by Jodi Thomas
Bethanie jumped as a noise rumbled from her aunt’s room above the kitchen. Hurriedly, she cradled the bundle of clothes to her chest and darted for the front lobby in hope of avoiding any further encounters with her aunt or uncle. The last thing she wanted was for them to discover her plan to leave.
Halfway across the lobby, Bethanie froze in mid-step as the office door creaked open. Her uncle must have come downstairs and, like her, hadn’t bothered to turn up the lights. Bethanie watched his face shine in the yellow glow through the windows. Wilbur’s fat lips spread across dingy teeth into an ugly greeting. Bethanie could tell by his stance that he’d been drinking.
“Well, Bethanie,” Wilbur slurred the words. Alcohol had loosened his bottom lip making the wet pink mass unmanageable. “Did you come down to say good night to your dear old uncle?”
“No,” Bethanie answered, slowly easing her way past him. “I had to finish some laundry.”
“About that, girl…” He staggered toward her as he spoke. “After tomorrow, I don’t think you’ll have to earn extra money.”
Wilbur stood only a few inches from Bethanie in the shadow between windows. “After tomorrow,” he repeated in a hoarsely whispered promise. She could feel his foul breath against her cheek. “I think I have another idea about how you can earn your keep.” His short, fat finger danced in front of her face almost hitting her nose.
Bethanie leaned back in horror. She didn’t want to ignite his temper for fear of awakening the entire household. When he was drunk, he could be as hard to handle as greased liver. She’d even seen Martha back away from a confrontation. “Good night, Uncle,” Bethanie managed to say with as much resolution as she could muster.
Wilbur’s hand reached and encircled Bethanie’s neck, startling her with his swift action. His porky fingers closed around her slender throat like a vise. He pulled her toward him, seemingly unmindful that he was choking her. “How about a little sample of your future work?” he groaned just before his huge mouth covered half her face.
Bethanie was suddenly suffocating in the fleshiness of his features. As she struggled to free herself, his fingers closed tighter around her neck, bruising their imprints into her skin. Bethanie fought for her very life. Lack of air was rapidly drawing her world closed around her. Her one free fist struck endlessly against his chest with seemingly no effect.
A door opened somewhere upstairs; an instant later Martha’s sharp voice sounded. “Wilbur, did you find that letter?”
Wilbur’s face moved away from Bethanie with a frustrated growl. He released her throat and let his hand drag down the front of her dress as she gulped for air. “Comin’,” he yelled toward the stairs.
Bethanie could hear Martha’s steps retreating. She knew if she screamed, Martha would come downstairs. She also knew that Martha would find a way to blame everything on her. There was no telling what her aunt might do to her. Bethanie had to see that nothing came between her and freedom at dawn.
Wilbur leaned closer and whispered, “We’re goin’ to have fun. I’ll have no trouble from you; I’ll bet on that. If you want to be walking tomorrow, girl, you’d better not mention this to anyone.” His laughter made a hissing sound between his teeth. “Not that anyone would help you.”
His fingers pulled at the buttons running down the front of her dress as his sour breath heaved in nauseating waves across her face. “You’re lucky. I could just tie you to the storage-room floor and have my fun any time, but I need someone to cook and clean, so I’ll let you have the run of the place as long as you behave yourself.”
Bethanie stood frozen in disbelief, her fists clenched tightly inside the folds of her bundle of clothes. She tried closing her eyes to make him go away, afraid to speak and provoke him further. Just a few more hours and she would be away, forever free of him.
His lips spread in a predatory smile. “Your time is long past comin’, girl.” He moved his hand across her chest and pulled at her blouse. One fat arm slid around her waist pinning her to him, as he continued to finger her clothing. The buttons seemed to defy him as Bethanie struggled. She fought to keep from crying out as anger and fear danced frantically atop the adrenalin in her veins.
In drunken frustration, Wilbur cursed Bethanie and her clothing as he pulled her into the spans of his stomach. Bethanie freed one arm as he ripped her blouse open, sending buttons flying in the darkness. He shoved his fingers between her dress and camisole until his hand covered the thin material over her breast. “Slim you may be, but ready to pick.” He squeezed her breast painfully until her wild fighting stopped.
“That’s better, girl.” He whispered as he loosened his grip and began to rub her nipple cruelly with the palm of his hand, forcing her breast first one direction then another. “You may be still now, but I can see the fire in them green eyes of yours. You’ll be full of spunk.”
Bethanie’s breathing was irregular with fright. If she moved an inch to escape, his fingers closed over her soft mound with sadistic force. When she gasped to keep from crying out, she could feel Wilbur chuckle with delight. As she stood suffocating in pain and fear, he once more began his cruel circular movements over her tender flesh. His hot breath brushed her neck as he laughed and lowered his mouth to the soft flesh at her shoulder. His hot, stubbly face was like a slimy creature gnawing at her. Bethanie wanted to scream as he buried his teeth and began to suck her blood to the surface, but no sound would leave her lips.
Slobbering on her skin, he whispered, “We gonna’ have some fun in a few hours. You best remember somethin’, I could kill you and there ain’t no one in this town who’d notice. Besides,” he bit at her flesh painfully, “you might even start to enjoy it.” His fingers began to pull at her camisole as he explained his long-awaited plans for her in detail.
Wilbur released his grip instantly at the sound of a door opening upstairs. He cursed the interruption as they heard footsteps. His hot palm slid off the thin material covering her breast and pushed her a few inches from him, as if he were discarding trash.
As Martha’s form appeared on the landing, Bethanie broke free and ran back into the kitchen. She pulled her dress together and slipped behind the door, gulping each breath. She could hear Wilbur’s heavy steps ascending the front stairs and Martha bickering. Bethanie waited until all was quiet before darting silently out back into the cool night air. For several minutes she stood drinking in the calm of the night. Then she began to sob, low, uncontrollable cries of pain.
As her tears subsided, Bethanie crawled beneath the hotel’s wooden steps like a frightened animal in hiding. Here in the dirt she felt safe. She had always hated being in darkness, but now the night covered her pain. Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks as she stared into the blackness around her. She had no doubt about what her uncle planned for her if she didn’t get away before dawn. His vulgar description echoed in her ears making her flesh crawl. She bit her lip until she tasted blood as she fought for control.
From the rooms above Bethanie, voices drifted out an open window. “Did you bring the letter?” Martha’s impatient words sounded.
“Sure,” Wilbur answered, “But I don’t see why it’s so important.”
“Simple, you drunken old fool,” Martha condemned. “Do you think Bethanie would stay here if she knew her father was alive? The letter must be destroyed tonight. Once I’m gone, you’ll stay drunk and Bethanie will have the run of the place. No matter where we put the letter there’s a chance she might find it.”
“But he ain’t no father to her, anyway. Runnin’ out on her mother like that,” Wilbur slurred self-righteously, as if he were a good example.
Bethanie could hear them moving about their room. “There, the letter’s burned along with my link with Bethanie’s father. Now she can stay here and help out. She’s better off than with some old seaman anyway.”
The voices lowered into mumbles as her aunt and uncle retired for a few hours’ sleep. Bethanie cradled her knees to her chest, deep in thought. She knew littl
e about her father. The news that he was alive was not surprising, for her mother had never spoken of him as if he were dead. The knowledge that he was looking for her was shocking, but Bethanie saw the news as one more reason to leave. She didn’t care about a letter. Any man who would leave her mother wasn’t worth finding. She’d seen the pain in her mother’s face each time she’d asked questions. Somehow the answers were never important enough to invoke the sadness in her mother’s eyes.
Bethanie knew her mother, Mary, had left home at fifteen after her parents’ deaths to join a religious group of nearby Shakers. They were a kind, loving people who taught her a great deal about cooking and nursing. The Shakers believed men and women were equal, so when her mother showed an interest in working with animals they encouraged her. Shakers value three virtues: celibacy, industry, and cleanliness. Mary met Mariah, Bethanie’s father, when she was twenty. She told Bethanie once that she thought his name was music to say. Mary and Mariah often talked, but even though the Shakers believed men and women equal, they were not allowed to work together. He had been an orphan from birth, and the Shakers had kindly taken him in. They named him after the ship that brought the original Brothers and Sisters to America. Once, her mother had said that he was a tall man, three years her senior, with dark red hair.
Mary never blamed Mariah. When Bethanie was born, they left the Shakers. Before three winters had passed, Mariah left his wife and child, never to return. Mary wouldn’t rejoin the Shakers, yet she kept their ways all her life. After several moves, Mary settled in as a cook on a small horse ranch. Here, with few people around, she found the only peace she’d ever known.
Tears rolled down Bethanie’s cheeks in the darkness. She wanted so much to curl up in her mother’s lap and let her brush away all the sadness. But her mother was dead. There was no one but herself to rely on.
Bethanie rubbed her bruised neck, remembering Wilbur’s grip. His stubby whiskers had cut her face with their roughness. In the past six months he and Martha had chipped away all her faith in mankind. In a cramped corner under the porch, Bethanie allowed her belief in people to crumble. Sometime after midnight, she came to one firm conclusion. If she were to survive, she must rely only on herself, no one else. There in the darkness the meek, trusting child died within her. The bruises on her neck would fade in a few days, but the scars on her heart would remain. A steel will to survive forged within her. She was not like her parents. She would not give up. She vowed to fight and survive. She’d go somewhere, anywhere, and make it on her own.
An hour before dawn, Josh waited behind the hotel holding three horses. He watched Bethanie step from the back door and move toward him as a single lantern splattered pathetic light. She was dressed in pants, as he’d instructed, with a baggy plaid shirt tucked around her small waist. She carried an old, half-filled saddlebag at her side. Her hair was bound into a tight bun at the back of her neck. The harsh clothing did little to hide her gentle womanly grace. Fascinated, Josh studied her as she moved toward him, wondering what her life had been this past year since the war. Judging from what he had seen, her road had not been easy.
“You’re on time,” Josh stated simply as he handed her the reins to one of the horses. “I brought you a jacket and hat.” He didn’t bother to tell her they were his own. “We’d best cover up that hair of yours if you want to get out of town unnoticed.”
“Thanks.” Bethanie pulled the hat on and slipped on the jacket he offered.
As Josh strapped on her saddlebag, he commented, “You sure pack light for a girl.”
“I have little,” Bethanie stated flatly as she stepped one foot into the stirrup.
Josh moved behind her, his hands encircling her waist to help her into the saddle. With sudden, unexpected violence, Bethanie jerked free. Josh couldn’t believe the flash of hatred that reflected in her eyes as she turned to face him.
Her words were low and sharp. “One thing we’d better straighten out now, Mister Weston. We made a deal to get me out of here, but no more. I don’t care what your business with my uncle was, but it is vital you understand. You are never to touch me.” Her voice was only a whisper, yet Josh could hear the steel in her tone. “If you can’t honor that, I’d rather strike out on my own. I won’t be handled by any man.”
Josh backed off a step, idly twisting the ring which had belonged to Bethanie’s grandfather. Any anger he might have felt at her unjustified criticism was overshadowed by curiosity as to the cause of her strong reaction. He held up his hands in surrender. “Bethanie, if that’s your wish, I’ll respect it. I had no intention of harming you, only to help you up.” Even in the dim yellow light, he could see her fiery green eyes challenging him, questioning his word.
“I need no help.” Bethanie spoke the words with a newfound bitterness. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
Josh could see she was nearly at a breaking point. He watched as she pulled herself into the saddle with the easy motion of one accustomed to riding. He wanted to say something, anything, to reassure her, but knew she wouldn’t believe him. If he wanted her trust, he must earn it.
Josh turned as he heard Dusty approaching with the other horses. The boy was whistling in high spirits. Josh smiled to himself. Dusty reminded him of his brother. Ben would have loved going on an adventure like this when he was Dusty’s age. Josh had a feeling that if he could get Dusty to the ranch, he and Ben would hit it off.
“Dusty, tie the ladies’ horses up over there. I want you two to ride on ahead.” Josh pointed to Bethanie as he gave the order. “When you reach the edge of town, wait for us there.”
“You bet,” Dusty answered. He was too young to question the logic of this action. He signaled to Bethanie, and they rode into the shadows.
Josh stood for several minutes staring after them. The girl intrigued him even more this morning than she had last night. He wondered what had happened in the past few hours that had made her so bitter. One thing he knew, the open country would be safer for her than here with that lusting old goat of an uncle. Josh wished there were some way to ease her pain. For the first time in his life, he had the urge to take a woman in his arms and just hold her. Bethanie had made it plain that was the very thing she didn’t want.
A muffled step sounded in the alley. Josh’s hand rested lightly on his gun handle as he searched the shadows.
Michael, completely covered by his brown robes, walked out of the darkness. “Jumpy this morning, my son.” Michael joked, “Where are the ladies?”
“They should be down in a few minutes,” Josh answered. “There’s only two. I’ll explain later.” He slapped Mike on the shoulder. “And stop calling me son. I can’t believe you’d fool many people with these robes.”
“Fine, my son.” Mike ignored Josh’s command. “Did you bring my rifle?” Mike lifted his robes and checked the Colt strapped to his leg.
“Sure.” Josh laughed at the comical sight his friend made.
Mike replaced his robe and folded his hands in an appropriate priestly gesture. “Laugh now, while you’ve got the chance, for I plan on sheddin’ this blanket as soon as I get out of town.”
“No, I think you should play along for a few days. Maybe even until we get the ladies dropped off. The wife might drop one of the names we’re looking for, if she thinks we’re harmless.” Josh pitched a rifle to Mike.
Mike caught the weapon with the ease of a trained juggler. “Anything you say. I’d wear this getup for a month to know who’s planning Wilbur’s meeting. I’ve watched him for a week and, Josh, you may be right about him. I don’t think he’s got the brains to ramrod an operation that would control the cattle industry.”
Josh nodded. He had talked with Wilbur once too often to believe the man had any intelligence. “We’ll talk it over with Ben when we get to the ranch.”
The back door to the hotel opened wide and Wilbur stormed out. He seemed irritated by the bundles he carried and quickly pushed them toward Josh. Taking the load, Josh groaned. He should hav
e guessed Bethanie’s aunt and cousin couldn’t pack as lightly as she had.
Wilbur turned his bloodshot eyes from Josh to Mike. “Who’s this?” he blurted out as he waved a porky finger toward Mike.
“Wilbur Brewer, may I introduce Father Michael. He will be riding with us as far as the mission near Fort Worth,” Josh answered, noticing Wilbur’s sudden smile.
Wilbur pumped Mike’s hand as he grinned. He was obviously delighted a priest was accompanying his wife and daughter. “Glad you’re goin’ along, Father,” Wilbur said. “You’ll have to excuse me this morning, I’m feelin’ poorly, plus the girl who works here is hiding out somewhere. But no great worry, I’ll find her.”
Josh could see impatient lust in Wilbur’s eyes. The old man was probably thinking of what fun he was going to have. Josh smiled to himself, knowing he was spoiling Wilbur’s plans.
In a flurry of chatter, the women joined the men outside. Josh made the necessary introductions. Wilbur grunted a good-bye and disappeared back into the hotel, leaving Josh and Mike to help the women mount their horses. Being with these women was like listening to an off-key melody, Josh thought. Martha was sharp and treated everyone like a servant except Allison, whom she treated as a child. Josh gritted his teeth as Allison complained for the second time before they were out of sight of the hotel. He seriously considered making a mad run for it.
As the sun edged over the horizon, Josh and his small band spotted Dusty and Bethanie. Josh rode a length ahead of the others, thankful Mike seemed content to ride with the chattery women. He studied the rolling countryside now green with spring. In a few months the hot sun would bleach the colors into muted hues of brown. Compared to the rich blue-greens of Ohio, where he had met Bethanie and her mother, the pale color of this country seemed thinned by too much water in the paints. To his way of thinking, Bethanie and Allison could be compared in the same way. Bethanie with her vivid coloring made Allison seem washed out, lifeless.
