Wild Embrace

by Cassie Edwards

  Elizabeth took an apple from the bowl, then shoved the bowl toward Maysie, silently offering her one. “It’s not that Frannie doesn’t like you,” she tried to explain. “It’s just that I’ve never brought strangers home before. She’s finding that hard to accept. And don’t fret about my father. At first he may behave gruffly, but deep inside his heart he will understand and allow you to stay for as long as you wish.” She paused, then added, “He will, Maysie, because that is what I want, and he owes me, Maysie. He owes me.”

  Elizabeth took a bite of her apple. Maysie only eyed those left in the bowl, her mind elsewhere. “I wish everyone could be as lucky as me,” Maysie said. “The poor women at Copper Hill Prison never had this sort of chance. I’m so, so lucky. I’m so grateful.”

  She leaped from her chair and gave Elizabeth a hearty hug. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” she whispered. “Thank you, thank you.”

  Elizabeth lay her apple aside and rose from her chair. She embraced Maysie, then placed an arm around her waist and walked her out of the dining room to the sitting room. Elizabeth chose a plump, overstuffed leather chair before the roaring fire in the fireplace and sat down. Maysie chose the divan.

  Elizabeth shook her hair back from her shoulders. The fire cast a golden glow on her face, and her bare neck. Her yellow dress was cut low in front, emphasizing her soft swell of breasts. The bodice was softly pleated to the tight waist and the skirt billowed out in yards of luxuriant silk.

  Elizabeth turned and silently admired Maysie. She was a lovely girl, one could see, even though she was now much too pale and wan looking. Elizabeth had chosen a silk dress from her wardrobe for Maysie and it fit her perfectly as it clung to her large bosom and tiny waist. The full gathered skirt spread out on the divan on each side of her.

  “Tell me more about Copper Hill Prison,” Elizabeth said.

  “I’ve visited the women at the prison as often as I could,” Maysie answered softly. “Whenever it was possible, I’d steal some fruit at the market, or from apple trees in people’s yards, and take it to the women prisoners. They never get decent food there. Just . . . just watery soup with no meat in it, and barely a trace of vegetables. With the sort of . . . profession that I was in, I met many of the women before they ended up in Copper Hill. They are mostly God-fearing women who had nothing in life, and no one who cared about what happened to them.”

  Maysie paused, then added, “They are the victims of the evil men who misused and abused them. Now they are with men who taunt them endlessly, and not only the sheriff and his deputy. Some are also at the mercy of the male prisoners whose cells they are forced to share when the prison is too crowded. These women are treated like animals—animals!”

  Elizabeth listened sadly, finding it hard to accept that in any civilized community women could be treated so callously. It gave her a helpless, sick feeling at the pit of her stomach. Then her eyes brightened with an idea.

  “Perhaps you and I could do something that could help lessen the women’s burdens,” she said, smiling at Maysie. “Of course I know that we can do nothing about their actual incarceration, but we can take them fruit. And books from my personal library to help while away their lonesome hours.”

  Elizabeth felt somewhat guilty for her suggestion, for she knew that she was not thinking only about the women’s welfare, but also her own. Spending time helping them would give her something to do.

  Maysie scooted to the edge of the divan. “You would do that?” she breathed, touched to the core by the generosity of this woman who had only yesterday been a total stranger.

  Elizabeth pushed to her feet, the skirt of her dress rustling around her legs. “We shall do that, together,” she said, going to Maysie. She placed an eager hand to Maysie’s elbow and urged her up from the divan. “Come on. Let’s choose which books we can take to the women. They are still in packing crates. I have yet to take the time to place them on shelves in the library. Then we shall ready a basket of fruit and be in Seattle before the dinner hour. Isn’t it exciting, Maysie, to think that we might help lessen the women’s misery somewhat?”

  Maysie pulled away from Elizabeth’s grip. She began slowly shaking her head, a guarded fear in her eyes. “I shan’t go with you,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m . . . I’m still tired and weak from my dip in the Sound. Please. Please go on without me.”

  Maysie looked away from Elizabeth, for she knew that she was not being altogether truthful. Deep inside, where her darkest fears lay, she was afraid of the man who had employed her at the brothel. She was afraid that Frank might see her and drag her back with him, or worse, throw her in prison for running away from him.

  No, Maysie thought sullenly, she had best not be seen by anyone for a while. While she was safely away from the city, she had best stay hidden.

  Elizabeth drew Maysie into a gentle embrace. “I should’ve known that you wouldn’t be up to traveling into Seattle just yet. You stay here and rest. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

  Maysie slipped from Elizabeth’s arms. “I’m not sure you should even go to the prison,” she said, her eyes averted. “Elizabeth, the sheriff, Jed Nolan, can’t be trusted. What if . . . what if . . . he tries to accost you? He’s a despicable man with no morals. If he tried to rape you, there’d be no one there to stop him. If his deputy is there, he’d just laugh, any maybe even take a turn once the sheriff was through with his fun.” She began to wring her hands. “No, Elizabeth. I don’t think it’s good that you go. You wouldn’t be safe at all.”

  “Go wheres?” Frannie said from behind Elizabeth, her voice so loud that Elizabeth jumped as if she had been caught stealing cookies from a cookie jar.

  “I didn’t know you were standing there,” Elizabeth said, nervously smoothing the front of her dress.

  “And what if I was?” Frannie said, giving Elizabeth a look of impatience. “What is you plannin’ behind my back, Elizabeth Easton?”

  “So you didn’t hear all that was said,” Elizabeth said, trying to hold back a sigh of relief. Yet she knew that Frannie would have to be told, no matter that she might scream and yell, that she would not allow it.

  “I hears enough to know that you’re up to no good. Don’t you get it in your head that you’re leavin’ this house again unescorted.” She gave Maysie a haughty glance, then peered up at Elizabeth. “Who’s to say what you’ll be draggin’ in the house the next time if you is allowed to run loose like, like, a trollop?”

  That word made Elizabeth blanch and glance at Maysie. When she saw the look of shame in Maysie’s eyes, she looked angrily back at Frannie.

  “Frannie, I don’t know what has got your dander up this morning,” she scolded. “It can’t be only because I felt compelled to bring Maysie home. What else has rattled your nerves, Frannie? Was it something you saw while you were in Seattle? Did someone scold you for something? If so, tell me who, and I will see to it that this person never does it again.”

  Frannie wrung her hands, then answered somberly. “It ain’t nothin’ anyone said to me. It’s . . . it’s what I saw.”

  “Well? What did you see?” Elizabeth said, her voice filled with impatience.

  “It was high on that hill close to that prison,” Frannie said, her eyes wide. “They was buildin’ a hangin’ place, they was. I ain’t neva’ seen such a sight. To think that soon a man will hang there, with a noose chokin’ the life from him. I don’t likes it one bit. Livin’ near a city that has criminals bad enough they must be hanged.”

  Her words sent involuntary shivers through Elizabeth, especially now that she had decided to go into Seattle, to the prison. She was having second thoughts, yet she knew that if she put off going now, she more than likely never would.

  And the idea of going to the prison to share some of her blessings with the women was too compelling not to do it.

  But how was she going to tell Frannie? Especially since Frannie was so obviously frightened of the place. Yet she had never kept secrets from Frannie. N
or would she now.

  “Frannie, would you prepare me a large basket of fruit for traveling?” Elizabeth asked, deciding on a direct approach. The sooner she got this settled with Frannie, the sooner she could leave and begin her mission.

  Frannie seemed taken off guard. She raised her eyebrows. “A basket of fruit? What evah for?”

  “I’ve decided to take fruit and some of my books to the women prisoners at Copper Hill Prison,” Elizabeth said nonchalantly as she walked past Frannie into the corridor. She winced and tightened her jaw as Frannie fell into step beside her.

  “You ain’t goin’,” Frannie said angrily. “You ain’t goin’ nowheres. You’re going to stay put beneath this roof until your father returns. Then you tells him this crazy plan of yours. He won’t allow you to go near that prison and you knows it! Lordy, lordy, Elizabeth, why would you even want to?”

  Elizabeth went into the library, where stacks of boxes awaited her. Lowering some boxes that were marked hers to the floor, she opened one and began sorting through it. “There are many less fortunate than I,” she said calmly, laying books aside in two separate piles—those she would take, and those she would keep. “I intend to share my fortune with others.” She rested a book on her lap and gave Frannie a stern look. “And, Frannie, I’m not about to wait on Father for anything. He is doing his work. I shall do mine.”

  “Elizabeth, the dangers,” Frannie said in a whine, bending to place a gentle hand to Elizabeth’s cheek. “Honey, don’t do it. The hangin’. What if they hang the man while you’re there? Does you want to see a man take his last breath? Does you?”

  Elizabeth swallowed hard and blinked her eyes nervously, knowing that, no, that would not be something that she would ever want to witness. Yet, she had a mission, and she would not allow anything to stand in the way.

  And, she thought with a rush of passion—she might at least catch a glimpse of the handsome Indian. She seemed to have a better chance of that in Seattle than here in the house.

  “I’m going, Frannie,” she said firmly. “No matter what you say—I’m going.”

  Frannie shook her head helplessly. She knew from Elizabeth’s eyes, there was no use arguing. With a sigh, she left Elizabeth alone.

  Maysie came in and knelt beside Elizabeth. “Perhaps she’s right,” she ventured. “Elizabeth, what you’re doing is generous to a point—then it becomes dangerous.”

  Elizabeth smiled weakly at Maysie. “I know,” she admitted. “I know.”

  They gazed at length at one another. Then Elizabeth returned to sorting through her books. Her heart beat quickly at the prospect of perhaps seeing the Indian again, and the danger that she might be facing to chance it.

  * * *

  Strong Heart had eaten pemmican for breakfast, a food that required no fire for cooking. It was dried meat pounded fine and mixed with melted fat. To this he added fresh apples that he had picked from an orchard not far from where he had made camp. He changed slowly and methodically into clothes that would help him to blend in with the white men on the streets of Seattle. He would look more like a white man on horseback than an Indian. Along with the white-man clothes, he would wear a bandanna to hide his face and a sombrero to hide his long, brown hair during the escape.

  His effects gathered up and secured in his saddlebags, he slapped a gunbelt around his waist and fastened it, and pulled the brim of his hat low over his gray eyes. Then he swung himself into his saddle.

  Pausing for a moment, he stared down at Copper Hill Prison. Then he began making his way down the side of the hill which would lead him to the city.

  While inching his horse down the steep grade of land, memories of the green-eyed seductress plagued Strong Heart. He recalled her ravishing curves as her wet dress had clung so sensually to her body when she had stepped out of the water yesterday. She had disturbed him in many ways that were dangerous to him.

  Yet he knew that he would search her out again, one day. He must have her. He would have her!

  Chapter 7

  Wait not till tomorrow—

  Gather the roses of life today.

  —RONSARD

  The sky was gray and the air damp as Elizabeth rode into Seattle in her buggy. With one hand she held on to the horse’s reins, with the other she secured her fringed shawl more comfortably around her shoulders and adjusted her lace-trimmed bonnet. All the while her gaze swept around her, this being her first time in Seattle.

  She was frankly shocked by the tawdriness of the city. It was even more of a frontier town than San Francisco, a place famed for its bawdy houses, saloons and rough population. With the recent gold strike on the Skagit River, prospectors had flooded Seattle, crowding the sailors and loggers who already frequented the city.

  Holding the reins with both of her gloved hands, she directed her horse down First Avenue. The street was thick with sawdust from nearby Yesler’s Mill, where logs from the surrounding forests were turned into lumber for building all the city’s homes and businesses.

  Her inspection was broken as several men loitering on a street corner began jeering and tossing leering remarks her way.

  Insulted by such behavior, Elizabeth impudently thrust her chin up and snapped her horse’s reins, setting her sights on the prison. She was anxious to get there, do her good deed, and return to the quiet and safety of her house. She could now see why her father had forbade her to go to the city alone. If he ever heard that she had, and that she had even gone to the prison, she guessed that he might even lock her in her room and throw away the key.

  When a man dressed in buckskin rode past her on a black mustang, she was struck by memories of another man in buckskin, whose eyes, whose handsomeness, had mesmerized her.

  How could she have forgotten for even a moment that he was also her reason for coming so boldly alone into Seattle?

  She had hoped to see him again, perhaps to find out his name at last.

  She wanted him to know her name.

  For a moment she studied the buckskin-clad man, until she determined it wasn’t him. Then she looked at the men on horseback who rode past her, and at the men trodding along the wooden walks of the city.

  She also squinted at the men leaning against the buildings. Yet she saw no one who even remotely resembled the Indian.

  In fact, as far as she could tell, there were no Indians to be seen in the city at all. As if they were forbidden to enter here. Which puzzled her, since the city had been named after a powerful Suquamish Indian Chief—Chief Sealth. His name was misinterpreted as Seattle by those who had founded the city.

  The mysterious, handsome Indian seemed to go and come as he pleased.

  Or had he not gone into the city after rescuing her from the Sound, she wondered. If not, then what had been his destination?

  More taunts and insulting remarks coming from the boardwalks and the shadows of the buildings caused Elizabeth to urge her horse into a faster gait. They turned a corner, and the horse and buggy now climbed a steep road—the road that led to the prison.

  Elizabeth felt the strain of the buggy, and heard the wheels groan frighteningly the farther the horse traveled up the grade. She paled, fearing to look over her shoulder, realizing that if the wheels slipped, or the horse faltered, the backward plunge would take her straight into the waters of the Sound.

  But soon that fear was replaced by another. The sound of hammers striking wood came to her.

  Her eyes widened and she gasped when she first caught sight of the hanging platform that Frannie had spoken so fearfully about. It was being built directly in front of a long, dreary wooden building—Copper Hill Prison. Forests towered way above the site as far as her eye could see.

  Her heart pounding, as though an echo of the hammers, Elizabeth was at least glad that the steep grade of land had leveled out. She was now driving along a level, narrow street that soon took her to the prison.

  After climbing from her buggy and securing her horse’s reins to a hitching rail, Elizabeth tried to will h
er knees not to shake, and her pulse not to race so fast, but failed. Being there made her realize the danger she was in. The men working on the hanging platform had caught sight of her, and one was lumbering toward her, a cigar hanging limply from the corner of his wide lips, his eyes raking her body.

  “What do we have here?” the man said, circling Elizabeth, not allowing her to reach for the huge basket of fruit and books at the back of the buggy. “Come to see the hanging? It’s not ’til sunup tomorrow. Want some entertainment to pass the time whilst waitin’ to see the Injun hang? I can offer some mighty interestin’ entertainment, if I do say so, myself.”

  “Indian?” Elizabeth said, even more fear gripping her heart at what he had said. They were planning to hang an Indian. She felt anxiety at the pit of her stomach.

  For she knew only one Indian.

  Surely he was not the one to be hanged, she despaired to herself. In her mind’s eye, she saw the handsome Indian’s body hanging from the gallows, spinning slowly in a dance of death.

  “Sure,” the man said, guffawing. He yanked the cigar from his mouth and spat across his shoulder. “An Injun called Four Winds. And it’s about time we hung the renegade. He’s been stinkin’ up our prison long enough.”

  “Just how long has . . . has . . . he been incarcerated?” Elizabeth dared to ask, feeling the sudden tightening in her throat at the possibility that the condemned man was her Indian!

  “Weeks,” the man said, shrugging.

  Elizabeth sighed, knowing that her Indian was not going to hang. He had been free yesterday, to save her from the Sound. He was surely as free today.

  She started to ask the man about the prisoner, wanting to know what he had done to deserve hanging, but he had been called back by the others. She watched, wide-eyed, as he helped secure the rope and its noose on the cross beam. Her insides rebelled at the sight and what it meant—that soon a man would die there, and not only a man, an Indian! No wonder she hadn’t seen any Indians in Seattle today. Being there was dangerous.