by Sandra Kopp
“Papa!” Soren and Mahanna sobbed and knelt beside their mother, who had collapsed on the ground. Merewyn dismounted and knelt beside them, wrapping comforting arms around the three.
Raise the dead, Mr. Arris, the Serpent mocked. Come, even now I would give you the power to do so. Resurrect them and dispel this horror. It never happened! Become a god in their eyes and guide them into a life of everlasting peace. Think of it! A benevolent ruler.
At what price, Anhuapta?
Stop your feigned nobility! Behold those dear children, how they grieve for their father, and their sweet mother, now desolate. Behold the young brother, the role of provider now thrust upon him. He is not ready. Think of them, Arris! This tragic scene forever seared into their memories. You have the power to reverse it, if only you will.
Bennie’s brother fell against the tree, pounding its trunk in anguish. Soren and Mahanna clung to their weeping mother. Merewyn moved away as the Wyars rallied around the stricken families.
The blood roared in Arris’ brain. His heart hammered so fiercely he felt it would explode. The ground seemed to shake beneath his feet.
Davon slipped to his brother’s side and clasped his arm. “Arris?”
Arris’ eyes locked upon Pharen, but in his mind he saw, first Pharen’s wife and sons, then Bennie’s brother, and finally Ryadok, transformed into a towering serpent poised to strike. Arris swung his sword, and now Ryadok’s severed head flopped and gyrated in front of his writhing coils. Ryadok, devoted slave to Anhuapta, had been abandoned to his fate. He had sold his soul, only to be capriciously discarded by his god. Now this deceiver sought Arris.
Unable to contain himself, Arris threw back his head and shouted in the Nimbian tongue, “Begone, liar! I know what you are! I’ve seen what you’ve done! Go back to hell and take your promises and your power with you! Leave us alone!”
Anhuapta shrieked amid a clap of thunder. Arris came to himself with a start. From the others’ demeanor, he sensed he alone had witnessed his confrontation.
“Rand brought the sheriff to validate a lynching,” Davon was saying. “I had considered the sheriff an honest man. That he would allow this and establish mob rule out here distresses me. Now Rand and his cronies can do whatever they want to whoever they want.”
Merewyn touched Davon’s sleeve. “Melinda,” she whispered.
Davon caught his breath. “Earlier today I spoke to Braun Topyl. Felicia and I must escort her to Garris at once.”
“Go,” Arris told him. “Merewyn and I will do what we can here.”
Davon nodded, mounted his horse, and raced away.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Luwanna set a cup of tea on the table in front of Melinda and sat down across from her. “I think you’d better accept the fact that Eldor Rand will never be your husband. He never stopped wanting Marna, but has no grounds to divorce you. And with Philip dead, the only obstacle to him marrying Marna is you.”
Melinda stared at her cup, expressionless. “And he showed such concern for me the morning after they found Philip.”
“Only so that Braun and I would bear witness of how he cherished you. And then if something happened to you. . .” Luwanna sighed. “. . .he would blame Wyars again. A revenge killing, he’d say, for helping to execute those who killed Philip.” She glanced out the window, where the flowering dogwood cast its long shadow in the late afternoon sun. “You are not safe here. Braun will be in soon. After sundown Davon and Felicia will meet us on the road below your cottage and tomorrow take you to Garris. It’s the only way.” Luwanna broke into sobs. “I am so sorry, for you’re my best friend. I will miss you dearly!”
“I want my things.
Luwanna stopped crying and stared, incredulous, at Melinda’s stony expression and impassive tone. “I don’t know that we’ve time.”
“My baby clothes and blanket that I made; Aunt Emily’s gifts and my bridal chest. I’m not leaving them with him.” Melinda sprang to her feet. “I know right where everything is. I’ll ride down on Meg and have it all packed when you arrive.”
“Melinda, it’s not safe. Don’t go into that house alone.”
“I doubt Eldor’s anywhere around. He’s probably with Marna, planning his next step—or making a baby with her!” Defiantly Melinda wiped her face and tossed back her hair. “I’ll leave now and be ready when you get there.”
Before Luwanna could respond, Melinda bolted outside and raced to the barn.
Luwanna hurried after her. “Melinda, wait! What if Eldor’s not with Marna? Remember, he was going to start harvesting that field by the house in a few days. What if he’s there? Or what if he’s in the house?”
Melinda threw the saddle onto Meg’s back and cinched it. “If he’s in the field, I’ll see him. If he’s at the house, I’ll see his black horse; that’s the only one he ever rides. Either way, I’ll know he’s around and come back. I won’t go in the house.” Melinda swung onto Meg’s back.
“I can’t let you do this!” Impulsively Luwanna lunged and tried to grab the reins but Meg reared and shied away.
“Luwanna, don’t risk harming your baby. I’ll be careful. Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you soon.” Melinda turned and galloped away.
The setting sun stained the horizon red and cast a rusty hue over Eldor’s old cottage as Meg pounded across the yard to the barn. Seeing no sign of Eldor’s black gelding nor anyone in the fields, Melinda unsaddled the horse and turned her into the paddock. Squaring her shoulders then, she strode to the house without so much as a glance toward the gardens over which she had labored so hard and cherished so much. A lump filled her throat as she neared the house for, despite all that had happened, she loved this place.
At the kitchen door, she paused to collect herself and then turned the handle. The door creaked open. Melinda stepped inside.
“Oh!” Both hands flew to her mouth as she gaped at the destruction before her. The cupboard doors stood open. One hung askew, its top hinge torn completely from the frame, its bottom hinge barely holding. Shards of broken pottery littered the floor around the overturned table. Spilled flour and oatmeal covered everything.
She should have run, but shock and dismay numbed her instincts. “What happened here?” she whispered.
She advanced a couple of steps and called, “Hello?”
Deathly silence filled the house.
With bated breath Melinda lowered her hands and stole into the living room. Eldor’s bearskin rug lay wadded up in the corner. Strewn about the room, either torn to shreds or completely unraveled, lay the clothing Melinda had so painstakingly made. Strings of blue, pink, and yellow yarn—the remains of her baby blanket—trailed across the floor. Melinda’s partially-burned green dress spilled out of the fireplace. In the center of the floor, hacked to pieces, lay her oak bridal chest and a pile of broken dishes. Melinda put her hands to her mouth again and backed slowly toward the kitchen.
Eldor emerged from the bedroom, his smile as warm as ever.
“Eldor, what happened?” Melinda croaked.
Eldor made a sweeping gesture. “I cleaned house for you. Welcome home, Medella!”
For a moment she simply stared at him and then shock erupted into fury. Melinda clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. “You did this!” she shrieked. “Why? And why do you call me Medella? Why?”
Loathing and disgust hardened Eldor’s features. An inhuman gleam turned his eyes almost red. “You simpering fool! You, with your milk-white skin and your blood-red hair, you thought I could ever love you? You actually thought I wanted a baby with you!? That day at Topyl’s it took all I had not to vomit when I kissed you!”
Melinda felt the color drain from her face. A knotting, tingling sensation in her stomach turned into paralyzing numbness that snaked icy tendrils throughout her body. Her bottom lip quivered uncontrollably as tears filled her eyes. She drew a loud, shaky breath and stammered, “You didn’t have to kiss me. . .you said you loved me. . .Eldor, why?”
“
With your Wyar friends watching my every move what else could I do?” Eldor bellowed. “I felt like a trussed-up hog. After I left I did vomit. And even gallons of water couldn’t wash your foul taste out of my mouth or your stench from my nose. I had to find some good whiskey. Even now I can. . .phooey!” He grimaced and spat. “You taste like manure!”
Melinda’s entire body quaked. Wrenching, hiccupping sobs exploded from her broken heart. Her pleading eyes searched Eldor’s face. “Eldor—”
Eldor’s mouth writhed into an ugly smile. “You know who Medella is, don’t you? Don’t you?”
Rivers of tears spilled down her cheeks. She dumbly shook her head.
“She’s a slobbering old hag who, like you, couldn’t get a man to put a baby inside her so now she preys on pregnant women and rips their bellies open to—”
Melinda’s hands flew to her ears. “Stop it!” she cried. “Stop! If you hated me so much, why did you even marry me?”
“A man’s gotta be yoked to get a council seat in this sorry town. Bloody stupid, but that’s the way it is. I wanted that almost as bad as I wanted Marna. You were all that was left, but I didn’t want to wait. At least the council didn’t require that I sleep with you.”
“Stop! Please, Eldor, stop!” Melinda covered her face and bent over, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Oh, stop, please, stop!” Eldor mimicked. “If you only knew what a laughingstock you are. And, in case you haven’t guessed, Marna’s been getting what you never will.”
“All right.” Melinda’s sobs wheezed to a stop. She straightened, wiped her tears away, and defiantly stared Eldor down. “If you want Marna, go to her. But know this, Eldor Rand: I am not a hag. I’m a good wife, and I’ll be a good mother—”
“You might have been,” Eldor sneered, “if only you had lived.”
Even in the gloomy light she saw his eyes turn black. Pure hate contorted Eldor’s face into that of a demon. Three long strides brought him to her, and on the third his right arm drew up and then back.
Melinda tried to scream, but only a pitiful whine issued from her tightened throat. Terror wrung her insides. Her bursting lungs inhaled but expelled nothing.
Eldor’s fist slammed into her cheek so fiercely Melinda felt her neck pop. Stunned, she fell to the floor. Searing pain shot up her arm as a jagged shard from a broken dish pierced her hand. Eldor leveled a kick at her stomach. Melinda managed to roll over, but his heavy boot connected with her lower back, sending a white-hot spasm down one leg.
“Eldor! No! Please!” Somehow Melinda found her voice as she struggled to her feet. She lurched forward but Eldor seized her arm, spun her around, and hurled his fist into her jaw. Melinda’s head snapped back. Her knees buckled but Eldor held her up, slapping her repeatedly with the back of his hand.
“Please, please, Eldor, please.” Melinda’s plea slurred from bruised and swollen lips. Blood gushed from her nose and mouth.
Spewing obscenities, Eldor dragged her to the kitchen and threw her to the floor. Melinda screamed as pieces of the shattered canisters impaled her body. A brutal kick to her stomach drove the wind out of her.
Eldor grabbed her hair and jerked her to her feet. Dazed, weakened, and disoriented, Melinda slumped against the cupboard. Eldor clamped vise-like hands around her throat and squeezed. Desperately she clawed his face, tried to pry his fingers off her throat, tried to bite him, but Eldor only laughed and squeezed harder. Melinda’s tortured lungs fought for air, but her collapsing windpipe delivered none. The mounting pressure made her head pound and her eyes bulge. A strange buzzing filled her ears, growing louder until she thought her brain would explode. Frantically she flailed around the counter behind her, hands grasping for a weapon, but her remaining strength ebbed like water sucked through sand. Her mother’s tear-stained face emerged through the blackness engulfing her.
Suddenly her groping fingers curled around the handle of a cast iron pan, and with all the strength she could muster, Melinda swung. The heavy pan met the side of Eldor’s head and clattered to the floor. Eldor unleashed a volley of curses. He lost his hold long enough for Melinda to stagger through the door and into the yard. Wheezing and gasping, she limped around the house and toward the road, but her legs buckled and she sprawled out flat.
Eldor stood over her, grinning maniacally. The sun had set, plunging the world into dusky gloom. He kicked her again, but Melinda no longer responded. An animalistic growl rolled from deep in his throat as he threw her onto her back and straddled her, seized her throat, and squeezed.
Rapidly-approaching hoofbeats drummed the hard-packed road. Eldor caught his breath and peered about. Smiling then, he smirked, “No matter. The hag is dead and I am free!” He spat in Melinda’s face and bolted for the barn.
“Whoa!” Braun Topyl pulled the buggy to a stop. Luwanna hurriedly alit, hastened to the house, and pounded on the front door. “Melinda! Melinda!” Glancing toward the buggy then, she cried, “She’s not answering!”
Just then a light-colored mound in the middle of the yard caught her eye. Luwanna ran over and knelt beside it. “Melinda!” Desperately she felt for a pulse, but found none. “Oh, no!” she screamed. “Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Early afternoon, two days later
Under an oak tree on the church grounds, weeping mourners gathered around the wagon bearing the pine coffin loaded and ready for its journey to Garris. One by one they approached, bringing wreaths and bouquets which they handed to Merewyn and Felicia, who passed them up to Davon and Arris to arrange on the coffin’s lid.
Gilda Rainer and Emma Bryant stepped up, carrying a massive wreath made from roses and baby’s breath from Gilda’s garden. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” Gilda sobbed. “And I will never forgive myself! While she never said explicitly, Melinda’s words and manner bespoke her unhappiness but I assured her of Eldor’s love and the promise of a grand new house. If Eldor loved her indeed, why did he always leave her alone? And why did he involve himself in affairs that ultimately endangered her?”
“Do not blame yourself, for you proved a kind and steadfast friend,” Davon told her.
“Might I see her sweet face one last time?”
Davon shook his head. “That really isn’t possible, Mistress Rainer,” he whispered and, taking the wreath, carefully draped it over the coffin before turning to accept a bouquet from Taran and Bereniece Lupish.
Arris, meanwhile, glanced over the crowd. Braun and Luwanna Topyl slowly approached, Braun steadying his grief-stricken wife with a supportive arm. The potion Arris had administered on that fateful night seemed to have calmed Luwanna, but Arris sensed her reeling beneath a crushing weight of guilt. Excusing himself, he jumped off the wagon and threaded his way through the crowd to meet them.
“I loathe myself,” Luwanna croaked as Arris joined them. “Why did I let her go that night?”
Arris took her hand and peered into her face. “Believe me, Luwanna, you could not have stopped her. Melinda possessed a strong will and had already made her mind up. We all warned her. Now you have a child to consider. Take care of yourself, and do not shoulder a blame that is not yours.”
Arris reached into his pocket and produced a small pouch, which he pressed into Braun’s hand. “Put a pinch of this in her tea once or twice each day. It will help to calm her and provide nourishment that she and the baby need.” He turned back to Luwanna and gently squeezed her hand. “I pray you, don’t worry,” he whispered. “Bleak as things seem, all will be well. Melinda will be vindicated. You must believe that.”
Tears of gratitude filled Braun’s eyes as he clasped Arris’ hand. “Thank you,” he said huskily.
“You are most welcome.” Arris clapped him on the shoulder and started for the wagon.
“Master Marchant.”
The commanding voice came from somewhere beside him. Arris turned. Erik and Della Tanner emerged from the crowd. A worried frown deepened the lines in Erik’s already furrowed brow. Alth
ough nearly the same age as his wife, his stooped shoulders and the large bags under his eyes made him appear twice as old, and bare scalp replaced the sparse dark hair on top of his head. They reached Arris and Erik nodded toward the coffin. “Dear heaven, what happened to her? Is she really dead?”
Arris nodded once. “Beaten and choked to death. I’ve seen some terrible, terrible things, but this surpasses them all.”
Della’s eyes welled. Her face fell as she nervously fingered the bouquet of wildflowers in her hand. “It doesn’t seem possible,” she whispered. “I didn’t know Melinda well, but found her very amiable and pleasant on the occasions we did share.”
“As did all who knew her.” Arris paused. “Where’s the grieving widower?”
Erik ran a leathery hand across his stubbly chin. “Some Wyars—Eldor didn’t know how many—assaulted him near his new house. One clubbed him alongside the head. Blackened his eye and bruised his cheek. He’s got a pretty good bump on his temple, too, and a scab where it bled. He said something about one of them working him over with a cat o’ nine made out of thorns. Whatever happened, the man’s in rough shape. Believing Melinda safe at the Topyl’s, he went to his father’s house to recover.”
“Really. When did this happen?” Arris countered.
“The night Melinda—” Erik fell silent, but quickly collected himself and continued, “Eldor chose a beautiful spot for her on the hillside near his new house. Given his present incapacity, and with your kind permission, I will conduct the coffin there on his behalf.”
“At her family’s request, we’re taking Melinda back to Garris.”
Erik blinked in surprise. “Her husband wishes her buried here.”
“Melinda’s mother begged that her daughter be returned home and buried in the family plot,” Arris told him. “She feels tremendous guilt over the circumstances under which Melinda left and, I think, hopes to appease her conscience by taking care of her daughter now. Considering Eldor’s extended absences during the past months and the fact this is probably her mother’s last wish, we thought it only right to honor it. Her uncle will meet us in Langhorn and take her from there. If Eldor Rand objects, he should meet us along the road and we’ll discuss it.”