by Reid, Ruth
“Who said you could go back to sleep? Get up.” Jack nudged her arm with his wet boot.
She had difficulty prying her eyes open and when she did, they closed again. Whatever was in the tea, it made her sleepy.
Jack grabbed her arm and forced her to stand. “Gordon, grab the shovel.”
“But . . . it’s nighttime.” Gordon crinkled his brows in confusion. “Isn’t it?”
“What have you been smoking?” Jack motioned to the shovel leaning against the tree. “Pick that up. While it’s light enough to see, you two might as well be digging.”
Grace moved as Jack prodded. She followed Gordon, who had the task of finding the spot to dig.
Gordon roamed aimlessly around the stone fireplace, touching the river rock more in a sentimental gesture than in search of something. The corners of his mouth turned down and tears glazed his eyes, obviously affected by seeing what remained of his old homestead. Grace wanted to reach out to him, but Jack trailed Gordon’s every move.
“Was it behind one of these rocks?” Jack asked.
Gordon ignored the question. If purposefully or because he was deep in a trance, Grace wasn’t certain.
Jack shuffled his feet. “Gordon, you said the treasure was buried.”
“I did?”
Jack blew out a breath, growling. “Just use your head and think.”
“Gordon has a weak mind.” He ran his hand over the large stones. “Gordon’s simple.”
“We talked about finding your treasure all winter,” Jack said. “Gordon’s treasure. Remember?”
Gordon continued to study the chimney. A tear slipped down his face.
“I might as well take you back to the behavior ward.”
“No.”
“Yep. That’s what I’m going to do. I’ll tell Nurse Phyllis that you went wild—that you stabbed the nurse at the hospital.”
Gordon shook his head. “But I didn’t. You did.”
“Who are they going to believe?”
Gordon paced the old cement foundation.
Jack paced beside Gordon. “They’ll put you right back into a chemical straitjacket. You didn’t like that, did you?”
“No.” He covered his hands over his ears and shook his head.
Jack tried to move Gordon’s hands, but he fought back, arms flailing. Jack pinned him in a headlock.
Grace winced. “Don’t hurt him.” Her words slurred. Lord, I need Your power to work through me . . . I need to think straight.
“It’s by a tree,” he said, trying to wiggle out of Jack’s hold.
Jack released him. “Now you’re thinking.”
Gordon shied away from Jack and walked a few feet away, adjusting his shirt collar.
Jack picked up the shovel and handed it to Gordon. “Let’s find that tree.”
Grace didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but from what she’d heard, when the cabin caught fire over twenty years ago, the fire spread over several acres. None of these trees looked older than that. The pines were huge, but they were also fast-growing; they would have sprouted after the fire.
Gordon wandered from tree to tree. He finally picked one. Although she believed it was purely a random choice, it didn’t matter. Jack wasn’t thinking about manhandling her, and she would dig holes all night if it meant him not having his way with her.
Gordon sank the shovel into the soft ground and tossed the dirt to one side. In a matter of minutes, he had a waist-deep hole dug and was moving to a new location.
Jack tipped the flask and drained it, then tossed the container on the ground. “Make yourself useful, woman. Make me something to drink.”
Gladly. Mint tea coming up. It ought to be potent now that it had steeped so long. Danki, Lord, for increasing his thirst. She ambled back to the fire pit, added more tea leaves to the already boiled ones, and placed the pot on the cinders. The steam alone caused her eyes to water.
She carried the tin mug back to where they were digging. “I tried not to make it too hot,” she said. Although she couldn’t have cared less if he burned his tongue, she also wanted him to drink it quickly.
He grunted something that might have sounded like a thank you and drank.
She moved over to the other side of the mound of dirt. While she fought to stay standing and keep her eyes open, Gordon acted as though he’d been given a shot of energy. He was on his third hole. She stole a glance at Jack drinking the tea and she smiled.
Jack grinned. “What are you smiling about?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
He eyed her hard, head to toe, as he moved boldly toward her.
“How’s the tea? Do you want me to make you more?” Her words running together only made him smile.
He stopped in front of her and tipped his mug. “I have plenty. In fact, I want . . . to share it . . . with you.”
“No thanks.” She took a step backward. He sounded intoxicated. Whatever plant those tea leaves came from, they didn’t mix well with the alcohol he’d consumed earlier.
He pushed the cup toward her. “Drink it.”
He’d consumed most of it, but there was still more than a sip left. She pretended to take a drink, then passed it back to him. “Thank you.”
“Drink it all.”
She straightened her shoulders. “I’m nett thirsty.”
“I don’t care. Drink it.” His eyes narrowed. “You did something to it—didn’t you!” He placed his hand on the small of her back and jerked her up against him. “Do you want me to spoon-feed you?”
A shudder went down her spine. She was still feeling the effects of the last cup. What would more do to her?
She took the mug from him, her hands shaking. She slowly lifted it to her mouth, drank some, and gagged on the bitterness.
“Keep drinking.”
“It’s hot. Maybe if I put some river water in it—”
He tightened his hold, burying his fingers into her ribs. “Do you need a lesson in obedience?” His hand roamed over her backside.
She shook her head and drank more. She’d rather die from poison than be his victim. By the time she finished the drink, the warm liquid had numbed the back of her throat. Her heart pounded erratically. She was vaguely aware of Jack walking her backward, pinning her against a tree, and moistening her neck with his traveling mouth.
“I found it!” Gordon shouted.
Jack pushed away from her and staggered over to the hole. “Let’s see it.”
Sporting a wide smile, Gordon lifted a quart-sized canning jar, which looked empty from her view.
Jack snatched it from Gordon’s hand and headed back to the campfire.
Gordon shot out of the hole and trailed Jack while Grace walked gingerly over what she perceived as shifting ground.
Jack emptied the contents on the ground, then examined them using the fire for light. He rubbed his eyes and brought the piece up closer. “Tell me these aren’t just rocks.”
“Gordon’s treasure.” He patted his chest. “David’s stones to fight giants.”
“Rocks?” Jack’s voice grew louder. He lunged toward Gordon and had him by the collar.
“Stop!” Grace shouted. “There is a treasure around here.”
Jack pushed Gordon aside and grasped her arms. “Where is it?” He swayed, used her for support, then shook her hard. “Where?”
Dizzy and unable to focus on anything that wasn’t spinning, she felt vomit rise to the back of her throat.
“Answer me!”
“I’ve heard people talk . . . there’s gold or silver . . . maybe copper.”
“Copper cave,” Gordon said. “Long tunnel. Dark. Too dark.”
“Where, Gordon?”
He shook his head. “Too dark. Too, too, too dark.”
Jack released her and took hold of Gordon, who shrank. “Where is it! Tell me or I’ll dump your body in the river!” Suddenly, Jack grasped his abdomen and doubled over.
Gordon squatted down beside him. “What�
��s wrong, Jack?”
He moaned.
Gordon peered up at Grace. “Something’s wrong with Jack.”
Guilt replaced any thoughts of celebrating his incapacitation. She took the mug down to the river, rinsed it, and filled it with water. She hurried back and sat down next to Jack. “Drink this.”
“Why should I trust . . . you?”
“You shouldn’t.” She drank it herself, and surprisingly, she was thirsty. Grace handed the mug to Gordon. “Fill it with more river water.”
“I’ll . . . get you . . . for this.” His body convulsed.
She believed him. Let the poison take me first.
Gordon returned with the water, and as he helped hold the mug to Jack’s lips, Grace moved to the other side of the campfire not feeling so well herself.
Something crept into the firelight.
Her vision was cloudy, but that wasn’t a tree stump. It looked a little bit like . . . a fox?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The fox had kept Ben company on the trail over the past several hours, then suddenly shot ahead and disappeared. It took awhile to warm up to the idea of a wild creature tagging along, but now that he was alone, Ben sort of missed it. The woods made an array of eerie sounds at night. Nothing the fox showed concern over—and nothing Ben cared to investigate.
A strange light in the distance caught his eye. Ben paused a moment, then continued in a slow crouch. He spotted the glow of a campfire through the trees. He went up on his tiptoes and craned his neck. The trees were blocking his view. He couldn’t see Grace, or anyone for that matter. He edged closer.
“Lord, where is she?”
Would they have left the fire burning if they had decided to move on? Not likely. Then again, he found it strange that they started one at all and risked someone finding them. He moved a little closer and hid behind another large tree.
Suddenly Ben spied Jack, the man who roughed him up and pushed him into the cellar. Jack was lying on the ground near the campfire while Gordon sat beside him. But where was Grace? What had they done with her?
The gunshot he had heard earlier came to mind. Don’t think it . . . Grace is . . . He struggled to push the thought aside. God was in this. All he had to do was look at the neon sky. He had to think positive. Walk in faith. Oh, Lord, where is she?
Ben went closer still. That’s when he spotted her long, wheat-colored hair. He eased out the breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding.
“Danki, Lord,” he whispered.
He had to rein in his thoughts of rushing into the middle of their camp. He needed a plan. A distraction. Maybe he could create a diversion. But what? A low, growling sound answered that question. The fox had already gained everyone’s attention.
Grace blinked. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. She wasn’t truly seeing a fox. But shortly after she noticed the fox move, Gordon announced he saw it, too, then jumped into a patch of ferns and hid.
Jack scrambled to his feet and staggered a few steps. Apparently, his vision was askew and the ground was moving for him too.
She could hardly stand to keep her eyes open. Even the brightness of the flames was making it harder to focus.
The wild animal growled when Jack tried to come near it. Obviously, Jack was after the gun. But where the fox had stationed itself, Jack had to pass the fox to get it. Jack made another sloppy attempt, but the fox stood its ground. It even backed Jack up several feet with rabid assertiveness.
The bushes rustled and a form stepped out from the darkness. Grace’s breath caught in her throat. She followed the newcomer with her eyes as he entered the camp. Ben? Light from the fire illuminated his face. Her heart jumped a beat.
“Ben!”
Jack charged Ben, tackling him at the waist and wrestling him inches from the fire.
God, help him!
Ben kneed Jack in the chest, who wavered, gasping raspy breaths. Ben struck him again. And again. He pushed off Jack and stood. Jack staggered toward him, but just as he swung at Ben, the fox leaped in between them. The snarling animal foamed at the mouth.
Don’t move, Ben. But he didn’t heed her silent plea. Ben sidestepped the fox.
She covered her hands over her face and squeezed her eyes closed, unable to watch. “Protect him, Lord. Please.” Grace opened her eyes and peeked between her spread fingers as Ben snatched the gun leaning against the tree.
Grace pushed off the ground too fast and a wave of dizziness dropped her to her knees. She took a deep breath and willed her muscles to move.
Ben reached for her hand and helped her to stand.
She’d never been happier than when she saw his smile. Tears sprang to her eyes and she couldn’t wipe them away fast enough.
Ben touched her swollen cheek with his thumb and growled under his breath.
“Shoot it!” Jack shouted.
Ben’s expression hardened. “I’d shoot you first.” He turned his attention back to her, the lines by his eyes softening. “Are you ready to go home?” he asked, taking her by the hand.
She didn’t have to answer that, nor did he give her a chance. With a firm grasp on her hand, Ben whisked her into the woods.
Ben wanted to get Grace as far away from the men as possible before they stopped running, but she tugged on his arm to stop.
“I need . . . to catch . . . mei breath,” she said between gasps.
“I’m sorry. I should have been more thoughtful.”
She leaned her back against a tree, held her hand to her chest, and sucked air like she’d swum up from the bottom of the ocean.
He scanned the area and when he looked at her again, she was hunched over.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded.
He bent down and cocked his head to one side to get a better view of her face. “Would you tell me if something was wrong?”
“Jah,” she squeaked.
“Hey, are you crying?” He tipped her chin with his hand. “It’s over, Grace. You’re safe.” Without uttering a word, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. This wasn’t like her at all. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He sure didn’t want to break the embrace to put the rifle down. Besides, she had him in such a tight bear hug it was obvious something was wrong.
Under different circumstances, he would have held her all night, but they had to get to a safer place. He pulled back. “We should—”
She stole his words with a needy kiss.
It didn’t take longer than half a second for her soft lips to infuse desire through his veins. He lifted his free hand, furrowed his fingers through her hair to the back of her neck, and reined her in. Why did he have to be holding a gun?
Ben broke from the kiss having never been breathless like this before. “Grace,” he said, his voice hoarse, “I have a loaded rifle in mei hand.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t know what got into me. I just . . . I mean . . . I’ve never—”
“Tell me you’ll do it again sometime.”
She covered her hand over her mouth, staring wide-eyed and stunned.
“Okay,” he said, intent on staying optimistic. “We’ll talk about it later.”
She cracked a smile. “You’re awfully confident.”
“Hmm . . . You fueled mei ego.” He motioned to the path and she followed. This time he started at a slower pace. “I’ve never seen it this bright at nacht,” he said after a period of silence.
“I thought I was hallucinating when the colors appeared. Mattie said not to drink the tea as she handed me the basket, and I did without thinking.”
He reeled around to face her. “How much?”
“A cup and a half. I started to sweat and thought I might pass out.” She lifted her hand to her neck. “Mei pulse is still skipping beats.”
He stopped. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” He reached for her hand and placed three fingers on her wrist. Weak. He searched her neck for her pulse, and she flinched.
“Do you t
hink I’ll be all right?”
“Nay talking.” He counted the beats awhile longer, then lowered his hand. “There are long intervals between your heartbeats and they’re erratic. Whatever it was you ingested, you have to get it out of your system.”
“I drank water thinking I could dilute it.”
He shook his head. “That’s nett enough. Stick your fingers down your throat.”
She attempted, but apparently didn’t get her fingers far enough to stimulate the gag reflex before she pulled them out.
“Try it again.”
“I can’t.”
Ben set the gun on the ground. He snapped a small branch off the oak tree. “Open your mouth.”
“What? Nay.”
“It’s either this or mei fingers.” He inspected his fingers. “I’ve been in the swamp muck today.” The way her face paled, she might vomit at the thought. When she didn’t, he moved closer. “Are you going to do it or am I?”
She turned her back to him and bent at the waist. This time she managed to make herself vomit copious amounts of dark liquid. She brushed her hair away from her face. “You happy?”
“Do it again.”
“I already feel light-headed.”
“I’ll carry you when you’re done.” She didn’t understand the seriousness. Not all herbs were safe. “Kumm on. If you did it once, you can do it again.”
She stared at him.
Ben reached down and picked up the gun. “Kumm with me.” He went in the opposite direction, listened for the sound of the river, and cut through the alder brush to reach the water. Ben set the gun down away from the water and out of the sand, then glanced at her silhouetted form standing on the bank. “You want to get a drink and wash your hands and mouth, don’t you?”
She hesitated a moment, then joined him at the water’s edge. Grace went down to her knees, washed her hands, then cupped some water and drank.
He knelt beside her and did the same.
She gulped another handful of water and sighed.
“Okay, do it again.”
“Nay, Ben, please. Let’s just go home. Mattie will know what to do.”
