by Lynn Donovan
Gathering the feet between her fingers, she carried two in each hand to the house, laid them on the porch, and turned to draw up more water for their soaking. Something in her gut told her to look up.
A man in a dirty boot-length duster and a bandana over his nose and mouth stood with his boot on the cellar door. He had a saddlebag over each shoulder and a pick and shovel over the saddlebags. What on earth did he have in mind?
Lily! Was she still down there, under his boot? She hated the dark, dank cellar. That was why they always let her leave the door open while she went down there. Emma Grace tuned her ear to Lily and heard the soft, kitten-like mewl behind the door. At least she was alive.
“Please. What do you want?” Emma Grace wanted to beg them to let Lily out but decided if he didn’t know Lily was down there, she would be safer, although terrified, to stay where she was. If this man was going to have his way with Emma Grace, let it just be her and not Lily.
The man tipped his head back, as if signaling another. The other walked around from beside the house. “We’re just here for your treasure, ma’am. We don’t mean you no harm.”
“Treasure?” Emma Grace almost laughed, but then she thought maybe they were speaking metaphorically, and they really were going to take her virtue. “My husband is inside. You best be on your way.”
“You think we’re stupid? Huh?” The second man lifted a Navy Colt .45 and pointed it at her head. “We watched him leave afore you killed them chickens.”
Emma swallowed. my good gracious, have mercy on my soul! They called her bluff. Now what? Praying she was wrong about the metaphor she tried another angle. “Mister, I don’t know what you think you’re here to do, but we don’t have a treasure. We’re just corn farmers.”
That made them both laugh. A gut wrenching laugh. At least it made her gut wrench when they broke out laughing. “Not that you know of. Your husband’s so stupid, he don’t even know what he’s got buried under his house.”
Emma Grace wrinkled her brow and crossed her arm over her chest. “Buried… what? We don’t have anything but a root cellar. I assure you, there’s no treasure down there, unless you count food stored up for the winter.” Did injecting a little humor distill this situation or egg them on to kill her? She hoped for the first and not the latter.
“Step aside.” The second man waved his gun, gesturing her to move. She almost held her ground, but thought better of it, with poor Lily in the cellar and probably in a panic.
Cole! Oh, Lord. She had forgotten Cole was upstairs sick as a dog. How could she protect him up in the loft and Lily in the root cellar? “What exactly is it you think you’re going to find inside my house?”
“We done told you. There’s a treasure buried under your house and we aim to bring it up.”
Emma Grace furrowed her brow and gritted her teeth. “You better not dirty up my floors! I just scrubbed them clean this morning.” She hadn’t but it was all she could think of to seem crazier than a hoot owl and maybe scare them away.
“Ma’am, step aside. We are going in whether you block us or not.”
Debating. Lily in the cellar. Cole in the loft. What good would she do either one of them if she let these men shoot her here on the porch? Slowly she stepped down to the yard and turned as if to gesture, “Go on in.”
The first man took his boot off the cellar door and followed the second one to the porch and into her house. She hurried to the cellar and whispered. “You all right?”
“No.” Came the scared little voice.
“Baby, you’re safer in there than out here. Please, be a brave big girl and stay put.”
“All right.” Lily squeaked, and Emma heard the tears in her voice. Still, she obeyed.
Emma heard a loud thunk! She rushed inside. The man with the pick pried it out of the floorboard and swung it over his shoulder for another attempt.
“Stop!” She screamed. “What are you doing!”
“The treasure is somewhere under your house.” The second man tossed the answer over his shoulder.
“Well, stop tearing up my floor.” She rushed to the coat closet. “Here.” She opened the closet door and lifted the door on the floor that lead to the crawl space. “Go in this way!”
The men looked at each other, then shrugged. They went through the trap door and ferreted around underneath. She panted and watched their silhouette’s move around.
“Pssst.” She heard a hiss above her head. She looked up. Cole peeked over the pony wall. He mouthed, “Bushwackers?”
She nodded.
Cole pointed toward himself and then at the field. Should she send Cole to get Gavin? Would it be safe for Cole? These idiots were under her house, digging for a treasure. Surely they’d miss Cole running to the cornfield. Her eyes met his. She nodded. Cole slipped on his new bibbed pants and carried his boots to the window. She could just see him from the angle where she stood. He crawled out the window and scurried across the roof.
She heard the thud when he jumped down. He had his boots on. Good. He ran like a buck to the field where he knew Gavin was working. She breathed a sigh of relief. Cole would be safe. Muttering and banging drew her attention to the floor. What should she do?
Looking at the oven, she bit her lip. Should she? Glancing to the floor, she located their silhouettes, tiptoed to the stove, grabbed her apron in her hands, lifted the boiling pot of water, tiptoed back and poured the scalding water onto the floor. Screams down below told her she’d hit her mark.
Scrambling and bumping noises indicated they were coming up. She hurried to put the pot on the washboard. She froze as they came through the trap door. Red scalded marks spotted their faces. They looked mad as… well, as wet hens. Emma Grace stood her ground. She lifted her chin.
The second man growled obscenities and called her a horrible name. He crossed the floor and grabbed her arm with a vice grip that hurt. He threw her down in a chair and pulled out his gun, shoving it against the side of her head. She closed her eyes and waited for the blast. How much would she hear? Would the bullet take her face off when it passed through her head? What a gruesome sight she’d be when Gavin came in. Would he know to let Lily out of the cellar?
The front door banged open. Emma jerked stiff, thinking it was the gun going off in her head.
“Put down your gun, or I’ll shoot you graveyard dead.” Gavin growled.
Chapter Twelve
Gavin and eight men poured into the house. A fight ensued as the men took the two bushwackers down with a few blows and a broken chair. Frozen to the chair in which she sat, she watched the fight in slow-motion until Gavin knelt in front of her. “Emma Grace, are you all right.”
She stared at his imploring, chocolate brown eyes. Without thinking, she reached up, took his face into her hands and kissed him soundly! He kissed her back. Passion fanned into a flame like nothing she had ever felt in her life. She wanted her husband in the worst way. He’d saved her life. He was her hero. He was her husband. No more did she want to keep herself from him.
A whistle broke the spell and they let go of each other. Emma looked at the men. Some were embarrassed, others were laughing. A warm flush filled her cheeks. Then she gasped. “Lily! She’s in the cellar!” Then she gasped again. “Cole! Where’s Cole?”
He oozed out from between the men. “I’m here. I still don’t feel good. Can I go back to bed?” He stepped over the unconscious body of one bushwhacker and climbed the ladder to his room.
Emma stood and rushed outside to open the cellar. Lily sprang into her arms. Emma kissed her wet cheeks and rubbed her hair. “You’re all right.” She cooed and carried the child, wrapped around her, into the house. Gavin touched his sister’s hair. “You were very brave, Lily.”
She buried her face against Emma Grace’s neck and mumbled. “I didn’t feel very brave.”
The sound of Cole retching drew everyone’s attention to the loft. Emma Grace looked at Gavin who looked at Emma. Their lips quivered, as they tried to suppress th
e laughter, but it broke out and they laughed. Cole called out. “Not funny!”
“I’ll go get the sheriff, boss.” Nicolas Cragg handed a rope to Gavin. He knew what was expected.
“Okay, take a man with you.” Gavin turned to another of the eight, “Help me get them up and tied to something.”
Soon the bushwackers were tied hand and feet to the kitchen chairs. Their guns were taken from them, even though they were still unconscious. “What are these burn marks on their faces?” Gavin asked Emma Grace.
“I poured Cole’s broth water through the floorboards on them.”
Gavin nodded. “Clever!”
Looking at the six men left in the house, the two who were still unconscious and tied to chairs, then turned to Emma Grace, “Could I talk to you, outside?”
She nodded and followed him with Lily still attached to her hip, like an infant. Gavin stroked the child’s hair. She was asleep on Emma’s shoulder. “Poor thing. She’s been through a lot today.”
Emma looked at Lily. “We all have.”
Gavin lifted his eyes to Emma’s. Her heart skipped a beat, and she smiled. He pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and tucked it in with the rest. “I was terrified they had hurt you.”
“I just knew, when you slammed the front door open, it was the gun and my brains were splattered all over my nice clean floor.” She giggled.
Gavin put his finger under her chin and tipped her face toward his. He gently kissed her lips. She kissed him back. “I don’t—”
Gavin spoke at the same time, “I don’t…” He chuckled. “You go ahead.”
“No, you.” She closed her mouth although she wanted to kiss him some more.
“I don’t want to continue with a marriage of convenience. I almost lost you today. And it made me realize I need to be honest with you. You’re a beautiful, smart, and wonderful woman, Emma Grace. I love you. So, so much, I do.”
She smiled, shifted Lily’s weight on her hip. “I love you, too.” With her free hand she cupped her palm against his face. “I love you, Gavin Garret Sallee.”
He smiled. “I love you, Emma Grace Sallee.” He leaned into her and kissed her tenderly. “Let’s talk about this later.”
She giggled. “Like tonight, later?”
He grinned. A twinkle shone in his eyes. “Yes, but not through the quilt.”
She giggled again. “No, not through the quilt, under it.”
He nodded and walked her back into the house.
Epilogue
The rhythmic banging of hammers pounding shingles into place on the new structure echoed across the meadow. Gavin and his wife walked across the grassy plain to check on the progress of their new home.
“You think they’ll be finished in time?” Emma Grace stared at the many workers on the roof. The same workers she had recruited from the decrepit shanty town who helped them expand the prosperity of their farm and helped save her life from the bushwackers.
Gavin had them build a village of cabins for themselves to live in before starting the large farmhouse for his little family. Emma called it the Sallee Shanty Village.
A one-room schoolhouse had been built, also, for the country children, and Emma Grace filled it with readers and workbooks. She had registered with the Kansas School Board of Education, which supplied the educational material.
Emma loved her life here in Kansas and she loved sitting around the fire pit at night listening to the different dialects as history was retold by one or the other of the workers. They all were like family to the Sallees. Family with amazing and different backgrounds.
“That all depends.” Gavin turned to gaze in his wife’s eyes.
She giggled. “On what?”
“If this baby waits until the house is finished before he or she comes into this world.”
Emma blushed. “I suppose that’s true. It can’t come soon enough for me. I haven’t even seen my feet in three weeks. Are you sure they’re still there?” She stuck out her swollen foot from under her skirts, the top of her foot oozed over her shoe, like a muffin.
Gavin cringed inside. She looked miserable. “Yes, darling. Your feet are still attached to your ankle, which is attached to your shin, which is attached to your—”
“Shh.” She covered his lips with her finger. “Not in front of the children.”
Lily scurried through the grass to catch up with Gavin and Emma. She carried a two-year old out in front of her as if he were a specimen. “This one needs to be changed.” Lily shoved the baby toward his mother. Emma Grace took her son. “Oh, you have such great timing, Gavin, Junior.” She squatted, laying her son on the grass, pulled her knapsack from her back and changed him. Gavin helped her stand again, with their son perched on her hip, and continued their stroll to the new house.
“I heard Uncle David was released this past week.” Gavin commented.
“Really?” Emma nodded thoughtfully. “I didn’t realize his two years was up, but then again, I suppose it has been three years since those bushwackers tried to tear up my floor.”
Gavin laughed. “Two bushwackers come to our house, shut Lily in the root cellar, put a gun to your head, go under our house and dig all over the place, looking for grandma’s trunk and all you remember is that they stuck a pick-ax in your floorboard.”
“Well, the gouge is still there to this day. I have to put a braided rug over it. It’s unsightly.”
Gavin patted her hand at his elbow. “I suppose it is. Not to mention that it is a reminder of how close I came to losing you.” He leaned over and kissed his son’s towhead, and then his wife’s cheek.
“Well,” She tilted her head. “I suppose having the bushwackers raid our home was the push we both needed to say how we really felt at the time.”
Gavin laughed. “Yes. I’d say it was.”
“I’m glad Uncle David is home. I know Aunt Carolyn has been miserable without him. Losing your standing in the community is bad enough, I should know, but losing your life partner for two years… it has to be much worse than losing your teacher status, like I did.” Emma Grace nodded. “But I forgive Uncle David. Aunt Carolyn, too. They’ve been through a lot, and family looks after family, no matter what.”
Gavin lifted her hand and kissed her knuckle. “And that’s why I love you so much. I can’t believe I never stopped to even try to figure out what Poppa was trying to tell me. But, if I had found the gold before I found you, well, I don’t want to think about how different things would be.”
She blushed again. “Do you think Carolyn ever figured out you sent some of our men to work their fields while Uncle David was gone?”
“No. I had them tell her Pastor Davis sent them. She has no idea they came from our shanty-village immigrants.”
Emma threw her head back and laughed. “That’s wonderful. We help them anonymously. I love it.”
Lily lifted her arm and waved at her brother, Cole. “There’s Cole, may I go ahead.”
“Yes,” Emma smiled at her. “But stay out of the way of falling debris, Lily. You don’t want to get conked on the head.”
“I will.” Lily ran off.
“She’s as excited about the new house as I am.” Emma Grace squeezed her husband’s arm. “Your momma and grandma would be pleased with how you used the gold coins.”
“Yeah, I think so. A big family house and we are doing our part to fill it with the pitter patter of little feet.”
She laughed, patting her rotund middle. “That we are.” She shifted her son’s weight on her hip. “Someday, Cole and Lily will be doing their part, too.”
“It’ll happen before we know it.” Gavin watched his brother carry a stack of shingles on his shoulder while he climbed a ladder. He handed the stack to a worker and climbed back down. He was a strong boy for nine. Gavin couldn’t be prouder of him. “You s’pose he’ll want a proxy bride like his big brother?”
Emma Grace stopped and stared at Gavin. She opened her mouth with a partial smile and closed it again. �
��I suppose only time will tell.”
Gavin grinned. “I suppose you’re right. Surely there’s a bride for Cole out there somewhere.”
The End
About the Author
Lynn Donovan is an author, playwright, and director who spends her days chasing after her muses trying to get them to behave long enough to write their stories. The results are numerous novels, multi-author series, anthologies, dramatizations, and short stories.
Lynn is a co-host on a local AM radio show, KRLN 1400, called Write Time Radio where she and her co-host air old-time-radio dramas, narrations, excerpts and poems written by local writers, including herself.
Lynn enjoys reading and writing all kinds of fiction, paranormal, speculative, contemporary romance, and time travel. But you never know what her muses will come up with for a story, so you could see a novel under any given genre. All that can be said is keep your eyes open, because these muses are not sitting still for long!
Oops, there they go again…
You can learn more about Lynn on her blog, follow her on Twitter @MLynnDonovan, Facebook Author page at LynnDonovanFGG and her website LynnDonovanAuthor.com.
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For more publications by Lynn Donovan go to:
Amazon.com/author/ldonovan
Appreciation
Thank you to everybody in my life who has contributed in one way or another to the writing of this book. My husband, my children, my children-in-law, and my grandchildren. You all are my unconditional fans. My BETA reader and grammar guru who make me look gooder than I am. [Bad grammar intended.] My fellow author friends who chat with me daily to exchange ideas, encourage, maintain sanity, and keep me from being a total recluse/hermit.
