More Than a Dream

by Lauraine Snelling

  Elizabeth stepped off the bottom stair as if onto a cloud. She returned his smile, her head slightly tipped to the side as if listening for an inner music. It is only Thorliff. She ignored the voice and laid her hand on his arm as though she were a princess meeting her prince.

  His muscles flexed beneath her fingertips, responding without his intention. If he turned his head just a bit, her fragrance teased him further. ‘‘It appears your naps have done you well.’’ You sound like her father or her doctor. Can you come up with nothing more brilliant than her health, of which you are not supposed to be aware anyway?

  ‘‘Ah, did I look so terrible then?’’ Elizabeth Marie Rogers, you are flirting!

  ‘‘No, I mean—of course not, I . . .’’ If my neck gets any hotter, my tie shall burst into flame. Why didn’t I stay at the paper?

  Elizabeth smiled, a small smile that along with the slight lift of her eyebrows said she knew she’d sent him into the hinterland to sort out his mistakes.

  ‘‘Let us search for a breeze on the back verandah.’’ Phillip took his wife’s hand and tucked it within his arm. ‘‘Cook said we have about fifteen minutes until supper is ready.’’

  In the few short seconds before they passed outside into the cool shade, Thorliff wished he could pull his collar away from his flaming neck. Whatever was the matter with him? After all, he and Elizabeth had been trotting up and down the hill, working together at the paper, and even playing croquet a few times, let alone the hours they’d spent arguing over politics, religion, women’s rights, novels read, studies, and even Greek philosophers. So what was going on here?

  ‘‘I’ve had the funniest thing happening to me.’’ Elizabeth stood between her father and Thorliff, sipping from the glass handed her off the silver tray.

  ‘‘And what is that, my dear?’’ Phillip handed his wife a glass also before getting one for Thorliff and then himself. ‘‘I do hope you plan to play for us this evening. That piano has been pining for you as much as I have.’’ He looked down at his daughter. ‘‘Excuse me. You said something about funny things? I could use a good dose of humor.’’

  ‘‘I think I must be getting paranoid. Not even trusting my shadow.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘I get the oddest sensation that someone is watching me.’’

  ‘‘You are lovely enough that I am sure you turn young men’s heads everywhere you go.’’

  Elizabeth smiled up at her father. ‘‘That is not what I mean at all. This is more a sinister thing. Even just this afternoon after my nap out here, I thought I saw the lilac hedge move. Just hallucinations, I am sure.’’ She felt a shiver raise the hairs down her back. ‘‘And yet . . .’’

  Phillip stared into his daughter’s eyes. ‘‘You are no flibbertigibbet to spook at a shadow. If you feel that again, you will let one of us know.’’

  She could tell his response was not a request but an order.

  She tried to laugh. ‘‘Surely we are making too much of this.’’

  ‘‘When did it start?’’ Thorliff asked quietly.

  ‘‘At the hospital.’’ She shook her head at Thorliff. ‘‘Now you sound just like my father.’’

  ‘‘Is this what you referred to in your letter?’’ He kept his voice to a low murmur for her ears only.

  ‘‘Supper is served,’’ Cook announced from the doorway.

  ‘‘Come now, let us have a pleasant evening.’’ Elizabeth gave Thorliff a nearly invisible nod. ‘‘I’m sorry I brought it up. I thought it would give us all a good laugh.’’ She covered her sigh of relief with a chuckle. They did not laugh at me, so perhaps I didn’t want that after all. Oh, I don’t know what I want, other than to not have that feeling ever again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Northfield, Minnesota

  ‘‘Don’t say nothin’ and ye won’t be gettin’ hurt.’’

  Elizabeth struggled against the solid arms imprisoning her. The black covering over her head smelled rank, making her gag. Dear Lord, what is happening? ‘‘Who are you? What do you want?’’

  ‘‘Ow!’’

  Her heel connected with his shin. She tried to free her arms, kicking and twisting, but while her feet landed more blows, they weren’t enough to deter her attacker.

  ‘‘Ugh!’’ She grunted as he wrestled her to the ground and, with one knee in her back, roped her feet together, cursing as one final kick connected with what she hoped might be his head. Not get hurt? What did he think he was doing to her now? She twisted her face to the side so she wasn’t inhaling dirt.

  He finished tying the rope around her legs, rolled her over and, wrapping it twice around her arms, hefted her trussed-up body over his shoulder and strode off, each step jolting into her rib cage.

  ‘‘Let—me—go. You—are—making a—terrible mistake.’’

  ‘‘Shut up, or I’ll be shuttin’ ye up permanent-like.’’

  His voice. Where had she heard it before? Father God, I know you hear me. Please get me out of this. ‘‘What do you want?’’ With all the blood rushing to her head and the man’s shoulder in her belly, she was having difficulty thinking. Think, Elizabeth, think.

  Her captor stopped, his heavy breathing indicating that carrying her was not an easy chore. In fact, she could feel his heart thundering underneath her.

  Walking in the twilight had always been one of her favorite activities. On her way to the riverbank this time, she’d heard someone begging for help. She’d stopped and turned to look into the band of trees when someone had thrown a bag over her head in spite of her frenzied efforts to thwart him.

  Rage and fear joined hands to lock down her tears. ‘‘Who—?’’ He turned and banged her head against something solid, setting her ears to ringing and her temple to thudding with pain. She moaned, fighting nausea.

  ‘‘Please, I need . . . air.’’

  ‘‘Shut up!’’ He started out again, long strides bouncing her tender flesh against his bony shoulder, an arm of steel clamped across her knees.

  ‘‘L-look, if y-you want money—’’

  ‘‘I said shut up!’’ He thumped her posterior with a heavy hand.

  Lord God, where are you? Please, I beg you, come to my rescue.

  ‘‘Elizabeth surely is staying out late.’’

  Phillip looked up from the book he was reading to see his wife standing at the front windows looking out. ‘‘She must have stopped to talk with someone.’’

  ‘‘Folks are really happy to see her home, that’s true. You think she stopped by to see Thorliff?’’

  ‘‘We can call down there and check. He was going to spend the evening working on his latest story. At least that’s what he told me.’’

  ‘‘I’ll call Mr. Stromme. Was Thorliff going to work at the office?’’

  ‘‘Most likely. You know how Henry loves to talk, so there’s not much chance to work there until after bedtime.’’

  ‘‘I believe I’ll call.’’

  ‘‘You worry so.’’ Phillip returned to his book. ‘‘Elizabeth’s going to tease you about this.’’ But Phillip put his book down and started to rise when Annabelle came back in the room.

  ‘‘She’s not there. Thorliff said he hasn’t seen her.’’ Worry dug channels in her forehead.

  ‘‘Annabelle, dear, our daughter is growing up. She’s even been on her own in Chicago. What could possibly happen to her here in Northfield?’’

  She took the front of his shirt in both hands and stared into his eyes. ‘‘Something is wrong. I feel it clear to the marrow of my bones.’’

  Phillip clasped his hands over hers. ‘‘I’ll go look for her, then, if that will set your mind at ease. Did she mention what direction she might be going?’’

  ‘‘No, just that she’d be back before dark. Thank you, dear, and if I’m wrong you can tease me all you want.’’

  ‘‘Please, God, that you be wrong.’’

  The sun had set by the time Phillip left the house. Trying to thi
nk like his daughter, he turned left toward Main Street but then decided that she’d probably gone right where she’d see more friendly yards than buildings huddled close to one another.

  Why couldn’t she have asked him or her mother to go with her? Because she’s a young woman now and perhaps after all the pressures of the hospital would want some time alone. His thoughts darted faster than bats on a bug quest. She loved the river walk, so he turned down the next street to pick it up, although the mosquitoes would be fierce by now. If he’d started earlier, he might have been able to ask people sitting on their porches if they had seen her, but now the bugs had probably driven everyone indoors. True to what he’d thought, the only occupants of the river walk were fireflies twinkling in the grass and whining bloodsuckers wanting to suck him dry.

  Phillip picked up a jog and kept it up in spite of lungs that started complaining after a hundred yards or so. He kept at it until his heart thundered, his legs took on lead, and a stitch in his side forced him back to a walk.

  Lord God, give me strength. He checked in at Mrs. Sitze’s Ice Cream Parlor, and though he was greeted by several customers, none of them had seen Elizabeth. Nor had Thorliff when he pushed open the office door.

  ‘‘You want I should come with you?’’ Thorliff laid down his pencil. ‘‘I’m on my way home now anyway.’’

  ‘‘You think she might have walked up to the college?’’

  Thorliff shrugged. ‘‘I have no idea, but I’ll go look if you want.’’

  ‘‘Please do. That will make her mother happy, but let’s stop first at the house and see if she is home yet.’’

  ‘‘I said, shut up!’’ The man bopped her another one on her rear. He staggered under her weight and finally dumped her on the ground, her legs buckling on impact. She twisted around until she lay on her side, her feet and legs full of stinging bees as the circulation returned.

  Other than his stentorian breathing, she heard no sounds of the town. Missing were the laughter, dogs barking, wagons and buggies on the streets. She listened hard, hoping to hear something that sounded familiar. Was that the river? She held her breath to make sure. Yes, they weren’t far from the river, so that meant he’d headed west. But how far? Far enough to not hear the town. She tried to think what lay out here besides farms, none of which were close together.

  A dog barked off in the distance. A cow bellowed.

  She flexed her hands, which were still tied down at her sides. Fear tasted metallic, like old blood in her mouth.

  A stick or rock dug into her hip, so she scooted back only to encounter another. When she heard her captor get to his feet and walk away, she listened to which direction he headed. Where was he going? Would he leave her here, trussed up like a rolled rug? Quieting her breathing, she listened with every sense. When she heard him relieving himself, she clamped her teeth together. He’d be back. She wriggled her arms, bit by bit easing the ropes upward. If he leaves me here, I know I can get free, she thought as she heard him returning, brushing branches and grass aside as he came.

  His sigh as he sat down again made her wonder if he had any idea what he was doing. She wriggled again to find a place on the ground that didn’t poke her. For once she wished for the heavier skirts and petticoats of winter. At least she’d have had more protection.

  ‘‘Could you please take this thing off my head so I can breathe better?’’ She kept her tone conversational, as if they were acquaintances out on a picnic. A grunt that she took for no was her only answer.

  Mosquitoes whined, and she heard him curse and slap. ‘‘Ye buggers.’’

  Perhaps she’d rather keep her trappings. At least she was protected from the blood-sucking critters.

  She waited a bit. ‘‘Sir, would it be permissible for me to sit up and lean against a tree trunk or something?’’

  He grunted and slapped at a buzzer again. About the time she’d figured he had no intention of making her more comfortable, he thrashed his way over to her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and hoisted her into a sitting position. Then he dragged her backward until she felt something solid behind her back. ‘‘Thank you.’’

  Leaning her head back against the tree trunk, she could breathe more easily, and with her knees bent and her feet flat on the ground, the cramps in her legs let up.

  Get him talking. How do I get him talking? Skilled as I am at parlor chitchat, I should be able to find something to talk about. What would my mother say I should do now?

  ‘‘No. No one’s seen her,’’ Annabelle said when Roger and Thorliff arrived at the house. ‘‘I asked Ina Odegaard to send a message out to everyone over the telephone. People are calling for her, but no one has seen Elizabeth.’’ Annabelle glanced at the clock on the mantel. While it seemed like hours had passed, the hands had moved only thirty minutes.

  ‘‘Okay, Thorliff, you go on up the hill then and I’ll . . . I’ll . . .’’ Phillip used both hands to scrub his hair back. The telephone rang, and he snatched up the earpiece. ‘‘Rogers here.’’ He held up a finger and nodded as the voice continued. ‘‘Okay, thank you very much.’’ He hung up, a sigh slumping his shoulders. ‘‘Mrs. Stone-bridge saw Elizabeth heading past her house toward the river. But I was down there, and I saw absolutely nothing.’’

  ‘‘You still want me to go up the hill?’’

  ‘‘No. Let’s both go toward the river. We’ll go west this time.’’

  ‘‘You could go faster on horseback. Or I could.’’

  ‘‘Good idea. You saddle up my horse, and I’m going to talk to Sheriff Meeker.’’ Phillip picked up the receiver again and barked into the mouthpiece. ‘‘Get me the sheriff, will you, Ina?’’

  Thorliff headed out the door to the small pasture behind the carriage house. Where could Elizabeth be? Perhaps she had fallen or had some other kind of accident. For one usually so conscientious, something must be preventing her from calling home or coming home. Or someone? But who? Elizabeth Rogers was loved or admired by most everyone in town. At least it seemed that way. He rattled a can of oats and the horse trotted up to him. ‘‘Good boy.’’ Thorliff looped the reins around the horse’s neck and led him up to the tack room. Tossing the feed can back in the bin, he slid the bridle in place and tied the horse to the post. He retrieved the flat saddle from the tack room and, after buckling that in place, led the horse outside to mount and trot down the lane. As soon as he reached the street, he nudged his mount into a canter and turned right at the first street. Once on the dirt track by the river, he leaned forward and gave the horse his head. A run would do them both good.

  ‘‘Please, sir, I need to use the facilities.’’

  A bark of what might have passed for laughter made her flinch. ‘‘Ain’t no facilities out here, and if I let you loose and you take off, then where would I be.’’

  Much safer than you are now. Surely Father will come looking for me. Wherever I am. But she felt certain that her captor had followed the river trail until he entered the brush, and he hadn’t staggered very far through that.

  ‘‘If you thought to ask for a ransom, my parents are not wealthy. And I have nothing to offer you.’’

  ‘‘Money ain’t me purpose.’’

  Elizabeth heard him rustle around as if he were trying to get comfortable. Where had she heard that voice before? She closed her eyes and tried to think back, but the fetid odor from the sack made concentrating difficult. When had she spoken with a man recently? Thorliff, her father, Mr. Stromme, Dr. Gaskin . . . Think back further. The porter on the train, the manager at the hotel, the hack driver, Patrick at the hospital, a patient? She coughed, wishing for a chance to wipe her nose. Maybe he was a patient, but she hadn’t treated any men other than in surgery, and they were in no condition to talk. Why did the word patient keep coming back? God, help me, I need you. Was that someone coming? She stopped breathing to listen.

  ‘‘You make a noise, and I’ll be slittin’ your throat right now.’’ His whisper carried all the venom of an attacking c
obra, a hiss as he fumbled his way to her and clamped a hand across her mouth. He blocked her nose at the same time. She threw her head back, banging it on the tree. Fighting for air, she grunted, the words screaming in her mind but getting no further than his palm.

  ‘‘Stop it!’’ He hissed the words in her ear, and she could feel her body going slack as darkness of a different sort descended. Had she really heard someone calling her name, or was it a figment of her brain suffering loss of oxygen?

  ‘‘Elizabeth!’’ Thorliff stopped the horse so he could hear better if there were a response. Nothing. He called again and listened before nudging his mount back into a canter.

  God above, if she is in danger, please surround her with your protection. And Lord, if she is visiting someone in town and been too careless of time, please keep me from ripping into her when I see her. Somehow he knew in his heart that the latter wasn’t the case.

  Something had indeed happened to Elizabeth. He knew it down to his innermost self. Thorliff stopped the horse and called again. Thinking he might have heard something rustling in the woods off to his left, he waited silently, but when nothing else happened, he shook his head. Probably scared up a bird of some kind. He walked the horse a ways before picking up the canter again. How far could he be from town now? A mile and a half? Two? Or more. Grateful for a horse that had better vision at night than he had, he finally turned around and headed back to town. With no moon and overcast skies, he could only faintly see the trail, let alone anything down at the river or off into the brush. Every so often he paused and called her name again. Nothing answered but a dog barking at some farm off in the distance.

  He rode back to the Rogerses’ home, hoping and praying they had heard something.

  ‘‘Only thing we’ve heard is Henry Stromme’s report that he saw a stranger in town.’’ Clyde Meeker, the county sheriff, stood with Phillip by the fireplace. ‘‘Sorry, Mrs. Rogers, Thorliff. We’ll all set out soon as dawn half lightens the sky and search every inch we can. Maybe she just got lost in the woods and is waiting until morning herself.’’