Saving Grace

by Carolyn Davidson

  “I doubt there’s much danger to them,” Simon said quietly. “I’d say that Kenny’s attentions are focused on you, and perhaps me.”

  Grace smiled sheepishly. “I’m just a worrier, I suspect. But maybe Charlie could have a deputy ride out there and check on them every day, so long as he has extra men right now.”

  Simon’s mouth twisted into what was almost a smile. “I’ll check with him, sweetheart. Just understand, I don’t want you fretting about anyone else right now. Just keep yourself safe and I’ll have less to worry about.”

  “I know that, Simon. You need to understand me, too. I can’t bear for anything to happen to Ellie or Harold Blackwood, just because they’ve been nice to us.”

  Belle rose from her chair and turned her attention to Simon. “I didn’t mean to cause a problem by coming here, Preacher. I probably should have kept things to myself, but I really felt like your wife should know.”

  “I understand, Belle. It’s just that Grace has a unique bent to her. She can’t help fussing and fretting about those she cares for. And Harold and Ellie fit into that group. I’m not being anything but careful with her.”

  “And with good reason,” Belle said firmly, shooting a warning glance at Grace.

  Simon asking the sheriff for a favor turned out to be easy, for when he showed up at the parsonage during his rounds that evening, Simon put the idea before him.

  “I don’t see why we can’t make it a regular thing, sending someone out for a few hours, often enough so that anyone keeping an eye on the place wouldn’t know when the next deputy might turn up. I’ll start in the morning. I think Grace is all right with just one man here with her.”

  “I’ll be at the church for the morning hours, so she only needs a man close by till about noon,” Simon told him. And with that, the arrangements were put in place.

  In the last moments before Grace went to bed, Simon took a turn about the property lines, walking past the garden, then around the front of the house. The deputy on duty there lifted a hand and greeted him.

  “You’ve got a lonesome job,” Simon told him.

  “Beats draggin’ drunks out of the saloon,” said Jake Green. “Although I haven’t gotten that detail yet. I’m just an extra hand while Charlie’s huntin’ down our man. Sure hope we get some results soon. My wife’s getting tired of being alone so much. But then she said it was worth my time and more if we could keep just one girl safe in town.”

  “My thoughts, exactly,” Simon returned, turning to walk toward the front porch. “My thanks, Jake.” And with a wave, he entered the house.

  “Things look calm and peaceful out there,” he told Grace. He opened the curtains when they’d finished undressing, to let the fresh air blow through the room. “I don’t feel real easy with that window open, but Jake will keep a good eye out for us.”

  The breeze blew nicely, making it more comfortable to sleep in the August heat, and Grace was again thankful for the good folks of the town, all of them willing to help.

  Morning brought but one deputy to relieve Jake Green and he took up his post near the back porch. Ethel took out a cup of coffee and fresh cinnamon rolls to him, making his duty less tedious, and he was properly grateful.

  With two women working together, the house was neat and tidy and Ethel cleared the table after they ate. Grace washed up the dishes and offered a few suggestions as Ethel made up a grocery list.

  “We don’t need a lot, but if I’m going to bake a cake for dessert tonight, I’ll need another pound or two of butter. And the vanilla bottle is almost empty,” Ethel muttered as she scribbled down the items on her list. “I won’t be long, Grace. And Shorty is out back to keep an eye on things,” Ethel said as she scooped up her basket from the pantry and headed for the door.

  So Grace was alone with the stalwart company of Shorty, who sat beneath a willow tree near the garden. She suspected he was snoozing, but didn’t have the heart to wake him, since he’d be stuck out there until almost dark, awaiting his relief.

  She’d barely turned from the back door when a shout from beyond the riverbank spun her around. A young boy was waving frantically and shouting for help, awakening Shorty in moments.

  Without hesitation, Shorty jumped the back fence and met the boy halfway, bending his head to listen to the disjointed words he spoke. With a wave at Grace and a shout warning her to stay in the house, he ran into the woods. The boy came toward the house then, and Grace opened the back door.

  “What’s happened?” she asked, fearful for Shorty’s safety.

  “That man told me to get the sheriff, ma’am. A big man’s got my sister and she’s hollerin’ something awful. Somebody’s gotta help Josie, missus,” the boy cried, tears flowing down his face, his whole body trembling with obvious fear for his sister’s plight.

  “You run across the road and down toward town to the sheriff’s office, sonny. Tell him to come right away. And stop by the church and let the preacher know that there’s trouble here. I’ll see what I can do to help.” Without forethought, only knowing that a small child was in danger, Grace ran to the back fence, scrambled over and headed through the patch of woods to where the river flowed past the edge of town. Surely Shorty could not be far ahead of her.

  Calling out his name, she ran on, almost tripping over an exposed tree root in her haste. With the last breath she could drag forth from her lungs, she called out the child’s name. “Josie, where are you?”

  Her feet fairly flew as she made her way through the trees, not a long route by any means, but sufficient cover to hide the riverbank from her view until she came upon Shorty, lying across the path. She bent to him, her hand touching his chest. He was breathing, but unconscious, and she found the source of his problem readily when a knot on the side of his head met her searching fingers.

  “Josie.” She muttered the name beneath her breath and stood, looking around her for the little girl. And then she called her again. “Josie. Josie, where are you?”

  The sound of a child crying reached her ears and she hastened down the path, looking in vain for the little girl. And then felt a muscular arm wind its way around her neck. Another arm clutched at her waist.

  And a rough voice spoke her name.

  “Where is she? Where is Grace?” Ethel was breathless, having run the last hundred feet or so once she saw the young boy waving from the front porch of the parsonage.

  The child let out a cry of distress. “My sister Josie is down by the river. A man grabbed her and when I hollered, a fella ran to find her and then the lady came to help.”

  Ethel’s hand covered her chest, as if her heart had failed her. “Oh, my… Where’s Simon?” Her basket hit the ground as she raced for the church, and the door to Simon’s study flew open as she reached it.

  “What’s wrong, Ethel? Where’s—”

  His worst fears were realized as he caught sight of Ethel’s face and heard the small boy’s continuing pleas for help. Without pause, the boy hot on his heels, Simon jumped the back fence, his long legs carrying him down the riverbank and into the woods. Ahead of him he could make out another child’s voice, and a small girl ran toward him.

  “Jasper, Jasper, where are you?”

  “That’s my Josie,” the boy said breathlessly from behind Simon. “That’s my sister.”

  The girl tore heedlessly through the trees and ran into Simon’s arms, seeking refuge. He held her against his shoulder and comforted her. “You’re all right, Josie. Where is the man? Which way did he go?”

  Josie cried and sobbed, her fright sending her almost into hysterics. “That bad man hit a fella and he fell down in the woods.” The child reached for him again, hanging on his shirt sleeve.

  “Mister, you better listen to me. The man had a horse and he took the pretty lady with him,” Josie shouted, and the last of her words were aimed at Simon’s back as he plowed his way toward the swiftly flowing water.

  “Grace.” His whisper was audible only to himself, but the despair wa
s reflected in his eyes as he turned back to look at Ethel. She held the child in her arms, and he waved her off, not wanting her to bring the child closer. For inside the wooded area lay Shorty’s still-unconscious form in the middle of the path. A path made by the feet of many of the neighborhood children who sought out the shady dell for their games.

  “Get Charlie Wilson,” Simon shouted over his shoulder at Ethel, by now a hundred feet behind him. He shoved his gun into his waistband, heading back to the river. There might be no sense in going there, but if there were tracks he’d find them. And follow.

  “Go wake up Jake Green and find all the available men in town. We’ll start down by the river behind the parsonage.” Charlie’s orders were succinct and easily followed, for the man who’d been so directed turned and ran the length of town, putting his head in at each doorway beginning with the general store. Then the bank, the hardware store, the shoe repair, the newspaper office and, lastly, the barbershop. In each doorway, he shouted out a simple message.

  “The preacher’s wife is gone. Some fella stole her up from behind the parsonage.”

  And behind him, the men of the town left what they were doing and followed, gathering up mounts from the livery stable and along the road wherever there was a hitching rail with horses awaiting their owners. Whether the mounts they took were their own or another man’s, it made no difference, only that they all be mounted and ready to search.

  Mr. Aldrich ran with the barber’s apron still firmly attached to his neck, half-shaven, but ready for battle. At the livery stable, Charlie snatched the bridle for an extra mount, knowing that Simon would not be left behind and, not willing to give up his own horse, decided it would be wise to take an extra one along for Simon’s use.

  Ethel’s garden suffered a major calamity as the men rode through the yard and over the fence, through the trees and down to the riverbank. Simon could be seen, running along the bank to the west, obviously following tracks, and the men caught up with him quickly.

  Charlie slowed the pace of his gelding and held out the reins of the mare he’d brought with Simon in mind. Without pause, Simon was on the horse’s back, riding without a saddle, waving the men to follow him.

  “I sent Shorty out to the Cumberland place. He was still staggering a bit, but he knows what needs to be done. Figured Joe could send his men to help look for them,” Charlie said, holding his mount to a trot, lest he miss the tracks of the horse they followed. And then the tracks went into the river and they were left without a clue. If Summers had continued on to the west, they’d find hoofprints farther along. But if he’d gone into the woods across the river, they’d have no way of knowing it.

  Charlie sent two men on horseback to ford the water with instructions to shoot three times if they found any trail to follow. Simon was ahead of him, riding in the shallows, watching for any disturbance along the side of the water, where the man might have turned to ride cross-country.

  “Nothing yet?” Charlie asked, reining in alongside Simon.

  Simon only shook his head, unable to think clearly. “We have to find her, Charlie. I fear he’ll take out all his meanness on her. Hell, the man could kill her in a heartbeat. She’s so little, so defenseless.”

  “We’ve got over twenty men mounted and searching, son. We’ll find them. Just keep watching for tracks.”

  On the other side of the river, three shots rang out and Charlie pulled his horse up short. “Across the river, all but two of you. You, Jake and Tom, stay on this side and watch for tracks. He may cut back across.”

  The water was thankfully not deep and the horses forded at a narrow point where the shallows gave them good footing. Reaching the opposite bank, they set off, north into the woods and a bit east in order to find the two men who had fired the signal.

  Joe Cumberland had eight men in their saddles in mere minutes when the news came with Shorty’s arrival at the ranch. “We’ll ride toward the river and keep an eye out on both sides of the road. He may cut across anywhere, so we’d better split up into pairs,” Joe shouted hastily. Taking Shorty with him, he spurred his horse to a gallop and they covered the flat ground rapidly.

  “Grace and the sheriff think Kenny might have a beef with the Blackwoods. You think he’d go there?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to check. Let’s go,” Joe said.

  Fearful of obliterating the tracks, should any be visible, Charlie and Simon rode with caution, watching the riverbank and keeping a close eye on the men who patrolled the opposite side of the water.

  “There. Look there, Charlie.” Simon pointed at a roughened patch ahead, where tracks led into the river again, the horse having slid down the embankment, leaving a clear trail behind.

  “We’re not too far behind them,” Charlie said. “Keep it quiet. If he’s anywhere close, he’ll hear us.”

  Thankful for the sandy ground they traveled, they rode as rapidly as possible, but kept strict silence. Men’s voices traveled in the air and the woods were well covered by searchers, but Simon felt a clutch of fear as he considered where Summers might have taken Grace.

  The river went under a bridge just ahead and the road above was the one leading to the Blackwood Farm. The two men exchanged looks of intent, and without a word, their mounts were guided up the bank and onto the well-worn road. Fortunately it made its way beneath a veritable arbor of trees, making it cooler than had been the case in the bright sunshine.

  The horses were fresh and willing and they traveled at top speed, silent but for the heavy breathing of the men, who feared the worst and felt incapable of bringing a halt to it.

  Ahead of them, perhaps a hundred yards or so, two horses galloped in tandem, one of the figures that of Joe Cumberland.

  “Didn’t take him long, did it?” Charlie breathed harshly.

  Simon was more than thankful for the man who rode beside him and even more so that they had two more men on the same track. For he was certain that they were on the right trail, that even though there were no fresh hoofprints to follow, their prey had come in this direction.

  “Hold up, Charlie. Look here.” Joe pointed to the hayfield beside the road, where the hay appeared to have been flattened by the passage of a horse. The hay bent low and offered a silent clue as to the rider who had so recently covered this same ground.

  A horse, heavily burdened by the looks of it, was heading across the pastureland ahead, its route on a beeline for Harold Blackwood’s place. “Charlie.” He shouted the man’s name and then bent low over his mare’s neck and urged the horse on.

  Behind him, he heard Charlie’s voice and knew he’d seen him changing course. The figure ahead of him disappeared from sight then, over a hilly area and through a stand of trees.

  Behind him Charlie fell back a bit, but ahead of him he saw Joe off to the right, heading from the town road across the pasture. For the first time in the past hour, he felt a shard of hope drive out the despair that had him so firmly in its grip.

  She was here, not far ahead. He could feel it. He knew it.

  His horse came over the hill and there was no sign of the rider ahead, only the familiar shape of Harold Blackwood’s barn.

  Grace kicked and shrieked, all to no avail. The man who clutched at her with a painful grip did not shift his hold for a moment, only held her firmly over the saddle before him. The horn pressed into her belly and she felt tears of pain she could not control as each step the horse took brought her down afresh in unforgiving punishment.

  And then he pulled her back against his body and she felt the unmistakable bulge at his crotch that announced his state of arousal. Her face was pressed against his leg, her cheek shoved past his knee, and she closed her eyes, for the dirt had almost blinded her, flying from the horse’s front hooves past her in a veritable windstorm of dust and pebbles. Her face stung from the tiny blows like buckshot from a gun and she felt the shade of a tree pass over the horse, then another animal nearby nickered a greeting.

  There was no way of knowing where
he’d taken her, but she knew that the man who held her down with cruel hands was Kenny Summers. She’d caught sight of him with a small girl in his grip and, fearful of the child’s welfare, had run heedlessly to help her, only to be grabbed by Kenny and thrown over the back of his horse.

  At least Grace had gained the little girl’s freedom. Now as they continued riding, she struggled and felt his fist cuff her cheek, heard him swear and felt his grip on her tighten, as though he realized that should she fall he dare not go back for her. “Your stupid preacher man is sure to be close behind what with all the squawkin’ and squallin’ that young’un was doing back there,” he grated.

  Grace lifted her arm to cover her eyes and Kenny twisted it behind her. “Lay still, bitch.” His words were a snarl, his body unwashed and smelling of sweat and manure. If there was a way to escape this brute, she’d find it. Somehow she had to get away, for Simon would blame himself should she be killed in such a fashion. And yet, she’d felt compelled to help the child in peril.

  The horse slowed again. She heard his hooves clatter against a harder surface and then he slid to a stop, the surroundings darker, the sunshine somehow obscured. “They won’t be lookin’ for us here,” Kenny panted, hauling her from his saddle and down to the floor.

  Grace smelled hay and the ripe scent of manure. They were in a barn, and there appeared to be no one else in the building. Kenny’s horse backed up into the corral, and strong arms lifted her, dragging her into a stall where straw covered the floor beneath her.

  His breathing was harsh and heavy, his breath fetid in her face, and she turned her face to the side, closing her eyes, unwilling to let him know she was awake, her mind racing to feel some small lessening of pressure in his grip upon her.

  He lay upon her and she lost her breath, his body a solid weight against her chest and belly. All was silent but for his muttered words, threats and promises that chilled her blood within her. “Thought you’d fooled me, didn’t you? Guess you know who’s the one in charge now, don’t ya?”