The Jewel: The Malloy Family, Book 11

by Beth Williamson

  The situation was untenable and Isabelle wanted to nothing more than to rail at the heavens for the unfairness of it. Then she remembered her parents and their wish for a better life for their daughters. To find that dream required her to put aside the unhappiness and focus on surviving. If they could survive today, they could survive tomorrow. One step and then another.

  She turned and met Mason’s gaze. He had been charming and funny, but since the Beckers entered their lives, he had been nothing but serious.

  “Where do you think we’re headed?” She kept her voice at a whisper.

  “Someplace where Camille can trap other people in her web.” Mason’s face was bruised where the oxen had kicked him, yellowing color once again on his handsome face. The lines between his eyes had deepened as he scowled instead of smiled.

  She traced the lines with her finger. “I miss your smiles.”

  He blinked. “Really?”

  She smiled at his astonishment. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “I used to have women throw themselves at me. More so because of my parents’ money than me. I learned to be cynical and shallow.” He took her finger and kissed it, his lips warm against her chilled skin. “Then I met this feisty beauty who taught me what it meant to be alive. To fight for something more than my next drink of bourbon.”

  “I taught you all that?” Isabelle’s heart did a flip. Mason had become important to her for more than one reason. Now she knew she had affected him as well.

  “You did.” He leaned in and she closed her eyes. His lips grazed hers, then returned for a second kiss. Tingles raced down her body, spiraling out from her core to her breasts. The small hairs on her arms rose. Her breath caught in her throat.

  When he pulled back, she knew her expression was guileless, excited and eager. He finally smiled and cupped her cheek. “You aren’t very good at kissing. I found something you can’t do.”

  She held back a giggle, a bubble of pure happiness in the moment. “What do you plan to do about it?”

  “Oh, I think I’ll have to be the teacher this time. It might be a difficult job, but I am ready to sacrifice myself.”

  And there was the charm. She kissed him this time, quick and clumsy. He tickled her ear and she pulled back so fast, she knocked her head into Charlie’s.

  “Ouch!” Her sister kicked her. “What are you doing, Iz?”

  Mason raised his brows and grinned. “Yes, what are you doing, Isabelle?”

  She flicked his nose with her finger and rolled back on her right side. She ignored his fingers walking up her spine, or at least pretended to. This small flirtation, and the kisses, were what she needed. It was food to a starving woman, enough to keep her going another day. Perhaps more than one.

  “Get up. We ain’t wasting the day away.” Camille’s voice interrupted Isabelle’s bliss. “Today’s the day we stop at the first settlement.”

  That got Isabelle up and moving. She didn’t know what Camille planned, but she knew it would be best to learn. The older woman was devious and manipulative. The best way to fight the Beckers was to have as much information as possible.

  After a morning routine that had become less enjoyable than she thought imaginable, they started walking. She sidled up to Mary, who started and looked at Isabelle with horror.

  “I ain’t talking to you.” Mary walked faster, but Isabelle kept up.

  “I was looking to pass the time, not send you into a panic.” Isabelle kept her voice calm while inside she was determined to make the other woman talk.

  “I ain’t talking to you,” Mary repeated, arms swinging hard.

  “Then I’ll talk and you listen.” Isabelle had to work at finding how to reach Mary. She was the weakest of the Beckers, a shadow of a woman who barely spoke. “My parents died a month ago and left my sister and I orphans. We were trying to reach my other two sisters, to make my family whole again.” At this her voice caught and she had to swallow twice to remove the lump from her throat.

  Mary glanced at her and Isabelle saw a flash of sympathy in her eyes. “None of my business.”

  “It is your business, because I won’t give up. I won’t give in. I will succeed.” Isabelle spoke without rancor. Mary was not the reason their wagon had been taken, but she had a voice and a will. Perhaps she could be convinced to help Isabelle turn the situation around.

  “I don’t think so.” Mary shook her head.

  “You don’t believe I can do it?”

  “No, I don’t believe Camille will let you.” Mary took a hard right turn and darted around to the other side of the wagon, ending the conversation.

  “Damn.” Isabelle wouldn’t allow herself to be discouraged. There was too much at stake to give up.

  “You sound like me.” Charlie appeared at her left side. “Be careful. Cussing is a slippery slope. Once you start, you damn sure can’t stop.”

  Isabelle couldn’t stop the chuckle that burst from her throat. Having Charlie behave normally was a breath of fresh air. “You’re not helping.”

  “I don’t want to help. I want to go home.” Her expression hardened. “I hate the wagon. I hate the plains. I just want to go home.”

  Isabelle’s heart pinched. “Cherie, there is no home to go to. We sold our house in Brooklyn.”

  “I know that! Don’t you think I know that?” Charlie’s face was red with emotion. “We have nothing left. Nothing. We’re fucking orphans and we’re going to die out here. No one is going to bury us or mourn us. We’ll just be dust under the wagons heading to the land of milk and death.”

  Every word hit Isabelle with the force of a slap. She reared back, shocked, hurt and just as angry as her sister. At first she could hardly form the words to respond. She knew Charlie had been unhappy, but Isabelle had assumed her grief would pass. She was wrong. So very wrong.

  “Charlotte. We only have each other left. Flaying me alive with your words is not appropriate.” Isabelle cursed how shaky her voice was. “I won’t stand for it. If we are going to make it through this, we have to do it together.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Iz.” Charlie’s mouth twisted into a grimace, making her appear twenty years older than her mere fifteen years. “We won’t make it through this no matter what we do.”

  She ran ahead, her arms pumping, snow flying from her heels. Isabelle’s throat tightened and she could hardly take a breath. She had lost her sister. In the midst of the hard times over the last month, she had completely lost Charlie. It was a knife to her chest.

  A hand clasped hers and she hung on for all she was worth. Mason appeared when she needed him and, to his credit, he didn’t ask questions or even speak. He was simply there. She threaded her fingers through his and wished they didn’t have to wear gloves. She wanted to feel his skin against hers.

  Isabelle didn’t expect to need Mason at all. Yet she couldn’t imagine going through this invasion without him. He had surprised her, supported her, saved her from herself. He was a true gentleman who had proved his bravery and his mettle.

  “Thank you.” She squeezed his hand.

  “There aren’t enough days in eternity for me to spend with you. I will always want more.” He tucked her under his arm. “Although we are under medieval siege, I cannot imagine wanting to be anywhere else in the world.”

  Men had used flattery on Isabelle previously and much of it was fluff with no substance. Mason could spout ridiculousness and had, but this was different. She felt those words down to her marrow.

  “Isabelle?”

  She couldn’t speak yet, so she squeezed his hand instead. He was whom she needed and what she needed. Isabelle didn’t know finding a naked, half-dead man would change her life so completely. She didn’t know how they would break the Beckers’ hold on them, but no matter what, Mason would be by her side.

  They walked side by side without talkin
g. The morning passed and they didn’t stop for dinner. Instead, Mary handed out stale biscuits and a piece of dried beef. Isabelle caught the other woman’s gaze.

  “How are you, Mary?”

  Mary started. “I, uh, I’m all right.”

  “Remember what I said.” Isabelle was glad to see Mary’s cheeks color.

  She handed food to Mason before she responded. “I won’t.”

  “What’s that about?” He nibbled on the beef.

  “Fracturing the Beckers.” Isabelle would keep hammering at Mary, the weakest link in the gang of miscreants. From what Camille said, Mary was Catherine’s sister, so she wasn’t related to the Beckers. Perhaps she was a widow or unmarried relative at the mercy of those who could offer her protection. Even better.

  “Good. I’ll do the same.” He nodded toward the hulking presence ahead.

  “Gunther?” She didn’t like the man, but she hadn’t considered him in her plan to break up the Beckers’ power.

  “He’s a follower and Karl has him in his control. But I have known men like him. He doesn’t know kindness. Show him some and he will follow.” Mason chewed as he stared at Gunther. “He might not be a Becker either. There is not a shred of resemblance. He is simply the muscle they use to intimidate those around them.”

  “It’s working.” He certainly intimidated her. Gunther resembled a walking mountain. One who could break her in half without effort.

  “I think he needs what we are all looking for, someone to treat him as though he matters.” Mason saw much for a man who believed he was nothing more than a college professor with no skills.

  “And you’re going to do that?”

  “I’m going to try.” He kissed her temple. “One moment at a time, we’re going to change our fate.”

  Isabelle was glad to have him at her side. Charlie’s anger and fatalistic attitude were of no help. He was right. One small effort at a time, and perhaps some big ones. Whatever came their way, they would do whatever was necessary.

  Isabelle started humming as they walked. Perhaps she might be able to convince Camille that Isabelle was unaffected by their situation. She found herself ready to do battle. Her humming turned to singing.

  Gunther’s head swiveled around and he stared at her, his mouth open. Mason squeezed her hand and she sang louder. Her voice lifted into the still air, the notes ringing true.

  “You have the voice of an angel,” Mason whispered. “I could listen to you all day.”

  That remark made her sing louder, pleased by his praise. She didn’t sing for any other reason than enjoyment. It was the only time she felt free.

  Camille stood up in the wagon’s seat and peered back at her, avarice in her eyes. “I see you are a talented singer, Mrs. Bennett.”

  Isabelle continued to sing, ignoring the older woman. Gunther offered her a shy smile and his cheeks flushed. Mason had been right about him. She smiled and Gunther whipped his head around to face forward. She wanted to hoot in victory. This battle she had won. The war would continue to rage on.

  The settlement was a collection of tents and loosely constructed shacks. The recent snow had turned most everything into a mud pit. Karl maneuvered the wagon around the worst of it, stopping at the west end of the area. The late afternoon sun had begun to sink, bathing them in oranges and yellows.

  Isabelle stuck close to the wagon, keeping track of Charlie as she stared at the cacophony around them. It seemed that everyone in the settlement spoke as loudly as possible. Voices blended together in different languages, pitches and levels. She recognized a few languages like Spanish, Italian and French, but there were many others, some guttural and so fast she could only catch a few syllables.

  It reminded her of the docks in New York. She would go there with her father when he did woodwork for one of the ship’s captains. The languages were similar to music, a cadence all their own. Her heart pinched at the memory of Papa and her delight when she accompanied him. It was their special time together.

  “Are you all right?” Mason appeared at her elbow, his gaze darting right and left.

  “Yes, just…remembering.” She offered him a sad smile. “This place reminds me of New York.”

  “I’ve never been there, so I will have to accept your evaluation.” He stepped closer. “I don’t trust anyone here, least of all Camille.”

  “Neither do I, but this is our best chance to do something to change our circumstances.” She didn’t know what they would do, but they had to try something. A day under Camille’s rule had already convinced her it was not a place she wanted to remain.

  “We can’t take the wagon and escape quickly, much as I’d like to abandon the Beckers to this crowd of humanity.” Mason narrowed his gaze at the settlement. “This seems to be the melting pot with all the rotten ingredients thrown in.”

  “An apt description. Since we don’t know what Camille has planned, it will be difficult to make a plan of our own.” She started when someone tapped her shoulder. Isabelle spun around to find Camille inches from her.

  She hid beneath the trappings of an old woman, but her face was unlined and her eyes sharp as an eagle’s. Camille’s hair was streaked with gray. Perhaps she disguised her natural coloring as well as her age. Isabelle had no idea who the other woman was, but she was most assuredly the most dangerous person Isabelle had ever had the misfortune to know.

  “Mrs. Bennett, you will come with me now.” She glanced at Mason. “Your husband will stay here with Gunther. Karl has your sister safely tucked away.”

  Isabelle’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean he has my sister safely tucked away?” She couldn’t let anything happen to Charlie.

  “He will keep her safe to ensure your cooperation.” Camille smiled, and the thick makeup on her face cracked on her cheek, making her appearance more macabre.

  “My cooperation to do what?” Isabelle’s heart pounded and her breath came in shallow pants. She could not fail her sister.

  “Entertaining the men, of course.” Camille dragged her forward, her fingers digging into Isabelle’s arm. Mason shouted after her, but apparently Gunther had taken hold of her supposed husband and stopped him.

  What was happening? And how was she to entertain them? Bile rose in her throat. If she had to use her body to save Charlie, she would do it. No matter what it was, Isabelle would do anything for her.

  A makeshift stage of sorts had been erected on the other side of the settlement. A few whores lounged around the edge, their half-naked state proclaiming to all they were for sale. Isabelle’s head swam, but she mentally slapped herself awake. Now was not the time to be weak-willed.

  Stand strong.

  “Where are you taking me?” Isabelle was proud of how calm she sounded.

  “To the stage.”

  Oh God. She was to lose her virginity on a stage in front of the men. It was worse than she thought. Isabelle’s eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. She was stronger than they all thought and she would get through this. Fighting would only garner her further mistreatment. For now she had to be complacent. Until they could formulate a plan to escape, there was no other choice.

  Camille stopped to speak to a man sitting on a rickety stool holding a stringed instrument. It looked like a round guitar, but she wasn’t sure what it was. He listened to the other woman and nodded. The smile he threw toward Isabelle was full of yellowed and missing teeth. His gaze raked her up and down and Isabelle already felt naked.

  Isabelle stumbled as they walked up the ramshackle steps onto the stage. Camille tsked at her. “I guess your beauty is on the outside only. No grace at all?”

  “Not when I’m being dragged toward humiliation.” Isabelle gritted her teeth and reached deep for the courage she had to find.

  “If you humiliate yourself, I promise you will regret it. There is no forgiveness in me.” Cam
ille stopped in the middle of the stage. “Now stand there and look pretty while I drum up customers.”

  Isabelle trembled so hard, her teeth clacked together. The public humiliation would be complete if Camille brought in an audience. Perhaps she would make them pay to watch Isabelle lose her virginity on the stage.

  Sweet Jesus, she would make it through this.

  She looked around the milling people but saw no sign of Charlie or Mason. It was better if they didn’t witness what was about to happen. She couldn’t look him in the eye if he did.

  Camille stepped to the edge of the stage and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Gentlemen! Today is your lucky day! Come see what I’ve brought you!”

  Isabelle recited song lyrics in her head, trying to ignore what was happening. Men shuffled toward the stage, talking and pointing at her. Camille waved them forward, smiling and encouraging. Soon there was a crowd of three dozen men, all of them staring at her with hunger and undisguised lust.

  Camille gestured to the man with the stringed instrument. He plucked a few notes and then looked at Isabelle. To her surprise, he started playing a hymn on the twanging instrument. Memories assailed her of going to church with Maman and Papa in Brooklyn, singing to the rafters and the pleasure she received in singing.

  “Sing, damn it,” Camille snarled.

  Isabelle started, confused by the order. She stammered the first few words before she found her rhythm and sang the hymn. Her voice rose and she closed her eyes, eager to escape into that which she loved. All too soon, the hymn ended and the last note hung in the air.

  She opened her eyes to find the crowd had tripled in size, many of whom stared at her goggle-eyed. Her cheeks heated and she resisted the urge to hide. Instead she squared her shoulders and stared straight ahead, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

  “If you want to hear more, gentlemen, the price is six bits. Eight bits for front row. She’s a beauty with the voice of an angel.”

  Isabelle could hardly believe her ears. Camille was selling her singing, not Isabelle’s body. Relief coursed through her, but it was short-lived.