by Dee Burks
As she surveyed her surroundings, she saw an elderly couple, bound and gagged, sitting on a bench near the door. The man wore overalls and was nearly completely bald. Though the gag prevented him from saying anything, anger emanated from his stern expression and red face.
The woman sat next to him in a faded green dress. Tendrils of gray-blue hair hung across her face, and she cowered in fear. Samantha pressed her lips together. They had to be in their late sixties or early seventies. How could he truss them up like criminals?
“Breakfast would be nice, don’t you think?” Lawson stepped around her and sat down at the long table. Pulling an expensive-looking pocketknife out of his coat, he cleaned his fingernails one by one. The scraping sound grated across Samantha’s already raw nerves.
She rubbed her wrists as she met the old woman’s frightened gaze. Anger rose immediately and Samantha glared at Lawson’s back, struggling to control her voice. The man needed to be squashed like a large, odious stink bug.
Docile, you must be docile. “Of course. I’ll see what there is,” she said
Lawson’s eyes followed her as she moved around the kitchen. She gathered ingredients and sat them next to a large bowl on the counter. Each time she stole a look in his direction, she was met by the same piercing, unwavering stare. Her skin flinched in disgust and her nerves stretched taunt.
Samantha stirred the mix. She couldn’t afford to make a move too soon. He had to relax at some point. Catching him off guard was her only chance. If only she had some help. She glanced at the old couple. One woman might not be able to overpower Lawson, but maybe the three of them could do something.
“I think some biscuits and ham might be manageable.” She attempted to smile. “If that’s all right with you, John.”
He nodded. “Just hurry. And make plenty. I haven’t eaten anything decent in days.”
Samantha’s mind sparked a quick idea. “Well, I could fry some potatoes, too, if I had some help peeling them?” She extended a spud his direction.
He snorted. “I’m not kitchen help.”
“Oh no, of course not,” She feigned concern that she hoped seemed heartfelt. “Maybe she could peel them while I roll out the biscuits.” Samantha motioned toward the woman.
Lawson raised an eyebrow. Hunger warred with suspicion, but physical sustenance won out. He nodded in agreement.
Samantha loosened the ropes restraining the woman.
“No tricks.” Lawson threatened.
The woman shook her head.
“Oh, I’m sure you have nothing to fear from, uh . . .?” Samantha questioned.
“Lillian.” Her voice shook.
Samantha smiled and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to be fine. We’re all going to be fine.” She looked hard at the woman, who nodded silent support, and then at the man, who jerked his head in agreement. It was a relief that Lawson hadn’t frightened them too badly to be of any help. She now had two willing accomplices, but no plan.
The two women walked to the kitchen area and Samantha began an easy chat with Lillian as Lawson watched intently.
“How long have you and . . . ?” She motioned toward the man.
“Ben.”
“Ben, lived here?” Samantha spoke loud enough to be heard by everyone as she rolled out biscuits on the counter with her back to Lawson. Lillian stood beside her and peeled potatoes with shaking hands. Samantha watched the knife wobble, barely missing the woman’s finger.
“About ten years, I suppose.” Lillian imitated Samantha’s light tone and spoke distinctly. “It was my sister’s place, but her man died and she went back east to care for my mother.”
“Where back east?” Samantha smoothed out some flour next to the biscuits and began writing words, her body shielding the movement from Lawson’s prying eyes.
“Up near New York.” Lillian nodded slightly as each word was formed then erased.
“I grew up in Boston.”
“I hear it’s lovely in the fall there.” She peeled more flesh off the last potato than skin as she tried to decipher Samantha’s writing. She set it aside, picked up another, and tried to concentrate.
“Oh, it is.” Silence descended. It was difficult to carry on a conversation and write secret messages at the same time. She stared at the rolling pin that looked older than she was. “How long have you and Ben been married?
“Thirty-eight years.”
“That long?”
“It was nothing much besides Indians and Mexicans when we came out to this area as newlyweds.” Lillian did better on the next potato, and her hands stopped shaking. “Our boys were already grown, and we thought we would get a smaller place and bought this one.”
Samantha relaxed a bit as the conversation seemed to be calming everyone. “So, how has it gone?”
Lillian raised an eye brow at her with a slight grin. “Well, it hasn’t been easy, but it’s certainly been interesting.”
Samantha formed then erased the last word in flour and helped pile the now-naked spuds in a bowl.
“We haven’t put on any coffee yet.” Lillian said.
Samantha’s eyebrows raised in question as a near-full pot sat on the stove. Lillian opened a cabinet and pushed aside several jars. She stood on tiptoe and pulled out a can of coffee. She slid her gaze toward Samantha and flicked her palm open to reveal a small vial that she quickly concealed in her skirt pocket.
“I think coffee would be just the thing.” Samantha glanced toward Lawson, who was no longer looking at them.
Within a few minutes potatoes were frying, biscuits baking, and coffee brewing. Samantha stared at the pot of coffee. She willed the liquid to boil as the back of her neck overheated with pent-up tension. Her hand absently rubbed the aching muscles there as her mind lined up several escape plans.
“A watched pot never boils, honey.” Lillian now stood beside Samantha. “Like you said, everything’s gonna be fine,” she whispered.
Samantha tried to smile and mouthed, “How long?”
Lawson stood and turned in their direction, listening intently.
“Oh, I’d say it will probably be ready in about fifteen minutes or so. Give or take.” She raised her voice a bit so Lawson could hear.
Fifteen minutes for it to work. What then? Samantha looked around the room again. Her focus settled on Ben. They had to get Lawson to allow them to untie him. She walked toward the man and leaned over him so it would appear she was inspecting his bindings.
“Get away from him,” Lawson spoke calmly, his eyes flashing a warning.
“He seems utterly harmless John,” Samantha laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder and felt firm muscles. “Why, he’s all bone.” The man’s eyes showed momentary surprise before his expression hid itself again.
“He hasn’t been at all well.” Lillian chimed in, catching the drift of the ploy. “Had a hacking cough for weeks now.”
Ben coughed under the gag then bowed his head and sucked in his chest, doing his best to look the part of an invalid.
Lawson’s gaze roamed over the man, an unnatural stare that seemed to pierce flesh.
“It seems incredibly cruel to make this poor man sit here with his hands tied like this while we eat.” Ben coughed some more and Samantha patted him gently on the back.
Lawson gave her a lopsided grin. “You are entirely too softhearted.” He moved toward the older man and untied him. “That’s just one of the reasons you need my protection.”
Samantha flashed Lawson what she hoped was a brilliant smile. “Thank you.” She forced herself to brush her fingertips along this arm. “I’m sure you’re right about that.”
She clamped her teeth together and wiped her hand on her skirt. Touching him repulsed her. At least he didn’t touch back. She would rather be licked on the earlobe by a snake.
Ben rubbed his wrists and watched Lawson from beneath his lowered lids. “Mother, could you help me to the table? My gout’s actin’ up from sitting here this long.”
Samantha’s eyes widened as the man limped to the table, leaning heavily on Lillian. Hope dimmed a little as she watched the old man. It never crossed her mind he might not be able to move quickly. Lawson seated himself and absently ran his long fingers along the blade of his knife as if it were an extension of his hand. Samantha dished up the food.
Lillian nudged her side and motioned to Ben with a grin. The man winked. Relief flooded over her. What extraordinary luck to have accomplices that were better actors than she.
Ben heaved a long breath and rubbed his thigh. “Yep. It’s a sad thing, gettin’ old.”
Lawson’s attention momentarily flicked toward Ben.
He slapped his knee. “Old war wound, ya know.”
“Which war?” Samantha cleaned flour off the counter.
“Why the big one, Missy. The war between the states.”
Ben leaned toward Lawson. “We’s out on patrol creeping up on ol’ Johnny Reb and trying to keep track of his comins and goins up in the Cumberland Gap area. You been there?”
Lawson shook his head no.
“Beautiful country. Mist settles into the mountains and looks like the breath of God hisself.”
“I’ve listened for twenty years about those mountains.” Lillian said. “Don’t you think it’s about time I saw them, old man?”
“Now this is my story Mother and there you go trotting right into it!” He whispered at Lawson, “Woman can’t stand not to be the center of attention. For mor’n fifty years she’s interrupted every story I ever told.”
“That’s not true. And it is thirty-eight years, not fifty.” Lillian smiled at Samantha.
“It seems like mor’n fifty some days,” he groused. “Anyway, like I was sayin’, we’s walking through some brush toward a deserted campsite and all the sudden I heard a crack and felt a sharp burning in my leg. Well, let me tell you, I thought one of them eastern diamondbacks had done had his way with me for sure. I’s almost relieved when I found out it was only a bullet.”
Lillian flipped over some clean mugs and emptied all of the white powder from the vial into one cup. Samantha filled it with coffee and waited a moment to be sure it dissolved completely before offering it to Lawson. She found it exquisite poetic justice that she was slipping something into his drink just as he’d slipped something into Mattie’s in Boston.
The other mugs were filled and they all sat down to eat.
“When will we be leaving?” Samantha asked.
“In a few hours,” he said. “Horse needs more rest.”
Lawson ate as meticulously as he did everything else, working in a clockwise circle on his plate. Potatoes, ham, biscuit—take a sip of coffee. Potatoes, ham, biscuit—take a sip of coffee. She willed him to drain the cup, or at least take a large gulp, but had to watch as he sipped in between bites of biscuit and potato. Always the same order, never deviating. Samantha shook her head. He must have been a very strange child.
The meal ended quietly. The women cleared the table and washed dishes. They chattered lightly, and each occasionally glanced toward the chair where Lawson had settled himself. Just as Samantha finished scrubbing the skillet, the first bead of sweat appeared on Lawson’s forehead and he shifted slightly in his chair.
“More coffee, anyone?” Samantha noticed her tone was a little too cheery. She found it difficult to contain the anticipation of escape. She tried to appear somewhat more subdued as she filled Ben’s cup.
Lawson seemed not to notice as he squirmed in his chair for a few minutes and finally bolted for the door. No one moved a muscle. The heavy slam of the outhouse door propelled the remaining occupants of the house into action.
Ben leapt to his feet and ran to the window to watch for Lawson’s return.
“What was that stuff?” Samantha asked.
Lillian grinned. “A little potion I used to use when my boys needed cleaning out.” She laughed, “He’ll be holed up in that outhouse for an hour or better.”
“I’ll saddle the horses.”
“Oh no, you’ve already done so much to help. I can ride his horse,” Samantha started, “and if you’ll point me in right direction . . .”
Ben chuckled. “This is the most excitement we’ve had around here in years. We’re not about to send you off alone, little lady.” He winked at her. “’Sides, I kinda want to see how this comes out.”
Lillian laughed at Ben and nodded. “He just loves a good adventure.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “And so do I!”
The three slipped out the door and around to the barn, keeping a close eye on the outhouse door. They quickly saddled the horses and set off, trying to keep the animals quiet as they passed close to the house.
The outhouse door swung open and Lawson stumbled out, yelling, “I’ll find you, Samantha. You can’t get away. You’ll pay for this.” He stopped suddenly, turned, and ran back to the outhouse.
“We better get while the gettin’s good ladies.” Ben swung his horse around and set a steady gallop toward River City.
Chapter 22
The wind stirred dust across the set of tracks Taos had followed for the last four hours, mostly on foot leading his horse. The darkness had given way to dawn, but the going had been painstakingly slow.
“At least he left a trail big enough for my mother-in-law to find.” Sheriff Blake and Sonny had continued on with Taos, though the darkness had seriously hampered their efforts. All three reeked of smoke from the fire. Taos’s nose still burned with the acrid odor of burnt horseflesh. He wiped a sleeve across his nose, but it didn’t help.
Taos followed the trail as best he could. As time dragged on, foreboding set into his heart. They could be miles ahead by now, and if they lost this trail there would be almost no hope.
“We’ll get along a bit faster with a few hours’ sleep. Need our strength, you know,” Blake said.
The sheriff had hinted at setting up camp several times, but Taos just couldn’t stop. It wasn’t about being tired. He was certainly that. He needed to be doing, not thinking. As long as he was doing something—anything—to find Samantha, he wasn’t thinking about her. Missing her, needing her, loving her. He couldn’t let his mind settle on the mights and maybes. The edge of insanity drew closer with every step. If he stopped, it just might catch up.
“Can’t rightly figure where he’s headed.” Sonny rode up beside Taos. “He know anybody out this direction?”
“Not that I know of,” Taos hadn’t been able to figure out his direction either. He knew Lawson didn’t have provisions for any length of time on his horse and he was headed out into an area still considered Indian Territory by most locals. It was sparsely populated with no towns or anywhere to refresh their mounts. The terrain was steep and heavily forested. Maybe Lawson had stashed supplies and fresh horses nearby. He stared at the single tracks they were following.
“Seems he would’ve switched horses by now.” Blake seemed to read his mind. “It’s almost like he didn’t have much of a plan beyond snatching her.”
That did nothing to ease Taos’s mind. If that line of thinking were true, then Lawson was way more than borderline crazy. At least sanity made a man partially predicable on the trail. Crazy was different.
The men fell into silence as they made their way along the trail. The sheriff seemed to resign himself to continuing on, which they did.
When the sun peeked over the mountains, the men stopped at a creek to water the horses. Taos stood next to his horse and leaned both arms on the saddle, watching the sun rise. It had the hallmarks of being a beautiful day, the kind of day when most people would be getting up and going about their normal business.
It’s not natural, he thought, for life to go on normal for other people today, yet fall apart for me.
“You figuring on which way they went from here?” Blake hung gnarled fingers in his front belt loops and stared in the same direction as Taos.
“Nah, I was just wondering how to make the sun stop rising.”
Blak
e nodded in silent sympathy and wandered off, leaving Taos to his thoughts.
Taos breathed deeply of the cool air. His heart ached for the slightest scent of honeysuckle, but there was nothing. He breathed again, closed his eyes, and laid a hand on his chest as the ache expanded.
Sonny kneeled down next to him and washed soot off both his arms in the creek. He cleared his throat, “You know I’m real sorry about before.” He looked up at Taos.
“Before what?”
“About Samantha and all.” He stood next to Taos. “Didn’t know y’all was married.”
Taos’s face hinted at a smile. “Neither did I.”
Sonny shrugged. “Still, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just wanted you to know.”
“Don’t think nothin’ of it, Sonny.” Taos paused. “You gonna stay in River City?”
“Might as well. Be just as hard to start somewhere else as it is to start here again.”
“How many head are left?”
“Maybe thirty, maybe twenty five.” He shook his head. “Less than half and I’ll have to sell them.”
“You won’t get any kind of price for ’em now with so many selling out.”
Sonny stared at the ground. “Got no way to feed ’em. The fire took near every bit of forage I had left.”
Taos thought a moment. “You could bring them over to our place, mix in with our heard. Just ’til things are better anyway.”
“Can’t take no charity.” He looked away ashamed.
“It wouldn’t be. You could trade a few head for the grass and water. Course we’d expect you to help with our stock and with the other work on the ranch. What do you say?”
The man’s face registered a range of emotions from surprise to gratefulness. “I’d be right grateful to you.” He extended a hand in Taos’s direction.
Taos shook it and smiled. “You may not say that after a few days. We work long and hard.”
“Good. Me too.”
