Esther wanted to wipe the blood from her eyes, but Cal’s arm clutched her closer, pinning both of her arms to her side. She twisted her head and managed to swipe her bloody eye across his sleeve.
She could see a little better now. Jeremy, his expression utterly still, stared past Esther as though she were not there: He had eyes only for Cal.
As for Connor, he was looking right at her. Directly at her. Into her eyes. And then down. And up to her again. And down. He raised one brow as if asking a question.
Esther’s frenzied thoughts could not grasp his meaning. Again Connor looked down. He dropped his chin the tiniest bit.
He wants me to drop to the floor, Esther realized in horror. She almost panicked.
When? When would I do such a thing?
Cal chuckled. “You two dirt farmers don’t need to concern yourself over this little whore, do you? Why, she’s not even a good whore,” His words mocked Esther.
He grinned, reveling in his old confidence. “Now here’s what I think. I think you should do the wise thing. The prudent thing,” he suggested, employing a reasonable tone. “You just back off, easy like, and we’ll be on our way. We won’t cause your little town any further disturbance. No need for you to get riled up or . . . hurt over a filthy, used-up slut.”
Esther flinched at the slur but she continued to stare at Connor. Connor’s jaw worked as he digested Cal’s words. Again, Connor stared into Esther’s eyes. As though he were disagreeing with Cal, Connor shook his head, “no,” just once.
“Why, I do b’lieve you are mistaken, mister,” Jeremy drawled, managing to sound surprised. “I don’t know what you think you know, but Miss Esther here is a respected maiden lady in this town.”
Cal hooted. “Maiden lady? Really? ’Cause in Denver I can tell you she used to fetch a very pretty penny for her, shall we say, unmaidenly services.” He scoffed. “I’m sure even you backwards clod busters relish a good romp in the hay, am I right?”
Esther felt as though she had been stripped naked in front of Connor and Jeremy. She moaned in shame.
O God, I cannot bear this!
Connor’s mouth pinched tighter—yet he was not looking at her, but at Cal . . . and Esther was, in that moment, afraid for Connor.
Jeremy drawled again. “Weeeell, we aren’t just farmers out here, y’know. Seems we also have a few herd animals. Cattle, goats, maybe a few sheep.”
Jeremy’s voice was low and patient, almost patronizing. “And the prairie out here? Out beyond the town in the distance? Turns out, the prairie is home to all kinda predators—wolves, coyotes, foxes. Even a big cat once in a while. And y’know what we do when a predator comes after one of our lambs or calves?”
Cal didn’t answer, but Esther swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
Jeremy, his gun never wavering, always pointed at Cal—at her—added softly, “Why, we shoot that wolf. We shoot it dead. That’s what we do.”
Esther could feel tension rising in Cal’s arms and in his chest; she knew he was wound as tight as a spring, ready to be loosed, ready to pounce.
Cal snarled, “This is my last warning, farmer. Back off and we’ll be on our way—otherwise your little maiden lady gets hurt.”
“I still don’t think you understand, mister,” Jeremy answered, his words soft. “Y’see, if we wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a wolf in defense of a lamb, what d’ya think we would do when something or someone threatens a woman our God says is made in his very image?”
Cal cursed. He was accustomed to men jumping to obey him; he could not abide being thwarted or beaten. Jeremy’s refusal to back down was goading Cal’s anger, and Esther knew his temper well.
Then Jeremy growled, all softness gone, the menace unmistakable. “Mark m’words, mister. You will not take Miss Esther. If you try, we will kill you.”
Esther swallowed again. Sweet, kind Jeremy Bailey? Her insides turned to water.
Jeremy raised his voice. “I give you to th’ count-a five to let her go and get t’ runnin’.” His words rang with cold certainty.
From alongside his rifle, Connor’s eyes bored into Esther’s.
The count of five!
Esther blinked and then nodded.
Connor smiled in acknowledgement, but it was not a pleasant smile.
Jeremy counted. “One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four . . .
“Five.”
Esther lifted her feet and went limp in Cal’s arms, sliding halfway to the floor.
Connor’s rifle had never moved off Cal. The boom of his gun’s report shattered the windows behind Cal.
Cal’s remaining accomplice raised a revolver and fired at Jeremy just as Jeremy side-stepped to the right and loosed the second barrel of his shotgun.
Esther scrabbled on her hands and knees to the rack of dresses and burrowed inside. The dresses covered her, hid her. As she squeezed against the rack’s post she heard nothing but her own sobs through the deafening concussion of gun blasts.
O God, I trusted you!
She could not hear the store’s front door burst open, the lock breaking and jams splintering, or hear men stream into her store. She could not hear the alarmed voices and shouted questions or Jeremy’s calm reassurances in answer. She could hear only her own keening voice from far away as she rocked back and forth, sobbing.
Then, inexplicably, Esther calmed. A solemn Presence surrounded her where she knelt within the shelter of inexpensive, off-the-rack dresses, a Presence that comforted her and whispered,
Do not be afraid. I am with you.
Esther blinked. Again the Voice sighed,
Do not be afraid. I am with you.
Esther’s world began to right itself. When a slow, gentle hand drew the dresses apart, she did not shrink back. The hand brushed her shoulder and, tentatively, rested there.
“Miss Esther.”
It was Connor’s voice, sounding quite far away.
“You are safe now, Miss Esther.”
“Yes . . .” Esther murmured.
Do not be afraid. I am with you.
Connor offered his hand. She placed hers in his and he drew her out from the rack and the dresses that had hidden her. She managed a shuddering breath as he steadied her.
Connor tried to lead Esther away, but she saw the bodies lying on the floor—the floor of her shop!—and froze.
“Cal . . .”
“He won’t bother you again, Miss Esther,” Connor muttered. His eyes shifted involuntarily toward the floor a few feet from them.
Esther’s mouth opened a little as she stared at what remained of Cal Judd, the man who had hunted and terrorized her.
Do not be afraid. I am with you.
The words that had assured her moments ago sank down into her soul and she drew another cleansing breath. Yes, Jesus. Thank you.
Connor was shaking his head. “I am so sorry, Miss Esther; I had no idea—” He broke off, regret written in lines around his mouth. “I am so sorry.”
Esther’s mouth opened a little and she realized, Miss Esther! Connor called me ‘Miss Esther!’
“I forgive you, Connor,” she whispered.
Then Ava was reaching for her, weeping over her. Edith was behind her, sobbing. Jeremy, unharmed but grave, watched from a few feet away.
“Oh, Esther! What has he done to you?” Edith moaned.
Rivulets of blood, some dry and some fresh, ran from Esther’s brow to her chin. Her face was a mass of purpling welts. A great stupor was creeping into Esther’s bones, but as Ava and Edith wrapped tender arms about her, Esther could still hear that Voice, wooing her, strengthening her.
Do not be afraid. I am with you.
~~**~~
Chapter 15
Breona called Rose from the dinner table to the telephone in the great room near Rose’s desk. “Miss Rose! ’Tis Pastor Medford a-callin’ from RiverBend!”
Alarm sprang to Rose’s heart. Edith had only been gone a few weeks—and Cal Judd had been released from prison about as long.
; She listened, astonished and then astounded, as Jacob shouted over the tinny connection all the details of Cal Judd’s attempt to take Esther—and his subsequent defeat and demise at the hands of Jeremy Bailey and Connor McKennie. When the long telephone call ended, Rose stood still, the wonderful implications of Jacob’s news soaking into her heart.
“O Lord, how I thank you for this deliverance,” she breathed. “And, Father, I pray you have mercy on these men who must now face you and your righteous judgments.” Rose trembled, remembering the many heinous crimes for which she knew God would call them to account.
Straightening her shoulders, she walked into the dining room to rejoin the house for dinner, a faint smile playing about her mouth. Many pairs of questioning eyes turned toward her.
Taking her seat she looked around the table. “I have received news . . . momentous news.”
Rose did not want to repeat the ugly details of the event; after a moment’s reflection she announced quietly, “Cal Judd and his men somehow tracked Edith to RiverBend.”
No one at the table moved or spoke.
“They found Esther and were trying to take her away, but friends of ours defended her.” Rose rested her face in her hand, her relief evident. “Esther was hurt a bit, but Pastor Medford assures me she will be fine. And, he tells me, Cal Judd . . . is dead.”
Those at the table sighed, as though they had been holding their breath together.
“Oh, Mama! Oh, thank you, Lord!” Joy’s praise was taken up by the others, followed by a babble of questions.
Rose quelled the questions with an upraised palm. “I know finishing dinner may be difficult, but I would prefer not to discuss the, er, unpleasant details at the table. Right now, I am simply overwhelmed with relief and gratitude.”
Breona, her black eyes snapping, called, “’Tis writin’ Tabitha this verra night we mus’ be doin’! Won’t she be rejoicin’ an’ dancin’ on a cloud? Thank ye, Lord!”
“And Mr. O’Dell!” Grant added. “We must let him know right away.”
“Yes,” Rose answered, smiling larger. “Cal Judd will never pose a threat to us again. And Mr. O’Dell need not be concerned about visiting us here in Denver!”
That night as Joy and Grant prepared for bed, Grant touched Joy’s face. “My dear, I would like Mr. O’Dell to come visit as soon as possible. How do you feel about that?”
Joy studied Grant. He had not complained, but she could tell he was not doing as well as he had been when they first acquired the oxygen apparatus.
Does he want to say goodbye to his friend? O Lord, he thinks I do not see, but I know he is struggling. Father, please give us more time, she prayed, even as she fought to keep her face serene. Please give Grant time with his son or daughter, Lord! I am calling on you!
“Of course, Grant.”
“Thank you. I will write him tomorrow, first thing.”
Grant wrote to his friend O’Dell in the morning but did not send the letter until the next day. With the short note he wanted to enclose a clipping from the Denver Post. The headline read, JUDD KILLED IN SHOOTOUT.
Grant had to shake his head at the paper’s sensationalized report, but he admitted that the story read well. What his letter lacked in enthusiastic detail, the article amply provided!
However, he had not been allowed to cut up the paper until it had been read many times by all in the house. Moreover, Mr. Wheatley had walked several blocks to buy two more copies of the paper so that Breona could cut and send the article to Tabitha and paste the other in a scrapbook.
When the two letters left the house that morning, their two writers anticipated the great relief the letters’ recipients would feel upon reading them.
Esther and Ava studied Esther’s reflection in the mirror. Her heart-shaped face was a tender, mottled blue and purple. One eye was swollen shut. A line of stitches sewn closed by the community’s doctor testified to the split Cal’s hand had opened just under her eyebrow.
“It looks worse today than yesterday,” Esther muttered.
It had been four days since . . . Esther did not like to put a descriptive name to That Day.
“Remember when Cal broke my nose?” Ava stood behind Esther, her hands on her friend’s shoulders, peering into the mirror with her.
“How can I forget? You looked like a raccoon for weeks.” Ava’s eyes had been ringed with bright fuchsia and magenta—bruising that pooled below her eyes, darkening to an ugly purple before fading to sickly yellow.
“My nose has not been the same since.” It was true; Ava’s nose listed to the side.
“I’m grateful he did not break my nose,” Esther admitted, “but I will bear a scar to remind me of him.”
Cal’s blatant attempt to take Esther by force had produced an uproar that reached all the way to Denver where Cal’s reputation was already known. Soon after, Esther and Ava’s shop had seen a marked increase in traffic. Strangers—reporters and law men from Denver—had descended on RiverBend and its citizens, asking questions, taking photographs—and prying.
The reporters, to their chagrin, found that the little town’s inhabitants were remarkably close-mouthed when interviewed. Later, when the journalists compared notes, they found that not one individual in RiverBend had been able to provide information on Esther and Ava’s backgrounds. Furthermore, not one citizen could conjure a clue as to why Cal Judd—a complete stranger in RiverBend—had appeared one day in their town, intent on harming one of their innocent young women!
The reporters departed RiverBend in disgust, certain they had been stonewalled.
Esther had declined to meet with the reporters—or anyone from RiverBend for that matter. She had hidden herself and her damaged face in the back of the shop, refusing to come out.
Ava, with help from Edith, had handled all the shop’s business and the many questions and curious eyes. Only the doctor, Pastor Medford, and Fiona had gained access to Esther, and Esther had cried her swollen eyes upon Fiona’s plump, grandmotherly shoulders until she exhausted her tears.
Between dodging the reporters, the people of RiverBend had visited the shop. Yes, they were curious to see the spot where the four men had been gunned down—not an everyday event, after all—but Ava didn’t know how to convey to Esther the many expressions of sympathy and indignation that their RiverBend neighbors had poured into her ears. She let the hot meals and homemade pies and cakes with which they filled Esther and Ava’s cupboards speak their own messages of kindness.
“I won’t be able to show myself for quite a while still.”
“No.” Ava shook her head, agreeing with Esther. She straightened as the shop’s bell jingled the arrival of a customer—or another inquisitive local.
“Pastor Medford!”
Esther heard Ava greet Jacob Medford. He had been by every day to visit and pray with Ava and Esther. He had been a pillar of strength to both of them in the aftermath of That Day.
“Esther? May Pastor Medford come back to visit with you?”
“Yes, of course.” Esther turned from the mirror.
She set herself to brew him a cup of his favorite tea, something of a routine for them now, while he conveyed greetings and little bits of news from Vera.
“Esther, tomorrow is Sunday,” he said, taking the cup she offered him.
“Yes.” Esther nodded but said nothing more.
“You have been keeping yourself hidden these past four days. Vera and I understand and do not fault you in the least. This has been a difficult time for you.”
Esther glanced up. “Thank you.”
Jacob smiled and nodded. “We have a suggestion, however.”
When Esther looked toward him again, he continued. “Vera and I were praying this morning. It has been hard for you and Ava to become part of this community. The circumstances of your, er, move to RiverBend has made life here difficult for you sometimes. And then . . . this happened.”
Alarm shot through Esther. “Are you asking us to leave?” Her heart was pou
nding.
“Not at all. The opposite, in fact.”
Esther could breathe again. How did this place become so dear to me? she wondered. When did my soul grow roots down into this little town?
“We feel you should come to church tomorrow.”
“What?” His statement jerked Esther from her thoughts. “No.”
But Jacob persisted. “Miss Esther, this is a very tightly knit community. We are loyal to each other. Do you want to be part of that? Do you desire an enduring place in this community?”
Esther’s eyes were brimming when she answered. “Yes, I do. More than anything.”
“Then come to church tomorrow. Vera and I believe the Lord spoke something to us, but it will require that you bare your pain to your neighbors. Can you do that?”
Esther swallowed and thought on it. “Yes.”
The next morning Esther and Ava readied themselves for church. Esther played with her hair, arranging it so that curls draped the sides of her face and hung low over her brow. Staring into the mirror, she huffed in frustration.
“Nothing will hide those bruises, Esther,” Ava murmured. “If you ask me, trying to hide them only draws more attention to them.”
Esther had come to the same conclusion: The hairstyle she had labored over was fussy by RiverBend standards and looked nothing like the simple Esther folks here knew.
She pulled all the pins from her hair, brushed the blonde tresses back from her face, placed a comb on each side, and let the curls hang naturally.
“There.” She looked like herself again—herself beat black, blue, and purple.
Their breaths created puffs of steam in the frosty January air as they walked to the edge of town. The quaint old building where the church met was a mile farther. As they walked, they passed or encountered others going the same way.
“Good morning, Miss Ava. Good morning, Miss Esther,” was called or murmured several times.
Miss Ava. Miss Esther.
Esther heard Connor’s voice speaking the same words. She gulped and fought the tears that pricked her eyes.
Lord, please help me to not fall apart this morning!
Stolen (A Prairie Heritage, Book 5) Page 15
