Netty sat on the floor, limp and stunned. Wil gently eased the stillborn from her arms, holding it tenderly to his chest. He wiped away his silent tears as he wrapped their baby in a blanket and took it to the barn. He would bury his child later, after attending to Netty.
Returning to the cabin, he found Netty still on the floor by the door with Baby at her side, stroking her face. He poured Netty a cup of water, but she pushed it away. Forcing her up, he carried her into their bedroom. He peeled off her damp filthy clothes before pulling a clean nightgown over her head. Slipping her under the covers, he lay down next to her, cradling her in his arms until she drifted off to sleep. The last words she said were, “He hurt the baby.”
Wil sat at the table in the kitchen while Netty slept. His pain and anger percolated hotly, quickly heading to a boil. His teeth clenched so hard he could feel his facial muscles spasm. Not a man prone to violence, he contemplated only one course of action. He needed an eye for an eye. Reluctant to rely on the legal system with the threat of Robert Doyle’s influence, he resolved to handle the matter himself.
Carefully, he wrote a note for Netty. He carried it into her bedroom where Baby was watching her. He kissed her head, setting the note on her nightstand.
“Baby, lock the door behind me. I will be back in four days. I will send one of the field hands to take care of the Jerseys. Stay in the house until I am back. Netty needs you now.” Patting Baby on the head he left the bedroom, stalking out of the cabin with one of their rifles.
Chapter 6
Robert sat in his library, elegantly sipping from a hand-blown crystal snifter. He enjoyed watching the color of his favorite brandy, looking through the glass as he rotated the crystal in the light of the fire. Eli was overdue, but he should arrive momentarily. He’d better. Anticipation made him restless. He anxiously awaited the pleasure he derived from tabulating the income Eli had collected from Netty’s tenement farmers. He smiled to himself, thinking of the windfall the land was bringing him, even though he’d lost the other deal on the acreage shortly after Netty ran off.
He thought about Netty. He rarely worried about her. He knew how to find her. Where else would she be likely to go? He’d heard the rumors of the drifter she’d allowed to take up residence with her. Together they’d apparently made quite an improvement to the property. Maybe he wouldn’t sell it just yet, after all. He didn’t fear Netty or her drifter. Well, well, she has turned out to be a wanton trollop after all, has she not? He chuckled to himself, thinking of the rumored age difference between the two. He dismissed the strange tales of Netty’s produce and her orchards, along with the gossip about Netty’s looks. How the cow had even been able to attract the drifter was beyond him. He thought seriously about killing them both. He could make it look as if the drifter had done it. Then he would go in as the patient and forgiving husband, deftly claiming the property.
The sale of some of the acreage would make things much easier for him. His sisters had developed a habit of stopping by to complain about their shortness of funds, expecting him to subsidize them after their wealthy husbands put them on leashes. Their expenses overwhelmed him. He thought of the horses, their yearly wardrobes, their entertaining and the extravagant galas, all pathetic attempts to stay relevant. Their husbands had long ago exhausted their patience with their spending, but Robert found it difficult to say no. Perhaps it was because, as their only brother, he felt a familial obligation. Or maybe, as the youngest, he found it the only way to lord over them. Either way, they created a significant drain on his finances.
A more pressing concern involved a rumor he’d heard at the courthouse. Only a whisper as of yet, but it appeared the federal government was weighing the benefits of legalizing alcohol, actually repealing Prohibition. That would be disastrous for him. If true, he might not have much time, although the feds were notoriously inept.
Taking another sip, his housekeeper appeared. Big Martha’s name fit her precisely. She was big and black, her impassive face clearly having seen plenty, wisely knowing how to keep all to herself.
“Mr. Eli done returned, Mr. Doyle, sir. He sent word up from the carriage house. Sure, sure. He says ta tell you he gone an picked up a present for you from one a the farms he visited. He said she be needin’ some supper. I kin fix them sum’un or would you be wantin’ ta see him right away?”
“Feed the young lady, Martha; then send her up to my bedroom. Give her one of the usual garments to change into. The blue, I think tonight. I trust it has been properly repaired since last time? And tell Eli to get in here, now.”
“Yesum, sir. Sure, sure.” As Big Martha left, bobbing her head, Eli popped up behind her, sporting a big grin. He set the money bag down on Robert’s desk and pulled up a chair. Without asking, he helped himself to some of Robert’s brandy, gulping it down.
“Easy there, bucko, that is mighty expensive stuff,” Robert said, clearly annoyed.
“Relax, boss, I deserve it after the ride I gave ol’ Netty.” Robert favored Eli with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, I ran inta her by accident. Did ya know she got knocked up? I had a lucky chance ta show her what a real man looked like, so I took it. I did leave her a wee bit worse for the wear. I think the bastard babe might not a made it.”
“Well, you may have saved me some trouble. But let me know next time before you decide to do something like that,” Robert said, mildly irked. “Did you see any sign of the wop she’s shacked up with? What kind of shape did you leave her in?”
“She was in pretty bad shape. All this weird shit coming out of her, thought it was blood, but I don’ think so. She was holler’n for a doctor when I left.” He chuckled. “Sump’n bout the kid.”
“Well, dummy, you may have created a little problem for us if he shows up here. If she can identify you, I bet he will. You should have just twisted her ugly neck on the way out, Eli. Clean up your mess like a man.”
“She’s not an ugly twit anymore, boss. If the farmer I was collectin’ from din’ tell me who she was I wouldn’t a known. I knew I had ta have a piece a that.” Casting his eyes down, he belatedly remarked, “Hope you don’t mind, boss.”
“No, but we better be ready if he shows up.” Looking at how the fire glinted off his gold coin collection (minus one coin, the bitch, I know she took it), he gathered inspiration, hatching a beautiful plan. Yes, quite perfect. It would easily remove one annoying obstacle from his road to the fair Netty and solve Eli’s problem at the same time.
“Eli, it is time for me to have my evening entertainment. Thank you, by the way. If any spirit remains after I am finished, I will send her to your room. If not, I will ring as usual and you can dispose of her. Please remember to remove the gown first. Drop it off with the housekeeper for repairs in the morning. I am sure it still has some wear left in it. If Netty’s drifter shows up, wake me, regardless of the time.”
Robert stood, bidding goodnight to Eli. He moved to his safe where he deposited the receipts from Eli’s last collection. Passing the prominent display of his coin collection, he paused. With a devilish grin, he removed two of the coins, slipping them into the pocket of his opulent dressing gown. He gave a satisfied shake of his head and mounted the stairs to his bedroom, relishing the anticipation of the evening’s pleasures.
*
The long journey to Norristown wore Wil down, yet his vengeance still simmered ominously. Maggie plodded with fatigue, holding up like a champ. He knew he couldn’t be that far behind the bastard that had torn apart his life. Poor Netty, she didn’t deserve any of this. He tried not to cry as he thought about what the loss of their baby might do to them. Pushing the thoughts from his head, he tried to concentrate on a plan. He felt sure he could find Sunnydale without much trouble. After all, how many hulking mansions did one city have?
Before long, he managed to locate the Doyle estate. Predictably, it was located on the best street in the city. He tied Maggie to a tree down the block. If anything went wrong he didn’t want her involved. He knew someone
would find and care for her until the time came to reclaim her. For added insurance, he wrote down his name and address, tucking it inside his saddlebag.
Creeping on to the property, he watched the front door without seeing any activity. The luminous moon beamed prominently, exposing the manicured lawn along with Wil’s inadequate hiding place. He silently reconnoitered the estate, sneaking around the side of the house to watch the back door. Still no activity.
He shook the weariness from his tired swollen eyes as he wondered what it had been like for Netty to live in this huge mansion. How am I going to quickly find Eli on this property? And what will I actually do when I find him? Can I shoot him? He realized no jury would find him sympathetic if he shot a man in cold blood, even if the man had raped his woman and caused the death of his unborn baby. He felt the rush of blood in his ears as he imagined his callused hands around Eli’s neck. Maybe it would be better if he shot them both, Robert and Eli.
He stared at the back door, wondering how many people were inside the house. He needed to simmer down and plan this carefully.
Through the trees at the back of the property he observed flickers of light. It must be the carriage house where Robert conducted his bootleg business. How many people does he employ? Will they come running if they hear a gunshot? Wil’s mind swirled with options and terror. He’d be worthless to Netty in jail, leaving her even more vulnerable and damaged. He shifted his body, feeling cramped and uncomfortable. Desperation to get back to Netty further frayed his reserves. Before long, Wil’s eyes drooped, allowing deadly sleep to claim him, mercifully allowing his demons a respite.
Startled awake by the sound of a far off gun shot, his heart thudded rapidly, causing him to break into an acrid sweat. Widening his eyes, he saw the barrel of his own rifle sighting down at him. What the—?
Strong arms grabbed him, lifting him off his feet. He felt a solid punch to his solar plexus, squashing his breath back down his trachea. Another fist mainlined right to his face. They dropped him to the ground, stomping him thoroughly. A boot landed in his face, smashing his nose, another kicked at his kidneys. The men suddenly stopped as a large man in a dressing gown approached. He held one hand in his pocket. Ordering the men to pick Wil up, he put one arm around his shoulders, prompting him to stumble to the front of the house.
Blood dripped from Wil’s nose briefly, then stopped. He straightened up, the pain from his beating gone as suddenly as if whisked away. Grateful, he remembered Netty and Baby’s rapidly healed snake bites. Slapping him on the back, the big man gave Wil a long glacial glare.
“Well, you sure took that beating well.” He searched Wil’s body looking for signs of injury from the brutal thrashing inflicted on him. The man’s eyes narrowed. “Go home, boy. Before I have my boys give you another dose of our hospitality.”
Wil slowly walked down the drive, now minus his rifle, disconsolate and wondering why he’d wasted time on this futility. His confusion distracted him so much, he failed to sense the weight of two gold coins, now nestled comfortably in the back pocket of his work pants. He trudged down the road to collect Maggie, defeat and humiliation weighing him down like a child who’d just lost his underwear to a schoolyard bully. He should never have come. He should have stayed with Netty. She needed him more than he needed to vent his anger. He felt awash in impotence and faced a very long ride home.
Poor Maggie, she was in for a long haul again, too. At least she’d been able to rest. Maybe he could locate some oats and water for her before they took off. Rounding the bend where he’d left her tied up, he spotted her lying on the ground, her face splattered in blood. What the—? Running up to her, his shocked eyes tried to deny the truth of the fresh bullet hole in her temple, brain splatter creeping from underneath her velvet majestic head. No. Not Maggie, please—not my beautiful girl. He slumped his head down on hers. She still felt warm, but he knew: She was gone. Oh, God, why? What have I done to displease you so? Overcome with shock, he kissed her still damp tender muzzle, lay down in the dirt and broke down, thoroughly defeated.
Chapter 7
Netty frequently lost track of time, but thought it had been at least two weeks since Wil had left the cabin, forcing her to wonder if she might lose her sanity if he stayed away one more day.
“You are sure he said four days, Baby?”
“Yes, Sister; four rotations of the sun happened many rotations ago. I do not think Brother is coming back.”
“Why do you say that, Baby? Wil would never desert us. We are a family. He loves us. He knows we are waiting for him.”
“I know, Sister. I need Brother to bring Maggie back. It is time to turn out the Jerseys. Maybe I need to go and find him.” The aura faded from her mind as Baby’s long fingers closed spasmodically, a sure sign of agitation. She pulled Baby up to her lap for comfort, her endless tears dripping down to soak into his fur as she reflected on their lonely wait.
She’d woken the day after she lost the baby, feeling like a hunk of dead meat that didn’t know enough to stay down. Baby clung, thankfully, to her side every moment. She’d forced herself up to check on the Jerseys and found Wil’s note. Reading, she realized Wil had gone to find Eli. A better solution might have been to call the sheriff, if only they owned a telephone. She needed Wil desperately. She just wanted his arms around her, telling her things would be good again. She’d walked around the cabin in a time warp, not bathing, dressing or combing her now ratty hair. What was the point without Wil?
She’d been forced to bury their child by herself. She’d found it wrapped up in the barn where Wil had set the poor thing. At least Baby had accompanied her while she said goodbye. They did it together. Throwing dirt on her and Wil’s baby as it lay in the primitive grave felt like throwing dirt on their past life together. She’d held Baby tightly as she cried over the grave, rocking him slowly in her arms. They’d walked back to the cabin and slept long hours. She’d known the Jerseys were being tended to by Wil’s helpers. Luckily, she found she’d suffered no lasting damage from the assault. She refused to use the word rape. Denial was her current means of exerting control in a world that left her feeling like flotsam at the mercy of a hurricane. So she just slept while she waited for Wil to come home.
*
Almost three weeks had passed by the time she seriously considered searching for him. She was in the kitchen when she heard a knock and, shooing Baby into the bedroom, she answered the door. It was Farmer Neal from down the road.
“Howdy, Netty,” he said, removing his hat. He danced from side to side as if he had to urinate. “Well now, ah oh, shoot. You sure have been good to my Ruthann, so I thought I should be the one to tell you. We were in town last week and we heard tell that Wil was in jail. They said he got arrested for stealing. Got him dead to rights down the road from where it happened. They say he shot his horse and tried to blame it on someone else. Sorry to give you the news, Netty.” Looking down, he noticed she was no longer pregnant. “Well, well, Netty, looks like the baby came. Congratulations. Be seeing you now.” And with a tip of his hat, he disappeared off the stoop.
Netty stood motionless, her brain stunned, then overcome with panic. She heated some water on the fireplace and washed in her bedroom. Her hair was a mess. She pulled it back quickly. Running to the barn, she got their other horse and hooked up the wagon. She instructed Baby to lock the door and not come out for anything.
Quickly, she rode toward town. Maggie shot by Wil? Never. Absolutely not. Maybe Farmer Neal had got the story wrong. She knew for sure that Wil hadn’t stolen a darn thing. Choking back a sob, she urged the horse to hurry. She arrived in town just after lunch, making a beeline for the sheriff’s office.
Entering one of the only brick buildings, she felt her anxieties return, wondering what she needed to say. Should she report Wil as missing? Should she report Farmer Neal’s story? Should she report the rape? She decided she must first find Wil.
Walking up to the desk at the front of a large reception room, she a
sked for the sheriff. Explaining he was in a meeting, the receptionist suggested she could wait if she liked. Netty decided she would. She took a seat furthest from the front door. It offered some measure of privacy, sheltered behind a wall that projected partially into the room. The small wall displayed all kinds of official bulletins. Netty hoped they might be revealing.
Time passed slowly as Netty read the bulletins. Townspeople bustled in and out on various errands. Many found time just to shoot the breeze and pass the time with the sheriff’s receptionist.
As Netty scanned the sheriff’s bulletins, she noticed Mr. Simpson, the creepy butcher, enter with a deputy. Just then, the sheriff came into the room and joined them. For some reason, Netty thought to shrink tight against the wall where she couldn’t be seen. She was just close enough to see Mr. Simpson clap the sheriff on the arm. Not wanting to eavesdrop, she looked out the window. She snapped her attention back to the room when she heard Mr. Simpson whisper coarsely.
“Hear you found an easy way to part that upstart drifter, Wil Capaccino from Netty Doyle’s property. Does the boss have any plans to get rid of him for good or is he just gunna go for the land now that she’s easy pickings?”
“We need to take things slow. I think Doyle is going to let him rot in jail until he comes up with a plan to grab the property. These things are getting harder and harder to cover. His men, that includes you, Simpson, tend to get a little too bloodthirsty for me. Go easy on her, won’t you? I do not want an unexplainable body to dispose of. I would like to avoid raising a lot of uncomfortable questions.”
The sheriff shook hands with Mr. Simpson and escorted him to the door. Turning, he spotted Netty sitting against the wall. His face froze. Shaking off his surprise, he approached her.
“Well, Mrs. Doyle, is there some way I can help you today?”
Alien Species Intervention: Books 1-3: An Alien Apocalyptic Saga (Species Intervention #6609) Page 11