Love Me Always

by Marie Higgins

  The haze in her mind lifted again, and she recalled the bruises on her father’s face. When he started talking to her, his voice slurred – yet alcohol was not to blame since she knew her father did not drink. But the way he acted was as if he was possessed, accusing her of the worst things and calling her a jezebel.

  Catherine remembered the hurt and anger from his confusing words. “No, Father, you’re mistaken. I came looking for you tonight.”

  Laughter rattled deep in his chest. “I think it’s one of your made-up stories again. In fact, I’m certain you were probably looking for Nicholas. His uncle is dead, and now you think you can sink your claws into him.”

  Tears had stung her eyes. “Please, Father. You must believe me.”

  He grasped her arm and held in a vise-like grip. Although her father’s eyes were on her, it was as if he looked right through to the trees in back of her.

  He lifted his chin, giving her his all-powerful scowl. “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord; though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow, though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”

  Catherine shook her head. What was he doing quoting scriptures at a time like this? If she didn’t know better, she would have thought her grandfather stood in front of her now. “Father?”

  “You are a sinner, my daughter. You must ask the Lord’s forgiveness.” Yanking her with him, he fell to his knees and she stumbled beside him. “Behold, all souls are mine; as the soul of the father, so also the soul of the son is mine; the soul that sinneth, it shall die.”

  His hand tightened and she cried out. “Let me go. You’re mad.” Catherine had wondered if her father was the parent insane and not her mother – yet she’d never seen her father act in such a way. It was as if someone else possessed his body.

  He continued quoting scriptures, “But if the wicked shall turn from all his sins that he hath committed, and keep all my statues, and do that which is lawful and right, he shall surely live, he shall not die.”

  A lump welled in her throat. He talked nonsense...yet by the wicked gleam in his eyes, he believed every word coming from his mouth. Did he think he was God?

  Her mind scrambled to remember those scriptures he’d forced her to memorize as a child. If this was his only form of communicating, then she’d play his game. “The next day,” she began in a shaky voice, “John seeth Jesus coming up to him and saith, Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed, his lips curled. “Then said Jesus unto them, I go my way, and ye shall seek me, and shall die in your sins; whither I go, you cannot come.”

  Fear crawled over her, piercing its fangs deep into her skin, just as his fingers were doing. “So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone.”

  He gripped her shoulders and shook her hard. “Fools make a mock of sin, but among the righteous, there is favour.”

  Tears streamed down her face. “And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man or his parents...”

  The parent she remembered from childhood yelled and raised his hand, then slapped his palm across her face. Her head snapped back and she fell to the ground. Pain ripped through her neck and shoulders.

  “The father shall not be put to death for the children, neither shall the children be put to death for the fathers; every man shall be put to death for his own sin,” she sobbed.

  He raised his hand again and she squeezed her eyes closed, preparing for that final blow. Pain exploded on her cheek and she cried out. Before she blacked out, Hodgson ran toward her father, his gaze seething with hatred.

  The harsh memory shook through her body and she bolted up in bed. Breathing heavy, moisture ran from her face and down her neck – a mixture between tears and sweat. She’d finally remembered what happened...and now knew why she’d chosen to forget.

  She didn’t beat her father. He’d beaten her!

  So why had he accused her? Why had he pointed the accusing finger at her knowing this whole time...

  Her mind stop. Refusing to believe. Could he have done the crimes slandered against her? Could he have been the one who murdered Mary?

  Oh, please God, no!

  Gingerly, she ran her fingers over the lump still on her cheek and flinched. Sobs wracked her weak body and more tears sprang forth. Could she make the authorities see she had not committed a crime?

  Shaking, she scooted to the end of the bed. She must leave here. Soon. Tonight. If her father knew she remembered...he’d beat her to death for certain. As she sank her feet into the rug, she glanced at the bed-stand. A cup of broth sat there, the heavenly aroma tickled her senses and made her stomach growl. It had been a while since she’d eaten last. Maybe even before she left the Fielding estate.

  With an unsteady hand, she brought the broth to her mouth and sipped. The heated liquid trickled down her throat and into her empty stomach, making her want more. She gulped the rest and set the empty cup back on its saucer. Her limbs trembled and she cursed herself for not eating these past few days to keep up her strength. How could she escape her murderous father this weak? She had to escape. She must return to Nick and tell him what she remembered. She would tell Mr. Lewis and he would help her as well.

  She stood and the room tilted. Bracing her hands on the nightstand, she closed her eyes and breathed deep. Perhaps this was the punishment she received for lying in bed for so long.

  Slowly, she straightened and walked forward. With each step toward the door, she gained control of her weakened body. Soon, she’d be downstairs and finding something to eat. In order to leave this hell, she needed to get food in her body fast. She also must pack a few things. Not much. Since she planned on traveling by horse, there were only a few things she could bring.

  She found her warmest cloak and slipped on her boots. She rolled a blanket as tight as she could to take with her.

  The cottage remained quiet as she tiptoed to the kitchen. She found bread, cheese and apples. This would do for now.

  Eating like a starved person, she chopped the apple as fast as she could and in between bites stuffed pieces of bread in her mouth. Slowly, her strength returned, but dizziness still threatened to topple her over. She’d just have to take small steps on her way to the stable to saddle her horse.

  Why was her head spinning like she’s been twirling for hours? This was the way she’d felt the time she’d awoken after her father was beaten... And right after her mother died. Tears pricked her eyes again as confusion filled her. She didn’t have her mother’s madness, so why did she feel so strangely?

  With each step she listened for her father’s voice, took deep breaths to smell his leathery scent if he were nearby, and kept her gaze alert. The evening wind whipped her hair around her face, and she pushed the fly away lock aside.

  Her heartbeat quickened the nearer she came to the stable. Shadows appeared around every section surrounding the structure – the trees, bushes, and sides of the building. She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress then grasped her shaky hands together. Taking deep breaths, she tried to regulate her ragged breaths.

  Almost there.

  Inside the stable, the horses moved, their hooves knocking against the wooden walls as they snorted and neighed. The hammer of her heartbeat slowly drowned out all other sounds.

  She hurried to her sidesaddle, lifted it and brought it to her horse. Using a shaky voice, she cooed gentle words to the animal, while fumbling with the straps as she adjusted everything into place.

  A shuffle whispered behind her and she swung around. Into the shadows she peered, waiting for the one person she feared more than life itself to make himself known. But the longer she stared, the more she realized the wind had been playing tricks on her. Perhaps her father wasn’t here after all.

  Slowly, she turned to the horse and finished fastening the buckles. The mare nudged her shoulder with h
is nose.

  She petted his neck. “It’s all right, Meadowlark. We’ll be gone in no time.”

  Pausing in mid stroke, she bit her bottom lip. Where would she go? She didn’t know her way to the estate. And if she did, it would take her a day and a half to get there. Perhaps she should ride to the nearest town and find somebody who would take pity on her. From there she could send a letter to Nick.

  She released a deep breath. Would Nick even care? Gregg would...and Gregg would certainly save her from her father.

  With that in mind, she grasped the reins and led the horse out of the stable. From down the hill a sound jarred her from her thoughts and she stopped. A woman’s whimper had drifted on the wind. Catherine’s heart lodged in her throat, turning it dry. No other woman lived on the property. Who could it be? Was it indeed a woman’s cry or some trapped animal?

  Dismissing it from her head, she continued in her pursuit, but the weep came again, this time louder. She squeezed her eyes closed and leaned her forehead against the horse’s neck. The dizziness consumed her mind gradually, and she wanted to close her eyes and sleep. She struggled to keep alert.

  The sound came again, sounding like a woman’s cry this time. Catherine had to be hearing things. There couldn’t be a woman sobbing down the slope toward the stream. Yet...if someone was hurt, she had to help.

  Opening her eyes, she swung away from the horse. Dizziness washed over her, making the world tilt. She clung to the animal before toppling over. What was wrong with her? Hadn’t she eaten enough to gain her strength – at least a portion of it? Yet with each step toward the voice crying for help, the fog in her head thickened. No! She mustn’t give into the darkness creeping upon her.

  She made her way past a group of trees, down a hill-bank, toward the stream. The muffling grew louder...and the lightheadedness reached throughout her body, threatening to succumb to the murkiness in her mind. The loud whap of a strap hitting something solid rang through the air, and the crying increased. Catherine’s chest tightened. She hurried toward the sound, stumbling on her way.

  As she reached the clearing, she stumbled over something large lying still on the ground. As she focused, she recognized her father. Blood spilled from his head; a gash in his skull – just like her mother. His skin white as death.

  Tears swelled in her eyes the longer she stared. This couldn’t be right! Why was he dead? If he was the one killing everyone, then why…

  She heard the whip snap again, louder this time, which pulled her attention toward the stream. The tall figure of Hodgson stood with his back toward her. In his hand a whip, and on the ground... Oh, no! A woman.

  Shadows danced around the woman, hiding her true identity. Would Catherine even know who it was in the light of day since welts had raised high on the tortured woman’s face? Ropes tied her hands behind her and were fastened to her ankles.

  Even through Catherine’s fuzzy mind, reality sank in. Hodgson was the one whipping the woman – not her father. Catherine couldn’t stop the gasp springing forth. She quickly covered her mouth, hoping she wasn’t heard.

  Too late.

  Hodgson swung around and faced her. His eyes widened and in three long strides he stood before her, raising the whip to strike her. Catherine squeezed her eyes closed, but he didn’t deliver the blow. Peeking through slit eyelids, he stood still. Blood rushed throughout her body as if in a race to leave. A throb beat through her head, and her heartbeat knocked against her ribs, threatening to break them.

  Hodgson lowered the strip of leather and brought it behind his back. His jaw hardened as his gaze pierced through her.

  “Catherine? Why are you out this late in the evening? I thought you were sleeping.”

  She blinked, hoping her blurred vision would clear. “Hodgson? Is that all you have to say?”

  He shrugged. “You think I should say more?”

  “What happened to my father?”

  “Your father deserved to die, my dear. He was an abusive man and never believed in your innocence.”

  “But...you are not his judge. God is.”

  “I thought differently.”

  She nodded toward the woman on the ground. “And what about...her?”

  “What about her?” He glanced at the cowering figure.

  “What...are you doing?”

  “I’m punishing her, if you must know. She disobeyed the Lord, and so she must pay for her sins.”

  “But...but...” Tears stung Catherine’s eyes. “It’s not up to you to punish her. That’s between her and the Lord.”

  The beaten woman lifted her wobbly head and looked at her. “Cath—rrine,” she rasped.

  Catherine sucked in another quick breath. “Mrs. Berkley?” Her chest clenched and she looked back at Hodgson. “What have you done?”

  She moved toward her companion to give some aide, but her father’s servant stepped in her path.

  “Leave us,” he commanded. “You should not watch the way I handle the Lord’s rebellious children.”

  Rubbing her throbbing temple, she shook her head. “Hodgson, why are you acting this way?”

  “Your grandfather taught me about God before he died. I know what I’m doing. I’m punishing the Lord’s unworthy children.”

  She shook her head. “Hodgson, you are insane.”

  He let out a growl mere seconds before the back of his hand connected with her face. She reeled backward and fell to the earth. Pain shot through her, not only in her cheek, but also through every bone in her body. The dizziness in her head thickened moment by moment, threatening to engulf her very soul.

  Struggling, she lifted her heavy eyelids and glared at the man she once loved like a father. “What has Mrs. Berkley ever done to you? For that matter, what did Mary ever do to you?”

  His gaze widened. “Mary?”

  “Did…did you kill Mary?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand. Why did Mary deserve to die?”

  “She was just a pawn in Grant’s life.” Hodgson’s attention narrowed, his mouth pinched in a scowl. “Grant does not deserve happiness.”

  Catherine gasped. “But...Grant is dead.”

  He nodded. “The good Lord directed my hands when I loosened the wheel on Nick’s coach. I knew Grant’s weak heart would give out once his beloved nephew was dead.”

  “No!” She sobbed, covering her mouth.

  “Grant didn’t deserve love. He took it from me, so I took it from him.”

  She tried blinking away the tears, but they filled her eyes and ran down her face. “Why?” Her voice shook.

  He reached down and gripped her arm. “You were supposed to be my daughter! Both Grant and your father stole your mother’s love from me.” Hodgson shook her hard. “That’s why I had to kill her, too. I wanted everyone to think it was you, though, so I could continue with my revenge. I even laced your drink tonight with a sleeping draught...but it didn’t seem to have worked as well this time as it usually does.”

  “No.” She sniffed, her heart breaking more. “How could you do such a thing? I loved you. Mother, Father and I – I – loved you.”

  “Your father didn’t love me.”

  “He must have.” She pleaded. “Don’t you see? Father knew it was you who beat him the other night, not me. Yet he didn’t say anything. He let everyone believe I was the one who had gone insane.”

  “I had given your father the same sleeping draught I gave you. The medicine didn’t work on your father like I’d hoped it would.”

  “But…what about my mother? She loved you, as well.”

  “Sophia coupled with Satan himself,” Hodgson snapped, yanking Catherine to her feet. “Which is why you must die also. You have coupled with Satan’s son, and you may be carrying his child. For that, you will be punished.”

  “Hodgson, you are wrong. I would not do such a thing unless with my husband.” She struggled to free her arm, but her body continued to weaken as a hazy fog filled her head. She would certainly die b
y this man’s hand. Hopefully, it would be painless...and go quickly.

  He dragged her to the stream and pushed her in. She fell to her hands and knees, the water only coming up to her elbows. The cold water brought her more alert than she’d been a moment ago, but it didn’t make the dizziness disappear.

  As her head swam in confusion, Hodgson’s voice echoed through the night, repeating scripture after scripture. She didn’t have the strength to counter him. Nor did she have the strength to fight...but she must. Yet her damp dress threatened to drag her further into the water and take her under. Small waves thrashed against her body and she swayed.

  He stepped closer and raised his arm, the black whip flashing through the night like a spirit from hell. She closed her eyes, praying death would come soon and save her from this agony.

  Hodgson’s voice grew louder. The moment of pain would soon be upon her. Instead, over the wind in the distance came another sound. Men’s voices lifted in anger. Then the pop of a pistol as it fired.

  Mrs. Berkley screamed.

  Catherine opened her eyes. Hodgson had stopped quoting the Bible. With his stare fixed on her, he staggered forward. The hand holding the whip sagged to his side and the piece of leather dropped to the dirt. Color washed from his face. Blood oozed from his chest.

  Before he reached the water, he glanced over his shoulder. She followed his gaze. Shadows through the trees crawled toward her at a remarkable speed. Tall. Large like men. Two of them. Their voices shouting. Panicked.

  Nick?

  Her heavy eyelids closed again, and she couldn’t fight the blackness taking over her mind.

  Epilogue

  Nick cradled Catherine’s small hand in his, stroking her soft skin with his thumb. Love burst in his chest. His bride faced him and gazed into his eyes. The smile stretched from ear-to-ear probably matched the one he wore.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”