Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  “No, no you don’t,” Elder Greer said, shooting out his hand to catch her wrist. He held to her with a hard grip while with the other hand he tugged his drawers up to cover his limp nakedness.

  “Let me go,” Serena breathed in supplication, trying to break the hold of his fingers that bit into her flesh. She could not. His strength seemed to grow as he clothed himself, as did the wild and maniacal look in his eyes.

  “What is it, Brother Greer? What passes here?” The eager question was asked from a good distance. The eyes of the man who spoke, and those of the others crowding behind him, were on the shrinking white form of the girl at the elder’s side. The light of the lantern Beatrice had left sitting on the ground gleamed through the thin and ragged material of her tattered nightgown, outlining the slender yet sweetly curved shape of her body with mysterious golden light.

  “A piece of wantonness, that is what passes here,” the elder replied, his voice rich, steady. “This woman pretended to illness in the night, calling out to me to succor her in her sickness. When I went in to her, she tempted me, tearing open her gown, displaying herself. When I told her to cover herself, she refused.”

  “No,” Serena said, shock and dismay making her voice no more than a thread of sound. “It isn’t so.”

  The elder’s fingers tightened, stopping the flow of blood to her hand. “It is so. She offered herself to me for a price, spreading her thighs in invitation, and when I spurned her, she was so angered that she tried to do me an injury.”

  “With a fork, brother?” came a wondering inquiry as the elder indicated the marks on his chest.

  “If a different weapon had come to her hand she might have killed me.”

  Serena shook her head in negation. She opened her lips to speak. At that moment Beatrice stepped from the shadows of the elder’s wagon clutching her husband’s linsey-woolsey pants to her bony chest. “Whore,” she whispered, her face working as she stared with hatred at the slim figure of the girl. “Slut, to try a good man so. Jezebel! She-dog in heat!”

  Her husband held out his hand for his pants, and with a look of seething malevolence for Serena, the woman passed them over.

  The first man shifted his feet. “We cannot allow such behavior to pass unpunished, even if she is not one of us. She may be a danger to us all, both to our souls and bodies.”

  Beatrice, perhaps deliberately, perhaps otherwise, stepped in front of Serena, shielding her from the hot gaze of the men. Serena would have been grateful if the woman had not also curled the talons of her fingers around her arm to hold her while Elder Greer slipped into his pants.

  “She is in my keeping,” the elder said as he passed his suspenders over his shoulders and fastened them to his waistband. “I promise you she shall feel the weight of punishment until she reaches penitence. I shall personally ply the whip to her back, nay even to her naked skin.”

  Beatrice stiffened, flinging her head up. “You, my husband? Better to let her face open meeting and be judged as she deserves and punished according to what is meted out. You — you are too good, too gentle to chastise her as she deserves.”

  The elder shot his wife a look of stern rebuke. “She is my responsibility. I am answerable for her sins.”

  “If that were so,” Beatrice said slowly, “then you must need to feel the whip on your own back, my husband. No, let the slut stand before us all in her shame. It is a matter for all to decide, since her transgressions, if they continue, may affect all. She is a poison which must be dealt with swiftly and without mercy.”

  “Be silent, woman!” Elder Greer shouted, but it was too late.

  “What she says has merit, brother,” the first man said earnestly.

  “Yes,” said a second. “She has already affected your reason to the point where you went to her aid in the night without being properly dressed. How might she affect your judgment if you alone undertook the task of her chastisement?”

  Staring from one to the other, Serena was aware of an undercurrent of meaning in their words that gave her an uneasy hope. “Nothing happened as Elder Greer has said. He is lying! You must believe me,” she cried.

  The men glanced at her and looked quickly away. “It may be best,” the first said, “if we meet to get to the bottom of her exact crime.”

  “Crime? I have committed no crime!” For all the attention they paid her, Serena might as well not have spoken.

  “Be silent, Whore of Babylon,” Beatrice hissed, giving her a shake. “Isn’t it enough that you have endangered my weak husband’s immortal soul by your wicked ways, enticing him into your place of iniquity in hope of payment? Must you blacken his name also?”

  Serena had thought Beatrice must realize she had not called out to Elder Greer pretending to be sick; how could she not know it, sleeping so close in the next wagon, as she did? She had thought that, knowing her husband had sought her out of his own will, Beatrice must know why. It was not so. The names she had called Serena, then, reflected not her jealousy, as Serena had thought, but her actual belief as to the truth of what had taken place. Unable to conceive of her husband’s entering Serena’s wagon without invitation, she was certain he had expected to find Serena complaisant. Why should that be, since Serena had repulsed him a number of times, unless for the sake of a reward? Marriage, because Serena so stoutly refused to change her religion and accommodate herself to Mormon ways, was out of the question. Monetary gain was left as the only explanation. Because Elder Greer hinted it was so, Beatrice actually considered her a fallen woman plying her most ancient of trades, and it appeared from the stern expressions of the gathered Saints that they were of the same incredible opinion.

  This was the crime of which they were accusing her.

  2

  The meeting was convened by the clanging of a cowbell. There was no delay. No precious hours of daylight would be wasted for such a paltry cause; morning must find the wagon train on the move once more.

  The leaders of the group, Elder Greer among them, sat at a long board supported by a pair of carpenter’s sawhorses. A Bible, the Old Testament, lay in front of them, and a lantern sat at one end. A number of other lanterns hung from wagons here and there, adding their illumination to the cleared space in the center of the straggling circle of vehicles. Serena was given time to cover herself decently, as Beatrice phrased it, by donning a dress, but there was no time to put up her hair or even brush it, no time to don stockings and shoes. The elders must not be kept waiting on her convenience. It was she who must stand alone, pale, bruised, and unkempt, before the board while the men and women of the train gathered around her, whispering and staring. It was an endless quarter of an hour before the bearded elders, clad in solemn, rusty black, filed to their chairs.

  Serena stood with her back straight and her gaze fixed on the darkness beyond a gap in the wagons. Though she was aware of the low murmur of voices and the simpering titters of laughter, she did not allow them to intrude upon her notice. She knew when Elder Greer glanced at her then looked away, saw the glitter of barely suppressed lust hidden under his calm and magisterial mien, but she did not betray by the flicker of an eyelid that she realized he existed. Only by maintaining this proud, uncaring pose could she force herself to stand still, to stay instead of running out into the night away from this unjust and humiliating tribunal.

  One of the judges, the same elder who had confronted Elder Greer earlier, cleared his throat. “You, Serena Walsh, have been accused of the sin of offering yourself to a man for the purpose of fornication. This is a serious charge. Do you understand its nature?”

  “I — yes, I understand,” Serena answered, and then as the murmur of condemnation for this truthful reply rose, she went on, her voice rising, “But it is a false charge. I did not invite Elder Greer into my wagon. He entered it while I slept—”

  “Lies!” Beatrice shouted from where the women of the elder sat with their children to one side. Agatha, the first wife, sat with her lips folded and her gray head grimly erect. Be
side her, Lessie was twisting her hands in her lap with tears standing in her soft eyes.

  Elder Greer held up his hand for silence. “For what purpose would I do that, my child?” he inquired, his voice grave and a sorrowing look on his features.

  “You told me I must be saved from myself,” Serena answered, turning her blue-gray eyes in his direction without evasion. “You seemed to think that if you — if you lay with me I would feel compelled to accept the honor of being your wife. You said the union would be a holy one, that you had prayed over it and — and your presence in my wagon was the answer.”

  “Blasphemy. This is blasphemy,” the first elder said, his face growing red.

  “She is a viper filled with wickedness,” Beatrice said with a savage nod.

  With her hands clenched, Serena turned to her. “If what I speak is wickedness, it is not mine. I am only saying what was told to me, telling what Elder Greer tried to do to me.”

  “You lie, you lie!” Beatrice screamed, her eyes filled with hate.

  “Silence!” the first elder shouted, bringing his fist down on the judgment board with a thud. “Silence at once!” When the babble of voices had died away, he turned to the man beside him. “We have heard what this young woman has to say, Brother Greer. Now let us hear what you have to tell us concerning the matter.”

  The silver-gray hair of Elder Greer glinted in the lamplight as he slowly turned to face Serena. “I am grieved at the accusations, deeply grieved. However, I trust my good name can stand worse than the desperate mouthings of a girl who is frightened by the enormity of what she has done. No, my concern is for the state of her soul. Despite everything, I feel she is not beyond redemption. Punishment there must be, some mortification of the flesh to correct and discipline the wrongful thoughts that abide in her mind, but when it is done, she must have a place. She herself has mentioned the possibility of becoming my wife. Perhaps this is what she desires in her heart regardless of her outward reluctance to become one of us. If it is God’s will that this be the road to her salvation, then I am not unwilling. I shall make it my most sacred duty to see that she repents of her wicked ways and accepts the mantle of grace as befits her womanhood.”

  “You are too generous, Elder Greer.”

  “So he is!” Beatrice declared. “She should be put from us as something unclean, left behind, alone in her sinfulness, when we leave here in the morning.”

  “That is unnecessarily cruel,” Elder Greer rebuked his wife with a dangerous look in his face. “It would be to expose her to great dangers, Indian horse thieves, stray riders and outlaws; to the mercy of the elements, the possibility of becoming lost.”

  “Better for her to face such danger than to continue as a threat to your immortal soul! Besides, what has such a one as she to fear from men? Will she not welcome them into her wagon, even an Indian? As for becoming lost, why, how can that be when the trail is as plainly marked as a turnpike by the wheels of wagons and old cast-off belongings?”

  “She has a point,” the first elder agreed with a slow nod.

  Serena took a step forward, her hands clenched at her sides. “So she does,” she said. “I will leave this wagon train most willingly. In fact, nothing would give me more pleasure!”

  “See how little she deserves your concern!” Beatrice exclaimed.

  “It cannot be,” Elder Greer said, frowning.

  “No! No,” came a new voice. “She might die, and I don’t want her to leave. I don’t know what I will do if she leaves!”

  The speaker was Lessie. Her voice was thick with tears and her eyes red-rimmed and scared, but she had spoken.

  “Keep quiet,” Beatrice snapped. “We don’t care what you think.”

  “That is not so,” Elder Greer corrected. “We do care. Do you want this woman to join the family, Lessie?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, I do.”

  “She cannot be so bad then.”

  “No, sir. She has always been good, nothing but good, to me.”

  “That must be in her favor then, surely.”

  The first elder began to nod. Beatrice, her spiteful gaze clashing with the hard silver stare of her husband, was silent. Serena, looking from one to the other, saw her chance of escaping the fate Elder Greer had in store for her slipping away. The silver-haired Saint turned his glittering gaze to her with a distinct air of anticipation, one hand absently moving to press his chest where she had wounded him. A look of piety sat upon his countenance, and yet in the depths of his eyes hovered an expression that made a shudder ripple over her skin, bringing with it the memory of his hard hand probing her flesh.

  “No!”

  The word sprang from her lips unbidden, but she would not have called it back, even if she could. “No,” she repeated. “As much as I would like to be a sister to you, Lessie, I would prefer not to be a wife to Elder Greer. I have no wish for such an — honor.”

  “Your wishes do not count in this matter!”

  “Do they not? Then perhaps my sinful nature will? I can promise you, Elder Greer, that you will regret it if you force this — this punishment upon me. I will not be a comfortable wife. You will receive more pain than pleasure from me, as I think you have already found. Far from proving my salvation, it is more likely to be my doom, for I doubt very much that I will be able to resist betraying you at the first opportunity!”

  The results of that audacious statement were beyond belief. Voices rose in a confused babble. Women spat vicious epithets while men rumbled in condemnation that was not without a certain furtive expectation.

  “She is a slut!” Beatrice screamed in angry joy. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. Leave her behind, I say. It is a more merciful sentence than she deserves.”

  The purplish-red hue of rage suffused the face of Elder Greer. “You have made your choice,” he grated, “but before you put yourself beyond hope, there is one thing more you should consider. You were given into my protection. I was appointed your guardian, both by the public meeting and at the request of your father as he lay dying. By right, since I have been for some weeks your provider, your possessions are mine, if I see fit to claim them. I do so claim them now as a recompense for the injury you have done both to my person and my good name. If you leave my protection, you go with nothing more than those personal belongings, such as clothes and provisions, necessary to see you to a place of habitation.”

  “You can’t do that!” Even as she voiced the protest, Serena knew that he could. The expressions of those around her, of Beatrice and Agatha and Lessie, of the Saints behind the judgment board and those crowding close, made it all too certain.

  “I can! So think carefully, for this will be your last chance. Will you stay with us as my wife and hope that with my help you may acquire a chastened and chaste spirit, or will you be left alone here in this place with nothing?”

  He thought he had her. He thought she must accept his terms, because to do otherwise would be madness. Well then, she was mad.

  “How good of you to warn me,” she answered, lifting her chin. “I believe that after the last weeks spent in your company, I would prefer to be alone. Though you may have my possessions, I will still have my self-respect and something you are more likely to take away than to give me, my chastity. As to the danger, I prefer to risk it rather than remain. In this case, the devil I don’t know is infinitely preferable to the one I do!”

  “So be it!” Elder Greer surged to his feet with such force his chair overturned. His face dark with fury and frustration, he said, “You will return to your wagon and stay there through the night meditating on your folly. If you do not come to me in the morning and beg forgiveness on bended knees, then we will depart from you at first light, and no amount of pleading and prayers will persuade us to turn back for you. Goodnight to you, Serena Walsh, and if God wills, goodbye!”

  ~ ~ ~

  Morning came slowly. Serena watched it with wide and burning eyes, watched the sky turn from blue-black to gray, watched th
e velvet earth turn slowly to prickly, scrub-covered sand. When she could see inside the wagon, she pulled out her mother’s small hidebound trunk. Removing the contents, she made a neat stack of her own clothing-her three dresses of printed cotton and gingham, her extra set of underclothing and good high-button shoes. On top of these she carefully placed her mother’s silk gown and her kid slippers with the gilded heels. Turning to a small lacquer box, she took out its contents, a gold locket containing a miniature of Sean Walsh, a hair brooch, a necklace and earrings of twisted gold and seed pearls, and a gold thimble set with lapis lazuli. She put these treasures that had belonged to her mother into the center of a small lawn handkerchief, tied up the corners, and pushed them down into the toe of one of the slippers. A look of quiet determination on her oval face, she placed the slippers in the bottom of the trunk with the silk dress. Over these went a quilt, then on top of them went her own clothing. Seeing the trunk was not quite full, she added a mantle of gray merino and a half-dozen of the many books that had belonged to her father. She left the trunk open while she brushed her hair and formed it into a soft knot on the nape of her neck held with tortoiseshell pins, then she placed her mother’s silver-backed brush, comb, and mirror inside, lowered the lid, and buckled the straps that held it shut. “You are ready. That’s good, since it means I won’t have to spend time seeing to it.”

  At the sound of Beatrice’s voice, Serena swung around to see the woman climbing over the tailboard. “Yes, I’m ready.”

  “You remember what Elder Greer said. You are to take only your personal things.”

  “I remember.”

  The woman looked away, her gaze moving possessively over the furnishings of the wagon, coming to rest on the trunk. “You are taking that?”

  “I am,” Serena replied, her voice even.

  “It’s an ugly thing, not big enough to do much good. Let me see what you have in it.”

  “No.”

  “No? How dare you be so insolent, a woman in your position? Open it, I say.”