boy who had almost killed someone!"
Old torments rose within Luke, ancient pain and rage and guilt, and he shut his eyes as he held Bethany's quivering body close.
"I killed a man when I was eight years old, Beth," he muttered against her hair.
Shocked, Bethany slowly lifted her face. Luke avoided her wide eyes, but he wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know.
"He was a Sioux warrior, and I stabbed him with his own knife," he went on, finding it hard to say things he had never voiced before. "His name was Panther Dog, and he killed my mother right in front of me." Luke swallowed convulsively as he saw it all again in his mind's eye. "He took his knife to her as if she was some kind of animal, butchering her, cutting away her blond hair-"
He stopped there, choking on the words, and Bethany could not stop her rising horror as some powerful emotion shuddered through Luke's frame.
"Luke, don't-" she began, but he went on in the same awful, strained voice.
"Let me tell you," he said gruffly. "Please, I want to tell you. After that, I was his slave for three years. He made me wear my mother's scalp around my neck on a rawhide strap. If I took it off, he beat me. Now, I realize that he must have been crazy, but then I only knew he was mean and cruel." Luke was quiet a moment, and Bethany bit her lip, sick inside at the horrors he had experienced as a child and at the tragic irony that Luke had seen his mother die, just as Peeto had witnessed Snow Blossom's death.
"He kept me off by myself, so I couldn't make any friends. No one in the tribe liked him anyway; they were afraid of him, too, I think. Except for Snow Blossom. She came to see me when Panther Dog was hunting. When he was gone, he tied me to a stake by a rope around my neck, like some kind of wild dog!"
A sob caught in Bethany's throat as Luke's fists clenched hard at the memory, but she stifled it, knowing he felt he had to tell her these things.
"One day after he left, the anger inside me built and built until I couldn't handle it anymore. I pulled and pulled until I broke my tether, then I ran into the woods and buried my mother's hair. I hid there all night, but he found me and whipped me until I couldn't walk. I waited until he fell asleep, then I crept over and took his hunting knife from its scabbard. I stabbed him with it, twice. I was so filled with hatred and anger that I didn't feel anything afterward-not guilt, not horror, not anything. I was just glad he was dead."
Bethany began to cry, heartbroken tears of loss for the childhood Luke had never had.
"Snow Blossom knew I did it, but she told the elders she had seen a Blackfoot warrior kill him. They believed her, and I went to live in her family's tipi. That's when I began to learn their ways and see that there were good men among them. Panther Dog was a devil."
Luke took Bethany's face between his hands, his eyes gentle. "But, I don't want you worrying about any of this anymore, Beth. Hugh will never bother either of you again, I swear. No one will ever know anything about what happened to you that night or what Pete did. Now, you stay here and rest for a while. I'll send Pete back in to sit with you."
Luke kissed her gently. When he found Peeto waiting outside the door, he picked him up, hugging him tight for a long time, then set him on his feet and knelt beside him.
"Beth told me what you did that night in St. Louis, Pete," he said in a gruff voice. "And it makes me proud. You're a brave boy, and I'm glad you were there to help her. Hugh's not going to hurt her again, I promise. Now, you go on in. Beth needs you."
/> After his son had gone, Luke went downstairs in search of Hugh. He tried to control the rage he felt, rage seething and boiling with a need for release. He went methodically from room to room, then stopped in the doorway of the library, where he found Michelle sitting in a wing chair beside the fire while Hugh stood near the gallery door.
"Did you try to rape Beth when she was alone and defenseless in your house?" Luke asked in a deceptively quiet tone.
The way Hugh guiltily averted his eyes was all the answer Luke needed.
Michelle gasped as Luke moved with the quickness of a jungle cat, reaching Hugh in three long strides. The smaller man grunted as Luke's fingers closed over the lapels of his coat, nearly jerking him off the ground before he sent a steel-knuckled fist slamming toward his face. Hugh went flying backward against the wall, overturning a slender-legged table with a crash and a shattering of glass. But, before he could crumple to the floor, Luke had him again by the front of his shirt. Luke bent over him, his face flushed with fury.
"If you ever touch my wife or son again, I'll kill you," he said, spitting the words out with harsh, barely controlled rage, then thrust Hugh away.
Michelle pressed herself deeper into the cushions, too frightened to move as Hugh slid into a crumpled heap on the floor and Luke stalked from the room without another word.
She waited a moment, not sure what to do, frightened by Luke's uncharacteristic savagery, but even more appalled by what he had accused Hugh of doing to Bethany. As Hugh groaned, then began to sob, she put her hands to her mouth, remembering how it felt to be hit with a hard, doubled fist. Her fingers went to the ridge in her nose that such a fist had made, and she shuddered, then moved toward Hugh Younger, taking her handkerchief from her skirt pocket as she knelt beside him.
"Monsieur? Hold this against your nose," she said softly.
"I'm no good," Hugh blubbered as he took it, blood running from his nose to soak the front of his white shirt and tan linen frock coat. His words surprised Michelle, but not as much as when he grabbed her hand and wept openly.
"Luke should have killed me! I wish he had! I want to die! I'm nothing without Anne! I never have been!"
"No one really wants to die," Michelle told him, then she pulled her hand away and rose to her feet. She left the room in search of Jemsy, who could help her get the distraught man up to his room.
Chapter 19
Bethany did not see Hugh Younger again until the following morning. She was having breakfast with Luke, Peeto, and Michelle on the side gallery overlooking the goldfish pond when he came out of the house. Bethany stared at him, startled by his appearance. His left eye was swollen shut and there was an ugly black bruise spreading out over his nose and cheekbone. She looked quickly at Luke, but his face remained expressionless as he set down his coffee cup.
"Good morning, Hugh," Luke said noncommittally, watching Peeto get up and stand close to Bethany's chair. Luke felt a surge of parental pride at the courage his son continued to exhibit. He reached out to lay his palm on Peeto's dark curls.
"It's all right, Pete. Hugh won't hurt Beth or you again. What you did to protect Beth in St. Louis that night makes me proud. But now, you can run along if you want. Raffy's waiting by the kitchen."
Peeto stared at his father as if amazed by his words, then, he gave Bethany a shy smile. Despite Hugh's presence, Bethany returned it, knowing how much Peeto had craved Luke's praise and attention. As Peeto ran off, she kept her eyes strictly away from Hugh, then, she was immediately alarmed as Luke put down his napkin.
"Hugh, I want to see you in the library as soon as you finish breakfast. Beth, I'd like you to accompany me into town tomorrow. Pete, as well, if you'd like."
"All right," Bethany murmured as Luke leaned down to brush her cheek with a kiss.
Bethany waited only a moment after he departed for the library before she made quick to flee the table herself, eager to be out of Hugh's company. She edged around Michelle's chair, hurrying across the gallery, but before she could reach the steps leading down to the fish pond, she was stopped by Hugh's hand on her shoulder.
"Wait, Bethany, please!"
Even his touch revolted her, and she whirled around, backing away from him until the stone banister ended her retreat. She stared up at Hugh's disfigured eye, but all she could envision was that long-ago night in Peeto's nursery when he had lunged drunkenly at her, his hands squeezing and hurting, his breath sour in her face. She shivered with renewed loathing.
"Please, Beth, don't look at me like that. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was drunk and lonely, and I didn't know what I was doing. I only remember bits of it, anyway, and I wasn't even sure if they were real or some kind of ugly dream I'd had!"
Bethany stared at him without speaking, and Hugh continued on a desperate note. "I was so lonely after Anne died. I guess I just wanted somebody to hold on to for a while. If I could undo it, I would. Let me make it up to you, I'm begging you, Bethany. I've nearly stopped drinking now, and Luke and Andy are all the family I have left. Please!"
Bethany shrank away from his voice, his words, not believing anything he said. All she could think about was the pain and fear and hardship he had caused Peeto and her. She looked away from his pleading eyes, unable to bear the thought of living in the same house with him, even with Luke there to protect her.
Hugh leaned against the wall in deep dejection as Bethany turned to run down the steps and across the lawn. She would never forgive him for what he had done, he thought. Neither would Luke, and he really couldn't blame them. He turned slowly, to where Michelle still sat at the nearby breakfast table. She lowered her eyes as their gazes met, sipping from a small demitasse cup as Hugh returned to the table. She watched him surreptitiously as he slumped in a seat across from her. Her gaze lingered on the puffy, bruised eye, remembering when she had been beaten so badly that both her eyes were swollen shut. As always, images of the Hackett brothers made her hands tremble, and the fragile cup rattled noticeably as she tried to set it upon its saucer.
"Are you all right?" Hugh asked, noting her pale face and attributing the fear in her eyes to his own presence.
"Oui," Michelle murmured, looking down at her lap, and Hugh let out a heavy sigh as he leaned back in his chair.
"You're a good friend of Bethany's, are you not?"
"Oui. I would do anything in this world for her. She saved my life."
"Bethany Cole saved your life? How?"
"Please, monsieur, 'tis a painful memory."
"Forgive me," Hugh said at once, for the first time really looking at the woman across from him. She was pretty in a dainty sort of way, with her odd, yellowish eyes. She wore a plain black gown, as she had the day before, and he wondered if she had been recently widowed.
"May I ask for whom it is you mourn, and offer my sincere condolences."
"My father died nearly a month ago," she answered without looking at him.
"Your name is Michelle, is it not? May I be so familiar?" he asked, and at her nod, he continued. "Do you think Bethany will ever forgive me?"
Michelle's answer was truthful. "I cannot say, but she is very loving and unselfish. Please, excusez-moi, monsieur."
Hugh watched her depart, then looked at the white wrought iron sideboard where a decanter of brandy stood on a gold tray. Every fiber in him leaned in that direction, urging him to drink it down, to let the fire warm his stomach and help him forget the cutting, never-ending despair he still felt over Anne's death and, now, the hatred he received from everyone around him. His hands shook with the desire to take the bottle back to his room where he could erase from his mind the frightened look on Bethany's young face and the cold contempt in Luke's green eyes. He moved to the sideboard and lifted the bottle to his nose so he could smell the aroma that soothed him like nothing else could, then, he gritted his teeth in self-disgust, forcing himself to set the brandy back on the tray. He hurried quickly away before he could weaken in his resolve.
Late that afternoon, as the
sun sank low and the afternoon shadows lengthened across the lawns, Bethany pulled a warm red knit shawl around her shoulders as she sat beneath an arched wooden arbor covered with thick ivy. She had lingered there for most of the day, watching Peeto practice with his short bow and arrows. Tante Chloe had set Raffy to work in the kitchens, but Bethany hadn't wanted to remain so close to the house for fear of seeing Hugh again. Nor did she want Peeto to see him. He was just beginning to have a real home with a real father and a friend of his own age, and Hugh was only a reminder of the bad times in St. Louis. She wished he would just go away again and leave them all in peace.
A triumphant shout from Peeto interrupted her worried thoughts, and she clapped in approval at the sight of his arrow protruding from the trunk of a mimosa tree, very close to the center of the target he had made from her handkerchief.
Peeto jumped up and down, giving his Sioux yell, but his excited grin faltered as his gaze fastened on something past Bethany. When he quickly thrust his bow behind his back, Bethany turned and found Luke standing a few paces behind her. She colored guiltily, having been caught in the act of encouraging Peeto to practice his Indian ways.
"It's all my fault," she began nervously, coming to her feet to face Luke. "I know what you said, but I told him he could keep his things-"
To her dismay, Luke walked past her without answering and took the curved bow from the hands of his shamefaced son. But, Luke's next words brought a sigh of relief.
"You were holding it wrong, Pete. If you put your thumb here, like this, you can improve your aim. Your grandfather taught me that trick. His name was Gray Sky."
Peeto's eyes grew wide as Luke took an arrow from his son's small fringed quiver, examining its feather for flaws before he laid it expertly against the string. His shot hit dead center and was still quivering from the impact as Luke put his arms around Peeto to help him shoot. Peeto's arrow nearly hit Luke's, and Luke patted his son's shoulder as he withdrew another arrow.
