by Marsha Ward
Jessie said in a rush, “Oh Heppie, don’t mind my prattle. I reckon George loves you just as much as Robert does Hannah. He’s bound to say so real soon.”
This time, Heppie’s sound was definitely a sigh, and her eyes began to redden.
Jessie, trying to divert Heppie from having a crying spell in the middle of the street, called out to Hannah, who strode along five yards ahead of them. “Wait for us. Ma will have a conniption if we don’t stay together.” She looked around the deserted street, her nerves beginning to twang. “Do you see any riders down the road?”
“No,” Hannah replied. “It’s too early for those lazy bums to be out. Besides, I ain’t seen ‘em for days. Ma’s just got a bug in her ear.” Hannah carried her basket of baked goods on her hip. She stopped walking and gave it a little hitch to make it ride higher.
“Do you reckon they’ve left town?” Heppie asked Jessie as they followed Hannah.
Jessie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a customer told Ma they’re still here.” She turned her head to look behind her. “I don’t see them.”
“That don’t mean they’re not around the corner,” Heppie said, sniffing, then wiping her nose with a tiny scrap of a handkerchief. “Look sharp.”
Jessie shivered. Her stomach began to ache, and she felt vulnerable and unsafe. The Yankees had already won the war, ravaging the country in the process. It was terribly hard to make ends meet these days. She’d heard Ma crying at night on that score. Why didn’t the Yankees go home and leave the people of Mount Jackson alone?
She thought of Hannah, who lived with Robert in a house on the other side of town. During the time he worked at the bank, Hannah was all alone. She may lord it over Heppie and me for not being married, but maybe she’s afraid too. She does spend an awful lot of each day at our house.
Jessie stepped over a stick in her path. I reckon I don’t blame her, she thought. She hesitated a moment, sniffing the air. Was that dust she smelled? Don’t panic. Likely a wagon passed on the Valley Pike. At that moment, the sound of hoofbeats coming up behind them raised chills along her spine. She whirled and faced four mounted Yankees, who had seemed to rise out of the very ground.
The men caught up and circled the three women before they could take another step. Two of them spat tobacco juice near the girls’ shoes. One failed to launch his mouthful properly, dribbling juice down the front of his shirt.
“Cal, you can’t hit a tin can with a turnip,” said one man whose dirty red hair poked out in points where it escaped his cap. His laughter rang through the empty street.
Jessie grabbed hold of Hannah’s arm with her free hand. She felt Heppie clutching at her skirt band. Jessie looked around, frantic. Where were the Miller brothers? They were always up early, coming down the street as the girls left the bakery.
“Sez you, Red,” the Yankee named Cal said, spitting a fresh stream that landed on Heppie’s shoulder.
Heppie screamed, dropped her basket, and tried to wipe the juice off.
Cal chewed on his wad of tobacco, turned, and shot a spurt of juice in Hannah’s direction. She shrieked as it hit her cheek. Red laughed again, and waved his cap in the air.
“Hannah!” Jessie shouted, and pulled her sister closer to her. The stink of the tobacco filled her nose as she dashed it away from Hannah’s eye with her hand.
The third man, whose black moustache contained bits of food, said to Heppie, “Here, let me wipe that for you.” He leaned down and grabbed a lock of Heppie’s blonde hair. She cried out as he yanked on it, pulling her closer to his horse.
“You need a knife, Bull?” asked the fourth Yankee, reaching into his pocket.
Bull swore. “I can get my own trophies, Foster. Put away your knife.”
“Get away from her!” Jessie shouted. Her heart thrummed in her chest. She tried to think of what to do even as she shoved at the man’s arm, getting the juice from her hand on his uniform sleeve. He let go of Heppie’s hair and turned on Jessie, trying to swat at her hand, but she evaded his reach. Hannah was cowering away from Foster, who called her unpleasant names. The other men rode in circles around the three young women, laughing, whistling, and making rude talk.
“Go back to the store,” Jessie urged her sisters. She stripped the white towel from her basket and flapped it in the face of the nearest horse. It reared, dumping Red, and galloped off down the road. The girls pushed their way through the interrupted circle and ran for the front door of the bakery. Behind them, Jessie heard the laughter and catcalls the other men showered on the unseated rider, who swore at them, his horse, and Jessie herself.
Heppie made it to the door first, wrenching it open. Hannah followed hard on her heels, and Jessie brought up the rear.
“Lock it, Jessie,” shrieked Heppie. Her big blue eyes seemed ready to leap out of her face.
Jessie twisted the lock, wondering if it would keep the men out if they wanted to enter. “Ma,” she cried out as her mother rushed into the shop from the kitchen. “Those Yankees! They spit tobacco juice at us. Just look at Heppie’s dress!”
“They’re so crude,” Heppie moaned, swiping at her shoulder. “I’ll never get this stain off me!”
“There, there, girls.” Ma gathered the young women into her arms. “Did they hurt you?” Jessie felt her mother’s body shaking.
Hannah loosed herself from Ma’s grasp and dabbed at her cheek with a handkerchief. “I hate tobacco!”
Ma let go of the girls. “Jessie? You ain’t been harmed?”
“No, Ma.” Jessie started to hug herself to control her quaking, but remembered in time that her hand was still smeared with slime. She walked behind the bakery display case, found a cloth, and wiped her hand with it. The day had just begun, and already it was a disaster.
Ma went to the window and looked out. “Are the Yankees still out there?” She craned her neck to the right. “Looks like they’re goin’ off down the street,” she said. “One of ‘em is chasin’ a horse. What happened?”
“Jessie spooked his mount and got us out of there,” Hannah said. Her voice sounded calmer. “Heppie, let’s go clean ourselves up.” She took Heppie’s arm, and the twins went into the kitchen.
“Ma.” Jessie joined her mother at the window. “Do we have to go out there again?”
Ma took a deep, shuddering breath, then let it out slowly. It seemed to steady her. “Folks’ll be lookin’ for their bread and pastries. If you leave by the back door, it’s most likely the Yankees won’t even spot you.” She gave Jessie a pat on the shoulder. “I know those Yankee louts are mighty rude to folks, but I don’t think you’ll come to real harm if you stay together. When Hannah and Heppie have cleaned up, you three scoot.”
Jessie sighed. Ma’s right. Folks need their baked goods, and heaven knows we need the money. She shivered. They would have to go back out. Without a protector. Her brother Luke was too young to do much good. Her heart pounded in her chest. Oh Pa! Why did you have to die and leave us so helpless?
~~~
Jessie looked over her shoulder at Hannah and Heppie, who walked away from her toward the street corner, leaving Jessie to collect payment for a pie. Mrs. Wiggins, however, seemed inclined to chat.
Please just pay me, Jessie thought, looking the other way down the street. I don’t want us running into those Yankees again. She turned back to Mrs. Wiggins, anxious about the distance between her and her sisters. She didn’t want to be alone, even for the few seconds it would take her to catch up.
Mrs. Wiggins looked at Jessie expectantly. She must have asked a question.
Shrugging her shoulders to shake off her reverie, Jessie said, “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I fear I was woolgathering. What’s that you said?”
The stout little woman sighed. “Jessie dear, I was askin’ if your ma could bake me a loaf of sourdough bread for tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll need payment for the pie first, ma’am,” Jessie said, hoping it didn’t sound too rude.
“Can’t y’all wai
t to the end of the week?” Mrs. Wiggins looked flustered.
“Times are hard, ma’am. Ma needs to buy supplies.” Jessie glanced over her shoulder again. Hannah and Heppie were a half block away. A cold chill ran through her.
“That’s right, Jessie dear. Times are hard indeed, but Mr. Wiggins wanted an apple pie for his birthday.” Mrs. Wiggins sighed. “I’ll get your money.” She turned her back, left the door open, and took the pie into the house.
Jessie tapped her toe as she waited, watching her sisters grow smaller and smaller. Her stomach tightened on her breakfast and made her queasy. Hurry up! she thought, and mentally berated the twins for leaving her here. She was the “little sister.” More often than not, they stuck together and left her to do the more distasteful things like collect money from customers.
After what seemed like forever, Mrs. Wiggins returned with a few coins and counted out the price of the pie.
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll tell Ma about your bread,” Jessie said as she put the money into her pocket.
Mrs. Wiggins closed the door forcefully, as if to protest Jessie’s insistence on being paid.
Jessie snorted. Silly old bat! Of course she has to pay Ma now. How does she expect— Jessie left the thought alone and went on to her more immediate worry. With one hand she scooped up the basket she’d put on the porch while she waited, and with the other she grabbed her skirt, racing off after her sisters. “Hannah,” she called out. “Heppie! Wait for me.”
Jessie had covered half the distance that separated her from the twins when she tripped on a root and fell, landing on the hard dirt with her forearms straddling the basket.
Pain lanced through her arms but was instantly supplanted by the smart of her embarrassment. Oh, what mortification! You’d think I was twelve years old instead of eighteen, trippin’ over a danged root.
Heppie had looked back in time to see the fall. “Jessie,” she cried out, and started toward her, motioning for her to get up—as if Jessie were perfectly content to lie sprawled across the path as she was. Hannah continued on to the corner, then turned and waited while Jessie scrambled to her feet and Heppie helped her brush off her skirts.
“Jessie! Are you hurt?”
She rubbed her sore arms, getting the dirt off. “I reckon I’ll be—”
Jessie saw the man at that moment, the rider the Yankees called Red. In what seemed only a few seconds, he jumped off his horse, grabbed Hannah around the waist, and was back in his saddle, having thrown Hannah over the front of his horse like a sack of grain. Her basket tumbled through the air, spewing loaves of bread onto the ground. Jessie cried out and pointed, unable to form words to describe what she was seeing. Heppie turned and began to scream. Jessie lifted her skirts and ran toward the corner as fast as she could. He can’t be takin’ her, she thought, her heart pounding in her ears.
~~~
Jessie shoved open the door of the bank with such force that it banged against the wall. Several customers turned to gaze at her in surprise. The clerks and tellers looked up from their work.
Jessie located Hannah’s husband, Robert Fletcher, in the teller’s cage at the end of the row. She ran across the tile floor and pushed aside the woman standing opposite him.
“You must come, now!” Jessie said to the man, gasping as she struggled to draw air into her burning lungs.
“Miss Jessica—” He turned to his customer. “I’m sorry, Miz Addison. I’m sure she didn’t mean—” He broke off and faced Jessie again, frown lines deeply creasing his face and sweat breaking out on his forehead. “What happened to you? You’re quite … untidy.” Robert took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the brow on both sides of his pronounced widow’s peak.
“Mr. Fletcher—Robert—Hannah’s been taken!” Jessie put out a shaking hand and grasped the counter to support herself. “We’ve got to get help.”
Robert took in a sharp breath. He stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket as he turned and leaped over the gate separating the teller’s cages from the customer area.
Before Jessie could blink, he grasped her by the elbow and shook her arm. “What do you mean, ‘Hannah’s been taken’?”
Jessie’s trembling almost overcame her. She forced herself to find her voice, still breathing with difficulty as Robert’s grip tightened. “You know those Yankee riders? One of them grabbed her and took her off. Oh, Mr. Fletcher, Heppie’s in such a state I had—”
An oath escaped Robert Fletcher’s lips as he dropped her arm. “Take me there,” he grunted, barging through the door to the street. She caught up to him and led off at a run, lifting her skirts out of the way of her feet.
They cut across the street, darting between vehicles and horses, bumping without apology into passersby, their silent haste fed by adrenaline and fear.
When they arrived at the street where Hannah had been abducted, Heppie bolted out of Mrs. Wiggins’s door, crying into her handkerchief. “Oh, Mr. Fletcher, I’m so glad to see you.”
Robert nodded briefly to Heppie, then turned and asked Jessie, “Which way did he go?”
Jessie pointed south on the Valley Pike. “It’s the redheaded one.”
Robert thrust Jessie into Heppie’s arms, saying, “Go to your ma’s. I’ll bring her there,” and ran down the street.
“Jessie, did you see his face?” Heppie wailed.
Jessie shook in her sister’s embrace as new fear enveloped her. “Yes. I’m afraid he’ll kill that Yankee.”
Chapter Two
Hannah screamed as the Yankee carried her away from her sisters. She took a breath to scream again. The odor of tobacco and sweaty clothes worn too long without washing almost gagged her.
“Don’t bother yelling. Nobody’s going to help you,” said the man in a rasping voice. He jammed his free arm underneath her stomach and yanked her roughly against him. “None of your yellow-bellied rebel men have the guts.”
Hannah twisted and turned in the man’s grasp. She tried to get her fingers to his face to gouge his eyes, but he swatted her arm down with his rein hand and pinned it to her side.
“No more of that, missy,” he growled, and prodded his horse to a faster pace with a few kicks.
“My husband will come. He’ll find you, and he’ll kill you,” Hannah gasped, struggling anew to find a way to hurt the man.
“You won’t be worth the bother when I’m done with you.”
The Yankee’s words ripped through Hannah’s mind. Oh dear God, no! Help me! Don’t let him do this. “Robert!” she shrieked between sobs that seemed to tear all the flesh from her throat.
“Your Bobbie-boy can’t help you, missy,” the man growled, and punched Hannah on the side of her head. “Behave now. We’ve got a ways to go.”
Pain sent Hannah slumping forward against the horse’s neck as she tried not to lose consciousness. Her ears rang. Her nose filled with dust thrown from the horse’s hooves. She closed her eyes and coughed. I won’t let him kill me, she thought. I’ll be strong. No matter what he does, I’ll be strong until Robert comes.
After a long time, the horseman pulled up and pushed Hannah to the ground. She rolled to her knees. Three startled chickens ran into the brush at the edge of a stable yard. Before she could arise and follow them, the man was beside her, grasping her around the waist. He dragged her to her feet and into the stable, tugging on a rein to make sure his horse followed. He kicked the door, but not hard enough to close it, and it stood open a ways, letting in a stream of sunlight.
Hannah screamed, lashing out at the man, pulling his hair with both hands. I’ll mark him, she thought. If he’s gone when Robert comes, I’ll tell him what to look for.
The Yankee hit Hannah across the mouth, and she lost her grip on his hair with one hand. She tasted salt against her tongue and knew she was bleeding, but she tugged on the man’s rusty-colored hair with her other fist. They whirled around, struggling back and forth in the alleyway of the stable. Hair came loose in her hand. She spit her blood on his shirt. He hit he
r again and she spun and went down onto the straw-covered floor of a stall.
Hannah choked and coughed at the dust her fall had raised. She heard the man coming toward her and tried to curl into a ball, but he knelt on top of her, ripping her blouse until her flesh was exposed and pulling at her skirt. She smelled his rank breath as he tried to kiss her. “No!” she screamed. He slapped her, but she only cried out again. “Help me!”
The man swore at her, calling her vile names as he unbuckled his belt and slid down his trousers. Hannah thrashed back and forth, clawing him with her nails and calling for help as he tore at her skirt, ripping it open nearly to her waist. She screamed again when he shredded her underclothes, then wrestled with her until he restrained her hands above her head.
The pain of his assault wrenched through her body, tore at the sanctity of her womanhood, and bludgeoned her soul until she believed that neither her body nor her spirit would survive. She clenched her eyes shut, as if that could hide what was happening, and felt tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. He is a fiend of hell, her thoughts shrieked as he slumped on top of her.
Hannah shivered under him, too spent to cry out any longer. She could not avoid inhaling the stench of his hair lying on her face. It seemed that hours passed while his loathsome body pinned hers into the straw. At last he raised himself above her. She kept her eyes closed, but couldn’t hold back the sob that rose in her throat.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like my looks?” he growled. “That’s too bad, missy. You’ve got to bear them until I’m finished with you.” He reached down and touched her breast, laughing at her. “I told you no one was coming for you. I’ve got as long as I want.”
~~~
Robert ran down the Pike, his heart thudding in his chest. Where would the man take Hannah? If he was intent on doing her harm, he’d want a private place, like a barn or a grove of trees, even though the occupation soldiers and cavalry were doing pretty much as they liked these days. He’d have to ask if Hannah and the rider had been seen passing by. That might be useless—folks were staying out of each other’s business. His breath rattled in his throat. His side burned with pain. His legs seemed made of lead. No matter, he thought, and continued his headlong dash. Hannah needs me.
