“Maybe . . . maybe not. Depends on what Harold promised you outta the deal. I reckon if I was in your shoes and somebody promised me a cut of several million bucks, I’d keep my trap shut, even if there was a gun bein’ waved in my face. That’s why I gotta be sure you ain’t lyin’.”
Nona’s face blanched at the mention of how much Harold had stolen. When Simon had told her that not all of the stolen money was in the parcel, she hadn’t bothered to ask him how much Harold had actually taken. No wonder these men were after it!
“I haven’t talked with Harold in a long time,” Nona said defensively. “And I don’t plan on doing it any time soon. But why would I? . . . He’s a good-for-nothing liar who’s made Maggie and me miserable.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second.” Frank chuckled. “He’s a worthless son of a bitch, Harold is. But then again, why’d he bother sendin’ you a parcel right before you left to come up here.”
Shocked, Nona came to a stop on the path. Dread filled her. Turning to Frank, she asked, “You think he sent me the money?”
With a speed that Nona hadn’t expected, Frank’s arm shot out, grabbed a fistful of her nightgown, and yanked her closer to him. A flash of lightning lit up his face, and if she had been able to, she would certainly have recoiled from his fearsome eyes and malignant smile.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he snarled. A peal of thunder followed behind his words. “Caught in your own bullshit! You ain’t nothin’ but a lyin’ bitch, just like that brother of yours! Harold sent you that damn money and I want to know where you’re hidin’ it!”
“I don’t know—” Nona began but Frank cut her off.
“I’m through playin’ with you!” he shouted, enraged by her continued denials.
He flung her to the ground as if she were nothing more than a rag doll, and the fabric of her nightgown tore open across her chest. She landed hard on her back. Another flash of lightning forked across the sky high above; and, from where Nona lay, Frank looked both gigantic and grotesque, as unreal as what was happening. “I know how to make you tell me where it is!”
Reflexively, Nona tried to move backward, her hands scuttling across the wet ground, but she couldn’t get any traction in the mud. There would be no escape now. Even if she were to spill her guts, to tell Frank about what she’d found in the parcel, she knew he was going to hurt her . . . badly. She wanted to open her mouth, to scream out into the storm for help, but fear had stolen her voice.
“You asked for this, bitch!”
Frank bent down to grab her, but suddenly, as his hand was mere inches from her, someone slammed hard into his side, driving him into the bushes beside her. Nona struggled up to her knees as quickly as she could, but the darkness of the forest had already swallowed the fighters. Sounds of a struggle reached her over the rain: grunts and groans, as well as the thud of a punch. What’s happening? Has Frank’s partner somehow managed to follow us? The urge to run gripped Nona, but something held her in place. Finally, as another flash of lightning lit up the night, she saw who had come. Simon!
Jack stood up and put his hand on the butt of his gun at the sound of feet thundering across the porch. Even over the roar of the storm, the noise had reached him. It had been ten minutes since Maggie had left to fetch Mabel and he had spent the time wiping LeAnn’s forehead with a wet washcloth and holding her hand during contractions. Even though the women were due to show up, Jack was prepared for anything.
“LeAnn?” Mabel’s voice called from the front door. “Jack?”
“In the bedroom,” Jack answered.
Mabel rushed through the doorway and set the first-aid box on the table. She gave Jack no more than a glance before heading straight for the bed. Maggie and Dusty trailed in behind her, each one of them soaking wet from the storm. The boy nodded to Jack, then moved to the door and stood watch.
“I’m here, honey,” Mabel said softly. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“I’m sorry for the trouble,” LeAnn answered.
“Don’t say anything of the sort. Women have been having babies since the beginning of time, and each one of them would tell you that when a baby decides it’s time . . . it’s time. You don’t get much of a say in it.”
“That’s what I told Jack,” Maggie chimed in.
Suddenly, a powerful contraction washed over LeAnn. “Oh . . . ,” she moaned, her head rolling on the pillow. Her neck was taut, and her face was white and slick with perspiration.
“Just ride through this,” Mabel soothingly reassured her. “Pant, honey.” She demonstrated by breathing in and out rapidly. “I’ve been in on a dozen deliveries,” she lied, trying to reassure LeAnn. “Panting seems to help.” To Maggie, she said, “Get a pitcher of water from the kitchen, put it in a pan on the stove. We’ll need warm water sooner or later. Just try to breathe in and out, LeAnn. It’ll be over before you know it. Go to the bathroom, Maggie, and bring me all of the towels you can find.”
Maggie rushed off to follow Mabel’s orders as the older woman stood, drew off her dripping wet overshirt, rolled up her sleeves to above her elbows, and unfastened the top two buttons at the neck of her blouse. Pulling a few strands of henna-colored hair out of her eyes, she turned to Jack and said, “Simon needs your help.”
“Is everything going to be all right here? This baby’s early.”
“I’ll take care of this. Go.”
Jack walked over to the bed and placed his hand lightly on LeAnn’s damp forehead. Running his fingers over the loose strands of her hair, he said, “I have to leave, but Mabel will be with you until I get back. Before you know it, you’ll have a brand new baby.”
“Don’t worry about me.” LeAnn’s voice was weak, but she gave him a strong smile.
To Mabel’s surprise, Jack leaned down and kissed LeAnn’s forehead, then headed for the door, where he clapped a hand on Dusty’s shoulder. The boy looked grave but determined. “You’ll need to keep alert. Watch over all of them while I’m gone.”
Dusty nodded and lifted the rifle Simon had given him.
“If someone tries to get in, don’t wait to ask questions. If you hesitate, there won’t be time for anything else,” Jack said as he gave one last look over his shoulder at LeAnn before stepping out into the driving rain.
“How long have you been in labor?” Mabel asked.
“I don’t . . . don’t know for . . . certain,” LeAnn managed as another wave of pain struck. Her hands clenched the bedsheet in tight fistfuls. “I wasn’t feeling well . . . earlier tonight . . . but . . . ,” she managed as another roll of thunder drowned out her words.
“That’s all right.” Mabel hushed her. “Don’t worry, honey.”
“Jack thought we should go to the doctor, but I told him we wouldn’t make it in time, especially in this storm. I didn’t want to have this baby in the car on a dark road.”
When Maggie came back with a few skimpy towels, Mabel went to the door and asked Dusty to move to the window; what was about to happen was nothing for the boy to see. Returning to the bed, she pulled the sheets out of the foot of the bed and peered beneath them. Lifting LeAnn’s legs and bending them at the knee, she positioned herself to see how things were coming. Blood and water had stained the bedcover, but nothing seemed amiss. She removed the wet bedding and placed a layer of towels beneath the pregnant woman’s lower body. Mabel knew that they had done all that they could for now. Even if this child was coming prematurely, they’d be ready for it.
“Have you ever done this before?” Maggie asked.
“Not alone. A dozen times with others,” Mabel lied. “I sat by my mother’s side when she had my little sister. I couldn’t have been much older than you, Maggie. It was something that I’ll never forget.”
For the next hour, LeAnn dozed fitfully. Even asleep, her breath came in pants. Mabel and Maggie kept themselves busy, as lightning and thunder raged outside the small cabin; Maggie watched over the sleeping woman, and Mabel gathered the other thing
s they would eventually need, like string to tie the umbilical cord and a sharp, clean knife to cut it, as well as baby clothes for the child. She lit a kerosene lamp in case the electricity went off.
Suddenly, LeAnn jerked awake from her light sleep, a wild look in her eyes. Her breath came fitfully and her face was a mask of pain. This contraction was powerful; LeAnn’s body shook as she tried to control it. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper.
“I think . . . it’s coming . . .”
“Hold on, LeAnn. It’s time.” To Maggie, Mabel added, “Go get the pot of warm water. Put it over there on the dresser beside the dishpan. We’ll need it soon.” Without answering, Maggie left the room.
Throwing off the light bedcover, Mabel once again positioned LeAnn’s legs, placing her feet flat on the bed. She put the palm of her hand on the hardened mound of the belly and waited for another contraction to arrive. Maggie burst back into the room with the pot of water and so hurriedly set it on the dresser that some of the liquid sloshed over the side.
“Oh . . . Mabel! It . . . it hurts!”
“You’re doing fine, honey. Everything is as it should be. Hold onto the head of the bed.”
“But . . . but I just . . .” Pain seized LeAnn again and she became lost to the world, her cries filling the small room. After several minutes, her voice fell in intensity and sounded weak. “I can’t . . . stand much . . . more.”
“It’ll be over soon. The head is showing. Take deep breaths and push as hard as you can.”
LeAnn reared back and grabbed at her abdomen as the pain took her again. She let out a loud cry and quivered in agony, then grabbed the head of the bed and began to push with all of the strength she could muster.
“That’s it! That’s it, LeAnn!” Mabel shouted. With Maggie watching over her shoulder, the older woman gently reached out as the child’s head appeared. Slowly, she pulled the tiny baby from its mother’s body. With crimson-stained fingers, she laid the child onto a blanket, tied the string around the umbilical cord, and cleanly cut it with the knife. As Mabel wiped the baby’s nose and mouth with a cloth, the newborn’s tiny voice began to fill the room.
“Is that . . . Is that my baby?” LeAnn asked weakly.
“It is!” Maggie exclaimed as tears began to course down her cheeks. “It’s a girl and she’s beautiful!”
As Maggie took the small bundle and handed it to LeAnn, Mabel massaged the exhausted woman’s stomach. After a short time, the afterbirth came out easily. Mabel rolled up the used towels and packed fresh ones between LeAnn’s thighs.
“My baby!” LeAnn said in amazement. “My baby girl!”
The child seemed healthy: plump red cheeks and the right number of tiny fingers and toes. A small tuft of dark hair was plastered to the baby’s head. She cried out, her arms and legs waving.
“What are you going to name her?” Maggie asked.
“Sophie. After my grandmother.”
“Well, little Sophie,” Mabel said. “You picked one heck of a time to make your appearance. I doubt that any of us will ever forget this night.”
Chapter 29
DESPERATELY PUSHING, CLAWING, AND TEARING, Simon tried to position himself so he could get a hold on the man. Strength matched strength as they grappled in the tall, wet grass. His muscles throbbed from the exertion. He’d wanted to remain calm and not allow his anger to rule his head, but what he had discovered minutes before had caused him to erupt in pure rage.
After leaving the wounded kidnapper behind, he’d pushed relentlessly down the path that the man had indicated. Through the whipping wind and rain, he’d picked his way forward as quickly as he dared, the enveloping darkness and the pain in his head making his progress even more difficult.
Finally, after what had seemed like hours, he’d heard the faint sound of voices coming to him over the pounding of the rain. He’d stopped and strained his ears to localize them. Finally, he could distinguish the argument between a man and a woman.
Simon had run through a stand of thick brush beneath a tall elm, its branches swaying menacingly in the gale-like winds, and he had halted in his tracks at the sight that met his eyes. Time had seemed to stand still, the images moving like frames in an old movie; the man holding Nona on the ground, her nightgown tearing open, and him reaching for her.
The thought passed through Simon’s mind to shoot the man where he stood, but something took hold of the anger burning in his belly and he stayed his hand, fearing the man would shoot Nona. Instead, Simon found himself rushing through the rain, a growl building in his gut and, with all his strength, hurtling himself into the man on top of his woman.
“Get off her!” he shouted.
The next couple of minutes erupted in a barrage of punches to the stomach, elbows to the face, and knees to the upper thighs and groin. Both men had been overwhelmed by their animal instincts as their teeth gnashed together and their eyes burned with bloodlust. Frank, his barely contained fury now let loose as if it were floodwaters burst free from a dam, landed a solid blow to Simon’s chest. Then with the smallest of spaces between them, he managed to separate himself and roll to his feet. Simon then did the same.
When, reflexively, both men went to their waistbands to draw out their guns, both of them came up empty-handed. The force of their collision had sent the pistols flying.
“Damn you, Wright!” Frank snarled. A small stream of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and ran down over the stubble of his chin. “I guess I’m gonna have to kill you another way!”
“You’re welcome to try, you son of a bitch!”
“I aim to!” With that, Frank reached down to his boot and, from a large scabbard tied to his calf, pulled out a knife. The blade was long, four to five inches, and it gleamed menacingly in the flashing glare of a streak of lightning. Holding it out in front of him, Frank slashed through the air. “I’m gonna gut you like a pig!”
The two men began slowly to circle each other. Every step or two, Frank lashed out with the knife, trying to thrust it into Simon’s body, but the other man quickly pulled back, leaving the knife to strike nothing but air.
“How long can you keep this up?” Frank laughed.
“Longer than you,” Simon countered.
“We’ll see about that.” Like a cat, the thug shot forward and caught Simon’s forearm with the tip of the sharp knife. Blood instantly flowed from the cut and ran in rivulets down his arm to drip on the ground below. The wound stung, but Simon paid it no heed. “Ain’t quite as fast as you thought you were, huh, Wright?”
Simon tried his best to ignore the man’s taunts by keeping his attention on the blade and himself between the madman and Nona. He listened for the slightest sound from her, but he noticed nothing. Had she dragged herself off into the bushes or was she seriously hurt? If so, he’d make this bastard pay with his life.
After another halting feint, Frank suddenly darted forward with determination, the knife held upright in his hand. Simon stepped forward himself and, with a powerful stroke of his left arm, drove wide the wrist holding the weapon, while simultaneously hitting the man hard in the ribs with his other fist. Air wheezed out of Frank’s lungs as he stumbled away.
“Not bad,” Frank gasped. “But it ain’t gonna be good enough.”
Once again, the two men began to circle. Simon knew that he must disarm the thug if he was going to have any hope of surviving and saving Nona. It would only be a matter of time before the knife found its mark.
As if to show how valid Simon’s worries were, Frank threw out his knife hand while Simon was flat-footed. Although he jerked his head away at the last instant, the steel still found the soft flesh of Simon’s cheek, just below his eye. If it had been but half an inch higher, he could have been blinded. The cut ached with the ferocity of a hundred bee stings. Simon blinked rapidly, trying to clear his thoughts.
“Matter of time,” Frank muttered.
In that instant, Simon knew the man was right; he had to end it q
uickly. He’d have to be decisive or he’d be dead . . . and Nona would be left to the madman. Saying a silent prayer, Simon waited for his moment and, when it appeared, he struck.
Taking a quick step toward Frank’s right, Simon suddenly stopped and darted to the left. Frank saw the opening Simon’s first step had given him, took the bait, and lunged forward; but, once there, he found no target. Now standing to the other man’s left, Simon threw a thunderous punch to the jaw. The force of the blow sent rain spraying from the thug’s wet head and he staggered, his legs trembling. With a slap to the man’s hand, Simon sent the knife hurtling into the dark forest. Now they’d be evenly matched.
“It ain’t gonna be that easy!” Frank screamed and rallied with a punch of his own, his bony knuckles colliding with Simon’s face. Blood filled Simon’s mouth, and his head, still unsteady from the earlier blow, swam dizzily.
For the next couple of minutes, the two men stood toe-to-toe and traded hard blows. A pounding shot to the ribs was followed by a stiff jab to the chin, which was in turn answered with a strike near the ear. Simon was so full of anger that he could hardly feel the punches that struck him; they only served to make him throw more of his own. Finally, Simon landed a blow flush with Frank’s nose, breaking the hard cartilage beneath. As blood spurted out, the man crashed hard onto his back.
Briefly, Simon hoped that Frank would stay down. Lightning flashed and he saw how misguided those hopes were. In that quick moment, Frank’s eyes had looked at him much like those of a cornered animal; he would either fight and live or die trying. Still, it was what Frank had clutched in his hand that truly frightened Simon . . . It was a gun.
Simon turned to jump out of the way, but he was far too slow to escape a bullet. The gun’s recoil came at the same time as the peal of thunder roared, making it sound as if the shot had come from the heavens above. The bullet tore through the soft tissue of Simon’s left shoulder with the force of a sledgehammer. The bullet threw him to the ground.
On Tall Pine Lake Page 24