Stolen (A Prairie Heritage, Book 5)

by Vikki Kestell

  “Yes,” she squeaked, “I-I am looking for Pastor Jacob Medford?”

  “Sure thing. Heered he got called out early this mornin’, though. Old Mister Haase passed.”

  He turned and pointed down the muddy street. “You kin walk to th’ parsonage, if y’ like. Straight down this street, turn right at th’ end. You’ll see th’ church ’bout a mile ahead. Pastor and Missus Medford live in the house next t’ th’ church.”

  Edith nodded her thanks, but the man was staring at her shoes.

  “What is it?” Edith managed to ask without squeaking.

  “Weeeell . . . I was jest thinkin’ how there ain’t no boardwalk out t’ th’ church and all. Mighty muddy b’tween town an’ there.”

  Edith followed his gaze to her shoes. Her only pair of shoes. “I see.” She sighed and wondered what she should do. The wind gusting down the street had a bite to it.

  “Would ya happen t’ be friends with Missus Rose Thoresen?” the man inquired.

  Edith’s attention jumped back to his face. “Why do you ask?” She hadn’t planned to snap at him, but since she’d heard the report that Cal Judd was looking for her, her nerves were quite frazzled.

  Jeremy nodded and acted as though he hadn’t heard the suspicious edge to her question. “I was jest a kid when Miss Rose come here on th’ train. Mighty fine Christian woman, Miss Rose is.”

  He looked at the freight piled on the siding and back to Edith. “Miss, if you care t’ wait, I will drive ya t’ th’ church. I jest need t’ check in th’ freight first.”

  Edith shivered. She was disinclined to trust the man. He must have sensed her reluctance.

  “Mebbe you could wait in Miss Esther’s store?” He pointed down the street. “Be a mite warmer there.”

  At the name “Esther,” Edith brightened. “Esther? Did she, er, also know Miss Rose?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am, she surely did,” Jeremy smiled, glad to see some glimmer of trust in the girl’s eyes. “You kin ask her ’bout me, if you like.”

  The boardwalk led all the way to the little dress shop, and Edith was glad: The man had been right about the mud! The town’s street was not paved, and its soggy surface was cut and deeply rutted from wagon traffic. Thick mud pooled in the ruts.

  A bell jingled as Edith stepped inside the shop. Two women were inside, both of them sitting before a small wood-burning stove with sewing in their laps.

  One of the women put aside her sewing and stood up, greeting Edith with a smile. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

  Edith thought she had never seen a lovelier woman. Her eyes were a deep violet-blue, the bones of her face forming a delicate, perfect heart. The woman was dressed in a simple but pretty dress, her hair also simply done.

  Edith knew from her description that the woman was Esther—but she was no longer the sophisticated, high-priced courtesan the girls at Palmer House had painted Cal Judd’s woman to be.

  “M-my name is Edith. I have just arrived on the train,” Edith gulped. “From Denver . . . from Palmer House.”

  At the mention of Palmer House, the other woman stood and they both approached Edith, compassion in their eyes. The first woman held out her hand. “Of course. Edith, I’m Esther. You are welcome here. Will you sit a while?”

  “And I am Ava,” the brown-haired woman chirped. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  With no more than those simple words, Edith felt safe for the first moment since boarding the train.

  The tailor finished fitting Cal Judd’s suit coat and murmured, “I will have your new suits delivered in a week, Mr. Judd. And if I may say, sir, you cut a fine figure.”

  Cal had lost a few pounds in jail and he knew it looked good on him. He preened before the mirror. “A week, you say? Very good.”

  A week or so will give me time to reassert my control over the Silver Spurs and my other interests while making plans to retrieve Esther.

  Judd calculated how many men he would take to the farming town where Edith had disembarked from the train, and he plotted how he would take Esther from those who were harboring her there.

  “Forbes. That town where you said the girl got off the train?”

  “Yeah? Place called RiverBend.”

  “Tomorrow I want you to get a map and mark the roads into that hick town.” Judd splashed a little cologne on his face. “In the meantime, I’ll be looking over my properties. From what I’ve seen so far, it looks like you’ve done a good job, and a good job deserves a reward.”

  Judd pulled a thick roll of bills from his pocket and peeled off several. “Take the night off. Have a good time.”

  “Thanks, Boss! Appreciate it.” Forbes grinned as he contemplated his night of debauchery.

  As Edith became acquainted with Esther and Ava the afternoon she arrived, the two older girls had assured her that Jeremy Bailey was “a sweet, kind man who wouldn’t hurt a fly.” On those recommendations, Edith had allowed the stationmaster to drive her in his freight wagon down the street and out onto the prairie, delivering her (with un-muddied shoes) to the Medford’s little parsonage.

  Edith found a home and a family in the Medfords that day. Before long, Jacob and Vera were treating her as a granddaughter. Edith loved the Medfords, but she missed Palmer House and the fellowship she had with the other girls—girls who had been through what she had suffered and, therefore, understood.

  Because of their similar pasts, Edith felt a kinship with Esther and Ava. The two young women helped fill the loss that Edith was feeling, so Edith often made her way to their shop.

  Esther and Ava, a few years older than Edith, were already versed in the ways of RiverBend; they helped the younger girl to adjust to the community and begin to learn new skills.

  Ava assigned small sewing projects to Edith, projects that she took home to finish. Vera Medford, herself an accomplished seamstress, tutored Edith and helped her complete her sewing tasks.

  Edith soon became a daily visitor to the shop, a curly-haired little sister upon whom Esther and Ava loved to dote. For all three of them, RiverBend became a refuge from the world that had damaged them so deeply.

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 14

  Cal drew deeply on his cigar and then sucked down another swallow of bourbon. The plan Forbes had proposed was not elegant, but it would work: He, Forbes, and two other men would take the train to the next sizable town just east of RiverBend. They would disembark, pick up the two automobiles Forbes would arrange for, and drive back toward RiverBend.

  On the outskirts of the town, Forbes would take one of the motorcars into town alone and reconnoiter, finding out where Esther was. When Forbes returned with that information, Cal and his men would follow him back into town in the second car.

  After that, Judd did not much care. He and his crew carried firepower, and the town boasted of nothing more than a token, in-name-only policeman and a few shopkeepers or farmers, all too backwards to possibly fend off Judd and his men.

  Besides, Cal wanted—no, he longed—to take Esther in a show of force. He lusted to feel the terror his coming would cause Esther and her friends. He would, with no compunction, destroy those who stood in his way. She would know the fear of his coming for her before he possessed her.

  Before I make her suffer. Before I disfigure her. Before I kill her.

  Cal wanted that part to be slow. His eyes grew glassy as he fantasized over what he would do to her.

  Later, when he had finished with Esther, he and his men would drive back to the town where they’d gotten off the train. They would ditch the cars, clean up, and board a train headed on in to Omaha. Cal would put them all up at a fancy hotel, and they would have a good time celebrating before heading back to Denver.

  It would be easy. It would be amusing.

  And it would be so satisfying.

  Two weeks into January, Joy began to “nest.” Grant found her pulling their cottage apart in a frenzy of cleaning and reorganization. Blackie had crawled to safety under the bed
and refused to come out.

  “Are we expecting guests?” he puzzled aloud.

  “Only a permanent one,” Joy retorted, not pausing in her labors.

  “Ah!” He watched her determined activity, still mystified.

  Later he confided in Rose, “Joy is near the end of her pregnancy, but she is buzzing about our little house with more energy than she has had in months. I don’t understand.”

  Rose nodded. “You are right—Joy is near term, and the baby will be coming soon. This spate of liveliness is not uncommon. She is preparing for the baby, making sure everything is in order for him or her.”

  “So I shouldn’t be worried?”

  “Not at all. It will run its course.” Rose tapped her chin. “Is Sarah prepared to assume management of the store while Joy is home with the baby?”

  “More than ready, I would say,” Grant answered. “And more than capable.”

  “I am glad! I know Joy would not be able to rest properly if the store were not in capable hands.”

  Jeremy Bailey pored over a stack of paperwork at the desk in the freight office, glad of the warm fire in the nearby pot-bellied stove. He glanced up as Connor McKennie sauntered through the door.

  “Connor.” Jeremy nodded to him.

  “Jeremy.” Connor stared around the office but his gaze didn’t seem to take in much. His hunting piece rested under one arm; a game bag dangled from his other hand.

  “Have any luck?” Jeremy jutted his chin at the bag. He and Connor had not been close since Connor’s sweetheart, Erica, had passed and Connor had withdrawn from friends and family. Jeremy was puzzled by the surprise visit.

  “Yeah. Couple of grouse. Thought I’d drop them off . . .” Connor jerked his head in the direction of Esther and Ava’s store but didn’t finish his sentence. He cleared his throat. “Thing is, I was wondering if you, that is . . . I mean, how well do you know those . . . those women—”

  “Are you askin’ how well do I know Miss Esther and Miss Ava?”

  Connor shrugged and nodded.

  “Seems to me that what I know is the same as what you know, Connor.” Jeremy’s stare grew chilly. “They share an unsavory past that they don’t deny or excuse. They have publicly repented and come to Christ. Now they are a-livin’ and a-growin’ in their faith as best they can. Seems to me that we should believe what the Bible teaches: if any man—or woman, for that matter—be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”

  “But what about—” Connor struggled to articulate his thoughts.

  “Seems to me we should mind our own business and let God do his work.” Jeremy’s normally curving smile turned down into a hard line.

  Connor sighed. “Easier said than done.”

  “Easy enough if you stop judgin’ them—and stop behavin’ like the jackass I heard you made o’ yourself on Thanksgiving,” was Jeremy’s retort.

  Connor’s head jerked up. “You—how’d you hear about that?”

  “A whole kitchen full o’ Thoresen and McKennie women heard you an’ Miss Esther. It’s all over town. And it’s a sad shame, I’m thinkin’. These girls, Esther, Ava, and Edith, are alone in the world, but they are a-workin’ hard to make their own way as decent folk. They’ve earned a mite o’ respect here in RiverBend. You, Connor McKennie, don’t have a right to hold over them what is covered by the blood of Christ. You are not their judge.”

  Connor sank into a chair and dropped the game bag on the floor. “I don’t understand why this is so hard for me. I don’t know how to accept them.”

  But Jeremy wasn’t looking at Connor any more; he was frowning through the window as two sleek, black automobiles eased their way down the street. He stood up and pulled the curtain aside.

  “Connor. We got trouble.”

  Esther pulled a bolt of trim from the rack and hummed to herself, measuring off the four yards she would need for Mrs. Mullins’ dress.

  What a lovely color this is, she smiled to herself.

  The bell on the door jingled and she glanced up.

  A man entered the store. He was a stranger, but his unfamiliarity was not what put her on her guard. No, with a visceral twist of her stomach, she recognized him for what he was—that kind of man—dangerous, brutal, and in her shop for no good purpose.

  She said nothing, but began backing up even as she watched him swagger toward the dresses, eating up the space between himself and the counter, each step taking him closer to cutting off her escape through the back.

  Esther’s pulse quickened. Ava and Edith are in the back—

  The bell jingled again and three other men sauntered through it. Esther flicked her eyes toward them. Even as she did, the first man lunged between her and her escape route. He reached into his pocket and drew a pistol.

  Someone chuckled and Esther froze. She recognized the laugh, and she was certain that her heart had seized up, so tightly did her chest contract.

  Cal.

  “Good morning, my dear,” he murmured. He gestured and a man behind him turned over the sign on the door so that it read “Closed.” The man then pulled the shade closed.

  Esther recognized the distinctive click of the door’s lock. She shuddered. O dear Lord! she moaned within herself. Why? Why did you allow Cal to find us?

  “Still haven’t learned your manners, have you?” Cal drawled. “I said good morning. Now come here, kiss me, and say ‘good morning.’”

  Esther couldn’t move. The man behind her nudged her in the back and, with faltering steps, she moved forward.

  Cal took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. He had lost the pounds that high living had added to him: His ruddy jaw was lean and sharp, his cheeks hollow, his eyes glittering. A predator’s face.

  “Say good morning, Cal.”

  Esther stared at him, her expression bleak.

  “No.”

  If I die under his hand, at least I will not die under his thumb, Esther vowed to herself.

  The fingers holding her chin squeezed until Esther’s eyes watered. Then Cal wrapped his arms about her and pulled her close to him, pressing his lips on her lips, and grinding his mouth against hers until she felt her lower lip splitting and her teeth scoring the tender flesh inside her mouth.

  Then Esther did something audacious, something she would never have dared before. She took Cal’s lower lip between her teeth. And bit—as hard as she could.

  His yelp of astonished pain was followed by a thunderclap upon her ear. Cal had slapped the side of her head with his open palm, and for many seconds Esther could not hear for the ringing throb in her head.

  Cal gripped her wrists and cursed her. “You seem to have grown even more rebellious in spirit this last year, Esther,” he growled, a dribble of blood coursing over his lip. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

  “You will never take me back there,” Esther hissed. “I will never be your whore again!”

  She struggled against Cal’s thick fingers on her wrists, but they squeezed like vises. She felt the skin on her wrists bruising as he tightened and twisted his grip.

  “Oh, but I’m not taking you back to Denver, my dear,” Cal snarled. “Your treacherous heart would not be a good influence on the other girls.”

  He laughed. “Don’t you remember what I promised you when you turned on me? I think my exact words were, When I find you and I finish with you, little children will run screaming from the sight of your face. Well, here we are and I assure you—when I finish with you, no man will ever even dream you were once beautiful.”

  He slapped Esther’s cheek and she saw points of light all around her. Through the haze, she wondered if Ava and Edith had escaped out the back and were finding help.

  Yet, even as Cal pulled back his hand to strike her again, Esther began praying that her friends would not find help. In an instant of clarity, Esther realized that she did not want Ava, Edith, or any of RiverBend’s citizenry dying for her sake. They had been
too good, too kind. She did not want them or their families to suffer.

  And suffer they would. Cal’s men were armed and brutal—the simple farmers of RiverBend would be no match for Cal and his men’s practiced ruthlessness.

  “I promised you that no matter how far you went or where you hid, I would find you, my sweet Esther. Now you will pay for your disloyalty.”

  He slapped Esther again; this time Esther’s head snapped back, violently. Cal chuckled. “I’ve waited more than a year to see you suffer. I even bought a new knife, a sweet little blade, special for the occasion. I will enjoy this mightily.”

  “No, sir. No, you will not.”

  Esther could not see much; her eyes were swelling shut and blood ran from above one eye, marring her sight. But she recognized the voice coming from behind Cal.

  Of all people . . . it was Connor McKennie.

  “Forbes.” Cal spat the one-word command from between his teeth.

  The man who had entered the store first leveled his pistol—

  A blast rocked the store and, through vision blurred by blood and smoke, Esther watched the man Cal had called Forbes clutch at his middle. The gun he held toppled from his hand and his body slid to the floor.

  Another gun roared from a different direction. Esther did not see Cal’s man nearest the front door fall, but she heard Cal curse and shout an order.

  Cal’s arm snaked about Esther. He turned and held her body between him and the threat. His last man slid behind Cal. Esther heard the man cock a handgun.

  Through the fog, Esther could make out two shapes behind the counter of her little shop. One of them had to be Connor. He pointed a smoking rifle in their direction, even as he slowly sidled out from behind the counter. The other man-sized shape gripped what Esther surmised from the blast to be a shotgun. The weapon was raised and aimed at Cal.

  At her.

  “We don’t cotton to men who disrespect women,” the faceless voice behind the shotgun called, “and we have no tolerance for those who prey upon them.”

  Jeremy Bailey.