Bandit's Hope

by Marcia Gruver

  "Slap her wrists," Otis said. "I hear that helps to bring ’em around."

  In the time it took to revive Miss Vee, the events since Father’s death tumbled through Mariah’s mind like scenes before a drowning man—every chance to change her mind, every missed opportunity to confess.

  She hadn’t once paused to admit she’d stopped talking to God along the way. If she had, she would’ve realized she’d veered far from His will.

  Forgive me! her heart cried.

  The rage in Miss Vee’s glance and the fury in her uncle’s stance told her God’s was the only forgiveness she could ever hope to get.

  "Why?" Miss Vee’s single word held a bitter accusation.

  "I wanted to tell you so many times. Can you imagine how difficult it was to keep it from you?"

  Tears flowing, Miss Vee shook her head. "I can’t imagine a single thing about the terrible deed you’ve done."

  Sinking to one knee, Mariah reached for her hands.

  Miss Vee yanked them free and turned away.

  Mariah sighed. "At least let me answer your question. I did it because I had no choice. Mother made me swear never to lose our ancestral land. Her burial place."

  Uncle Nukowa crossed his arms. "It was a promise you couldn’t keep."

  Her mouth as dry as cotton, she nodded firmly. "But I could, Uncle. If I married a nahullo like she did."

  Otis nodded grimly. "Which explains all the nonsense with that wicked Gabe."

  Grateful for one ally, Mariah spun. "Yes. Only Tiller came along and we fell in love. He’s already asked me to marry him."

  She stood and reached for her uncle’s arm, relieved when he didn’t pull away. "Don’t you see? You became the only thing standing in my way. If you hadn’t arrived, I’d be Tiller’s wife right now, and Mother’s land would be safe."

  Stunned, Mariah gripped her forehead to still the spinning room. "What am I saying?" She swallowed hard to ease the pain crowding her throat. "How could Tiller marry me? He already has a wife."

  Her uncle’s head snapped around. "What?"

  She tucked her chin. "He deceived me all along. As it happens, Tiller’s married."

  Otis tugged at her arm. "Little missy, I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think it’s true because—"

  "I’ll kill him." Uncle Nukowa balled his fists, murderous rage coloring his face. "I’ll boil the flesh from his rotted bones."

  "Stop!" Miss Vee stood, as if waking from a trance. "John Coffee’s gone. That’s all that matters now." Clinging to the back of her chair, she lifted her chin. "I loved him from the first day I laid eyes on him." She smiled softly. "At first it seemed John might grow to love me, too." Moaning, she clutched her stomach. "Then Minti came along and cast her spell." Her mouth twisted. "I’m not a bit surprised to learn all this grief leads back to her."

  Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back. "Well, they’re together now, and so be it. Even from the grave Minti’s won. If you listen close, you can hear her laughing."

  Uncle Nukowa reached to steady her. "Viola …"

  Miss Vee glanced his way. "Forgive me, Joe, for speaking ill of the dead." Gazing around the kitchen, she gave an eerie laugh. "But she’s not really gone, is she? This is Onnat Minti Bell’s inn. Always has been. Always will. Just like John Coffee was hers, and she’ll never turn loose of either one." She staggered to the stairs with Otis clinging to her arm.

  Longing to comfort her, Mariah edged closer. "Go up and rest, Miss Vee. Tomorrow we’ll sort all this out."

  She raised her brows. "Can you undo your lies?" Her laugh was chilling. "Can you bring John back?" Stiffening her spine, she patted Otis’s arm then pulled away. "I’m going to bed. Tomorrow, when I come down these stairs for the final time, I’ll have my belongings with me."

  She glanced around the room as if Mother flitted there. "This is the last night I’ll sleep in her blasted house."

  Joe caught Mariah’s sleeve before she escaped up the stairs. "Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done."

  She whirled, her eyes spitting fire. "How could you be so cruel?"

  Otis backed into the hall. "I’m a mite tuckered, myself. Reckon I’ll get back to my room." Reeling away, he disappeared.

  Gritting his teeth, Joe pointed at his chest. "Me cruel? Do you muddy the pond to avoid your own reflection?"

  She hung her head. "I have a lot to make up to her. But you could’ve been more considerate in how you broke the news."

  He raised one brow. "You had plenty of time to tell her any way you saw fit."

  "I told you why I couldn’t. You know how Mother was. Surely you of all people can understand."

  "You lied to me, girl. To everyone in this house." He shook his head. "Such behavior I’ll never understand." He tightened his mouth. "And now I learn the dog who urged you to defy me has a wife?"

  She held up her hand. "Believe me, I didn’t know. Not until tonight."

  Biting off a blistering curse, he glanced toward Tiller’s room. "Is he in there? Sleeping under my roof?"

  Tears spilled onto Mariah’s cheeks. She let them flow unchecked. "He’s gone. He rode out with his gang as you came in. After they robbed the safe."

  "His gang?" Stunned, Joe gaped at her. "Are you saying Tiller robbed us?" He wouldn’t admit it, but none of the things he’d heard matched what his heart believed about the boy. Taking her by the arm, he led her to the table. "I think you’d better start from the beginning."

  Sinking into a chair, Mariah covered her face with her hands. "I still can’t believe it myself. My head is reeling."

  Joe patted her trembling shoulder. "Do your best, but I need to know what happened."

  When she finished her tale of burglars in the parlor, Otis regaining his memory, her stolen gold, and Tiller making a getaway with his band of thieves, Joe was madder than he’d ever been in his life. He stood and lifted Mariah to her feet. "Go to bed and try not to fret. I’m going to round up some men and go after them."

  She touched his arm. "Rest first. You haven’t slept all night."

  "I dozed awhile at Tobias’s house."

  "Helped along by a few pints of ale?"

  He lowered his eyes.

  "It’s not enough, amoshi." She squeezed his hands. "It’s nearly daylight. Rest until then."

  He scowled. "This can’t wait."

  "At least while I pack food and water for your trip? Besides"—she shrugged—"you’ve said it many times, nahullos are easy to track."

  He twisted his mouth to the side and nodded. "I suppose another hour can’t hurt."

  "Thank you. I’ll feel better knowing you’ve had some sleep." Mariah turned toward the counter, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Go on up. I’ll call you when everything is ready."

  Hurting for her, Joe pulled her around and tugged her to his chest.

  She buried her face in his shirt and wept. "How can you forgive me?"

  He grunted. "Because you’re right. I know how your mother was."

  Raising her head, she searched his face. "You won’t hurt him?" She knitted her brow. "When you find Tiller, you won’t harm him, will you?"

  The ways of women were a deep river indeed. "I should think you’d want his scalp."

  She shook her head. "Maybe someday. Not now."

  He swiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "Go upstairs and wash your face before you ready my pack."

  "Yes, Uncle."

  He walked her to the bottom step, and she climbed as if her legs were made of stone. Halfway up, he called her name.

  "Yes sir?"

  "I’m sorry about your father. I know how you loved him."

  "Yes, very much." Her voice broke, and her red nose flared.

  "And Mariah?"

  "Yes sir?"

  "I want you to call me Uncle Joe now. The time of my anger has passed."

  FORTY

  Tiller reined Sheki beside the other horses and slid to the ground. Every inch of him hurt as if they’d dragged him the
last grueling miles. He supposed in many ways they had. His head throbbed, his heart ached, and his muscles strained to return to Mariah.

  Hade lit the lantern then tossed his pack against the trunk of a river birch tree. Sliding to the ground, he propped his back against the worn leather bag, groaning when his knees cracked. "Sure is soon to be setting up camp. We should at least ride until daylight so they won’t spot our fire. There may be a posse behind us, and I’d like to see them before they see us."

  "I doubt there’s a posse," Nathan said. "It would take too long to round one up. The nearest lawman’s in Canton." He kicked a rock toward the Pearl. It landed with a plunk and a splash. "Besides, I’m tired of running."

  Hade yawned and stretched. "I’m just plain tired. I sure could use some coffee. You boys go see what you can do about it."

  Sonny pushed off the ground where he’d sprawled to dig a fire pit. "Yes sir. I’ll round up some wood."

  Nathan pulled a battered coffeepot from his saddlebag then squatted by the riverbank to fill it.

  Tiller sat on a log and slid his knife from the scabbard to dig up a piece of chicory root to roast. Anything to add flavor to Nathan’s strong, bitter grounds.

  He paused, turning the bone handle over in his hand while memories flooded his mind.

  The day he fled Scuffletown, he took the time to grab his Christmas gifts from under the tree. The knife, the only gift he’d kept up with over the years, came from his uncle.

  Uncle Silas, a gem of a whittler, spent hours carving fine statues and trinkets, and he’d promised to teach Tiller to do the same. If he’d stayed in North Carolina, he’d be carving something besides chicory root and sassafras and might’ve carved something better out of life.

  Uncle Silas once told him, "The blunders you make as a youth can chase you into old age. Don’t make a mess of your life while you’re still damp behind the ears."

  Anger surged in Tiller’s heart, and he squinted toward Nathan. He’d been a child when the older boys led him out of town by his soggy ear. For ten years, he’d stumbled along behind a ruthless gang, feeling lost and out of place—years spent away from his family that he could never get back.

  Tiller appreciated what Nathan tried to do for him in the barn, but it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know if anything ever could be. He felt as if a fog had lifted in his head. Otis, Mariah, and the inn had awakened him from a bad dream, and he wasn’t about to roll over and go back to sleep.

  Lantern light glinted off the knife in Tiller’s hand. His searing gaze jumped to Hade, snoring under the tree with Mariah’s coins tucked inside his makeshift pillow.

  Planted by impatience, watered by desperation, the idea grew, slipping into Tiller’s head the way sap oozed from greening bark. He saw no reason to wait any longer.

  Fighting tears, Mariah slung eggshells at the sink. Scrambled eggs, his favorite food, reminded her of Tiller. The cream she poured into the eggs he liked stirred into his coffee. Coffee summoned memories of sipping cups together at the breakfast table. The table brought to mind their Dr. Busby games.

  How could she forget Tiller McRae when he’d invaded every corner of her life?

  Miserable, Mariah’s heart lifted to Miss Vee’s room. She longed to race up the stairs and knock on her door, but she’d find no comfort there.

  Why hadn’t she realized how much she loved Miss Vee? She only prayed she hadn’t lost her for good. Life would be unbearable if Miss Vee left the inn. The loss would be like losing a mother all over again.

  "Little missy?"

  She glanced around.

  Otis stood behind her wearing the stiff gray shirt and baggy trousers he wore when they first carried him to her door. He’d slicked back his hair and shined up his boots, as well.

  "Otis." She blinked at him. "You’re dressed."

  He grinned. "Well, not quite, thanks to you and Miss Vee. I can’t seem to fasten the top button of my drawers, and I don’t even need my suspenders."

  She hid a smile behind her hand. "I was about to ask if you were ready for your breakfast."

  He patted his bulging stomach. "Well, sure. It may be big, but it’s empty this morning."

  She nodded at the table. "Have a seat. It’s almost ready."

  He swung into a chair and glanced around. "Your uncle ain’t left yet to go hunt Tiller, has he?"

  Mariah glanced up. "How did you know he was going?"

  "It don’t take much figuring to know a man like Joe will go after those men."

  She went back to stirring her eggs. "I’m about to wake him. He’s eager to get on the road."

  "That makes two of us."

  Laying aside her ladle, Mariah turned. "You can’t go. You’re not strong enough."

  The banister creaked, jolting her heart. She prayed to see Miss Vee lumbering down to slip on her apron and help with breakfast as she did every morning, her threats to leave forgotten.

  Uncle Joe’s heavy footsteps descended instead.

  Otis lifted his head. "I’m going with you, Joe."

  Her uncle smoothed back his hair and tied it with a leather strap then crossed to the coffeepot. "I don’t think you can keep up, Otis. We’ll be riding hard."

  "I’ll keep up. I’m stronger than I look."

  Uncle Joe poured his coffee and stirred in a cube of sugar. "Why do you want to go?"

  Otis swung around in his chair. "I’ve been mulling over the day I first ran into Tiller on the Trace. The day they took my money and busted my head." He glanced at Mariah. "When Tiller told me he had a wife, he was outright lying."

  She gave her head a little shake. "Why would he lie about a thing like that?"

  Otis tapped his nose. "Tiller was the bait, you see. Those ruffians used his boyish face and winsome ways to lure folks. Then they’d swoop in and skin their prey." He nodded. "The story Tiller told me that day he made up on the fly. He meant to sidetrack me, get me feeling sorry for him, and take my mind off the danger." He chuckled. "It worked, too."

  Hope surged in Mariah’s heart, but her anger squashed it. She slid a plate of food in front of both men and pulled out the opposite chair. "If it’s true, it’s still a crime. And a terrible thing to do."

  Otis leaned across the table and peered into her eyes. "You’re right, honey. It don’t sound like the man we know, does it?"

  Mariah bit her bottom lip and shook her head. "Not at all."

  He touched her hand. "Why do you reckon Tiller came here in the first place, snuggling in and making himself at home?"

  She’d never once asked herself that question. "I … don’t know."

  "He was running from those men because a life of pure meanery and shecoonery never set right in his heart. Tiller rode away and left me that day for the same reason. He’s not the kind of man to take part in what happened next."

  "He did have a part in it," Uncle Joe said. "He set you up to be fleeced."

  Otis stared at his breakfast. "I’m not excusing him for that. He was guilty as sin." He glanced between them. "But Tiller brought that sin to the cross."

  Silence settled over the table.

  "It’s the truth," Otis said. "Yesterday, he knelt at my feet and sobbed his heart out to God. He got up a brand-new man." He reached for Mariah’s hand. "Little missy, Tiller came here for a fresh start, and now he’s had a true change of heart."

  "Then why’d he run?" Uncle Joe growled.

  Otis scratched his head. "I ain’t figured that part out yet. That’s why I intend to ride along, Joe. I mean to ask young Tiller myself." He squeezed Mariah’s fingers. "There are two things I know for sure. One, Tiller didn’t go willingly, and two, he loves you, honey."

  Mariah got up and faced the counter, her napkin pressed to her mouth. "Then why didn’t he tell me about his past? Why did he keep secrets from me?"

  Otis cleared his throat. "I seem to remember another secret." His quiet voice soothed and convicted her at the same time. "Did you share all yours with him?"

  Dicey swept through
the back door, her high-pitched voice shattering the stillness like busted glass. "Sorry I’s late. It ain’t my fault. That tomfool Rainy ain’t been on time one day in his life." Unaware of the strain in the room, she snatched her apron off the hook and set to washing the dishes.

  Mariah wiped her eyes and brought another serving of eggs to Uncle Joe. She held the ladle suspended over his plate when Rainy ducked in the back door.

  "Missy Bell?"

  She glanced up.

  "When Mista’ Tilla’ be back? We s’posed to build fences this mornin’."

  She swallowed hard. "You’d best go on and start without him."

  He frowned. "Yes’m."

  As he ducked out of sight, a thought niggled at Mariah’s mind. "Rainy, wait," she called.

  He poked his head in again.

  "How did you know Tiller’s not here?"

  Rainy, pointed. "Well, there’s you and Mr. Joe. Mr. Otis and Miss Vee don’t get on no horse." He grinned. "Somebody ridin’ Sheki, so it got to be Mista’ Tilla’."

  Mariah dropped the ladle with a clatter, and Uncle Joe lurched up from his chair.

  It felt like Rainy punched her in the stomach. She had to suck air before she could speak. "Sheki’s gone?" It came out a croak.

  The boy’s eyes rounded. "Y–yes’m. Horse, bridle, and saddle."

  Mariah shook her head at Uncle Joe. "He wouldn’t take Sheki."

  Uncle Joe slammed his fisted napkin to the table. "Well, he did," he roared.

  Dicey screamed and dropped a plate with a crash.

  Rainy made himself scarce.

  The trembling in Mariah’s chest flamed into rage. Of all the betrayals, this one stung the worst. Tiller knew what Sheki meant to her. His actions stank with bold assumption, the cocky action of a man with no conscience and no capacity for love.

  In that moment, her heart closed on him and turned a lock. From here on, any reminders of Tiller McRae would taste of bitter swill.

  Otis half stood, his eyes pleading. "Now, little missy … don’t jump to conclusions."

  Her hand shot up. "Don’t you dare defend him. If Tiller took Sheki, he can’t be who we thought he was." She turned to Uncle Joe. "I don’t care about the money. Just find my horse."