To Win Her Favor

by Tamera Alexander

  But not until she got closer did Maggie see the two bodies swinging from a limb far above. Both with arms tied behind them, one with legs still thrashing, fighting for life. The other, lifelessly still as it swayed back and forth.

  “No!” Odessia let out a wail and went to her knees, and Maggie felt her own heart do the same as the terror she’d dreamed about—and that young Willie had lived—drew a devastating breath.

  Cullen turned, anger hardening his features. “Stay with her!”

  He ran for the tree, where other men were already scrambling to climb up. But whatever evil had done this had chosen its instrument well. The ancient oak was tall, and the limb sturdy and high. Twenty feet from the ground at least.

  Maggie looked up at the man still struggling—Ennis!—saw the fight leaving him, and feared they wouldn’t reach him in time.

  Groaning, Odessia grabbed hold of Maggie’s gown, tears streaming. “Please, help him!”

  Maggie looked up to see Ennis’s body all but still, and something inside her raged. Gently pushing Odessia away, she stepped forward and cocked the lever of the rifle, felt the chamber load, and took aim.

  But it was too hazy. The smoke too thick. What if she missed?

  “Do it!” a voice whispered from somewhere close behind.

  Rifle tucked against her shoulder, Maggie raised the barrel again, centered the sights, and finger on the trigger, she squeezed. The shot split the night and the rope snapped. Ennis’s body dropped to the ground with a sickening thud, his right leg twisted at an odd angle.

  In a blink Odessia was there, working the rope from around his neck. Maggie ran and dropped to her knees beside them.

  “Ennis!” Odessia called his name over and over, framing his face in her hands.

  Maggie closed her eyes, and though words wouldn’t come, she prayed with everything in her, the rage from moments before rising like a vicious tide. Then she heard a cough. A ragged, choking sound . . .

  And she opened her eyes to see Odessia cradling her husband’s head in her lap while another woman worked swiftly to remove the ropes from his wrists. Ennis’s breath came in short, wispy gasps as Odessia stroked his face.

  Maggie felt a warm hand on her back and looked over to see Cullen kneeling beside her. His hand encircled the nape of her neck, and he kissed her hard on the forehead then brought his face close.

  “Your father told me you could shoot,” he whispered, his breath shaky. “But that . . .”

  He moved closer to see about Ennis and said something to Odessia that Maggie couldn’t hear.

  Maggie heard a familiar jingle and turned to see Bucket trotting up to her. “Hey there, boy.” She hugged his neck, relieved to see the dog was all right.

  Cullen returned a minute later, and Bucket immediately went to his heel. Maggie didn’t mind one bit.

  “I need to check on the others.” Concern layered his voice even as anger showed in his features. “The two men patrolling tonight were beaten then knocked unconscious. Will you stay with Odessia and Ennis a while longer?”

  Maggie nodded. “Of course.”

  “I’ve sent for a doctor.” A shadow crossed his face. “He should be here within the hour, then we’ll know more.” He ran a forefinger along her jaw. “You’re quite a woman, Mrs. McGrath. I hope you know that.”

  With quiet pride she watched him work his way through the small community, speaking and helping where he could, while only a short distance away aging timbers, turned to kindling with time, cracked and surrendered with meager resistance to the flames.

  Movement from the corner of her eye drew her attention and, though not wanting to, she lifted her gaze. The second body still hung from the limb, his back to them, swinging to and fro, the man they were too late to save. If only they’d—

  Maggie squinted, then stood and moved closer. It wasn’t a body at all, at least not one made of flesh and blood. This man was stitched from flour sacks stuffed with hay. But why would anyone do such a—

  The body turned on the rope until it faced her. She read the words painted in bright red letters on the chest, and the reality of her world—and Cullen’s—came into greater and crueler focus than ever before.

  Chapter

  THIRTY-THREE

  Hours later, as dawn stretched pink and purple over the horizon, Maggie sat with Odessia on the porch of a neighbor’s cabin as Dr. Daniels tended Ennis inside. She hadn’t seen Dr. Daniels since he’d attended Papa, but it was good to know the man didn’t hold the same prejudices as others in this town.

  “More coffee?” Maggie filled Odessia’s cup without waiting for a response. Onnie was up at the house brewing it as fast as she could, with Cletus serving as deliveryman.

  Odessia turned a grateful smile in her direction and started to speak, then her eyes welled up, and she simply reached over and covered Maggie’s hand on the arm of the rocker.

  Still upset by events of the night, Maggie did her best not to show it. No loss of life, thank God, but several people—children included—had suffered burns in the fires, and everyone was visibly shaken.

  Of the four cabins consumed, three that her grandfather had built were reduced to smoldering rubble—including Ennis and Odessia’s—while a fourth cabin, recently constructed, sustained only minor damage. Five wagons loaded with supplies and tools had been sitting near the cabins and had also been set ablaze. She’d overheard Cullen telling one of the men that all of it would have to be replaced before harvest could commence.

  After seeing to the people here, she and Cullen had returned to check on the house and the outbuildings. Belle and Levi were fine, to her great relief, as were the rest of the animals. This community, not the animals, had been the target of the hatred.

  This, and her husband.

  She spotted Cullen walking toward her and felt Odessia give her arm a nudge. Not needing any more encouragement, Maggie rose and went to him. She slipped her arms around his waist, and he pressed her against him. Her body shook with emotion held too long inside, and he led her around to the side of the cabin.

  “Come here, love,” he whispered, and he pulled her to him again, closer this time, and cradled her head beneath his chin. The solid feel of him, the man he was, the husband he was to her, poured fresh strength into her.

  “Why?” she whispered against his neck. “Those hateful words.”

  His arms tightened around her. “Hateful words from hateful people. We’ll get past it.”

  “I don’t want to get past it. I want it to stop.”

  He sighed against her hair, and she could well imagine his thoughtful expression. “It won’t ever stop, Maggie. Not completely. But we can change things, together. It’ll take time, and a lot of provin’ ourselves to people. But it can be done.” He drew back slightly. “We’re livin’ proof of that, now aren’t we?”

  He placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, but the firm grip of his hands on her promised more.

  They rejoined Odessia on the porch to see Kizzy there, along with her brothers, Jobah and Micah.

  “Like I told you earlier”—Odessia pulled each child to her in turn—“Papa gonna be all right. Doctor with him right now, helpin’ get that leg straight again.”

  The boys accepted the assurance easily enough, but Kizzy didn’t look convinced.

  “Your children did well, Odessia.” Cullen gripped Jobah’s slender shoulder. “Just like you taught them.”

  Micah’s eyebrows shot up. “We ran and hid in them woods, sir. And didn’t come out ’til it was safe.”

  “That’s good, son,” Odessia whispered. “That’s real good.”

  “Your father’s a very brave man.” Cullen met each child’s gaze. “Not many in the world like him.”

  Maggie caught the look he gave her, and she thought of her father and the relationship the two of them had shared, and her heart opened to him even more.

  Kizzy linked arms with her mother. “But is it my fault, Mama? What happened to him?”

  “No
, child.” Odessia smoothed her fingers over the girl’s brow as if trying to erase the lines of worry. “Why you say that?”

  “’Cuz o’ what we talked ’bout last night. And all you said ’bout how it’s full o’ danger.”

  Kizzy looked up, and Maggie went stock still inside.

  Odessia brushed a kiss to her daughter’s brow and gave Maggie a knowing look. “No one heard that talk but us, Kizzy.”

  “So I can still ride Miss Belle in that race if I want to?”

  Maggie closed her eyes, certain she felt the porch shift beneath her, along with her world.

  “We ain’t gonna talk about that anymore this mornin’.” If Odessia’s tone didn’t put an end to the discussion, her expression did. “Your papa’s what’s most important right now.”

  Feeling Cullen’s stare, Maggie couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

  “Odessia?”

  The doctor appeared in the doorway and invited them inside, but Cullen gripped Maggie’s upper arm.

  “Odessia, you and your children go on in first. Mrs. McGrath and I will follow shortly.”

  Waiting until they’d gone inside, Maggie forced her gaze upward. “Cullen, I can ex—”

  “Ride Belle in what race?” he asked softly. Too softly.

  “I was going to speak with you about it. I simply hadn’t found the—”

  “The right time to bring it up to me. Well, now seems as good a time as any.”

  Reading the hurt in his eyes, she knew she’d underestimated the wound that hiding this from him would cause. For them both. “Nothing is settled. Kizzy asked me to teach her to ride, which I agreed to do. And I never, ever expected her to be what she is.”

  “And what would that be exactly?”

  The hardness in his tone cut right through her. “She’s a born rider, Cullen. Even Uncle Bob says so. He says he’s never seen—”

  “You have him workin’ with you on this too?”

  “No. Not like you think.” She touched his arm, and while he didn’t pull away, the way his muscles stiffened said her touch was not welcome. She removed her hand. “I promise you, it hasn’t been like that.”

  “How long have you been teachin’ her?”

  A sick feeling churned inside her. “About . . . three weeks.”

  His mouth tipped, but not in a smile. “The same time things started gettin’ better between us again. Imagine that.”

  Seeing the conclusion he was drawing, and remembering that first night of being together again after being separated for weeks, Maggie felt the sick feeling sink and fan out inside her. “No, Cullen. I would never do that. I would never use . . . that like a game. Or a way to—”

  “We best get on inside and see to Ennis and his family.”

  “But, Cullen, I—”

  He reached around her and opened the door, then stepped aside and waited for her to precede him.

  Later that day, Ennis lay sleeping in a neighboring cabin, and Cullen eased down into a chair by the bed, his focus drawn to the angry, swollen welt encircling the man’s neck. His appreciation for Ennis and the fact that his employee—and friend—was still alive after what he’d been through made the plank wood structure surrounding them feel a little like holy ground.

  But his anger at whoever had done this made him crave justice and wish he could help mete it out.

  Although he didn’t know for sure who was responsible—he’d personally spoken with every family that worked at Linden Downs, and no one had seen any of the men’s faces—he did know quite a few people who would wish him harm, as well as harm to those who worked here.

  And at the top of that list—Stephen Drake.

  Cullen would’ve liked nothing more than to find a link from Drake to what happened here, and then pay the man a short visit on a dark night. At least that’s what he would’ve done a few years back. He would’ve taken Ethan with him too. And his older brother would’ve been itching to go.

  Cullen stared down at his hands clasped between his knees. Oh, what he’d be willing to give right now to know what Gilbert Linden would do in this situation. Fighting a battle when you were the only one in the fight was one thing. But fighting when others could get hurt—or die—because of your actions was something else.

  Especially when it was your job to protect them.

  In the past few hours, two moments kept repeating themselves in his mind: Maggie standing there, all alone, taking aim and shooting that rope clean through with one shot. And discovering she’d been deliberately misleading him.

  He heard her voice coming from just outside. She’d walked down here with him, though the walk had been as silent as the grave. He’d started wondering today if they were ever going to have more than five minutes of peace between them. It was an exaggeration, of course, brought on by weariness and fatigue.

  But still the question weighed on him.

  “Mister McGrath . . .”

  Cullen’s head came up. “Mr. Ennis.” Smiling, he stretched out a hand, making all but the final step of the journey.

  Ennis’s grip was surprisingly strong, considering, and Cullen noticed the rope burns on his wrists too.

  “Doc tol’ me the bone is sound, sir.” Ennis’s voice, usually clear and deep, had taken on a raspy quality. “Just broke clean through. But that means it heal right up. He say I be back, good as new, in three months. Maybe less.”

  “That’s good to hear. I don’t think Linden Downs could run without you now.”

  The comment drew a smile from the man.

  Cullen knew the doctor had administered something for his pain, but still, he could scarcely believe the man before him had been hanging by a rope earlier that morning. A man of lesser strength and muscle wouldn’t have survived. And glancing again at the reddened welt left by the noose, Cullen could scarcely believe Ennis had.

  He noticed a cup of tea and a half-eaten bowl of field peas with a slice of cornbread on a nearby table, and gestured to it. “Want to try and eat the rest? Knowin’ your wife, she won’t be lettin’ you leave anythin’ behind.”

  Ennis nodded and washed down a few spoonfuls of peas with measured sips of water. Then he paused, spoon resting on the covers.

  “Hangin’ there like that, sir . . .” Ennis gently touched his throat, as if making sure the welts were really there. “Seein’ my Dessie cryin’, the world ’round me slippin’ away . . . I ain’t too proud to tell ya . . . I was scared.”

  A tiny knot gathered at the base of Cullen’s throat. “Any man would’ve been. Includin’ this one.”

  Ennis held his stare. “I thought I’s gon’ die, sir. And I kept thinkin’, what’s gonna happen to my wife and my young’uns, growin’ up in such a place. If my young’uns get a chance to grow up.”

  Cullen started to offer assurance that they would. But he’d learned this world didn’t come with assurances. And just because you believed in the Almighty didn’t make you immune to all the wrongdoing in the world.

  Sometimes, backward as it sounded, the more you believed, the more trouble seemed to come your way.

  “I’ve asked this of everyone else, Ennis, but I need to hear it from you too. Did you see the men’s faces? Is there anythin’ you saw that could be used to help to identify who did this?”

  Ennis closed his eyes, as if trying to relive the horrific ordeal. “They grabbed me from behind. And all of ’em, every last one, was wearin’ a white hood . . . coverin’ their whole head.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, sir. But I didn’t see nothin’.”

  Cullen handed him the cup of tea, and Ennis sipped.

  “I’m sorry,” Cullen whispered, the scene coming back to him in sickening detail. “It shouldn’t be like this. This shouldn’t have happened.”

  Ennis stared into his cup for the longest time. “You and me, sir. We real different. But we also got some sameness to us. In a way, you was hangin’ up there with me too.”

  Only after the fact did Cullen realize his hand was at his throat.

&
nbsp; A couple of the men had climbed the tree and taken down the second “body” along with the remainder of the ropes, wanting no visible reminders left behind. But whether visible or not, he’d never be able to wipe from his memory the image of Ennis hanging there, or the words white nigger painted in bright red letters across the chest of the figure hanging beside him. Certain parts of life got captured inside you, whether you wanted them to or not.

  “Your wife, sir.” Ennis’s voice grew even softer. “She come with you this evenin’?”

  Hearing what the man wasn’t saying outright, Cullen glanced toward the cabin door. “She’s sittin’ outside with Odessia. I’ll get her, if you’d like.”

  “Please, sir.”

  Cullen crossed to the door, and Maggie must have heard him, because she peered up, eyes expectant. But the light in them quickly extinguished when meeting his.

  “Mr. Ennis would like to see you.”

  She rose and followed him inside, as Bucket started to do as well, but a quick snap of Cullen’s fingers sent the dog back to his place on the porch.

  As soon as Ennis saw Maggie, the powerfully built mountain of a man began to weep. No sound, no shudder broke the strong line of his shoulders, only silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

  Maggie claimed the chair by the bed.

  “Missus . . . McGrath,” he said between tattered breaths. “What you done for me today . . .” He paused as if needing to gain his composure. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Cullen noticed the man’s hand move on the bedcovers as though Ennis wanted to reach out. But he didn’t. Instead, he fisted his dark hand tight.

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Ennis.” Maggie’s voice broke, and she briefly bowed her head. “I’m just grateful I didn’t kill you.”

  As quickly as Ennis’s tears had come, so did his laughter. “You sure can shoot, ma’am. Where’d you learn to do that?”

  Maggie smiled and gave a little shrug. “I grew up with four older brothers.”

  “Mmmm . . .” Ennis regarded her. “Well . . . I thank you again, ma’am. Took courage to do that.”