The Color of Ivy

by Peggy Ann Craig

  She dropped her gaze.

  “Did you kill her?”

  Ivy’s head snapped back up. Surprised and hurt at his question. In Sam’s eyes, she would always be a murderer. He would never be able to see anything more.

  The word no nearly rolled off her tongue, but then she caught it back. In a sense, she had always felt as if she had destroyed Moira. She had never done enough to help her. Never had the strength to fight for her. Perhaps Sam was right. She had killed Moira.

  Looking away, she blinked back the sudden tears pooling in the back of her eyes. “James was me father’s name. Moira was me sister.”

  “Was?”

  “She disappeared when I was fifteen.” Her chest felt heavy even now, so many years later. “She was eighteen and with child. Weeks before she left, she appeared very frail, weak. The night she gave birth, she fled from the estate with her newborn. Or so they told me.”

  He didn’t respond immediately. Then, “They?”

  Ivy contemplated how much she wanted to reveal to Sam. He had asked her to trust him. But could she trust him with the memory of her sister? The image of Moira came to mind. So beautiful and so tender. Never was a gentler woman. It was no wonder she finally succumbed to the abuse. Her eyes lifted to Sam. He could not harm Moira.

  “The Earl of Wittfield. He was her employer. After our parents died, he hired her on as a kitchen maid. We were the daughters of a gentleman, but no other relation wanted us, ye see. They abandoned us when we needed them most. It was a disgrace for her to join the ranks of the kitchen staff, but we were desperate. We actually thought our prayers had been answered. Particularly since he allowed me to stay in the household as well. I was twelve, but never done a finger of housework in me lifetime. I was able to continue living the life I was accustomed to. Little did I know the price Moira paid in those early days to give me those things. But it didn’t take long to figure out me dreams had turned into nightmares.”

  “He was raping your sister?”

  Ivy nodded.

  “Whose child was it?”

  “His.” She felt so ashamed admitting it out loud and so disgusted with herself for feeling that way regarding her sister. Moira never had a choice in the matter. But it was her almost lifeless attitude that angered Ivy. She could never understand how she could be so weak. She knew now, though. Her sister had been trying to save Ivy from the same fate.

  “And,” Sam paused, as if needing to control his voice. “What about you? Did he rape you?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I was ugly he says. Thought me possessed with the devil inside with me fiery hair and pale eyes. Moira would purposely make me as plain looking as possible. At first I never understood. I’d be crying when she cut me hair short. Says a man thought hair was a sign of beauty.” She paused, not wanting to continue. Yet needed to. “She, on the other hand, was grand. I remember hating her because she refused to cut her own glorious mane of hair. Little did I know…”

  “She was luring him away from you,” he finished for her.

  A tear escaped one eye and slid silently down her cheek. She refused to wipe it away. It was the only thing she could now offer her sister.

  “And the scars on your back?” he asked quietly. “Where did they come from, Ivy?”

  “From him. Or at least by his orders.”

  He inhaled harshly and she thought she heard him curse under his breath. “Were you beaten often?”

  Her mind drifted into the past. Even that long ago, the painful memories were still very fresh. “I was a stubborn child. I refused to obey. Moira warned me to be more docile. But I hated him, and his son. Hated what they were doing to us.”

  Sam got up and came to kneel in front of her. He stared into her eyes. “You did nothing wrong, Ivy. That bastard should have been hung up by the raffles. Why didn’t authorities step in?”

  She actually laughed. But it sounded pitiful even to her own ears. “They didn’t know anything about it.”

  He frowned. “How could they not? He left the evidence of his abuse all over your back.”

  And on her face. Her arms. Her torso. There wasn’t an inch of her body he had not struck in anger or punishment. “We were not allowed into town.”

  “What about the other staff members? Surely, they couldn’t stand by and watch him abuse two innocent children?”

  “They could if they be valuing their jobs,” she told him, knowing her voice sounded bitter, but she would never be able to forgive those servants who not only stood by and watched, but aided the Earl in his vile deeds. Shivering, she drew her knees up to her chest. “No one ever dare go against him.”

  Sam was silent for a moment. Ivy would have looked up at him, being that he was so near, but her mind was too far gone in the past. She hated going there. Hated remembering. It sucked her in and made her relive all those horrible memories. Made her remember that night. The last night she ever saw Moira.

  He reached out and wiped a tender thumb across her cheek. Yet another tear had slipped out unnoticed. She had an overwhelming urge to reach out and cover that hand. Force it to remain there forever. Never before had she ever been the recipient of such tenderness.

  With both hands, he cupped her face and turned it up to him, forcing her to leave the past and gaze into the present. His face was void of any anger. The hard creases around his eyes had smoothed and he was gazing down at her with a look she had never seen before. For a crazy, heart stopping moment, she hoped he would kiss her. Pull her against his solid chest and wrap her in his arms.

  Ivy could drown in those arms, against that chest. She could melt into the warmth and comfort his embrace could offer. If only for a fleeting moment. For that was all it would be. Sam did not care for her. He might be feeling pity for her, perhaps a bit of sorrow, but those were feelings born of a human nature. One in which she hadn’t seen in a very, very long time. It was no wonder she could so easily give in to it.

  She stiffened her spine and drew away. But she had made far too many mistakes in the past. Thought she saw something that wasn’t there. Thought she could trust, when there was no trust being offered. She had survived all these years on her ability to remain distant, cold. Aloof. She would not let one man risk destroying all that. Particularly this man. She had to force herself to remember he was not her savior. He was her executioner.

  He must have noticed her withdrawal for he moved and sat across from her. Not on the other side of the pit as he had earlier, but closer. Yet she felt no threat.

  “What did they say happened to Moira?”

  “They told me she’d gone and taken the child, had abandoned me. Naturally, I didn’t believe them. She would never have done that.” She paused. “I heard her that night, ye know. Crying and screaming in pain while she be giving birth. She called out to me, and I wanted so badly to go to her. But they had chained me to the bedpost, told me to stay put and keep me mouth shut if I wanted to see me sister again. Three days later, they finally undid me shackles. But it was too late. She was gone.”

  His eyes shifted down to her wrists. “You didn’t try and escape?”

  Her eyes felt hard as she turned to him. “No.” Regret poured from that single word and she was relieved to see he did not push it further.

  “Is it possible she died during childbirth? You said yourself she had looked weak beforehand.”

  Ivy shook her head. “No. She was weak in the spirit, not in the body. I heard her. She was crying, begging for her wee one.” Falling silent, her mind unconsciously replayed that horrible night. “And the babe. I heard it. It was crying. They were alive, I know it.”

  “Did the servants not even give you any clue as to where she went?”

  “They said she ran off. Took the babe and left. I waited several days. Believing she would return. She wouldn’t have done that to me. But after weeks passed and still no sign of her, I began to think that perhaps she had finally had enough. Had made her escape. After all, she now had a wee one to consider and to prote
ct.”

  “After everything she did to protect you, Ivy, do you really believe that?”

  “No, not at first.” She shook her head. “But she was gone. And so was the babe. Before giving birth, she revealed to me she was frightened of what the Earl would do to the child. She feared for its safety.”

  Sam gave her a sad look then waited a moment before asking, “What did you do then?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to ensure I be there waiting when she returned. But she never did.”

  “I’m sorry,” he offered silently.

  The gentleness of his voice had a well of emotion bubble up inside. Her eyes closed momentarily, forcing the tears aside before she opened them again.

  “Without Moira, the Earl and his son turned their vile attention to me. I guess I finally became frightened enough to run.” And found herself running ever since.

  “Where did you go?”

  “Initially, I just wandered, looking everywhere for her. I asked at the village and surrounding estates, hoping she might have gotten employment there. When she didn’t show up, I headed for London where I got work and continued me search. But no one had seen her. After years of searching and finding no trace of her, it began to dawn on me, I would never see me sister again.”

  “Do you think she’s still alive?”

  “I would like to believe that, but in me heart I know she’s gone. Whatever happened to her, whether she fled on her own or been forced out of the Earl’s home, she didn’t deserve it. She was decent and kind and didn’t have a mean bone in her body. When she smiled, her cheeks would glow so sweetly and her eyes sparkled. She had a knack for making me fears go away. I can remember when I was younger and frightened and be missing me parents, she would tell me to imagine the sound of music. We would dance across the floor in each other’s arms. Me mother loved to dance.” A tiny smile lifted the corners of her mouth at the memory. “It made me feel comforted. As if she be there in the room dancing with me. Until even that was gone.”

  His eyes shifted down to her ankle. “Did he push you?”

  She nodded. “He was furious I’d gone and escaped me locks again. I hated being chained up like a dog. One of the servants found me wandering the upstairs wing. Told me I’d get a thrashing for sure. I was cussing with anger when Moira appeared. Warned me to withhold me tongue, she did. Not that it mattered.”

  Sam paused, studying her before asking, “Why did he lock you up?”

  She shrugged. “It was one of his favorite forms of punishment. Other times I’d be lowered into the well until mornin’.”

  “Jesus,” he cursed. “That explains your fear of small spaces.”

  “At times, they’d cover the opening if it looked like rain so I wouldn’t go and drown on them. Can’t explain away so easily a dead child at the bottom of a well, now could he.”

  She felt his eyes boring into her. It made her uncomfortable. As if he could see into her past, feel her pain, her loneliness. Immediately, she turned away. For so long she had wanted to share that anguish, perhaps let someone else help shoulder the memories. But this was Ivy’s burden to bear alone. Wear it like a pendent of retribution.

  “How often did he punish you?”

  She sighed and raised her hands to cover her face, using the tips of her fingers to rub her temples. “Several times a day.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was about the age of twelve when the punishments began. The restraints came a little later when I became too feisty to handle. That continued until I left at the age of fifteen.”

  “How did you manage to escape your restraints? I’ve only seen a few outlaws who were able to manage that feat.”

  “When ye have little else to do, Mr. Michalski, one’s mind becomes quite astute. I’d be sitting there for hours studying them, figuring out how they worked. How they were put together. Me fingers were tiny and slim and managed to release the wee pin that be holding the cuffs together. When he realized they were useless on me, he began using rope. But it didn’t deter me. I was patient and studied the knots, knowing there was a weak point somewhere. It was a matter of finding it.”

  Sam actually looked impressed. “Pretty amazing for a girl of thirteen.”

  “I did what needed to be done to survive.”

  Their eyes met and held for an entire heartbeat before Sam finally gave her a silent nod of understanding. Turning his attention back to the fire, he asked, “So, how does any of this relate back to Philip Hendrickson and his death?”

  Their gazes locked again and for the tiniest heartbeat, she contemplated telling him. Then it was gone. “It doesn’t.”

  He sighed and dropped an arm over his raised knee. “More secrets, Ivy?”

  “Don’t we all have secrets, Mr. Michalski?” She thought about how he had alluded to a time he had made a grave mistake and allowed a female prisoner to convince him of her innocence. Only to have her turn around and commit another crime. There was no doubt in Ivy’s head that whenever Sam looked at her, he saw this other woman.

  His expression stilled, suppressing any thoughts going through his head. “Yes, I suppose we do.”

  * * *

  The night was cold. The wind had picked up considerably. Sam looked across the fire at Ivy. She was shivering in her little cloak. He felt a wave of compassion. He couldn’t help it. She had been through hell in her past.

  Getting up, he shrugged out of his duster and went over to drape it over her shoulders.

  She glanced up, startled. “You’ll get cold.”

  He frowned.

  Hell, just once why didn’t she act like the criminal she was supposed to be? Consideration for another, especially her captor, shouldn’t be her first concern. “Take it. You’re smaller than me.”

  “Thank ye,” she whispered, looking slightly baffled, but slipped beneath his coat. “What about the blanket?”

  He shook his head. “We’ll need its warmth later. When it gets colder.”

  Sam retrieved his seat on the large protruding boulder. Damn, it was as cold as ice. He didn’t doubt it was going to snow soon. The storm he had earlier seen on the horizon had passed without incidence. But he guessed a much bigger one was on its tail. He just hoped he got them to the city before then.

  Automatically, his eyes drifted back to Ivy. Tomorrow they would part ways.

  She was still trembling, but it had subsided quite a bit. He figured they would need each other’s body heat to survive the night. But how Sam would survive holding Ivy in his arms once again and have the strength not to touch her, he didn’t know.

  She looked up suddenly; catching him off guard, then froze. As if she had the ability to read his thoughts. But her eyes stared without blinking at him and the tiniest flicker of fear danced in their shadows. As Sam frowned in return, he realized she was not staring at him, but somewhere beyond him.

  He turned around to look. So engrossed in his thoughts and with the night air blowing upwind, he did not hear someone approach from behind. From within the shadow of trees he saw the outline of a horse. The orange glow from the fire provided just enough light to see the Indian sitting on top of it.

  Slowly, Sam got to his feet. Generally, Indians didn’t leave him feeling nervous. But that was before they nearly burned Ivy down in the church earlier that day. Though if he were to be honest, he suspected they knew nothing of her presence inside the building. If they did, she wouldn’t be sitting across the bonfire from him now.

  The Indian rode his horse further into their camp. Sam recognized him immediately as the same Indian that was in the shop. He kept his eyes on the shaman as he slowly surveyed the area. His dark eyes settling on Ivy, before returning to Sam.

  In his native tongue, the Indian asked, “Is that your woman?”

  Without hesitating, Sam replied, “Yes.”

  The Indian’s eyes drifted over Sam, taking note of his size and build, then stopping at the holster noticeably visible without his coat. “It is
cold night for white man.”

  Sam slowly nodded and responded in the native language, “Yes, it is.”

  “Tonight the snow will come.”

  The natives had a way of predicting the weather. Their understanding of nature and the earth was like no other.

  “The woman will need warmth.”

  At that, Sam made no reply. If the Indian thought he would be the one to offer Ivy warmth, he had a battle to face. Then the Indian moved and Sam instinctively became alert. Reaching behind him, the Indian produced one of the fur pelts he had brought to the shop earlier for trade, and held it out to Sam.

  Hesitating, he watched the Indian warily, and then took the offered fur with a nod. “Thank you.”

  The Indian nodded, and then glanced back at the fire. The smell of food drifted up from the tin can it was cooking in. From the conversation in the trading post earlier, he was aware of the natives being deprived.

  “You’re welcome to sit at our fire and eat with us.”

  In his peripheral vision he saw Ivy jerk. Ignoring her, he locked his eyes on the Indian. The man nodded, then slowly slid off his horse and approached the fire. His eyes shifted to Ivy, who huddled further into Sam’s coat.

  “Your woman has eyes of ice and hair of fire.”

  “And a temperament to match.” He thought it best to detour the Indian’s interest in Ivy as best he could. There was no getting out of his being there in their camp. It was best Sam played it cool and saw exactly what the Indian wanted.

  The Indian actually smirked, then surveyed Sam. “You know my tongue well, white man,” he said and offered Sam a nod of approval.

  “I’ve spent much time with the Chippewa’s of Montana.”

  Again the Indian watched Sam closely as if weighing the validity of his words. Then he nodded once more and turned his attention back to Ivy. “And the woman?”

  “Does not understand.”

  Nodding again, he took his first mouthful. Then ate in silence. Sam met Ivy’s wary glance over his bent head. Silently, he sent her a reassuring look. She seemed to relax slightly.