by Amy Rognlie
“Where are they?” He demanded finally.
She stared at him. Where is who?
“Answer me, woman! Where are those papers?”
Papers? Father, please help me! She met her captor’s frenzied look with a steady gaze.
“I don’t know what papers you’re talking about.”
He roared an oath. “Don’t play innocent with me. I followed you and your lover to the bank. I know what you went there for.”
She jumped as his huge fist crashed into the wall next to her. The papers that had been in the safety deposit box, of course. The ones she had never read.
Closing her eyes, she fully expected to feel the next blow on her face. After a moment, she cautiously opened her eyes. He stood in front of her, visibly trembling, but under control.
“Come now, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you.” His voice was unexpectedly calm. “Just give me the papers.”
She eyed him warily. “I think you’ve got the wrong person,” she said. “I don’t have any papers. Truly. And my last name is Thomas, not Oliver.”
“Oh? Then how d’ya explain this?”
She gasped as he whipped a large photograph from his pocket. The picture was tattered and water-stained, but there was no mistaking it.
It was the picture that Raine had given to Paul before he left home. But hadn’t Paul given the picture to Ben? Surely Ben isn’t involved in this. . . She pushed the ugly thought from her mind.
“Where did you get that?” she whispered.
He looked smug. “You don’t need to know, sweetheart.”
The endearment coming from this man’s lips made her cringe.
“Shall I refresh your memory as to what is written on the back of this purty little photo?” he continued mockingly. “To Paul—my one and only. Love, Raine Ellen.”
She sighed. How could this get so twisted? If only Paul could explain. . .
“So, where is your husband?” The question jolted Raine, even though she knew it was coming.
“I don’t have a husband.” She was shocked at how firm her voice sounded.
Her captor looked stunned for a moment, but recovered quickly. “You mean Paul is dead?” he asked, the nasty gleam coming back into his eye. “Don’t play games with me, woman. Tell me where he is.”
Raine looked him in the eye. “I don’t know.”
Red Hair kicked the leg of the chair, sending her to the floor, the chair on top of her. Letting loose a string of profanity like she’d never heard before, he untied her and bodily carried her back down to the hold. Forcing her inside, he slammed the door closed.
“You will tell me sooner or later, little woman, so you might as well make it sooner. I’m going to get those papers, wherever they are. And then I’m going to get Paul.”
Hearing the bolt thump into place, she sank trembling to the floor. God, help me.
❧
“Well, Captain.” John looked at his Bible thoughtfully. “You just keep reading this Book and keep asking Him to teach you His ways. He’ll show you.”
Ben couldn’t believe the joy and peace that he had known since he finally surrendered all to the Lord. After puzzling over some Scriptures for days, he had finally sought the wisdom of Raine’s uncle.
“Thanks, John.” Ben got up to leave, pausing at the door. “Have you heard from Raine yet?”
John shook his head, a troubled light in his eye. “No. I expected that she would have arrived in London two days ago. She said she would send a telegram when she arrived in St. Albans, apprising us of her father’s condition. It’s just not like her to go back on her word.”
I knew I should have gone with her. Ben felt a heavy foreboding drop on him like a cloak.
“I don’t like it, John,” he said out loud, images of Dag filling his mind “I don’t like it at all.”
Raine’s uncle nodded in agreement. “I know what you mean, son. I don’t have a good feeling about it either. I think. . .” His voice trailed off at the look on Ben’s face. “What is it, Captain?”
Ben swallowed hard. Surely it couldn’t be, yet. . . “Do you think it’s possible that the telegram from Raine’s father was a hoax?”
John started visibly. “What are you getting at?”
“I’m afraid someone has been following her.”
“Someone?”
Ben sighed. “It’s a very long story, John, and I think Paul is right in the middle of it.”
“Go on.”
“I think it first began before Paul even left England. Have you heard how he and a friend of his found that old code book?”
“Raine alluded to it, yes.”
“It seems that code book belonged to a group of spies. They were gathering information from an insider in the British government, passing message’s on to sailors bound for Africa, who in turn passed them along to the native rebels in South Africa. Their reward was South African diamonds.
“Paul stumbled onto their activities, apparently totally by accident, when one of his innocent code messages was intercepted by a member of the circle of spies. Needless to say, the spies were not happy that Paul knew about them—they were about to take action against him, when their insider in the government betrayed them.
“The government did a massive sweep, and caught most of the spies—and they almost caught Paul as well, mistaking the innocent message the spies had intercepted as the genuine article. It was all kept very hush-hush by the government, and Raine never even knew what was going on. But apparently, espionage was among the numerous other things Paul was accused of before he left St. Albans.”
“What? And Raine knows nothing about that?”
“Not a clue.” Ben gave a rueful grin. “I have to admit that for awhile I thought she was in on it.”
John stared at him. “You knew about the espionage all along?”
Ben shook his head. “I didn’t know any of this when I hired Paul. But it didn’t take long for rumors to start flying.”
John nodded, his face an unreadable mask.
“By that time, I had gotten to know Paul myself. I just couldn’t quite believe he could do anything so underhanded. I decided not to say anything and just keep an eye on the situation. Then, just as the Aramathea left Boston on her last trip, one of my sailors came to me with what he said was evidence that Paul was a spy. He showed me a message that Paul had written in code, and said he had a friend in St. Albans who had heard the whole story. He claimed he had seen Paul passing information to another sailor when we were in port.”
“Did you believe him?”
Ben shifted in his chair. “I’ll tell you, John, I didn’t want to. And I didn’t trust the fellow who told me the story. But there was something about Paul, something that made me think he wasn’t quite telling me the truth. I kept hoping that somehow he could prove his innocence.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I had intended to confront him with the sailor’s story, but I never got the chance.”
John raised his eyebrows.
“The ship sank before I had a chance to speak with him.”
John blew out his breath. “This would break Raine’s heart, you know.”
Ben nodded. “I just couldn’t tell her, yet.”
“Wise. Do you still suspect Paul?”
Ben sighed. “I have. . .found evidence that has convinced me that Paul was framed.” As much as he wanted to, he just couldn’t tell John yet about those papers in the safe deposit box. There was too much at stake. Soon he would have to act on the evidence the papers contained. If only he could find Paul first.
“What are you telling me, Captain?”
“I think that the man who framed Paul may have found out that Paul is still alive and is trailing Raine to see if she will lead him to Paul.”
“But how. . .”
“I saw the man following us when we went to the bank that day,” he admitted. He shook his head. “I only caught a glimpse of his face, and I thought he looked familiar, but. . . who would’ve thought? I
t was the same sailor who told me the story about Paul being a spy in the first place. I’d give anything to go back and confront the man, demand he tell me what he was up to—but I can’t.”
John’s face was tight with anxiety. “Is this man dangerous?”
Ben shrugged. “I’d wager that anyone who can hold a grudge that long isn’t playing a game.”
John passed his hand over his face. “I’ll get a telegram off to Raine’s father. In the meantime, it sounds like we better do a whole lot of praying, Captain.”
❧
Ben was waiting beside his carriage when John came home from the office the next day. John’s demeanor gave the answer to his unspoken question.
“I know something has happened to her, John!” The horses jumped as he slammed his fist into the carriage door.
“Calm yourself, Ben,” John said sharply. “Do you or do you not believe that God will care for Raine?”
Ben stared at the older man. “I know He can take care of her, John. It’s just that I wish I were there to protect her, too.”
“I know, son.” Raine’s uncle looked weary. “But God has seen fit to do otherwise. Besides, Raine’s a pretty strong gal, as I’m sure you know.”
Ben nodded ruefully, remembering the steady light in her eye as she had told him of her plans to travel to Boston alone.
I’m not afraid, Ben. He could hear her voice like it was yesterday. God, please protect her, wherever she is. . .
❧
Near Santa Fe, New Mexico
Tom stared unseeingly at the backs of the cattle. Lifting his Stetson, he let the hot, dusty wind ruffle his hair and dry the sweat from his brow.
It felt good to be on the trail again, free from the day-to-day routine of the ranch, free from the daily strain of—waiting. Waiting for what, he wasn’t sure, but he could feel the expectancy growing daily. During the day he could push it aside, but in the quiet of the night, it pulled at him, robbing him of much-needed rest. At the same time, it brought with it the hope of change; renewal. What was it? Why was his heart reaching for it, yet holding back in fear?
seven
Richard Thomas stared at the telegram from his brother-in- law, trying to still the violent trembling of his hands.
RICHARD STOP HOPE YOU ARE FEELING BETTER STOP PLEASE SEND NEWS OF RAINE’S ARRIVAL STOP JOHN
The last sentence rang in his fevered mind. Devastated when she had not shown up, he had assumed his daughter had chosen not to come to him. “I can’t die without seeing her.” Burying his face in his hands, he wept bitter tears. Please God, give me a chance.
❧
Raine lifted her head at the slight noise, then laid it down again. It’s your imagination, she told herself. Her brain felt fuzzy, as if a fog had rolled in and encompassed her thoughts. Weak from hunger, she floated in and out of wakefulness.
“Raine!”
She jerked her head up at the loud whisper. “Ben?” Had he really come? “I’m over here.”
“Raine, you need to get up!” His voice was urgent.
She stared groggily at him as he tried to rouse her. “You’re not Ben,” she said slowly. Maybe he was an angel? She had always wondered what angels looked like.
“Raine—if you want to get out of here, you need to listen to me.” His voice was insistent.
Her brain felt frozen. Concentrating on his words, she sat up with effort.
“Raine, I’m sorry, but I need to cut your hair. It’s the only way we’ll be able to pull this off.”
A faint alarm went off somewhere in her hazy thoughts, but she couldn’t figure out why. She squinted at him as he snipped her hair, trying to make sense of his features, but she couldn’t think. . .couldn’t concentrate. . . Why was she here. . .? She seemed to recognize the man, but no name came to her thoughts, no name that made sense. . . Her thoughts were clouded with hunger and confusion.
Her rescuer pushed some garments into her hands, then turned his back. “Get into those clothes, Raine,” he commanded. “Hurry!”
She obediently stepped into the trousers, feeling an odd sense of detachment from the scene. He turned back around, sweeping her with a quick glance. “It’ll have to do,” he mumbled. Slapping a tattered cap on her head, he gathered her in his arms and bolted up the stairs. Her head bobbed against his shoulder as he made a dash across the open deck and out onto the crowded wharf. Slowing his pace abruptly, he put her on her feet.
“Raine—listen to me. You’re going to be safe soon. But you need to walk. We’ll draw too much attention if I have to carry you.” His voice was pleading. “Can you do it?”
She looked into the man’s eyes, gaining strength as the word safe penetrated her mind. She nodded.
❧
She opened her eyes. What time was it? Weakly, she pulled herself up in the bed.
Martha, the Mission’s nurse sprang up from her chair by the window. “Raine! You’re awake!”
“Why are you in my room?” Maybe one of the children was ill and they needed Raine to help. . .
“You’ve been, ah, sick, Raine,” Martha’s voice was hesitant. “You don’t remember?”
Raine stared at the ceiling, trying to think. “I remember coming here from Boston, and. . .” From Boston! Instantly, everything came flooding back. She had been kidnapped, then someone had rescued her, and. . .
“How did I get back here to the Mission, Martha?” she asked. This was too strange.
“I think I’d better have Mr. Duncan speak with you, Raine.”
Raine grimaced. One of the last people she wanted to see. . .
The nurse laughed at the look on Raine’s face. “Don’t worry. He’ll be nice. He’s been just as worried about you as the rest of us. Maybe more,” she added, leaving Raine to puzzle over her remark.
Martha bustled back into the room a few minutes later, a steaming bowl of soup in her hands. Raine’s mouth watered as the nurse placed the bowl in front of her. “Mr. Duncan will be up shortly, so you eat. You can freshen up when you’re done.”
Raine nodded, her mouth full. After a second bowl, she felt almost as good as new. As she set the bowl aside, Charlotte breezed through the door.
“Raine! You look terrible!” The sincerity in Charlotte’s voice was disturbing.
“Thanks. It’s nice to see you too.” Raine rolled her eyes, then gave her friend a gentle push. “Could you move, please? I want to get washed.”
Martha shooed Charlotte out the door. “Plenty of time for you to talk to her later,” she said with a smile. Martha turned to Raine. “Here’s a washcloth and some soap. And a hairbrush and a mirror.”
Raine washed her face. The warm water and fragrant soap had never felt so good. She picked up the hair brush and ran the brush through her hair, then froze as she realized how short it was. She picked up the mirror.
Was that really her? Her rich brown hair lay in waves, ending just below her chin. The looser style enhanced her high cheekbones and large eyes. Putting the mirror down, she stared at Martha.
“It’ll grow back,” the nurse promised.
Raine continued to stare, wide-eyed. “But why?”
“He had to do it, Raine. Otherwise you might not have escaped.”
“He who? Who had to do it?”
“Good morning!”
Raine jumped at the sound of Mr. Duncan’s voice.
“You’re looking much better,” he said.
She was taken aback by the kindness in his tone. He seemed so—nice. Almost fatherly. . .
“How are you feeling, Raine?”
“Pretty fair,” she said cautiously. He had never called her Raine before, always Miss Thomas.
“Mr. Duncan, Martha said you could explain how I got here to the Mission after, well, you know.” She almost felt sick as she thought of the dark, musty hold she had been forced to live in for. . .for how long?
“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat, sniffing nervously. “How much do you remember?”
She wrinkled
her brow. “I remember the man forcing me from my room and into the carriage. I guess I fainted, because when I came to, I was in the hold of some ship. I don’t know how long I was there. My captor questioned me once. . .” Her voice trailed off as she pictured her captor’s evil face.
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I don’t remember much else, until a man came and found me. I thought it was Ben, but it wasn’t. The man was familiar, but I was so—” She stopped short at the look on Mr. Duncan’s face. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
He studied the floor.
She was incredulous. Never in a million years would she have guessed that the frosty Mission administrator would come to her rescue.
“How did you find me?” she asked in amazement.
“I was in my office the morning you were abducted, Raine,” he said. “I heard some scuffling on the stairs, along with a large thump on my door. At first I thought that some of the children were being mischievous,” he admitted. “I was just going to yank the door open when I heard a man swearing. Realizing there might be some sort of trouble, I waited until I heard the front door open.”
“But how did you. . .”
“I opened the door a crack, just in time to see him force you into the carriage.” He clenched his teeth. “I slipped out the back door and managed to get Oscar saddled in time to see the carriage turn the corner.”
Raine stared at him in amazement. His eyes were glowing, his face animated.
“I followed the rascals to their ship and watched them manhandle you down to the hold. They had two guards posted, so I didn’t even try to get aboard. I hated to leave you there, but I was going to need some help to rescue you. I went back to the Mission and I, well, I learned how to pray.” His voice grew humble. “I’ve always been a pompous old thing, thinking that God was lucky to have me in His service. But when I realized how helpless I was to do anything about this situation, well, I just had to get down on my knees. Before I could even begin to pray for you, I knew I had to ask Christ for His forgiveness.”
