Wistful in Wisconsin

by Marisa Masterson

  Whirling, she forgot her unbuttoned boots as she raced toward safety. Did she imagine it or had she heard the raspy breathing of someone running after her?

  A boot flew off her lifted foot as she sprinted to the porch and went behind her. In the quiet, a gasp of pain alerted her. There was another person in the darkness with her.

  Then hands grabbed her flapping braid, jerking her painfully to a halt. Wordless, bruising hands gripped her upper arms. Did the person have two sets of hands? Somehow, she was gripped while being gagged and then blindfolded. Two or three people. She couldn’t be sure since they blindfolded her so quickly and no one spoke.

  Without a word from her captors, Lilah felt herself being wrapped with ropes before they lifted her. Anticipating the hard feel of a wagon box under her, she was startled to touch her cheek against leather as her kidnappers lowered her into a tight space.

  A buggy. That’s where she must be. Kidnapped again. What were the chances of that happening?

  Somewhere in the darkness, a window lifted. She heard the scrape of the wood before Holder’s voice bellowed angrily.

  “What are you doing down there?”

  A curse exploded near her and the buggy rocked with the sudden weight of new passengers. Leather snapped in the air and the buggy rolled forward with a quick jerk from the horses pulling its weight.

  The faint sound of the backdoor being thrown open let her know they were already leaving the house behind. The house and her safety.

  Fred shook his head at Banker Strong’s blustering. It was way too early in the morning for such mudslinging. Of course, no time was great for his kind of attack.

  During this rally, each time the man pointed a finger at Fred and spilled some oily twist on events from the past, Fred refused to comment. He would not turn this into a debate. He’d let the man posture and lie. After all, Fred knew he would get his turn.

  “And now he’s had to marry the girl he rescued from that terrible place. Just look at that little baby and you know what he did to that girl after taking her out of there.” Strong did more than point his finger this time at the sheriff. He stepped off the box he stood on and moved to the side of the crowd where Fred waited. Then the man lifted his hand high and shook his meaty fist as close to Fred’s face as he could reach.

  “Are you any better than a vile rapist?”

  Fred knew he shouldn’t respond. Had practiced ignoring slurs regularly as a part of his job. This one was so unfair. He’d never even known a woman that way. Instead of closing his lips tightly, his mouth curved upwards.

  “Let’s forget about me and talk about your son if we want to jaw about rapists.”

  Strong’s son, Ram, was dead. Fred had delivered a low blow just then and he knew it. Still, Strong’s talk of Fred raping anyone, much less precious Lilah, gnawed at his innards and fired his temper.

  At Fred’s coolly delivered response, the small crowd murmured. Several heads nodded as Strong lowered his fist slowly, as if he were one of those fancy Hancock rubber balloons as it lost its air. The man didn’t bluster or sputter. His stunned face stared at Fred while his gaping mouth stayed silent as if he couldn’t imagine anyone speaking ill of his dead son.

  “Well, looks like it must be my turn, folks.” Fred stepped around Strong and headed to the spot where the box waited for him. He shoved it aside with the toe of his boot. “Expect I’ll bump my head on the roof of the boardwalk if I use that.”

  His comment indirectly pointed out Strong’s shortness and brought a few guffaws from the group around him. The banker harrumphed and reddened but otherwise said nothing.

  “Now, there’s been a lot said here today, but it seems to me—”

  Surprise at feeling a pull stopped what Fred had been about to say. Looking down, he saw a small boy with his hands still on Fred’s wool coat. “Need something, tiger?” he asked, rather than ignoring the tyke.

  The little one couldn’t be more than four. He held a huge lollipop and had his other hand fisted. He shoved that fist toward Fred, almost like he wanted to shake. Automatically, the sheriff put out his hand and the boy opened the fist. A wad of paper fell out.

  As soon as the paper landed on Fred’s palm, the boy scampered away. Fred watched him enter Carl’s mercantile with a tinkling of the bell over the door. Whispers in the crowd brought Fred’s attention back to the group in front of him. He saw that most were still watching the mercantile. A few eyed the paper in his hand, obviously curious about it.

  Well, he was curious, too. “Should I just read this out loud for you all?”

  A chorus of “yes” encouraged him to do that. His challenger was the lone voice of dissent. “I wouldn’t do that, Sittig. Not before you know what’s in it.”

  Fred arched an eyebrow at him. Did the banker put the child up to delivering a note right before Fred spoke?

  “Well, Banker Strong, contrary to the slurs you threw at me, I really don’t have any secrets from the people of Idyll Wood.”

  Clearing his voice, Fred spoke louder than before as he read the first words. By the last word, his voice dwindled to a whisper.

  We got your woman. Resign or she disappears forever.

  Loud protests rippled through the crowd. Shouts of outrage bellowed from several and brought Saturday shoppers out of the stores. Cries of alarm from various women seemed to indicate the tale of the note had been passed on to them. None of it mattered as Fred recognized the lollipop kid held tightly by the hand of a farmwife.

  He moved to hunker down in front of the boy. Once he had the boy’s attention, Fred pointed at Strong. “Son, did that man give you the note for me?”

  The young boy shook his head. “Big man,” were the only words he said. They were enough to give Fred the clue he needed.

  He and Morrison would have to find Hansen.

  Standing, Fred lifted his hands. A wave of shushing sounds washed through the crowd. When they were quiet, he spoke in his neutral, sheriff tones.

  “You do what you think best when voting today. After all, my actions as sheriff should speak for themselves.”

  Pausing, Fred looked down to wrestle his emotions back under a tight grip. When he felt ready to speak, he raised his head. “I have a wife to track down.”

  A rider barreled toward them, his head bare in the cold March morning. Fred recognized that wavy blonde head, so like his own, and raced to meet him.

  Pulling the horse to a stop, Holder growled out the words. “I couldn’t catch them, but they’ve got Lilah.”

  “Who?” Fred bellowed his question. Holder only shook his head in answer and dropped down from the back of the horse.

  “My tracking’s not the best. I used what I remembered that old Potawatomi teaching us when we were kids, and it seems like the buggy that hauled her away came here.” Holder looked around as if he expected to see Lilah. “She’s somewhere in Idyll Wood.”

  Chapter 9

  The Prisoner

  They carried her like a Christmas tree. It was such an odd thought. Yet, tied like she was with her arms and legs forced into the rest of her body, it reminded Lilah of the ropes holding the large tree’s branches tightly shut. Trees that arrived at her father’s ostentatious home each year.

  She hadn’t figured out who they were. None of them spoke in the buggy. She heard grunts, snores, and even flatulence, but no names. And then, oddly enough she caught the sound of voices raised in greeting.

  They’d taken her to Idyll Wood. The familiar noises of the town waking up told her that much. She’d twisted and kicked then, trying to make enough commotion to draw attention. Feet had rudely pushed her face into the floor, grinding her cheek roughly under the sole.

  Finally, the buggy stopped. Silently, they’d lifted her. They went down, down. Not being able to see, the movement downward upset her stomach. The dank, musty smell filling her nostrils added to her discomfort. She had to be in a basement.

  But, whose? Who in the town would hide a kidnapped woman?


  Only one name popped into her head. Mr. James Strong. Both she and Fred had suspected him. They discussed it very briefly on their trip to the farm.

  All this ran through her mind while the kidnappers flopped her onto the floor with no consideration. Her head connected with the wall sharply. Then she felt nothing.

  When Lilah gained consciousness, she struggled to remember what had happened. Darkness pressed in on her, and she wondered if she’d fallen on the way back from the privy. Quickly, the memory of her kidnapping swamped her.

  One thing had changed while she was unconscious. Her captors had removed the blindfold and the gag. Though that made her slightly more comfortable, it meant that they were sure no one would hear her call for help.

  Lilah struggled not to feel defeated by that realization. She would find a way out of this or Fred would find her and rescue her again. Her knight in shining armor.

  Somehow, the thought didn’t comfort her. She didn’t want him to see her as weak. No, her goal was for him to see her as a capable helpmate, doggone it!

  That fired her temper. Why did these men have to go and kidnap her just when she and Fred finally had a chance at making their own happily ever after?

  “Are you okay? That was quite a bump you took.”

  At the words spoken near her, Lilah screeched in surprise. She felt her jaw drop even as she struggled to sit up while being tightly bound.

  Lilah’s eyes darted around and spotted a figure leaning against a wooden crate. Beyond the person, she saw a window, mostly covered. One edge of the covering gaped, allowing a thin stream of early morning light to penetrate the cellar’s gloom. She strained and squinted, using the weak glow to more clearly see her companion.

  “Not speaking. Your brain must still be rattled.” The voice belonged to a woman. Lilah could more easily recognize that now. Maybe her brain had been rattled, like her fellow captive said.

  And she was a captive. By the shadowy light, Lilah could barely make out the ropes that bound the woman’s arms and legs.

  “I’ll be fine.” Lilah whispered the words in the suffocating stillness.

  A sweet, clear laugh answered her before the woman spoke, using a wry tone. “No need to whisper. No one can hear us. I spent most of yesterday screaming or calling for help. We’re either in a house isolated from others or are in an extra deep cellar.”

  She broke off to let out a long sigh. “I can’t be sure since I was blindfolded as soon as the big man got me into the buggy.”

  That bit sounded very familiar to Lilah. She added her own sigh and decided to find out about her fellow prisoner.

  Deciding to act like they were meeting in an ordinary place, like church or the mercantile, Lilah greeted her warmly. “I’m sorry you have to be here, but truly I’m glad not to be alone. I’m Lilah Sittig.”

  The other woman gave an unladylike snort at Lilah’s admission and grudgingly introduced herself. “My name is Charity Melrose.” Then she grumbled, “There’s no reason for either of us to be in this fix. When I get out of here, a certain detective is going to discover the meaning of pain.”

  Lilah gasped and struggled to pull farther away from Charity. With anger radiating from her, the woman scared Lilah. Was Charity crazed?

  At her movement, Charity Melrose seemed to come out of some deep thought. Her scowl disappeared. By the weak light, Lilah saw Charity’s lips curve into a friendly grin.

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m sorry my partner let us both down. We wouldn’t be in this fix if he’d followed me like we’d planned.”

  Lilah wondered if the bump had left her befuddled. Charity’s words made no sense. Partner? Plan?

  Stuck with a raving woman in a deep hole. Only rats or snakes could add to Lilah’s dread at that moment. Still, this was pleasant compared with her time at the brothel.

  Clearing her throat softly, Lilah carefully chose her words and controlled her tone. She didn’t want to enrage the woman. From what she’d already seen, Charity seemed close to a fit of anger.

  “Um,” she paused to be sure she had the other woman’s attention. “What did you mean about a plan?”

  Charity nodded. Lilah didn’t know what she was nodding about. It wasn’t a yes or no question. When the other woman stayed silent, Lilah tried again.

  “Why did you need a partner?”

  This time Charity did answer, using clipped words. “He was supposed to get off the train, too. Then, he would follow me when I met the man, saying I was the one who answered the ad.”

  Understanding dawned slowly. Minutes passed as neither woman spoke. Lilah mulled over the similarity to what she’d experienced. Answering an ad. Arriving by train. That had been a part of her experience before being a victim of the slavers.

  With her realization came sadness. “It’s my fault you’re in here. I’m guessing you and your partner are from the Pinkerton Agency.”

  The other woman gave that same indelicate snort. “Why would it be your fault? A detective always has a partner to help with this type of thing. It’s all his,” Charity spat on the floor when she said that word. “--fault that I’m here!”

  Lilah looked away and shuddered at the girl’s rough manners. While she worked to gain composure, Charity muttered in a low tone. Growling about the faithless partner, Lilah supposed.

  Twisting to look at her companion, Lilah again tried to explain. “I was kidnapped by the slavers and taken to a brothel last summer.” Even in the dark, she could sense Charity intently focusing on her now.

  “I was rescued, but I’m still afraid. That’s why I hired the Pinkertons to find the man behind this ring of evil.” There, maybe now Charity would understand the reason Lilah felt responsible for the predicament.

  Charity harrumphed and spat. This time Lilah didn’t react. Maybe she was coming to expect the behavior from the woman.

  “That don’t make you responsible. It just makes you smart not to leave the bad guy out there to hurt you again.”

  A weary laugh escaped Lilah’s lips. “But, I think he’s done just that. I expect the same man organized my kidnapping.” More quietly, she added, “For the second time.”

  The light coming in the window shone brighter now, telling Lilah that it must be midmorning. It shone around her companion’s head, halo-like. Charity Melrose was a beautiful woman. Not that looks seemed to matter to the men running this scheme. After all, Lilah knew not all the girls in the brothel had been beauties, herself included.

  The black-haired woman muttered, “If only I had a knife to work on these ropes.”

  That statement had Lilah kicking her feet. Being certain she still wore her right boot, she pushed and wiggled until her feet were near Charity. Like her, the other woman’s arms were bound but not her hands.

  As she neared Charity, Lilah’s nose picked up a whiff of urine. When she grimaced, Charity blushed and rushed to give an excuse. “They never came to untie me so I could relieve myself.”

  It made Lilah question how long the girl had been there. “How many days have you been down here?”

  Red-faced, Charity’s stiff shoulders softened at the question. “They’ve left me two days down here. You wouldn’t leave a dog any place for that long and not know it would need to potty!”

  She gave that snort which Lilah was becoming familiar with and her mouth drooped into a frown. “It’s no wonder they laugh each time they bring me water. Yesterday, it was like a game to see how much water they could get me to drink.”

  Lilah’s eyes rounded. “What did you do?”

  Shrugging, Charity grinned impishly. “When I wasn’t thirsty anymore I took a large drink and spit it at the man. Hit him square in the eye!”

  Gasping, Lilah stared at the other woman. She couldn’t imagine spitting, much less doing that at someone’s face.

  Charity lowered her head so Lilah could now make out her features. At Lilah’s sudden intake of air, Charity nodded.

  “Yep. The eye hurts a bunch. He slugged me after I spit
the water.”

  The eye was ringed by black and purple. By the growing stream of light, Lilah saw it no longer had any white but was bloodshot.

  Charity’s dry chuckle accompanied sarcastic words. “We’re quite a pair. You with your scraped and bloody cheek. Me with my eye. Seems like our hosts are a bit short on manners.”

  That surprised Lilah. She thought her cheek hurt because of the gag she’d worn. Like the skin had gone numb and now the feeling was rushing back into it. She remembered the boot grinding her face into the floor of the buggy. Had that harmed it or was it scraped during her fall to the cellar floor?

  Lilah gave her head several short shakes, to clear it. What did it matter how her cheek had been hurt? They needed to get out of there.

  “I wiggled closer to bring my shoe near your hand. Can you use your fingers or are they numb?”

  In the dim light, she saw Charity wiggled them experimentally. “I’ve been moving them often so they don’t become numb. I think that and moving my arms against the rope has started to loosen it.”

  Lilah nodded. “Good. There’s a small knife beneath a thick lining in my boot.”

  Charity’s eyes rounded. “How did you think of doing that?”

  This female detective must not have been with the Pinkertons for very long. “A detective I spoke with from your agency suggested it. Mr. Morrison.”

  That name brought tears to Charity’s eyes. Lilah immediately apologized. “Oh dear! Was he the partner who let you down?”

  Shaking her head vigorously, Charity sniffled. “No, he’s my uncle. He helped me get this job last month.”

  The girl moaned. “I can’t even wipe my nose on my sleeve, and I can feel it running.”

  Unable to stop it, Lilah shuddered at the thought of wiping her nose on a sleeve. She made a guess then. “Did your uncle raise you?”

  A gasp of surprise escaped the other woman. “How did you know?”

  With a tight-lipped smile, Lilah carefully answered that. “Oh, just a guess. Anyhow, he must be looking for you by now.”