The Heart of Thornton Creek

by Bonnie Leon

  Rebecca continued on and managed to make it to the road without anyone sounding an alarm. She turned and studied the house. Something glimmered in Bertram and Willa’s window. “Lord, keep me hidden from sight,” she prayed.

  Facing the team, she clicked her tongue and flicked the reins. The horses stepped into a lively trot. Rebecca hoped she’d mastered driving well enough to keep the Morgans under control.

  In some places the road was well marked, and in others it disappeared altogether, seemingly becoming a part of the expanse of grasslands. She couldn’t afford to make any errors. The stagecoach leaving Thornton Creek was due in less than two hours. She barely had enough time to make it into town and purchase tickets. It would have been best if she could have bought a ticket in advance, but it was too great a risk. Thornton Creek was a small town, and word would have gotten out.

  “Hah, get up there,” she called, feeling an urgency. The horses gladly obliged, picking up their step. Rebecca was uncertain if she was holding the reins too tightly or too loosely. She didn’t want to hold the animals back, and yet she had to be careful not to let them get away from her.

  She’d always taken coachmen for granted, never giving any thought to how much skill was required to properly drive a carriage. Now she wished she’d paid more attention throughout the years or had gotten more practice driving. She leaned forward, doing her best to hold the reins loosely. The ground seemed to pass too quickly beneath her.

  Wind blew her dark hair free of its pins, allowing curls to fall into her face. She brushed back the tendrils and studied the surrounding grasslands. The breeze whipped tall, thick blades of grass into a dance. She felt the thrill of accomplishment and a sense of command and thanked God for her freedom, at the same time grieving all that she’d lost.

  By the time a kilometer had passed beneath her wheels, Rebecca had relaxed. She felt confident in her driving abilities, and it seemed she’d managed to get away undetected. She’d made it.

  Rhythmic pounding echoed from behind her. The sound was like that of hooves striking the earth. Her skin prickled in apprehension. She glanced back and her mouth went dry. Her heart kicked into a rapid beat.

  Bertram was following!

  Leaning over his stallion’s neck, he whipped the animal. Rebecca couldn’t see his face clearly, but she knew the hardness in his eyes and the set of his chin. He’d be resolute.

  Why won’t he let me go? She grabbed the whip and flicked it over the horse’s backs. “Hah. Get up!” she yelled. He can bluster all he wants. I’m not staying. He can’t force me.

  She allowed the horses their head. The surrey bounced precariously as it passed over the rough roadway. A wheel rolled over a large stone, and the carriage swayed. Dust billowed out behind her. As they plowed through a deep pothole, Rebecca was nearly unseated.

  She looked back. He was close! The big stallion continued closing the gap until Rebecca could hear its labored breathing and the strike of each footfall. He strode alongside the surrey.

  “Stop!” Bertram hollered.

  Rebecca ignored him.

  “I say stop! Obey me at once!”

  Rebecca kept her eyes forward.

  “Ya’ll do as I say!”

  “Leave me alone!” Rebecca yelled. “I’m going home . . . where I belong. You can’t make me stay!”

  “Ya will stay!” He rode close to the surrey and acted as if he might climb aboard.

  Shocked at herself, Rebecca swiped at him with her whip. “Go away!” She hit him across the neck, and he grabbed for the lash. He closed his hand over it, but it slipped from his grasp.

  Leaning forward, Rebecca snapped the reins. The wheels bounded over a ridge, and the cart felt as if it might come apart. Sovereign God, may your hand of help be upon me.

  “Stop. Ya’ll kill yerself. Be reasonable,” Bertram shouted.

  As if being chased by demons, Rebecca kept on. Yielding was not an option. She continued to give the horses their head.

  “Yer a fool!” Bertram raged and pushed his horse for more speed. Overtaking the surrey, he matched the Morgans’ pace. He reached for one of the horses’ halters but missed. Leaning farther away from his horse, he tried again and missed again.

  “Who’s the fool now?” Rebecca asked between clenched teeth. “Let me go! Stop!” He continued to ride alongside the team. “Go away!” Rebecca screamed.

  The horses labored. A frothy, white sweat appeared between their hind legs. Rebecca knew it was dangerous to push them. Why wouldn’t he give up? A small stone kicked up by his horse stung her cheek, and she wiped at the stinging slash. Blood came away on her hand. “This is all so ridiculous,” she muttered. “I’m a grown woman. No one has the right to hold me prisoner.”

  Reaching for the Morgans’ headgear, Bertram leaned away from his horse. He managed to grab the halter of one gelding and hauled back on it. The animal thrust his head forward, pulling hard. The excitement and panic drove the horses—they wouldn’t stop. Bertram heaved on the leather line. The horse threw his head back, then pulled forward sharply, yanking Bertram out of his seat.

  Clinging to the side of his saddle, he fought to maintain his hold on the halter. Without warning, his stallion veered away, and Bertram grabbed the surrey harness with both hands.

  His added weight panicked the Morgans, and they charged wildly on, heads down. They kicked and bucked in the harness, moving away from the road and through a patch of brush. With each stride the horse’s powerful shoulder pummeled Bertram, its hooves thrashed his legs. Bertram’s feet and ankles were battered against the ground.

  His grip slipped, and Rebecca watched in horror as he fell beneath the horse’s hooves. The animal plowed over him, and its full weight came down squarely on Bertram’s back.

  Rebecca gripped the edge of the seat as the surrey bounded over Bertram’s body. For a moment she thought the carriage would tip, but it righted itself and she grabbed the reins and fought to slow the horses.

  Rebecca glanced back. Her father-in-law lay face down in the dirt, a motionless lump. She expected to see him push himself up and yell at her, but he didn’t move.

  He’s fine, she told herself, still fighting the team. Winded and sweating, the animals finally slowed to a trot. Rebecca looked back. Bertram still hadn’t moved.

  She steered the team back to the road and continued toward town. Her conscience told her to go back. She kept on. This is my chance.

  She took another look at her father-in-law. He must have been badly hurt. Otherwise he’d have gotten up. She slowed the team. It could be a trick. The horses kept moving. No self-respecting person would leave a man lying in the dust, no matter how much he deserves to be there.

  “Someone will come after him,” she said out loud, as if to convince herself. “They will.” But even as she spoke, Rebecca knew the someone would be her. She couldn’t go on, not if he was badly injured.

  She stopped the horses and climbed down, leaving them to chew on their bits. Reluctantly she walked toward Bertram.

  He might be fine and this is all a trick, she thought. However, the closer she got to him the more certain she was that he was seriously hurt. Bertram’s face was pallid, his breathing shallow. He didn’t move, not at all.

  “Father in heaven, what have I done?” She ran the last few yards. Dropping to her knees, she rolled Bertram onto his back. He groaned but didn’t open his eyes. He looked as if someone had beaten him, and he struggled for every breath.

  Rebecca wiped dirt from his forehead. This is my fault, she thought. He’s dying and it’s my fault.

  25

  His mother’s voice and a knocking intruded on Daniel’s restless sleep. He forced open his eyes.

  “Daniel,” Willa said, opening the door and stepping into his room.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Daniel asked, pushing himself up on one elbow.

  “It’s your father.”

  “Is he sick?”

  “No. He’s gone after Rebecca.”
r />   “What do you mean? Where’s she gone?” He sat up and dropped his legs over the side of the bed.

  “I’m not certain. It appears she’s run away.” Willa’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m afraid something dreadful is going to happen. Your father’s in a terrible state. He left a few moments ago, riding hard.” She rested a hand on Daniel’s arm. “Go after him. I . . . I don’t know what he might do. I’ve never seen him so angry.”

  “Right. I’ll get him. No worries, Mum,” he said, although his own anxiety was intensifying.

  Daniel quickly dressed and rushed downstairs.

  Willa stood at the front door. “Please, be careful.”

  “I will.” He kissed her cheek. “Everything will be fine.”

  With the reality of what had happened sinking in, Daniel sprinted for the barn. Rebecca’s leaving. That’s the truth of it. He’d known it was coming but had hoped she wouldn’t actually go. And now his father would only make things worse. Daniel’s anger flared. This wouldn’t have happened if not for his bullying.

  All his life Daniel had submitted, even yielding his responsibility as husband to his father. It had been his duty to care for and protect Rebecca, not his father’s. Years of frustration and resentment filled Daniel with rage. “I’ll see to her now!”

  He strode into the barn, his mind churning through all that had happened since he’d brought Rebecca to Douloo. In truth, he couldn’t blame his father for everything. This is as much my fault as his. I should have taken charge of my family. I shouldn’t have let him rule over her or me. I pray it’s not too late to convince Rebecca to stay.

  Woodman already had Daniel’s chestnut stallion saddled. Handing over the reins he said, “Figured ya’d be out roight soon. I saw ’er go. She’s not too far ahead. Stop yer father and bring yer lydie back.” He grinned.

  “I’ll do my best,” Daniel said, swinging into the saddle. He kicked his horse in the sides and urged him forward. He couldn’t overtake his father, but if Bertram managed to stop Rebecca, he’d catch up soon enough, hopefully before too much damage had been done.

  As Daniel rode, his mind reeled with scenes of the past several months. He saw even more clearly his mishandling of things. Lord, forgive me. Help me explain it all to Rebecca. Give me a chance to be the kind of husband you meant me to be.

  Kicking up dust, he moved away from the house and over the rise leading to the road. It stretched out in front of him, and in the distance he could see the surrey bustling along amid a puff of dust. His father followed.

  Bertram closed the distance. She’s going too fast, Daniel thought, fear piercing him. The surrey careened to one side, and for a moment he thought it would tip over. “Slow down. He won’t hurt you. It’s not worth your life,” he shouted, but of course she couldn’t hear. It’s not worth the baby’s life . . . my baby’s life.

  All of a sudden he knew. There’d never been anything more than friendship between Rebecca and Jim. He’d believed a lie. And it was that assumption more than anything that had driven Rebecca away. Shame pressed down on him.

  His father pulled up even with the surrey, then moved ahead and tried to stop the horses. “You fool. You’ll kill yourself.” The words were barely out of his mouth when Bertram was dragged off his horse. Daniel leaned forward and whipped his horse with the reins.

  Rebecca continued on while Bertram lay motionless in the dirt. Daniel felt sick. This was his fault. If only he’d stood up to his father. If only he’d listened to Rebecca . . . and believed her. How deep must be her misery—to take such a chance and then to leave an injured man lying in the dirt.

  The surrey finally slowed and stopped. Rebecca climbed down and warily walked toward Bertram. She didn’t notice Daniel. He kept riding hard.

  Rebecca was kneeling beside Bertram when Daniel rode up. She looked at him, her face stained by tears and dirt. “I never meant . . . I didn’t know he would come after me. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m so sorry.”

  Daniel’s stomach dropped. “Is he dead?” He dismounted and hurried over to Rebecca and his father.

  “No. He’s alive. But he’s badly hurt. He’s not moving and he’s unconscious.”

  Daniel dropped to his knees beside his father. “Dad, can you hear me?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Rebecca said again.

  “This isn’t your fault.” Daniel’s voice was sharper than he’d intended.

  He laid a hand on his father’s chest. “Dad, you all right?” There was no movement. “Dad.” Still no response. “We’ve got to get him back to the house and send for the doctor. You’ll have to help me.” He strode to the surrey, took hold of the horses, and led them back to where his father lay.

  “I’ll need you to take his feet. I’ll grab hold of his shoulders.”

  “We could injure him further.”

  Daniel met Rebecca’s gaze squarely. “We have no choice.” He bent and, placing his hands under his father’s arms, gently lifted. Rebecca grabbed hold of Bertram’s feet. “All right, then, on three,” Daniel said. “One . . . two . . . three.”

  Rebecca let out a groan with the effort, and Bertram moaned. She stopped.

  “Keep moving,” Daniel said. He walked backward, looking over his shoulder as he placed his foot on the step of the surrey. He pushed up and in one fluid motion moved into the carriage. Rebecca managed to follow, still holding Bertram’s legs. Together they maneuvered him onto a seat.

  Breathing hard, Daniel leaned forward and rested his hands on his thighs. Straightening, he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Right, then. I’ll drive and you can tend him.”

  After tying the two stallions to the back of the surrey, he climbed into the front and took the reins. Rebecca kneeled on the floor beside Bertram, resting a hand on him to keep him still. His breathing was labored, and he still hadn’t moved. “Lord, please heal his body,” Rebecca prayed.

  By the time they reached the yard, Bertram had started to stir. “I think he’s waking up,” Rebecca said.

  Daniel glanced back.

  Willa, Woodman, Callie, and Lily ran out to meet them. “What’s happened?” Willa asked.

  “Dad’s been hurt. We need to get him inside.”

  Woodman was the first in the surrey. He leaned over Bertram. “Mr. Thornton, sir?”

  Squinting, Bertram peered up at Woodman. “What ya lookin’ at?” His voice sounded raspy. “I’ll be fine; just give me a few days.” He started to push himself upright, then cried out and lay back down.

  Standing outside the surrey, Willa stood close to Bertram. She smoothed his hair. “You behave yourself, now. Lie right there and let Woodman and Daniel help you.”

  She glanced at Woodman. “Do be careful.”

  Bertram looked at his son. “Ya keep yer hands off me. It was you who brought ’er ’ere.”

  “Now’s not the time,” Daniel said.

  Bertram flinched away from Daniel when he reached for him.

  “All right, then,” Daniel said. “We’ll talk about it now.” He nudged his hat back. “I did bring ’er. And it’s a good thing too.” He glanced at Rebecca. “She’s added color and life to this place. She’s been good for us. Good for me. I love ’er. And you’ll show ’er respect.” He folded his arms over his chest. “And while you’re laid up, I’m in charge. You’ll do as I say. You’re in no condition to be giving orders.”

  Bertram looked as if he might protest, but he said nothing and closed his eyes instead.

  Daniel bent over his father, then looked at Woodman and said, “Right, then. We’ll carry him to his room, and then I’ll go for the doctor.”

  Woodman grabbed Bertram’s feet, and the two men lifted him and carried him out of the surrey.

  “You’ll be just fine,” Willa said, walking beside her husband. “God will see to you.” Just before the men carried him up the front steps, she rested her hand on his chest. “I love you.”

  Bertram managed a smile, but it looked more like a
grimace.

  Daniel went for the doctor, and Willa tended Bertram. She lifted a washcloth from a pan of warm water and wrung it out. “You made a mess out of yourself, Mr. Thornton—you and your temper.” She dabbed at a deep wound on his chin.

  Bertram winced but said nothing.

  Willa cleaned the dirt from his face and cared for his other wounds. Callie swapped the tepid water for cool, and Willa continually changed the cool compresses on his forehead.

  Not knowing just what she ought to do, Rebecca hovered. She stood at the window and prayed, then sat at a table by the foot of the bed and prayed, and finally paced in the hallway and prayed. This was her fault. It had been her reckless behavior that had set Bertram off.

  Callie appeared, carrying a fresh pitcher of water and a clean pan. She stopped in front of Rebecca. “This isn’t yer fault, mum. Ya did what ya had ta do. That’s all.”

  Rebecca smiled at her friend. “You always seem to know what I’m thinking.”

  “It’s not so hard ta see.” Callie stepped into Bertram’s bedchamber, and Rebecca followed.

  Willa poured the fresh water into the pan and dipped a clean cloth into it. She removed a compress from Bertram’s forehead and handed it to Callie, then gently replaced it with the clean rag.

  “The doctor will be here any moment. I dare say, he’ll probably have you up and out of that bed before the week’s out.”

  “Willa,” Bertram croaked. “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. I . . . I can’t feel my legs. I can’t move them.”

  Willa remained stoical. “Perhaps it will pass. God hasn’t forgotten you. I haven’t ceased praying. Nor have Daniel and Rebecca.”

  “I don’t want to hear her name,” Bertram snarled weakly. His eyes found his daughter-in-law, and he stared until Rebecca couldn’t take his revulsion any longer and escaped to the hallway.

  I’ll have to stay . . . at least until he’s begun his recovery, Rebecca thought, starting down the stairs. The stage must have left Thornton Creek by now.

  When Daniel returned he only glanced at Rebecca before guiding the doctor up the stairs. She waited in the parlor. He hates me. Of course he must; this is my fault.