Then he blinked.
“Great day in the morning! Listen to this, Mardell: ‘Some very dangerous men are holding me captive. They demand a ransom of five thousand dollars, payable in paper money within ten days once you receive this note. The money should be placed in plain wrapping and addressed to Joe Smith in care of Louisville, Kentucky, Post Office. When the money has been received, I will be released unharmed. At that time I will travel back to you. Love, Anne.’”
Thomas glanced at Miss Finch. “What do you make of that?”
“It must be a joke,” Miss Finch responded.
“Bernard!”
The double study doors opened immediately. “You called, sir?”
“Go upstairs and make sure Anne is in her room.”
The elderly white-haired gentleman frowned. “In her room, sir? The doctor left not fifteen minutes ago—I’m quite sure she’s still abed with the sniffles.”
“Check on her anyway, Bernard. I want to be certain of my daughter’s whereabouts.”
“Yes, sir.” The door closed. Bernard’s footsteps could be heard receding down the hall.
Thomas drummed his fingers on the desk, checking his watch fob every few minutes. Snapping the face closed, he got up to pace.
Miss Finch shut her notebook, primly crossing her hands in her lap. “I’m sure it’s just someone’s idea of a cruel joke, Mr. Ferry.”
Footsteps once again sounded outside the door, and Bernard reappeared. “Miss Anne is resting comfortably, sir. She took some tea and toast a short while ago and said to tell you she plans to nap the morning away.”
Thomas Ferry’s face sagged with relief. “Thank God.” He tossed the note into the wastepaper basket. “That will be all, Bernard. Now—” he turned back to address Miss Finch— “where were we?”
Hope pointed to a corner. “You missed a cobweb.”
Boris picked up the broom, his beady eyes trying to pinpoint the offender. He swung the broom in the general direction of her finger. “Satisfied?”
She shrugged, smothering a cough. These pesky sniffles were getting worse. And her throat was scratchy this morning. It was this infernal drafty cabin. She’d be deathly ill if she didn’t get warm soon. Her feet were like two blocks of ice. “It’s still there.”
“I can’t git this stupid broom into corners,” Boris groused.
“You can if you gently push, instead of jam,” Hope explained for the third time that morning.
Boris rammed the head of the broom in the cracks, trying to dig the dirt out. “What do you think this is, some ladies seminary or somethin’?”
“No. I think this is a miserable excuse for a living establishment!” Hope snapped, then immediately repented. If the Lord could love Boris, surely she could put up with him awhile longer. “Though it is a great deal better than it was.”
Which wasn’t saying much.
One month. Had it been only a month since this unending nightmare had begun? It seemed like years. The men had kept their distance well enough. Grunt had seen to that, but she wanted out. She tried hard to keep up her spirits. Papa would say that everything that happened to a person was meant for a reason—though she couldn’t imagine what good would come of her mistaken abduction.
Grunt continued to puzzle her with his soft-spoken commands and almost protective attitude toward her. Was he only looking after his interest? It was increasingly hard to maintain the belief that he was a ruthless outlaw when at times he seemed the exact opposite. Just last night he’d made sure she had the biggest piece of venison. That was nice—even if she did hate venison.
“Well, this ain’t no boardinghouse, and I’m tired of washin’ dishes, and I ain’t sweepin’ no more floors. And if I have to take another bath in that creek, I’m gonna prune up permanent-like.”
Hope looked up as Grunt came in the front door. His dark eyes took in the confrontation. “If you’re tired of keeping house, Boris, why don’t you take these rabbits and dress them for supper?”
“Fine. Anything to get away from Miss Bossy.” Boris grabbed the rabbits and stomped out the door.
Big Joe sat up on the cot, scratching his belly. “What’d you find out in Louisville?”
“Nothing at the post office.” Grunt moved to the sink to wash up.
Big Joe frowned. “Nothin’.” His eyes pivoted to Hope. “It’s takin’ too long—don’t yore daddy care what happens to you?”
Her daddy had indeed cared for her. Unfortunately, Thomas Ferry didn’t.
“Perhaps the ransom’s been lost. That happens to mail, you know. Maybe—”
“Maybe you should just keep quiet.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t ask so many questions and make me have to talk.”
“Well, maybe I like to ask questions!”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to answer them.”
“Maybe both of you should find something more productive to do with your time,” Grunt snapped.
Hope rinsed the dress she was washing, then squeezed the water out. She flicked a few drops at Frog. He stiffened, shooting her a lethal look. Stepping around him, she announced, “I’m going to hang my wash.”
“Good,” Joe mumbled and dropped his head back to the pillow. “With any luck you’ll hang yoreself.”
Or you, Hope thought. He was just sore. She’d made him wash his filthy shirt yesterday, and Joe didn’t take kindly to soap and water. He’d griped for hours afterward, complaining that he smelled like a girl. She relented and rewarded him by washing dishes last night.
As she hung the dress on the line, she heard the men talking among themselves.
“Boris, maybe you ought to ride back to Louisville and git a paper—see if there’s anything in there about Ferry’s daughter being held for ransom.”
“Why me? Grunt was jest there.”
“’Cause Grunt didn’t git no paper. Cain’t you take orders no more?”
“What makes you think there’d be anything in the Louisville paper?” Grunt’s voice drifted through the open doorway.
“News that the senator’s daughter’s been kidnapped will be in every paper!”
“Maybe Ferry’s kept the news quiet.”
“No way! He’ll have every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the county lookin’ for her.”
After all the arguing, Boris was elected to ride back to Louisville the following morning. They waited for him to return with news of Ferry’s distress.
On the third morning, Hope awoke with a splitting headache, a hammer pounding between her temples. She emerged from behind the blanket that afforded her privacy. She was aware of Grunt’s eyes on her as he put sausage in the skillet to fry. Concern tinged his features. “Are you ill, Miss Ferry?”
“I have a small headache.” Hope sat down at the table, feeling a little light-headed. The scratchy irritation had turned into a ferocious sore throat, and she felt hot all over. She got up to put plates on the table.
Big Joe and Frog were stirring by then, grumbling about all the racket. Five adults in one cramped room wasn’t the most pleasant way to spend a life. They were getting on each other’s nerves.
By the time breakfast was over, Hope was feeling decidedly worse.
Aware that Grunt was still watching her, she got up from the table, leaving her plate of food virtually untouched. She couldn’t let them know she was ill. She had her bluff in on Big Joe, and she intended to keep it that way.
“I’ll wash the dishes,” she volunteered, forcing herself to sound perkier than she felt.
“Sit down,” Grunt ordered.
“I want to wash—”
The outlaw sat her down in a chair, then touched his large hand to her forehead. “She’s got a fever.”
Big Joe turned from the mantel. “Sick? She’s sick!”
“I’m not sick… . I’m only feeling slightly unpleasant.” Sick as a dog, actually, but she couldn’t, just couldn’t, give in to whatever had her feeling so bad.
They turned as the door opened and
Boris stomped in. Giving Hope a dark glance, he strode into the room, shrugging out of his coat.
Big Joe frowned. “Well?”
“She ain’t Ferry’s daughter!” he declared hotly, throwing his hat onto the table. Hope shrank back as he glared at her.
“What?” Big Joe’s head snapped up. “What d’you mean, ‘She ain’t Ferry’s daughter’?”
“She ain’t his daughter!” Boris repeated.
“Who told you that?”
“This.” Boris tossed a copy of the Louisville Courier-Journal onto the table.
Big Joe glanced at the paper, then colored a bright crimson. “You know I ain’t got no learnin’. What’s it say?”
Grunt picked up the paper, his eyes scanning the headlines. He read, “‘Distinguished Kentuckian Honored by Michigan Senator.
“‘William Campbell Preston Breckinridge, distinguished Kentucky lawyer, editor, soldier, was a special guest in the home of Michigan’s Senator Thomas White Ferry. Mr. Breckinridge was the honored guest at the annual Spring Ball held last week, where he was accompanied by Miss Anne Ferry, the senator’s daughter—’”
The outlaws turned to look at her.
Hope slid out of the chair in a dead faint.
Angry voices tried to penetrate her thick fog. Hope struggled to consciousness, wondering what those awful men were squabbling about this time. She felt as hot as a firecracker, and her head threatened to split in half. If only the voices would go away. They were angry, full of rage.
“No arguin’. We gotta get rid of her!” Boris declared.
“Who is she?” Frog asked. “If she ain’t Anne Ferry, who in the blue blazes have we had to cotton to for the past month?”
“She must be that Hope … What’d she say her name was?”
“Who cares who she is?” Big Joe said. “Boris is right. We gotta git rid of her.”
Grunt? Where was Grunt? Did he want to get rid of her, too? Hope coughed, a racking hack that brought all conversation to a halt.
“She’s gettin’ sicker. Maybe we won’t hafta do away with her. Maybe she’ll just croak on her own.”
“She’s too mean to croak on her own.” Big Joe’s voice filtered through the deep fog.
“What’s wrong with her?” Frog asked.
“How should I know?” Big Joe shot back. “I ain’t no lady’s maid.”
Cool fingers touched her forehead. Her eyes refused to open, but she sensed it was Grunt. The touch was infinitely gentle.
“Her fever’s rising. We’ve got to get it down.”
She heard Boris back away. “She got somethin’ I’m likely to catch? I git the ague real easy—”
“Shut up, Boris.”
Hope whimpered when she felt a cold cloth pressed to her forehead.
“She’s caught cold. Frog, get some more blankets.”
Hope moaned. She didn’t want those dirty old blankets on her. They weren’t fit for an animal, let alone a lady. She pushed at the gentle hands that now securely held her captive.
“Don’t waste time with blankets. Put her outside and let’s be done with it. She’ll be dead by mornin’.”
“Boris is right,” Frog said. “Put her outside and lock the door. Good riddance.”
“No one come near her,” Grunt warned. “We’re not going to let her die.”
“She ain’t Ferry’s daughter, what do you care?”
Grunt’s voice firmed. “No one lays a hand on her.” She heard him do something. Cracking an eye open, Hope saw Grunt reach for his gun belt and strap it on.
With a sour look, Big Joe returned to the fire.
“I still say we get rid of her,” Boris growled. “She ain’t no use to us! Jest a millstone around our necks.”
The outlaws’ voices faded as Hope slipped back into unconsciousness.
She was running now from something dark and sinister. Glancing back over her shoulder, she stumbled over rough ground, trying to make out the shadowy form that was chasing her. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Just incredible heat, a furnace filling her whole body. She didn’t know where she was; everything was so black and closing in. Hot. She was so hot! Water. She needed water … cool water. The murkiness drew her deeper, covering her mouth. She was choking, clawing at this thing… .
Suddenly her fear was reality. The darkness was real, and there was something hard and persistent across her mouth. She clawed at the thing, trying to rip it away. She heard a grunt as she was tossed over a man’s shoulder like a sack of flour. Awake now and terrified, she kicked and lashed out, trying to free herself. The darkness she’d desperately tried to escape was real, and someone was carrying her off into the night. Hope’s worst fears were coming true. The outlaws were going kill her.
Bile rose to the back of her throat, and she struggled with all her might. The man was large and strong, his shoulder pressing into her middle. She was going to die, and no one would know. Murdered somewhere in the Kentucky wilderness. Was she still in Kentucky? She couldn’t be sure … she didn’t even know! Mr. Jacobs would think she had abandoned him, changed her mind about marriage. Her sisters wouldn’t know what had happened to her. Aunt Thalia would take to her bed when she learned that Hope had disappeared and never been heard from again.
This isn’t fair; it isn’t fair, Lord! I never asked for anything more than a husband so I wouldn’t be a burden to Aunt Thalia. And now she was going to die at the hands of ruthless outlaws, and not even her family would know what had happened to her. Why, God, why did you let this happen to me? God isn’t there. He truly isn’t there!
Her captor laid her across a saddle, then climbed on the horse behind her. The moonless night was so black it was impossible to identify her abductor. Was it Frog? No, Frog smelled like rotting garbage.
She was chilling now, her teeth chattering in the night air. It felt like there was an anchor sitting on her chest. The man kicked the horse into a gallop, and then they were riding headlong down a long lane. She drifted in and out of consciousness, aware only of the jarring motion. Whoever he was, he was taking her deeper into the wilderness. Boris? Big Joe? A shudder escaped her, and she felt the man’s hand on her back, soothing her. Not, not Boris. He was never gentle. Her fear began to ease. Grunt. Why was Grunt taking her away?
It seemed hours before the horse slowed. Hope mumbled incoherently as she was lifted off the saddle and gently eased onto a pallet.
“Cold,” she murmured. “Please, I’m so cold… .”
The sweet scent of rain teased the air. Then it was raining hard … rain falling in blinding sheets.
A blanket settled around her, then another. She groaned and sought its warmth.
“Thank you … thank you… .”
Throughout the long night, Hope was aware of kind hands alternately holding her head and forcing her to swallow something warm and salty, and bathing her face and neck with cool water.
She was only vaguely aware when a new day dawned. Outside, the storm raged. Hope drifted in and out of consciousness, her fever soaring. Tender hands ministered to her needs, hands that she occasionally associated with Grunt. But he’d wanted to harm her, not help her… . She didn’t understand.
On the third morning Hope slowly opened her eyes. She lay for a moment, trying to orient herself. She was in some sort of shelter … a cave? Was it a cave? She heard the fire pop, and she turned to see her captor’s eyes fixed on her. She groaned, bringing her hand to her fevered forehead. “Grunt?” she murmured.
Grunt closed his eyes. “I thought you were …”
She struggled to sit up. “Where am I? … Where are the others?”
He was by her side, pressing her back to the pallet. “Lie still. You’ve been sick.”
“Where—where are we?” She ran her tongue over her dry lips, surprised they were cracked and swollen. “I’m so thirsty.”
“Drink this.”
Tilting her head, he held a cup of water to her mouth. She drank deeply.
&n
bsp; “So good,” she whispered, then lay weakly back on the pallet. Her eyes scanned the dim interior. “Where are we?”
“I’m not sure—somewhere near the Kentucky line.”
A frown creased her brow. “It was you … You were the one—” She coughed, pain distorting her features. “You took me away during the night.”
“I felt it necessary to remove you from the situation.”
“Yes … I remember now. Boris found out I’m not Thomas Ferry’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
“So you … kidnapped me again?”
“I moved you to safety.”
“But why?” Nothing made sense to her. Grunt was one of the outlaws. Why was he being so kind to her?
Settling her head in the crook of his arm, he said quietly, “Listen to me, Hope.” He took a cool cloth and bathed her forehead. “I’m not a part of Joe’s gang.”
She stared at him blankly for a moment. “I didn’t think so—you’re different.”
“I work for the government.”
“But why—”
“I’m on assignment. I’ve been riding with Joe, Frog, and Boris, trying to learn how they’ve successfully captured a number of army payrolls.”
“Joe and Frog? Those imbeciles have actually done something right?”
“It’s hard to believe, but yes. Actually, they’ve stolen a good deal of money.”
“With your help,” she reminded him. He’d been there the day they took her off the stage and stole the strongbox.
“Not really. I just don’t do anything to stop them. My job is to find out who’s filtering information to them on the payroll shipments.”
She struggled to sit up. The fever must be making her delirious. “I don’t believe you.” But oh, how she wanted to believe him. Though he’d spoken sharply to her at times, she’d sensed it was for her welfare. She tried to focus on him, but his large form was wavy, fading in and out. “You’re not an outlaw?”
He shook his head. He looked very tired, she realized. A dark beard coated his handsome face, making him seem more dangerously appealing. “I don’t expect you to take my word for it, but I’m not.”
No, he wasn’t, she realized with a start. She’d known that in her heart from the moment they met. He wasn’t like the others.
Hope (9781414341583) Page 6
