Livvie's Song

by Sharlene MacLaren

  Reggie had no interest in the prayer, though, and he barked impatiently.

  Howard kissed his wife on the cheek. “You should call the sheriff,” he said.

  “I will. We talked about that while you were getting the guns. You two be careful, and God be with you.”

  When they stepped out into the rain, it was like walking into the path of a fire hose. A flash of lightning streaked the sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder.

  “Lead the way, Reggie,” Will called out.

  The dog took off, and it was all they could do to keep him in their sights.

  ***

  While Livvie prepared a meager meal of cold beans, buttered bread, and canned pears, Clem sat in a dilapidated chair beside the table and kept his pistol trained on her. At least he’d agreed to leave her unshackled for the past two hours. She’d managed a hasty glance out the front window earlier. A lot of good it had done her, though, with so many trees and tall bushes surrounding the little building. Plus, the unrelenting rain had decreased visibility to almost nil.

  Clem’s husky breathing and his chattering teeth told her that he’d caught a raging fever from Reggie’s bite, and no wonder. The infection was so serious that a red line had started traveling up his arm and was now about six inches long. “You should have a doctor tend that wound,” she told him for at least the dozenth time. “I think you might have blood poisoning.”

  “Would you shut up ’bout my arm? I’m fine, and I don’t want you sayin’ another word about it, you understand? Sheesh! You’re as bad as my last wife. Nag, nag, nag! I’m about to shut you up for good.” Earsplitting thunder accentuated his threat.

  Fear and anger coursed through her, but it seemed that her chatty charade was her best bet of escaping. “I don’t see how we’ll ever get acquainted if you don’t allow me to talk.”

  “Lady, if you wanna get acquainted, there’re plenty o’ ways to go about it without talkin’.” He gave a low, rattly chortle, but she didn’t miss the weakness in his voice. If only she could get ahold of his gun somehow.

  “Are you divorced, then?” she asked, ignoring his crude innuendo as she buttered the last slice of bread. From out of a box on the table, she lifted two plates and a couple of spoons. It occurred to her that she could wallop him on the head with one of the dishes, but she knew that even a cast-iron skillet was no match for a gun.

  “Nope. Flo died, week or so back. Hear tell she walked in front of a train.”

  Livvie jerked her head up and stared at him, stunned by his cold indifference. “That’s terrible.”

  “Not for me, it ain’t,” he said. “I was gonna divorce the witch, anyway. Timin’ was perfect, don’t you think?”

  She tried to tamp down her shudder as she arranged the food on the plates. When she set one down directly under his nose, he waved the gun at her. “Pull up that chair and sit down.”

  She complied, and they ate their simple meal in silence.

  Later, as she knelt on the floor and washed the dishes in a bucket of water, the gun trained on her back while she worked, Livvie prayed for God to intervene. Somehow, she had to get out of this mess. Please, Lord, make that fool fall asleep so that I can yank that gun out of his grasp.

  ***

  Clem monitored Livvie’s every move, all of them graceful, as she washed the dishes and then dried them. She would make a perfect wife for him, and he could tell she’d already started warming up to him, the way she wanted to talk. True, she was too much of a chatterbox for his taste, but he could easily curb that in time. All it would take was a firm hand. His head had started throbbing, but he couldn’t very well nod off till he got her rigged to the mattress with ropes again.

  “You just ’bout done cleanin’ them dishes? I’m gonna have to tie you up so’s I can get some shut-eye.”

  She hung the towel over the back of the other chair and looked at him. “I thought I’d straighten up the place, maybe sweep the floor. Go to sleep, if you want.”

  “Ha! What do you take me for, a brainless idiot? I know what you’re thinkin’. I close my eyes for a minute, and you’re out that door.”

  She glanced at the window and frowned. “In this rain? I wouldn’t venture out there if you paid me. Besides, I wouldn’t even know which way to go. I have no idea where I am.”

  He examined her perfect face, admired each soft, lovely angle, and dreamed about the day when he’d feel well enough to claim her fully. “Makes no matter. I don’t trust you as far as that door right there.” With one hand, he rubbed his hot, sticky face, taking care to keep the gun pointed at her—not easy, he found, with his wrist wavering from fatigue. A buzzing sound filled his head. “Don’t you know better than t’ argue with me? Now, go sit down.”

  She hesitated, her eyes on his pistol, then slowly walked toward the chair.

  “That’s better,” he said, standing and fighting off a wave of wooziness. “Sit down, nice ’n’ easy.” Keeping his eyes trained on her, he went to retrieve the coiled rope, snatched it up, and strode back to her. She lowered herself into the chair, but he didn’t miss the defiance in her hazel eyes. “You’re a stubborn one, ain’t you? Gimme your hands.”

  She didn’t budge but kept her hands clasped in her lap. He might have laughed if his head didn’t feel like it was clamped in a vise and his arm wasn’t burning like an inferno. “Gimme your hands, you li’l she-lion! I’m losin’ my patience.”

  With a scowl that detracted from her pretty looks, she huffed a loud breath and raised her hands. Satisfied, he dropped the rope and grasped her hands, then lowered the gun to the floor. Next, he picked up the rope and began to wrap it around her wrists. It took every ounce of his concentration not to keel over from pain and feverish heat.

  She cocked her head at him. “You know,” she said softly, “this is not at all the way you ought to treat your wife-to-be.” Her gentle cooing caught him off guard, and he paused in his task to look at her. Big mistake. In less time than it took to blink, she kicked him hard, knocking him to the ground, then threw off the rope and leaped to her feet. As she ran past him, he managed to snag her by the ankle, but she whirled around and booted him in the face with her other foot. Blood spattered before his eyes, and he nearly gave up the chase, but sheer rage gave him a second wave of strength. An angry growl rolled out of him as he got to his feet and snatched a fistful of her hair. Screaming and flailing, she clawed at his mouth and eyes, jabbing at his tender scar with her fingernails. He slapped her across the jaw, but she fought back with her feet again, kicking him everywhere she could as she thrashed about, so that he couldn’t get a firm grip on her.

  I’ll kill her for this! he raged within. I’ll kill her, if I can just get my hands on my gun.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.”—Ephesians 4:32

  When a soul-shattering scream rent the air, Will and Howard looked at each other, then quickened their pace as they followed a barking Reggie through the tall grass and thick weeds. The relentless rain soaked them to the bone as bands of lightning streaked across the sky, accompanied by earth-moving thunderclaps. Ripples of terror shot through Will as he bounded over stray rocks and fallen logs, Howard on his heels.

  When the little building came into view, Howard snagged Will by the sleeve to draw him to a halt, then hauled him behind a big tree. “We’ve got to be smart, Will,” he said, in between uneven breaths. “Busting through that door could very well send Livvie to her death. I know it’s hard, but we have to approach this with caution and assess the situation. Before going through that door, you have to know what you’re up against and where even to set your eyes.”

  Will considered Howard’s words, recognizing their wisdom. “All right. You cover me. I’ll sneak between those trees, there, and see if I can get closer. Hopefully, I’ll get a clear view through the front window.”

  Howard nodded solemnly. “Take it
slow and easy. I know how much you want to charge inside, but don’t do anything rash. I love that girl, too, you know.”

  Sucking in a huge gulp of air, Will skimmed wet fingers down his face. “Pray for me,” he said. Then, he shot off through the rain, rifle secured in his hand. Reggie slunk along beside him, ready, Will knew, to pounce at the first sign of trouble. As he approached the building, he detected noises inside—a scuffle, from the sound of it. With his heart pounding out of control, he ducked behind the tree closest to the structure, uttered another fervent plea to the Father for assistance, sent Howard one last, fleeting glance, and then made a run at the old church.

  With Reggie close behind him, making a low, snarling sound, Will crouched down and hugged the building as he inched his way to the window. He stood up slowly, just enough to peek through the glass pane. Despite the filth caked on the window, he could see Livvie and Clem, embroiled in a battle of fists and feet. Without so much as a glance in Howard’s direction, Will shot up and raced for the door, rammed it full force, and burst inside, Reggie by his side. Tossing his rifle to the floor, he hauled Clem up by the arm, and his first thought was that the man looked more slovenly and disgusting than ever before. Clem froze with a dumbfounded stare, giving Will a chance to throw a good, solid punch to his jaw. The force knocked him onto the floor with a thud, missing Livvie by mere inches. Gape-mouthed, she sat up and scuttled backwards. Reggie sprang into combat mode, lunging at Clem’s chest and pinning him down. The man cried like a baby.

  Then, Howard bolted through the door, rifle aimed, eyes wild with worry. “Livvie?” When he saw her, he lowered his rifle and breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

  Will ran to her, crouched at her side, and gathered her close, kissing the top of her head, her cheeks, her chin, her wet eyelids, and then her lips, before finally setting her back from him to give her a thorough assessment. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  With quivering chin, she gave a slow nod, staring at him as if to drink up his features with her eyes. He held out his arms, and she fell against his chest, erupting in sobs as she clung to his shirtfront.

  “W-what took you s-so long?”

  ***

  Livvie’s Kitchen remained closed indefinitely while everyone recuperated from the recent events, and Livvie and her boys stayed at the farm with Margie and Howard. Will stayed sequestered in his apartment, far from eager to face the public, and sorted out what had happened, trying to figure out what it meant for his future.

  News of his criminal record spread like wildfire, thanks in large part to the Daily Plain Dealer, which ran a front-page story about Livvie’s rescue with the headline “Ex-Convict William Taylor Rescues Local Restaurateur from Certain Death.” The article spared no details when it came to his identity. And, while he’d long known that the news was bound to come out eventually, he wished he could have had a chance to tell his side of the story, not that it would have changed anything. In truth, the reporter had his facts straight.

  At Judge Morehead’s orders, Marva Dulane remained behind bars, pending a trial for her part in the kidnapping of Olivia Beckman. If she pleaded no contest—not likely, Will figured, since she failed to recognize her guilt—the judge would proceed to sentence her to at least three and as many as eight years in prison. He expected her to be subjected to a series of psychological tests, too, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the results placed her in a state hospital for the mentally unstable. For her safety, as well as others’, that very well could be the best solution for the poor woman.

  As for Clem Dodd, he lay in a hospital room guarded by armed officers and fought a severe case of blood poisoning. At first, the doctors had not been optimistic about treating the infection, but it seemed their methods were working, as he had begun to improve. It appeared that he would live to undergo a trial and sentencing in Wabash and also the federal district court before being whisked off to New York for further charges on several counts of robbery and a trial to follow.

  Will had not seen or talked to Livvie or her boys since the night of her rescue, exactly five days ago, when he and Howard had taken her back to the farm after an interview with the sheriff. It had been a tearful reunion, with Alex and Nate squealing and crying as they rushed into her arms and later refusing to let her out of their sight. Margie had made a grand fuss over her, as well. The phone had rung almost by the minute as folks who had heard of Livvie’s rescue called to express their well wishes, and then, the house had filled with newspaper reporters, BOI officers, and friends and neighbors with a casserole or dessert in hand. The atmosphere had been not unlike a three-ring circus, and the real hero, Reggie, had roamed through the rooms like he was the King of Siam, with everyone pausing in their chatter to pat his head and say, “Good boy, Reggie.”

  Will regretted that he hadn’t said a proper good-bye to Livvie. Sure, he had kissed her and held her close inside that ramshackle church after knocking Clem to the floor. But Sheriff Morris and the BOI had arrived on the scene minutes later, with instant chaos erupting as they showered Livvie with questions and arrested Clem Dodd and dragged him away.

  He had telephoned the Grants’ house twice since that night, asking to speak to Livvie. But, on both occasions, Margie had told him that Livvie was either napping or out in the barn with the boys. He’d asked after her, of course, and Margie had assured him that she was well but needed time to recover from her harrowing experience. Margie hadn’t invited him for lunch or supper, which he’d taken to mean that either she or Livvie did not wish to see him. He could understand Livvie’s need to recuperate, but did she also need to ignore him? Maybe the newspaper article detailing his criminal history had caused her to think twice about keeping him on at the restaurant. He wouldn’t blame her if it had; he’d even told her some time ago that he’d pack his bags and move on if she wanted him to. Maybe he ought to make things easy on her and simply disappear. He could leave a note on the bar downstairs, saying that it was best for everyone that he didn’t hang around. Gus was competent enough to take over until Livvie could find a replacement.

  Around four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon, Will was doing what he’d put off for a long while—cleaning his apartment—when a knock sounded on the door to the second floor. He propped his broom against the wall and shuffled to his apartment door, hoping not to be greeted by a nosy reporter demanding more details about his criminal past.

  In the hallway, he peeked out through the glass pane. Smiling back at him was the last person he would have expected to see: Reverend White. He quickly unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Reverend! How good to see you. What, uh, brings you here?”

  The reverend gave him a teasing frown. “Surely, you’ve heard of the unwritten rule that a preacher may drop in on his parishioners for no particular reason.”

  Will laughed. “Now that you mention it, I think I have heard something similar.” He shook the reverend’s hand, let him inside, and led the way down the hall to his apartment. “Hope you don’t mind a little dust,” he said as they stepped inside. “For what it’s worth, that broom over there is proof that I’ve at least attempted to make some headway.”

  Reverend White put his hand on Will’s shoulder. “You’re a better man than me. I don’t even know where Esther stores the broom.”

  Will hastily cleared a chair of the newspapers stacked there. The issue on top featured a front-page article about Livvie’s abduction and another about Clem Dodd, which mentioned that Will was a former friend and coconspirator. He hoped that Reverend White hadn’t noticed. But, then again, what was he thinking? He’d probably read both articles. The rest of Wabash had, after all. He’d probably come here to suggest that Will find a different church to attend. And who would blame him? No congregation wanted the likes of him tainting its reputation. He prepared himself to submit to the man’s wishes.

  They sat down and, for the next ten minutes or so, made small talk, discussing everything from Livvie’s ordeal to the weather to automobiles. Finally, Rever
end White said, “As you might know, I’ve read all the news articles pertaining to your past.”

  Will braced himself. “Yeah, I figured that had something to do with your visit.”

  “And you’d be right. The thing is, Will”—the reverend brushed a hand over his balding head and scooted forward on the sofa, his eyes boring into Will’s—“I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

  “Yeah, I thought you might.”

  “You did? Then, you will?”

  “Sure. I’ll start looking for a new church this Sunday. I understand that folks might look down on my attending your—”

  “What’s that? No, no, I’m not asking you to leave, Will. Good gracious! What I would like to ask of you is to share your testimony with the congregation. People have been telling me they’d love to hear it—how you came to know the Lord, that is. And then, if you would be so kind as to play us a tune on your harmonica—a hymn, of course—why, that would just put the icing on the cake.”

  Will’s mouth hung open, and he could do nothing about it. Of all the things he might have expected the preacher to ask of him, speaking to the congregation was nowhere near making the list. “You want me to get up and talk in front of everybody?”

  “Yes, could you do that? We’d be honored if you would.”

  “Really?”

  The reverend studied him for a long moment. “Will, I can imagine why you’re hesitant. You’re rather new to the Christian way of thinking, and you find it hard to believe that your sins are fully forgiven, even harder to believe that other people have also forgiven you.”

  Will nodded slowly, letting the assessment sink in.

  Soon, the preacher continued, his voice soft and consoling. “That’s what the body of Christ does, Will. Rather, that’s what it’s supposed to do—embrace sinners, no matter the wrongs they’ve committed. If Jesus does it, then, by gum, the church had better learn to do the same.