“I…I…am most sorry, Mr. Hayes,” Her voice coming from far away, she attempted to explain. “You…see…or maybe you won’t see…I…my diary…that’s all I have. August 1846, that’s the last…the last date. I don’t have any memory what happened to me after that. I don’t know…I’m trying to find out how I got here. He…he…has done something…you see…only I can’t remember. He tells people I fell out of the wagon and hit my head. But…but I didn’t…I didn’t. I know I didn’t. I’m not Norie Talbot…I am Anora Claire Sennett. I know who I am now. I know…I know who I am. Who I was. He’s not Ben Talbot. He’s Ruben Tillery…but…but then that may not be his real name. He may be someone else. I can’t think. It hurts so much to think. I don’t blame you for believing me crazed. I feel insane. I’ve been insane for a very long time. I think…I think, I leave my body, my mind—escape. I visit my mind then I leave again. I understand now, that’s what’s been happening. But now, I’ve woken up from a very bad dream. I’ve been asleep for nearly three years, if this calendar is correct. Three years gone. I’m sure it is.”
Ignoring the stunned Mr. Hayes, she staggered to the edge of her bed, sat, and put her head in her hands. She heard him cross the room and go out to the porch. She heard the snow melting off the roof and looked up. He hadn’t moved. He glanced over his shoulder at her, nodded, and said, “Good day, Anora Claire,” and left her.
She came to her feet and went to the door. She watched him mount his horse. “Thank you, you’ve been very kind. But you have to understand why he can’t find out. Why he can’t know you’ve been here—that I told you. He can’t find out. He’ll kill me.”
He looked off to the ferry down by the river. “We have to get you out of here. You can’t be here when he comes back,” he said to her, looking down at her from the saddle.
She came to the edge of the porch and hung on to the porch post. “I’m not leaving,” she said and meant it, a steely, hard, cold resolve had taken hold of her, giving her strength. “Thank you, but I’ll be all right.”
“All right?” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re battered and bruised. I’d wager there’s not a single inch of your body that doesn’t hurt. I believe Hank now. He said you were being subjected to unspeakable cruelty.”
Anora set her shoulders and met his sympathetic gaze straight on with defiance. “I will not leave.”
He shook his head at her again. “Mrs. Talbot, you pack up what you need, and tomorrow Hank and I will see you across river. Lydia would be glad of your company, until you can decide what you would like to do. But for now, allow me to give you my protection. I’m not asking you, I’m ordering you, for your own good, to do as I ask.”
Wrapping her arms about her chest, she looked to the sky. She thought it well past noon, the sky lowering, with a light dusting of fine snow falling. Shivering, she dreaded his return, but as much dread as that conjured up, she could not face the river.
“I can’t leave,” she said, and felt rather than saw Mr. Hayes stiffen, no doubt preparing to give argument. She stopped him. “I very well might be insane, I don’t know. My memory is full of holes. But one thing has become very clear to me. He’s taken everything from me—my life, my family, my memory, my name…even my father’s money and Mama’s jewelry. I won’t let him have this…this little piece of land…the ferry. It’s mine, papa’s money paid for it, I paid for it with my body, and I’ll stay. Maybe I’ll die trying to hold on, but I will not retreat. Not to the likes of him.”
Mr. Hayes sat there, glaring down at her. Leaning forward, resting his arm on his saddle horn he said, “I could pick you up, put you on my horse right now, Mrs. Talbot.”
Anora titled her head to the side to size him up. “You’re not used to disobedience; I can see that. You could drag me out of here, that’s true. I would fight you, but I’m certain you would win in a battle of physical strength.”
“Mrs. Talbot, Anora, please? Take your time, sleep on it. I won’t drag you out of here, but I would like you to come with me. Let me keep you safe? It was thoughtless of me to tease you with the threat of brute force. If you won’t come with me now, perhaps I could come by now and then? I noticed your woodpile is running low. I’ll bring you more wood. All I am asking is that you allow me to be your friend.”
Anora nodded her permission.
“Good. I’m going to tell the boy at the ferry to notify me the moment Talbot returns. Let’s hope he stays away for a very long time. Let’s hope he’s fallen in the river and drowned. If you need anything, you tell the boy to come get me. He can find me by going to the mercantile, they’ll know where I am.”
Chapter Nine
Anora went to her chores. The mindlessness of taking care of the milk, making herself eat a scrambled egg on a biscuit, and patching her stockings postponed the time when she would be left with nothing to do but mend the fire and think.
The memory flashes were coming to the fore more vividly and more detailed every minute, so many she had a headache. The second she thought she had the events of her past in order, another scene flashed before her mind’s eye, sneaked in, upsetting all her assumptions.
Reliving the past, she couldn’t help but daydream of what might’ve been. The dream, in the time of her innocence, had been a life with her mother and father, living with them, farming, helping her father man the ferry in their new home in Oregon. Maybe she would fall in love, have a family of her own? Maybe she would’ve married that handsome Whit Comstock? Whit’s laughing eyes sprang quickly into her mind’s eye. She could feel herself dancing, being held in his strong arms. She could almost recall the sound of her own laughter.
Eyes closed, the scream in her head yanked her out of her pleasant fantasy and into the dark interior of a covered wagon. Shaking, she relived the pain and horrendous fright. On top of her, his breath sour…putrid, she remembered the feel of his coarse whiskers, and goose flesh blossomed over her arms and legs.
She couldn’t stand the image of it, yet it wouldn’t leave her. Eyes wide open, she searched the dark corners of the cabin. He wasn’t there. But terror had her in its grip. When she tried to get up from her chair, she tripped and stumbled, imagining the shackles that had held her to the wagon, cold and cutting into the flesh around her ankles.
His voice whispered to her in the cold, empty darkness of the early morning. His whiskey voice echoed and bounced off the walls of the cabin. “I don’t want to put these on, but those men out there might carry you off. You’re sick, you know.”
His hot breath, his words and evil whisper, hissed like steamy fire in a wet log. “You walk in your sleep, you might hurt yourself. If you see them men looking at you, hide. It’s wild, and females are rare. The men out here are animals. I’ve shown you what would happen if they get hold of you. I’ll keep you safe until you get better, but you keep out of their way. I’ll protect you, sweet little Norie; it’s lucky for you I’m here. I’m the only family you have. You’d be all alone, just them and you, if I was gone.”
To shut his voice out of her head, she clapped her hands over her ears and tucked into a ball on the floor. Cold and shivering, the voice quieted into a low moan. At last hearing nothing but her own pitiful whimpering, she asked herself why she didn’t fear Hank Reason, or Paxton Hayes. She didn’t fear them, but she didn’t want them coming around. She didn’t want anyone trying to be her friend; she had no room in her head for anyone else.
A vision of her mother folding into the wide embrace of her father’s strong arms drifted through her mind. She remembered watching her father place tender, delicate kisses on her mother’s face and neck. She saw her mother’s smile, her lips red and eager, meeting his kisses with kisses. A lump of unshed tears dammed up in her throat.
She would never have that. He’d taken that from her. Love would never be hers. No man could love her. Her head, full of ugly thoughts, thoughts that burned into her memory, branded her as trash. He was right about that—no one would want her now; she would have to ma
ke her own way.
Shortly after breakfast, Mr. Hayes arrived with a load of wood. He returned the following day with extra blankets. He said they were gathering moths at the store. She accepted his wood but refused to allow him to stack it for her. She took the blankets, trading a dozen eggs and a ball of goat cheese for them.
By Sunday the snow had begun to melt. The sun came out; it felt like spring. Shortly after sunrise, Anora let the goats and chickens out of the barn while she cleaned the chicken pen and the goats’ stall and laid fresh hay down for the oxen. By mid-morning, she’d finished her chores and headed down the track. A wagon docked and started up from the ferry. Mr. Hayes, on horseback, rode alongside. Anora recognized Mrs. Reason and her daughter sitting beside Mr. Reason on the wagon.
Mrs. Reason looked more beautiful than Anora remembered. She appeared a fairy queen in a wool cape of sapphire, a matching fur bonnet upon her head of dark brown curls. The little girl, the princess, wore an identical cape and bonnet, both appearing too fine, out of place, in this harsh country.
Anora felt much better now she’d several days of good rest, but she didn’t want to be seen by anyone. She started to turn around to hide in the barn, but Mr. Hayes anticipated her intent and set his big horse at a gallop to cut off her escape.
Laughing at her, he gazed down at her from his saddle. “Anora, a fine day, isn’t it? I see the chickens think so too,” he said, with a big smile stretching his mustache from cheek to cheek. His eyes scanned the yard where the chickens were scratching around in the open dirt, chasing each other, squabbling over their chicken feed.
“I hope so,” she said seriously. “The weather hasn’t been doing much for egg production.”
He dismounted and took the pail of milk from her. “We’re headed up to have a look at Hank and Lydia’s place. Hank wants to start setting out his trees. We brought along a couple dozen pear trees today. Would you care to come along? It would do you good to get away from this place for a while.”
Anora stood dumbfounded. She couldn’t think.
“Mrs. Talbot,” she heard Mrs. Reason call to her from the wagon, “I do hope you can join us? We’ve got a little lunch, enough for all of us.”
Shaking, Anora, teeth chattering, heart pumping fast and furious, shook her head, backing away.
“Hank, what did I say?” she heard Mrs. Reason ask.
Mr. Hayes put down the pail, and adding to her panic, he took her arm to keep her from running.
Out of the corner of her eye, Anora saw Mr. Reason shake his head. He put his hand over his wife’s, and Anora felt sick inside, dirty and sick and went limp.
∙•∙
How could Lydia know of Anora Talbot’s mistrust of kindness, how could anyone understand her sense of shame? But Hank knew some of what she felt, he’d felt it himself long ago.
He’d thought, over the last couple of days, he’d put his feelings for Anora in a better, more proper, perspective, but there he sat, wishing he could hold her, make all the hurt and ugliness go away. He found himself jealous of Paxton, irritated with his clumsiness and lack of understanding, which he knew to be out of line.
He heard Paxton talking to the girl. Calming her down, holding her hand, his head close to hers—speaking gently and quietly.
“Anora…Anora, don’t be afraid. I know you’ve…you’ve probably been punished for leaving here, but Hank and I won’t let anything happen to you. The sun is shining. Look, there’s a robin in the yard. Let’s take the milk up to the porch. Isabell is waiting for you in the wagon.”
She shoved his hand off her arm and took a step back. “I couldn’t, he…he…won’t let me. He’ll come back…and he’ll come after me. He’ll come back, like Lucifer; he’ll kill me, he said he would. He’ll throw me in the river.”
Hank’s throat clutched up, he felt the palms of his hands sweating. He clamped his lips shut, jaw tight.
∙•∙
Mr. Hayes took a deep breath, and looked heavenward. When he brought his head down, he pinned her with his steady gaze. “Listen to me. I can’t tell you he won’t be back. All I can tell you, today, he isn’t here. Today I’m here, Hank and Lydia are here, and we want you to come with us for a day of rest, get away from this place, look at this country from a different view. Will you give yourself today? Anora, take this day just for you?”
Taking a deep, shuddering, calming breath, Anora decided to allow herself to be persuaded. “I need to wash my hands, and I’ll need my bonnet.”
He stepped back to allow her to pass. When she emerged from the cabin, still very shaky, her teeth chattering, she allowed him to help her into the wagon to sit beside Mrs. Reason, and the little girl who sat on her mother’s lap.
“Papa said I should ask if I could call you Nora? Uncle Paston told us your real name is Anora Claire. I think that’s a pretty name,” said the child, as the wagon started to move, rocking and pitching from side to side. The wheels creaked, rolled over muddy ruts and down into deep puddles of muddy water as they went around the bend and up the hill. “I named my new dolly Charity. Mama says we’re going to name my baby sister Ida Jane.”
“Could be your baby brother, you know,” said her papa, looking around Lydia and his daughter to wink at Anora.
The little girl wrinkled up her little nose. “We’ll call him Carter Boyd, Mama says, but I’d radder have a baby sister. Do you have a sister?”
Mrs. Reason started to admonish the child, but Anora didn’t mind at all. Somehow, the little girl’s voice helped to ease her feelings of anxiety at leaving the sanctity of the cabin, and the ferry yard, behind.
“No, no, I don’t have any sisters or brothers. You’re lucky to be getting either one.” Cocking her head to one side, looking the little girl straight in the eye, Anora said, “I suppose brothers can be nice to have, they wouldn’t want to play with your doll or wear your hair ribbons like a little sister might.”
The child tipped her head to the side and held her dolly out in front of her, straightening the dolly’s cap around her stiff little shoulders.
Anora said, “But then a little sister would be more fun at a tea party or playing dress up. And yet, a brother could put the worm on your fishing hook. I don’t know, the more I think about it, either one sounds very special.”
Like the sun coming out, the little girl’s eyes lit up and she bounced on her mother’s lap to ask her mother, “Can we have one of each, Mama?”
Mr. Reason burst out laughing. Mrs. Reason blushed crimson, her lovely lips twitching, brown eyes dancing with unexpressed laughter.
Anora experienced a bit of guilt for bringing about this outburst. It didn’t help that when she looked to her side, she caught the wink Mr. Hayes sent her way. He shook his head at her and said, “That’s my girl.”
Anora folded her hands tightly in her lap, eyes downcast, thoughts racing. This is wrong. I shouldn’t be with these people, nice people, people who laugh and played.
She closed her eyes to ask the God that had forsaken her, Are you watching? Do you know me, where I am at this moment?
He didn’t answer but she knew. No, she couldn’t trust this, this brief interlude; it wouldn’t last, it wasn’t hers; it was borrowed, and repayment would come at a dear price.
∙•∙
Several loads of river rock had been unloaded near the site where the house would stand. Last night, Hank had explained his reason to Lydia for changing the building site; he’d convinced her they’d have a finer view and more light if the house stood on the side of the hill facing southwest.
Lydia had accepted this but overhearing her comment to Anora as she was helped down from the wagon, his conscience told him he wasn’t fooling anyone. “I suppose the change in location will be all right. We’ll see some lovely sunsets from our porch,” she said, shading her eyes with a gloved hand to her forehead, gazing into the distance.
Anora, complexion pale and lips drawn up tight, glanced at him over her shoulder and quickly ducked her head and
leaped off the wagon unaided. Hank read the panic in her glance.
Threading her arm through Anora’s, tugging her to fall into step, Lydia started off for the new building site on the slope of the hill.
Isabell, chattering away, pointing to the squirrel scolding them from the crotch of the big oak, trotted at Hank’s side. She’d been rambunctious all week. Lydia hadn’t allowed her more than an hour or so out of doors to play in the snow—so today, Isabell had a lot of pent-up energy to expend.
Every instinct told Hank to follow the women, he didn’t trust where Lydia would lead the conversation. Her big heart had her convinced all she had to do was offer Anora protection. Paxton felt the same. But Hank knew it wasn’t that simple.
∙•∙
“I didn’t realize your cabin would be in view,” Lydia said aloud.
Anora stood staring down on the pitiful, squatty little cabin, her prison. Yes, Mrs. Reason would have to look at that every day—she hated the idea. She’d have to live knowing Mrs. Reason, up here on this big hill, comfortable, warm, and well-loved in her fine, big house, pitied her pathetic existence. Mrs. Reason probably wondered why she stayed. Why she didn’t kill herself rather than endure the shame and torture. Anora couldn’t answer those questions. She didn’t know, but her will to live had sustained her so far. She might find the answer someday, if he didn’t kill her first.
After a lengthy pause, Lydia added, “It’ll be nice and sunny on this side of the hill. The orchard will do well on this side. We’ll have a good view of town too.”
Anora turned and put her back to the view; she couldn’t bear to look at it one more second. Mr. Reason and Mr. Hayes had started laying out the stakes and lines of string that would outline the house.
In her mind’s eye, Anora envisioned a two story, white house, straight sided, with a porch spanning the front—window glass reflecting the sunlight. She would have a flowerbed below the porch with tiger lilies, hollyhocks. Pansies would border the flagstone walk leading to a little bench beneath the oaks where, on summer nights, she could sit and ponder the stars and dream on the moon.
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