“I knew they’d have to leave sooner or later; I just didn’t think it would be this soon—” Then he listened for a moment, straightening in his chair suddenly as if shocked by what he was hearing. “Good God, I didn’t know about that! Is Janson all right?” Again he listened, and Phyllis Ann leaned forward, knowing she would gladly give ten years from J.C.’s life in that moment to hear the other end of that conversation—could it really be? Mr. Whitley had hit Elise, had bruised her up a bit, and she had finally run off with that—oh, but that would be too good to be true!
J.C. sighed, the sound seeming to come from deep within him. “Well, at least they’re away from it now; and you don’t have to worry, Janson loves Elise, and he’ll take care of her. Yes—yes, I understand completely; I won’t tell anyone they’re in Buntain. Yes—let me know if there’s anything I can do, Mrs. Whitley. Goodbye—”
He placed the receiver back in the cradle and sat the telephone down on the desk before him, staring at it for a long moment. Phyllis Ann quietly closed the door, then turned to lean back against it, a smile slowly coming to her face—oh, what interesting things one could learn while listening at doors. So Elise had finally run away with her farmhand, and William Whitley was not supposed to find them out—oh, what a delightful bit of information she now held in her hands. Mr. Whitley had hurt Elise, had hit her, and had apparently done something far worse to Janson Sanders—he would be in a killing mood now; his only, precious daughter run off with nothing more than a red-Indian dirt farmer. If he were to find her and her farmhand now—oh, what interesting ideas that brought to mind. If William Whitley found them, he would be certain to beat his daughter to within an inch of her life—and there was no telling what he might do to Janson Sanders. That red trash had threatened her once, had kept her from giving Elise what she so richly deserved—but he would get what he deserved now; oh, he would get that, and so much more. Phyllis Ann had once asked Elise for her help—now there would be no help for Elise, or for her dirt farmer. William Whitley would see to it that she finally learned what Phyllis Ann had lived with all her life—and he would see to so much more. So very much more.
Phyllis Ann stood in the hallway for a long moment, smiling to herself. Buntain—yes, so many interesting things could be learned while listening at doorways. So many interesting things.
Elise Whitley might lie with her farmhand tonight, Phyllis Ann told herself, smiling with the thought—but she would surely wake in hell tomorrow.
24
Elise Sanders woke on the first morning of her married life to feel the warmth of her husband sleeping beside her. She smiled to herself and brushed her hair back from her eyes, then propped up on an elbow to look down at Janson’s sleeping face. She lightly traced the line of his lips with a finger, smiling softly at the look and feel of this man who belonged so completely to her.
She rested back against him, careful not to wake him, and closed her eyes, replaying her wedding day, and her wedding night, in her mind. Janson had touched her, had loved her, had been part of her body so many times—but none had ever been so special as the night she had just spent in his arms. Her wedding had been nothing as she had ever imagined it would be, but there was not one moment of it she would now change—and, certainly, no one could ever have loved so beautifully as they had loved as man and wife.
Nothing had ever felt so right in all her life as it felt to be Janson’s wife. She opened her eyes and looked at her wedding ring in the early morning light, moving her hand so that the light caught the small band of gold and made it shine—nothing else could ever have been so right. Nothing. God had made them for each other, and, as the minister had said, what God had joined together, no man could put asunder—no one could separate them now; no one could take them from each other again, not once they were out of Georgia, not once they were far away from her father. They could be together and live in peace for the remainder of their lives, for the remainder of forever. Janson would at last be safe, and she would never have to worry again. Never—
She looked at her new husband as he lay quiet and asleep at her side, a surge of protectiveness coming over her. Her father had hurt him so badly; she had been a witness to the beating, and had seen and tended the bruises in the weeks while he mended—she knew she could never bear to see him hurt that way again; never. He was so strong and so brave, but there was also a part of him so gentle and so loving. He had fought and struggled through much of the twenty years of his life, and had almost lost that life because of her. He deserved at last to find a little peace, to be free from danger—but he was not safe even now, and would not be, not until they were out of the state and on their way to Eason County. And perhaps not even then.
A sudden feeling gripped her. They had to be away from here. They had to leave this place. They had to be on their way to Eason County before her father could find them—they were still too close to home, still too close to too many people her father knew. It might be all too easy for him to find them even now. All he would have to do would be to put out word—
Why had she not realized sooner. Janson was no safer here than he had been in Endicott County—and he would not be safe, not until they were where her father could not find them, and where Janson’s people could protect him if he ever did. They no longer had any home to go to, no place that was their own, just that one, badly misspelled letter from his grandmother, a letter promising them shelter in a place she did not know, but a place she now longed so desperately for. Oh, how she wished they were there already, where Janson would be safe—
She gently shook him awake, watching the black lashes flutter and open, the green eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiled at her and reached up to touch her face. “Good mornin’, Mrs. Sanders,” he said, his voice lazy with sleep. “Did you have a good rest?”
“Yes, fine—Janson, we’ve got to get dressed and get to the train station. We need to be on the first train west—”
“We got time,” he said, still smiling. He did not even glance at the clock that stood on the table beneath the nearby windows. “Th’ first train don’t leave out ’til 9:15.” His hands began to touch her, to explore.
“But, we need to be there, ready. Daddy could still find us—” She tried to ignore the things his hands were making her feel, the familiar need they awoke in her, but she knew that she was losing.
“I ain’t worried about your pa right now,” he said, easing her back and propping over her, then brushing his fingers along her cheek. “I ain’t worried about nothin’ but us, an’ how much I want you right now—you’re my wife now; that’s all that matters.”
“But, he could still find—”
“Don’t even worry about that. Worryin’ ain’t gonna help nothin’ now, an’ it ain’t got no place keepin’ us from touchin’ and lovin’ each other now that we’re married.”
“But—”
“No—” he said firmly, stopping her words with a gentle finger to her lips. “There ain’t nobody in th’ world right now but you an’ me,” he told her. “There ain’t nothin’ but what we feel an’ what we need from each other—I love you so much, Elise. I love you—” His mouth came to hers in a kiss that took the breath from her body and drove the worry to some far part of her mind. His hands touched her, and she began to touch as well, re-learning parts of his body she now knew so well—he was right; he needed her, and she needed him. Nothing else of the world could exist beyond that. Nothing.
But he was not safe—some part of her mind still warned. Her father could still find them, could still hurt Janson as she had sworn she would never see him hurt again, could still—then his penetration eased all thought from her mind. There was only love, only pleasure, only Janson, and the minutes slipped by unnoticed, for somehow time could no longer exist in their world.
The sun was high, but the morning chill as Janson and Elise left the hotel on their way to the train station. The streets were busy, th
e rush of Sunday morning traffic to church services just beginning, the sound of car horns and automobile engines seeming loud to Janson’s ears. He held tightly to Elise’s hand, forcing himself to walk more slowly so she would not have to run to keep up—she was talking nervously, talking about the day, about the weather, about their destination; he did not know. He could not make himself pay attention to what she was saying, could not even really listen to her words—a knot of nervous tension was growing in the pit of his stomach, had been growing there over the past minutes now. He just wished they were on the train already, waiting for it to pull out of the station. Once they were on the train, no one would ever be able to take Elise from him again; once they were on the train and on their way to Eason County—but they where not on the train yet, and time was growing short before it would pull out of the station. If they missed the—
He knew that perhaps they should have left the hotel earlier, as Elise had wanted to; but that hour spent in her arms was one he would never regret, no more than he would ever regret any time they had been together, that he had loved her, that he had been part of her body. No matter what it might cost him—women were always having premonitions anyway, he kept telling himself, but premonitions did not mean William Whitley was any closer to finding them. Premonitions did not mean—
But somehow he could not make himself believe that. The knot of tension tightened inside of him—women’s premonitions did not mean anything. But now the hairs along the back of his neck were rising as well.
He had never wanted anything so badly in his life as he wanted to be on that train with Elise, to be away from here and on their way to Eason County together. Somehow the life he was taking her to no longer seemed to matter, somehow the fact that he would not be giving her the house and land and something of their own—he just wanted to be on that train with her, to know they were safe, that no one could ever take her from him again, that—
The area before the train station seemed crowded with people; cars moved by along the street, headed toward the large, brick Methodist church two streets away. Janson held tightly to Elise’s hand, realizing she was again having to almost run to keep up with him—but she had not once complained. Her words continued, words he could not hear for the sounds of the cars and the church bells and his own tension—if only they were on the train. If only they were—
Suddenly she stopped short with a small cry, her hand tightening almost convulsively over his. Janson turned back—but he already knew. He already—
Franklin Bates stood staring at him from just behind Elise, his eyes cold, unfeeling, one of his massive hands closed firmly around her upper arm. Janson stared at him, realizing suddenly the lesson experience had been trying to teach him all his life, that once a man awoke, the dreams were supposed to end.
He could only hope Elise would not see him die.
Elise lay against him for a long time after the Ford had come to a stop in the curve of the drive before the Whitleys’ great house, her face pressed to his shoulder, her eyes closed, her tears wetting the front of his shirt. Janson held her, unwilling to let her go, unwilling to give up even one moment when there could be so little time left to—
He knew when Bates got out of the car, knew when Whitley came out onto the veranda and then down into the yard, for he could hear Mrs. Whitley’s pleading voice as she followed after him, and Stan’s words, though he could not tell what the boy was saying—Janson knew he was about to die for what they had done, what they had chosen to do in running away together, but he could not think of dying now, could not think of leaving the earth and the sky and the land he loved. All he could think about was Elise; all he could remember was the way she felt against him, the way she had felt against him so many times in the past. He had wanted nothing more than to love her, nothing more than to live out his life with her at his side—but now he would not live that life out at all. He would not live his life out—and that thought made him angry, angry beyond anything he had known in his life, angrier still than the night a fire had burned in a cotton field, a fire that had ended a part of his life forever.
“Get out of the car, Elise.” It was her father’s voice, from just beside the car, his words tense, but still showing little emotion. She did not move, but only tightened her arms about Janson instead, something beyond fear tensing her body as she pressed her face to his chest and cried all the harder. Janson touched his lips to her hair one last time, then lifted his eyes to meet the eyes of the man who was now his father-in-law, the man who he knew intended to kill him before this day was over.
“Get out of the car!” Whitley’s voice rose, his thin veneer of control threatening to break about him. When still she did not move, he yanked the car door open and reached in to drag her out, tearing her from Janson’s arms, causing her to cry out with pain as much as from the fear Janson knew she felt. Whitley shook her soundly as they stood by the car, causing her hair to go wildly into her eyes as she tried to pull free, and then he drew his hand back, preparing to slap her—but Janson was already out of the car, his hand closing over Whitley’s arm instead, stopping the blow before it could come, and bringing the man’s eyes back to his in a murderous rage. “Get your hands off me, boy—” The words came as a hiss, spoken through barely parted teeth, as though the muscles in his jaws were clenched so tightly the words could hardly escape them. “Get your goddamn hands off me or I’ll—”
“Let her go,” Janson said, his eyes never leaving Whitley’s gaze. When Whitley did not respond, Janson stood his ground, refusing to die as less than a man so long as there was life left in his body. “I said, let her go!”
Whitley stared at him for a long moment, a muscle working in his jaw, then he released her with a slight shove that sent her into Franklin Bates’s arms. She stumbled, almost fell, but Bates caught her and held her up, pinning her arms against her sides as she tried to struggle away again. Janson looked toward her for a moment, assuring himself that she was unhurt, then he brought his gaze back to her father, releasing the man’s arm at last, and seeing nothing within him now but hatred and rage, and a thirst for blood that would assure Janson’s own death at his hands.
William Whitley met his stare, his eyes never once leaving Janson’s face, a muscle clenched tightly in his jaw. “You goddamn son-of-a-bitch, you’re going to beg to die before I’m through with you today. You’re going to—”
“Please, God, no—” Elise’s voice begged from where Franklin Bates held her. Janson wanted to turn to look at her, but somehow he could not. He could only stare at Whitley, and then beyond him to the eyes of Bill Whitley as he moved up behind his father.
“Let me and Franklin handle it, Daddy,” Bill said, staring at Janson. There was a nervousness about him, and also something more, something Janson could not put a name to. “There’s no need for—”
“William, please—” Martha Whitley dragged at her husband’s arm, but he only shoved her away, staring at her as she fell against Stan, the boy catching her to keep her from striking the ground.
“I’ll deal with you later, you—all three of you.” His eyes moved from his wife, to Elise, and then to Stan. “You’re going to learn never to go against me again. You’re going to—”
“This ain’t got nothin’ t’ do with them,” Janson said, bringing Whitley’s gaze back to him. “It was me that talked Elise int’ runnin’ off with me. It ain’t gonna make you no more a man t’ hurt two women an’ a boy—”
“Shut your goddamn mouth!” Whitley shouted, tightening one hand into a fist to drive it hard into Janson’s stomach, doubling him over and making him gasp for air. Janson staggered backwards, but remained on his feet, lifting his eyes only a moment later to meet Whitley’s gaze, his look seeming to make the man only angrier.
“William, stop this! It’s—”
Whitley turned on his wife again, raising a fist as if he would strike her as well, and she shrank away, her words s
ilenced before she could even utter them. Stan seemed to stare at his father for a moment, then he turned and ran toward the house, stumbling, almost falling as he reached the front steps and started up them toward the open double doors. Janson stared after him, praying he would call the sheriff, praying that he would call J.C. Cooper, or anyone else who would help—it would probably be too late for him by then, but there was still Elise, her mother, and Stan. There was still—
“Daddy, stop it!” Elise screamed, sagging against Bates, all the strength seeming to leave her. “He hasn’t done anything to you! He hasn’t—”
“He took something that belonged to me!” her father shouted at her in return. “I raised you for better than—”
“But he’s my husband! We were married yesterday—and I love him! He’s my—”
Her father stared at her for a long moment, then his eyes returned to Janson. “You put your goddamn hands on my daughter and you ruined her last night, didn’t you, boy. You son-of-a-bitch—I’m going to kill you with my bare hands. I’m going to kill you, and she’s going to watch—”
“Do you think it’ll make you more of a man t’ kill me in front of a girl?”
“Let us handle it, Daddy,” Bill said, his words cutting into Janson’s, his voice sounding almost agitated now as he stood close beside his father. “There’s no need to do it here; somebody could drive up. We’ll make him pay for running off with Elise and rutting with her like some animal. Let us handle—”
But it was too late. Bill’s words had torn away the last shreds of control, of humanity, left within William Whitley. Whitley lunged at Janson, screaming with rage, his hands closing around Janson’s throat, squeezing, cutting off the supply of oxygen even as Janson tried to pry his fingers away—Janson began to choke, to gag, fighting for air. He heard Elise scream, and saw the horror on her face—then his knees went weak beneath him, the edges of his vision becoming blurry, darkening. He struggled for breath, his face feeling hot and numbing, his senses beginning to spin, his eyes unable to leave Elise’s face as the world grew dark around him, unable to—
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