Valerie briefly wondered if Halloween was celebrated in the eighteenth century. Somehow she didn’t think so. Despite the mixed origins of the holiday, starting out as a pagan ritual and eventually becoming a Catholic prelude to All Saint’s Day, the colonies were mostly Protestant. Valerie had always hated Halloween, put off by what it had become over the years. It had been fun when she was a child, dressing up and going trick-or-treating with Louisa and her parents, but she didn’t like the scarier element that adults invariably brought to it.
As Valerie walked toward the college, the street began to change from a busy thoroughfare lined with shops, to a more rural road with fewer houses and businesses. She could see the buildings of the college up ahead, but there didn’t seem to be much between the center of town and the college. Valerie suddenly stopped and looked around. She could have sworn she heard footsteps just behind her, but there was no one there. She was probably just overreacting since she was thinking of all the creepy Halloween movies she’d seen as a teen. Valerie put Halloween firmly out of her mind and began to walk faster. She would just put up a few sheets by the college and turn back before it began to get dark.
Valerie was just about to cross the road when a wagon came rumbling toward her, the horses slowing down, presumably to let her pass. She hung back, waiting for the wagon to stop. She wasn’t taking any chances. She’d seen a slave woman get run over just the other day, the driver not even bothering to check if she was all right, before leaving the scene of the accident. If passersby hadn’t pulled the woman from under the wheels of the wagon, it would have rolled right over her, probably killing her. Valerie had been horrified, but no one seemed to care, leaving the injured woman on the side of the road as they went about their business.
As the wagon finally slowed down in front of her, Valerie glanced at the driver. Her blood ran cold with fear, and her knees began to buckle as she recognized the man who attacked Alec the other day. She spun around ready to run, just as Bobby Mann came up behind her, knocking her to the ground and pulling a sack over her head. He viciously twisted her arms behind her back, binding them with a thick rope. Valerie began to struggle, trying to call for help, but a blow to the side of her head silenced her, leaving her disoriented and dizzy. She was dumped into the back of the wagon like a sack of potatoes, as the contraption lurched under her, the horses picking up speed. Valerie was dimly aware of motion and the hard boards beneath her, but her ears were ringing from the blow; her eyes shut tight against the terrible pain in her head.
Where were they taking her? Her heart was beating wildly as the full realization of what was happening finally hit her. Thank God she’d left the time-travel device in the room, so Alec could get back if he ever found Finn. Tears choked her as she contemplated her fate. She couldn’t imagine that these men would just let her go, unless they wanted to use her to get to Alec. She’d never tell them where to find him, for they would kill him for sure if they did.
The terrain beneath the wheels began to change, becoming bumpier, the road obviously more rutted. They were taking her out of Williamsburg. Valerie began to struggle desperately, calling for help. She screamed as someone kicked her in the ribs, but the pain only lasted until the second blow to the back of her head. This time it knocked her out, leaving her limp on the bed of the wagon.
Chapter 38
Finn had to admit that he was glad to be working on his own that day. Jonah was helping Mr. Mallory mend a fence, and Finn was cutting the corn stalks left after the harvest. It was tedious and tiring work since the field was vast, but he was in no rush. The stalks would be used for compost, so there was no great urgency to cut them quickly. He was working his way through his section of the field, steadily and methodically, his mind occupied with questions from his epiphany the other day. He’d been thinking about it for a few days now, but he was no closer to answers.
Speculation was all well and good, but he had no real proof of anything, other than the fact that he wound up one hundred and fifty years in the future. Finn had to admit that other than missing his family, he kind of liked it here. The sense of patriotism and urgency he felt all around him was infectious, making him suddenly wonder about all the things he just accepted in his old life. Why shouldn’t these people govern themselves and make their own laws? It was a radical concept, but an exciting one; one that people of his time would never accept. A government chosen by the people -- what a thought. Finn momentarily imagined going back home and describing this Revolution to his father. His father would be incredulous and outraged by the mere notion of a government without a monarch. Oh, Daddy, how I wish I could talk to you, he thought.
Finn was distracted from his thoughts by the sight of Abbie, walking happily through the cleared portion of the field. She was swinging a pail in her hand, obviously bringing him his dinner. The midday meal was his favorite. Supper was more of a light meal, but the midday meal was the heartiest. Usually, Mrs. Mallory made some kind of stew with meat and vegetables and even served pickle on the side. Finn felt his spirits rise. He hoped Abbie would stay with him while he ate. She was also one opinionated woman. He wondered what his mother would make of her. She’d probably like her. Abbie had a mind of her own, and there’s nothing his mother admired more in a woman. Come to think of it, all the Mallory women had a mind of their own, even little Annie, who could manipulate the entire family with a few tears or a timely kiss. She seemed to have taken a shine to Finn, often climbing in his lap and demanding a story.
“Ma sent you some dinner,” Abbie announced as she finally reached him. “There’s a nice spot there under that tree, why don’t we sit down? I have to get back soon, but I’ll stay for a few minutes,” she said, smiling into his eyes. Finn thought of their kiss last night, hoping he might persuade her to give him another. He followed her obediently to the spot she chose, sitting down and accepting the still-warm pail. Abbie handed him a stone bottle of cider as she sat down next to him, smoothing out her skirt.
“Ma asked me to walk down to the Fletcher place. Seems Mrs. Fletcher promised her a cut of lace that Ma wants to use to make a wedding present for Martha. It’s all a big secret,” she said with a grin.
“Isn’t it a long walk to the Fletchers?” Finn asked, tucking into his stew. “Would you like to share my meal?”
“Oh, no. I’ve already had some. It’s a two-hour walk, but I don’t mind. It’s a lovely day and I welcome the break from doing chores. Mrs. Fletcher is a kind soul, who has a fondness for baking,” she answered, dimpling at him. “I hear she was all set to make apple fritters this week.” Finn laughed. He wouldn’t have said no to apple fritters himself. He wished he could accompany Abbie to the Fletcher farm. It was a lovely day as she said, and a walk alone with her would be a treat.
“Ma is hoping Sam will come back in time for the wedding. She’s worried about him, being with the Army and all. Isn’t that just the fate of women? Pa is proud of his boy, while Ma frets quietly, crying into her pillow,” Abbie said sadly. “She’ll never recover if something happens to him. I wish the blasted British would just admit defeat and go away, so we could all get on with our lives. They’ll lose one way or the other.”
“You seem awfully sure. What happens if they don’t lose?” Finn was sorry as soon as he asked the question. Abbie’s eyes blazed with fervor as she turned on him.
“They will lose. Just you wait and see, Finlay Whitfield. Our cause is just, and we will win, no matter how long it takes. We will have democracy and become the greatest nation in the world.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Finn, raising the bottle of cider in salute, sorry that he ever brought up the subject.
“Me too.” Abbie took the bottle out of his hands and took a sip of the cool cider. Her lips were moist as she handed the bottle back. She gazed at him coyly, suddenly shy. Finn knew his moment when he saw it, so he took her by the shoulders, kissing her parted lips. She kissed him back, leaning closer; her breasts pressed against his chest. Her heart beat rapidly
, echoing his own as their kiss deepened, his hand straying to cup her breast. Abbie gently moved the hand away, but didn’t break the kiss, opening her mouth under his, tasting of fermented apples.
“I best be going,” she said, jumping up. “Ma will be expecting me back by sunset. I’ll take the pail with me and wash it out by the creek. Maybe Mrs. Fletcher will give me an apple fritter or two for my young man,” she said with a wicked grin and ran off.
Finn watched her go, his heart still racing from their kiss. All kinds of wicked thoughts ran through his head as he looked after her. What he wouldn’t give to have her all to himself for a while. His cock was stiff, throbbing in his pants and aching for what only Abbie could provide. Finn reluctantly went back to work, cutting down the stalks with much less enthusiasm. The sun was riding high in the sky, puffy clouds floating overhead as the leaves rustled all around him, caught up in their private conversation. Finn looked around. Abbie had long since vanished from view, but not from his thoughts. He’d worked every day except Sunday, doing whatever he was told to do without a word of complaint. Today, he was going to do what he wanted.
Finn walked from the field, following in Abbie’s footsteps. He momentarily thought of leaving his scythe behind, but then reconsidered. Tools were precious, and if someone decided to help themselves, Mr. Mallory would have his head. He’d just have to take it with him. At least it was a hand scythe, and not one with a long wooden handle. That would have been uncomfortable to carry for a long period of time. Abbie had a head start of about forty minutes, but she was walking at a leisurely pace. If Finn walked quickly, he would catch up with her within a half hour. Finn threw one last look at the field, then raced after Abbie.
**
Finn looked around in confusion. Abbie should have been in his sights by now, but there was no sign of her anywhere. She wouldn’t have walked through the woods when there was a path running through the meadow. Finn stood still, listening. Usually, if you listened hard enough, you could hear something. He waited a moment. The sounds of nature surrounded him; birds singing, leaves rustling in the breeze, insects buzzing, filling the air with their hum. Then he heard it –- the neighing of a horse. Abbie was on foot, and there were no farms between the Mallorys and the Fletchers in this direction. The horse had to be with a person. Finn walked swiftly in the direction of the sound.
As he got closer, he heard laughter coming from a copse to his left. The laughter sounded mean, not like an expression of joy, but rather like someone jeering at another person. Finn walked deeper into the woods, deciding to approach from the other side. Whatever was happening, he didn’t want to walk straight into it. He could have sworn he heard Abbie’s cry, but it could be his overactive imagination playing tricks on him. On the other hand, it might not be. What if Matthew Granville hadn’t been satisfied with getting his revenge on Finn and decided to teach Abbie a lesson as well? He’d as good as called her a “whore”, so what if he meant to cause her harm?
Finn walked on silent feet, keeping to the shadow of the larger trees. He could see a glimmer of something red between the trees, but needed to get closer. A blur of white caught his attention as he heard Abbie cry out again. Finn positioned himself behind a wide tree trunk as he took in the scene. Two British soldiers were in the small clearing, their unbuttoned coats blending in with the foliage all around them. Their hats were on the ground with their swords and packs, and their horses were hobbled nearby, chewing peacefully. The remnants of a fire sent curling wisps of blue smoke into the chilly air. The soldiers must have either camped there for the night or stopped to have a rest and a meal. The path was clearly visible through the sparse trees, so they must have spotted Abbie walking along, alone and unprotected.
This was the first time Finn had seen British soldiers at close range. He’d expected them to be young and fit, splendid in their crimson tunics and white trousers, but these men were middle-aged, balding and thickset. Their once-white shirts were dirty, and their breeches covered with stains and dust. They looked disheveled and filthy. One of the men held Abbie in front of him; his thick arms wrapped around her like bands of steel. He was grinning lewdly as his friend ran his stubby finger just over her bodice, tracing her breasts. Abbie’s tucker had been torn off, and lay in the grass nearby. The soldiers were laughing and taunting her, obviously in no rush to get to their real purpose. They didn’t expect anyone to interrupt them.
“You’re a fine one, aren’t you? A tasty morsel for any man. How would you like to have two men at the same time? I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Abbie struggled valiantly, but the man holding her clamped his hand over her mouth, preventing her from screaming. She must have bitten him, for he yanked away his hand, yelping in pain, and giving her a vicious shake.
“Let’s get on with it, Gerald,” he said. “We don’t have all day and all her squirming is making my stones ache. If you want to go first, then get on with it. I want my turn, and I intend to take my time about it." He pushed Abbie to the ground, forcing her hands over her head and holding them in a tight grip at the wrists. Abbie began to struggle desperately as the man named Gerald lifted her skirt, shoving his hand between her legs. She tried to kick him, but he skillfully pushed her legs apart with his own, pinning them against the ground.
“Don’t you like that, sweetheart?” he asked, breathing hoarsely as he forced his fingers into the struggling girl. “Come now, be honest. You like old Gerald, don’t you? Now, lookie what I have for you here.” Gerald unlaced his breeches, pushing them down far enough to reveal his engorged cock. Abbie’s eyes opened wide in horror as her body went rigid with strain. She tried to free her legs, but Gerald was too strong for her. He pushed her skirt to her waist, leering at her bare legs and the triangle of curly golden hair.
“Let me go!” she screamed. “You’ll be hanged for this.”
“And who will believe you, you filthy little strumpet? Just pray you don’t get a swollen belly. That would be hard to explain to your oh-so-patriotic father. You’d have a British bastard, and not even know who the father is. Hold her down, Bert. I won’t be long.”
Gerald positioned himself above Abbie, driving his knee between her legs to pry them further apart. Finn didn’t have a moment to waste. He charged from the trees, shrieking like an Indian as he grabbed Gerald by the hair, pulling his head back and bringing the blade of the scythe down on his Adam’s apple with vicious force. The sharp blade sliced right through the skin of the neck, sending a spray of hot blood all over Abbie’s legs. Bert fell back in shock, scooting away on his backside as Finn turned his attention away from the dying man. He couldn’t let the man go. He would just go back to headquarters, and Finn would be charged with murder. The men seemed to know who Abbie’s father was, so they’d have no trouble finding him.
Bert had managed to get to his feet and was running to the trees, his red coat flapping like wings. Finn let out another shriek and came after him, knocking him to the ground and sitting atop his back. It was the first time in his life that Finn had known bloodlust. He’d heard his Indian friends speaking of it, but he’d not experienced it himself. He had no wish to ever kill a man, but he had no choice now. His Indian amulet fell out of his shirt, reminding Finn of his Indian name – “Kills many.” He never thought it would apply to people, just animals, but he had no choice. Finn grabbed Bert by the hair and sliced off his scalp in one fluid motion. He was nearly sick as he looked at what remained of the soldier’s head, but he turned away quickly, tossing the scalp to the ground. The other man still sat on his haunches, a look of shock on his face; his eyes glazed in death. Abbie sat on the ground, her knees pulled up to her chest, her eyes closed. She was shaking hard, tears rolling down her cheeks and into her mouth, which was open in a silent scream.
Finn went to her, pulling her into his arms and crushing her in his embrace. He held her until the shaking subsided, and she finally began to sob out loud. She needed a good cry. Finn hardly realized that his own tears
fell atop her head as his mind finally acknowledged what he’d done. He’d killed two people, which was a mortal sin, but he had no choice. It was either saving Abbie or his soul, and there was no question which came first.
“Abbie, look at me,” Finn commanded. “Look at me. It’s all right. It will be all right. Come, let me help you up.” Abbie clung to him as he helped her off the ground, her eyes not meeting his, but turned away from him as soon as she was on her feet, looking off into the forest. She was probably horrified by what he’d done. Finn tried not to look at the fresh corpses on the ground. He had no idea what to do with them. They were British soldiers, and someone would come looking for them sooner or later. Questions would be asked. But more than the dead soldiers, Finn was worried about Abbie. She had seen him at his worst, and now she would never look at him again without seeing him wielding that scythe as he killed two men. She wouldn’t even look at him now.
“Abbie,” he called to her wistfully. “Please look at me.”
Abbie turned to him then, her eyes still full of tears, and walked into his arms, burying her face in his neck. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him with her all her might. “You saved me Finn. You risked your life to help me. How can I ever thank you for what you’ve done for me?” She looked up at him, her brown eyes darkened by intensity.
“Abbie, you don’t have to thank me. I would do anything for you. Just tell me that you are not horrified by what I’ve done. I couldn’t stand it if you despised me.” Finn stroked her hair and face, kissing her forehead.
“Despise you?” she looked up confused. “You were so brave, going up against two armed soldiers. Wait till I tell Pa.” She was cupping his cheek, still looking into his eyes as if he were a hero.
“Abbie, we can’t tell your father, or anyone else. We must keep this a secret. When they find them, they’ll likely think it an Indian attack. If they think they were killed by the rebels, there might be a reprisal against civilians. We couldn’t risk that. We must go to the Fletchers as planned and act as if nothing’s happened. I’ll walk you. I just need to clean my scythe, and you need to wash out your dress. There’s a stream a little further into the woods. Just wash out the blood and the dress will dry by the time we get to the farm. Bridget always said that nothing gets out bloodstains quicker than cold water.”
A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3) Page 17