Romancing Olive

by Bush, Holly

  Jacob awoke slowly from a fitful dream that would not surface nor release him. He rolled to his back and felt compelled to turn his head to the side. A small shadow shaking and heaving stood before him in the darkness. He sat up and said, “Luke?”

  The head twisted in the darkness from side to side. Jacob scrambled from his bed and lit the lamp with a suddenly shaking hand. He turned back to the form as light crept into the shadows and saw John barefoot in his nightshirt before him. Fear writhed down his back as he knelt in front of the boy and put his hands on the small arms. The nightshirt was filthy and John’s feet bloody and caked with mud. Jacob swallowed when he saw the look in John’s eyes.

  “What John? What happened?” Jacob asked.

  John trembled and flinched and Peg and Luke woke up. Jacob wanted to shout and shake the mute boy but he knew the child was close to hysteria. “Luke, he tells you things, sometimes, somehow. See if you can find out what happened.”

  Jacob pulled on his pants and a shirt over his shoulders as he listened to Luke beg the other boy to speak. But John stood numbly and Jacob saw him begin to shake violently.

  “Was there a fire?” Jacob asked.

  John shook his head.

  Then Jacob asked the question to which he knew he did not want an answer. “Are Mary and Olive alright?”

  John’s head shook from side to side and tears rolled down his face.

  Jacob loaded his gun with shaking hands, wishing he knew what or whom he faced and turned back to John. “I’m going there, right now. I’ll help them.”

  John’s mouth opened as if to speak and closed.

  “Please, John, tell Daddy what happened!” Peg cried.

  The boy swallowed and took nervous breaths as Jacob continued to ready himself. Jacob checked the bullets in his pistol, ready to tuck it into his pants when he heard a grating word emerge in a voice that did not come from either of his children.

  “He . . . he,” John struggled and fought to say.

  Jacob flew to his knees in front of the boy and held his shoulders. “Who John? Tell me who.”

  If Jacob had been able to will the boy the courage or composure to complete the sentence he would have, but he could only watch as the small-frightened child formed letters with his mouth, unable to voice them as words.

  “It’s alright, John. You did good. You got here on your own at night and I know you’re afraid. I’ll go to Olive and your sister. You stay here with Peg and Luke.”

  John’s lips pulled together and he closed his eyes. “He . . . he took ‘em.”

  Jacob knew real fear now and nodded slowly to John to continue.

  “Ma’s pa,” John grated out and coughed.

  Jacob pulled the boy close and hugged and kissed him. John had spoken and Jacob knew it had taken all he had in his small heart to say the words. But knowing Jeb Davis was the culprit spurned Jacob’s fear higher.

  “Come on children. Luke, get your brother. I’m going to take you down to the fruit cellar. Here, Peg, carry the lamp.”

  Jacob hurried and carried and dragged the crying children to the cellar with some blankets and put the lamp on a high shelf. “When I leave, Luke, I want you to bar the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me. Do you understand?”

  Jacob settled the children as best and fast as he could and began up the steps. He looked back down to three ashen faces and Mark sleeping in Luke’s arms. “I’m going now. Don’t worry, children. Everything will be fine. Luke, don’t forget the door.” He wanted to hold them and kiss them as he watched them nod bravely. “I love you all.”

  Jacob waited until he heard the bar cross and began to run in the direction of Olive’s. Now knowing what he faced and not occupied with hiding the children or arming himself, Jacob’s mind wandered. What had that madman done to Olive and Mary? How could he live with himself if the worst came true? He should have killed Jeb Davis the first time he bothered Olive. He would surely kill the man now. But what if he were too late, he said aloud as he panted in the cool night air. If she’s gone, I won’t be able to go on, he thought and tears came to the back of eyes.

  Jacob’s mind was suddenly filled with Margaret’s face as she told him she loved him and lay dying. His lips quivered as he felt Margaret’s limp, clammy hand caress his face for the last time. And with that thought, the moon cleared the clouds and a cool breeze swept across his now sweat soaked back. He saw the shadows of barren corn stocks sway in the breeze and an unearthly chill sweep down his spine. The wind sang the eerie song of drying, dying leaves and Jacob heard and felt a voice call to him.

  “Jacob.”

  He looked from one side of the dark road to other and felt drops of sweat fly from his hair. But the voice that came to Jacob’s mind was not of this world. And he knew.

  “Margaret,” he whispered.

  Fearing there was not a moment to spare, Jacob kept up his pace, even as he wondered of his own sanity. “Help me, Margaret,” he heaved.

  Moments elapsed and he thought surely he dreamed but the wind whipped again and the voice he now often struggled to recall filled his head. “Love her, Jacob.”

  “Love who, Margaret? Love who?” he panted and shouted. “Love who?”

  The wind died as quickly as it came and he heard nothing but the night frogs and steady sure beat of his own feet on the mud packed road. Olive is alive. He knew now with surety. For there was certainly only one woman alive that he loved. Jacob’s head cleared of fear and mystery and he calmed and quieted even as the quick clip of his heartbeat raced in his ears.

  “Give me the strength, dear God, to be fast enough. Make my aim true.”

  On his prayer he stopped running and bent waist down to catch his breath. Jacob gulped air and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was staring at muddy footprints in the road. With a horse following. He turned to the cornfield, his own property and saw a path through the rows of dead stalks.

  * * *

  Olive and Mary trudged through the field towards the line of trees that marked the end of Jacob’s property. Olive’s stomach rolled as the sweat poured from her face. She was terrified. Not as much for herself, she decided, but for Mary, walking stone faced beside her.

  “I love you, Mary,” Olive whispered.

  “Quit gabbing,” Jeb Davis said and pulled his horse to a stop. “Stand still, the both of you.”

  Olive heard him dismount and watched Mary look at her grandfather out of the corner of her eye. Olive’s eyes closed as she realized he stood beside the horse and relieved himself. Mary inched back slowly behind the man’s turned back. She slipped to the rump of the nag and beat the horse with her bound hands. “Yaw,” the girl shouted.

  The horse bolted and knocked Jeb Davis to his knees. Mary and Olive’s head snapped to each other as they watched the man curse and wriggle in the mud. Mary took off first, with Olive close behind, for the dim cover of the trees. They grunted and struggled, but neither looked back as they ran. Olive heard the man shouting and gaining and stepped up her pace. Olive saw Mary pull the rope on her hands and finally free herself. “Hurry Mary!”

  “Split up when we hit the trees,” Mary cried.

  “Untie me,” Olive said. Mary yanked the knot on Olive’s wrist and she squeezed her hand through.

  With the first footfall under leaves, Mary darted to the left and Olive ran straight ahead into the snapping low branches. She could see nothing in the black of the forest and soon tripped, sending her flying into a pile of rotting leaves. Olive curled into a ball heaving for breath yet too terrified to breath. She heard the crunch of heavy footsteps and saw the back shadow of a man not ten yards away.

  “I’ll find you, don’t make no mistake. Then I’ll beat ya sound.”

  Olive heard the threat as if the speaker was but inches away and wondered where Mary was hiding. The sound of the rifle cocking opened Olive’s eyes wide, followed by the rustle of leaves. The shot blast drew a young female shout and Olive jumped. She pulled herself up and watched as
Jeb Davis drew Mary to her knees and slapped her soundly. The crack of the hand to Mary’s face and her frightened cry after, forced Olive to her feet.

  “I’ll make you sorry you was ever born,” Jeb Davis said and kicked the girl on the ground.

  “Leave her alone,” Olive cried and stumbled through roots and downed branches.

  “I ought a kill you as you stand,” Jeb Davis turned and said to Olive.

  Olive watched Mary struggle to her feet as she turned the stone she carried over and over in her palm. “Let me see to Mary and we’ll come along quietly.” Olive forced all fears and distractions from her head and concentrated on saving Mary’s life. She walked, head high and clear, in her torn dirty dress in the direction of the girl. Olive felt the distance closing between herself and Jeb Davis and now willed the seconds to pass quickly. Three more steps, two more steps, she chanted to herself and clenched the cool moss covered rock in her hand. She prayed the cover of night would conceal her swing and that Mary would have the strength to run. Olive smelled damp earth and the stench of Jeb Davis and swung with all her might.

  “Run, Mary, run,” Olive shouted.

  The sound of stone meeting bone wrung through Olive’s head and she heard the clatter of the rifle. Jeb Davis roared in pain and turned swaying and swinging for Olive. She swung again with the rock to soft flesh and the man dropped to his knees.

  “I won’t leave you,” Mary cried.

  “Run, Mary, go to Jacob,” Olive screamed and saw the now growling man lurch towards her.

  Olive’s back hit the forest floor and something dug deeply into her side. Davis was atop of her sweating and dripping, slapping her, half crazed.

  Mary stood rooted to her spot as her Aunt gave her life to save her. She heard the crack of bone and a pained whimper and her lip trembled. Mary stopped and turned, shouting. “I’ll get Jacob. I love you, Aunt Olive. I’ll be back.”

  Mary ran into the clearing and saw a shadow ahead running to her. Her first instinct was to drop to the ground but a shout from the man stopped her.

  * * *

  “Olive!”

  “Jacob!” Mary shouted, crying and stumbling to him.

  Jacob raced for her. “Mary, thank God. Are you all right? Where’s Olive?”

  Mary’s face twitched and tears rolled through grime in stripes to her chin. She shook wildly and held Jacob’ forearms. “He’s got her, Jacob. He’s goin’ ta beat her to death.”

  Jacob’s head came up to look to the stand of trees. He looked back down to Mary. “I’ll get her, Mary. Lay down between the rows in this field. There might be gunfire and I don’t want you caught in it.”

  The girl nodded wild-eyed.

  “Now listen to me, Mary. If something should happen and I can’t help you. . . “

  “No, Jacob, no . . .”

  He shook the hysterical girl’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Mary. If I can’t help you . . . you head south to this other band of trees. There’s a falling down house there. You hide till morning and then get to the sheriff. Your brother and my children are in the fruit cellar at my house.”

  Mary nodded. “Please, Jacob. Save Aunt Olive.”

  “That’s what I aim to do, Mary. Now lay down,” Jacob said.

  Mary lay down straight between turned rows of earth and looked up to Jacob with lips white from fear and tension. “Kill him.”

  Jacob nodded, knowing full well whom the girl meant. He turned to the direction Mary came from and began to run. He stopped knowing he was a prime target in the moon light but unable to control the anger rising in him.

  “Jeb Davis, you lousy piece of shit. Come out here and fight a man. Leave the women and little girls alone.”

  Rattling and rustling from the brush revealed Jeb Davis dragging and pushing a limp Olive in front of him. Her head hung and rolled and Jacob’s breath drew on a hitch as he looked at her.

  “Olive,” he said reverently. “Olive,” he shouted trying to lure her beaten body back to consciousness. “Let her go and I won’t kill you, Davis.”

  “Nobody takes what’s mine, Butler.”

  He watched Jeb Davis sway on his feet and struggle to hold Olive. He’s hurt, Jacob thought. My girls gave him a fight. The man snarled and growled and yanked Olive hard where his arm lay under her breasts. Olive’s eyes opened.

  “Mary,” she shouted wildly.

  “I’m here, Olive. I’m coming for you,” Jacob shouted.

  “Jacob,” Olive wheezed.

  Jeb Davis aimed his shotgun and fired.

  Jacob saw the glint of the metal in the moonlight as it came up to him and did not move. The shot went wild and Davis threw the now spent weapon to the ground. Jacob watched the man as he unsheathed a hunting knife and brought it to Olive’s throat.

  “I’ll gut her like a pig, ‘fore yer anywhere’s near.”

  Jacob began to slowly walk forward, knowing now his only chance to save Olive was to get within range for his pistol. Jacob heard a whimpered cry from behind and kept moving. One foot ahead, another, twenty feet, now. Now fifteen.

  “Let her go Davis.”

  His pistol grip tight in his hand, Jacob did not move his gaze from the face of his enemy, his target of Jeb Davis. The man’s eyes were feral and wild and he spit and sputtered as Olive struggled against his chest.

  “Be still now, Olive.” Jacob raised his arm slowly, breathing deep and holding his breath. The barrel pointed at the man’s forehead, inches from Olive’s face.

  * * *

  Olive’s eyes opened wide as she realized Jacob’s intent. She drew a great gulp of breath and stood stone still. Olive watched the knife pull from her throat briefly and saw the force of its return begin when she heard the shot. Her hand loosened from the man’s grip and she clenched the wrist, wielding the knife. She stared at the blade as it shook and willed all her strength to hold it at bay. The man’s arm suddenly went limp and she felt him fall away. Her head rolled from back to side and Olive pooled to the ground in a heap.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jacob watched his adversary fall and Olive crumble in the sight of his pistol. His solemn walk gave way to a panicked run and when he reached Olive, his gaze went to Jeb Davis, now unstirring, with a small hole between his eyes, gushing blood. Jacob’s hands dropped to his side as he fell to his knees beside Olive. Her face, her beautiful face was battered and bruised and blood soiled her dress around her waist. As Jacob lifted her limp hand, he saw raw gashes on her wrist and a tear, his own, fell on his hand. He sniffed and laid two fingers on her neck. His head dropped in prayer when he felt a steady beat and his lip trembled as fat tears rolled down his face and off of his chin.

  * * *

  Olive’s eyes fluttered open. Kneeling beside her was Jacob, his head bowed, massive shoulders quivering.

  “Is he dead?” she asked.

  Jacob’s head flew up and she was witness to his raw pain and suffering. Tears stuck in the thick stubble of his beard and he sniffed and wiped his hand across his nose. Jacob nodded and picked her hand up in his.

  “Mary, is Mary alright?”

  Jacob nodded again, eyes downward.

  Olive watched this man, so proud, so strong, so sure, struggle fitfully for composure. Jacob blinked away tears and swallowed. She lifted a trembling hand to his face and cradled his cheek. Jacob’s eyes closed and he pressed into her hand. She smiled. “Jacob,” she said.

  His head came up and his eyes opened in worry.

  “Jacob, I’ll be fine. Help me up.” Olive struggled to get her feet under her when she felt Jacob’s arms lift her. She let her head rest on his wide shoulder and tried to ignore the coming pain.

  His head turned to hers and he lightly touched his lips to her forehead. “Never again, Olive. No one will ever hurt you again.”

  Her breath let go on a sigh and she wearily sank into Jacob’s strong hold and his promise. Olive could see Mary coming to her and Jacob

  “Is he dead?” the girl asked.

 
Jacob nodded.

  Olive held her hand out to Mary and cried all her unshed tears. “It’s over.”

  Mary sobbed. “I’m not crying for that crazy man. I’m glad he’s dead. I’m just, I’m just . . .crying.”

  Olive struggled from Jacob’s hold and swayed on her feet. She pulled Mary into her arms and the two cried and clung to each other. “I love you, Mary. You were so brave.”

  Mary pulled back from her Aunt with wide eyes. “Yeah, but you. You . . .woulda . . .you were going to let him kill you.”

  “But he didn’t, did he? We made it, Mary.” The girl nodded and Olive pulled her close for a kiss.

  Mary mumbled into her Aunt’s torn and dirty dress. “I love you.”

  Olive’s eyes met Jacob’s and tears welled again.

  “Do you think you can walk, Mary?” Jacob asked. “I want to carry your Aunt.”

  “I can walk, Jacob,” Olive said as she swayed on her feet. The night light grew dim to Olive and she felt her world roll away.

  * * *

  Jacob caught Olive as her body gave into injuries, pain, and the absence of fear. He carried her stoically assuring Mary she had fainted. They trudged together in the moonlight and Mary’s feet dragged.

  “Come on, Mary. You can make it. I see the light of the house around those trees,” Jacob said.

  Jacob laid Olive gently in his bed, while Mary freed the children. They raced to him and held tight. When John saw Olive, beaten, his eyes grew wide and he ran to his sister.

  “I’m going for the doctor, children. Bar the door, Mary. I think everything’s fine now, but don’t take any chances,” Jacob said.

  Jacob saddled his horse, dragged his weary body up and faced the sunrise sky.

  * * *

  The children gathered around Jacob’s feet on the porch, while Doc Burns examined Olive. When the door opened all heads snapped to attention.

  “Three broken ribs, an ugly gash in her back, and too many assorted bruises to count.” The doctor said as faces lined with worry and lips trembled. “But nothing that won’t heal with bed rest. Now let me take a look at you, Mary.”