MB01 - Unending Devotion (12 page)

“And?” Vera prompted.

“And he took her up to Merryville to the Devil’s Ranch.”

Vera whistled under her breath.

Lily could guess what the Devil’s Ranch was. She had no doubt it was another whorehouse. But Merryville? Maybe there was still a chance to go after Frankie and rescue her. “Where’s Merryville?”

“It’s about six miles northeast of here,” Connell said. “Won’t be long before the Pere Marquette line runs all the way from Harrison to Merryville. And when it does, Carr will be ready for the boom the railroad will bring the town.”

“Six miles isn’t far.” Lily’s mind began to whirl. She and Oren often had to drive several miles to reach a camp for their picture taking. Surely they could drive six. Especially to rescue Frankie.

“Six miles is six too many for this time of year.” Connell shrugged out of his coat.

“Not when an innocent life is at stake.”

“I’m sorry to say that even if we went, we’d probably come away empty-handed.”

“We won’t know unless we try.” Determination took root inside her. For a minute all she could think about was Daisy. By now her sister had surely realized her dreadful mistake. She was probably crying out and begging to leave her prison. But she was trapped, like most of the girls. And she would remain that way until Lily was able to find and rescue her. Frankie would be trapped too. Unless she helped her.

Connell hung his coat on a peg in the wall near the door.

“We have to do something,” Lily said. “Now. Tonight.”

Slowly Connell turned to face her. His face was solemn. “Even if I thought it would help save her, we couldn’t go tonight.”

“Why not? If we leave right now—”

“It’s too dangerous at night.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I think you just don’t want to go.”

He sighed. “It’s a complicated issue, Lily. We’re in Clare County. Carr knew that if he took her up to the Devil’s Ranch, which is right over the border into Gladwin County, we wouldn’t be able to press charges against him—if we even tried to.”

“So you’re giving up? Just like that?”

He tossed up his hands. “What do you want me to do? March up there, force my way in, and take the girl back at gunpoint?”

“Yes.”

“Now, now, children,” Vera said. “Stop your squabbling.”

Oren had lit his pipe, and the familiar sweet tanginess of the tobacco rose into the air with each cloud he exhaled. The fire crackled with a cozy warmth that didn’t reach her.

“I’m sure we can figure out some way to help Frankie,” Vera added. “But we won’t be able to do anything more tonight.”

Lily wanted to shout that it might be too late if they waited until tomorrow. She knew the desperation Frankie was feeling at that very moment as she waited for someone to save her. Lily had felt it once too. She’d waited day after day at the orphanage for someone to rescue her and Daisy, for anyone to take them away from the loveless sterile building.

But no one had ever come.

She couldn’t let that happen to Frankie. Especially when she was in a brothel.

“So you won’t take me tonight?” She gave Connell her most pleading look.

“I already told you. It’s too risky—”

“It’s worth the risk.” Frustration made her voice sharper than she intended.

“Sakes alive, girl!” Oren finally sat forward. He glared at her, but deep in his eyes was a gentle pride. “Get on up to your bed, and before the crack of dawn I’ll drive you on up there and you can do one of your foolish rescues.”

Lily smiled and her heart filled with gratefulness. She couldn’t forget to thank the Lord for blessing her with a friend like Oren. Maybe he wouldn’t take her right away like she wanted, but at least he was willing to help her.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for the two of you to go up to the Devil’s Ranch alone,” Connell said.

“We’ll be fine. The two of us make a good team.” She crossed the room toward Oren.

“The place is at least ten times more dangerous than the Stockade,” Connell added.

“Lily’s done this rescue business a couple of times already,” Oren retorted. “And she’s fiercer than a mother wolf defending her pups.”

She planted a kiss on Oren’s derby hat.

He waved her away with his pipe. “Now, don’t you go thinking I won’t expect you to make up for the lost day of work—especially since I reckon we’ll need to take the girl on down to Molly May’s to keep her safe once and for all.”

She turned away, and her smile faded.

Was Connell right? Was rescuing Frankie too risky of a venture?

Oren was a good man. She’d learned that in spite of all his grumbling, he would give his life to help others too. He’d put himself in danger for her already that winter.

But now—this time—if Connell
was
right, maybe the danger was too great. Maybe it was finally time to go alone, to do what needed to be done on her own. Over the months Oren had come to mean the world to her, and she couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to him because of her.

There was no need to jeopardize both of their lives. Was there?

Besides, how could she wait . . . when every minute could make a difference in saving Frankie’s innocence?

A rap on the door startled Connell awake. He jumped up from the corner chair and glanced toward his bed, still perfectly made.

He hadn’t planned on dozing. He’d only wanted to rest and be ready whenever he heard Oren and Lily start out. Everything inside him protested the thought of them attempting such a foolish rescue mission on their own. He knew he could do nothing less than follow at a safe distance to make sure they were safe.

Another knock sounded at the door, this one louder.

He strode across the room, and instinctively his hand slid to the knife sheathed at his rib cage. He cracked the door and peered into the hollow blackness of the hallway.

Instantly the cold tip of a rifle rammed into his temple. “Where’s Lily, you worthless piece of pond scum?” Oren growled at him.

“I haven’t seen her.” Connell shoved the rifle away and refrained from pulling out his knife. He wouldn’t. Not on Oren. “I thought she was going with you.”

Oren lowered his gun and muttered several oaths under his mustache.

“Isn’t she in her room?” Connell had been listening for the squeak of the floorboards, for the click of her door down the hall from his room. How had he missed the sounds?

Oren muttered again.

Cold fear jabbed into him like the sharp end of a pike pole. “She didn’t start off to Merryville on her own, did she?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Oren’s voice wavered, all bluster suddenly gone.

Connell’s fear exploded into near panic. Without stopping to think, he grabbed the blankets from his bed and rolled them into a tight bundle. “What time do you think she left?” he asked, stuffing the bundle into one of his bags and then cramming in a pair of socks, his ax, and anything else he could find in his hurry.

“I’m guessing she had no intention of letting me drive her,” Oren said. “She’s too impatient.”

“So she got a sizable head start?”

Oren didn’t say anything. But his silence spoke volumes.

Connell shouldered the bag. Then without waiting to see if Oren followed, he headed down to the kitchen. Through the darkness, he rummaged through the food stores, stuffing as much as he could into the sack.

“Lily’s gone.” He heard Oren explain to Vera, who’d appeared in her nightgown. She wasted no time lighting a lantern and helping fill Connell’s bag.

“There’s already an inch of fresh snow on the ground,” she said, bringing him his coat. “And with the way my foot’s been paining me all night, I’m guessing we’re in for a lot more.”

They all knew the urgency of the situation. Travel would have been dangerous enough for a woman alone in the wilds of the Michigan wilderness on a
calm
winter evening. Of course there was the cold and the possibility of getting lost in the darkness. But with a snowstorm brewing, the danger had quadrupled.

And then there were the wolves. In the dead of winter, they were more than a little hungry. Every winter a shanty boy or two disappeared. Sometimes in the spring after the thaw, they’d find a few scattered bones, all that remained after the pack’s meal.

“You can take my sleigh,” Oren said, his shoulders stooped at least three inches more than usual.

Connell pulled on his thick leather gloves. “I’ll be able to go faster on my horse.”

“Then take my rifle.” Oren shoved the Winchester at him, along with a leather bullet pouch. The man had aged twenty years in twenty minutes.

Connell tucked the gun under his arm, slung his pack across his back, and with lantern in hand, stepped into the snow. It was already blowing sideways and pelted him in the face. The sharpness of the wind took his breath away.

He met Oren’s gaze one last time. The thick furrowed brows drooped low. “I’ll find her,” Connell reassured him, praying he was right, that it wasn’t too late.

Within minutes, Mr. Heller had helped him saddle his horse, and he headed toward the Pere Marquette railroad line. He figured Lily was smart enough to follow the tracks as far as they would lead her. But the snow was blowing hard, and if she’d left any footprints, they were long gone.

He quickly calculated that if Lily had left the hotel shortly after midnight, when all the lights had finally been extinguished, she’d likely gotten a two-hour head start. If she’d walked swiftly, he’d have to do some hard riding before he’d get within distance of her.

His gut pinched with growing anxiety. Since the snowstorm had just started, he hoped he’d make it to her before she suffered from frostbite, hypothermia, or worse.

He pushed his mare as fast as he could against the gusts of wind and heavy snow, but they made slow progress. Within thirty minutes, his fingers were so stiff with cold that he could hardly maintain his grip on the lantern. After another thirty minutes, he couldn’t see through the swirling snow more than a foot in front of the horse.

“God,” he whispered through chattering teeth, “I don’t ever ask you for much.” Come to think of it, he hadn’t really asked God for anything since that night two years prior when he’d caught Rosemarie in Tierney’s arms.

His pulse pounded with a fresh spurt of anger at the memory of his brother fondling Rosemarie—especially considering Tierney wasn’t married to the girl. In fact, Rosemarie had been engaged to another man. Namely him.

Connell fought to erase the picture of Rosemarie that day and the passion displayed across her delicate features—a passion that she’d never shown toward him. Of course, he’d always regarded her with virtue, as Mam had taught him.

Apparently Tierney had forgotten that lesson.

“God,” Connell tried again, “I haven’t asked you for much. So if you could help me out now, I’d be grateful.”

He held the lantern higher and strained to see through the curtain of blowing snow to the blackness beyond. He called Lily’s name, but the wind carried it away into the abyss of darkness.

What if she’d wandered away from the tracks? With the growing snow and drifting, the tracks were well covered. In the denseness of the falling snow, it would only take one misstep to lose the ties, to get off course, and to get hopelessly lost.

His arm grew tired from holding the lantern and his voice hoarse with the effort of calling. Even though it was useless, he kept at it for the slim chance the wind would carry his voice to her.

After what seemed hours, but was only another thirty minutes, he slid off his mare. Frustration gnawed at his stomach like a bitter acid. The snow reached midcalf, and he estimated that an additional three inches covered the ground from when he’d left Harrison.

Although he’d been anxious for more snow after the past week, he couldn’t find any joy in it now. Instead, he’d never wanted to curse it as much as he did at that moment.

“Lily!” he called again. He plodded forward, leading his horse with one hand and holding the flickering lantern with the other. His body was stiff from the cold and he couldn’t bear to think how frozen Lily was—if she was even still alive.

The northern wind that had swept down from Canada had made it increasingly hard to breathe, and he finally pulled a scarf over his mouth and nose.

When the tip of his boot thumped against something, his heart crashed hard against his chest.

He bent down and dug through the drifting snow.

“Oh, thank you, God.” His hands made contact with a body curled into a tight ball. He brushed the snow away and found his gloved fingers tangled in Lily’s beautiful hair.

He dragged her limp body into his arms. Her face was pale, her lips blue, her eyes closed—almost as if she were already dead.

With an anguished groan he tore off one of his gloves. His red, raw fingers fumbled at her neck for any sign of a pulse. Too impatient and his fingers too cold to work, he brought them to her lips and waited for an agonizing moment.

Oh, God, let there be a breath, even a small one.

“Wake up, Lily.” He shook her, suddenly desperate. “Wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered, a soft breath touched his fingers, and then her eyes opened.