"But where we gonna go, child?"
"I don't know yet, exactly." Wildly, she looked about her. "I don't have more than we and Jasper can carry with Thunder's help—but money, I've got to have money to—the money from Father—perhaps Uncle Philip's cashed it by now. . . . Only, how am I going to get it without anyone finding out about it?"
"You know where it is?" questioned Lula.
"Yes, but—"
"Is it locked up somewhere?"
Christie nodded.
"Then we'll get it," said Lula, suddenly looking very crafty. "And don't you go askin' me how ah'm so sure. Just wait till your uncle leaves with Miss Melissa. We'll get it."
It was well past ten o'clock when Christie and Lula stole carefully into Philip's study. The entire household was asleep, Aunt Margaret having ordered everyone to retire early with her. She had announced the need for complete rest and quiet following the ordeal of the morning and Philip and Melissa's hasty departure for Virginia in the afternoon.
"I didn't realize it would be so dark in here without a taper," whispered Christie. "Where's that tinder-box?"
"Right here," said Lula, working to strike a spark. At last she succeeded, and they lit the candle in the holder Christie carried.
"Over here," whispered Christie, indicating Philip's secretary desk near one wall.
Then she went to open the glass-paned doors of the upper portion, only to find them locked.
"Where's that hairpin?" asked Lula.
When Christie had produced it, Lula made short work of the lock's meager resistance, and soon went to work on opening the valuables box.
"This one gonna take a bit of doing," muttered
Lula, but just as she spoke, they heard a "click" and the box was open.
"Lu, you're a wonder!" exclaimed Christie. "Sometime remind me to take some important kinds of lessons from you!"
Then she peered into the box and her face became somber. "Oh, Lu! It's what I was afraid of—the bank draft's still here, uncashed, and made out to Uncle Philip. And look, there's no other cash in here; Uncle Philip must have taken whatever he had on hand with him. When you travel—"
"What is it? What did you find?"
Even in the dim ring of light afforded them by the solitary candle, Christie knew it was a magnificent piece, perhaps the most splendid piece of jewelry she'd ever held, or seen this close. Withdrawing the bracelet slowly from the box, she laid it carefully on the desk, and even in the candlelight, its many-faceted stones sparkled and glittered royally. Set into the heavy gold filigree band were five large emeralds, perfectly matched, and surrounding each stone was a ring of diamonds, also fairly good-sized and also perfectly matched. The heavy clasp was studded by a much larger diamond, and on the back, Christie noticed as she turned it over, there was an inscription of some kind, but in the dim light she couldn't make it out.
"Must be worth a mighty sum," breathed Lula.
"A veritable fortune," said Christie. "Lord, I wish it weren't such a handsome piece. If it were a lesser one, I might feel comfortable taking it in place of the bank draft."
"What you mean, if it were a lesser one?" snapped Lula. "Child, you don't have no choice! This hunk of finery's your ticket out of here!" "Oh, no, Lu! I couldn't. I'm no thief!" "Borrow it, then. All ah know is, if we don't have some money, or something that's Worth money, we might just as well go back upstairs and wart until your daddy comes for you!"
A stricken look crossed Christie's features. Then, hesitating only briefly, she picked up the bracelet and, finding her own garments without any hiding places, thrust it into Lula's pocket. Then, locating an inkwell and a quill, she hastily scratched a note on some paper she found in a drawer.
Dear Uncle Philip,
For reasons I cannot explain now, I am in dire need of going away by myself for a while. Forgive me for taking the bracelet to fund my journey. I promise to repay every penny of its worth as soon as I am able. I am not a thief, only a desperate girl. Please try to understand and tell Father not to worry.
Fondly, Christianna
Then, after replacing the relocked box and locking up the desk again, they snuffed out the candle and crept silently back to Christie's chamber where a frightened-looking Jasper awaited them.
"Is Thunder ready?" Christie asked him.
"All saddled and ready to go," answered the boy.
"Good work." Christie smiled. "Lu, are you sure the innkeeper's holding that room for us?"
"Up until midnight," replied Lula. "He wasn't about to, at first, but soon as ah held out all that money, he came around."
Christie frowned as she remembered another deception she'd been forced to make. The money for their stay at the inn near the wharf had come from Aunt Margaret on the pretext that Christie needed new riding boots to go with the riding habit her aunt had insisted she have. It had been easy to come by, given Margaret's distraught state this afternoon; Christie had only pointed out that the mahogany color of her old ones would not go as well with plum as a shiny black might, and the money was hers. Now as she stood in her room remembering this, she wondered how long it would take her to become a practiced liar, and she took a deep breath in an attempt to shake away her present trend of thought. "Desperate straits require desperate measures," Barnaby Rutledge had once said, and placing one hand softly over her belly, she thought of the babe she carried. Garrett's child! She felt a curious pull of joy mixed with anguish as she thought of the cause of her own "desperate straits."
Then, with a quick shrug of her shoulders, she looked at Lula, who had been gathering her bags and stood waiting for her.
"Well, let's be off," she said. "Thunder grows impatient when he has to wait."
Chapter Eighteen
It was shortly after eleven o'clock, if one could believe the crier, as the three figures, two afoot, one riding, made their way stealthily down a narrow alley on the eastern end of town, near the waterfront.
"Mind you don't fall off that horse, son," whispered Christie, as the steed's hoof struck a loose stone and sent it scattering ahead of them. The sound of the rolling stone echoed loudly between the near buildings and Christie thought it might have been a clap of thunder for the din it caused.
Suddenly, ahead of her, Lula stopped short.
"Mighty loud for a hunk of rock—sounds more like footsteps coming this way—"
In the darkness behind them, Christie glimpsed two large shadows approaching, and she screamed in terror, a high-pitched warning scream that sent Thunder rearing in fear.
"Get the horse!" growled a rough voice. "He'll fetch a handsome price. I got me a nice little nigra wench!"
"Jasper," screamed Lula, as Christie felt a rough pair of hands at her own shoulders, thrusting her against a wall. "Jasper, ride! Go, boy! Fetch somebody—"
Her words were cut rudely off as her captor's arm swung viciously and caught her on the side of her head, but not before she saw Jasper hunch tightly over Thunder's withers and urge his mount safely out of range of the second man's grasp.
"The boy, Luke! He got away!" yelled the attacker. ' A string of curses came from the man who was now wrestling Lula to the ground. "Well, git yourself the blonde doxie, Tom! This one's mine!"
Christie had been standing, frozen with terror, against the wall where the one called Tom had shoved her, prior to his abortive attempt to stop Thunder, and now, as she saw the other assailant meant her, she turned to flee, but the second man was too quick for her.
In seconds she felt herself grasped cruelly by the hair and dragged thus back to where a vainly struggling Lula lay pinned to the ground with her skirts raised above her waist.
"Oh, God, no!" screamed Christie, but her own captor clamped a large, calloused hand over her mouth while with the other arm he imprisoned her arms and forced her down on her knees.
"One more sound outa you and you'll feel this," he warned, showing her the long, shiny blade of a dagger he held in his hand at her side. "Understand?"
Mutely, she
nodded, becoming sick to her stomach at the scene she was being forced to watch being played out before her.
The other man also held a knife, and he kept it at Lula's throat as he used his other hand to unfasten his breeches.
"Spread those black legs, dearie," he ordered, his breath coming out in long pants now, and when Lula didn't comply immediately, he took his knee and savagely forced it between her legs.
Christie felt herself becoming weak and faint when she felt a movement at her shoulder and saw that Tom was undoing his own breeches.
"Oh, God, this can't be happening to us," she thought, as she saw the man called Luke lower himself over Lula's tiny body and thrust his swollen member between her thighs.
At his entry, Lula screamed, and Christie guessed at the reason, for Luke was a huge brute, more than twice Lula's size, and there must have been pain that had to do with fit, as well as force. At Lula's scream she saw Luke drop his knife and strike her a brutal blow across the face before he settled down to his frantic ride.
Expecting to be on her own back at any moment Christie forced herself to look up at the man who held her captive; and when she did, she felt her stomach lurch at what she saw.
Tom had forgotten all about her for the moment even letting the dagger he had threatened her with go limp in one hand as he stood gaping at the rape going on a few feet from them. She saw his free hand holding his own engorged shaft in its grasp as he manipulated it rhythmically before her, all the while making animal-like whimpers deep in his throat His breathing was loud and labored, his eyes glassy as they stared at the writhing pair on the ground nearby.
Christie felt as if she were about to pass out, when suddenly, as if out of nowhere, two lightning figures seemed to emerge from the darkness and thrust themselves into their midst.
The man, Tom, was large, but the one who now threw himself at him appeared a giant beside him as he knocked him to the ground and in seconds had him on his stomach, his arms held securely behind his back.
Simultaneously Christie saw another man— dressed in what kind of strange garb, she wasn't sure—take a flying leap toward Lula's rapist, who had partly disengaged himself from her as he spied the attack. Lula's rescuer tore him savagely off her still form, dragging him to his feet, and there emanated from his assailant's throat the strangest, most bloodcurdling sound she'd ever heard. Though Luke was a man of mountainous proportions, Christie thought he behaved much like a rag doll in the hands of an angry child as his attacker, though a full head shorter and many pounds lighter, quickly rendered him unconscious with a series of blows to the head with his feet.
But now Christie was being helped to her feet by her own rescuer, who had bound Tom's hands with his belt. As she began to look at the man who towered above her, she felt a heaving action in her stomach and, bending over, retched miserably at his side.
"Are you all right, ma'am?" drawled the deep voice, as her spasms finally ebbed. Christie raised her head slowly and nodded before she looked upward again at the man's face. Then she felt the ground give way, and she fainted.
Voices were talking to her, strange voices—no, not strange—Garrett's voice; but not Garrett's, either— as Christie slowly opened her eyes. The face above her own—she had to be dreaming—looked like Garrett, but then it didn't look like him either. She shut her eyes briefly and then opened them again. The face was still there, and a pair of the bluest eyes gazed concernedly into hers as the face spoke.
"Don't try to raise your head right away," said the handsome mouth, again reminding her of— She shut her eyes again, tightly. Why was she thinking about Garrett so much right now? "How are you feeling?"
She reopened her eyes and answered weakly, "Better, thank you. Where am I?"
"In a hired carriage, waiting to be taken safely home." He smiled.
"Home? I can't go—Lula! Where's Lula? Oh, God, he raped her! I saw it! He—"
"Easy, easy, little one. She's right here. My friend's taking good care of her, though she's had a rough time of it."
Christie raised her head from what she found was the seat of a carriage and saw, across from them, for her rescuer was next to her on the seat, Lula, being held gently in the arms of a full-fledged Indian brave! Just then, Lula spoke, the words somewhat slurred by a split and swollen lip.
"Ah'm all right, Christie, girl. What about you? Your baby—they didn't—"
"No, no, Lu! They—they never got a chance to—to harm me. I'm fine, and the baby's going to be fine, too," said Christie, almost involuntarily finding her hand reaching for her abdomen.
"Ma'am, maybe you could tell us where you live and we could see you safely home. You and your companion need some rest, and the boy, too." Her rescuer indicated Jasper whom Christie now noted for the first time, sitting in the corner of the large interior of the carriage.
"We were fortunate enough to be able to rouse the owner of the livery stable and hire this rig," he said in kindly tones, "but now we must know where to take you, ma'am—"
"My name's Christie, Christie Tre—"
"Christie Randall," interrupted Lula. "Madam Christie Randall."
Christie shot her an annoyed look, but then she caught the stranger grinning broadly at her.
"That is a coincidence! My name's Randall, too. Jesse Randall, at your service, ma'am, and this is my friend, Laughing Bear;"
Christie's eyes widened to appear even larger than their usual size. "Jesse Randall, of Riverlea?" she questioned in a small, weak voice.
"Yes," he answered, "how do—"
A chuckle was heard from Lula's side of the carriage. "Ain't—isn't every day you get rescued by your own unknown brother-in-law, Christie!"
Jesse Randall sat listening quietly as Christie, with some interjections from Lula, poured out the whole long story of how she had come to be Garrett's wife, her reasons for leaving him in New York and how she came to be running from her uncle's home in Charleston. When she came to the details regarding her feelings for his brother and the babe she carried, Jesse watched great, silent tears slide down her cheeks as she spoke, and he took out a handkerchief and began to wipe them gently away as she finished the saga, at last drawing her close to him and letting her sob in earnest on his big shoulder once the tale
was completed.
After some minutes like this, she calmed down and raised her head to look at this gentle man who so resembled her husband, and smiled at him.
"I don't know why I've burdened you with all the tawdry details of my story," she said, "but somehow, Jesse Randall, I—I guess I feel I can trust you, and even though we've just met, I feel I know you already."
"It's only natural." He grinned. "Call it a kinship between the only two people in the world who could possibly love that scoundrel I call brother that you happened to marry. But we'll worry about Garrett later; right now our problem is what to do about you. Where did you think you would go, once you got money for the—necklace, was it?"
"Bracelet. I—we weren't sure exactly, but I know I have family in England, on my mother's side, although I've never met them, and Lula found out there's a ship leaving for London in the morning; but beyond that, there were no more definite plans," said Christie, feeling foolish as she heard herself review the sketchiness of her preparations for the future.
"I take it you also weren't aware you might run into Garrett in London?" questioned Jesse.
"Garrett in London? How did he come to be there?"
"Following a lead in the matter of his search. More than that, I don't know. I merely had word from our attorney when I saw him in town here this morning, that Garrett left for London two weeks ago. As for me, I haven't seen him since he left for your father's plantation in June."
"Did—did your attorney mention anything about our marriage, or about a—a—"
"Divorce? No, he did say Garrett refused to discuss the marriage, which Carlisle—uh, the attorney—had already known of through me, by way of the note my brother sent from New York. But nothing beyond
that. Christie, I have a suggestion. Please don't say anything until you've heard me out, though, all right?"
Christie looked at his smile, so much like Garrett's, but lacking any traces of the mockery that was so familiar to that other mouth and face, and she knew she was going to like Jesse Randall very much and, in fact, already did.
"All right." She smiled.
"Come with me to Riverlea. The place is large and comfortable, and you'll be safe there while you decide what you want to do, where you want to go. Lula and her son originally intended to come into our employ anyway, so I'm sure they'll have no objections."
He gestured at the black woman as she slept now, still carefully held by the Indian who so far hadn't uttered a word, and Christie noticed Jasper had fallen asleep, too, leaning his downy black head against the red man's shoulder.
"With Garrett on his way to England, you'll be free of worry about any unwanted encounter with him; it should be a few months before he returns, and to ensure that you have adequate warning when he does—should you be there that long—I'll leave word with Carlisle that I'm to be told, quickly, the moment my brother returns, giving us adequate time to . . . prepare, speed you away, whatever. Garrett always stops at Carlisle's before coming to Riverlea when he's been away. Finally, I have my own, selfish, reasons for inviting you home. I'm intrigued by you, Christie Randall. No matter what his reasons, my brother married you when I would have sworn no woman on earth could ever had led him to take those vows, and I think I've already caught glimpses of why that happened, of the kind of woman you are to have made such inroads on my brother's life style. And I find I already like the woman I see in front of me right now, like her enough to want to come to know her better—and perhaps, to be her friend. Will you come?"
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