by Holly Kelly
“Thank you so much,” Hope said. “You’ve been a true angel.”
Rebekah shook her head. “It’s no trouble, really. And if you can teach half as good as Mr. Henry brags, I will be thanking you for teaching my little one in a few years.” She patted her bulging stomach.
“I will look forward to it.” Hope smiled, hoping she’d be there that long. But with Eli and the law after her, she could not count on it.
Hope made several trips back and forth from the carriage to the house. She unloaded her belongings, food, a cast-iron cauldron, dishes, and a broom—most of the items supplied by Rebekah.
“I will see you for dinner on Sunday,” Rebekah said.
Hope nodded. “Thank you for everything.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Rebekah climbed into the carriage, and a moment later Hope was alone.
She turned back to the cabin and sighed. “Well, you are not going to clean yourself.”
With that said, she got to work. Opening the shutters, she was able to properly see to sweep out the dirt and leaves, clean out the cupboards, beat out the bedding, and sift through all the clutter left behind by the last tenant. There wasn’t much of use, other than another very large cauldron, some dried herbs, and various wooden dishes. Luckily, there was a well brimming with water behind the building and a basin large enough to bathe in nearby. She’d definitely make good use of those.
She got to work on cleaning out the dishes. She’d need to get dinner started soon if she wanted to eat before nightfall. She had to get a full night’s sleep. Tomorrow she was meeting with the mayor to apply for the job. Rebekah said it was a blessing for the town that she’d shown up at just the right time, but Hope had learned not to take anything for granted. There were many that did not think much of female teachers.
Several hours later, she lay down in her bed. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She hated starting over. She’d done it years before, but at that time she was escaping a wicked husband. This time she was escaping a death sentence.
She’d nearly forgot!
Slipping out of bed, she dropped to her knees and offered a prayer. She needed God now more than ever.
Climbing back into bed, her heart took a leap when she heard a moan. Was there someone about? She sat up. The embers cast a red glow about the room, which was obviously empty. She got out of bed and padded over to the door. Pressing her ear against the wood, she listened closely. The wind howled outside, the rustling of the leaves in the trees hissed, and the shutters shook against their latches, but she could not catch the sound of a moan again. Perhaps it was the wind.
Her heart calmed. It had to be.
She climbed back into bed and closed her eyes. The pitter-patter of rain began, and she worried for a moment that the roof might leak. No, there were no signs of water damage. The door was latched, as were all the shutters. She should be safe from the storm.
The rain continued to knock against the roof, lulling her to sleep.
* * * * *
Hope’s eyes shot open, trying to pierce the complete darkness in the room. Something had awoken her and had her heart pounding.
“Hello?” said a deep voice from somewhere inside.
Her hands slapped over her mouth as she muffed a cry. The pounding of her chest drowned out the sounds of the rain. Should she answer the voice? Perhaps she—
“Is someone there?” he spoke again.
The tone did not sound threatening. It seemed to be inside the room, but that was impossible. The occasional flash of lightening lit up the room enough to know she was alone. Was the voice coming from outside? Perhaps someone was lost in the storm and seeking shelter.
She stepped over to the door and unlatched it. It flung inward, and she had to push against it. Wind rushed through the opening, bringing a splattering of rain through the doorway. Peering around the door, she searched for a visitor.
In the light of another lightning flash, she could see the tangle of brush growing outside, but there did not seem to be anyone about. She wrestled the door closed again and put down the latch.
“Now I know I heard someone,” the voice said, anger lacing his words.
Hope’s heart took off in a sprint. She wandered the room in search of the man behind the voice. Finally, she decided to answer him.
“I am Hope,” she said, her voice quaking. “I live here now.”
“Well, Hope. May I welcome you to my hell on earth.”
Her heart pounded once again. “Are you Satan?” she breathed in horror.
“I have no idea who that is, but if you don’t release me soon, I am going to make it my life’s mission to make your life a living hell.”
“How can you know what hell is and not know who Satan is?”
“Are you going to release me or continue to ask pointless questions?”
“For someone who needs help, you are not very solicitous.”
“I have been trapped under the floorboards of this accursed cabin for—many years. I don’t have the patience to be kind, or polite. I want to get out so I can strip the flesh from the bones of the witch that put me here.”
“You say a witch put you there? You’ve been under the floorboards for years? But how did you eat and drink? How have you stayed alive under there for years? Or, are you still alive? Am I talking to a ghost?”
“You are full of questions, are you not ?” he said, the words ringing with familiarity. Had she met him before?
“No,” he continued, “I am not a ghost. Open up the trapdoor and you’ll see who I am.”
“Trapdoor?”
“Under the bed.”
Hope stepped over to the dining table and snatched a candle. She went to the fireplace and pressed the wick against the still-glowing ember. In a few seconds, the room lit up with its flickering flame. Setting it down on the bedside table, she then dragged the bed away from the wall and searched for the door he was talking about.
And there it was. She hadn’t noticed it before. It blended into the floor. Hope shook her head. It was such a small door, about a foot square. How could a full-grown man fit into that? Perhaps he was one of those small men she’d seen in the medical journals. But no, the books said they had the same width as a typical man, but diminished height.
“Are you sure you are not dead?” Hope asked, her heard pounding. She really did not want to open that trap door. She had a feeling when she did, her fears would be realized, and she would find the bones of the man she was talking to.
“I am sure, now get me out of here!”
“No need to shout at me.”
She wedged her fingers in between the boards and lifted. She could not make out what was down the dark hole. Reaching for the candle, she moved it over the opening. The eyes of a man squinted at the light as a spider scurried across his face.
“Oh, my dear Maker,” she exclaimed, leaning back. Her breaths came out in gasps as her heart pounded out of her chest. She leaned forward and confirmed the fact she hadn’t been seeing things. There really was a man lying reposed in a hole in the floor. “How do I get you out of there?”
“You lift me out.”
“But . . .” she hesitated. Perhaps the man was daft. Lying trapped there had to wreak havoc on a man’s sanity.
“Just do it,” he said in clipped tones. “But, don’t drop me.”
“I cannot lift a full-grown man.”
“I am much lighter than I used to be.”
“You don’t seem to understand. The only part of you that would fit through this hole is your head.”
“I am aware of that, and I am afraid that is all there is of me.”
“What?” she said, her voice strained. And then a thought occurred to her and she blew out a quick breath. “I am dreaming!” She went over to her bed and sat down, shaking her head. “Of course, I am dreaming.” She smiled. “All of this is so impossible, I am surprised I did not think of it before.”
“Hope,” he said. “You are not dreaming.”
; She turned to him in surprise. “You know my name?” She shrugged. “Of course, you do. I know my name, and you are a product of my imagination.”
“I know because you just told me. Besides, we’ve met before.”
“We have?” She got up and sat down next to the hole.
“Years ago, I saved you from the man with an evil mind and wicked intentions.”
“It’s you,” she breathed. “I have dreamed of you before.”
“You have?”
“Yes, but you were never just a head before. And most of the dreams were shameful.”
“Shameful? How so?”
Hope shook her head. “I will not talk about it.”
“Oh, come now. This is only a dream, isn’t it? Who will know?”
She pressed her lips together and sighed. “We were . . .” she hesitated.
“Yes?”
“Kissing.”
“That is all? Nothing more?”
“With open mouths,” Hope whispered. She glanced around as if fearful someone might hear her confession. Her face heated in embarrassment.
“That is the best way to kiss.”
“Calm your wicked thoughts, Mr. Jones.”
“Who is Mr. Jones?” he said, surprised.
“Why, you are. At least that is what you’ve always called yourself.”
“In your dreams, right,” he snickered. “But we’ve never gone beyond kissing?”
“Of course not. What kind of woman do you take me for?”
“Not the kind I would usually seduce. Your looks are appealing enough, but you are missing the most pleasurable act of all.”
“Oh now, just you stop right there. I know where your thoughts are going. That is something that should only be done between husband and wife to procreate children.”
“So, you think that couples should only have sex when they want to make babies?”
“Yes.”
“I am guessing you are a virgin.”
“You guessed properly.”
“Oh, the things I could teach you.”
“Well, you are just a head, are you not? From what I have studied in medical journals, you’ll need more of your body parts to accomplish your lessons.”
His countenance darkened. “I intend to get my body back from that witch. And you will help me.”
“I will?”
“Yes.”
Hope shook her head. “You’ll be gone when I wake from this dream.”
“Don’t I wish,” he mumbled and then spoke louder. “Until then, can you please get me out of here?”
“Oh, all right. Just hold your horses.” Hope leaned forward. She cringed as she wrapped her fingers around the back of his head, her fingers weaving into his matted hair as she lifted. His head felt heavier than it looked, but it came out of the hole easily.
“Now, careful,” he said, startling her into almost dropping him.
“Shh!” she hissed. “This is unsettling enough without you talking.”
For the first time, she got a good look at his head. It was severed cleanly above the shoulders. She could clearly see the openings of his esophagus and trachea. She could also see his vertebra and muscles—still fresh and pink.
“You know it’s rude to stare at one’s insides.” His voice startled her once again.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. She turned her attention to the task of finding a place to put him. She should have prepared something beforehand.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked. “That bed looks plenty comfortable to me.”
“You are not sleeping in my bed,” she said firmly.
“Where do you suggest?”
She looked him over. His hair was filthy and matted with dirt and cobwebs. She did not want him touching any of her clean linen. “You need a good scrubbing in a bath.”
“Believe me, I am well aware of that.”
“I could set you on the front step. The rain would wash away a lot of the filth.”
“You would not dare,” he hissed.
She chuckled, “No, I would not, but it’s a pleasant thought.” She carefully sat him down on the floor. His head rolled to the side.
“What in blazes are you doing? This is almost as uncomfortable as the hole in the floor.”
“I just need to set you down so I can prepare a bed for you.”
She located a wooden box, folded an extra blanket, and tucked it inside. “There. This should be comfortable enough.”
She retrieved his head and gently sat him in the box.
“Ah.” He closed his eyes and sighed happily. “You don’t know how good this feels. I have had a rock pressed into my skull for ages.”
“I am glad I could ease your discomfort,” she said. “Now, would you please not make another sound? I must speak to the mayor tomorrow about a teaching position. I need my sleep.”
She realized the absurdity of her words after she spoke them. After all, she was already asleep.
Chapter 8
Hope awoke to the sounds of birds chirping outside her windows. She stretched out the kinks as she yawned. Padding over to the nearest window, she unlatched and pushed the shutters open. The rain had abated and the glow of the sun brightened the sky. It looked to be about seven o’clock.
She had plenty of time before she needed to leave. Stepping over to her chest, she retrieved her terry towel and a bar of soap and then stepped out the door. She pulled eleven buckets of water from the well—one to clean out the basin and ten to fill it. Stripping out of her clothes, she climbed in the water and sat down. The water took her breath away and started her teeth chattering. She got to work quickly, building up a lather and scrubbing her body. When she was done, she dried, wrapped the towel around her, tipped the basin over, and gathered her dirty clothes.
She hummed a tune as she stepped back into the cabin. This place was so much better than the one room she’d lived in at the inn. With people constantly coming and going, there was little privacy and no good place to take a bath. She had to travel to a nearby river and wash in the sometimes-murky water. At this cabin, the water was crystal clear, she had an entire cabin to herself, and the woods surrounding her were so lovely.
Stepping over to her travel bag, she retrieved clean underclothes and her lavender gown. She had just begun to remove her towel when someone said, “Now that is a sight I could wake to every day.”
Hope gasped and pulled the towel tight across her body. Her wide eyes followed the voice and landed on two eyes straining to peer sideways at her from a wooden crate. At that sight, she did what any sane woman would do.
She screamed.
When she was done shrieking, she screeched, “You are a dream!”
The severed head smirked at her. “I have been told that before.”
She shook her head. “No, this cannot be happening.” She began to pace the floor. “I cannot lose my sanity now. I am supposed to teach children. I am to be a role model. How can I be a role model and be completely out of my mind?”
“Hey,” the voice said. She kept her eyes adverted and continued to pace.
“You are not supposed to be seen outside my dreams,” she continued. “I have truly lost it. I have most definitely, absolutely, gone mad!”
“Hey,” he shouted, his voice ringing her ears.
Hope froze but still refused to look at the head.
“I think there are some things we need to discuss,” he said. “Like how are you going to find my body and replace my head.”
Hope turned slowly to him and gave a hesitant nod. Then she strode out the front door and closed it behind her.
“How did this happen?” she asked herself. “I never knew insanity ran in my family. My father did not tell me a thing. I thought I was pragmatic, level-headed, and a pillar of mental strength.” Hope continued to talk to herself. Why shouldn’t she? She was already crazy, and this was what crazy people did, right?
“I am going to have to be committed,” she said. “Is there even an asylu
m nearby? And if there is, should I just show up and tell them I am insane? I will tell them what I have seen, and I am sure they would lock me up. But then, how would I hide from Eli?
“I know, I could use a new alias. He would never think to find me in an asylum.”
“Hope,” the voice shouted from inside the house. “Where in blazes did you go? Would you get your beautiful, nude self back here? We have important things to discuss.”
At his words, she looked down. Oh, dear heavens, she was still naked! She could not possibly show up at an asylum dressed only in a towel. But that would mean . . . She could feel the blood drain from her face. …she would have to go back in the cabin.
“Oh, no, no, no. I cannot go back in there. Please, let there be some other way.”
“Hope,” he roared. “Come . . . back . . . inside! If you even so much as think of leaving me here, when I get my body back, I will whip you from now until Sunday.”
At those words, something in her snapped. The image of Eli assaulting her, driving her into hiding—there was no way under heaven or earth she would allow another man to intimidate her again! If she were well and good crazed, she might as well do as she wished. With nothing else to lose, she stormed over to the door and threw it open, her fear turned to righteous anger. “No one lays a hand on me. Ever!”
“Brave words for a woman speaking to someone completely helpless,” he sneered. “But I warn you, with my body, I am a warrior the likes you’ve not seen. I have never been bested in battle, and I will darn well whip any woman I put my mind to whipping!”
“Whipping a woman is never a brave act,” Hope said. “A man who strikes a woman is a coward and a snake.”
“You use my own words against me,” he said. It looked like he remembered the day they met. He probably had a lot of time to think about it over the years. “I used those words for a man who would rape a woman. Whipping a woman who deserves it is a whole other affair. Sometimes a woman needs to be taught her place.”
“Taught her place?” Hope fairly screamed. “Did you say, ‘Taught her place?’”
“I did not stutter. You know exactly what I said.”
Hope stormed over to the box, took a fistful of hair, picked him up, and stomped over to the old chamber pot. Too bad it hadn’t been used lately. “I will teach you your place.” Without care, she chucked him inside. His roar and subsequent slew of profanity reverberated off the cabin walls. Hope ignored the vile man, draped an old cloth over the pot, and proceeded to get dressed. She could still hear him bellowing as she made her way down the path toward town.
