Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (42 page)

“You left nothing behind?” The question was asked by a stocky, black-bearded man with a knit cap on his head.

“I told ya I didn’t. Why’re ya worried? Ain’t nobody to follow. The post office man’ll think Injuns carried ’em off.”

Eleanor wondered how much time had passed. The light in the clearing was dim. Was it dusk or were they so deep in the forest that the light couldn’t penetrate the thick branches? If it was dusk, Gavin and Rain would have returned to town. Surely they were looking for her and Amy by now. Tears slid from her eyes and into the grass beneath her cheek.

Why had God let this happen? Had she been so wicked that she deserved such punishment? That morning she had been so happy, looking forward to her wedding night.
Oh, Gavin, Gavin.
She never got the chance to show him how much she loved him.

*   *   *

At first Amy thought she had awakened from a nightmare, one that was both frightening and painful. Wincing with pain, she tried to move her arms and discovered her hands were bound behind her back. Her head throbbed and her mouth was dry. Her eyes opened onto a blurred world, then gradually began to focus. In the dim light that filtered through the trees she began to make out her surroundings. She lay on the ground, three horses cropped grass nearby, and two men squatted on their heels chewing on a long roll of jerky. Amy could see Eleanor lying on the grass not ten feet away.

“Goddamn it, Hull, you hit her too hard. I told you to knock her out, not kill her.”

“She ain’t hurt none. She puked is all. I’d as soon go on. I ain’t likin’ hangin’ round here.”

“The woman’s been riding belly down on that horse for a good four hours. She’s worth money in our pockets. I want her delivered to Perry alive. You’re not to diddle in her. I mean it, Hull,” he growled threateningly.

“She’s too skinny. I like women with more meat on them.”

“She was promised to Perry. Her papa signed the marriage papers. Perry gets in her first. Is that understood?”

“I said it was.”

Amy closed her eyes. Deep within, she shuddered. Her captor was Antoine Efant, the Frenchman Rain’s Indian friend had said was asking about him. Hammond Perry had sent him to get Eleanor. What did he mean about signing the marriage papers? she wondered. Perry must have lied to him. Eleanor had never heard of Hammond Perry until after they left Kaskaskia.

Amy had not seen the other man’s face clearly. Antoine Efant had called him Hull. Could he be Hull Dexter, the scout who had deserted them when she and Liberty first came to the wilderness? Farr was sure that Hull Dexter was responsible for the massacre of the wagon train Daniel and his folks had been with. Daniel had been the only one to survive, and that was because his mother had tossed him in the berry bushes. If the man was Hull Dexter, he was capable of anything.

Amy was startled when she felt a wet cloth on her face. Her eyes flew open. The black-bearded man was kneeling beside her, wiping her brow.

“Do you want a drink of water,
ma cherie
?” he asked gently.

Amy looked at him with eyes wide open but dull. Her mouth was too dry to speak, so she nodded.

The Frenchman lifted her head and carefully squirted water into her mouth from a bag. She drank thirstily and he lowered her head to the ground. His fingers sought the lump on her head above her ear. She winced.

“I did not want to do that,
ma petite.
The skin is not broken. The pain will go away soon.”

Amy thought that the blow to her head had damaged her brains. She had no idea what the Frenchman called her, but from the tone of his voice it was an endearment. From somewhere in the back of her mind she seemed to remember the man’s accent. Slowly, while she stared up at him, it came to her that this was the Frenchman they had met at Kaskaskia, the one who spoke up for them after the fight between Gavin and Bull.

“Eleanor . . .” She was barely able to croak the word.

“Hull hit her a mite hard, but she’s all right.”

“Hull . . . Dexter?”

“You know him?”

Amy groaned and closed her eyes. She felt the Frenchman lift her and her eyes flew open again. He held her against his chest and smoothed the hair back from her face.

“Ma bijou,”
he crooned. “You are not to worry. Hull will not molest your friend. He will take her to her betrothed—”

Amy tried to push herself away from him. With her hands tied behind her she was helpless to move, but her brain was clearing rapidly.

“He’s taking her to Hammond Perry?”

“It is the honorable thing to do. Do not struggle, my pet. I will not hurt you.”

“You’re a stupid pig if you think it’s honorable to send her to a low-down miserable skunk like Hammond Perry!”

“The man is entitled to his property. Her papa signed the marriage papers long ago. Perry has waited for her to become a woman and is ready to take her as his wife.” The Frenchman seemed eager for Amy to understand and not think badly of him. He caressed her cheek with his fingertips. “We will have much time together. After we talk, you will understand.”

Amy tried to jerk her head away from him, her eyes blazing into his.

“I will not spend time with you and I will never understand!”

The Frenchman looked over her head and spoke to Hull.

“Squirt some water on the woman’s face. Get her on the horse and move out.” The voice he used when speaking to Hull was harsh, not at all like the soft tones he used when speaking to Amy.

Eleanor cried out when the water was poured on her face.

“Ya been awake all along,” Hull growled, yanking her to her feet. Her knees buckled under her and Hull caught her against him to keep her from falling.

“Give her a drink of water and fork her on that horse,” Antoine commanded.

Eleanor began to struggle and screamed, “Amy! A . . . my!”

“Shut up!” Hull slapped her across the face so hard her head snapped around. “If’n ya make another sound this knife might slip ’n cut yer pretty face.” Eleanor felt the sharp edge of a blade at her throat. “That’s better. Ya can have a drink a water, then ya’ll straddle that horse or ya’ll ride belly down. It’s up to you.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Money,” Hull answered, and squirted water from the bag toward her mouth. She opened it and drank gratefully.

Amy had deliberately ceased struggling against the arms that held her. Her fear had now turned to outrage. When she felt the Frenchman’s attention was fully on Eleanor and Hull Dexter, she steeled herself, brought up her knees and hit Antoine in the face. The force of the blow knocked him on his back. He took her with him and she fell on top of him. Using every ounce of her strength, Amy brought her knee up, aiming for the vulnerable organ between his legs. He rolled with her and her knee hit the ground.

“You . . . you bastard! Rain will kill you!”

“Ho . . . my
petite
wildcat!” Antoine swung her over him and lay on top of her. “Tallman will not come for you. You will forget him.”

“I’ll never forget him. Get off me, you son of a bitch!”

“Such words coming from such a pretty mouth. I’m afraid,
ma cherie,
you make it necessary for me to hit you again—but on the other side where it will not hurt you so much.”

“Damn you!”

When Amy went limp, Antoine gently turned her on her side so that she was not lying on the hands tied behind her back.

“Ah,
cherie,
you will take much taming, but what a woman you are!” Antoine got to his feet and, walking past Eleanor without as much as a glance in her direction, jerked the reins of Tally’s horse loose from the branch. “Put her on,” he commanded.

Hull slid his knife into his belt and grasped Eleanor about the waist. He lifted her high and she swung her leg over the saddle. When she was seated he stuck her feet in the stirrups.

“Please . . . don’t do this.” Her tear-filled lavender eyes looked down at Antoine.

“He will not rape you,
mademoiselle.
He knows I will kill him. He has my permission to cut you or beat you if you do not behave, but he will not rape you or kill you.”

“What . . . about Amy?”

“You are not to concern yourself with the golden one,” Antoine said while binding Eleanor’s hands to the saddle horn. Hull mounted his horse and Antoine handed him the reins.
“Mademoiselle,
stay in the saddle. If you fall you will break your arms.”

“My . . . uncle, Will Bradford, will pay you if you take me to him. He will pay more than Hammond Perry.” Eleanor had just thought of Will Bradford and wished she had mentioned him before.

“It is no use. The bargain was made long ago. You were promised to Hammond Perry. You will go to him.”

“No! I was not promised to him. I don’t even know him! Please! You don’t understand—”

“Begone!” Antoine said sharply.

The horses moved out of the clearing. Eleanor looked over her shoulder and saw Amy lying on the ground. She was leaving the only true friend she had ever had.

“Bye, Amy,” she called softly. “Tell Gavin . . . I love him.”

Her chin sank to her chest and she began to cry softly.

*   *   *

Amy awakened from a dream where small red demons were prodding her with fiery sticks. Every muscle in her body ached and her head felt as if it would explode at any moment. Her arms were as heavy as lead when she attempted to lift them. Finally her hands reached her head. She cautiously touched the large bumps above each ear. Wincing with pain, her fingertips explored the one side of her head that was caked with dried blood. She decided the cut was small and the injury not serious. Her eyes eventually grew accustomed to the dim light that came from a small fire on the other side of the room, and she was able to make out her surroundings.

She was in a small cabin. She could see a table, a bench, and, in front of the small fireplace, a chair. The bed she was on was a straw-covered platform built into the corner of the room. When she was sure she was alone she attempted to swing her feet off the bed. It was then she discovered that her leg was attached to the wall with a short chain. Panic caused her to sit up quickly and pain shot through her head. She tugged on the chain with both hands, crying out with frustration when it held fast. Giving up for the time being, she moved down in the bed until she could sit with her back to the wall.

Amy thought back to the last things she could remember. Eleanor lying on the ground. Hull Dexter. Efant, the Frenchman, saying he was sending Eleanor to Hammond Perry.

“Oh, poor Eleanor,” she whispered. Amy wished she could tell Eleanor not to worry, that Rain and Gavin would come for them. That morning Rain said he would be back before sundown. By now he knew they were gone and he was searching for them. Was it only that morning? Amy was sure that it was night now.

“Hurry, my love,” she whispered. In her mind she saw his quiet, dark face, his blue-black eyes and his shy smile. How would he ever find her? Eventually Gavin would find Eleanor with Hammond Perry. Would it be too late for them to have a happy life together? Rain would come for her. She would not despair! She would have faith in him, and in his love for her. She held on to the hope fiercely. Meanwhile she composed herself and made ready to face her captor.

The door opened and the Frenchman came in. He carried the carcass of a small skinned rabbit. His eyes found her at once. He placed the rabbit on the table and moved quickly to the bed.

“You are awake . . . and hungry, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Amy said dryly.

“I will fix you a meal, then we will talk.”

“You’d better talk now, and fast. Rain Tallman will come and he will kill you.”

“We have time,
ma cherie.
You will feel better when you have eaten.” He ran a sharp stick through the carcass, hung it on a spit and moved it over the fire.

“Why have you chained me like an animal?”

Antoine turned and looked at her. “So you will not leave me.”

“I’ll put a knife in your back the first chance I get.”

“Ho! That I know,
ma bijou.
”

“Stop calling me those stupid French names.”

“My jewel? My love? But you are my love. I knew it the minute I saw you at Kaskaskia. Ah . . . what a woman, I said to myself. I have searched for such a woman to be my mate.”

“I have a man. Rain Tallman is ten times the man you are.”

He unrolled a cloth on the table and cut slices from a roll of dark cake. It was nut-filled and smelled of rum.

“Someday you will know that is not true,” he said patiently. “Someday you will love me.”

“Your brains are . . . clabbered! I’ll never love you, you bastard!” Amy shouted so loud she felt as if her head would split apart.

“You are wrong,
ma petite chou.
Antoine is not a bastard. The name Efant is one of the most respected in all New Orleans.
Ma mère
and
mon père
were married in the church long before I was conceived.”

“I thought sure you were the offspring of a jackass and a warthog,” Amy said crossly.

Antoine laughed. “Some say it is so.”

“You’ll not be laughing when Rain gets here. He’ll cut out your gizzard.”

“Ah . . . do not count on that. Antoine Efant would not leave a trail. I am a clever woodsman.”

“Rain will see my moccasins, my rifle—”

“He will see nothing,” Antoine said, and nodded toward the corner where her rifle stood beside the bundle of clothing she had taken to the creek to wash.

“Where is this place?”

“You would not know it.”

It would serve no purpose, Antoine thought, to tell her they had turned west at the point where Hull took the woman and went east toward the river.

He considered telling her that Tallman was dead so she would grieve and get it over with. He watched the firelight flicker over her face. She glared at him with the eyes of a cat. Better to let her realize gradually, he thought, that Tallman would not come. He must first make her feel comfortable with him; later she would love him. It would be better if she knew nothing of his arrangement with Pete Hopcus to kill Tallman and the Scot. Pete would arrive before morning. He had decided that Pete was too dangerous to him to live. He would quietly slip a knife in his back and let the river carry him away.