The Color of Ivy

by Peggy Ann Craig

  Curiosity had her sitting straighter. She watched the two Indians who sat stiffly on their horses, not moving or exchanging words. Silence seemed to fall all around. Not that there was much noise before either. It just seemed now it was an eerie quiet. Then, unexpectedly, a shot rang out. Ivy jumped, startled.

  The silence erupted into more shouts. This time, the yelling belonged to the Indians. Another blast from a shotgun. The Indians waiting quietly outside the shop, all of a sudden lunged forward on their horses, throwing rifles in the air and whooping loudly. Shotguns erupted, resounding off the buildings in the nearly deserted town. Fear made a swift return in Ivy.

  Oh God!

  She leaped to her feet only to cry out when the sudden pinch of the cuffs on her good ankle pulled her back. Frantic, Ivy dropped down and quickly worked at the pin holding the latch together. She had done this numerous times, but at that moment her fingers felt like rubber. More shouts from outside had her chin snapping up. The Indians were on some type of warpath.

  Turning her attention back to the handcuffs, she forced herself to concentrate. To breathe slowly. More gunshots had her instinctively flinching as if they were aimed at her. Her fingers worked faster.

  Move.

  Horse hooves drummed on the hard earth outside the church. They were coming. Her heart skipped several beats; while her palms sweat horribly making the release of the cuffs even more difficult.

  Please, God, I don’t want to die.

  Her gaze flew to the cross. It swayed, as if nodding. More than likely from the vibrations of the horses stampeding outside. But still confusion momentarily paused her fears. An Indian’s cry just outside the church had her head snapping back around. Then, with a small click, the cuff released her ankle.

  Her eyes darted around frantically. She had to hide. They were coming. Now.

  She spotted the trap door to the cellar and limped painfully toward it. Her good ankle twisted, unable to support her weight as she tried to move too quickly. She fell with a hard thud to the ground. Pulling herself up onto her knees, she crawled the rest of the way. She glanced over her shoulder toward the entrance, saw a shadow and with all her might, lifted the heavy trap door and dropped down into the darkness below. With a resounding thud, the hefty door slammed shut behind her.

  Then silence.

  She was kneeling on the small wooden staircase, holding her breath, listening to sounds up above. Footsteps pounded the wooden planks of the church floor. Ivy slipped the remainder of the way and slid behind the stairs to hide. Over her head, she heard Indians speaking in their own tongue. She held her breath, praying they did not see her slip into the cellar door. If they followed her, she had no weapon to protect herself.

  Her eyes dropped from being strained on the door above, to take in her surroundings. She realized only then the small confined quarters. Nausea immediately swelled in her stomach. A new panic began to rise. The urge to bolt, to get out of there had her clinging to the wooden stairs. Her life depended on her remaining exactly where she was.

  She stared into the blackness without blinking. Her imagination picturing all sorts of things lurking in the darkness. Horrible memories of a child being lowered into a cold, damp well as punishment, resurfaced. The fear of being forgotten and dying a slow death in that dark cavern still clung to Ivy’s conscious.

  It’s all in your head.

  She could almost hear Sam tell her. All right, she tried to calm herself. What had he said? What had he done to quell her fears? Think of something else. Yes, that was it. She tried desperately to force her thoughts away from the suffocating enclosure. But nothing would sustain. Until, finally she closed her eyes and pictured Sam.

  The tangle of his blond, stringy hair. His unshaven face. The hazel of his eyes. The dimples in his cheeks when he cracked the odd smile. How she wanted to see his smile again. Wanted to hear his voice. She drew in a huge breath and felt her body relax.

  Then the smell of smoke drifted down from the floor above. With a start, her eyes flew open. The Indians were burning the building. Had they seen her? Were they trying to smoke her out? Why? Oh God, she had heard so many horrible tales of Indians and their savage ways. She shivered in fright from the mere thought of what they would possibly do with a woman.

  More trembles racked her body. She moved away from the stairs and huddled further into the darkness. She did not want to die. Oh God, where was Sam?

  The realization she thought of him as her protector was startling. She could not afford to let those feelings in. He was not her protector. From the moment she met him, he made no secret his goal was to return her to Chicago. Dead or alive.

  She closed her eyes. An unbelievable feeling of loneliness swept over. She wished Moira was there with her now. As a frightened child, her sister’s soothing voice and comforting arms would calm all her fears. Ivy, however, had never been able to shelter her sister. She had failed her.

  Her eyes stung as the heat above penetrated the cellar. Her breathing grew heavy as the air slowly thinned into evaporation. She clutched her hands to her chest. For so long she had fought to stay alive. Had been through hell and survived. But fate was finally catching up to her. It was coming to claim what it had wanted so many years ago.

  * * *

  Sam rode the horse through the dense forest, fighting to keep protruding branches from slapping against him. The animal beneath him seemed oblivious to the scraping and clawing of the late autumn branches. Without doubt the harsh landscape was as familiar to the animal as was breathing and eating.

  The logging camp had only been able to sacrifice the one horse. Sam would have preferred two, but would take what he could get.

  The smell of something cooking reached his nostrils. Or rather the smell of a bonfire. But even that didn’t seem right. It had a funny smell to it. Reminded him of a time when he burned out a group of outlaws from a shack they were holding up in.

  In a flash, Sam’s chest dropped to his stomach.

  “Hyah!” He kicked the animal hard and tore through the forest, mindless of the branches slicing across his face.

  The burning smell grew heavier as he neared the village and panic grew like a huge lump in Sam’s chest. Along with another feeling he wasn’t sure he was ready yet to recognize.

  He broke through the clearing where the village sat in the middle of the bush and pulled his horse to a stop in utter horror. The church was on fire.

  Giving the animal a harsh kick he sped toward the building at a thundering pace. As he reached the building, he didn’t even wait for the animal to stop as he jumped off its back and flew up the stairs and into the burning building. Heedless of the fiery flames, he threw an arm over his mouth and ducked his head before running inside. He headed straight for the pew where he had left Ivy.

  For this one time, he hoped she had indeed escaped and was nowhere near the church. Reaching the empty pew, he released a sigh of relief at the unoccupied cuffs sitting on the floor. Snatching them up, he turned and ran back outside. There was no sign of life. Not a sole was around. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out her name.

  Nothing.

  He ran over to the shop and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the shopkeeper lying in a pool of his own blood. Hell, his instincts had been right. Questions rolled through his head, but he brushed them aside. He needed to find Ivy.

  Running back outside, he called her name again. There were a few more buildings further down, so he headed in that direction. Nothing. They sat empty. That feeling he had not wanted to recognize earlier, screamed at him now, demanding to be acknowledged. A huge lump grew in his throat.

  Where the hell was she?

  His thoughts immediately went to the Indians. He didn’t doubt they had something to do with this. Proof was the burning of the church. A symbol of their renouncement of the white man’s way. Refusal to be forced into their beliefs. Indians had a bad reputation. Born from their past behaviors. But most were a congenial lot. At least the on
es he ever came across. But they were, after all, only human. Pushed too far, they would eventually push back. Particularly if deprived of the necessities of life. At one time, Indians had hunted for their own food. But with the settlement of the white man and the opportunity for trade, Indians became more dependent on store-bought food. Hunting was relegated to killing animals for pelts instead of food.

  A loud screeching sound from the church drew his attention. The steeple’s timber crumbled and came crashing down upon itself to the earth below. Though to Sam’s ears, it sounded like a female’s high-pitched cry. He frowned and headed back toward the church.

  He watched the fire burn angrily from one of its windows, the flames mimicking that of a woman’s arms reaching out and begging for mercy. Not sure what made him, but he headed back inside. A large burning post lay across his path. It leaned at an unusual angle, pointing toward the altar. Flames had entirely consumed a huge cross high above the pulpit.

  Sam pushed the post aside and advanced forward, coughing as he went. Covering his mouth with his arm, he dropped his face to protect it from the heat of the fire. That was when his eyes fell upon the trap door. He ran towards it and ripped it open. Peering down into the darkness, he could not make out anything. The smoke was growing too thick and he knew he should really get the hell out of there, but he found his legs taking him down the small flight of stairs.

  The smoke and flames had not yet penetrated the heavy trap door. He was able to breathe better in the damp cellar. He blinked hard, trying to adjust to the dim lighting.

  “Ivy?”

  Nothing. Then the smallest noise behind him. He turned just as something came hurtling toward him. His instinct was to leap out of the way, but wasn’t fast enough. It hit him square in the chest.

  Something soft and womanly.

  Copper curls tickled under his chin as she pressed her body against him, clinging desperately. A surge of utter relief flooded Sam. His arms came up and fastened on her body. So relieved to feel her in his arms. Alive.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, but when she looked up, there were tear stains down her cheeks. Sweat covered the rest of her face from the inferno just above their heads. Even if the flames had never reached her, she would have surely been cooked alive if Sam had not found her.

  His throat closed at this last thought, causing him to near choke out his next words. “How’s your foot?”

  “F-fine.”

  She lied, he could tell. Grimacing, he pulled his coat off and dropped it over her head. Then he swung her up into his arms and headed back out of the cellar. When the hell would she ever begin to tell him the truth?

  Chapter 10

  Upstairs, the fire was raging out of control. He could hear the timbers overhead groaning and knew they didn’t have much time before it all came down upon them. Moving quickly, he carried her down the aisle and over the downed post until they reached the safety of the outdoors.

  But he did not stop until he put some distance between them and the burning building. Only then did he stop and look back. Then, as if on cue, the roof gave way and collapsed. A burst of black smoke and flames shot up from the interior of the building. It did not go unnoticed by Sam that if he had not gone back in, it would have been too late for Ivy. She would have perished in the cellar.

  In his arms, he felt her shake. As if the very same thought had crossed her mind. He glanced down at her and realized he was still holding her close. It felt so unbelievably right. He was struck by an unexpected desire to never let her go. But then he remembered he must. With reluctance, he dropped his arm and allowed her legs to slide back down to earth.

  “We best get out of town before those Indians decide to come back for a head count. Wait here.”

  The alarm in her eyes had him wishing again to reach out and comfort. But instead, he turned and went after his horse. As hard as it was getting, Sam could not lose sight of the fact that in a few short days he would be handing her over to the law. No reward ever felt so tainted. This time around, he would receive no gratification. For there would be no satisfaction in watching Ivy McGregor dangle from her noose.

  * * *

  Ivy slumped against Sam’s back. The horse carried them through the woods without stopping. The further they got away from that town, the safer she would feel. Sam had not spoken of the incident. She suspected he knew why it had happened, but was not discussing it. Ivy, however, could not understand it.

  They rode for hours, she supposed, partially, to put a huge gap between them and the Indians. But she also suspected partly because he was anxious to reach the city. They had been in the wilderness now for four nights and five days. When she thought about them reaching Fort Williams, her spirits plummeted. There everything would change.

  Sam would hand her over to the local constable, collect his reward, and be on his way. He wouldn’t give Ivy a second thought. She had to force herself to do the same. There was no sense in becoming too attached to him.

  Finally, when the sun dipped below the western horizon, he pulled the animal toward a secluded area. There, a bunch of huge oak trees lay on their sides, their uprooted barks creating a small hollow for shelter.

  Sam jumped down first, then turned and reached up for Ivy. A few days ago, she would never have allowed a man to touch her. Would have flinched out of sheer fear from the merest contact. Yet, with this man, if she flinched, it was on account of the hot electrical shock his touch evoked along her skin. Her entire body trembled from the simple feel of his fingers. Never before had she ever felt more human.

  And it scared her horribly.

  She could not afford to succumb to those feelings. If she wanted to survive, she needed to put some distance between her and Sam Michalski. Far too easily he was making her feel vulnerable. Dependent.

  His hands came around her waist and pulled her gently off the horse. Ivy clutched her own hands to her chest. She could not risk touching him. The urge to crumble into his arms was too strong. Closing her eyes, she waited for him to let her go. When he did not, she slowly opened her eyes and found him staring down at her.

  An odd look crossed his face. A mix of confusion and sadness. And when she looked deep into his hazel eyes, she saw a gentleness not evident there before. One of his hands came up and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face. The rough callus of his finger brushed her soft skin. Yet it felt heavenly. Instinctively, Ivy’s eyes fluttered shut.

  “How did you do it?”

  Her eyes slid open reluctantly. She would have rather sat there all day enjoying the feel of his fingers against her skin.

  “Do what?”

  “Become so beautiful over the last few days?”

  No one had ever called her beautiful. Ivy knew she was not. Moira, on the other hand, had been. Her blond hair hung like golden silk in the sunlight. Eyes the color of pure crystal shone as blue as the ocean. And skin as smooth and soft as the marble pillars in the Earl’s castle. That was why he had preferred her sister. She was beautiful. But that beauty had destroyed Moira. Left her prey to the evil ways of a man.

  Ivy took a step back, pulling herself out of his arms. “That I am not, Mr. Michalski. Or ever will be.”

  He studied her, his expression not revealing his internal thoughts. She half feared he would reach out and caress her again. Half feared he would not. He exhaled slowly and turned away. And Ivy was left with conflicting emotions. Relief and regret.

  For one crazy moment, she wished Sam looked upon her the way her father looked upon her mother before their death. They had loved each other terribly. Ivy’s memories of her parents were full of happiness and love. Lots and lots of love. In those days, she and Moira had been happy. And safe.

  Sam went to work immediately on getting a fire started, while Ivy found a spot to curl up in. Lifting her skirts, she eyed the wrapping he had administered around her ankle. No one had ever taken care of Ivy. No one ever cared enough.

  Her eyes lifted and glanced o
ver at him as he opened a can of food with his knife. She had to force herself to remember that it was not because he cared. She was simply slowing them down with her injury.

  Going over to the horse, he undid the saddle and hitched the animal over to a grassy area to feed. Ivy was grateful for the animal. There was absolutely no way she could have walked another step. She didn’t trust Sam enough to know what he would have done. Would he have eventually given up and left her for dead? Perhaps save her from the misery of being prey for some wildlife and shoot her?

  When he returned, she watched him get comfortable across from her. “How much longer before we be reaching town?”

  His eyes shot to her face before leaning over and retrieving the canned food from the fire pit. “Most likely some time tomorrow.”

  Her own eyes fell to her hands clutched tightly together in her lap. Tomorrow was too soon. She needed more time.

  “You know, you can tell me anything,” he said, catching her off guard. “It probably doesn’t feel like it, but you can trust me.”

  She wanted to trust him. Oh so badly. But it had been far too many years. Far too many hard lessons. Too many betrayals. Ivy no longer had the ability to trust.

  When silence stretched on for several minutes, he finally broke it by changing the subject altogether and shocking her by asking, “Who’s Moira James?”

  She felt her eyes widen before swiftly gathering her emotions back under control. In a flat voice she answered, “How do ye be knowing about Moira?”

  “It was your alias,” he reminded her, then added, “And statistically most people who take on a false identity, usually borrow it from a real person. Generally someone they know.”