Rewriting Rita

by Kristy Tate

  “The real Corinne?” Christian sat up. “So there is a runaway bride?”

  “Of course there is.” Miss Ryan sank deeper into the carriage cushions. “Why would we lie about that?”

  “Why, indeed? It makes me wonder what other lies I have been told.”

  “Why—oh, never mind.” Miss Ryan flounced in her seat and arranged her skirts without looking at him. “We’re picking up the real Corinne at the edge of town, and I would still very much like for you to take her to my grandmother’s ranch.”

  “The nice woman is your grandmother?”

  Miss Ryan touched a finger to the spot between her eyebrows, aware that she had over-shared. “Yes, she is my grandmother. And although she is domineering, old-fashioned and headstrong—”

  “Traits that surely have not been passed down to her progeny,” Christian murmured.

  “She is also charitable and kind. I know she will find suitable work and a home for Corinne.”

  “You don’t want to see your grandmother.” It wasn’t much of a guess.

  “Spot on,” the blonde said.

  “If she is such a paragon of virtues,” Christian studied Miss Ryan and leaned away with folded arms, “why are you going to such elaborate measures to avoid her?”

  “Were you not listening?”

  “Ah, yes, something about headstrong and old-fashioned. I’m guessing your grandmother doesn’t share your love of the stage?”

  “Spot on again,” the blonde chirped.

  Christian smiled while Miss Ryan frowned and the blonde beamed. Christian extended his hand. “May I be so bold as to ask your real name?”

  The blonde placed her hand in his. “Matilda Marksman.” She fluttered her eyelashes while Miss Ryan poked her in the ribs with an elbow.

  “Tell me the real plan,” Christian said, still holding Matilda’s hand.

  Miss Ryan peeked out the window. “We don’t have to tell you anything. You can watch it unfold in less than a minute. By the way, may we please stop at the next inn for a refreshment?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “We are counting on your agreement.”

  “I know you are. That’s why I’m saying no.”

  Her frown deepened. “Well, if you insist on being such a negative Nelly, then I will wave my arm out the window. Do you see that large man on the boardwalk?”

  Christian’s gaze followed her pointing finger. “The piano player from the theater?”

  “Oh my, you really are much too observant for your own health.” She put her arm out the window. “Do you want me to wave, or may we just pull over without any unnecessary violence to your horses’ shoes?”

  “My horses’ shoes?” Christian cleared his throat because he didn’t like the way it squeaked.

  “I can’t go anywhere near my grandmother. She’s like a tornado—a force that will suck me in if I get too close.”

  Christian rolled his eyes and tapped on the partition. “Please pull over at the corner,” he told his driver.

  “Sir?” Victor responded, clearly and rightfully confused.

  “Tornado warning,” Christian replied.

  “This is where I bid you goodbye,” Miss Ryan told him as she gathered her satchel “I will go into the inn and the real Corinne, wearing my cloak, will come out. You were not to have discovered our deception until after my disappearance.”

  “Because you fear your grandmother.”

  “Do not mock me until you have met her.”

  She sounded so serious that Christian bit his lip to keep from smiling. “As I will this afternoon. How will she receive me?”

  “You will find her charming and hospitable. I have no doubt that she will be compassionate and kind to Corinne.” A tired look washed over Miss Ryan’s expression. “She will feed you a large supper and make sure that your horses are well cared for before your return trip.”

  “Ah, I see why you consider her so dreadful and must go to such great lengths to avoid her.”

  “Yes, I’m glad you understand. Good day to you, Mr. Roberts. Rest assured that you are performing a great service.”

  He didn’t think he could let Miss Ryan walk out of his life. However, as she seemed determined to go to New York and as New York was the last place he wanted to be, he handed her down from the carriage, kissed her hand and watched her walk away.

  ***

  Rita stepped into the inn. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the dim, smoky light, but she spotted Corinne at a table beside the stone fireplace. She nodded to her before exiting the crowded inn through the back door and slipping around to the kitchen garden. She pulled open the gate and walked down the brick path to a sheltered spot.

  Standing behind a trellis of green beans, she waited for Poke and Corinne to join her with a rising sense of satisfaction bordering on giddiness. Within moments Corinne would be safely on her way to Granny’s ranch, and in less than twenty-four hours Rita would be on the road with the Rose Arbor Traveling Troupe!

  Multicolored lights of shooting pain passed before her eyes. Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground. In her pain-fogged mind, she replayed the scene as it should have happened. She smiled when Poke, followed by Corinne, pushed through the garden gate.

  “Etes-vous sûr, mademoiselle?” Corinne whispered.

  Rita nodded, wrapped the cloak around Corinne’s shoulders and tried to reassure her. “Ne vous inquiétez pas. Vous serez en sécurité chez ma grandmère.” Leaning forward, she kissed the girl’s cheek.

  But instead, she smelled tobacco chew and black licorice. She didn’t see Corinne or Poke because shifting colors and shapes blurred her vision. She heard swearing and felt weightless. She was flying.

  ***

  Moments later, a woman dressed in an identical blue cloak and yellow day dress emerged. She looked remarkably like Miss Ryan, until she turned her large brown eyes on him and he took note of her bruised and swollenn lip.

  “Parlez-vous français?” he asked.

  “Oui, monsieur.” The bruised lip trembled.

  “Vous êtes en sécurité avec moi. Je vous prendrai—” But he bit off his words when the large pianist from the theater burst through the inn’s wooden door.

  “Kidrick!” the big man called.

  Then Christian realized that the man held one arm awkwardly and that blood oozed from between his fingers. Christian’s own blood surged as comprehension dawned. The man wasn’t calling Kidrick but was shouting an accusation. The pianist’s knees buckled, and he fell to the boardwalk.

  Miss Marksman screamed and flew out of the carriage as the much smaller Corinne pushed in.

  “Victor!” Christian called to his driver. “Help that man into the carriage and then take the lot of them back to the theater. Fetch a doctor.”

  Victor, not much older than Christian but with much more hair, jumped down. He never failed to remind Christian of a Jack-in-the-box, popping up when needed most.

  Miss Marksman, cradling the piano player’s head in her lap, looked up at Christian with tears in her eyes. “Where are you going?”

  “To make sure Miss Ryan is safe,” he said, adding over his shoulder, “and to find Kidrick.”

  “I’ll come with you,” she said, even though it was clear that her heart wasn’t in her offer. Her heart lay on the boardwalk with the piano player.

  “No, you won’t.” Christian pushed through the inn’s wooden doors.

  ***

  Despite her thundering head, Rita kicked, squirmed and tried to reach behind her if for nothing else than to stop the chuckling. She did not care for being abducted, and she especially disliked being abducted and mocked. Waving her satchel, she tried to connect with any of her assailant’s body parts, but every bit of him seemed out of reach. “Put. Me. Down.”

  To her surprise, he did. He dropped her flat, and she landed facedown in the grass. Propping herself on her outstretched hands, she looked around and discovered they were in an orchard. Hard green apples
lay under and around her.

  “You.” Kidrick also seemed surprised. “You are not my wife.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” Rita scrambled to her feet.

  “But I saw her.”

  Rita watched shades of partial comprehension dawn on Kidrick’s big face. A grin split showed his brown mishmashed teeth.

  Rita turned to run.

  “Where is my wife? You had something to do with her disappearance—don’t deny it.” He caught up to her in a few strides and again grabbed her around the waist.

  Rita swung her satchel, but it whistled through the air and smacked a tree branch. The impact sent reverberations down her arm. “Ow,” she cried as leaves, twigs and hard green apples rained on them both. She spit a leaf out of her mouth and increased her thrashing.

  “I should have known you’d put up a good fight.” His voice was frustratingly calm and steady.

  Her energy flagged. On top of feeling exhausted and cross to be faced with a second condescending and bemused man in such a short period of time, she found it disheartening that, for all her efforts, Kidrick sounded like he was enjoying himself.

  “I like a fighter.” Even his voice was greasy.

  She realized she would have to fight brawn with brain. Rita willed herself to be still and tried to go limp. She had a vague idea of slipping through his hands, but Kidrick had other plans. Such as tossing her over his shoulder and holding her right wrist while pinning her left ankle. Rita felt like a calf being carried to the slaughter.

  Kidrick chuckled and deposited her in the back of a hay-filled wagon. As soon as he released her she scrambled away, intending to jump out the other side, when pain slammed across her forehead.

  “I lost one woman. I’m not about to lose another,” Kidrick mumbled as he tied her ankles together with a piece of rope.

  ***

  Christian ran into the inn and spotted Percy and Reynolds seated at a table near the fire. “Have you seen Miss Ryan?” He tried to speak and catch his breath at the same time.

  “Dem fine dame.” Percy lifted his beer mug.

  “Go to the theater every chance I get,” Reynolds agreed.

  “Not on stage.” Christian’s words came out in huffs. “Here—today.”

  Percy and Reynolds looked at each other and then back at Christian. He saw thoughts and questions spinning in their heads.

  “How much do I owe you?” Percy asked slowly.

  “I don’t have time for you buffoons.” Christian turned toward the back door. Out the window he saw a lone wagon pulling away from the orchard. Indecision tugged at him. He looked out the opposite window to watch Victor leading the carriage toward town.

  “Now, see here,” Percy said, standing and following. “No need to get your twisters knotted into drawers.”

  Christian spun to him. “Do you have a horse?”

  “Well, of course.”

  “I will forgive your debt for your horse.”

  “You ain’t even seen her.” Percy sat back down.

  “Is she a better horse than Reynolds’?”

  Percy and Reynolds both snorted.

  “I thought so. And is she here?”

  Percy’s expression turned somber. “If you need a horse, you can borrow her.”

  Christian thought of hugging Percy but held back. “Show her to me, but hurry. Speed is everything.”

  Percy led Christian to the post where a nag stood chewing hay. Percy untied the reins and handed them to Christian.

  “Just be kind to ole Nelly.”

  Nelly wasn’t anything like his stallion, Brutus, but she looked strong. Christian urged her into a gallop in the direction of the wagon, which was at the edge of the orchard and lurching away along a dirt path.

  Christian knew he could overtake the wagon in seconds, but he didn’t know if he would find Kidrick or Miss Ryan there when he did. And if they weren’t in the wagon then Miss Ryan could be anywhere.

  Fortunately Christian didn’t have to think it through any further because just then a shaft of sunlight penetrated the canopy of the orchard and hit the face of the wagon driver—Kidrick!

  Christian urged Nelly after the wagon, pushing the horse harder while grappling for the pistol secured to his side. He dodged a low-hanging branch. It did not seem yet that either Miss Ryan or Kidrick had taken note of him, and he prayed that the rattle of the wagon and clip-clop of the nag pulling it would drown out the rumble of Nelly’s hooves.

  At that moment Christian saw Kidrick reach to his side, and a gun barrel gleamed in the fading afternoon light. Kidrick shot a quick glance at Miss Ryan and then turned in Christian’s direction, pointed the gun and fired.

  Nelly reared with a cry. Christian steadied on her back, afraid she would bolt, then held on as Nelly crashed down, throwing him clear. Miss Ryan screamed his name.

  Christian rubbed his hand across his forehead as he scrambled to his feet, momentarily disoriented.

  Where was he? What had happened? In the distance he saw the wagon disappearing behind a hill, with Nelly running beside it. He knew it impossible, but he thought he could hear Kidrick chuckling.

  Christian brushed the leaves and twigs off his clothes. He would never overtake the horse-drawn wagon on foot, but he did not know what else to do, so he sprinted toward town, hoping against logic that somehow he would be able to save Miss Ryan.

  ***

  Moonlight glinted on the open window. Rita turned to try a get a glimpse of where she was or if she were a lone, but even that simple movement made her head ache. She tried to roll off the bed but couldn’t. Linen strips kept her tied to the bedposts. She glanced around at rough-hewn log walls, a bolted door, and a stone fireplace. A breeze blew over her, and she felt more than saw that her dress and shoes had been removed. Her skin crawled at the thought of Kidrick disrobing her. Desperate to find her clothes, she couldn’t see them. Or Kidrick.

  Lying still, she listened. Rushing water tumbled nearby and she wondered if she could somehow build a raft and ride the river back to Seattle. She didn’t know how to build a raft, she didn’t even know how to swim, but she found the thought of drowning in the river preferable to staying in a cabin with Kidrick. She wriggled on the bed, trying to use her toes to reach the linen strips securing her hands to the bedposts.

  Dissonant whistling blew in through the open window, and Rita went still. The shadow of Kidrick carrying a fishing pole passed by the window, giving her an idea.

  ***

  Christian hoped Nelly had found her way back to her own stable without any harm as he followed the cart path to a fork and stopped, wondering which way the wagon had turned. He knew Kidrick owned the theater, so he could go there. But since it seemed like the last place Kidrick would take Miss Ryan, Christian headed away from the city.

  As he trudged on, Christian wondered what had become of the French girl, the actress and the bleeding pianist. He had little doubt that Victor had returned the horses to their stable, and would soon be sitting by a fire with a cup of tea and a novel. Should he rouse Victor from a comfortable evening—expose him to the discomfort of chasing after Miss Ryan? Should he enlist the aid of Percy, Reynolds and any others sporting or stupid enough to join him? He jogged along the path bordering the river and stopped when he heard whistling. There on the other side of the river, he saw Kidrick with a fishing pole.

  Christian ducked behind the broad trunk of a maple tree, watching as Kidrick threaded a worm onto the end of his hook. It made his blood pound that Kidrick could enjoy a leisurely activity like fishing when Miss Ryan was…what? Where? Was she safe? Of course, she couldn’t be safe as long as she was anywhere near Kidrick.

  Christian glanced down the river. He couldn’t see it, but he knew the closest bridge was at least a mile away. He could sprint the two miles or swim the five yards to reach the other side of the river. He stripped off his shirt and pulled off his boots.

  ***

  Wriggling like a fish, Rita squirmed until she could just reac
h her blue cloak with her toes. By lifting herself up on one foot and using her other foot to pull the cloak from underneath her, she eventually succeeded in kicking the cloak up over her body and face. She could see nothing but blue cloth. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried again. Lifting her knees and the cloak, she managed to grab hold of it with her right hand. She worked her fingers along the cloak until she came to the pocket and pulled out the sewing kit. Once she had the tiny scissors in her hand, she released a long slow breath. She could do almost anything with a pair of scissors.

  ***

  The sun had turned to a smudge of orange by the time Christian pulled himself from the river. It would soon be dark. Water dripped into his eyes, and he smoothed his hair back into a queue before surveying the shoreline. The thought of Kidrick alone with Miss Ryan burned in his gut like a poison. His trousers sloshed with his every step, slowing him, but a warm wind blew at his back, pushing him forward. He stopped when he again heard the whistling.

  Christian saw Kidrick and, to his left at the water’s edge and just past him, a rough-hewn log cabin. He caught a movement in the cabin’s window—it looked like a flying blue cloak. He felt a huge grin spread over his face along with an immense sense of relief when he realized he had found Miss Ryan.

  He didn’t like running barefoot, but he did it anyway, sprinting up the bank, following a dirt path into the woods and away from the river’s edge and Kidrick. Christian got to the window in time to watch Miss Ryan kicking the cloak over her head—her lovely long legs thrashing. Just when he thought that this might be better than watching her dance in the moonlight he heard a low primal growl.

  Christian spun around in time to see Kidrick’s arm shoot out. It thundered into Christian’s chest, knocking him back against the trunk of a birch tree. Leaves showered down on him and a crow flew away with a warning cry. Kidrick leapt forward, landed on Christian’s chest and took him down. Christian rolled and pinned Kidrick with his knees, reminding him of Miss Ryan wrestling with her cloak on the bed. He punched Kidrick in the face and stood, dragging the smaller man up by his collar.