With This Peace

by Karen Campbell Prough

  Jesse paced the confining room, his dark eyes drifting from Ella to the door. He shook Samuel’s pistol at her.

  He moves like a fox circlin’ a chicken coop. Ella wanted to look toward the loft, but she didn’t dare.

  “Ma’am? Could you get me a drink of water?” Wiley’s mocking voice had a sugary tone.

  She snatched a stoneware jug from the floor. She carried it by the wire handle and went to the barrel on the porch. Jesse followed her, stuffing Samuel’s gun in his waistband. He ran his right thumb over his bottom lip, while his eyes roved up and down her figure.

  “You don’t like me? Eh?” He pulled a splinter of wood from his vest pocket and used it to pick at his perfect white teeth. “Little woman, I see your anger. Blue eyes cain’t lie. You know?”

  Her stomach lurched. But with one hand, she shoved the stoneware jug into the water barrel. I wish this were your head. As she lifted the dripping jug, she fought the urge to sling it in his face. She also wanted to run to Samuel and kneel at his side.

  And then her heart skipped a beat as the sound of Wiley’s voice questioning her son met her ears.

  “Mama? Ma—ma?” Amos’s quivery voice held a note of panic.

  The water splashed out of the jug’s rim and dampened her skirt. She squeezed past Jesse, his hand running down her back. “Amos!”

  “Little boy, you tellin’ the truth?” Wiley’s hazel eyes gleamed, and he gazed at the loft. His fat cheeks puffed out with a smile, which showed his reddened gums and tobacco-stained teeth.

  Jesse placed himself in the doorway, holding his own handgun. He nodded his head toward the loft. “What’s the child talking about?”

  Wiley cussed. “Why … the little boy says we may be in luck. They might have our fat slave right here. Isn’t that interestin’?”

  “Ours? Where?” Jesse’s dark-eyed attention shifted to Ella.

  “He ain’t your slave.” The jar of water trembled in her right hand, and with a loud bang, she set it on the table. The water sloshed onto Wiley’s shirt, but she didn’t care. She tried to calm the rise and fall of her chest. “He’s ours … bought. My son’s too little to know the difference, so now you can leave.” She faced Jesse. “Go!”

  “He? A male slave? Well, that’s interestin’.” Wiley wiped his hands down the front of his shirt, stood, and hitched his pants up under his big belly. “Miss, where’s your slave now?”

  “Right here,” an icy voice said from outside.

  Both men raised their handguns and forgot Ella’s long gun on the table. Jesse unlatched the window and peered out. Wiley stepped to the door, ducked his head, and sauntered onto the porch. He waved his gun at Luke, who stood in the dirt beside the porch.

  “Well … well. Got us a hefty one. Who has your papers—bill of sale?”

  “I do,” Ella blurted out. “They’re in … my trunk. He’s mine—my slave.”

  “Ella Dessa?” Luke spoke, his tone firm. “Stop. You know there’s no bill of sale. I’ll go with these men, ’cause we don’t want trouble.”

  She stepped onto the porch, the long gun back in her hands. She pointed it at Wiley. “Get on your horses and ride.”

  Wiley chuckled, ignored her, and jumped off the steps. He motioned Luke to step closer. “Sweetheart, Jesse’s got his gun leveled at your pitiful neck. Don’t be foolish on account of this slave. Those children will be without a papa and a mama.” Wiley produced a wad of hemp rope from his back pocket. “Nice of you to cooperate,” he said to Luke. “Good thinkin’. Let me have your knife.”

  “Luke! I have him covered. Step away.” The heavy gun shook in her hands. I can take him, but where’s Jesse? What’s he doin’? She didn’t dare turn.

  Luke’s dark eyes met Ella’s and shifted to Samuel’s inert form. He shook his head and pulled his knife from its sheath. With his fingers clasping the bone handle, he tossed it toward Wiley’s feet.

  “Ella … Dessa, lower the gun. Go to your children—now.”

  Wiley winked at her. “Best listen. Jesse’s behind you.” He ignored her and grabbed Luke’s long knife. He flipped it sideways, under the porch. “Right nice of you, big boy. You don’t want to cause these folks trouble over the likes of you. They’ll have enough worry steering clear of your Seminole friends. War is comin’.” He made Luke turn and roughly pulled the man’s muscular arms behind him. “Well, well, look at the scars on this one! You make running a practice, boy?”

  “Luke. Go—run!” Ella aimed at Wiley’s wide back and tightened her finger on the trigger.

  From behind her, Jesse shoved his handgun into her ribs. He tipped his head to the right, scrutinizing her face. His whiskey-tinted breath felt hot on her cheek. “Remember what you have hiding in the loft? Hmm? Little boy—pretty girl? Don’t try anything with that gun or I’ll use mine, right now.” He winked and wiggled the gun’s barrel against her side.

  “Please …”

  “Sweetheart, we’re doing our duty. Stealing is a sin. We return lost or stolen goods. Go comfort your babies.” A slanted, evil grin stretched his smooth suntanned skin. “Your little girl’s crying. I might be tempted to go comfort her myself. I’m good with these hands. Remember the words from the Bible—suffer the little children?”

  He pried the weapon from her stiff fingers. She stumbled backwards into the cabin.

  Hannah’s tear-streaked face appeared. “Mama?”

  Ella jerked the door shut and bolted it. She ran for the window, doing the same to it. Forgive me, Luke! Her legs gave out. She collapsed on a bench.

  “Jesse, I got his hands tied. Bring that horse up to the porch.”

  “I am. Hold on.”

  She longed to blot out the sounds of the men apparently wrestling Luke onto the horse.

  Her skin felt ice-cold and there was a hollow in her heart. Samuel was dead or badly injured, and the men were taking Luke away. Dear Lord, help Luke to escape! Protect us. She swiped at her tears and waited for what might come next. Heavy steps clomped on the porch and then horses walked past the cabin.

  Things got quiet.

  Chapter 27

  The waiting became unbearable. With a motion of silence to the children, Ella rose from the bed and unlatched the heavy door. Her mind kept replaying Jesse’s words.

  Suffer the little children.

  If the men returned, they had no defense.

  I gotta check on Samuel.

  Her thoughts bounced around, desperate and random. It crossed her mind to take the children and leave. They could hide in the woods.

  But those men can trail me.

  With a burst of courage, she opened the door and dashed past Samuel’s body. She went down the steps, crouched, and crawled under the porch to retrieve Luke’s large, discarded hunting knife. Wolf whined and followed her out from under the rickety porch and back up the steps.

  “Samuel?” she whispered.

  Vivid pictures from the past made her dizzy. She recalled the snowy night when his mangled right hand had to be removed. The amputation had driven him into a deep depression and ended the closeness of their relationship.

  As on that terrible night, Ella now found herself dreading to touch him, fearful he might be dead.

  “Samuel? Can you hear me?” When he didn’t respond, she knelt and leaned closer. Her hand rested on his back. Tears blinded her. “I cain’t lose you—not now.”

  A soft moan passed his pale lips. She slipped the knife into the deep pocket of her skirt.

  Blood covered the right side of his head, drying in his hair and down the side of his face. Her fingers parted his hair. She found a two-inch scalp wound above his right ear, but the bleeding had stopped.

  Got to bandage his head an’ somehow get him inside.

  She stood. Her eyes swept the quiet surroundings before she went for water and rags.

  “Where’s Luke?” Hannah whispered from the loft. “Why did they take ‘im?” Her deep-blue eyes seemed enormous in the shadowed cabin, testifying to what she wi
tnessed. Tangled strands of hair framed her face. “I saw through the cracks. They tied his hands.”

  Amos peered down at Ella. “I want Wolf.” His bottom lip quivered.

  “Amos. Shh. Hannah, I’m sorry you saw them take Luke, but he’ll be fine. He’s a strong man, an’ he went with them—so we’d be safe.”

  Hannah scratched at bug bites on her legs and shivered. “Uncle Samuel has blood on his head?”

  “Yes. I must go bind his wound. Stay there.” She stepped to the doorway and saw him roll over to his back.

  Luke didn’t talk. He concentrated on staying in the saddle. The fat man had bound his hands and took him up on the porch, while the man called Jesse brought the horse to the edge of the porch. They got him into the flimsy saddle, but they took the reins. He gripped the front of the saddle with tied hands in order to stay in the seat.

  Jesse tugged on the reins.

  Wiley took the lead, swearing when insects bit his beefy red neck. “These bugs are right from hell! It’s winter—they should be dead!”

  They rode the width of a vast seep and angled southeast, toward the river—not taking the more direct route Luke had found.

  Luke’s mind dwelt on Ella Dessa. He thought of her standing on the porch, her face ashen. The faint freckles had shown up. He could still hear her quivering voice in his head, begging him to run—save himself—while Samuel’s still form lay sprawled on the porch.

  Blood spatters marred the log cabin’s exterior wall. There was no way he could’ve done what she requested. He had found a white man in the woods by the river, a bullet hole through his back.

  No doubt, the horse he now rode belonged to the murdered man. His captors were killers. All Luke desired was the chance to get them away from Ella and the little ones. He didn’t know if Samuel lived. He planned to take his chances on escape after he got the men a safe distance from the cabin.

  Come what may, I’ll kill both of them. He couldn’t let them deliver him back to Virginia and slavery.

  Luke was afraid for Ella and the children. The man named Jesse had taken her only weapon and tossed it in some bushes near the barn. He assumed they also had Samuel’s. A family needed guns in the wilderness.

  Jesse jerked Luke’s horse to a halt, causing his thoughts to snap into place. These men knew there had to be a huge price on his head.

  “Got to water a few bushes. Wiley, hold him.” Jesse tossed both sets of reins to the bigger man and slid off his horse.

  Gray clouds slipped over the sun.

  Wiley bumped his horse into the side of Luke’s large mount.

  “Where ya from? Your features say you ain’t no regular-like slave.” He spit tobacco at the gray’s feet and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Did your mama bed down with a rich plantation master? Hmm? He will pay big to have ya returned—so he kin whip the hide off you.”

  Luke watched a red-tailed hawk lift off the ground, a flapping bobwhite quail in its curved talons. The weak and the strong. He refused to acknowledge the comments.

  “I asked a question!” Wiley took the ends of the reins and slapped them across Luke’s face.

  The leather stung, and Luke reacted by jerking. His knees reflexively squeezed, and his tied hands gripped the front edge of the saddle.

  Startled, the gray gelding bolted, stripping the reins from Wiley’s fat hands. Luke almost lost his seat in the saddle, but he tightened his knees and hunched over the horse’s neck.

  The horse headed straight to a cypress hammock and swamp.

  Shouts and hollers meant Wiley gave chase. A branch whipped past his head. Luke bent further forward until the side of the horse’s neck bumped him in the face. He didn’t yell to stop the horse. He let the animal keep its stride.

  When the horse veered right and stumbled, Luke barely kept his seat. The ground became a quagmire. It pulled at the horse’s hooves, bringing the muscular animal to a bone-jarring stop. Luke’s face slammed into the solid neck of the horse. His vision blurred. Blood spurted from his nose as his mount struggled to pull its long legs free of the muddy suction. Luke tried to reach the reins with his tied hands.

  Wiley’s running horse hit the same moist spot. It fought the reins and ignored the heavy man’s vile curses. The horse’s eyes rolled in fear, and foam flew from its mouth. The slave catcher jumped from the floundering horse, grabbed for the gray’s reins, and spat at Luke. His face went purple with loathing.

  “Whoa! Thought ya were smart, eh?” he said, panting. His leering smile made his expression devilish, and spittle formed at the corners of his mouth. His hat was gone, leaving his bald spot glistening with the sunlight filtering through the cypress.

  Luke still felt the stinging sensation over the bridge of his nose and cheek, but he looked down.

  “You’re in trouble.” He grinned at the man’s booted feet. They sank in the mire, brown liquid flowing into them.

  “What?” Wiley fought to hold both nervous horses, his large arms stretched wide. “Whoa!” He shifted his clumsy weight, lifting his boots out of the mud, and cussing the horses.

  Wiley’s horse abruptly whirled sideways, and its front right shoulder and legs knocked the slave hunter to the mud. A wild boar—a huge, bristled ball of black fury—tore from the swampy shadows and ran into the mix of man and horse. The two-hundred-pound boar drove its three-inch tusks into Wiley’s left thigh.

  Luke’s horse threw its head up and lunged as Wiley’s shrill, inhuman scream filled the swamp.

  The horse sprinted for higher ground, Luke’s bound hands still gripping the saddle. He didn’t see the rope. But he sensed it come past his head and felt the horse shy sideways and stumble.

  He hit the ground, the wind knocked out of him. The world flashed white. Gasping for air, with his mouth wide open, Luke stared at the setting sun. Stretches of a beautiful, glowing orange tint lit the gray-and-white clouds as the sun headed downward.

  A leather boot kicked his right side.

  “Get up.” Jesse’s flushed face stretched in a wicked smile.

  With an involuntary groan, Luke endeavored to get to his knees. His chest burned. His skull felt as if it had smashed into a thousand chards.

  “Can’t!” he moaned, his right shoulder throbbing.

  Jesse planted another well-placed kick. “Get up!” He yanked on the rope.

  Luke managed to stumble to his feet. He raised his head. Dark hatred choked him, sending swirls of red color to blotch his eyesight. He wanted to kill Jesse—murder the man with his naked hands!

  Still struggling to draw air into his bruised lungs, he wheezed out the words crowding his brain. “Your … partner’s gone … dead. What do you plan to do, now? Take … me north by yourself? You better not … ever sleep along the way.” He spat a mouthful of blood and felt his tongue swelling. He didn’t fear death. The slave catcher needed him alive.

  Jesse’s laugh was more like a foul giggle. In the shadowy swamp, squeals still filled the air, but the thin man didn’t seem to notice. Luke was nauseated by the sounds of bristly hogs’ repulsive feast.

  “From now on, you’ll walk.” Jesse tugged on the rope, reined in his horse, and gathered the gray’s dangling reins. “Let’s go. Sally forth!”

  The rope hauled Luke along at a run through the cutthroat grass. With his hands still tied, he stumbled. “I can’t—keep this up!” The rope squeezed and bit into his back. It threatened to pull him off balance, face forward. The dry rope scraped grooves into his upper arms and back.

  Jesse slacked the pace without glancing back—but it still meant Luke jogged behind the horses. The slight-built man hollered over his shoulder, “Watch out for rattlesnakes. We are getting into palmetto patches. You might trip over a few nasty-tempered ones in this fading light.” His malicious laugh added to the hatred brewing in Luke’s heart.

  He concentrated on keeping his feet moving but wasn’t able to avoid a prickly cactus stabbing into his right foot. Pain became a numbness as he strove to disregard the
intense burning sensation in his straining lungs.

  In the back of his mind, he felt something wasn’t right. His gut instincts said they backtracked.

  “Final stop!” Jesse reined in by a short cabbage palm—its fanned branches almost indistinguishable in the twilight—and waved his gun at Luke. “Back to it. Nice and easy like.”

  Scarcely able to move, Luke drew in gulps of air and sagged toward the jutting surface of a tree trunk, his hands still tied in front. Dead leafstalk bases poked and stabbed into his raw back. He closed his eyes and felt the rope dragging over his exposed skin, going around the tree and his body. It tightened with each coiling loop. He pretended to sag forward from weakness. He wanted to create slack in the rope.

  “Why—are you doing this?” he muttered.

  “You’ll be alone for some time. I’ve got unfinished business. I’m visiting a lady this evening.”

  Ella Dessa!

  “You sickening waste of a man!”

  “Me? You dare to speak that way?” Jesse chuckled. He knotted the rope, whistling a nonsense tune. After securing the gray horse to a distant tree, he stepped into the roan’s saddle.

  “If I get free, you won’t live to see morning.”

  “Now, don’t fret. I’ll be back before morning. I’ll tell the freckled blond you said ‘hello’ and sent farewell kisses!” He made smacking noises. “Pray for protection from wild creatures during the night.”

  Luke gritted his teeth. “Get back here, you coward! You loathsome scum!”

  Jesse turned in the saddle and waved. “Night, night! I’ll settle it with you later. Get some rest.”

  “Oh, God!” Luke prayed while he struggled. Lord! Lord, set me loose. He’s going after Ella. The children will be there! Don’t let it happen. Let me get to him. Let me kill him!

  Luke stood panting. Every breath hurt, but he took a deep breath and threw himself forward and fought the fibrous rope.

  It loosened.

  “That’s it, that’s it! Lord, give me slack in this binding! I’ve done nothing wrong—I can ask for your help.” He strained against the rope, and it bit into his arms, chest, and thigh muscles.