The servant looked at Crenshaw. Crenshaw nodded, and the servant went into the house. He returned almost immediately with a ring of keys, then knelt and unlocked the chains that bound George’s legs.
“He doesn’t have braids. He’s not Indian. He’s a nigger,” Crenshaw said. “Not that there’s a mite of difference between them. How in the hell was I to know who he was? He was brought here for safekeeping, is all.”
“You stick to that story, Crenshaw. It’s the only thing that’s keeping me from putting a bullet in you. We’re leaving. This boy is half starved, and the sores from the chains are festering.” He led George over to Mike. “Take him up with you, Mike, and ride on out. Gavin and I will be behind you.”
Farr and Gavin mounted when Mike and George were a distance down the road.
“I’d think a smart man like you, Crenshaw, would be more careful with whom he does business. Tell your associate, Hammond Perry, that my son lives in spite of three bullet holes in him. The men Perry hired are dead.”
“Tell him yourself if you want him to know something.”
* * *
John Crenshaw sat on the porch for a long while after the riders were out of sight. Farrway Quill was a man to be reckoned with. He felt fortunate that he had gotten out of this situation as easily as he had, considering the influence the man had in Vandalia.
“Raymond!” he shouted, although the servant was right behind him. “Get your black ass over to Hammond Perry’s and tell him to get up here.”
Crenshaw was in the office when Hammond came hurrying in. The sight of him walking on two legs, when he only had one, always irritated Crenshaw.
“What’s going on, John? Raymond said to hurry, and I did.”
“It’s a goddamn good thing too. The longer I sit here, the madder I get. You’re the stupidest damn fool this side of the Ohio. If, by your stupidity, you have blown my whole operation here, I’ll have you killed.”
“What . . . what’s happened?”
“I’ll tell you what’s happened, you blundering idiot! Why didn’t you tell me that boy you brought here to stud was a pet of Farrway Quill?”
“Well, I . . . what difference does it make?”
“A hell of a lot of difference! Quill was here looking for him and found him! How is that going to set with the state officials when he goes back to Vandalia and tells it?”
“Found him? How?”
“He used a birdcall. The boy answered. Cutting his hair wasn’t enough, fool! You should have cut out his whistle!”
“He would’ve made us some money.” Hammond began to get his courage back.
“You chinless bastard!” Crenshaw shouted. “I don’t think you’ve got the brains you were born with. I’ve no use for a man who can’t think. Get out! Come around here again, and I’ll have the dogs put on you.”
“You . . . can’t mean that!” Hammond gasped and stepped back a step, coming up against the arm of a chair. “I’ve brought you some of your best people.”
“You’ve brought me trouble I can’t afford, Perry. I’ll manage somehow to make my peace with Quill. I don’t need you around with your petty little grievances to mess up my operation. You have bleated to everyone who will listen about how Quill has wronged you and that you intend to even the score. You’ll not do it at my expense. Get out! I’ve said it twice, and I’d better not have to say it again.”
Hammond went to the door. His legs were not quite steady, his eyes not quite seeing. He looked over his shoulder. Crenshaw swung himself around in the chair, presenting his back to him. Scarcely knowing where he was going, Hammond left the house. He climbed up on his horse as a black rage started deep inside him and spread, until he was trembling and saliva was running from the corner of his mouth.
He gigged the horse cruelly. The animal took off on the run, his hoofs digging up and throwing chunks of the carefully tended lawn. In the woods, Hammond threw himself off the horse; rolled on the ground, his hands pressed to his temples; and cried out his rage like a small boy having a temper tantrum. Finally he turned on his stomach, pillowed his head on his arm, and cried real tears. They ran down his face into his beard.
“God damn Quill! And God damn the whole world!”
All his dreams of being someone important had been washed away again, by Quill. This time he would get to Quill in a way it would hurt him the most. He’d take that bitch he had married, rape her, give her to his men, then kill her, leaving the body for Quill to find. After that he would go downriver to New Orleans and take a boat to some foreign port and start anew.
Hammond sat up and dried his tears on the sleeve of his shirt. The son of a bitch would not win this time.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Daniel sat on the edge of the bed shaving with his right hand while his left arm lay in a sling against his chest. Mercy held the mirror.
“I don’t know how you do that so easily. Do you ever cut yourself?”
Daniel dipped the razor in the pan of water and swished it back and forth before he answered.
“Sometimes.” He brought his upper lip down and held it between his teeth so that he could shave beneath his nose.
“Will you ever grow a mustache?”
“Do you want me to?”
“No. You’re handsome enough as it is. I don’t want to have to fight the women off.”
He looked at her quickly and saw a serious look on her face, but he also saw that she was holding her lips between her teeth to keep from laughing. Daniel laid the razor down beside the wash dish and picked up the cloth to wipe away the soap he had used to soften his whiskers.
“Some women like to kiss a man with a mustache. They say it tickles.”
“Humph!” She snorted. “And where did you pick up this valuable information?”
“Here and there.”
“If you couldn’t use your right arm, would you let me shave you?”
“And have you ruin my handsome face?” He looked at her with mock alarm. “Sweetheart! That shot merely grazed my head. It did nothing to addle my brains!”
“Conceited creature!” She turned the mirror facedown on the bed. “You’ve looked at yourself enough for today. Now that you’re on the road to recovery, I’ll have to stop spoiling you.” She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him, as if she were talking to one of her students.
“You’re the one who told me I was handsome,” he said teasingly, his eyes full of bewilderment.
Suddenly Mercy remembered the serious-faced boy of long ago. This Daniel was smiling; his eyes glowed. Her heart sang. Because of her, Daniel was happy. A feeling of supreme happiness washed over her. She turned her mind back to the teasing.
“To me you are handsome, because you’re mine. To someone else you may be as ugly as a mud fence.”
“A mud fence!” He spoke as if he were talking to some unseen person in the room. “I can’t believe she’s saying these things to me.”
“And there is more, my love. I made it clear to Belinda’s mother when she was here yesterday that you are no longer an eligible man. I told her to say hello to Belinda for us, and to tell her that we want her to come visit us as soon as you’ve recovered and we’ve moved out to our farm.”
“We’re back to that, are we?” He grinned at her, his eyes shining.
“No, we are not back to that. Your prowling days are over. You are a married man with a very jealous wife. Now get back in the bed before I kick your sore leg.”
“What a mean and vicious wife I have,” Daniel said to the ceiling. “Does Mamma know how you’re treating me?”
“She and Eleanor are upstairs looking at Mary Elizabeth’s baby clothes. Eleanor was going to wait until Gavin came back to tell the news, but she let something slip, and Mamma pried it out of her. I hope we don’t have to wait ten years to start our family.”
“I’ll do my part,” he said innocently. “I’ll work on it day and night. Put that washdish down and kiss me.”
Mercy bent over him. Hi
s hand came up to the back of her neck, pressing when she would have moved back after a light, feathery kiss.
“Hmmm . . . you smell and taste good.”
Mercy rubbed her slim nose against his. “I love you,” she whispered, as if there were ears to overhear.
“I love you. I wish you were in bed with me,” he whispered back. His hand moved down and fumbled with the buttons on her dress. Her hand caressed his smooth cheek, then dropped to his hand to hold it still.
“You’re a lot better . . . if you’re thinking of that!” She straightened and looked down at him, with bright, twinkling eyes. “You are the light and the love of my life, Daniel Phelps, but behave yourself.”
“But, honey, it’s hard to behave when you’re leaning over me and your soft breasts—”
“Being the only man in this house for the past few days has gone to your head! We’ve all spoiled you—Mamma, me, Tenny, and Eleanor, not to mention Minnie, who thinks you’re the stars and the moon.”
“I’m a very lovable man,” he admitted.
“Tomorrow or the next day, or whenever Papa gets back, you’ll have to share our attention; you might as well get used to the idea,” she said in her stern, schoolteacher voice.
“I’ll not share your attention, Mrs. Phelps.” His hand slid along her spine. His eyes teased her. “A husband has rights. You promised Cousin Farley to obey me. So kiss me again.”
“Lie down and rest.” She snapped her teeth at him. “If you’re good, we’ll let you get up and sit on the side of the bed to eat your supper.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take this washdish out to the kitchen, and I’m going to take the clothes off the line. I don’t know what I’ll do after that, but I won’t be in here, so rest.” Mercy picked up the washdish, the razor, and the towels.
“I wonder if Belinda would have been so mean to me!”
“You’ll never know, will you?” Mercy retorted, and grinned impishly.
She left the room with a smile on her face. Her heart was light. Daniel was better, so much better. When she had lifted his leg back onto the pillow, he had not even grimaced. She saw in her mind’s eye the bedeviling slant of his smile when she left him. Oh, how she loved that man!
* * *
The morning had been bright and sunny, but shortly after the noon meal, dark rain clouds banked in the west and moved steadily toward the east. Now, as evening approached, lightning flashed against the dark clouds.
The wind picked up, whipping the dry clothes around Mercy as she lifted them from the line. She buried her face in Daniel’s shirt and laughed with pure happiness at her foolishness. When she was growing up and had to take his shirts off the line, she had grumbled and complained.
“Meow!” The cry of the cat brought Mercy’s head around. “Meow!” Blackbird sat beside the barn door. He was not the slick, fat cat they had left when they went to Kentucky. He was thin, and it appeared that part of his long, proud tail was missing. “Meow,” he cried again, but didn’t move to come toward her.
“Blackbird! For heaven’s sake! What’s happened to you? You look half starved.” Mercy walked toward him, her arms full of clothes. “Oh, dear. I’ll have to take these in. You stay right there, I’ll be right back.” She spoke to the cat as if he understood what she was saying. He licked first one side of his mouth and then the other and stared at her with huge amber eyes.
Mercy hurried into the house, dumped the dry clothes on the kitchen table, picked up a few scraps of bread, and headed back to the door.
“What yo doin’, child?” Minnie, her hands in a mass of bread dough, asked her from her work at the counter.
“These are all the clothes, Minnie. I’m going to see about Mary Elizabeth’s cat. He looks half starved, and I think he’s been hurt.”
“It goin’ ta rain. Yo get wet, ’n’ yo’ll come down with the coughin’ fever.”
“I won’t get wet. If I do, I won’t melt.” Mercy smiled as she left the kitchen. Minnie, with her bossy ways and loving concern, was becoming very much a part of her life with Daniel.
“Yo mind me, chile. Yo get in here if’n the rain comes,” Minnie called, then seconds later lifted her voice in song. “Good news! The char-i-ot is a-comin’. Good news! The char-i-ot is a-comin’ . . .” Minnie usually sang while she worked. It was a happy sound.
The wind, becoming increasingly stronger, wrapped Mercy’s skirts about her legs as she hurried to the barn where she had last seen the cat. Blackbird wasn’t in sight, but he could not have gone far in such a short time.
“Blackbird! Where are you?”
The barn doors were closed. Mercy opened one of them, stuck her head inside, and called again.
“I’ve got something for you.” There was no answering meow from the cat, so she closed the door and walked along the rail enclosure where they sometimes kept the cow. She called, stopped, and listened. At the end of the rail fence and behind the barn was a thick growth of sumac. Something black fluttered in the grass.
“Blackbird,” she called. “Come, kitty, kitty.” She almost laughed at the sound of her voice. If Blackbird could understand, she was sure that he would be insulted to be called kitty.
“Meow!” The loud screech came from the sumac. “Meow!” It was an angry cry.
Mercy went around the barn, hurrying toward the sound. The cat seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He leapt past her, screeching, and bounded toward the woods.
“Blackbird!”
Mercy made a half turn to go after the cat and came up against two men who stepped out from behind the bushes. Each grabbed one of her arms. She was so startled, she was struck dumb for an instant. When her senses returned, she opened her mouth to scream. Before she could make a sound, a rough hand was clamped over her mouth. She struggled wildly, but her strength was no match for the men holding her.
“This is her. Ain’t we in luck? She come right to us. We was figgerin’ on havin’ to go in ta get ’er.”
“She’s a fine-bodied woman. I ain’t goin’ ta mind havin’ ’er a-tall.”
Mercy was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. She lashed out with her feet, her fear giving her strength. Her foot struck a shin.
“Bitch!” The man holding her mouth dug his fingers into her cheek and shook her head viciously. “Stop that or I’ll pinch your head off!”
Mercy’s fear had carried her beyond reason. She flayed them with hands and feet as they lifted her and carried her behind a screen of bushes. Her eyes were wide as she looked at first one man, then at the other. One had front teeth missing and wore the cap of a riverman. His face was scarred and his breath putrid. The other man was whiskered, his eyes red and watery. She was sure that she had never seen them before. Into her dull mind drifted the thought that they were going to kill her, and she’d not be with Daniel. . . .”
The riverman roughly swung her around. The instant his hand left her mouth, Mercy drew in a long breath to scream. The man’s fist shot forward. Lights flashed before her eyes in a bright blast of pain. Then, just as quickly, she dropped into a pit of darkness.
The whiskered man caught Mercy as she fell. “What’d ya do that fer? I likes ’em fightin’ and scratchin’. I ain’t likin’ to hump no limp woman.”
“Ya can’t do nothin’ here, nohow. The boss says brin’ her to the woods out back a that shack where the nigger lives.”
Rough fingers fondled Mercy’s breasts. “She shore do have fine titties.”
“They ain’t no different ’n a whore’s titties. Let me get on my horse, then boost ’er up.”
“Let’s go. Hit looks like them clouds is goin’ to open up ’n’ piss all over us.”
“Ain’t ya ever been wet, Melcher?”
“Oncet when I fell in the river.” He laughed a hoarse laugh, as if his throat were full of sandburs.
“The little prick’ll be waitin’. He shore don’t take no risk.”
“He don’t have ta t
ake no risk. He’s got the money ta pay us ta take the risk.”
They moved the horses out of the sumac, taking care to keep out of sight of the house, and rose toward the woods. A low rumble of thunder came from the west. The man who held Mercy facedown across his thighs patted her bottom and chuckled. This was the easiest fifty dollars he had ever made, and a bonus was also attached. He ran his palm over Mercy’s hips at the thought of the treat that awaited him. His flesh hardened suddenly; he pushed it tightly against the soft hip that moved in response to the motion of the horse. He was going to get in the drawers of a quality woman. It would be something to brag about when he shipped out again.
* * *
Hammond Perry watched the men approach with the woman across the saddle. Her blond hair had come loose from the pins and was hanging down over her face. He felt a flush of satisfaction. At long last he had something of Farrway Quill’s in his possession, to do with as he saw fit. And he had plans for the bitch!
“We got ’er, Mr. Perry,” the whiskered man called. “It warn’t no trouble a-tall.”
“Shut up, ya fool,” the riverman hissed. “Let ’em think it was hard ’n’ risky.”
“I mean it warn’ no hard job fer us.”
“Anyone see you?” Hammond asked.
“Not nary a soul excepts fer a cat. I put my foot in his ass. He’s crossed the Wabash by now.”
Hammond turned his horse and looked back toward the house. The bent figure of an old man was walking slowly toward them.
“Get in the woods,” Hammond hissed, and gigged his horse. The others followed, moving out of sight behind a stand of cedars. “That’s the old nigger who lives in the shack. When he gets here,” he said to the whiskered man, “knock him in the head.”
“That won’t be no chore a-tall.” The man drew the pistol from his belt and grasped the barrel end.
Lightning cracked overhead, followed by a loud clap of thunder. Hammond Perry cursed when a few drops of rain began to fall.
Jeems walked slowly, his head down. When he reached the end of the cedars growing along the path, he looked up in time to see three men on horseback. A blondhaired woman lay across the lap of one of them. Seconds later, one of the men charged him, and even as he lifted his arm to protect his head, a gun butt came crashing down. Pain exploded in his head and he dropped.
Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] Page 34
