Samson didn’t know when to quit, dripping wet with sweat, he pulled on his reins to go faster. Ben was afraid he’d wind the stallion. As it was the little mare had had enough. He glanced over his shoulder at Matthew.
The boy was slumped over his saddle. Asleep? He halted Samson and grabbed hold of the mare’s reins. “Matthew, wake up.”
Matthew shook his head. “Sorry.”
Only the clump, clump, clumping of the horses hooves on the snowy wet and muddy road pulsed in Ben’s ears. His land lay just to the left of him. It was clear the boy had had enough. Besides, he didn’t want Matthew in danger. Reynolds wouldn’t stop now. He’d want to take his revenge out on those who had instigated this plot to get his slaves to Canada. Maggie’s beautiful face popped uninvited into his head. He needed to get back to Spirit Wind. His dad and Big Jim could protect Matthew and take him back to the doctor’s in a couple of days.
“You did well. I couldn’t be prouder of you if you were my own son!”
“But I want to go with you.” The boy’s smooth face and bright eyes looked up at him eagerly. “Please, sir, I can help ya.”
Ben patted him on his thin shoulder. “Yes, in a couple of years, indeed, you’ll make a fine young man I’d be proud to ride alongside of.” Leaving Matthew with his father, he lit out across country. The hours melted away beneath Samson’s feet. A sudden noise behind him made him dart into the woods. He reined up in a nearby thicket covered with tall burly wild grass and brown trees, and waited.
Three men on horseback galloped past him, then stopped. “I think… I don’t know, boss, those tracks were hard enough before to follow… now they’re nowhere to be seen.” The tall man astride a milk-white gelding pulled hard, grabbing his left and then his right rein, seesawing on the bit, venting his anger on his horse.
Ben knew it was Reynolds before he saw his face, just by the vicious way he treated his gelding.
“You fools. I told you not to go so fast. Now we’ll have to flush them out.” Reynolds’ face was a red as Hade’s fire.
“Boss man, this doesn’t make any sense. Why are they coming back? They were in Ohio. Why—”
“Because Susie adores Maggie and she knows I won’t stop until I get my revenge. That Ben McConnell… well, he’s nothing but a love-sick pup.” Reynolds held up his fist and shook it. “But I’ll show them both. I’ll get my revenge. On Maggie and that half-breed mother of hers.” He stretched out his whip. “I plan on using this on Susie and that Gatlan woman.” He chuckled. “Maggie and her dad can watch.”
That man is sick with hate. Ben lifted his revolver from its holster, then holstered it again. He’d be no good to Maggie if he landed in prison. He waited, hoping the three men would separate enough for him to whittle down the numbers.
One of the bounty hunters swung around to his area. Quietly Ben lowered his bulk from the saddle and grabbed the rope out of his saddlebags. Tying Samson to a tree, he pulled out his knife and moved two yards away, crouching down. As the man came near, Ben jumped up and wrestled him to the ground, then knocked him out with a hard punch in the face. He gagged the man with a strip of cloth from his shirt, then cut some rope and tied him.
Samson looked up, his ears pointed toward his left. Then Ben saw him. The man was on foot. Ben crouched behind a tree, waiting for him to find his friend. Well, he’d bind this second bounty hunter like the first and dress him like a turkey on Christmas morning.
Just when the man was about to yell out to Reynolds, Ben tackled him to the ground headfirst. The man coughed, spewing mud and snow. Ben boxed his ears and then tied his mouth, then his hands and feet. Leaving him there lying face first in the mud, Ben stood up, his mind alert, straining his ears, his eyes trying to penetrate the woods. Where did Reynolds go?
The wind howled in his ears as flakes of snow fell about his head and shoulders. Crouching low, he made his way toward Samson and the mare. The hairs of his neck pricked. Did Reynolds have him in his sight? Well, he wasn’t going to wait around to get shot. He jumped into the saddle, leaning low, and galloped through the woods toward the road.
He heard it before he felt; the bullet hit his shoulder. “Ahhh …” He dangled on Samson’s neck, trying to reach the reins with his good arm. The frightened horse took off at a run. Another rifle shot echoed through the hillside, splitting the snow-filled air like a clap of thunder. The bullet hit him in the leg, tumbling his mind into a half conscious, half stupor, where pain became a dream. A third bullet whizzed by his head and Samson groaned.
“No!” Ben clung to the horse’s massive neck and felt the horse’s blood oozing through his fingers. Samson’s forelegs wobbled beneath his weight; he neighed. “Jesus, help us.” The horse stumbled forward. Ben squeezed his eyes shut against the dying horse’s agony. Head down, Samson’s forelegs faltered toward a ravine, and he and Ben somersaulted down, down…
Chapter 16
E li shook his head and left the room. Maggie hoped her mother had not seen the exchange between them, but mother never missed anything.
“No news about Susie, Little Sis, or Jonny. I’m sure everything will work out right. After all, God’s word clearly states, ‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose.’”
“Now, stop your worrying.” Mother led her toward the table brightly arrayed with cranberries, sweet potatoes swimming in butter, fried okra, carrots in cream sauce, steamy squash, corn bread, and honey rolls. “Come and eat. The turkey is tender and oh so juicy, just the way you like it.”
The dogs barked, then they heard a knock on the door. Eli hurried to answer it.
“Is Mrs. Gatlan in?”
“Now who could this be?” Her mother hurried out of the room.
“Mrs. Gatlan, I hate to bother you on Christmas day,” the man’s high pitched voice could be heard throughout the house. “My daughter’s time has come and gone. She has herself a beautiful baby girl, only now she’s taken ill. Mr. Reynolds left strict orders I was not to bother the doctor. Now what am I to do? Not that any doctor would come on Christmas Day, us being up in the Smokies and all.”
The man’s emotions were out of control with grief. What other reason could it be for him to be shaking like a leaf in a storm? Mother never turned her back on someone in need. Maggie might as well get ready to accompany her, but first she needed to give Cook her present. Grabbing it up, she hurried into the kitchen.
“Merry Christmas, Miss Maggie,” Cook cried out, her face shiny from the steam of her bubbling pots.
Maggie produced a neatly wrapped present from the folds of her dress. “Merry Christmas, Cook.”
“Lordy, Miss Maggie, you shouldn’t of.” Cook opened the package, then rushed toward the mirror. She placed her new hat on her head and surveyed it, turning this way and that. “Humpf! Don’t know how you managed to make this ugly puss of my mine look like a proper lady, but you did!”
“I’m so glad you like it.” Maggie clapped her hands together. It looks as good as I imagined it would!”
“Well now, Miss Maggie, that’s enough of that huggin’. You’ll get your clothes mussed. Now go sit down and finish your supper.”
“There has been a change in plans. Could you pack up the picnic baskets with our Christmas dinner?”
“Surely Mrs. Gatlan is not figuring on going to do her doctoring on—”
“To quote Mother, ‘Christmas Day is just like any other day when someone is in need.’ You know Mother.” Maggie left the kitchen, the rustle of her long skirts swishing across the hallway announcing her entrance. Her face must have displayed her shock at seeing her life-long friend’s father standing on their threshold.
“Maggie, sad to say it’s Irene.” His brow was a patchwork of wrinkles.
Maggie patted his arm. “Now don’t worry I’m sure Irene will be fine. Mother has doctored many a woman during and after childbirth.”
Father’s quick footsteps pounded the floor boards as
he left his study. Puffs of smoke from his pipe floated before his face, making it hard to see his expression; however, his tone of voice was unmistakably leery.
He pointed his pipe at Mr. Sturgis and said, “Just how does Mr. Reynolds figure into this?”
Mr. Sturgis fidgeted with his hat, his thick fingers folding the brim in rolls. “He gave us a loan on some equipment so now we’re beholding to him.” Staring down at his boots, he added, “Well, I’m much obliged.” He slapped his hat on his balding head, and patted it down. “I’ll be on my way. I’ll tell the Missus to expect you.” He backed down the steps not taking his eyes off her father. He climbed up on his wagon and slapped the reins on his horse’s rump. The rickety buckboard creaked and wobbled every time the wheels hit a pot hole. “Giddy up!” His voice rose above the clamor. He sped down the road leaving puffs of snow and dust behind him.
“You get the feeling that there’s something more to Mr. Sturgis’ beholding nature toward Reynolds?” Her father turned, his eyes softening. “Maggie, I’m glad you’re going with your mother. She oftentimes takes on more than her body can handle. And I believe this is one of those instances. I’ll give you two days, then I will ride out to check on you both.”
“But husband—”
“Either you allow me this, or I will disallow you to leave.” Father pointed the stem of his smoking pipe at her, his eyes blazing. “I should have killed Reynolds when I was in the killing mood. That man brings sorrow wherever he travels.”
Maggie breathed deeply of the crisp air. She gazed at the white frame house, resting graciously on the hillside.
“Hey!”
She’d know that voice anywhere.
Will’s strong legs made the distance from the barn to the buckboard in seconds. He grabbed Maggie in one of his bear grips and swung her high as easily as he would a sack of feed corn. His deep blue eyes sparkled up at her and complemented the sapphire blue sky.
“Put me down, you big ape,” she commanded.
“I’m relieved to see you both.” Will shoved his ash-blond hair off his furrowed brow. “Come and see my beautiful little daughter. We’ve named her Little Irene.”
Maggie nodded toward the buckboard.
“Mrs. Gatlan, allow me to help you down.” He glanced into the bed. “What have you got here? Looks like you plan to feed an army.”
“You can get those things later, just hand me my black bag in the corner, there.” Her mother clutched the bag to her chest, then opened it carefully. “I was afraid something might have broken on the way up here.”
Will peered over her shoulder and glanced into the bag.
“What are you looking for?” Mother tilted her head questioningly.
His sparkling blue eyes met hers. “You by chance have a pint of breast milk in there?”
Her mother slapped him on the arm. “Always the kidder.” Will chuckled good humoredly. “Honestly you haven’t changed, William. I can still remember your dear mother chafing you for playing pranks on your teachers during grade school.”
Taking the elbow of her mother and her, Will walked them toward the large frame house with the sloping veranda. “Wish this was a prank I was spouting and not the gospel truth. Little Irene’s been on goat’s milk ever since my wife got the fever.”
“Has a doctor been out?”
“Yes, but he weren’t no good so I sent for the best. Right, Maggie?”
“Mother can heal anyone or anything.” Maggie smiled into her mother’s frowning face.
“Not my doctoring. I just do a lot of praying that the Great Physician will guide my hands. Now what did this doctor say?”
Will leaped up the three steps that led to the porch, his face now solemn. “Said we should have sent for him sooner ’cause it was too late, infection’s already set in, too bad to treat. But he wasn’t any good.” He glanced toward the closed door. “Before we go in, I got to tell you, Mr. Sturgis went and got remarried. Yeah, that was our Christmas present you can say. Mrs. Sturgis died with pneumonia in the spring. Mr. Sturgis married Miss Ellis six months later.
“That woodsy woman? The one the gypsies go to for their concoctions?”
Will nodded and shoved open the door.
A sickly sweet smell met Maggie’s nose before she’d even crossed the threshold into the darkened room. “Some light and a little air might help?”
Will shrugged. “I’m certain Miss Ellis won’t mind.”
Walking toward a window Maggie pulled back the curtain. Dust particles like winged parasites looking for their next prey floated in the sunlight that streamed through the greased over windowpane.
“The late Mrs. Sturgis would have a fit if she knew the state her house was in,” Mother whispered.
“Hey!” A hoarse voice cackled, shuffling boots followed.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought no one was.…”
“Maggie, Maggie,” a child’s voice cried, shaking off the long claw-like fingers that hastened to snatch him back. The small boy’s other hand clutched the folds of a dirty quilt as his little legs ran in boots too big for his feet. “Me wants to go to your house.” His small eyes looked into hers as his little arms reached for her skirts.
Maggie patted his back. His face was dirty and tear stained, and his thick brown hair full of tangles. “Why, you sure can, that is if your father says it’s okay.”
Burying his head deep within the folds of Maggie’s skirt he pleaded. “Please, Father, me wants to go to Maggie’s.” His small shoulders heaved with every sob.
“Well, I never saw the likes,” said a nasally voice from the corner of the room. “That’s the gratitude I get for everything I’ve done.”
“My son meant no disrespect, Miss Ellis, I mean… Ma.” Will crossed the room with his long strides. Grabbing his son, he turned him from the folds of Maggie’s protecting skirt. “You get over there and tell your grandma you’re sorry.” The five-year-old boy struggled under the hard hands of his father. His eyes were as wide and frightened as a young fawn’s.
“Don’t bother,” retorted Miss Ellis. “I don’t care about such nonsense.” Making a face at Will’s little boy, she pointed a long finger at Maggie and said, “You’ve gone and spoiled him, ain’t no hope for him now.”
“How’s Irene this morning?” Will picked up his son and wrapped his arms around him.
“Humpf. I’m sure now that Doctor Gatlan is here, she’ll be fine. All I’ve heard for days on end was Mrs. Gatlan this and Mrs. Gatlan that. Maggie this and Maggie that. A body gets sick of hearing it. No, Miss High and Mighty can’t try none of my conjurations…it’s got to be Mrs. Gatlan’s or nothin’. Just as stubborn as her ma, Irene is. Well, I’m tellin’ ya’ signs wuz put fer man to read and there’s an unnatural sign on that one if’n I’ve ever seen one.” She plopped herself into the closest chair, her voice faltering against the steady pounding of her bow-back rocker hitting the ivory colored wallpaper with a thud, thud, thud.
Maggie’s mother smiled at Will Jr. “Why don’t you and your pa go into the yard and play? Might be you can find a few clusters of snow left over from yesterday. You could make some snowballs.”
“Want to, son? Want to have a snowball fight with your pa?”
The boy nodded. Will extended his large hand engulfing his son’s.
She and Mother watched the pair go out the front door. “Where’s Irene?”
Miss Ellis motioned toward the guest room. Maggie knocked gently and opened the door. Her mother gasped, holding her hands to her nose.
“Inflammation, I knew it as soon as I walked in the house.”
A metal-framed bed emerged in the semi-darkness. Irene lifted her delicate hand. “I prayed you’d come—”
“Oh, you’re so hot. Mother come feel her.”
Irene’s lips quivered as tears filled her large eyes. “My father married Ma Ellis and she’s a compulsive gambler. Mr. Reynolds has bought up the note on the farm. He’s confiscated my father’s slaves and left us for ruin with no
way to pay back the note.”
Irene pressed a hand to her brow. “Will and I tried to help Pa out and now we stand to lose our place. Oh, Maggie, I have such a terrible headache…. Will has some of Reynolds money; he was due here yesterday, but never showed. What are we going to do? Oh, why did Father have to marry that woman? She’s not even a Christian; she believes in spiritualism.”
“Now, stop worrying, you’re going to make yourself sick for sure.” Maggie kissed her gently on the forehead.
Her mother leaned forward. “Some men need a woman in bed with them. They don’t care who that woman may be.” She winked at Irene.
That seemed to make Irene feel better because her sobs subsided.
“I’m going to heat some fresh water and give you a proper bath. Would you like that?” Her mother patted Irene’s arm.
“I’ll get the water.” Maggie reached for the basin and pitcher. Outside the bedroom, she paused near the hand carved bassinet. Little Irene lay in a soft pink-netted gown that her mother’s skillful fingers had made. Her arms ached to take the child to her bosom. “Be patient, Little Irene, your mother needs me more.”
She and her mother worked on throughout the afternoon, bathing Irene and cleaning the bed sheets. Then Mother sent Will into town for the doctor. Irene needed stronger medicine than the herbs and teas they’d brought. Will came back with a bottle of a foul-smelling liquid and regrets from Doctor Ankins. He’d done what he could for Irene and had a pressing engagement on the other side of town. She turned away so Will would not see her disappointment. Most likely, a party with his friends was the doctor’s pressing engagement.
Swept into Destiny Page 11