A Shelter of Hope (6 page)

And with that, Louis Dumas walked through the door and out of her life. Simone could scarcely believe what was happening. On one hand, she’d just been given her wish. Her father would never again need to be a part of her life. On the other hand, the leering stranger he’d left in his place was a completely unacceptable and frightening alternative.

FOUR

AFTER AN ETERNITY of heavy silence, Garvey Davis decided to get down to matters. “What you got cookin’ over there?” he asked, wiping his filthy sleeve across his mouth.

Simone, still staring at the closed door, turned to face the man. “What?” she asked in confusion. It seemed so incomprehensible that the man was simply standing there, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place. Simone remembered times when her father had spoken of someone trading their daughter for a sack of flour. And once, he’d carried on long into the night about a man selling off his children to the highest bidder and all because they were worthless, ungrateful children. Simone had never believed the farfetched tales. Now, however, she had to admit that perhaps the stories held more truth than she’d given them credit for.

Davis threw his saddle pack to the floor and pulled a filthy fur cap from his head. “I’m hungry, woman. I asked what you got to feed me.”

“Stew,” Simone said simply, unable to think clearly. Surely this man didn’t think she’d just willingly remain behind to be his wife. He couldn’t be that ignorant, could he?

“Dish me up some,” Garvey ordered.

“I don’t think,” Simone began uncomfortably, “I understand this situation.”

Davis shrugged out of his coat. “What’s to understand? I bought your pa’s land and house. He threw you in on the deal, seein’s how I needed a wife and all.” He sized her up and nodded approvingly. “Seems a right good deal.”

Simone felt her heart racing inside her chest. She had tried so hard to be void of feelings and emotions for the better part of her life, but this matter couldn’t be dealt with in the same manner as the others. She not only felt rage and frustration with her father’s actions, but genuine fear. Fear that edged on panic.

“You gonna stand there starin’ at me like that or are you gonna feed me?” Davis questioned, looking none too happy to have to repeat his request for food.

Simone did as he asked. She needed time to think the matter through, and with Davis preoccupied with eating, maybe she could figure out what her options were. She couldn’t stay here—that much seemed clear. Davis expected a wife, and from her talks with Naniko, Simone knew basically what that would entail and found the whole idea completely unacceptable. She didn’t want intimacy with this man. He looked hideous with his barrel-like midsection and thick, stocky legs. He reminded Simone of the trolls in her childhood fairy tales. Evil, hideous creatures who preyed upon the weak.
Well, he won’t prey upon me
, Simone thought as she lifted the lid from the kettle.

With her hand shaking so hard she could hardly grip the ladle, Simone filled a wooden bowl with the stew and biscuits, grabbed up a spoon, then put them both down on the table and went to retrieve the pot of coffee that could always be found sitting at the corner of the hearth. It would grow as thick as mud after a day of sitting on the coals, but her father never seemed to mind it that way. Simone could only hope that Davis felt the same way.

They didn’t exchange another word until Davis took his seat at the table. He looked at the stew, then grabbed the spoon Simone had brought him and tasted it.

“Ain’t half bad. Guess your pa didn’t lie when he said you could cook.”

Simone stood beside the fireplace wondering what she should do or say. She found she could not quell the mixture of fear and anger that was building inside of her. She watched Davis pick up the bowl and begin to shovel in the food as though he’d been weeks without a good meal. Coherent thought evaded Simone, and she hadn’t even begun to formulate a plan when he grunted at her and extended the bowl for a second helping.

Simone could feel Garvey Davis’s stare as she refilled his bowl. It made her uncomfortable, especially knowing that he considered himself her husband now. She had to think. Had to do something to help herself—but what? What could she do? Where could she go to be safe? And why, at seventeen years of age, did these have to be the questions that had haunted her all of her life?

“You’re a mighty purty woman, Simone,” Davis said with a leer when she brought the bowl of food. Her name on his lips came out sounding like
See-moan
, but it was the intensity of his gaze upon her body that made Simone feel ill. “Yessir, I’m gonna like bein’ a husband,” Davis said before beginning the entire shoveling action again.

Simone had heard enough. She quietly crossed the room to where the beds were partitioned off from the rest of the house. Spreading out a blanket, she put her change of clothes atop it, then retrieved her mother’s Bible and prayer book. She didn’t know why they were so important to her, but she couldn’t imagine leaving them behind with Garvey Davis. But neither did she know what to do with either one. Her mother had always encouraged her to read the Bible daily, and while Simone had very nearly read the entire thing cover to cover out of boredom, she refused to hold the words in esteem. God hadn’t seen fit to keep her mother alive, and neither had He rescued Simone from a fate worse than death.

She toyed for a moment with the well-worn cover of the Bible before adding it and the prayer book to the articles of clothing. Next, she went to her trunk and pulled out a small leather pouch that Naniko had made for her. Inside she had two coins, both of which she’d stolen from her father during one of his drunken stupors. She had no idea what they would buy her, but they might possibly be useful to her journey and she couldn’t leave them behind. Lastly, she reached back into the trunk and pulled out two pelts. For more than three years she had managed to keep these pelts hidden from her father. They were choice pieces and would bring in a tidy sum of money, and that was exactly the reason Simone had hidden them there. Caressing the soft fur and touching it to her face, Simone could only hope they would bring her freedom and safety.

Binding everything together in her blanket and securing it with strips of rawhide, Simone drew a deep breath. In a matter of moments she would have to face Garvey Davis and explain her actions to him. With any luck, he’d be too happy with what he already possessed to worry about whether or not she stayed. Or maybe he’d actually care that she was not a willing participant. Simone could only hope to find some thread of compassion in this stranger. She had just turned to retrieve her threadbare coat when Garvey Davis pushed back the curtain.

“Well, well. You’re an anxious little thing, ain’t ya? Figured I’d have to drag you in here.”

Simone froze in place. She could tell by the look on Garvey Davis’s filth-smudged face that he had now turned his attention from food. Mustering up courage amidst her anger, Simone tightly hugged her coat to her body. “I’m leaving,” she told him flatly.

“Beg your pardon?” He seemed momentarily taken aback by her words.

Simone felt a tingling charge resonate through her body. “I don’t figure on being your wife or anyone else’s. I realize, however, that my father has sold this property to you and that I no longer have a home here. Therefore, I’m leaving.”

He stared at her a moment longer, then broke into a hearty laugh that shook his frame like a pine tree in the wind. “You do talk real good. Your pa said you had a way with talkin’—something about your Frenchy ma teachin’ you proper-like. But you ain’t goin’ nowhere. I paid good money for you, and I intend to get my money’s worth.”

He moved toward her, but Simone darted around him. “No!” She moved to the bed to get her things, but Davis shadowed her.

“We’re goin’ to have a good time, missy. Sooner you settle yourself down to the idea, the better.”

Simone grabbed her pack and tried to edge down along the side of the bed. “I’m sorry if my father gave you the wrong impression. You can’t expect me to just up and marry you without knowing anything about you, and you can’t expect me to cooperate with what you have in mind.”

Davis laughed and lunged for her, knocking the pack and coat from her hands. His beefy fingers caught her thick braid, and he yanked her head back painfully. Simone fought against him, knowing—fearing—what was to come as his free arm wrapped around her to force her body against his.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, pushing and straining to free herself.

Davis threw her backward down across the bed, but Simone moved quickly to the side and avoided being pinned down by the man. She jumped up, stumbling back against the washbasin. For a stocky man, Davis moved with lightning speed, and before Simone could gather her things and escape, he had already reached out to take hold of her again.

Screaming and kicking, Simone slammed back against the washbasin as Garvey grabbed and fumbled at trying to remove her clothes. “Don’t make me hit you, girl,” Davis bellowed out in anger. “Just settle yourself down. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It’s up to you.”

Simone had no idea what the hard or easy way might entail, but either way, she had no desire for anything that included Garvey Davis. Trying to steady herself against the attack, Simone’s hand grazed the cold porcelain of her mother’s basin and pitcher. Without giving it a second thought, Simone turned and took hold of the pitcher. Then, without warning, she whirled back around, bringing the pitcher down on Garvey Davis’s head.

For a moment, nothing happened. The man stood weaving in place for several seconds, looking at her with such an expression of disbelief that Simone almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not quite.

Then in a flash, everything changed. Blood began pouring down the side of Garvey’s face and the man’s knees buckled. With a loud, resounding crash, Davis fell in a heap at her feet, leaving Simone to now stare in disbelief.

She nudged at his body with her moccasined foot. He didn’t move. Blood continued to pour from the head wound, and instantly Simone became aware of what she’d done.

“I’ve murdered him!” she declared in horror.

Instantly she recalled a story related to her in Uniontown of a cantankerous old man who had taken a half-breed woman to be his wife. The woman, fed up with being beaten on a nightly basis, had poisoned his food and killed him. They had her strung up and hanged before twenty-four hours had passed, and all for the murder of a ruthless man that nobody much cared for.

“And now I’ve done my own murdering,” Simone murmured. Terrified at what it all might mean, she quickly gathered her things and headed for the door. She had to get away before someone found out what she’d done. She pulled on her coat and tried to steady her nerves.

“What should I do?” she questioned, as if someone might give her the answer.

She glanced around the room and shook her head. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but she couldn’t take time out to eat. Instead, she went quickly to the kettle and skimmed off three of the biscuits and wrapped them in a dish towel. This accomplished, she grabbed her bedroll and hurried out of the cabin.

The first thing that met her eye was Davis’s horse and gear. He’d not even bothered to unsaddle the beast, and now that he lay dead in her house, Simone believed it a much lesser crime to consider stealing his horse and saddle. She tied her bedroll to the back of the saddle, then went to take up the reins from the post. The horse whinnied softly as if questioning her actions, but the mare seemed otherwise unconcerned as Simone hurried to mount.

Struggling against the cumbersome skirt and the heaviness of her coat, Simone finally righted herself atop the horse. The cold leather of the saddle pervaded the thin material of her pantalets, causing Simone to shift uncomfortably in the seat. It was only then that she noticed the gun belt slung over the horn of the saddle. Reaching down, Simone fingered the butt of the revolver and found the piece gave her added courage. With a gun, she could protect herself. She could also hunt for food.

She suddenly realized by the fading light that night would soon be upon her. It wasn’t wise to travel the area after dark, but Simone felt desperation quickly overcoming her sensibility. A man lay dead in her cabin, and she certainly couldn’t stay the night with him. She had the gun and she had a horse; surely she could make it to safety somewhere. She thought of Naniko, then realized that would probably be the first place they’d look for her. She couldn’t risk it.