by Judith Pella
Her father? But like before, he still could not help her. She had to find a way on her own. But first she had to clear her mind. She could not think of what Maurice had just told her, of how the small deception she had carried over Benjamin had now become a huge, disastrous one.
“Maurry, what’ll it take for you to leave me alone?” Somehow the words came evenly, belying her quaking insides. There might yet be a chance to have this life she had come to love.
“A nigger woman like you don’t come cheaply.” His eyes scanned the pathetic.looking cabin. “Neither you or your man’s got enough money.”
“Please, Maurry!” She was within a heartbeat of falling on her knees in supplication.
He laughed in her agonized face. “I remember your mama begged me like that, only she got on her knees. ‘Please let me go, Maurry, I met a man who loves me.’ I laughed at her, too.”
“And she ran away,” Elise could not repress the defiance in her tone.
“And you’ve run, too, but I’ve found you—and I’m not gonna let you get away again.”
“What are you going to do?” she sneered. “You don’t have my baby to hold over my head.” Dear God, don’t let him figure out about the children. She had inched her way down the step and was moving as inconspicuously as possible away from the cabin.
“I’m gonna do what I should have done before.” He went to his horse and took a whip from the saddle.
“Hey, Maurry,” said Lyle, “before you get her all bloodied up, let me have a few minutes with her.” He stepped close and grabbed her arm.
Elise cringed at the touch, filled as it was with all the horrible things she’d hoped she had escaped. Lyle wrenched her into his arms, his hot, foul breath singeing her cheek.
“I missed you, sweetheart.” His sweaty hands held her fast.
She struggled to break free. “Please . . . don’t . . .”
Then somehow she did break free, and for a wild, insane moment she forgot everything except her vow to die before a man used her like that again. She made a dash away from Lyle, but she tripped over the hem of her skirt and crumpled to her knees. Lyle dove at her and sprawled on top of her in the dirt. She screamed as the weight of him pinned her down. There was nothing to stop him, no one to save her. Desperate sobs broke from her lips, then she heard Maurry laugh.
“Lyle, at least you can have the decency to go inside the cabin,” Maurry chuckled.
Shrugging, Lyle grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. Given a bit more freedom, she began to struggle again, pounding at him and sobbing as he dragged her up the step. Only then did her personal terror lift enough for her to remember the children.
“My man will be back any time now!” She screamed. It was a desperate and much too obvious ploy, but she had to keep them out of the cabin.
Maurice barked a scoffing laugh. “You must think I’m a first-class fool.”
Choking back sobs and horror, she tried to sound convincing. “He really will be back . . . for his midday meal. It’s that time isn’t it?” She was a pathetic liar. A child would see through it. “His son is with him. They are both armed and excellent shots. They have been living in the frontier for years.” She knew she was babbling, having already stepped over the line to hysteria. But the lies kept coming. “He was raised by Indians. He could creep within a foot of you, and you’d never know. He’s probably already heard me and is in the brush now, waiting to attack.” Maybe a huge lie would be more believable than a small one.
She wanted to howl with delight when Lyle jerked a quick glance over his shoulder.
“You’re both dead men if they find you here,” she went on, the words flowing almost of their own volition as she built a delusion, one she hoped and prayed would save her life and protect her children. “Benjamin has fought Indian wars back east, and I saw him with my own eyes hang a horse thief. What do you think he’ll do with someone who steals his woman?”
“Funny,” Maurice said, unruffled, “but I heard he was just a preacher.”
Elise snorted derision, her terror finding some succor in her performance. “That’s a hoot! The preacher was squatting here, and Benjamin ran him off because he wanted this parcel for himself.”
“You’re lying!” challenged Maurice.
And though all good sense told her she had lost, she still could not give up. “It would almost be worth it to invite you in so I can watch what he does to you when he finds you.”
“Maurry, let’s get out of here,” said Lyle, his tone almost a whine. “I knew a fella named Ben Gutherie over in Kentucky. He’s a mean critter, and I heard he was heading out to Texas. It could be the same man. I saw him shoot a man just for bumping him in a tavern.”
Maurry shrugged. “Well, whether it’s true or not, I reckon it makes good sense to get on our way. It’s a sure bet you aren’t living here alone, though I’m fully in my rights taking you. But I don’t want no violence.”
Elise swallowed back her relief. She let Maurry haul her up on his horse, not because she had decided that her old life was after all preferable to death, but rather to lure her captors away from the cabin and the children. When Maurice climbed into the saddle behind her, she suddenly felt an unaccountable calm. Death, or worse, still loomed in her path, but the children were safe. Nothing else mattered. She uttered a silent prayer that Isabel would be able to tend things until Benjamin returned home that evening.
As they rode off, she didn’t know whether to pray for Benjamin to rescue her or for him to stay put. Poor Benjamin. Contrary to her grand lie, he was the worst shot she ever saw. He might make a mistake and shoot her instead of her captors. Or worse, get himself killed.
CHAPTER
50
ONLY A SLIVER OF MOON provided light on the dark trail. But it would have been impossible for Benjamin to do the logical thing and wait at home till morning to find Elise.
He’d gone half crazy when he had come home to find Isabel shut in the new room with the younger children. She had been hysterical, and it had taken some time to coax information from her. He had hated to leave her, especially when she had clung tearfully to him, but when he heard the name Maurice Thomson, he knew he dare not waste time. He kept remembering that Elise had said she would die before returning to her former life.
“Dear God, please don’t let her do anything foolish!” he murmured as he picked his way on the shadowed trail.
But what if she believed she had nothing to live for? After the way he had treated her since that stupid encounter in the barn, she might well believe he thought he’d be better off without her.
Nothing could be further from the truth. It had only taken that instant when he realized she was gone for him to know just how much he did need her, how much he wanted her, how empty his life would be without her. Only a moment of panicked fear made him realize just how deeply she had become entwined in his life, how she held him together, gave him uncanny balance. He knew as he fought the strong urge to race his horse over the rocky path that his need for her transcended his children’s demands. And it went beyond physical needs, too. He could do without a cook or a laundress, or even the fulfillment of desires he’d expressed in the barn. What he could not do without was the way she touched his heart, his spirit.
What would he do if something happened to her and he could never express his true feelings to her? What if he could never fix the way he had been treating her lately? How could he live with himself?
Please God, give me another chance. Allow me to get it right just once.
He peered into the night, hoping he was still heading south, hoping he’d guessed right that Thomson would head back to his place near San Felipe. But if Isabel had been accurate about the time they left the cabin, they had several hours’ head start. They could camp for the night, and still Benjamin, forced to travel at this cautious snail’s pace, might not catch up to them.
In that case he would simply go to Thomson’s place, maybe even get a few men from town to accompany him
. But the inadvisability of that idea struck him immediately. If he involved anyone from town, several undesirable things could happen. First, Elise’s past would become public knowledge. He didn’t care for himself, but he knew it brought her great shame. So far they had been able to keep it quiet because they were so isolated, and of the few people they encountered, most had no dealings with a man like Thomson. Yet a raid on Thomson’s place, though long overdue, would be devastating to Elise’s reputation.
But the other far more dangerous problem in involving others, especially the legal authorities, was that they might well side with Maurice’s claim. She was his slave, and there was much support of slavery in Texas among the Americans. And with the issue of revolution becoming hotter each day, the Mexicans might have little to say in the matter.
No, Benjamin had to deal with this himself. But he wished there had been time to get John Hunter’s help. Benjamin feared that alone he’d be pretty useless against a man like Thomson and whoever was riding with him. His rifle was loaded and ready to fire, but hitting a target was another matter. His confidence had been further diminished by the day of hunting in which Micah had killed the two turkeys they brought home. They had tracked a deer, but Benjamin had arrogantly insisted on taking the shot—and had missed.
Poor Elise. Her only rescuer was an inept fool. But if the sheer force of his determination meant anything, he would be successful.
Benjamin’s horse stumbled over a tree root. “Whoa.” He reined the mare to a stop.
Did he dare go on? What if his horse should become injured and he’d have no way to get to Elise at all? He debated this issue for several moments, and finally good sense prevailed; he found a place to make camp. It was several hours until dawn. He didn’t expect to sleep and, indeed, lay awake for two hours fretting and agonizing until pure exhaustion finally forced him into a fitful slumber.
“You troublesome little tart!” Maurice jumped from his horse, then dragged Elise down after him. “I oughta just shoot you!”
Elise spat at him, but the momentary pleasure she received from hitting her mark was short-lived as his big hand shot up, striking her full across her face. Her hands were tied behind her, and having no way to balance herself, she stumbled back and fell to the ground.
She took a moment to glance up at the sky. It was almost dawn. She had tried to escape, and though her attempt had been unsuccessful, she had delayed her captors, hoping to give Benjamin, if he was foolish enough to come after her, time to catch up.
The thought of Benjamin made her wince with gnawing pain, not a physical pain but rather one that seared through her very heart. Her escape had brought but a brief reprieve from the inevitable. Before she had run off, her captors had been threatening to have their way with her. Lyle was driven purely by lust, but Maurry believed it to be the only way to ensure his control over Elise.
When they had stopped to make camp, she had known it was only a matter of time. And she was sickened by the realization that she was not ready to die as she had sworn to do before being shamed again by a man. She knew that when the moment of reproach came, she would surrender.
“Dear God, I am so sorry!” she had silently agonized.
But she simply could not ignore her deep longing to live and the sense that she now had so much to live for. The children needed her.
Hannah, of course, but Benjamin’s children, too, had come to depend on her and even love her. And she loved them and wanted to be there for them. She wanted to help Micah shed his anger. She wanted to comfort Isabel when she woke from her nightmares. She wanted to protect Leah and Oliver from facing another loss in their young lives.
And yes, she also wanted a life with Benjamin. He needed her, though he might not realize it. He needed the love she had to offer him. How ironic it was that because of her love for him she would do something that might surely destroy it. How would he be able to face her, knowing she had been so weak as to let Maurice and Lyle shame her?
If Benjamin despised her before, what would he think when he found her? And she dared not let herself think about what Maurice had said about Kendell. Benjamin had learned much lately about forgiveness, but just how much mercy did he have in him?
She could not keep from clinging to a sense deep within her that there was more to what had happened between her and Benjamin that day in the barn. Something special had grown between them in the last months. For her, that something had become love. Was it possible it might be the same for him, and he would not admit it? It was the only thing that truly explained the change he exhibited lately. He was afraid of what was happening. And if that were the case, maybe, just maybe, he might be able to forgive anything.
It would hardly matter once she had placed her life above honor and virtue and all the things she knew were important to Benjamin. She would be alive—but at the expense of all she had wanted to live for. Yes, she would fight her attackers, but there were two of them, and short of death, there was no way to beat them. They would take her, shame her, defile her. She was just too weak in body to prevent them, too weak in mind to take her only other way out.
She had forgotten the truth she and Benjamin had talked about some time ago, about the peculiar beauty of weakness. But now it came back to her as she considered—no, wallowed—in her weakness. What was the verse Benjamin had quoted? “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”
Even in her misery, a small smile quirked her lips. She was indeed the perfect specimen for God to use in order to show His marvelous strength. But even that did not instill her with hope. She continued to await her fate with resigned dread. She certainly did not think it was God’s hand when Lyle produced a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebag after a hasty supper.
“What you got there, Lyle?” Maurry nodded at the bottle, a gleam in his eye. “You gotta have some liquid courage before you take on the little spitfire?”
Lyle snorted with disdain. “Haven’t had a drink all day, that’s all.” He uncorked the bottle and set it to his lips.
As he pressed the cork back in place, Maurry said, “Ain’t you going to share?”
“Ya need some courage yourself, Maurry?” Lyle sneered.
“Just gimme that bottle!”
Both Lyle and Maurry were hopeless drunks. Maurry had more self-control than his brother, but once he started he usually kept going until the booze ran out or he simply passed out. Lyle passed out drunk practically every night, and since coming to Texas, Maurry had been adversely influenced by his brother. Thus, they shared the bottle this night until it was empty, then Lyle produced another. He had only a couple of swigs before he stretched out on the ground.
“I jes want a few winks ’fore I have the girl. . . .” he slurred. “Ya go ahead . . . I’ll be along. . . .” He was snoring before he finished.
Maurry, seeing that he would soon be going the way of his brother, staggered to his feet. “Got ya all to m’self. . . .”
He propelled himself toward her, then crumpled to his knees, finally toppling over on her. She started to fight him off, only to realize in seconds that he had passed out also. With an odd mingling of disgust and relief, she pushed his wretched body off hers and scooted away.
Instantly she knew this was a prime chance for escape. Not that she had expected to be successful. With her hands tied, she couldn’t hope to get far, but at least she could try to stall what must eventually happen. She would run back in the direction they had come, closer to home. She no longer worried about the children, for Benjamin would be there by now. At any rate, she didn’t expect to reach the cabin. She hoped only to buy time, perhaps give Benjamin, if he was looking for her, a chance to catch up.
It had taken three hours for Maurice to find her—three precious hours closer to Benjamin and to possible rescue. And now it was almost dawn.
Was Benjamin out there? Was he close? Would he save her? She tried not to think of anything else, of the danger he’d be in or the horror he’d feel if�
�when!—he found out about Kendell.
But the harsh voices of her captors forced her back to the present.
“Well, I’ve had it with you!” Maurice was saying. He grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her to a nearby tree. “But you’re too valuable to shoot.”
With Lyle holding a rifle on her—not that she had either the strength or heart to run again—Maurice untied her hands, made her wrap her arms around the tree, then retied her hands so that she was hugging the tree.
It was almost with relief that she realized Maurry had other intentions at the moment besides rape. Yes, now she remembered he had other methods for keeping his slaves in line. Visions of little Gina’s scarred back intruded into her mind.
“I should’ve done this long ago,” he said. She heard him walk to his horse. “I’m gonna make sure you don’t run again.”
Though she was expecting it, that first stripe with the whip made her gasp in shock more than pain. The pain was there but did not really penetrate her senses until the second and third blows. Then all was pain. Sharp, tearing, wrenching pain. She wanted to be brave and not cry out, and she bit her lip until she drew blood. But after a while stoicism seemed a rather lame virtue, and soon she could not prevent the cries of agony from escaping.
She lost count after the first ten blows. Still, it kept going on and on as if he was indeed going to kill her. It had to be well past twenty— somewhere in the distance she could hear Lyle’s voice keeping count— that she began to lose her senses. As unconsciousness finally closed in upon her, the most peculiar thoughts crossed her mind. She was wearing Rebekah’s pretty brown dress and she had promised Isabel she would take care of it, but now it was surely ruined. Her last conscious thought was that despite her escape from rape, she was going to die after all. Maybe it was just as well. Who could love her now, ruined and scarred?
Then blackness engulfed her even as the snap of the whip continued.
