Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 1) (5 page)

      “No, no,” Bess reciprocated. “I mean many of them find something else along the way. In a day or two if she doesn’t arrive you should just put it away. Why, there’s women right here in Billington who’d make a fine mother for your son. I even took a liking to the boy myself.” Bess Rival had decided she was tired of playing the role of a confidant and dropped her hint boldly. If the woman should not arrive in the next few days Bess thought it was time she got moving into Elgerson’s life a bit more seriously before he ordered another, or worse.

      “You’re a good woman Bess,” Timothy stated kindly, blearily peering into the madam’s face. “That’s sweet of you to say. You’ve got a good heart and you’ve been a fine friend. I’ll find a way to settle the boy down.” The man rose unsteadily to his feet.

      Bess cursed under her breath. This is one damned handsome man, she thought to herself, but bull headed as an ox. Deciding to take it one step further she took hold of Elgerson’s arm, steadied him and tried gently to lure him towards the back of her apartment.

      “I’ll be going now. I appreciate you, Bess, really.” Timothy looked kindly into her eyes. “But I don’t expect I’ll be back. Thank you,” he said tactfully, and headed slowly towards the door. He turned back to face her and regarded her sadly. “You’ve been good to me, Bess, a real friend and I thank you. You take care now. I hope you find what you’re looking for, but Bess…” Timothy Elgerson’s words trailed off and he closed the door behind him.

      Bess Rival stood alone in her lavish dwelling and counted each footstep as Timothy descended the stairs. She knew she was far from her youth, but the sob that wretched from her throat was something she had not experienced since she was a child.

      Timothy Elgerson staggered to the stable, retrieving his horse and buggy and slowly rode out of town.

Chapter Seven

   
 
M
ark
mumbled to himself, “He’ll not be back today.” After piling the sacks neatly inside the stable as his father instructed, he took off into the woods towards the clearing where he spent much of his solitary time. He supposed he could do his chores and gather the eggs just as well tomorrow and his father wouldn’t discover any drop-off in the laying so it didn’t matter when he did it. In the isolated meadow he searched beside a clump of roots and extracted his bundle of traps.

      Weasels were nasty animals. Mark didn’t much care for them and, although his father had specifically forbidden his trapping them, Mark liked to try to ensnare one now and again for fun. He’d only actually caught one thus far, but since the disturbing feeling that he had experienced finding the last mangled animal had passed, Mark was ready to try his hand at it a second time.

      His friends trapped all sorts of animals, often bragging and exchanging pelts when they traveled into town for events. Most of the men at the logging camps trapped some on the side and Mark could see no real harm in it. The boy was certain that his father had only forbidden it to make Mark more miserable than he already was.

      The youth was left out of everything, he thought, with his Pa running off on some land deal or another and not returning when he said he would. The last stay at the house had lasted for only two nights and there was no one for miles for him to talk to, not even the cook to bother. It was as if his father couldn’t stand the main house now. Mark missed the time when the residence was bustling with visitors and meals, a well-fed pig in a pit roasting on a summer’s day. There were friends and cousins and rides on the back of the buckboard in the warm evening. His Pa would take him out fishing nearly every week and out for a good hunt at least a few times a year. These days he couldn’t even recall where the fishing poles were, or a good number of the rifles for that matter. The boy inspected the three traps and took them into the dense forest.

      He pulled a leather pouch from his bulging pocket and selected a strip of dried rabbit, placing it in the trap and setting it carefully in the center of three rocks he had found situated beside a large pine. Unsure that it would be discovered by his intended prey, he decided instead to set it further from the tree in an open area of pine needles and then ran off to set the remaining pair. Mark was determined to have a nice clutch of pelts before his father returned. He’d conceal them under the buggy boards to get them home and have something to be proud of the next time they traveled to the logging camp.

      Once he had accomplished his stealthy mission, he decided to return to the cabin and go ahead and gather the eggs. The job would be far more entertaining with the distraction of imagining all of the animals that were being snared while he worked. As he splashed along the creek he was certain he’d heard a horse and cart off in the distance, but when he returned to the cabin he found no evidence of anyone passing through or his father’s return.

      Timothy Elgerson slowly pulled into the drive of the main house in the crescent moonlight. The soft croak of the last of the season’s frogs hung on the mist as if to enhance the desolation of the homestead. The promise of the approaching autumn waited in anticipation, a chill in the air whispering softly along the tops of the tall pines.

      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

    
 
R
ebecca
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, and, 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.