Melly, Unyielding (Lockets And Lace Book 4)

by Abagail Eldan

  Melly tilted her head, puzzled. “Esther who?”

  “Esther from the Bible.”

  She frowned and scoffed. “Esther was a queen.”

  “Before that, she was just a young’n, carried off by soldiers.” His brows drew down, the wrinkles deepening, new ones forming.

  “I never thought about it that way.”

  “And the king, can’t never ’member his name, took those young girls into his bed, one at a time.” Uncle Dob stirred a bit. “This life is a hard’n, but women got it rougher, seems to me.”

  Her gaze caught his, and she smiled sadly. “Maybe. But I was one of the lucky ones. Obadiah took care of me.”

  “He the one your mama hurt?”

  She stirred uneasily. “Yes, sir.”

  “But he was good to you?”

  She nodded.

  “How?” he asked, gruffly.

  She searched his eyes and then shrugged. “He just was.”

  He leaned closer to her, almost as if he planned to grab her by the shoulders. “Tell me one good thing he done.” His eyes held hers.

  “He didn’t hit me, only once when I did something wrong.”

  “Like what? When you burned the biscuits?”

  Her chin quivered. “No, he wasn’t like that. He protected me, took care of me. I never should have left him.”

  Uncle Dob shook his head. “Child, he didn’t protect you. He hurt you. You just didn’t know it.”

  “Don’t say that! He cared for me.”

  “You just thought he did.”

  She glared at him, crawled out of the tarpaulin, and stood, the rain mingling with her tears. Uncle Dob followed her.

  She turned to face him. “Get away! Leave me alone!”

  “Melly, you gotta quit your sorrowing over Obadiah.” His voice had gentled, and he held a hand toward her.

  “You didn’t know him. He was a good man.”

  “No, he weren’t. No good man puts a woman in a hole.”

  “Thatcher told you that?”

  “Yep, he did. No one would do that to someone he cared for.”

  “It was to protect me.” She backed away until she bumped into a tree. “Why are you saying these things?”

  “’Cause you ain’t never going to be happy till you face facts. You’ll be pining for that no- good man for the rest of your life.”

  She fell to her knees, heedless of the rain, of the mud and roots beneath her. Great sobs shook her. A scream welled up inside her, and she could not contain it. She was only vaguely aware Uncle Dob had reached her and took her in his arms.

  “Hush, hush.”

  But she couldn’t. It was as if a volcano had erupted, one with endless lava. When he scooped her in his arms and carried her back, her screaming did not abate.

  In the shelter, he forced a liquid down her throat. She fought, but he persisted until she swallowed. It burned her throat, raw from her screams.

  And then he held her tightly, pressing her head against his chest. All her pain, all her sorrow filled and consumed her until she knew no more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thatcher spent a miserable night. He’d only been able to find a short outcropping of rock that kept away little of the rain. Fortunately, the clouds cleared quickly with the rising of the sun, and he was soon on his way.

  He’d not been traveling long when he spied something in the distance. He urged Johnny Bell in its direction. As he neared, he made it out. An overturned wagon.

  He scoured the countryside, but saw nothing moving. He allowed Johnny Bell to slow to a walk. As he came closer, he stayed on his horse and circled, studying the situation.

  Any hoofprints left behind had been washed away by the rain. The wagon and contents had been partially burned. He couldn’t be sure, but the contents strewn along the ground appeared to be the furnishings from the cabin. He pulled Johnny Bell to a halt and leaned forward, his arms resting on the pommel.

  If Obadiah had been driving the wagon, someone had ambushed him, not Indians, for he was sure the contents would have been hauled away. He dismounted and held the reins while he searched more closely. The mud sucked at his boots, but it didn’t much matter. He was already wet and muddy anyway.

  Two iron bedsteads, two feather mattresses, partially burned. Despite the cleansing rain, the stench of burnt feathers still lingered in the air. This could not have happened more than a few days ago. And the remains of the table, the dry sink, a couple of chairs, and a pair of patched overalls. No bullet holes that he could see.

  He finished his search and turned to lift a muddy boot to the stirrup when something caught his eye, something inside the mattress, barely peeking out. A leather binding. It must be attached to something. He dug through the feathers and pulled forth a small brown bag.

  He pulled the glove from his right hand with his teeth, spitting out the mud left behind. When he got his other glove off, he pulled at the strings. The dampness had tightened the leather straps, and they were almost impossible to loosen. He had almost decided to pull out his Bowie knife to cut open the bag when a knot pulled loose.

  He quickly got the bag open and poured its contents onto his palm. His mouth remained agape until he blinked. Four large diamonds lay in his hand. Quickly, he made a loose fist and funneled them back into the bag and tightened the leather straps. He put it into his saddlebag, leaned against Johnny Bell for a moment, and then climbed onto his horse.

  After one last look around, he headed due west.

  MELLY AWOKE SLOWLY, painfully. The night before flooded back to her. Heat flooded her cheeks. Her throat ached, not from the screams, but with choked back tears. How many more could she possibly shed?

  She’d not risen from the blanket, but lay lethargic, reluctant to rise. Uncle Dob was not in her sight, and she heard no sound from him. What must he think of her!

  But he wasn’t right about Obadiah. He had cared for her. She knew it as good as she knew her own name.

  A sigh rose from deep within when she forced herself to leave the shelter. The sun shone down, and she glanced up to judge the time. It must be close to noon! She’d never slept so late before.

  Although the sun was out, the air was chillier than yesterday. She had to find drier clothes, brush her hair, wash away some of the mud.

  Uncle Dob strolled out between two trees with Sunny and gave her a warm smile. “You’re up! How you feel?”

  She shrugged and turned her head away.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll feel better when you wash away some of that mud. He pointed to the back of the lean-to. “I heated up some water in an iron pot back there. I’m taking the horses and mule down to the creek.”

  “Thank you,” she mumbled. Sunny approached her, and she gave him a scratch behind the ears.

  Uncle Dob gave her another smile before moving away with Sunny. She watched him until he’d led the animals farther into the woods, out of sight.

  She fetched her carpetbag and went around the lean-to. Uncle Dob had a nice fire going, a good twenty feet from their shelter, with a small pot of water bubbling cheerfully. He’d set up a log close to it, holding a bar of lye soap and a washrag.

  She sank to her knees by the fire and cried at his kindness.

  THE STREETS WERE ALMOST empty when Thatcher arrived at the livery stable. He worried that Johnny Bell had not fully recovered from the stone bruise. After last night, in the pouring rain, they could both do with some rest. When he’d seen the sign pointing to the town, he noted his muddy clothes, still slightly damp. He needed to clean up.

  Thatcher left Johnny Bell with the stable hand and headed to the hotel, got a room and bath. After two nights with little sleep, the exhaustion was catching up with him. He’d be refreshed and able to travel faster after a good night’s rest.

  The hotel was a small affair, with only four rooms upstairs. He took the room on the end, far away from the bar downstairs. When he came through, he noted that few men were in the bar, and they were older gentlemen
with graying hair, nicely dressed. This quiet town seemed a perfect place for a good night’s sleep.

  His eyes closed before his head hit the pillow, and he didn’t awaken until the sun shone through the torn shade.

  He groaned as he rolled out of bed. He dressed quickly, hoping he’d not missed breakfast. He gathered his things and headed downstairs.

  The smell of frying bacon wafted through the air, and it brought forth the memory of Sam cooking breakfast. He smiled at the young woman who brought him a cup of coffee as soon as he took a seat.

  “Breakfast?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you got, throw on there. Sausage, bacon, eggs, grits —”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “We do not serve grits.”

  “What’cha got instead?”

  “Fried potatoes.”

  “That sounds good and keep the coffee coming.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs.

  The same four men he’d seen last night were finishing up their meal. What looked to be a husband and wife dined at another table.

  A man, in need of a haircut and shave, came to his table and smiled. “In need of company, sir?”

  Thatcher sat up straight and indicated a chair.

  The man sat down across from him and grinned again. He was missing a front tooth. He. leaned across the table and extended a hand. “Milton Muller, at your service.”

  Thatcher shook the hand, leaned back and waited for the man to speak.

  The man leaned across the table with a smirk across his face. “Are you the law?”

  Thatcher narrowed his eyes but did not answer.

  The man nodded. “Nope, didn’t think so. More like outlaw.”

  A heavy sigh welled inside. He took a sip of coffee and waited a second before he spoke. “How I make my living doesn’t concern you.”

  “Well, maybe not but maybe so.”

  Thatcher raised a brow. “How so?”

  “You ain’t the first stranger to ride into town this week.”

  This piqued Thatcher’s interest, but he kept his face impassive.

  The waitress returned with his breakfast. She frowned at Milton and turned to Thatcher. “Is he bothering you, sir?”

  Thatcher waved a hand. “No, he’s fine.”

  “Let me know if he becomes a nuisance.” She strode away.

  Thatcher dug into his breakfast. He needed to get back on the trail as soon as possible but perhaps this man could help him. “So, this town doesn’t get many visitors?”

  “No, sir. Not the way we’re situated here. Mighty strange we’ve got so many the last week or so.”

  “Is that a fact?” The bacon wasn’t half bad, and the potatoes were delicious, crusty on the outside and soft on the inside.

  “Yes, sir. Two, as a matter of fact, but they didn’t tarry long. I suspect they didn’t want to get the wind up with our sheriff, not that he’d be able to do much about them.” He leaned across the table again, giving Thatcher a whiff of body odor. “Sheriff’s health is failing, but he won’t admit it,” he said in a whisper.

  “Sorry to hear it,” Thatcher responded, with his mouth full. He took a swig of coffee. “What made you think they were trying to avoid the law?”

  “Just acting suspicious like, and the way they looked, with gun holsters like your’n. Don’t have many gunslingers round here.” The man leaned back in his chair, his smirk growing bigger.

  Thatcher decided not to let this man know he was interested in what he had to say. He knew the type. Ignore them, and they wanted to tell you more. He used his bread to sop up the last of the juices on his plate and finished his coffee. “I got to be going but nice talking to you.”

  He stood, and the man did also, sidling up to him. “Don’t you want to hear about them men?”

  Thatcher smiled and shrugged. “Do you want to tell me?”

  “One of the men had a black beard with a white streak. I didn’t get a good look at the other.”

  “Well, I’d better get going.” Thatcher walked to the woman who had served him and paid for his breakfast and his lodging. When he turned, Mr. Muller stood in his path. Thatcher pushed around him to gather his belongings and started toward the door.

  The man hurried after him, touching Thatcher’s arm. “Wait. I ain’t done.”

  Thatcher didn’t pause until he was on the sidewalk outside. The streets were empty.

  Mr. Muller’s hungry eyes lit up. “Now, if’n you want some more information, I could use a drink.”

  “The bar ain’t open. If you have something to say, say it.”

  “The money will keep till it is.” He licked his lips. “The two men, they headed out the west road. And something lies that way. Something most folks don’t know about.”

  Thatcher shifted his saddlebags. “Spit it out. I need to be on my way.”

  “There’s a valley, three miles south of here. Only one way in, and you can’t hardly see the opening to it. Folks say it’s a haven for outlaws. Four large oaks hide the entrance.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I got my ways. Was that worth a quarter to you?”

  Thatcher dug in his pocket. “Here’s a quarter and another to keep it company.”

  Thatcher hurried away to the livery. Worth much more than a quarter if the information was correct.

  And there was only one way to find out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Melly and Uncle Dob emerged from the tree line. Sunny trotted behind the horses. A vast level area spread before them. No, not level but rolling land. Did Thatcher travel this way?

  The sun shone brightly, although a brisk wind blew. Melly wrapped her coat more tightly and pulled her hat down to her ears.

  Uncle Dob cleared his throat. “Melly, we’ll be making a little side trip, to a small town nearby.”

  “Why?” Melly had made up her mind to focus solely on seeing her sister and wanted no delay.

  “All of these pelts packed on the mule. If we stop and sell them, we can travel lighter.”

  Melly didn’t like it, but if it would make their trip faster, it’d be worth it.

  Uncle Dob spoke again. “As a matter of fact, I’m considering selling this old mule.”

  Melly nodded. “Whatever you think is best.”

  “The thing is, we can’t carry as many supplies if we sell him.”

  “We can make do,” Melly answered. “Pemmican and water would suit me fine.”

  They fell silent. Melly’s thoughts kept circling back to Thatcher, but she forced him from her mind. She tried to remember Abby’s face, but the image was her sister crying out in terror. She shook her head, concentrated on the countryside around, the feel of the cold air on her face.

  Uncle Dob stood in his stirrups and cried out. “Look yonder.”

  “What?” She did the same, staring in the direction he pointed.

  “Looks like a wagon.”

  Melly’s heart caught in her throat, and she strained to see. “It’s hard to see from here. Do you think it’s safe to go over there?”

  Uncle Dob pulled out his rifle and patted it. “Just to be on the safe side.”

  Melly nodded, and they turned the horses and mule toward the wagon. She cried out when they drew near.

  She slid off Brown. “These are the things from the cabin!” She moved around, touching them lightly. Sunny sniffed each item in turn with avid interest.

  Uncle Dob joined them. He took off his hat and scratched his head. “Wha’cha reckon happened here?”

  Melly closed her eyes, imagining the scene. She opened them and shook her head. “Who knows?”

  “Wasn’t Injuns. That’s a fact.”

  “No, I’ve got an idea. At least it makes sense to me.”

  “What?” Uncle Dob replaced his hat. He held the rifle in one hand, but his eyes were alert, watching.

  “Obadiah got word, somehow, to Boyd, about Thatcher finding us. Boyd must have sent some of his men to pack us up. Then
Oba returns to the cabin, finds two of the men there, and kills them. He must’ve thought Boyd’s other men took me with them.”

  “Well, that don’t explain this.”

  “It does if Oba got in the wagon to come looking for me, maybe even caught up with Boyd’s men, and they attacked him. Or he attacked them, but was outnumbered.” She shuddered.

  “Maybe it happened that way.”

  “It’s the only way I see that makes sense.” Melly’s hand traveled to her pocket, and she fingered the lace.

  “You think he would come to rescue you?”

  Melly turned to face him, her eyes searching his. “I know you think he was evil, putting me in the shack, but he was trying to protect me. Maybe it wasn’t the right way, but it was the only way he knew.”

  Uncle Dob’s jaw tightened. “If you say so. Come on. We can make the town before nightfall if we hurry.”

  Melly took a last look around. Maybe her solution wasn’t the right one at all.

  Could be Thatcher had caught up with Obadiah. And what if he had killed him?

  Uncle Dob, on his horse, had already moved away from the area. She hurried to catch up with him.

  MELLY BLINKED, AS IF she’d suddenly emerged from the little shack. People scrambled in all directions, some on horseback, some on foot, and some on wagons. Most were men, and she was the object of much scrutiny.

  “It ain’t usually this busy,” Uncle Dob said. “It was a sleepy little town when I was here before.”

  Melly shrugged and drew her arms closer to her body. How long had it been since she’d been in any town? It’d been so long ago, she no longer remembered

  Instinctively, possibly sensing her feelings, maybe because she’d nudged her with a knee, Brown moved closer to Uncle Dobson’s horse as they traveled the road into town. The man beside her was alert, sitting straight, his eyes darting from place to place. She kept her head down, praying the hat would cover her face, and she’d not be recognized. Boyd’s men, or even Boyd himself, might be here.

  “There’s a hotel — if you can call it that,” Uncle Dob said. “Want to get a room for the night? They serve hot meals.” He pulled his horse to a stop and indicated the two-story decrepit building.