by Addy, Alice
“Now that plum hurts my feelin’s, daughter. I went to a lot of trouble to track you down and now you don’t even want to see me.” Lucas took a menacing step forward, his eyes never leaving Emily’s frightened face.
She remembered the rifle was resting on the other side of the fireplace, just behind the chair. If she could get to it, he’d be forced to leave. Stealthily, she moved closer to the chair.
“You know you’re not welcome here. When Blake gets back, he’ll have you arrested.”
Lucas laughed loudly at that statement. “I’m shakin’ in my boots, little girl. The doc, yer so fond of, is layin’ dead, half-way ‘tween here and Hays City. You don’t think I’d let him live, do ya? Not after all the trouble he’s caused me.”
Emily’s heart jumped up into her throat at the possibility of Blake being dead. “I don’t believe you, old man. You’re a liar and a coward. Blake is too smart for the likes of you.”
He continued to grin, showing his yellow, rotten teeth. “We’ll see, girlie. We’ll see. Fer now, I think we should relax and get reacquainted. Have some fun. You ain’t no scrawny kid, no more. I could see that by your round little bottom sticking up in the air, when you were bent over cleaning that log box. And it ain’t like we’re blood related. I ain’t your pa.”
Emily knew exactly what he was getting at and she’d kill herself before she’d allow him to lay one filthy hand on her. Quickly, Emily calculated the time and estimated how long it would take Blake to make the ride from town to the farm. Closing her eyes, for just an instant, she prayed he would arrive in time to save her. She needed to keep Lucas talking until then.
“Why did you kill Dusty? He was no threat to you?” She stepped one step closer to the door.
Lucas spit on her recently cleaned floor. “He was weak. Damn runt never wanted to do what was necessary to get the job done. Lazy, too. Hell, I thought about gettin’ rid of him fer years. It’s not like he was my boy. Couldn’t trust him and I’m glad to be shed of him.”
“I hate you!” Emily screamed.
The old man slapped his right hand over his heart and stumbled back a couple of steps with a look of pain across his face—before he starting laughing. “Ooh, I’ll never get over that, girlie. That was a arrow straight through my heart.”
Then he grew dark and serious. “Now get your fine ass into that kitchen and fix me up some grub. I ain’t ‘et for nearly two days and I’m a starvin’. Then, later, we’ll get down to the fun stuff . . . now git!” The serious tone of his voice caused shivers to run down Emily’s spine.
She tried looking for a solution to this very real threat, but could only think of one thing. Her eyes darted to the shotgun resting just a few feet away. She knew he was up to no good and it would be hours before Blake arrived—if he arrived. She would have to save herself.
Immediately, Lucas was in her face, tobacco spit dripping from his chin. “Don’t even think it, darlin’. I’ll snap yer neck before you ever get yer fingers around the barrel,” he snarled. To make his point, he grabbed her by the throat and squeezed just hard enough to shut off her air supply, then he tossed her aside, laughing.
Emily stumbled away, and headed for the kitchen. As she rubbed her swollen neck, she thought of another way to stall for time. She’d cook up a big meal—one that took a lot of time to prepare. Buying time was her only strategy.
An hour had passed when Lucas stomped into the little kitchen, madder than hell. “I ain’t stupid. It don’t take no hour to fix some eggs and taters. Fry me up some bacon, too. And hurry it up. I know yer a wastin’ time, hopin’ fer someone to come ridin’ in and save ya. But it ain’t gonna happen. I told ya. I done shot him.”
“I don’t believe you, Lucas. You’re a liar.”
He suddenly grabbed her arm and twisted it up behind her back. The sharp pain was excruciating and forced her up on her toes. Emily was afraid the bones were going to snap.
“I don’t give a damn what you think, little girl. I’m in charge and what I say is law.” He brutally shoved Emily back against the stove, causing her to burn her hand on the kettle, now boiling rapidly.
As she pulled back in response to the pain, she thought about grabbing the kettle and spilling its contents over her stepfather. She needed to do it quickly—take him by surprise.
“There ya go again. A’fore ya can heft that kettle off the fire, I’ll have ya down on the floor with yer bloomers down around yer ankles. You ain’t smart enough to take me, girl. I think I’m gonna punish ya fer all yer thinkin’.” He laughed loudly, knowing she was his for the taking.
Emily’s eyes dimmed in defeat. She had no choice but to do exactly as he demanded. She quickly finished his food and placed it on the table in front of him, praying he’d choke.
Lucas shoveled the food in as fast as he could get his mouth around the spoon. He ate like an animal, Emily thought. It was disgusting watching him devour his food. She could feel her stomach roll over as bile filled her throat. She was going to be sick.
“Fetch me somethin’ to drink. And it better not be milk!” Lucas shouted, with a mouthful of eggs.
Thank God, Emily thought. It got her away from the table long enough for her stomach to relax. She had used all the water in the pail, for the soup she’d been preparing for supper, so she would have to go outside to the pump. She grabbed the bucket and headed for the door when she was grabbed by the waist and thrown to the floor, forcing all the air from her lungs. Scared and in pain, she heard Lucas roar with glee while watching her gulping for air, trying to regain her breath.
“You goin’ somewheres? I’ll kill ya first. Now get yer ass up off the floor and pour me some of that coffee.” He pointed to the pot on the back of the stove.
Against her will, tears started cascading down Emily’s cheeks. The last thing she wanted to do was show Lucas she feared him. She had tried to be brave, but she now feared her situation was hopeless. It was as if she was five years old again and the old man’s will was law. As she got to her knees, Lucas put his big boot against her bottom and pushed her back onto the floor. He cackled like a lunatic.
Once again, Lucas ordered Emily to stand up and fetch him some coffee.
Warily, Emily stood up . . . watching for another trick. Cautiously, she proceeded to the stove and grasped the coffeepot, carefully pouring a hefty amount into a large mug. She smiled as she handed it to the old man.
She watched has he drained that cup . . . then waited.
Earlier that morning, Emily had discovered rats in the cellar and wanted to stop them before they multiplied and threatened their winter food supply. Not being able to find a suitable container for the poison, she used the large mug to mix the liquid. She’d set it aside, until after it was washed thoroughly—which it hadn’t yet been. The dregs of the poison had settled in the bottom of the cup.
The rich dark liquid flowed down his chin and over the sides of the cup, but she was certain that he had ingested enough of the tainted brew.
It didn’t take long, as Emily noticed the furrowing of Lucas’ brow, soon followed by a slight grimace of his mouth. Suddenly, he looked up at her with a feral look of hatred. As he said, he wasn’t stupid.
In a moment’s time, he was on his feet and lunging for her. With one hand on his now recoiling stomach, he reached out and grabbed onto her securely, with his other hand. It was amazing, the strength he possessed even after having been poisoned. Lucas staggered toward the stove and the lighted lamp sitting upon the shelf. He dragged her out the door, knocking everything aside.
Across the yard, ignoring the protestations of the angry geese, he continued to pull Emily. The harder she struggled, the tighter he held on, cutting off all circulation to her arms and hands, his ragged nails cut deeply into her tender flesh. Emily screamed, knowing that it was a futile attempt to get help.
Lucas was practically blind by the time they reached the closed doors to the barn. He struggled to stand upright, but never lost his vise-like grip on Emily.
Once inside, he threw her to the floor and fell down beside her.
Emily noticed his breathing was labored and he sweat profusely, but he was still conscious. She couldn’t believe that the small amount of arsenic in the cup would have such a profound effect on the big man, and so quickly. She tried to scoot back, away from him, but he reached out for her and once again, he held tight.
“Damn you. I had plans.” He struggled to speak. “You ain’t won yet, girlie.” Lucas managed to secure a rawhide rope around her hands and pulled it down through her feet, tying her to a beam, before he passed out.
Emily began to sob with relief. Surely Lucas was dying and Blake would find her tied up in the barn. Looking over at the vile man, she wondered what created a man such as he? How could a man turn into such a monster? She remembered all the horrible things she had witnessed as a child. He was at the center of it all and she was glad he was dying. His chest was still rising and falling, but she hoped it would soon still. She closed her swollen eyes and thought of Blake.
It was then that Emily smelled the smoke.
* * *
It had been a long and tedious day. Blake’s mind had been filled with erotic images of Emily, lying on the bed and wrapped seductively in just a smile. Thoughts of her luxurious black hair caressing her bare shoulders and lying in curls about her perfect nipples delighted his imagination. He grew hard, just thinking of her. He had to get home to her soon or he’d lose his mind. Smiling, he imagined what his life would be like after he took Emily for his bride.
Blake nudged his horse in an effort to pick up the pace. If he hurried, he’d be there in thirty minutes or less. He’d kiss and fondle Emily first, and bring her to paradise. Then they’d have dinner and he’d repeat the loving, all over again. Yes, sir. He planned hours of sexual pleasure for the two of them.
“Whoa!” Blake commanded, as he pulled back on the reins. He smelled smoke, and in this dry prairie country that was almost always a bad sign. His eyes darted around, scanning the horizon, looking for the telltale sign of fire, curling high into the air, but he saw nothing. He strained to see a plume, but there was nothing visible. Slowly, he proceeded, keeping a sharp lookout for trouble.
Blake hadn’t yet reached the top of the ridge when his blood ran cold. A black trail of smoke had risen above the hill. The farm was on fire—Emmie’s farm.
Pressing his heels into the horse’s flanks, Blake rode like a bat out of hell toward the offending smell of burning lumber. As he cleared the ridge, he saw the devastation. Never slowing, he rode faster to find Emily. Surely, she would have gotten out. He heard a loud and agonizing sound in his ears as he neared the farmhouse. It was his own voice, he heard, screaming in anguish and abject terror at what he saw.
“Emmie! Emily!” He shouted over and over, as he ran frantically from the totally engulfed farmhouse to the blazing barn. Surely she had escaped. He tried the doors . . . the windows, any opening he could find. The heat of the flames prohibited him from entering. He rushed to the side of the barn and kicked at the timbers, but part of the loft caved in, blocking his way. Blake frantically ran to the stock tank and tried to fill the buckets with enough water to get him inside the barn, but it couldn’t be done.
“Emily!” he shouted. “Angel, where are you?” Blake’s voice was hoarse and his eyes stung from the realization that his love may not have survived. He knew she wouldn’t abandon her farm, but would stay and fight the cursed flames.
Falling to his knees in disbelief, he came to the realization that it was hopeless. It was futile to think anything would be spared. He could do nothing to save whatever was still in the house or barn. The heat was so intense, he had to pull back and just watch it burn. As his hopes continued to fade, his eyes kept searching the fields, beyond the barn, for the sight of a ravishing brunette.
“Let it burn,” he muttered. If he couldn’t find Emily, he didn’t care if it all went up in flames. If he didn’t have her, he had nothing. Blake felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest. Turning his eyes toward the tremendous heat, he watched the hungry, fiery tongues devour his home and destroy all his hopes for the future.
In the distance, Blake heard the sounds of wagons and horses traveling toward him at top speed, but he never looked up. He sat with his head in his hands, not able to think of anything except the horrendous pain and guilt he felt for not having been here to save Emily. The loss was excruciating and tore him apart. Unable to cope, Blake screamed from the torment ravishing his mind.
“What was that?” Dora asked, as she grabbed Whiskey’s sleeve. “Was that a man’s scream or an animal hurt?”
Whiskey nodded. “We’ve got to get there fast,” he said, as he slapped the reins again and again, forcing the team to go faster. “Somebody’s in a heap of trouble.”
In just a few minutes, it appeared that half the town arrived at what was left of Emily’s little farm. The blackened remains were still smoldering and giving out a lot of heat, and it was evident to all, that there was nothing to salvage. The damage had been done. By the time the smoke was seen in town, the cause had been lost.
“Look yonder,” Dora said softly. She spied a broken and discouraged man, sitting by the animal trough, with his head down and his shoulders shaking with emotion. “It’s the doc.”
Patty, Cassie, Dora and Whiskey ran as quickly as humanly possible to his aide. He was obviously in great mental and physical pain.
“Ooh, Doc. Look at your hands,” Cassie exclaimed. “They’re all blistered. They must hurt an awful lot. Your hair is burnt, too.”
Blake looked up at the small crowd standing before him, and stared as if he couldn’t recall who they were. What blisters? Why were they all here?
Patty recognized the symptoms. “He’s suffering from shock. Cassie, bring back a blanket and some coffee from the wagon. Dora, would you tell everyone that the doc’s going to be fine, but it will take some time to get him back to town? There’s no sign of Emily.” Her voice broke, as she suddenly lost control. A sob escaped from her throat and she fell down beside Blake, resting her head on his shoulder. There, she wrapped her arms around his big body and cried until she had no more tears to shed. It was then she noticed they were sharing the quilt that Cassie had found.
Wiping her eyes, she gathered up what little strength she had, and tried to get control. “Doc. Where’s Emily?”
He looked at her with vacant eyes. What was she asking?
“Doc,” she said louder and with more force. “We need to know what happened and where to find Emily?”
Blake started to shake his head as he dragged his reddened and blistered hands through his singed hair. “I don’t know,” he murmured so low she could barely make out what he said.
Whiskey poured some whiskey in a cup and handed it to Blake. “Drink this, son. It won’t change nothin’, but you’ll be able to cope with it. I know.” Whiskey had tried to cope with the untimely death of Frieda Birdsong several years back, and it was the fiery liquid that saw him through—and the love he had for his adopted daughter, Eve.
“It’s getting dark, Doc. You need to get back to town and have your hands treated. Most of our friends and neighbors have gone back. Now it’s time for you to come with us,” Patty said, gently, knowing he would not agree.
“No. I can’t go back. I gotta stay here and wait for Emmie.”
“Emily’s gone, Doc,” Dora sniffled. “You cain’t do nothin’ for her, now.” She dabbed her eyes with her gloved hand and looked away, trying not to lose her composure . . . for his sake.
“No!” he yelled. “I’m not leaving until I find her. For God’s sake, I can’t just leave her here . . . all alone and in the dark. Don’t you see? She’ll be scared.” His gut-wrenching sobs were frightening to behold. The strong man was inconsolable. Cassie put her hands over her ears and ran back to the wagon, not willing to be a witness to his agony.
Dora wrapped her strong and maternal arms around the young doctor. “Life goes on, my dear bo
y, whether you want it to or not. You cain’t never allow yourself to give up. You hear me?” She asked in a stern tone. “Emily loved you and this little piece of land. You’ve still got that land. Make somethin’ of it . . . for her sake. Don’t give up.”
“Okay, Doc,” Whiskey said, shaking his head slowly. He patted Blake on the shoulder for reassurance and said, “We’ll leave you here, for the night, but we’re comin’ back for you first thing in the mornin’, and then you’ll be comin’ home with us. It ain’t healthy to stay here grievin’, and I ain’t about to let you get sick and die from the miseries. We’ll be back.”
The old man turned and nodded to the women standing by Blake’s side. They reluctantly followed him back to the wagon and quietly left their friend to grieve in his own way.
Night had descended and the blessed darkness disguised the ugliness of what was left of Emmie’s beloved farm. Some of the structures still smoldered, but for the most part, the fire had consumed everything and had burned itself out. There was not a sound, other than Blake’s tormented breathing and the slow beating of his broken heart. No stars twinkled in the black sky; neither did the moon shine down to light his way. Blake had not moved one inch since he realized Emily had perished. He had tried to force his lungs to stop their filling with air, but it was useless. Life continued on regardless of whether he willed it to or not.
“Emmie,” he whispered. “My darling, Emmie. I love you so.”
Suddenly he heard a slight rustle from behind where the barn once stood. He jumped to his feet. “Emmie!” he shouted, as he ran toward the sound. She had survived! He knew she had gotten away from the deadly inferno.
“Honk! Honk!” From out of the brush, the geese had returned to the scene of the crime and they were obviously angry. The comfortable porch, which provided them shelter, was gone. “Honk!” they protested. Covered in ash and soot, they strutted around the yard, flapping their enormous wings.
Blake stopped, frozen in his tracks, and surprised himself by grinning at the antics of the arguing birds. If he could understand goose, he knew that she was letting him have it.
