Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 1)

by Kinslow, Nanette

The big man’s shoulders slumped in misery as he entered the silent building and stood before the soaring staircase. Once he would have gazed in appreciation and beamed with pride for the accomplishment of having fashioned the spectacular flight. The wide expanse of stairs opened before him hauntingly in the darkness. As if lost in another world, he wandered up the staircase and staggered slowly down the upper hall. With his back against the wall, he slid down in despair in the desolated corridor and deep cries wracked his solid frame. The ritual had occurred often over the last two years. Mr. Elgerson could not eradicate his misery, and no amount of land titles or whiskey seemed to chase the demon away. In a wretched scream he cried out. Like an animal left to die, Timothy Elgerson wished he would merely slip away. He toyed with the pistol at his side while wrestling with the vision of his boy’s suffering, childlike way. A mother for the boy had been the only idea he could devise and that may have failed as well. The big man turned the pistol aimlessly beside him on the floor.

  Chapter Eight

  Rebecca struggled for breath. Was she drowning, suffocating? Encased in total darkness and hearing only her heartbeat against her throbbing skull, the girl writhed and whimpered. There was something warm and sticky against her cheek and after several minutes of squirming she figured out that a snug hood was somehow glued to her face and that both of her wrists and ankles were tightly bound.

  The diminutive captive fell from the cot with a sickening thud to the dirt floor, but her ineffective struggling only tightened her bondage and consumed the little air inside the black hood. As the time passed she began to recall her trip to Elgerson’s shack and the vision of it, but little more.

  Once again composed, she considered that the wad she had chewed in the cloth had pulled it forward some and she began to turn her head to one side and tugged at a different section of the material. After her fourth attempt at the plan the sack slipped suddenly and, by turning her head against the dirt floor quickly from side to side, the terrifying contraption slid free.

  Rebecca was perspiring earnestly as she lay in the dusky darkness surveying her surroundings. The shack was no bigger than a large horse stall and had been pieced together from broken planks and rotted timber. A door of sorts, now wedged closed, hung from what appeared to be leather shoe soles used as hinges and the entire structure had a haphazard design, which attested to the fact that it had been hastily thrown together. The hard packed floor was uneven and cluttered with bits of pinecones and needles. In one corner it appeared as if an animal had taken residence and the abandoned nest was laced across with a huge spider’s web. Rebecca could not be sure, but she feared that the pile in the opposite corner was bits of gnawed bones and she began to cry uncontrollably, terrified at the thought that perhaps they could be bones of another person who had been left there previously. Rebecca kicked violently, her tiny ankles rubbing the insides of the clubby leather boots.

  She had laced the boots tightly in an attempt to keep the monstrous hoppers on her narrow feet but she suspected that if she squirmed enough, the laces might loosen and, with the rope predominately encasing the boots, she might be able to pull at least one foot free.

  Rebecca struggled for hours, fighting with determination until she lay exhausted for a time. She then gathered herself up again and writhed furiously against her bondage. Her lips were pale from fatigue and the lack of nourishment. Her breasts heaved hard against the rough clothing as she tried to breathe and maintain her battle.

  When one ankle finally pulled free, the girl was so exhausted she lost consciousness against the ground, damp now from tears and perspiration.

  Sunlight poured through a large crack in the timber wall streaming along the floor and illuminated the dusty interior of the dilapidated shack in a bright haze. Rebecca whimpered quietly and attempted to lift her head. Her stomach churned and she struggled to focus on a rustling sound within the tiny enclosure. A shadow came towards her slowly and as it merged from the darkness into the dim light Rebecca could make out the outline of a massive rodent. Its face was white against a huge gray body, the nose a bright pink and the creature peered at her inches from the girls face with mammoth black eyes, its menacing grin exposing razor sharp teeth.

  Rebecca screamed deafeningly, sending the startled creature scurrying into a smooth tunnel beneath the cot. Giving no thought to discovery by her captors, Rebecca continued shrilly, terrified that the beast might return should she stop her earsplitting wailing.

  With indignation Mark had forsaken his responsibilities at the cabin and, after a restless night, decided that he could no longer wait to check out his venture at trapping. He knew that his intended victims were nocturnal beasts and if he were successful, it would be in the hours of darkness.

  When he heard the shriek of a living thing he froze. Suddenly regretting his disobedience he stumbled and tumbled to the ground tripping over the forest floor and dropping to his knees. The wail of the animal’s terrifying cries tore at his conscience and he pressed his palms against his ears. He swore to himself out loud that he would never again defy his father’s wishes. He would behave ever after and never question the authority of the man. He would accept and obey all rules. Mark’s mind screamed out in contrition, promising to do anything to be good if the animal would only stop.

  Yet the being continued with a terrified screeching and Mark scrambled to his feet. Against his better judgment and overwhelming fear, he ran towards the sound.

  Coming abruptly upon the shack nestled deep in a stand of trees, Mark was perplexed. The boy knew the surrounding forest as well as any tracker, but he had never come across this before. He took quick stock of the immediate area and was certain the structure had been constructed only recently, at least in the past summer months. He ran up to the makeshift door and caught his breath. Whatever was inside was not a beast caught in his trap, but he was not relieved. He pulled at the leather binding that held the entry closed and threw open the door.

  Rebecca saw the silhouette in the bright doorway, caught her breath and began to repeat her wails. The person simply stood there framed in the vivid dusty light with arms hanging limply at their sides. Her captor was a huge woman, too tall and immense to fit easily through the opening. The figure brightly outlined before her now had not nearly half the bulk of her enslaver and Rebecca stopped screaming abruptly and tried to wriggle under the cot. The recollection of encountering the huge rat and its route of flight stopped her suddenly and she lay quiet, trapped and unable to escape.

  The boy dropped to one knee in the doorway struggling to comprehend what he was witnessing. On the muddy floor lay a bundled human being, perhaps a young boy, bathed in dirt and blood and crying softly.

  “Hello?” Mark offered cautiously, unsure as to exactly how he might handle someone properly in such a situation.

  Rebecca sobbed deeply. “Who are you?”

  “Mark,” the boy replied and ventured closer. He quickly realized that his original identification of the captive was mistaken. This was instead a young girl, perhaps not too far from his own age and she was tied up in heavy ropes, a dark ooze covering one side of her face. The sight of blood conquered his fear and he ran up to the girl and attempted to free her.

  Rebecca fought him, confident that he meant her more harm.

  “Easy there,” the boy tried to calm her. She looked like a terrified colt and Mark had handled injured animals many times in the past.

  Rebecca was not assured and demanded to know who he was.

  “Like I said. Mark,” he replied leaning back onto one knee. “What happened to you?”

  “She brought me here and tied me up,” Rebecca poured out. “And she left me to die. Please don’t hurt me!”

  “I’m going help you if you will lay still.”

  “Please,” Rebecca pleaded, looking into the youth’s eyes for a promise of safety. He was much better-spoken than the people she had met on the train, and she found comfort in his voice.

  Mark tugged at the heavy ropes, an
d, after resorting to his pocketknife to free the girl, he helped her to her feet.

  Rebecca lost her legs underneath her and fell to the cot. Then, in an awkward attempt to leap from the bed for fear of the rat, fell squarely into the boy.

  “Relax!” The lad stood up and dusted himself off. This girl was certainly pitiful, but kind of silly he thought.

  “There’s a giant rat living under there, this big!” Rebecca held up her hands in illustration of the beast’s size.

  “A rat? I’ve never seen a rat that big! Out here?”

  Rebecca wanted to be free of the shack, concerned that the woman might return, and in no mood to argue with the boy, she tried again to get to her feet.

  Mark steadied her and led her into the sunlight.

  “I have to get away from here,” Rebecca looked around apprehensively. “If she comes back she’ll kill me, I’m sure.”

  “Who?” The boy searched the surroundings, suddenly aware that whoever had captured the girl might take him as well.

  “She said her name was Bedra.” Rebecca felt as if a horse had trodden upon her.

  “This way,” the boy led her deeply into the woods. “Never heard the name before. Who are you and where did you come from? You sound foreign or something.”

  “Rebecca,” she replied. “Let’s just get away from here!”

  The lad led her away a good distance, stopping frequently along the way while the girl struggled in pain and exhaustion. When they reached his cabin he helped her inside and deposited her onto a freshly made bed.

  The building was cozy and rustic, constructed from peeled logs notched expertly together at the corners. Although this house had been more masterfully constructed than the train station, Rebecca wondered why the Americans built so many things out of logs. Didn’t they have the means to cut lumber? There were windows here, which she appreciated for their civility and the bed bore a soft downy tick that felt like a cloud after weeks of hard travel on wooden seats and her night on the dirt floor.

  “We’ll need to deal with that cut,” he told her and the boy pulled up a bench beside the bed and placed a fine pitcher and bowl upon it. Rebecca looked down at her filthy hands and was horrified that they were both covered in blood.

  “Oh my heavens,” she gasped. “I’m bleeding?”

  “It’ll be alright I think,” the boy remarked. “We won’t know until we clean it up.” He took a small hand mirror from the dresser, handed it to Rebecca and left the room.

  The girl was overcome when she looked into the glass. The image reflected was not recognizable to her, it couldn’t be! Her face was gray with mud and a dark stain ran down one cheek covering the side of her face from the hairline. Her lips, a pure white, quivered beneath her flaming red eyes. She reached up to touch the gash on her head and fell back in a faint against the yielding mattress.

  When Mark returned, sloshing the hot water he had gone to heat, he rushed to her side, afraid she was dead. He watched her for a moment and heard her soft breathing. Once assured that she was still alive he decided it might be best if she slept through his doctoring, unsure of how much pain he’d need to inflict to clean and dress the wound properly.

  As he applied the warm compresses he began to wipe the mud from Rebecca’s pale features while he waited for the warm liquid to soften the dried blood. He lifted her slightly to try to situate her in a more comfortable position on the bed.

  Chapter Nine

  Mark nearly dropped the girl in shock. With her face nearly cleaned up and her clothing lying against her he realized that Rebecca was not a child like him, but instead a grown woman. The boy was certain that even as filthy as she was, he did not recognize her. Mark knew almost everyone around the area and he was sure he would have remembered her, her features as fine and delicate as a doll.

  Studying her face he reflected that she looked a little like his grandmother. Her coloring was probably not the same, though it was hard to tell since this lady was whiter than a sun bleached bone. Her hair was dark too, he thought, but there was something in her fine face and tiny upturned nose that felt familiar and comfortable to him.

  Instantly he thought of his father. What would his father say? Mark thought of the possibilities. He’d brought a woman here that he’d saved from a shack that wasn’t there before, but was now. His thoughts were a jumble. His Pa would want to find out who she was and who had done this, but Mark had no idea when he would return and what would the boy do with her in the meantime? He could take her by horseback down the mountain, but what if whoever was after her saw them, or came here looking for her? And as pale as she was, he wasn’t even sure she’d survive the trip. When he cared for his sick animals he knew that poor color was not a good sign.

  The boy paced the room in a panic, ran to the front of the cabin, and peered out of the door cautiously. He’d have to hide her, he thought, just in case. That way if anyone came looking for her she might be safe. He began to gather blankets and a bedroll and decided to transport her to the old stable up the hill. She’d be safer there and he’d tend to her as he could.

  He crept up the hill several times, setting up a makeshift bed in the abandoned stable and returned, slipping silently back into the house intending to move the woman at once.

  While thinking about lifting and carrying her to the hideaway, Mark lost his resolve standing beside the bed. She was taller than him, and if he couldn’t carry her well enough she could get hurt. She wasn’t big though, he thought, mostly just in big clothes. He moved aside the bowl on the bench and sat watching her.

  The afternoon’s ordeal had exhausted him and his nerves were frazzled. He just couldn’t think of a way to address the whole situation and wished, as he had many times before, that his father would arrive. His Pa would know exactly what to do, and no one messed with his Pa. Ever. They’d be safe and he’d make everything right.

  As he watched the woman sleep silently, he too, soon grew drowsy. Mark moved to the big chair in the corner and drifted off.

  At nightfall he woke suddenly and cursed himself for falling asleep. Something in his memory tugged at him, recalling an event that had happened a few summers ago. One of the loggers had gotten hit on the head and there was something about not letting him sleep too long or he’d never wake up. Mark decided he had better wake the woman just in case, he was kind of hungry and she might be hungry too. Anyway, it might be nice to have someone share his supper. He leaned over the girl and touched her arm carefully, whispering her name softly.

  Rebecca opened her eyes wearily, and although she was paler than ever, she seemed somewhat coherent.

  “Hungry?” Mark asked.

  “Oh yes,” the woman whispered hoarsely.

  Mark left to heat a stew and Rebecca tried to sit up on the soft bed. Every muscle of her body cried out in cruel pain and her head pounded mercilessly. She wanted to slip into a deep long sleep but something kept her on the edge and she began to imagine that she was home at her dining table with a fine meal spread out before her.

  “I made this for us,” the boy interrupted her dream.

  Rebecca pried open her aching eyes and saw Mark squatting before her, a huge steaming bowl in his awkward hands. She knew she could barely move, but the smell of the food was so enticing.

  “Could you help me sit up?” she whispered weakly. Setting aside the bowl, Mark arranged the bed and tried to hand Rebecca the bowl but she seemed too confused to hold it herself. Instead he spooned the soup into her carefully and after she seemed to be unable to accept any more he shifted her down onto the mattress and let her continue to sleep.

  “How old are you?” he whispered. She looked really young, but he remembered when he was little and Grandmother was really sick she looked a lot like this, frail and helpless like a tiny bird. Maybe she was much older than he thought. Maybe she had a son of her own somewhere and she’d want someone to look after him. The boy was disappointed that she couldn’t talk to him while he ate, but he filled himself a bowl of s
tew and sat in the big chair he’d pulled up beside her and watched her. He decided he’d spend the night close to the front door, just in case, and make sure the rifle was close at hand should anyone come after his patient.

  Morning arrived without incident and Mark stretched beside the front door where he had spent the night. He’d gotten up several times in the night to check his new responsibility and found her sleeping, but not so soundly that she wouldn’t respond if he spoke her name.

  He mixed up a large batch of porridge in the hopes she’d have more appetite and be better company and took it in to his guest.

  Rebecca responded much more lucidly this time, able to sit up with support and could even lift a few spoonfuls to her mouth on her own. Her drowsiness lingered and it took the boy a full day of spooning food into her and hauling her out to the outhouse before it seemed that she might improve. He’d cleaned her wound as best he could and since it didn’t fester he was sure that it would heal alright, but it would most certainly leave a scar. He didn’t mind scars much himself, sometimes they were fun to brag over, but he didn’t imagine a lady like her would care much to have one right on her head where her hair was. It was too early to tell though. The gash was still bloody and looked ragged.

  Pa always told him that when a sick animal began to get feisty they were healing well and Rebecca was becoming just that. She started asking the boy every time he approached her if there were any way she could get a bath. He offered her some of his own clothes and she accepted them very sweetly but the only way she might get into a bath would be either to wash with a bucket or go down to the stream like he did. He was sure the trip to the stream would be impossible, and he feared taking the girl out, but he did eventually devise an idea for a bath.

  He rolled in an old split keg that they sometimes used to collect rain water. He scrubbed it out thoroughly in the yard with buckets full of water he had hauled up and left it in the sun to dry. When he rolled it into the room he announced to Rebecca that it was a bathtub just her size.