by Debra Samms
"Well, I sure don't care about no weddin', but I'll take a big slab of that cake. Let's go!"
Artie started to walk towards the Mercantile, where they could see the men and women coming out with pieces of cake, but then stopped. "Ain't you comin'?"
Hank only stood and stared morosely at the crowd. "I tried to talk him out of it. I guess if Red's blind enough to marry that old witch, that's his trouble to deal with."
Artie cocked his head. "Well, sure it is. What the hell do you care if Red marries one of these women, or any other woman?"
Hank glared at him. "Don't you see? If a man like Red Lyon – a man the rest of them look up to – can be swindled into marriage like that, the rest of us are gonna to be pushed into it, too. Whether we like it or not. Even with a hideous hag like her. And I don't like it. Not one bit."
"Well, I don't either, but I don't know what we can do about it. Unless the camp bosses want to hire only married men, we're safe. I sure don't see that happening. Come on, I want some of that cake!"
Hank gave in and started to follow Artie across the street. But just then, one of the other men stood up on a bench in front of the Mercantile and began talking to the crowd.
"All right! They're gone!" the man said, as the rest gathered around him to listen. "Here's what we're going to do. There's going to be a shivaree!"
A big shout went up from the crowd. "Shivaree!" they cried. "Shivaree!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Shivaree?" said Artie. "What's that?"
A slow smile spread across Hank's face. "You'll see," he said.
"That's what they get for refusing to kiss at their wedding breakfast!" said the man up on the bench. "We'll get them good. Everybody meet back here tonight at about seven! And bring something that makes noise!"
The crowd cheered again and then either went back to dancing or eating cake, though some began to drift off for their houses or their tents. "Hank? What's a shivaree?"
Hank grinned, but there was no amusement in it. "It's just a little fun some folks like to have on the wedding night of new-married folks. Get a crowd, like this one, to gather outside the house and make all kinds of noise – yell, shout, ring bells – anything that will disturb the proceedings, if you catch what I mean."
"Oh. Yeah. Hey, sounds like fun! I'll be there!"
"I will, too," said Hank. "But there's another side to this."
"Huh?"
"Listen to me." He grabbed Artie's arm and shoved him towards the path to the camp, walking where no one else would hear them.
"My mother's from the old country," Hank said, in a low voice. "She's told me stories about shivaree."
Artie shrugged. "Yeah, so? You said it was just a lot of noisemaking under the windows on the wedding night. Just some fun."
"Not always. In the old country, the people might shivaree a couple if they thought they never shoulda been married in the first place. Like a widow who marries again two weeks after her husband's dead."
"Oh."
"Or some witch who shoots her way in here and then cons a good man into marrying her." He snorted, and looked back over his shoulder. "I don't approve of that one little bit. And I'll bet plenty more of these other folks don't, either, if the truth was told."
***
A few hours after the wedding and reception were over, Maeve and Red sat together in their fine new cabin enjoying their first supper together as man and wife. There was a low fire in the hearth, and a pair of candles on the wooden table, and on their plates were generous servings of roast venison and potatoes and some boiled cabbage. There was even a little more wedding cake waiting on the sideboard near the stove, for dessert.
"Don't think I've ever had a finer and more peaceful moment in my life," said Maeve smiling. "Got my own home and my own man."
"And I've got a fine supper," added Red, carving himself another few slices of venison.
They finished eating in companionable silence, and then at last Red pushed his plate away. "That was good."
"Glad you liked it." Maeve pushed back her own plate. "Now, for tomorrow – you'll want the new gloves?"
His eyes flicked to her. "No. I don't like new gloves."
"Don't like new gloves? Don't you wear out plenty of gloves chopping down huge trees with an axe?"
"No new gloves."
"But – "
"Not unless the whole crew wears new gloves on the same day."
Maeve just looked at him. "That won't help your hands when they're blistered from worn-out gloves, as I know they are now. I'll get the new pair for you."
"No, you will not!" He was frankly glaring at her now.
She sighed. "Are new bootlaces all right, or are you too superstitious to wear those, too?"
He stood up and started for the door. "Maeve, I'm telling you – "
Suddenly he stopped. They both looked at each other as a huge sudden screaming and clamoring hit them from outside the cabin.
"What in the name of seven Norse gods is that?" cried Maeve, standing up.
Red got up and grabbed her by the arm, pushing her behind him. "I don't know. But they're shrieking like banshees."
"Like – what?"
But he couldn't answer her for the noise. Besides all the yelling and screaming, there was a rattling and clanging and banging as though whoever was yelling was also ringing bells and beating pots and pans and all sorts of metal tools together.
Then the people outside began chanting. "Come out! Come out! Come out!"
"They want us to come out?" said Maeve. "Not likely." She immediately went to the hearth and took down her trusted double-barrel shotgun from its pegs over the mantel.
"You get in the back room," said Red, taking his pistol down from the top of the mantel.
The pounding on the door continued. Maeve walked over to it. "Maeve! Stop! Get in the back room, like I told you!"
She stopped, and glared at him, but refused to move from her spot near the door. His face almost as fiery as his hair, Red yanked open the door.
"What the nine hells are you doing?" he roared.
The noise died down for just a moment, but then quickly started up again. "Shivaree! Shivaree!" they yelled. "Shivaree!"
Maeve could see that the folks in the crowd seemed happy and laughing. Apparently they were just playing some kind of wedding night joke on them. "What do you want?" she yelled, over Red's shoulder.
Red turned around and gave her a vicious glare, but she persisted. "What are all of you doing up here?" She raised her shotgun. "Better give me an answer."
"Give us something!" one of the crowd yelled back. "Give us something! Give us something!"
Red looked as baffled as she was.
"Food and drink! Food and drink!" the crowd yelled.
Maeve sighed. "All right. Red – I think there's more wedding cake down at the Mercantile. I'll go get it. You stay here and keep them busy. Be back as soon as I can."
Red was still furious, she could see, but judged he'd get past it soon enough once he saw she was right about handling this crowd. Maeve took her shotgun, walked into the back room, stepped out through the window and ran out into the night, bypassing the raucous crowd and making her way to the road below. She slung her shotgun over her shoulder as she went.
Maeve had nearly reached the Mercantile when strong rough hands grabbed her and dragged her into the shadows beside one of the buildings. There was some kind of burlap bag pulled over her head and a hand clapped tight over her mouth before she could even cry out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Artie yanked the burlap bag off of Maeve's head, and then drew back in surprise. "Even by moonlight, that's the ugliest bride I ever saw," he said, sounding baffled. "Even with a gag across her mouth. This can't be the right one!"
"It's the right one, all right," said Hank. "Tall, pale, ugly, and mean. You bet she's gagged and tied. She's the one who let go with two blasts of a shotgun right next to my head on the day they got here. I still can't hardly hear outta my
one ear."
Maeve tried to get up, but she found she was sitting against a large tree. The men must have carried her out of the town. There was nothing around except darkness and forest.
"My friend Red deserves better than to marry somebody like her," Hank went on. "And if she's out of the way, maybe he can get it."
Just then, Mike the Muleskinner walked up out of the night leading a small work mule by the halter on its head. "Okay, I brought him," he said, slapping the mule on the neck. "You said twenty bucks if I'd let you use a mule, right?"
"Right."
"Then let's go. I've got to get him back before anybody misses him. Come on."
The burlap bag went back on over Maeve's head. Then the three of them picked her up and threw her over the mule's slick back, with one of the men placing a firm hand on her shoulders to keep her from sliding off.
The mule started walking. Maeve could only wonder where they were going, and how long it would take to get there.
She had not recognized any of the men. That was not surprising, for there were nearly a thousand men in the Sawyerville encampment and she knew that some were away for days at a time working in different sections of the forest.
But these three sure kept talking as the mule paced along the road, even as Maeve struggled for breath as she lay across its back.
"What are you gonna tell Red?" asked Artie, the one who'd helped tie her up.
"Not gonna tell him anything," said Hank. "Why would I? Like everybody else, Red'll just figure she ran off rather than stay with him. Pretty soon he'll be damn glad she did."
"Yeah, but won't she tell him what happened when she gets back?" asked Artie.
"Who says she's gettin' back?" said Hank.
Maeve tried to raise her head, but could not. She realized they were right. Even if she did manage to escape, there was no use going back to Sawyerville only to find that her husband was just glad to be rid of her and didn't want her back at all.
***
After what seemed like an awfully long time spent lying across the back of that mule, the creature finally stopped. Maeve found herself pulled down from its back and then half-walked, half-dragged in the darkness across what seemed to be a large field covered with some kind of thick grass, or weeds, that caught at her booted feet.
She heard a cow bawling somewhere nearby. Then she was thrown down again – this time, thankfully, on what felt like a soft pile of hay.
"You just gonna leave her here?"
Maeve heard what sounded like the cocking of a pistol. "I shouldn't," growled one of them. "I should finish her off right here. Make sure this don't happen again."
"Hey! You can't do that! You ain't a murderer, are you? Come on. Just leave her here. It'll be a good long time before she gets back."
She heard a few footsteps that sounded like they were retreating. "Yeah. It'll be a while before anybody sees her. Or before she manages to find her way back. Plenty of time for Red to believe his awful wife has run away. And then nobody'll be pushing the rest of us to marry women like her."
"Okay, okay," said the other voice. "Let's just go. Mike the Muleskinner wants the twenty bucks you said you'd give him."
They sounded like they were leaving – and that was enough for Maeve. "Hey!" she screamed, but realized no one would be able to understand her through the gag and the burlap bag. "Let me go! Let me go!"
The footsteps came back. "You'd better untie me, mister, or else – "
Something struck her hard in the head.
CHAPTER NINE
Red Lyon walked through the woods in the dark towards the river, along with Sheriff William Strong and a few of the other loggers. Among them were "Beast" Bradley and George the Giant Ox. All of the men were feeling more and more angry the farther they went – but none more than Red.
"Tell me again what happened, Red," said the sheriff. "Maybe I missed something."
He sighed, but went through it again. "When those shivaree folks showed up, Maeve volunteered to go down to the Mercantile and get the cake. She hoped to bribe them into going away and leaving us alone. I wasn't happy about it, but I figured she'd be safe enough. She's smart about things and she was only going to the street below."
He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth in frustration. "I should have gone myself and left her locked up in the cabin."
"Anybody angry at her? Or at you?" asked Sheriff Strong.
Red sighed. "Hell, I don't know. Sometimes I'm mad at her myself, she's so strong-minded."
The sheriff was silent for a moment. The men continued through the woods until they reached the river, shining in the light of the waning full moon. They all knew that if anyone wanted to do someone harm, the fastest way would be to throw them into the river and let the current take them away to the ocean far to the west – if the logs didn't crush them first.
But so far, all they could see in the river were a few whitewater rapids and a lot of logs. And though they asked many of the men in the camp, none of them claimed to have seen or heard anything out of the ordinary.
Finally they all started back up the hillside towards the town. "Sorry to ask, Red, but I have to," asked Sheriff Strong. "Any chance she would have just left on her own? Gone to stay somewhere else?"
Red felt his anger rising again, but he stopped. "I just don't see it that way. Maeve's too proud to do that. Too strong. She'd tell me to my face she was done with me and then walk away with her head up. She wouldn't sneak off in the dead of night. No. Somebody took her. I'm sure of it."
***
Somewhere, birds were singing. And Maeve thought she heard a cow bawling – maybe several cows. There was the fresh smell of hay all around her. And the air was plenty warm, almost uncomfortably so.
The sun must be up. It was well into morning. She should get up and get started on her work. Red would be leaving for a day of work at the cut sites and she herself certainly had plenty to do around the new cabin.
Maeve managed to sit up. But even though she could see almost nothing through the burlap bag on her head, she knew was not inside the fine new cabin that her husband, Red, had built.
Then it all came rushing back. Three men had grabbed her and taken her away the night before. They'd objected to her marrying Red. And now here she was – wherever this was.
The first order of business was to get the bag off of her head. They hadn't tied it, so she was able to scrape it off against the hay and it fell off readily enough.
She sat up to find she was in a haybarn – a very large three-sided shed half-filled with loose stacks and small round bales of new hay. Maeve managed to stand, but she wasn't going to get far unless she could get her hands untied. And even then – there was no telling how far the men might have taken her.
She had no idea where she was.
Her wrists has swollen up from the tight ropes and she could hardly move her hands, much less get the ropes to slip. But they hadn't done as good a job with the gag. She was able to scrape that down against her shoulder and make it slip down to her neck.
And she could still walk. She got up and made her way out of the haybarn, blinking in the sunlight. It looked like a large field of thick clover – like the kind grown for hay – and yes, there were big black-and-white cows in the distance, over by a large barn –
She stopped. The fools had only taken her about a mile down the road to the west. This was the Cedar Ridge Dairy. She'd be back home in no time!
But then something else occurred to her. It had been hours since the men had dragged her away from Sawyerville. There was no sign that anyone had been out here on the road looking for her, and it would have been the easiest place to start.
Maybe her husband had no intention of looking for her. Maybe Red didn't even want to, after all the arguing and head-butting they'd done – even on the day of their wedding.
Maybe he'd just say she ran away and forget all about her . . . and then look around for a prettier and more biddable girl to marry. There were certai
nly plenty of them already in Sawyerville.
Maybe it was Red himself who'd put those men up to taking her away.
She stopped beside the fence where it ran alongside the road, and sank into the soft mounds of clover. She was truly alone. None of her friends were here to help her now, not even the most trusted of all – the double-barrel. And maybe they never would be.
***
In the rising sun, the search party stopped in the main street in front of the sheriff's office and tried to decide what to do next.
"Since we don't have any other leads," said Sheriff Strong, "I'm going to ask each one of you a question. If you wanted to take a woman out of this town and hide her away – not do her harm, just get her out of sight for a while as a shivaree prank on her husband – where would you go?"
He looked first at George Conyers, knows as George the Giant Ox. "George?"
But as always, George only looked away and remained as silent as a stone. A very large stone. He looked towards the river and then back at the sheriff again.
The sheriff nodded. "That's right. The river. I thought so, too, though there wasn't any trace. And all the men said they didn't see or hear anything."
George just nodded and remained facing the river.
"What about you, Bradley?" asked Sheriff Strong.
Bradley Fisher, known as "Beast" to the other loggers, looked off down the road to the east. "There ain't nothing much for a long, long way if you go east," he said. "If they took her a couple of miles on horseback and left her somewhere, maybe blindfolded, it could take her a long way to get back."
Red and the sheriff stared at him.
"And there are bears moving about this time of year. And cougars."
"Thank you." Sheriff Strong turned to Red. "What do you think?"
Red sighed. "If I wanted to hide a woman away for a little while – where she'd be fairly safe and have a little shelter and wouldn't be too far – I'd take her to that dairy farm."
