Wild Embrace

by Cassie Edwards

  She remembered how wonderful it had been to lie in Strong Heart’s sheltering arms during the storm after having just made maddening, exquisite love.

  “This isn’t making me forget anything,” she murmured, feeling frustrated. She stopped and turned her face toward the sun, closing her eyes as she absorbed its warmth. The skirt of her dress lifted in the gentle breeze.

  “Strong Heart, I wish I were with you now,” Elizabeth whispered longingly. “Father, where are you? Please come home soon so that I can rejoin the man I love!”

  She resumed walking, then sank down onto the soft sand and scooped up a handful, watching it run through her fingers. Time. Today it was dragging so.

  Watching the sand as it collected in peaks beside her, she was reminded of when she was a child in San Francisco, and how her mother had taken her to the beach and had taught her how to build sand castles. It seemed as if her mother was there even now, laughing and playing with her. She remembered that there had only been the two of them, the rest of the world held at bay.

  Smiling at the memory, she tossed her shawl aside, and without the aid of a bucket, she used her hands to scoop out a hole in the sand. Then she made a foundation for her sand castle with the moist sand she had dug out.

  Skillfully, she formed pancake-shaped layers of sand, piling them up to make a dome. The secret was to keep the sand good and wet so that the castle did not topple.

  After the dome had reached the desired height, it was time to carve the architectural details and add flourishes like winding staircases and graceful arches.

  Pleased with how things were progressing, and how the castle looked so far. Elizabeth rose to her feet. She moved along the beach looking for small pieces of driftwood and tiny twigs for sculpting and smoothing the walls and carving everything from doors to balconies.

  Bright sea shells and pebbles would be used to line the walkway. A handful of seaweed would be planted for the lawn.

  Her arms and the pockets of her dress crammed full with treasures for her castle, Elizabeth turned to go back to her sand castle, then stopped. She dropped everything from her arms when she saw Sheriff Nolan standing beside her castle, his eyes glaring at her.

  “You . . .” Elizabeth said, frozen to the spot. “What are you doing here? I-I didn’t hear you.”

  “No, I guess you didn’t,” Sheriff Nolan said, taking a plug of the ever-present chewing tobacco from his shirt pocket and pushing it into a corner of his mouth. “Your mind is elsewhere, I’d say, Red.”

  Elizabeth swallowed hard, knowing the danger of revealing too much to him—not only by her words, but by her actions, as well. If she behaved guiltily, then he would have reason to suspect her. She had to act normal, as if seeing him didn’t matter one bit.

  She tried to act nonchalant as she gathered up her treasure and willed her feet to take one step after another until she reached her sand castle. The sheriff hovered over it like a monster ready to step not only on the castle, but also its sculptress.

  “Pardon me,” Elizabeth said, giving Sheriff Nolan an annoyed glance as she tried to make him step back.

  When he did not budge, she gave him an icier stare. “If you please?”

  “If I please what?” Sheriff Nolan grumbled, spitting sticky tobacco juice over his left shoulder. His blue eyes gave her a steely cold stare.

  “Please step aside,” Elizabeth said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I would like to resume what I was doing before your rude interruption.”

  “Red, I didn’t come here to play house with you,” Sheriff Nolan said, not moving. He even placed a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder.

  Elizabeth paled and her knees trembled as she looked up at him. “Why are you here?” she found the courage to ask. “I’m minding my business. Why don’t you?”

  “I’m making you my business this mornin’, Red,” Sheriff Nolan said, easing his hand from her shoulder. He rested it on one of his holstered pistols. “I’ve been keepin’ an eye out for you for days. Today I lucked out. As I was riding past your house I saw you coming to the beach. Now ain’t that perfect timin’?”

  His smug, throaty laugh unnerved Elizabeth. “Oh, I see,” she murmured. “Since my father is gone with the posse, you’ve been watching for my return so that you can send word to them to return home. That’s good. Please do it soon. I didn’t think my father would be gone this long.”

  “How would you even know how long he’s been gone when you’ve been gone so long, yourself?” Sheriff Nolan asked with a growl. “Where’ve you been, Red, since the prison breakout? Who’ve you been with?”

  Elizabeth stiffened. Even though she had expected him to ask her these questions, it did not make it any easier for her. If she answered them wrong, she knew what the consequences would be.

  “Where have I been?” Elizabeth said, fighting not to stammer.

  “More to the point, I want you to identify the man who knocked me unconscious just before the breakout,” Sheriff Nolan said, taking a threatening step toward her. His large boot toppled the sand castle. “I know you had to see the culprit. You were there, damn it. Now you identify him to me.”

  “I can’t,” Elizabeth said, her voice breaking. “I . . . just . . . can’t.”

  He reached behind him and took a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket, and before Elizabeth could even blink, he had her wrists handcuffed together. “You leave me no choice but to take you into custody,” he said gruffly.

  “What?” Elizabeth said, gasping. “You have no right. I am innocent!”

  “You’re no more innocent than Four Winds who escaped the hangman’s noose,” Sheriff Nolan said, yanking Elizabeth close to him as he pushed his face into hers. “You were in on the plot from the start, weren’t you? You were used as a diversional tactic for the one who planned the escape. Why else did you disappear at the same time? Why else are you home now, safe and sound, as though nothing happened? A few nights in jail will change your mind about confessing the full truth. It will loosen your tongue, all right.”

  He straightened his back and jerked her to his side as he turned to walk up the hill to his horse. But he was stopped when he found Frannie there, a shotgun leveled at him.

  “You let my Elizabeth go,” Frannie said breathlessly. “I sees you come to the beach. I sees you place handcuffs on my little girl. Now you just takes them off her again and leave. If you do, I won’t pull this trigger. If you don’t, I’ll fill your stomach full of holes.”

  Elizabeth became light-headed at the sight of Frannie going up against the sheriff. Not because of her courage to defy him, but more because she was a colored person and it was dangerous.

  “Frannie, put down the gun,” Elizabeth begged, cringing when Frannie determinedly took a step closer. Her eyes were wild as she peered at the sheriff. “Frannie, there is no need in you going to prison, too. I won’t be there long once Father finds out. Please, Frannie, go back to the house. Please?”

  Frannie’s eyes wavered. “Honey, I can’t let this man takes you away like some . . . some . . . common criminal,” she said.

  “Frannie, I’ll be all right,’ Elizabeth said softly. “It’s all a big mistake. One that Father will correct as soon as he returns with the posse. That will probably be today sometime, Frannie. I’ll be home in my own bed tonight. I promise you.”

  Frannie slowly lowered the gun.

  Elizabeth saw the sheriff go for the pistol at his right hip. “Please let Frannie go,” she cried. “Please don’t blame her for wanting to protect me. I’m like a daughter to her. Please forget what she did. Let her go. Please?”

  Sheriff Nolan eased his hand from the pistol as he glared down at Elizabeth. “You’ve been lapse in teachin’ that fat thing her place,” he grumbled. “You’re lucky I don’t blow her damn head off.”

  Elizabeth sighed heavily. Ignoring Frannie’s wails, she went with the sheriff. She had to protect Strong Heart at all cost—even if it meant the loss of her own freedom.

  When t
hey reached the summit, she took a last glance over her shoulder at the remains of the castle that she had been building. When she was a child, her sand castles lasted for days.

  Today’s castle had been crushed, along with her hopes for tomorrow.

  Chapter 19

  Some fears,—a soft regret,

  For joys scarce known.

  —BARRY CORNWALL

  The next evening, worn and weary from the unsuccessful search, Earl rode his limping horse in a slow gait through the open gate of his estate. He peered at the monstrosity of a house. The window panes seemed to be on fire from the reflection of the sunset.

  He shifted his gaze to the heavy oak front door. His shoulders slouched, knowing that if by chance Elizabeth had arrived home before him unharmed by whoever had abducted her, she would have already been at the door.

  A low whinny, filled with pain, drew Earl’s attention back to his horse. He would have to put the horse out of its misery. The animal was no longer useful to him. He felt lucky that the horse had gotten him back home instead of leaving him stranded out in the wilderness after Earl and the posse had parted ways earlier in the afternoon.

  The stables now in sight, Earl rode his horse slowly onward, giving a mock salute to Everett when the black groom came toward him.

  Everett peered intently at the horse’s lame leg, then up at Earl. “He’s doin’ mighty poorly, Massa’ Easton,” he said, shaking his head. “Mighty poorly, indeed.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve been riding him for too long that way, that’s for sure,” Earl said, yanking on his reins to stop the horse. He slid out of the saddle, but did not offer the reins to Everett. “Never mind about him, Everett. I’ll do the ugly task of shootin’ him. You can have the job of getting rid of his body.”

  Earl walked the horse toward the stables and gave Everett a sidewise glance. “I don’t guess my daughter’s arrived home yet, has she?” he said, his voice thin and tired.

  Everett lowered his dark eyes to the ground as he walked into the stable with Earl. He did not reply, just busied himself removing the horse’s saddle.

  Earl went to Everett’s side and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Have you gone deaf?” he asked irritably. “I asked you a simple enough question. Has Elizabeth returned home?”

  Before Everett could answer, Earl saw something half hidden beneath some straw in the corner, the light from the lantern spilling onto it.

  “What the hell is that?” he said, for the moment forgetting Everett’s strange silence. He sauntered over to the pile of straw and kicked it aside. His eyes widened when he discovered that it was a saddle—an Indian saddle.

  His head jerked around, his eyes questioning Everett. “Where did that come from?” he asked. Then he saw an unfamiliar horse in a stall to his right. “That horse. It doesn’t belong to me.”

  He stomped back to Everett and gathered Everett’s shirt front into his hand and leaned into Everett’s face. “If you value your job, you’d best begin talking,” he said, his words hissing through his clenched teeth. “Whose saddle? Whose horse?”

  “I was told not to tell,” Everett managed to say, his eyes wild with fright. “If I do, she’d make sure I was let go.”

  Earl’s heart skipped a beat. He dropped his hand away from Everett, placing it on the handle of his holstered pistol. “She?” he said, an eyebrow rising. “Who, damn you? Who?”

  “She’ll not like me tellin’ you,” Everett said, dropping his gaze to the floor.

  At the end of his patience, Earl now grabbed Everett by the throat, half lifting him from the floor. “If you don’t tell me,” he said, his eyes narrowing into Everett’s, “I’ll not only be shootin’ my horse this evening, I’ll use one of my bullets on you.”

  “Elizabeth!” Everett shot out. “She told me to hide the saddle. She came home the other night. She was ridin’ that horse there. It was saddled with that Indian saddle.” He swallowed hard, then said, “And she was dressed in some kind of Indian dress!”

  All of this was coming too fast for Earl. It was spinning around inside his head, not making sense. He jerked his hand away from Everett’s throat and wiped it on his breeches. His breath came in short, raspy sounds.

  “She’s here,” Earl mumbled, walking toward the door. “That’s all that matters now. My Elizabeth. She’s home. She’s safe.”

  Everett hurried after him. “Sir, you’d best not go to the house just yet,” he said, his voice hushed. “You’d best let me tell you what happened yesterday to Elizabeth.”

  Earl stopped and turned to face Everett. “What about Elizabeth?” he said, his voice ominous. “Damn it, what about Elizabeth? Tell me. What happened to her?”

  Everett slipped his thin hands into the pockets of his loose, dark trousers. “The sheriff came,” he said thickly. “He took her away. He arrested her. He took her to Copper Hill Prison.”

  Feeling his knees close to buckling beneath him, Earl grabbed for the door jamb and steadied himself. He blinked his eyes nervously, finding it hard to breathe.

  Then he turned his gaze back to Everett. “Why would the sheriff arrest Elizabeth?” he said, his voice weak. “Why?”

  “He said that she was in on the recent escape,” Everett said, shifting his feet nervously in the straw. “He called her an accomplice, or something like that. He said she helped the renegade Indian escape.”

  Again Earl felt a weakness sweep through him. He concentrated on the Indian saddle, and then on the strange horse. “You say Elizabeth was using an Indian saddle on that horse, and she was dressed in Indian attire when she arrived home?” he said, his mind conjuring up all sorts of nightmarish thoughts about what Elizabeth may have gone through after being abducted by the renegade Indian and his partner.

  And now the damn sheriff had cooked up some cockeyed idea that she had joined the escape party? That she had actually had a helping hand in it?

  The thought filled him with a keen revulsion for the sheriff and his idiot logic.

  “You know as well as I that Elizabeth had no part in anything,” Earl said, doubling his hands into tight fists at his side. “She was taken captive.”

  Then his eyes wavered. “How’d Elizabeth look when she got home? Did she look as though . . . as though she may have been tortured by her abductors? Was she all right?”

  Everett slipped a hand from his pocket and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, she looked better than I’ve ever seen her.” he said, nodding. “There was something about her eyes—a happiness of sorts. No, I don’t believe you have to worry about her having been tortured in any way. I’d say that someone took mighty good care of your daughter.”

  Earl lifted an eyebrow at his response. Then he hurriedly took a horse from a stall, slapped his saddle onto its back and fastened it. “I’m riding into Seattle,” he said, stopping to eye his lame horse. “Do what’s required here.”

  Everett nodded and went to grab a rifle that was propped against the stable wall.

  Earl swung himself into his saddle and gave the Indian saddle another lingering stare. Then he slapped his reins and rode quickly away past the towering house and through the gate.

  When the low blast of a rifle echoed from the stables, he flinched. Then he rode onward, not stopping for anything or anyone until he reached Seattle. He didn’t slow his horse’s gait as he made his way through the throng of traffic on First Avenue.

  When he reached the street that led to Copper Hill Prison, he felt sick knowing that his sweet daughter was there among the most hardened criminals, at their mercy. He had heard tales of what happened to the women prisoners there:

  They were used in every way unholy—they were used.

  This torturous thought spurred him on. He didn’t even notice the strain on his horse as it climbed the steep street. His eyes were set on the prison. If Elizabeth had so much as been touched by any of those vile men, he vowed to kill the sheriff. Then one day he would find the one who had made her life go astray—the outl
aw who had set the Indian free, and taken his Elizabeth as captive.

  Earl could not move fast enough when he reached the prison. He jumped out of the saddle, secured his horse’s reins and rushed inside the prison. When he found the sheriff lazing behind the desk, chewing on his perpetual wad of tobacco, it almost threw Earl into a fit of rage. To think that this man could arrest his daughter without any proof of her guilt, then lock her up with the rest of the criminals, as though she was one, herself. . . .

  Earl stormed to the desk and slammed his hands down on the paper-cluttered top. He leaned into Sheriff Nolan’s whiskered face. “I hear that you have my daughter at this godforsaken place,” he growled, his eyes red with anger. “You Goddamn idiot, go and set her free at once. Do you hear? Release her. Now!”

  “That ain’t possible,” Sheriff Nolan said, turning his head so that he could let fly a string of tobacco into the spittoon. “She’s there until her trial, and then we may have our first hanging of a woman in the history of Seattle.”

  Earl paled at the thought and his resolve weakened. “You can’t be serious,” he finally said. “My daughter isn’t a criminal. And you know it. Why are you doing this? Why would you want to take your troubles out on an innocent woman? The fact that someone got the best of you that day of the escape is the only reason you’ve arrested my daughter, isn’t it? You have to have a scapegoat. You’re makin’ her one.”

  “That redhaired vixen daughter of yours ain’t as innocent as you want to believe she is,” Sheriff Nolan said, rising slowly from his chair. He made a wide turn around the desk and stood eye to eye with Earl. “She was used as a diversion to what was ready to happen. She flirted with me and once she had me, hook, line, and sinker, I was hit from behind.”

  Sheriff Nolan slipped a hand inside his right pocket and took a ring of keys from it. He jangled the keys in front of Earl’s eyes. “There ain’t no rule sayin’ you can’t visit your daughter,” he said tauntingly as he held the keys closer to Earl. “Go on. She’s in the first cell. She’s a lucky one. She has the cell all to herself. Most other prisoners are cooped up together. But none complain. They like it that way when the night gives them the privacy to do what they damn well please with one another.”