Lost Yesterday

by Jenny Lykins

  "Dear lord," Hunter moaned. "How bad is she?"

  Marin saw the look Nathan cast Hunter. The news couldn't be good.

  "The doctor just come when I left. But she ain't good, Mistah Hunt. She ain't good at all."

  "Who did this, Nathan? Who took Katie?"

  The trio slowed as they entered a heavily wooded area where the moonlight failed to penetrate the foliage.

  "Mamie be the only one what saw him besides Miz Lucille. She say he look like the man what Izzy sent out to see you that day you got the message about the tornado. She say he real greasy lookin' with a big ol' mole growin' out'n his eyebrow."

  "Cabot!" The nausea increased and her skin crawled as Marin recalled the scumbag of a man and the way he'd looked at Katie that day. Hunter spurred his horse faster at the mention of the man's name, heedless of the pitch black road they traveled.

  "Mistah Hunt," Nathan called again. "They's more," he said as he and Marin caught up with Hunter. "They was a letter on the ground where the carriage was parked. It said if you want yo baby back, you gots to pay fifty thousand dollars."

  Hunter lowered his head and shook it.

  "Dear God. The blackguard thinks I have fifty thousand dollars," he said only loud enough to be heard. He leaned low over his horse's neck and charged ahead. Marin and Nathan followed suit.

  The ride seemed interminable after Nathan gave the few sketchy details he knew. When at last the lights in the windows of Pierce Hall appeared, the horses were lathered and Marin ached in every muscle of her body.

  Hunter leapt from his horse before they completely stopped. Ambrose threw open the door as Hunter charged up the porch steps with Marin right behind him.

  "Ambrose! Any word?"

  "Oh no, suh, Mistah Hunt. We's got the sheriff lookin' but, we ain't heard nothin'. That poor chile. That poor, poor chile."

  "Did you see anything?"

  "No suh. I were down in the cellar when it happen."

  "Where's Mamie?"

  "She up with Miz Lucille and the doctor."

  Hunter ran passed Ambrose. Marin followed him up the stairs to Lucille's room. Doctor Ritter stepped out and closed the door just as they arrived.

  "How is she?" Hunter asked as he glanced worriedly at the closed door.

  "She is in bad shape, son. Apparently the scoundrel kicked her in the chest, then the carriage swerved when she was down and glanced over her lower abdomen. She has several broken ribs. She was bleeding internally, Hunter. I had to go in and find the source to repair it."

  "Will she be all right?" Marin asked, shuddering at the thought of nineteenth century surgery.

  Doctor Ritter shook his head. "I have done all I can. If she survives her injuries, we still have an abdominal infection to worry about." He looked Hunter in the eye. "Better make your peace with her before you go after that scoundrel."

  Hunter clenched his hands into fists. "It's that bad then?"

  "Yes, son. It is."

  Hunter opened the door to his mother's bedroom, hesitated a moment, then stepped inside.

  Mamie patted Hunter on the shoulder as she passed him on her way out, then pulled the door shut behind her as she wiped her tears with her apron.

  No one spoke in the hallway. The only sounds were those of Mamie's quiet crying and Marin's pacing.

  She wanted to be in there with him, to give him support and ease his pain. A few more endless minutes passed, then she made up her mind. Quietly, she opened the door and slipped inside.

  Hunter knelt on one knee beside his mother's bed, her frail, bruised hand in his strong one. He held the back of her hand to his cheek as he stared, unblinking, at her ashen face. After a moment he bowed his head. A solitary, choking sob escaped him.

  Finally he gently placed her hand at her side and pulled the coverlet to her chin. He stood, raked the heels of his hands across his eyes, then leaned over and kissed his mother's pale forehead.

  "I...I love you, Mother," he whispered, stroking her hair with his fingertips. He turned to Marin and took a deep breath. "If she lives, we'll have that proper wedding she so greatly wanted." Marin nodded, blinking back tears. His expression hardened as he turned to leave. "Now it's time to find our daughter."

  Doctor Ritter and Mamie resumed their positions in the sick room while Marin followed Hunter to their bedroom. He went directly to his armoire and pulled out a bedroll and a couple changes of clothing. Next he opened the chest at the foot of the bed, rummaged deep, then pulled out a knife in a leather sheath. Alarm shot through Marin as he slid the wicked looking blade from its cover and examined it, testing its sharpness with the pad of his thumb.

  "Hunter, what are you planning on doing?"

  He slid the harness of the knife over his shoulder.

  "I plan to do whatever it takes to bring Katie home safely." The carved bone handle of the knife rested behind his right shoulder, in perfect position to be drawn at a moment's notice. He whipped it from its sheath in practice, tested its weight, then flicked his wrist and caught the knife by the tip of the shiny blade.

  "I never thought to use this again," he said more to himself than to Marin. Then he looked up at her. "This saved my life more than once during the war."

  Marin grabbed his arm and pleaded, "Hunter, don't do something that will land you in jail! You won't do Katie, or me, any favors by ending up behind bars!"

  He looked at her as if he didn't understand her words.

  "I plan to do whatever it takes to bring our daughter home and keep my family safe. It is the criminal that goes to jail, Marin. Not the victim."

  She was so accustomed to a law-suit-happy, criminals' rights society, she'd forgotten that there was a time when things were not so skewed.

  "I'm going with you."

  "No! You are not going. I have no idea where I will have to go to find them, and if I am worrying about you I cannot concentrate on Katie."

  She knew he was right. She could keep up with the best of them on a horse, but tracking criminals was something different.

  "Alright. I'll do what I can to help Lucille. But please be careful. Don't do anything crazy."

  He smiled at her with a questioning look and tipped her chin with his index finger.

  "What have I ever done to make you think I would?"

  She looked at those melting blue eyes, those irresistible dimples and saw the ghost of Hunter Pierce smiling at her from the upper veranda. Tears burned her eyes and nausea rocked her stomach, but she fought it off and slid into his embrace. A fist closed around her heart when his arms wrapped securely around her, protectively, lovingly, for the first time in weeks. She looked up at him. He lowered his head to brush her lips with his, once, twice, then settle for a tender kiss meant to sustain her through the coming ordeal.

  Would this be the last hug, the last kiss he ever gave her?

  Would this be when he becomes a ghost? Her pain at the thought was more than she could deal with.

  Finally, he set her away from him, picked up his bedroll and stopped at the door. He took one long, last look at her, then turned and left.

  *******

  It had been many years since Hunter had seen the inside of a saloon.

  He hadn't missed them.

  For two days the smell of stale liquor, smoke and unwashed bodies conjured visions of youthful misadventures as well as wartime nightmares. He never wanted to breathe these odors again.

  "Well?" he asked the greasy, balding bartender.

  "Never seen the man. Don't mean he ain't been in here, though."

  Hunter flicked a coin into the air. The dirt-encrusted fingers of the bartender caught the coin before it started to fall.

  Hunter had heard the same story in every barroom he'd been in. Cabot wasn't hard to describe. Either the man steered clear of these establishments or Hunter just hadn't found the right person for information. Hopefully Nathan would have better luck scouring the streets and talking to the Negroes who saw and heard everything that happened in this section of
town. More than one deviant mind had erred by forgetting the fact that their servants were not deaf, dumb and blind.

  He strode through the doors of the saloon, swung up onto his horse, then headed north to meet Nathan at their designated spot. A particularly seedy section along the way boasted several more saloons, most with accommodations upstairs for the ladies who plied their trade in the bar and on the streets. Hunter reined in at the first one he came to and decided to make a quick check of the area.

  He was about to leave the third bartender behind when a hand darted out and clutched at his arm. He instinctively went for his gun as he shrugged the hand away.

  The drunkard behind him staggered backward, patting the air with his palms and shaking his head.

  "No harm, Mishter! Didn' mean no harm."

  Hunter relaxed his grip on the pistol a bit.

  "What do you want?"

  The filthy, odorous man weaving on his feet before Hunter slid a glance in both directions, then whispered loud enough for the entire room to hear.

  "You lookin' for Cabot?"

  Hunter studied the repulsive figure. The man sported a black eye that was on the mend and several old cuts on his face. One front tooth missed its lower half. Perhaps the sot might know something worthwhile.

  "Do you know where I can find him?"

  The drunkard hesitated for a moment, eyed Hunter's clothing, then licked his lips.

  "A man gets awful thirsty when he talks," he said, one eye squinted smaller than the other as he leered hopefully at Hunter.

  Hunter kicked the seat of the nearest chair with his boot, sending it sliding backward. He motioned for the man to sit down as he dropped into the chair farthest away from his informant. The bartender appeared with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

  "You payin'?" he asked Hunter before setting the liquor in front of them. Hunter tossed yet another coin in his direction. The bartender slammed the bottle and glasses on the table and left them to their conversation. The drunk sloshed a glass full of whiskey then knocked it back in one swallow. He performed the same movement two more times before he stopped and blearily stared at Hunter from across the table.

  "Where can I find Cabot?"

  The drunk leaned back in his chair with a thud.

  "Well now, I dunno."

  Rage and frustration overtook Hunter. He shot his hand across the table and yanked the blackguard up by a fistful of shirtfront. Terror filled the bleary eyes of the drunk as Hunter brought his face to within inches of the other, the sickening fumes from his breath turning Hunter's already knotted stomach.

  "Do not let my clothes fool you," Hunter warned in a low voice, "I would as soon slit your throat as look at you. Now," he shot the man back into his chair, "tell me I misunderstood your answer."

  "Yeah! Yeah! You mis...misunderstood. I know where he li...lives. But he ain't allus there." He peered up at Hunter through half-closed eyes, recognition dawning on his face. "Hey! Your name's Pierce."

  Hunter just stared at him. "Where does he live?"

  "You're the one he wanted to take the kid away from." The drunk suddenly puffed up with righteous indignation. "Tried to retain me as his attorney! But I tur' him down. Got this for my troubles." He waved vaguely at his face, no doubt looking for a pat on the back for his noble deed. If Hunter patted him on the back it would be to knock him to the ground.

  Hunter stood, then yanked the drunk up by the coat collar and shoved him forward.

  "You are going to show me where Cabot lives, or I am going to add to your injuries. Anyone standing in my way of finding this man will wish himself six feet under."

  As the drunk stumbled out of the saloon Hunter wiped the hand that touched the drunk on his trouser leg. It still felt dirty.

  The drunk quickly staggered several blocks, darting anxious glances over his shoulder the whole way. He stopped at the entrance of an alley and pointed into the depths.

  "Behind this building. S'room opens onto the alley."

  "Fine," Hunter said as he shoved the drunk into the dark between the buildings. "Show me."

  Hunter paid no heed to what he walked through or the noisome odors rising from all around him. His eyes stayed fixed on the darker shape of the man in front of him. The muted, dull yellow glow of a lamp filtered through a small, filthy window. The drunk stopped in the middle of the alley and pointed to a door.

  "S'there. Tha's Cabot's room."

  Hunter slowly took the man's filthy tie in his hand and pulled until it was taut. The drunk raised up on tiptoe.

  "If you are lying to me," Hunter said quietly, "I will kill you. Slowly."

  "Ain't lying," the drunk rasped, then coughed and grabbed his throat when Hunter let go. The man scuttled into the darkness when Hunter turned his attention away.

  He watched the window for a moment. A distorted shadow moved occasionally in front of the thin, ragged curtain. The person appeared to be moving normally, as if unaware of the threat on the other side of the glass. He heard no sounds except those made by the rats in the nearby garbage.

  He stepped to the door. One mighty kick sent the wood splintering against the wall. When he rushed inside with his gun drawn, all he found was a whore servicing her customer. Hunter knew at first glance the pock-marked youth was not Cabot. The boy leapt from atop the woman, grabbed his scattered clothing and ran from the room stark naked. Hunter looked back at the trollop.

  "Who are you?" he asked without preamble.

  "Well now, darlin', who do you want me to be?"

  In two steps Hunter was beside her, a fistful of hair in his hand. He stopped himself from yanking it.

  "I will ask only once more. Who are you?"

  The bravado left her when she looked into his eyes.

  "Shirley Cabot."

  At last, he was closing in.

  "Where is Harold Cabot? Where's the child?"

  Fear, real fear, flickered in her eyes at his words. She refused to meet his gaze as she said, "I don't know where his is. He ain't been home today." She flicked a glance at him, then looked away. "And we ain't got no child. I'd get rid of it before I'd drop one of his whelps."

  Hunter released her hair. She immediately pulled it back out of his reach.

  "You know exactly what child I am talking about, do you not?" Her eyes answered his question. "He has my daughter. He's kidnapped her for ransom, and I mean to get her back. Now," he sat on the edge of a rickety chair and tried to stay calm, "I want to know where he has her."

  The woman searched Hunter's face, wrestling with something inside herself. As she looked at him her eyes became clear and lucid.

  "He's got her in a cabin somewheres north of the city. If I knowed exactly where, I'd tell you. Alls I know is it's close to the river, and there's a ferry nearby."

  He believed her. He stood, pulled a twenty dollar gold piece from his pocket and tossed it on the grimy table.

  "I am grateful," he said, then turned to leave.

  "Mister," she called from the bed. He turned and looked at her. "He's got other plans for your little girl." Hunter stepped back into the room, a sense of dread coiling in his stomach. "He made me give him the name of a customer that likes little girls. You know..."

  He spun and charged through the broken doorway. Terror, sheer terror as he had never known filled every recess of his body. His mind screamed for the innocence of his daughter. His feet slid in nameless pools of filth as he raced down the alley. His pace never slowed until he reached his horse, and then only long enough to untie the reins and jump astride. He thundered down the street, riding like a cyclone until he met up with Nathan on his way to their meeting place.

  Nathan, recognizing Hunter, wheeled around and spurred his horse to match Hunter's speed.

  "The bastard's going to sell her," Hunter yelled over the pounding hooves, "like a whore in a brothel!" His stomach lurched with the words.

  "Oh, sweet Jesus," Nathan cried.

  Hunter leaned low over Mystic's neck. Nathan did the same
as they rode north out of town.

  He knew where the ferry was that Shirley Cabot mentioned. He guided them toward the river, planning to search every inch of territory around the ferry until he found the shack where Cabot held Katie.

  The pair combed the woods for several hours. When Nathan's horse stumbled and nearly threw him, Nathan said, "Mistah Hunter, it be easier in the daylight. We mayhap miss somethin' in the dark."

  Hunter knew Nathan's words were true, but a gut reaction told him to keep searching. He wouldn't be able to lay his head down and rest until he had Katie safely in his arms.

  Another hour passed and all they'd found were farmhouses with reputable families and a shack or two that had fallen into heaps of rubble. Despair grew with every inch they covered. Would he be too late? If they touched his precious daughter he would kill them with slow, deliberate torture.

  The moon was low in the sky when Hunter motioned for Nathan to stop.

  "Listen."

  The muffled sound of a lone horse moving slowly up ahead drifted through dense foliage. Nathan nodded that he heard. Hunter silently motioned to follow at a distance. Anyone out at this hour, in these woods, was up to no good. He allowed the horseman to put more distance between them, then Hunter fell in behind, staying far enough away to keep from being heard. They traveled for perhaps half a mile before the horseman slowed even more. Hunter guessed the man was near his destination, one which he was unfamiliar enough with to have to pick his way through the woods.

  Hunter dismounted, leaving Mystic with Nathan. He then followed on foot, gaining ground on their prey. The man found an overgrown trail and took it. Before long he swung from his horse and tied it to a low hanging branch. The horse whinnied softly as the man walked deeper into the tangled foliage.

  Hunter would have never found the shack at night. Even in the light of day the tiny, bramble-covered hut would have been difficult to find, or even see, unless a person was standing right in front of it.

  The man walked up to the shack and knocked twice. A yellow light flared, then receded to a dim gray within the only window Hunter could see. The door opened and the man slipped inside.