Must the Maiden Die

by Miriam Grace Monfredo

  With this he backed out of the office and motioned to the smaller man, and they strutted toward the horses.

  Glynis whirled to Liam, saying, "Why did you say there was a reward? They would just as soon kill the girl, or Lord knows what else, as—" She stopped, because Liam looked so abjectly shamefaced. "Never mind, Liam, it's done now. But bring Danny Ross here as fast as you can. Those two men mustn't find that girl!"

  18

  I have been hunted like a bird by those who were my enemies without cause.

  —Book of Lamentations

  The girl sat on a birch log in the silvery, warm afternoon, feeding kernels of corn to the crow and watching Gerard stack logs. The dog lay on the ground beside her. Every now and then she glanced at the sky, where a red sun was descending into the haze that hung over the swamp; it looked angry, she thought, as if the red ball might suddenly burst and hurl down chunks of fire.

  Gerard's movements were quick and sure as he rearranged the logs in the woodpile to make, he said, "A cave to hide you if anyone comes."

  She must have looked frightened, because he added, "I don't think anyone will. Who would think of searching for you so far north of town? Besides, from the look of that sky, we're due for a storm soon and that will keep everyone away."

  The girl nodded, and she tried to smile. She hadn't smiled in a long time, and her mouth felt strange, like it belonged to someone else. But Gerard stopped shifting the wood and stood smiling back at her, so she guessed that she had done it right. Maybe smiling was something that, after you had done it once, you didn't have to learn it again.

  The dog Keeper raised his head and gave a contented yawn, then settled back to doze. Moments later he sneezed in his sleep, as cottonwoods growing near the edge of the marsh were sending out small white tufts that floated on the strangely still air like iridescent motes of silk.

  The crow, demanding more corn, gave a harsh caw and rose on its feet to flap glossy dark wings. It made the girl remember that, the night before, she had dreamed about a dark shadow pressing her into the ground so she couldn't breathe. She must have been gasping, or crying, because she woke to Gerard kneeling beside the straw pallet, stroking her hair and saying, "It's all right, Tamar. Don't be frightened." And Keeper's muzzle was resting on her arm while he whined softly and gazed at her with his alert, bright eyes.

  Then Gerard had said to her, "I think someone has hurt you badly. Is that true?"

  She had tried not to cry, but she felt the tears come, washing down the sides of her face and into her hair. When she struggled to sit up, Gerard had gently eased her back against the straw pallet, and had blotted the tears with his fingers.

  "You don't have to be afraid," he had said. "No one will hurt you again. I hope you can believe me."

  She had believed him. And, believing, she had gone back to sleep.

  Now she smiled again, and reached down to fondle Keeper's head, so she felt the dog's first tremor. A second later his nose twitched, and he sprang to his feet.

  Gerard stopped what he was doing and looked at the dog. "Keeper? What's the matter, boy? You smell something?"

  The dog's ears went forward and he gave a low growl. When the girl got up from the log, her heart clenched, for in the distance was the faint sound of dogs baying. The crow took several hops before it lifted into the air with a great flap of wings and soared off into a sky that was darkening like tarnished silver.

  The girl looked at Gerard. Were the baying dogs searching for her?

  He motioned for her to stay where she was, then he turned and ran inside the cabin. He came back out with a long length of rope. "Keeper, come!" he called.

  The dog came, but he was still growling, his nose pointing south in the direction of Black Brook. Gerard looped the rope around the dog's neck. "Quiet. Quiet, boy!"

  The dog stopped growling, but his body quivered. The baying still sounded far away.

  "Tamar, we need to leave," Gerard said.

  Shaking her head, she pointed to the cave he had made in the woodpile.

  "No, that's not finished yet," he said quickly. "The hounds would find you there in a minute. We have to leave fast!"

  He took her hand and pulled her toward the canoe.

  Keeper, trailing the rope, ran ahead and jumped into the long, narrow boat, then stood growling as Gerard led the girl to it.

  "Get in," he told her. "Sit on the bottom and don't move around."

  Gerard's eyes worried her because they had grown so fierce, but she knew that was because of the hounds and not because of something she had done. She climbed into the canoe, and he lifted an end to thrust it into the water, then scrambled in behind her and snatched the paddle she handed to him. They glided north from the shoreline and out into the swamp as a long roll of thunder came from the west.

  Gerard, dipping and swinging the paddle, looked at the sky. "I hope the storm holds off," he said to her. "We should stay on the water so the hounds can't track us. The men won't know about the canoe, not right away. They'll think we've run, until the hounds track our scent to the shore. That should give us some time."

  Keeper had stopped growling and sat on his haunches with his muzzle resting on the bow of the canoe. The girl looked beyond the dog to the murky water ahead. Thunder rolled again, but it was not close.

  "We'll be all right," Gerard said, "unless the water gets too shallow. Or the storm hits. About a mile north of here, if we can make it that far, there's a place where White Brook flows into the swamp. If the brook's deep enough we'll take it. In summer we wouldn't have a chance, but the rains this spring may give us the depth we need."

  His voice was tight, and she listened carefully, even though she thought he was talking to himself . He was in trouble because of her. The hounds and the men weren't chasing him. It was because of her that he to leave his cabin and hide in the swamp like a hunted animal. She twisted around and reached out to touch his shoulder, then shook her head and pointed to the shore.

  He stopped paddling and took her hand. "No, I'm not putting you ashore," he said. "This is not your doing, and I won't leave you."

  But it was her fault.

  He held her hand tightly when he said, "I didn't have to run. It was my decision." When she turned away, he said, "Look at me, Tamar. Look at me!"

  He reached out and took her chin in his hand to make her look into his fierce eyes. "We'll be all right. Tell me that you believe me."

  She tried to tell him, but no sound came. He raised his hand and curled his fingers gently around her throat. "I think you'll talk again someday," he said. "I want to hear your voice."

  Then he began to paddle once more through dark water that reflected the clouds overhead. The canoe followed the shoreline where green willows drooped and brown marsh reeds grew thick, and it skirted the ghostly dead tree trunks that rose out of the water like gnarled hands pointing toward the sky. A red-tailed hawk perched high up on one, watching, and the girl could hear wild geese calling and the occasional cry of a loon. Above them, black clouds began to swirl. But there was no wind blowing and no rain fell.

  Then the canoe trembled and stopped, and she could hear scraping underneath her.

  "We're snared on something," Gerard said, leaning over the side of the canoe.

  The girl looked toward shore, where a clump of willows stood a short distance away on what looked like solid ground. She plucked at Gerard's sleeve as he poked the paddle down through the water, and she pointed at the trees.

  He looked up and followed her finger to the willows, then shook his head, saying, "Unless we're trapped here, I'd rather stay on the water. That thunder doesn't sound much nearer. Maybe the storm will miss us."

  When he raised the paddle, it came up dripping with long thin weeds. "It's too shallow here, and we're caught on something," he said, using the paddle like a pole to push them backwards.

  Keeper suddenly jumped up and began to growl again, his nose quivering in the direction of the shore.

  Without warnin
g a shotgun blasted. Pellets hit the water some distance ahead.

  "Get down!" Gerard shoved the girl flat and tried to grab the snarling dog, who looked ready to leap from the canoe. "That can't be from a search party. The hounds are still too far away, and they're behind us. Maybe it's just a hunter and he's not shooting at—"

  Another charge of shot sprayed the water, and it was closer than the first.

  Gerard leaped from the canoe, the water and weeds rising halfway up his calves. "C'mon," he whispered to the girl, reaching for her. "We're a sitting target. Running may be what he wants us to do, but we won't have a chance staying here. We'll head for those willows. Keep your head down!"

  The girl tried to grab the dog's rope as Gerard lifted her out of the canoe, but Keeper jumped from the bow into the water just as another shotgun blast sounded. A spray of shot to the south of them bent the tall reeds and cattails.

  They splashed through the water, Gerard pulling the girl, with the dog plunging ahead of them. She managed to snatch Keeper's trailing rope, terrified that to protect them the dog would dash toward the gun when they reached higher ground. The water was still knee height as they neared the willows. A few big drops of rain fell, and thunder rolled with a closer grumble of sound, but the shotgun was silent.

  The girl, sliding on the shifting mud underfoot, felt as if she were trying to swim upstream; the wet trousers belted with string around her waist weighed her down, and her boots were filling with water, dragging her backwards while Gerard pulled her forward. He was slipping, too, and she thought they would both be sucked down and strangled by the twisting weeds.

  Then all at once the water became shallow, and she felt her feet touch more solid ground. And the growling dog, having gained firm footing, nearly yanked the rope from her hand.

  "Keeper, quiet!" Gerard's voice was low, and the dog stopped growling, but he lunged at the end of his lead.

  Gerard took the rope from her and seized her hand, and then they were running toward the shelter of the trees to where they could hide behind the dense, sweeping branches. When they reached the willows, they crouched down, panting as hard as the dog. Light rain began to fall.

  They waited there, crouching, for a long time, but the air over the swamp didn't stir. The storm was coming, though, because the birds had stilled, and the air smelled like metal. The girl's skin prickled, but maybe it was just because she was so scared. A pattering of rain on the willow leaves was the only sound she could hear. The dog began to whine softly, but Gerard gave the rope a quick jerk. Keeper sank to the ground, quivering but quiet.

  To the west, a streak of lightning was followed by a deep rumble of thunder. They waited. Finally Gerard whispered, "That storm will hit soon. Maybe the gunman's left, or he's gone in the other direction. I'm going to take a look."

  The girl drew in her breath while Gerard took a step forward to see around the trees. He took another step, and the silence was broken by the explosive bark of the shotgun.

  The gun was much closer.

  Keeper lunged at the end of the rope, and Gerard grabbed the girl's hand. They ran over the spongy ground, dodging cottonwood trees and dragging the dog, who kept trying to run toward the gun. From somewhere behind them, another blast sent shot that brought down a shower of leaves, and now they could hear a pounding sound that must be the hooves of horses.

  They reached a thick clump of cottonwoods and squatted down to listen. The pounding hoof beats had stopped. But the girl heard the baying of hounds coming closer, and through the spattering rain, a rising wind carried the faint shouts of men.

  Lightning snaked over the swamp, and thunder boomed like drums. The rain was still light. The girl, her clothes soaked with swamp water, clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering and put a shaking hand to her neck. The inside of her throat felt raw, as if something was tearing at it with sharp claws.

  A sudden explosion of shot ripped the bark of the trees just in front of where they were squatting. Gerard pointed at another clump of cottonwoods to the left of them, and near the trees was a waist-high mound of sparsely grassed earth.

  "Head for that," he whispered, again quieting the dog. "And run! No matter what happens, keep going! I'll be right behind you. Now, go!"

  She didn't want to leave him, and she shook her head. Then he lifted his shirt and pulled a hunting knife from the sheath hanging on his belt.

  "Go!" he breathed, and the fierce look in his eyes and the knife gleaming in his hand made her turn and run, just as she heard a charge of shot spitting into the ground behind her. Lightning zigzagged, and overhead a thunder clap sounded like another shotgun, making the ground underfoot vibrate. She could see ahead of her a knotted mass of tree roots, and tried to jump over them, but the heel of her boot caught. She fell headlong, sprawling on the damp ground.

  "Get up! Keep going!" came Gerard's shout from somewhere behind her. Scrambling to her feet, she caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, and she knew he was waiting, was making himself a target so she could get clear. She hesitated, heard him snap, "Go!" and she ran.

  When she reached the mound of earth, she whirled to see the man and dog racing toward her, and then Gerard reached out and pulled her to him. They crouched behind the earthen mound, Gerard's knife gripped in his hand, and listened for either a man or a spray of shot. They waited, while the rain fell, and the wind whipped through the cottonwoods.

  Between rolls of thunder, the girl could hear the hounds baying just to the south of them. The wind was beginning to decrease, and the next peal of thunder sounded farther away. Gerard had his arm around her shoulders, and she could feel his warm breath against her cheek when he whispered, "Those hounds are getting closer, but they're still farther away than the shotgun. And I don't think the constable would be shooting at us. So who the hell is?"

  The girl shivered, and he pulled her closer so that her head pressed into the hollow of his shoulder. "Stay, Keeper!" he said to the dog, who had started to creep forward. A softer rumble of thunder signaled that the storm was moving on, but the barking hounds sounded as if they were closing in fast.

  Then, suddenly, the shotgun roared, sending particles of dirt flying into their faces. When Gerard brought his hand up to wipe his eyes, the rope was yanked from his grasp as Keeper lunged forward, scrabbling over the mound and down the other side. Again the shotgun cracked.

  The girl wrenched herself away from Gerard and ran around the earthen mound after the dog. She heard the shotgun again, and yards ahead of her Keeper jerked and then flattened. Still snarling, he began to crawl forward on his belly. Through a veil of rain, the girl saw blood seeping from the dog's side. At the same time a glint of metal flashed in the trees ahead, and a thin, sharp-faced man holding a shotgun stepped from behind a cottonwood trunk.

  The girl rushed forward, hearing Gerard yell behind her. Keeper had stopped moving, and lay still. Even so, the man had raised the gun to his shoulder and was now aiming it straight at the dog.

  "No! Don't...don't shoot!" the girl screamed, her throat ripping open, her voice bursting in her ears. "Keeper! Keeper...."

  She threw herself over the dog as the shotgun exploded.

  19

  A poor young girl of the lower orders, cajoled, or ruined, more or less, is of course no great matter. The little baggage is turned out of doors.. . and there is an end of her.

  —W. M. Thackeray, The Adventures of Philip, 1861

  Glynis sat in Cullen's desk chair with the most recent copy of Harper's New Monthly Magazine and attempted to read, by the light of a kerosene lamp, the current installment of William Thackeray's serialized novel. But her eyes skimmed over the lines unseeing. Just as they had done most of the afternoon and early evening.

  After renting a livery horse for Danny Ross to take her message to Cullen, she had walked to the library, where she tried to work. Unable to concentrate, she finally gave it up in late afternoon. When she had stopped at the dress shop, it was to see a still miserable Emma, who
nonetheless continued plans for her uncertain wedding.

  At last, unable to distract herself from worrying about Bronwen and Jacques, Glynis had gone back to the fire-house to worry about Cullen and the girl.

  Where was Cullen? The time on his desk clock now read nine, and she could see through the open, office door the late May twilight beginning to fade. A few minutes before, she had insisted that Liam Cleary should go home for supper. Although he had been light-headed with hunger, he had left with great reluctance.

  The night was quiet, and the air coming in through the doorway and open window felt fresh and cool, cleansed by the storm. Glynis had turned back to the magazine, but then leaned forward over the desk, thinking she had just heard hoof beats. After a minute or two, she decided that horses were indeed drawing closer; she rose from behind the desk, went to the door, and stepped outside. By the time she had rounded the firehouse and looked up the short slope, a number of dogs and horses and men had collected at the far side of Fall Street. Two of the horses and their riders shortly broke away and headed west. She guessed those were the Seneca County sheriff's men returning to the village of Waterloo. But had the girl been found?

  She waited impatiently while the remainder of the group rode toward her: Cullen on the Morgan, and Zeph with his two bloodhounds loping to either side of his horse; Adam MacAlistair; the bounty hunter Sledge; a man with dark hair whom she couldn't at once identify; and Danny Ross, who was leading a horse which had slung over its back something that resembled a sack of grain. Glynis watched anxiously until they came close enough for her to see that the body on the horse was probably that of Sledge's otherwise absent partner, and not the girl, or a member of the search party.

  The other men from the village had most likely gone straight on home. And there was no girl with those who remained.