As they clambered aboard the wagon again, Cissie elbowed her in the stomach. “Ya won’t be so uppity after ya been on your back with ya legs parted and some man thrusting into you.” Eddy turned a gasp of horror into a cough, and ignored Cissie’s crudity.
She hurried over to her seat, tempted to grab a spot near the canvas opening, but the urge to see where they were going would prove too great, and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She had to stick to Ma’s plan. With a lurch, the wagon started on the last leg of the journey.
The women talked amongst themselves. A couple of the young ones, like Eddy, didn’t partake of the conversation; they looked as anxious as she felt. Perhaps they hadn’t been with a man before. She shared their apprehension of what would befall them, but her reason was different to theirs. If she ever made it safely home, she would never take life for granted again.
“I’ll be glad to get to the springs,” a woman at the front exclaimed.
“Be better when we get our men. Me like feeling a man between me legs,” another said.
Eddy went to put her hands over her ears but remembered just in time – she was one of them. Nausea roiled in her stomach.
“I like feeling the spurt when they come,” another said.
Eddy pulled her hat down over her ears, hoping it would help deaden the sound. It didn’t.
“My man thrusts like a bull, so I want a man who be gentle.”
Shut up. Eddy wanted to scream at them, stop this filthy talk. She closed her eyes, and suddenly thought of prim and proper Aunt Victoria who would be mortified to hear language like this, would probably collapse with shock. Visions of her aunt prostrate on the Persian carpet almost brought on a fit of the giggles. Would have done at any other time.
How was Uncle Stanley faring? If she returned safely back to Amy and Tom’s she would write to him. Weak as he was, he had tried to make life bearable for her in Boston. Would Charlotte have snared the English lord her mother so desperately wanted for her? Would Amy have a boy or a girl? Her eyes grew heavy, and the strident tones of the other women turned to murmurs as sleep claimed her.
“We be here.” Cissie punched Eddy on the arm. Eddy blinked a couple of times. “Don’t ya ever talk?”
“Not much,” Eddy mumbled.
Again, she was the last to leave the wagon; as she stumbled to the ground she glanced around. They had passed down the main street of what looked like a ghost town. The wooden buildings were in a state of disrepair, porches sagging, doors and windows smashed. Weeds grew between the boards on the sidewalk.
In an overgrown garden at the end of the street stood a two story red brick building. A faded sign read The Hot Springs Hotel. So, that’s what everyone had meant when they said hot springs, not some thermal pool.
It must have been a stately home in its heyday. However, its reasonable condition, indicated it had received recent repairs. Huge oaks and poplars, their bare branches soaring skyward, guarded the entrance like silent sentinels. Tall shrubs and creepers grew in profusion, joining together in some places to form canopies. Numerous outbuildings were in various stages of disrepair. If she did manage to escape, where could she hide?
The foyer was tiled, the color indistinguishable because of built up dirt and grime. A middle aged women stomped up to them. “Ya come this way.”
Another canyon dweller by the sound of her. The Swapping ritual was obviously well organized.
“What place is this?” someone asked.
“Used to be a brothel for rich gentlemen. I been living here with my husband. We be related to the Doggett clan. They be the men who will mount you.”
“You live out here in the wilderness?” Eddy asked, trying to glean information.
“A railway went through once. Rich men came up from Lawrence and Boston for hunting and whoring. The railway owners ran outta money, so they didn’t extend the railway like they promised. Once the train stopped, this be a ghost town.”
In single file they trooped down a narrow staircase leading into a large tiled room. Green slime dripped from the walls, mold covered the ceiling. Four tin baths were lined up at the side of the room. An iron pipe protruded from a wall, probably used to bring water down here from a well, Eddy surmised. Two large boilers of water let out spurts of steam every few minutes.
“When it be dark, the Doggett men will arrive. There be a shindig with food and drink, after that ya wash and put on a robe.” The woman stabbed her finger at a pile of white nightgowns. “Then men picks the woman they wants. After that ya find a room, and ya be his til it’s time to leave. If his seed is good, ya will be breeding by then. Ya can look around the place or have a drink now. Come back here as soon as it be dark.”
Late afternoon, with dusk closing in, Eddy knew she had to get away now. “I be having a look outside.” She tried to sound like the rest of the women. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she climbed the steps and headed out the back. If rich men came from Lawrence and Boston, and the railway line ended here, it should be easy to follow the line back until she eventually reached a town. How many miles that was, she had no idea. What if the rail route had changed?
She had to risk it. There was no other way. She found a well in the back yard. Tearing a piece off the hem of her skirt, she left it dangling from one of the loose bricks around the well. Let them think she had fallen in and drowned.
After the shindig, the women bathed, donned the gowns and the men picked their partners. With any luck, one or two would be so drunk they wouldn’t pick a woman straight away.
There was no escape route from the back. She edged around to the front garden, hoping the others would be too busy drinking to notice her non-appearance.
Along the main street she sneaked, keeping as close as possible to the tumbledown ruins. They would give her somewhere to hide should the need arise.
What direction would the Doggett men come from? Every likelihood, the opposite direction from where she came. She wouldn’t want to run into them. So many ifs and buts.
She kept walking, fearful of what lay ahead, but even more fearful of what was behind her. She had to find the railway line before dark, follow it for as long as possible, and then find a hiding place. Once the men started choosing their women, she would be missed because one man wouldn’t have a partner.
Cold, from the weather and fear, chilled her to the bone. Hurrying and stumbling over the rubble strewn street, she cast frightened glances over one shoulder. “God, please help me.”
After what seemed hours of plodding along, she came to a small overgrown cemetery, gravestones, weeds, but nothing else. Dusk was falling fast, not much time left now. There would have been a station in a town like this. A ticket office? A waiting room? Platform?
She retraced her footsteps. There must be some kind of ruin. In her haste she must have missed it.
A quarter of the way up the main street, behind the old bank, was a tumble down square, box like building and a packed earth platform. How had she missed it? Dashing to the end of the platform, she saw the railway track. To her right it ended abruptly, to the left it snaked away into the distance.
She clambered down to the line. Walking in the middle between the rails, her feet would feel the sleepers and gravel even if they weren’t visible. She ran as fast as she could for a short distance. Her heart pounded, her legs trembled so she slowed to a walk. That’s how she would do it, a short burst of speed, then slow down. No, better to walk at a brisk, steady pace. Even if she had the stamina to run on and off, she risked injury. How she could weigh the risks in her head like this she did not know. Sheer desperation most likely.
Slipping out of the woolen skirt, she wrapped it around her shoulders. The gravel crunched under her feet making the soles hurt. What if I stride from sleeper to sleeper? It would be a bit of a stretch because of her short legs, but a mixture of both might work?
A combination of a jump and a step made for an uneven gait. The wind had dropped, but the movements kept her reason
ably warm. If she stopped, without shelter, she would likely freeze. She listened for any noise, or the flash of a lantern. Nothing, except the rustle of nocturnal creatures going about their nightly business.
Thank goodness for Ma’s coat and the old skirt. As long as she could keep out of the wind and it didn’t snow, her chance of survival was fairly good. Death on this railway line or life in the canyon? She would certainly choose the former.
Her feet and legs ached, but she forced herself to keep going. Finally, she had to rest, her legs shook so much she kept falling to her knees. Soon she wouldn’t be able to get up.
The night was black as a witch’s cauldron, no moon or stars lit the wintry sky. She had to go by touch, and using her hands, finally found a spot with a bush and grass on it. Crawling under the bush, she wrapped the skirt around her and tried to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
Eddy awoke, stiff and aching in every bone and muscle, but relieved to see fingers of pink streaking the dawn sky. Her stomach growled with hunger. The ground around her was damp, so she sucked the moisture off the grass. She glanced around. No sign of pursuit. Hopefully, they would think she had fallen into the well and drowned, but once it became light she had to be vigilant. How far had she travelled?
Setting off again, she ignored the aches and pains. Think of Jeb, the vile, disgusting creature, and you can endure anything. She had never wished death on anyone, but she prayed God would strike him dead.
Now she could see the tracks it would be better to walk along the side of the line, easier on her feet, and closer for cover should she have to hide. What if the soles of her boots wore out? Stupid thoughts kept popping into her head. Delirium maybe?
With full daylight, the danger escalated. Were the Nesbitts or Doggetts even now pursuing her? This thought quickened her pace. What would they do if they found her? She shuddered thinking about it.
God, please don’t let it rain. Those clouds appeared black and heavy but it remained dry. If she could make it to a town or settlement she would be safe. The canyon people kept to themselves, even forbade their women to go into town, so they wouldn’t locate her there.
She entered a damp, dingy tunnel. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Stopping, she listened. What if feral dogs prowled? There was no weapon to defend herself with. No-one to help her.
Relief washed over her as she exited the tunnel. Green fields greeted her. In the distance, cattle grazed. Civilization at last. Well, nearly. Still following the railway line, she trudged on, hour after hour. No houses to be seen, not even a ruin.
A sound reached her ears, reverberating inside her head. She sank to her knees. She had heard it before but couldn’t recall where. Church bells? Thank you God.
She set off with renewed vigor, even though weak from hunger and fatigue. The church would give her sanctuary, no matter what denomination. The line turned sharply and down in a valley stood a red brick church.
Tears coursed down her cheeks as she stumbled toward it. Her hat fell off. She didn’t care, just kept her wavering vision on the little church, and the people congregated around it. A couple of men detached themselves. One of them was the preacher, she could tell by the black floating robe he wore.
“Help me, please help me,” she cried out through chapped lips. “Don’t let them catch me.”
****
When Eddy woke up, she glanced around in confusion. She was in bed lying between crisp white sheets and covered by a multi-colored quilt.
“So you’re awake now?” An elderly women with plump, rosy cheeks sat by the bedside, knitting.
“Where am I?” She glanced around fearfully. “Am I safe?”
“Yes, dear. You’re safe. I’m Mrs. Schmidt, the doctor’s wife. The men from the church brought you here.”
“I heard the church bells. They guided me here.”
Eddy touched her hair, it was loose about her shoulders, soft and clean. “Who bathed…”
“You don’t remember?
Eddy shook her head.
“You collapsed near the church, crying, raving, incoherent, and um, filthy.”
“Thank you for helping me.”
“What happened to you, my dear? We know you were running from someone.” The woman picked up her hand and held it. “My husband examined you, and except for a few scratches, blisters on your feet and exhaustion, you’re well.”
“It’s been horrible.” Under the urging of this kindly lady, the story poured out. Mrs. Schmidt turned pale, but once the flow of words started they wouldn’t stop.
“Oh, my dear, what a horrific experience you’ve had.”
Eddy flopped back on the pillow. “Where am I? I have to get back to East Granby, I live on a farm a few miles from there.”
“You’re in River Bend, about thirty-five miles from East Granby. We’ll send a message from the telegraph office, and they’ll contact your friends.”
“I don’t know how to thank you. How can I ever repay your kindness?”
“It’s not necessary. We’re pleased to have been able to save you from those fiendish people.”
How long would it take to hear back from the telegraph office? Would Tom be able to leave Amy with Mrs. Cavendish and come for her? What of Joshua? Would he do his sister’s bidding like he had done in Hartford, and come to collect her once again? It would take nearly two days to get here, as he had to traverse some rough country.
Mrs. Schmidt brought her in a bowl of warm broth. “Eat this, my dear, then you must sleep, doctor’s orders.”
Dr. Schmidt, who came home mid-morning, was a dumpy little man with a shiny, bald head. His baby blue eyes peeped over small spectacles that rested on his nose. He seemed as kind and friendly as his wife.
“Well, my dear, how do you feel?”
“Much better. Thank you for all your kindness. Could I get up now?”
“You can rest on the couch downstairs for a short while. You must take care of yourself, you’ve been through a dreadful time, both emotionally and physically.”
“I’ll never forget what happened.” Remembered horror shuddered all the way through her.
“Try not to dwell on it.” He patted her hand. “I have to be off soon, I’ve a couple of patients to see on outlying farms. I left instructions at the telegraph office, and the moment they get word back from your friends, someone will come here and let you know.”
“Thank you.” Inadequate, but her mind wouldn’t function properly, and she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
By mid-afternoon, Eddy, rugged up in one of Mrs. Schmidt’s voluminous nightgowns with a matching dressing gown, lay on a couch in the parlor toasting herself by the fire.
This room had pretty pink rosebud wallpaper, and lace curtains on the window. The mantel and fire surround were of polished wood, with deep green tiles running along either side, and across the hearth. Glowing logs rested in a fancy iron grate. The room exuded comfort and refined good taste.
Her host plied her with endless cups of tea and pretty iced cakes. “Please Mrs. Schmidt, no more or I’ll burst.”
Smiling, Mrs. Schmidt poured out another cup of tea. “Real English tea,” she said, “I never drink anything else. Cyril, my husband, started me on it.”
The woman could certainly talk, she hardly paused for breath, but Eddy liked her. “Would you thank the people from the church for me? They saved my life.”
“They know you’re grateful, but I will pass on your thanks.”
By four o’clock, without any word from the telegraph office, Eddy was ready to breakdown and weep. Anxiety was her constant companion. What if Amy and Tom had abandoned her? After all, she wasn’t blood kin.
Mrs. Schmidt clearly understood her emotions. “Patience, my dear. These things take time. Someone has to ride out to your friends’ farm, deliver the message, then return to town with a reply.”
At five o’clock, the youth from the telegraph office arrived.
Amy and Tom had a daughter. Both wel
l. I’m coming to collect you. Might be a couple of days. Josh.
Thank goodness everything went off so well for Amy. Eddy ruthlessly snuffed out the excited flicker of hope over Joshua coming for her, as being nothing more than a necessity. There was simply no-one else.
Two days after receiving word from Joshua, Eddy was up and dressed in a blue gown that belonged to Mrs. Schmidt’s married daughter. She’d tied her hair back and held it in place with a deep blue ribbon. Although she felt much improved, she couldn’t help fretting and worrying about Joshua’s arrival. Would he be annoyed like he had been when they first met at the stage depot in what seemed another lifetime, but in fact was only a few weeks?
“When do you think he’ll arrive?” she asked Mrs. Schmidt who gave a sweet smile. What a serene lady, never getting flustered or angry. Eddy wished she could be like that, but knew such a manner was not in her makeup.
“When he gets here, dear.” Clickity click, Mrs. Schmidt’s knitting needles rarely stopped. She had ten grandchildren and loved knitting for them. “You should take up knitting, very calming.”
“I couldn’t, I don’t have the patience. I like to start things and get them finished quickly, I’ve always been like that. Making spur of the moment decisions.”
You’re too hasty and headstrong, Edwina, Aunt Victoria used to say. It will land you in serious trouble one day. She always wore an expression on her face that said – I hope it does.
“Would you like me to knit you something, a scarf perhaps?” Mrs. Schmidt asked. “It won’t take long.”
“Well, thank you, maybe you could knit a scarf for Lizzie, the little canyon girl I told you about. I couldn’t take it to her personally, but her grandfather comes into town from time to time, so I could ask the man at the livery to pass it on. I had been thinking about buying her a doll.”
Edwina: Bride of Connecticut (American Mail-Order Brides 5) Page 11
