Melly, Unyielding (Lockets And Lace Book 4)

by Abagail Eldan

  She frowned at him. “You don’t think he made a mistake?”

  He shrugged. “Bad things happen wherever you live.” His eyes took on a faraway look.

  “I suppose.” She balled the handkerchief and squeezed it. Only then did she remember the locket. It had fallen beneath her blouse, and she pulled it out. “My father bought his girls lockets from the same shop that sold the lace.”

  “Girls? Do you have sisters?”

  She couldn’t answer but only nod in misery. Never would she forget Abby and Joy’s faces, terrified, as her own surely had been.

  “Sorry if I distressed you. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

  She swallowed and found her voice. “It could have been worse, without Obadiah. He kept me safe from the others. Safe from those two men.” She tucked the locket away.

  “Well, they’re dead now. They can’t hurt you.”

  “But the others ...” She shivered, and he put his arm around her. She should have pulled away, but instead leaned into him. “I don’t know what happened to my sisters.” A cry escaped her lips.

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Shh ...”

  It only made her cry more. He wrapped his arms around her while the tears ran unheeded down her face, the handkerchief forgotten in her hand. When the tears stopped, he still held her, rocking her gently, like a child.

  “Do you want to lie down?” he asked. “I’ll keep watch.”

  She peered up at him. “But you need to sleep.”

  He shook his head. “I can always sleep later.”

  She made no move. He was so warm and soothing. His right hand caressed her arm, and her muscles relaxed.

  “Sleep here, if you want,” he said, his voice a balm to her soul.

  “Thank you. That would be nice, Mr. Rainer.”

  And, feeling safer than she ever remembered, she closed her eyes and slept.

  Chapter Ten

  Carmella awoke on her blanket. She stretched, feeling strangely contented, and then remembered falling asleep in Mr. Rainer’s arms. Her cheeks burned. What he must think of her!

  The smell of frying bacon made her stomach growl. She sat up and blinked her eyes and then blinked again.

  The Indian she’d seen last night fried bacon at their fire. Mr. Rainer drank a cup of coffee, by the aromatic smell drifting to her. Her cheeks burned more than ever. Instead of heading to the fire, she walked to the creek, hoping they’d not seen her rise and slip away.

  She felt disoriented, finding the Indian at their campfire. How had that happened? Was she dreaming?

  The water was icy cold but refreshing on her eyes, swollen from the tears shed yesterday. Something brushed against her legs, and she startled.

  She blinked, hardly believing what she saw. Billy! She knelt, and the dog licked her face. For a moment, she could not believe he was real. She’d heard the shot, heard the dog yelp, and thought sure Obadiah had killed him. Perhaps Oba had only shot at him to scare him away. That had to be it.

  For a few minutes, she enjoyed the dog’s company before she headed back to camp, to see if her eyes deceived her about the Indian.

  Mr. Rainer rose and smiled when she approached. She made her way to the men by skirting around instead of keeping to a straight path. Billy, however, made a beeline to the Indian, wagging his tail.

  The man smiled and patted the dog. “Yes, you get a piece, too.”

  Mr. Rainer waved an arm at the man who fried the bacon. “This is Sam, the man you saw last night. We met, years ago, down in Alabama.”

  Carmella wasn’t sure what to do. The short man, with a protruding belly, did not extend his hand but bowed. Her heart pounded in her ears, but Billy’s response to the man had her puzzled.

  She tilted her head. “You’re not an Indian.”

  The man laughed and winked at Mr. Rainer. “No, ma’am. I’m Samuel.”

  She moved to the log without speaking, and Mr. Rainer handed her a cup of coffee. The brisk air sent up wisps of steam from the coffee.

  Blue patches appeared through the canopy of trees that soon would be shedding their leaves. They were already yellowing and curving in, as if protecting the life, squeezed closer and closer to the middle. Eventually, they would dry to nothing, and the leaves flutter to the forest floor.

  She stirred and took a sip of coffee. Both men laughed with an easy camaraderie. Carmella narrowed her eyes as she peered over the rim of the cup. Had the two been in cahoots? Had they planned to lure her away from Obadiah? No, not planned. They had done it. Her heart beat unsteadily, but she was determined to hide her fear.

  Sam glanced in her direction. “It’s not the first time I’ve been mistaken for an Indian. Of course, this might have something to do with it.” He waved one of the braids in the air.

  The smell of the frying bacon filled the air, and she breathed deeply but did not answer. The dog came over and sat in front of her, and she patted his head.

  Sam glanced their way. “I see you already made friends with Sunny.”

  “Sunny?”

  “My dog. He gave me a scare, disappeared for a few days, but showed up early yesterday.”

  She kept quiet. The man need not know the dog had been at the cabin. The fewer people who knew about the cabin, the better.

  Sam scooped a hoecake from another pan. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

  “Wish we had some butter or jelly for the hoecakes,” Mr. Rainer said.

  Carmella debated getting the jelly, and in the end, decided to contribute. She did not speak but walked to her carpetbag and pulled out the jar. She stared at it in her hand, her heart yearning. What would Obadiah do without her? She longed for the security of the cabin, the security of Oba.

  “What do you have there?” Mr. Rainer asked.

  She startled. He had come up behind without her noticing. “None of your business.” Her anger spewed the words at him.

  “Something bothering you?” He raised an eyebrow.

  She felt unsteady for a moment, looking in his eyes that were so warm and comforting. Last night she’d felt so safe. She’d been made a fool of. “You and Sam know each other?”

  “I met him, that once. He’s hard to forget, and when he came into camp this morning, bringing supplies, I couldn’t turn down breakfast.”

  She searched his eyes, wanting to believe him. “You’ve certainly made friends with him quickly.”

  His eyes clouded. “He’s a nice fellow. Come talk to him, get to know him.”

  The smell of the bacon was tantalizing, but she shook her head. “You ever hear of the wolf in sheep’s clothing?” She glared at him. “I don’t know this man, and he was watching me last night.” She stamped a foot. “And then, you invite him into our camp!” Her heart pounded in her ears.

  This was exactly what happened fifteen years ago. Strangers came to their camp, were welcomed by her parents, and then —

  “What’s taking you so long?” Sam called. “The food’s getting cold.”

  Carmella thrust the jar of jelly into Mr. Rainer’s hands. “Take it. I’m not hungry.” She strode away, in the direction of the horses. She’d saddle Brown and be on her way. Maybe she could find Obadiah if she searched long enough.

  But Mr. Rainer followed her and caught her arm. “Carmella, I know you’re as hungry as I am. Come and eat.”

  “No, I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me.” The words were not true. He was bigger and stronger plus had guns.

  “I won’t try to stop you, but listen. If you want me to, I’ll tell Sam to leave, take his bacon, hoecakes, and his coffee with him. Who needs his food?” He grinned when Carmella licked her bottom lip and put a hand on her growling stomach.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Give me your gun, and I’ll stay.”

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  “Yes.” She gritted her teeth.

  He pulled his pistol from the holster and handed it to her. Expertly, she made sure it was loaded.

  Thatcher still
smiled at her, laughter in his eyes. “I’m going to grab some grub. Don’t lose my gun.” He strode away.

  She hesitated only a moment before she scurried after him. Sam had their plates fixed, waiting for them. Carmella took hers without speaking. She took a seat on the log with her back to the fire and, also, to the men. Neither spoke to her but picked up their conversation, as if she was not present.

  “How long have you been in this neck of the woods?” Thatcher asked Sam.

  “Nigh on ten years. ’Fore that I trapped in the Missouri area, maybe four or five years.”

  Carmella turned her head to throw Sam a sideways glance. He was a trapper, as her father had been, unless he was playacting. Her back prickled.

  Why was she sitting with her back to them? What if one of them attacked! She set her plate aside but kept the gun in her hand as she refreshed her coffee. When she returned to her seat on the log, she faced the men, although it forced her into an uncomfortable position.

  Sam’s gaze fell to the gun, but she ignored him. It had been so long since she had tasted bacon that her full concentration was on her breakfast. She savored every bite. She shared the rind from the bacon with Sunny.

  “This is some good jelly,” Sam said, speaking to her, she presumed.

  She didn’t reply but set her plate aside.

  Thatcher nodded in agreement. “Some of the best I’ve ever tasted. Carmella is a fine cook. Not that I’m knocking your hoecakes, but you should taste one of her biscuits.”

  “I’d love to try one. Maybe one day.”

  Silence fell. She looked up to see a thoughtful look on Sam’s face.

  He smiled at her. “Carmella is a lovely name. Ain’t that common. Only other Carmella I knew was years ago, and, I swanee, you favor her a lot.”

  She simply shrugged.

  Sam finished his breakfast, set down his enamel plate, and stood. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were Harperson’s daughter. Only time I seen eyes like that.”

  She got to her feet, gripped the gun, and pointed it at him. “How do you know my father?”

  Sam did not acknowledge the gun. Instead, a smile spread across his face before slowly fading. “Told you I was a trapper. Twenty, no, over thirty years ago, I started trapping, down Mississippi way.” His eyes filled with pity. “I’m sorry ’bout what happened to your family.”

  Thatcher had stopped eating and watched them without speaking.

  “Who are you?” Carmella asked, her throat aching with anguish.

  “Samuel Dobson. You called me Uncle Dob.” He’d dropped his voice to a scratchy whisper. “Do you remember?”

  Wave after wave of emotion rolled over her. Her hands shook, and a lone tear trailed down her cheek. She swiped at it and swallowed. “How do I know you are who you say you are?”

  “That’s for you to decide.” Pity filled his eyes. “It’s terrible what happened, Melly, but you got away.” His eyes hardened. “’Less this cowboy became one of those men?” He swung a thumb in Thatcher’s direction.

  Carmella threw Thatcher a glance. He remained still, but a vein pulsed in his jaw.

  She turned her attention back to the man who claimed to be her Uncle Dob and backed away. “Don’t follow me.” She had to think. This was too big of a coincidence, to find Uncle Dob here.

  She didn’t turn her back on them until she reached the horses, and then, she realized her dilemma. Saddling the mare would take two hands, and she refused to put the gun down. Well, she’d done it before, she’d do it again.

  She grabbed the horse’s mane with one hand and jumped on her back. With no saddle and no bridle, she dug her heels into the mare’s side and rode away.

  Chapter Eleven

  Thatcher started to his feet and then forced himself to stop. She was not his prisoner and was free to go. With no bridle and no saddle, without her carpetbag, Carmella wouldn’t ride far. She needed some time to herself. If she didn’t return soon, he’d go after her.

  Sam let out a low, long whistle, shaking his head. “So, that’s Melly Harperson.”

  Thatcher didn’t respond. He sighed heavily, cursing himself for allowing Sam to come to their campsite.

  When the man had shown up, with a slab of bacon, Thatcher had recognized him and thought with his stomach instead of his head. After days of only pemmican, except for the two biscuits Carmella had made, it had been hard to resist when the man offered to cook for them.

  The dog whined and looked in the direction Carmella had gone. Sam spoke a word or two to him, and the dog lay at his feet, his head on his paws, but fully alert.

  Thatcher eyed the man suspiciously, now that his stomach was full. “So, you knew the Harpersons?”

  “Yes, sir. You couldn’t find a better family, always eager to help a fellow out. Her pa and I were thick as thieves.”

  Anyone could avow that. Carmella wasn’t buying it, not yet at least. He’d follow her lead and make up his own mind. “Where are you originally from?”

  “South Carolina. Folks had a little homestead, but I got itchy feet. Wanted to roam the woods.”

  Thatcher studied him openly, frowning. “You can see why Miss Harperson is a little spooked.”

  “Rightly so, rightly so.”

  “You were watching her last night, and then you show up here this morning.” Thatcher moved uneasily. He was as much to blame as Sam, for welcoming him.

  “I ’splained to you. When I saw her last night, the look on her face was as scared as I ever seen. I hightailed it out and decided to wait until the light of morning so y’all could get a better look.” He raised a shaggy brow and smiled.

  Thatcher scratched at the stubble on his chin and nodded. He believed the man, and Thatcher trusted his instincts. He considered himself a good judge of character. He had to be in his line of work. He chuckled at that.

  Work or pleasure, his instincts had never been wrong, as far as he knew.

  He’d not been wrong about Boyd Berren. He’d grown up with him, in the same county, but had never liked him. Steered clear of him.

  Boyd, even as a young boy, fought hard and fierce and had the scars to show for it. As big as he was, it didn’t take long for folks to learn to steer clear of him.

  As young men, Thatcher and Boyd had marched off to war together. The only thing Thatcher had misjudged was the man’s loyalty to the Confederacy. He’d been young, naïve and didn’t imagine Boyd would desert and return to wreak havoc on his community. Boyd had turned against his own kin, and taken advantage of the women and young girls. The men, and the women, had soon had enough. Especially when Boyd had come riding in with his men and set fire to homes, some said intent on destroying the records of his desertion. Others said he’d done it out of plain meanness. Probably the latter was true.

  He’d escaped the wrath of the county’s citizens by sneaking out through a swampy area at the south of town, headed into Florida, and then he’d fled westward.

  That’s when he’d turned to the most heinous of crimes, providing young girls to the outlaw element. Carmella and her sisters were only a few of those he’d carried away, girls never to be seen by their families again. Boyd’s assault against the Harpersons wasn’t unusual, except that the parents were killed. He usually let them live. If you could call it that. Going through the motions each day and never knowing what happened to their daughters.

  Perhaps death was preferable.

  Thatcher took a sip of coffee that had grown cold. He refreshed his cup and took a seat. “What exactly happened to the Harpersons?”

  “Weren’t none left to tell. The law figured the Harpersons invited the men to their campsite and then things got ugly.” He shrugged and looked in the distance, the way Carmella had ridden. “Reckon we need to go after her?”

  “What happened to her sisters?”

  The man turned a blank stare to him. “Melly doesn’t know?”

  Thatcher poked the stick at the fire and cocked his head at the man. “She hasn’t spoken of
them. Their bodies weren’t found?”

  The man looked uneasy, and his eyes shifted away. “No. The men carried the girls off, alive. No one knows where.” Sam became lost in thought, his rugged face taking on even more wrinkles and dips. “One thing I’d almost forgotten. When they were attacked, Mrs. Harperson went after the men with an axe.” He let out a soft sound, almost a chuckle, but his eyes saddened. “She was a feisty woman. Anyhow, I heard later that a doctor sewed up one of the men who’d been hurt. Cut deep, in a bad spot, if you know what I mean.”

  Thatcher raised his eyes to Sam. “So, the doctor lived to tell of it?”

  “Yep. He gave the sheriff a description of the man, for whatever good it did at the time.”

  “What’d the man look like?”

  Sam shrugged. “The doctor said he had a black beard with a streak of white, like a skunk. And he kept cursing Melly’s mother. That’s all I ’member.”

  “The man is Obadiah, the one Carmella lived with.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “Bet’cha he took Melly to torture her, for what her mother had done.”

  “Maybe.” Thatcher shrugged, his gaze going to the spot where Carmella had disappeared. “I don’t know why, but she cares for him.”

  Sam nodded vigorously. “Yep. I knew of a woman beat by her husband, who refused to leave him after he broke her jaw.”

  Thatcher scratched his chin again. “It’s difficult to understand why some choose to stay.”

  Sam tapped his temple. “You know that this ain’t going to be easy to get over. She needs to be set right.”

  “Reckon so, but I don’t know how to help her. Most folks carry sorrows, dragging them like an old rooster drags tail feathers, all the way to their graves.” Thatcher got to his feet and gathered the dirty dishes. “I’ll take these to the creek and wash up.”

  Sam jumped up to help. When Thatcher got to the edge of the water, he dropped them at his feet. Sam touched his arm. “Listen, Thatch ...”

  “Yeah?” He knelt by the water and rinsed the dishes clean.

  Sam cleared his throat. “I’ve known Melly since she was knee high to a grasshopper. I want her with me.”