by Grace Walton
“Yeah, I know, but there’s something else Carrie. The reason I’m still here playing this charade about the girls.”
She was afraid to know, but she had to ask, “What?”
“This isn’t easy, cause I know he’s been sort of a, I don’t know,. a protector for you and the girls. But Ferguson isn’t what he seems.” He looked like he was trying to cushion some kind of killing blow he was preparing to deliver.
“Why don’t you just cut to the chase Sam?” Her mouth was dry. It was one thing to imagine Gage was a hit man, but it was quite another thing to be presented with the iron clad evidence. She knew her heart would be ripped in two if Sam said what she expected him to say.
“Witness Protection has been breathing down our necks ever since you disappeared,” he said by way of prologue.
“And?”
“And I know who you are. Course we’re not saying anything to anybody.”
“We?”
“The sheriff and me, we’re the only two who know. He sent me out here. They’re real worried about you Carrie.”
“I can imagine they are.”
“That’s not all.”
“Yeah, I bet.” She let her head fall onto the arms crossed on her knees.
“Witness Protection is real concerned that you’re in danger.” He was so earnest and good.
Why couldn’t you fall for a guy like him, Carrie asked herself? He was in great shape and pretty nice looking if you liked Nordic types. He’d be a guy you could always count on. He was a pillar of the community, great father material. So why couldn’t she convince herself?
“They think somebody’s trying to kill you.” He seemed concerned when she chuckled sarcastically.
“He’ll have to take a number.”
“Will you be serious? They’ve traced a guy who they think has been digging to find you for at least a couple of years, maybe more. The paper trail leads to Burnt Hickory. You could be the target of a contract hit right now.”
“So who do they think it is?” She already knew the answer. Why was life so hard? Why was her life, in particular, so hard? Did anybody get the life on the TV shows? The one where everything was funny and all your problems got solved in 28 minutes, not counting commercials?
“Gage Ferguson.” He dropped the bombshell with the deadly precision of a fighter pilot.
“He’s not what he seems?” she whispered and refused to look at Sam. She’d known the truth. It had been a cold burning in her stomach since Ferguson had shown up at the school. But if there was even a hint of triumph on Sam’s face, she’d be forced to slap him.
“He’s definitely not what he seems. Carrie the feds told us Ferguson took the contract three years ago and has been closing in ever since. He’s known for the smoothness of his work and his extreme patience. He likes to make a hit look like a natural occurrence, a random car wreck, there’s been a fire. A kid drowned.”
She stopped him with a weary look. “I really don’t want to hear this.”
“But you need to. He’s gotten real close to you a couple of times.
“Was he in my house?”
He nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, they think so. But you don’t have to worry. I’ve got him locked up. As soon as my back-up arrives, we’ll get you out of here.”
“So how did Witness Protection fumble and plant me here in his backyard?”
“Just dumb luck for him, I guess.” He knelt down beside her. “Telephone records show he got a call from some old geezer, he knew in the military asking him to help find you.”
“Mac,” she said.
“No, I believe the geezer’s first name was Ray. Anyhow, Ferguson’s been working it to his advantage. He could lay the blame on the Conclave guys. It would be an easy sell. Nobody would doubt you’d been murdered by a bunch of religious weirdoes. And he’ll play the part of the tragic hero who just couldn’t get to you in time.”
She nodded. Her eyes were burning and she was horrified when a tear trailed down her cheek. She looked away. Perfect Sam would not see her cry over scum like Gage Ferguson. She was convinced now everything Black Knife had told her was a lie. Even the bleeding heart tale of woe about his guilt over his past. It had all been manufactured to draw her in. And it had worked like a charm.
“Don’t take this the wrong way OK? You just look like you need somebody to hold you for a minute.”
He enfolded her in his arms. It felt good. Not exciting or even interesting- just comforting. She rested her head on his shoulder and enjoyed the luxury of letting somebody else be strong for a minute. And as the minutes passed by neither said anything. What was there to say after all? No amount of conversation would change the fact that Gage Ferguson meant to kill her. And still would if he got the chance.
“Carrie?” He finally broke the silence and pulled away from her. “Do you think we might go out again? I mean, I’m sorry I never called you back. Work just kind of snowballed and …” He looked a little sheepish in his efforts to ask her on another date. She found it sort of endearing and saved him from his own embarrassment. After all, she owed him. He’d saved her. He was her Knight in Shining Armor. Not the dark, devastating man who had claimed her heart without even trying. The memory of Gage and his false tenderness brought a round of quick tears to her tired eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
“Sure Sam, I’d love to go out with you again.”
“Great, wonderful.” He smiled. “I better be going. I need to check on Ferguson. I’ve got a couple of guys guarding him, but with skills like his, well you can never be too careful.”
Carrie wasn’t really hearing him or what he was saying. She was staring into the fire. He left and after a few minutes, Carrie sighed, sat up very straight, and tossed the notebook with her list of ideas on how to get Gage out of jail into the popping flames.
Chapter Ten
Grace grunted in pain as she slowly stood up. Carrie could smell the rich odor of the meat Grace was frying in a heavy black pan over the fire. Now the old woman’s gnarled hands carefully wrapped a piece of flour sack turned kitchen towel around the tin plate of hot food.
“I’m going over to the corn crib to see if they’ll let me give Black Knife some supper.”
Carrie nodded listlessly. She looked out of the cabin’s window. Pristine white snow was drifting down to the muddy street. For a few seconds she thought the little ramshackle village was beautiful. But then she remembered why she was here. Suddenly the muddy road looked just as nasty as it had when she’d been hauled through it that first awful day.
She’d been waiting all afternoon for the helicopter Sam had promised. He’d come back around two o’clock. The bad news was the weather conditions were making it too hard for the copter to fly. It might be tomorrow before they got there. Tomorrow, or the next day, it didn’t matter. Time was relative really. What was waiting for her back in Burnt Hickory anyway, a media feeding frenzy? She wondered with a smirk how the feds were dealing with that.
Now if her agent Sid was working it, well he could turn anything bad into good copy. But Sid was on the West Coast. She hadn’t been able to contact him in 4 years now. She’d done a web search on his name at the public library once. All the entries pointed to the fact that he’d forgotten her, written her off, and moved on to other big name clients. Some of them were pretty impressive. Well, that was Sid. He always landed on his feet.
She sure could have used his expertise now. It was a given that she’d be moved again. Relocated, they liked to call it. Another city, another name, another career, another house, it hurt to think about it all. Once she’d loved that gypsy lifestyle. Now she just wanted to go somewhere nobody knew her, buy a nice little house, and stay in one place for the rest of her life. It wasn’t going to happen though.
Even after the trial, assuming she lived long enough to testify, she’d have to keep moving. Drug Lords had long memories and they weren’t forgiving. But, she reminded herself. You chose this, it wasn’t thrust upon you. You chose it.
When her Dad had been murdered, she could have cut her losses and walked away. But she didn’t. So now she had to live with the consequences of her decisions, or die with them. Either way, she’d done the choosing. She was determined to see it through.
Grace’s opening of the door brought in a few swirling snowflakes. They soon melted into wet patches on the floor of the cabin. The plate of food was still in her hand.
“Well, your beau won’t need this, I guess?”
“What?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yep, boys guarding the front didn’t even know it till they opened the door for me to pass him the food.” She cackled.
“Gone?”
“Long gone. And Sam Dole’s fit to be tied, let me tell you. He rode those poor boys up one side and down the other.”
“But that’s not possible, Sam said.”
“I know what Sam said. When they told him Black Knife had skedaddled, the whole darn town probably heard it. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it yourself. And let me tell you, some of weren’t fit for tender ears.”
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Carrie said. “I’ve got to get to Sam.”
“What is wrong with you Girl?” Grace asked puzzled.
“I can’t explain. I’ve just got to find Sam.” Carrie bound up her hair with a black elastic. “Thanks for everything Grace. You’ve been, well, you’ve been the best.”
Grace put a restraining hand on Carrie’s arm. “Wait up. I don’t know what’s got you so scared Carrie, but it don’t sit right with me, it purely don’t. You know how I feel about Sam Dole. Don’t you go depending on him, you hear. He’s not right. Something about him bothers me.”
“You don’t understand and I can’t explain. One day... maybe one day I’ll be able to tell you the whole story. But right now I need to get to Sam. He’ll get me out of town safely.”
“What about Black Knife? You just gonna up and leave without saying nothing to him? I’d lay money he’s waiting out there somewhere. Waiting to talk to you, tell you his side of the story.” Grace was worried and it showed.
“He’s the reason I have to leave.” Carrie’s patience was wearing thin. “Listen Grace, if I don’t get out of town, you could be hurt. And maybe not just you, maybe a whole lot of other people would be hurt as well.”
Grace was astonished. “You think Black Knife would hurt you or me? Carrie I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I don’t believe it, not for a minute.”
Carrie shook off the old woman’s hand. “Fine, don’t believe it, believe whatever you want. You’re going to anyway. But for once I know what I believe. That’s what you wanted right? For me to know what I believe? I believe in survival Grace, my survival. It’s not about spoons, forks, or a fictitious higher power. It’s about who’s alive at the end of the day. And the only way I’m going to survive today is by making my own decisions, depending on myself. And right now, I’m going with Sam.” She turned to leave.
“Wait!” Grace called out as she scurried over to the pie safe. Yanking open a drawer she pulled out her silver spoon. She shoved it into Carrie’s hand. “Take it.”
Carrie looked down at the spoon and shook her head. “I don’t want this, I don’t want what you believe it represents.”
“I know Child,” said Grace, sadly, “But some day you just might need it.” She turned her back to the girl silhouetted in the door.
Carrie jammed the spoon into the pocket of her jumper and ran down the porch steps. The street was quiet and surprisingly serene as the accumulating snow continued to completely cover the smelly black mud. Carrie only spent a moment savoring the strange peace before furtively searching the shadowy areas between each house. Was Gage waiting somewhere out her for her? Sam had said Gage liked to make his hits look like accidents. How accidental would her death appear out here on this cold desolate road?
“Sam!” Her mounting fear drove that cry for help. “Sam, are you out here?”
A figured moved in the darkness at the end of the street. Carrie’s breath caught in her throat. A hand clapping down hard on her shoulder made her shriek. Suddenly strong arms encircled her.
“It’s OK, Carrie, it’s OK.” She slumped with relief against Sam’s body. He kept whispering into her hair. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I just got another radio message from headquarters. There was a little break in the weather. The copter’s on its way.”
“He’s out here Sam, I saw him.” Her teeth chattered with a combination of fear and cold.
“I’m sure he is Carrie.” One of Sam’s hands rhythmically smoothed her hair. “I’m sure he is. But I’m here too, and I’ll die before I let him hurt you. You believe me, don’t you Honey?”
Carrie looked into his sincere blue eyes. She nodded.
“Now let’s get you inside where it’s warm and safe. Here’s your necklace.” He handed her the GPS. “Harvey said to tell you he’s sorry it was taken away from you.” He placed a comforting hand in the small of her back and ushered her towards the biggest house in town. It was the only one with siding, paint, and double glass windows.
Sam knocked sharply on the door. A tiny plump woman answered.
“Mrs. Beasley, can we stay at your place for a while, just until our ride gets here?” Carrie was impressed with the boyish charm Sam used on the older lady. Then she realized by what name he’d spoken to the woman.
“Beasley?”
“Yes, Miss Smith, I’m Harvey Beasley’s wife. His only wife I might add. And I make no excuses for him or his misguided attempt to build himself a little private kingdom out here. Won’t you please come in?”
“But you’re so normal,” Carrie sputtered as she walked in. She sat on one of the several fine chairs in what was obviously a sitting room.
“This is so nice.” She indicated the room.
“Why thank you, I try. And I agree with you wholeheartedly. What Harvey is trying to do in Eden isn’t normal. Far from it. If you could’ve seen him 10 years ago. He was a small town banker in Wisconsin. He was a deacon of the Church. I was its hostess. We had a good life. Then he began studying ‘theology’ online. Only it wasn’t real theology. It was just one troubled man’s opinions. And poor Harvey was so unstudied he just believed everything the man spewed out.”
Carrie shivered. Mrs. Beasley immediately noticed.
“I’m so sorry. I’m being a very poor hostess. Can I get you something warm to drink? Coffee maybe, or tea?” She bustled out to get it, before they had time to answer.
Sam came over to sit close to Carrie. He began to rub her cold hands between his.
“You’ll be all right here. Sadie Beasley is a nice lady, even if her husband is a lunatic.”
Carrie nodded, starting to settle down a little. It did seem safe here. Warm and safe, that’s why when the door flew open, she was so startled. A host of those who’d kidnapped her stood there, backlit by the torches they held in their grimy hands.
“Is Beasley here?” Donnie sounded angry.
Sam stood immediately. He moved to stand between Carrie and the angry men. “No, why are you looking for him.”
“Cause we’re gonna tar and feather him if we find him, that’s why,” grunted Troy.
“I thought he was your Prophet.” There was a certain bite to Sam’s words.
“False Prophet more like,” Leroy snarled.
“Yeah, he was just a load of walking hogwash. Put us up to all kinds of stuff we could go to prison for. Said we’d be protected cause he was sent from God,” Donnie said. “Then he left us holding the bag.”
“Yeah, somebody said he was the one who took all them kids over to the O’Gradys in the middle of the night. And you know what’s going to happen to us when them girls get to talkin’? We’re all going to be doing hard time. And he’ll walk away Scot Free. It just ain’t right,” Troy complained.
“I know for a fact, Beasley had nothing to do with taking the girls to the O’Gradys,” Sam
said quietly.
“Well, maybe not. But he shore didn’t hang around to admit his part in that stupid kidnapping,” Donnie said.
“No, he did not,” Troy agreed. “Come on boys. Let’s keep looking for the coward.” He turned and walked out the open door. The others followed in his wake.
Mrs. Beasley came in as they were leaving. She set a silver tray on the coffee table. “They’re right, you know. Harvey is a coward. I guess I’ll have to add that to the long list of his sins, poor man.” She smiled and began pouring cups of tea.
“How can you be so calm about all this?” asked Carrie on the edge of anger herself. “How can you sit there and not explode?”
“Carrie, Mrs. Beasley is our hostess.” Sam’s voice held just enough censure.
Contrite Carrie continued, “I know, I know, I’m not trying to be rude. I just don’t get it. He’s ruined your life and you sit there pouring tea like some kind of Stepford Wife.”
Sadie Beasley handed her a cup. “Oh, he hasn’t ruined my life, his own maybe, but not mine. He’s made some terrible decisions, I grant you. It always amazes me how we become a slave to our choices and how one bad decision can ruin a whole life of good works.” She gave a cup to Sam and sat back comfortably on the sofa. “You may find this impossible to believe Miss Smith, but I’ve been quite happy here. I’ve made some enduring friendships and I enjoy a simpler life. I’ve even gotten pretty good at baking in a wood stove.”
Carrie shook her head in disbelief. “What about the abuse? The women who have been hurt by a way of life endorsed by your husband? The men on the trail up here were bragging about how badly they’d treated their wives. They were so proud of their machismo.”
“I personally don’t know of any woman who has been abused. Perhaps they were just boasting for your benefit.”
“What about the woman who had her nose cut off?” Carrie challenged. “To spite her vanity Donnie said.”
“Donnie’s wife Carol was indeed a very beautiful woman. She had a tragic past of excesses and addictions. She was glad to marry him and move out here where no one knew her. And she is terribly disfigured now, that part is true. But it wasn’t Donnie’s doing. It was just a senseless accident. She was chopping wood and a large splinter came up and hit her in the face. And I assure you she doesn’t blame Donnie or anyone else,” the older woman explained.