Undaunted Love (29 page)

Chapter Fifty-Five

R
AFE THREW HIMSELF TO THE right, and the blow landed soundly on his left shoulder. He heard a loud crack and pain shot through his chest and arm. He staggered and went down to one knee. When he looked up, he saw that the woman was pulling her arm back for another whack. He threw up his right arm.

“Wait! I’m looking for someone, for Wyman Phelps. He lived here!”

The woman kept the rolling pin high, but stopped the arc of the blow. “Aint’ no Wyman here. My husband’s name is Todd. Todd Ray.”

Keeping his hand up in case she decided to continue the swing, Rafe sat back on his heels, leaning against the wall. “I’m not going to hurt you… I’m sorry, I was looking for Phelps. He, he has taken my wife.” He was sweating with the pain that had taken hold of his entire left side. “Please, I’ll leave. I’m sorry…”

The woman slowly lowered the rolling pin. “He took your wife?” she asked incredulously.

“Livvie Byrd. She’s my wife.” He rested his head back on the wall for a moment, then took a deep breath and tried to rise. A wave of nausea overtook him and he fell back, pale and sweating profusely.

“Livvie Byrd? Madeline’s sister? She ain’t married.” She raised the rolling pin again, and Rafe once again raised his right arm to ward off the blow.

“I’m Rafe Colton. If you know Madeline, you must remember me. Gardner Kinney is gettin’ the sheriff. I promise you, I’m Livvie’s husband, and she’s missing.” The thought of it gave him a surge of energy fueled by anger, and he managed to push himself up the wall with his legs until he was standing upright. “My family, we had a farm, out to the east side of town.”

“Rafe? Oh my goodness, it is you! I didn’t recognize you! Oh dear, let me help you. I’m so sorry about your arm.” She started to take his right arm to lead him to a chair, but Rafe shook his head.

“I gotta meet Gardner and the sheriff. We gotta find her.” He pushed off the wall and walked jerkily to the door. Every movement made the broken collarbone grind painfully. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” He didn’t turn around as he walked out the door, down the walk, and to his horse.

Unable to use his left arm, he put his foot in the stirrup and used the horn of the saddle to haul himself onto his belly before swinging his leg over. It was an agony, and he fought for consciousness. Finally, he managed to sit upright. He gathered the reins with his right hand and urged the horse on. He headed down the street to the sheriff’s office, hoping that Gardner had found Gingras there, and that they wouldn’t have to traipse all over Edisto looking for him.

Gardner’s horse was hitched in front of the jail, and Rafe could hear raised voices coming from the open door. When he entered, Gardner was yelling at Gingras, his hands on his hips, leaning over the shorter man.

“That
gentleman
gave my Judah candy and asked him to give Olivia a note. The note said to meet Rafe in the barn. Her
husband
. So she went, apparently, and now she’s missin’. Judah’s ain’t tellin’ no tall tale, Mr. Sheriff. The boy was terrified, and he ain’t never seen Wyman Phelps before. Now,
where would he go?
”

Gingras was pale, and sweat was dripping down his forehead. When Rafe entered, he paled further. “Wyman ain’t lived here in a year or so. I don’t know where he is.”

“He’s come to town. He told you Rafe was at my house… Don’t deny it!” Gardner said when the sheriff started to speak. “He came to my house and threatened my family, and then he ran and told you that Rafe was there. Didn’t you think that was just a little bit strange, since he don’t even live here no more? Didn’t you wonder why he was tellin’ you?”

The sheriff shook his head. “Wyman and I, we, we’ve known each other. Awhile. I come from Savannah.”

Rafe shook his head in disbelief. “So now we know how you got this job, anyway. Are you gonna do it, or not?” The sharpness of the pain had subsided to a grinding ache, but his anger kept him moving forward.

Gingras was silent for a moment, then came to a decision. “Let’s find her. I can think of a few places to look. I’ll get my men, and we’ll go out to the Hauser place. Wyman often slept in the back barn out there when he was in town. Old Mrs. Hauser never goes out there. And there’s a cattle path to the road that bypasses the house.” He strapped on a holster and slapped in his revolver. “Gardner, you check the Byrd house. Only Emmy’s there now, and if he came in the back with Livvie, he could overtake the old woman. From what I hear, Emmy’d do anything for Livvie. Rafe…” He hesitated. Noticing that Rafe was injured for the first time, he said, “Are you all right? You don’t look so good…”

“I’m fine,” Rafe replied through gritted teeth. “Where? Where do I go?”

“To your house. Wyman… Wyman has been trying to convince his daddy to buy your house, and the farmland from Hugh, too. Ain’t no one lived there since Mr. Monighan was killed…” He sputtered to a stop. Both men had run out of the building, leaving him standing alone.

Once again, mounting the horse brought a new flush of agony to Rafe’s left side. Gardner brought his horse next to him and helped keep him upright until the wave of dizziness passed.

“What happened?” Gardner asked.

“Rolling pin,” Rafe said, waving off any further questions. “My house is further than the Byrd’s. If Livvie ain’t there and Emmy’s all right, you follow after me.”

Gardner nodded and they rode off, galloping down the road, leaving only dust in their wake.

The ride was familiar and yet strange at the same time. Galloping made Rafe giddy with pain, and he found himself laughing and crying with each pulse of the horse’s strides. He kept his mind on his wife, and kept her face in front of him, willing himself to stay on the horse. If Wyman had gone to the Colton house, the only thing between him and Livvie was Rafe, and Rafe would die before he let Wyman hurt her.

Rafe turned down what was once his own drive, and kicked the horse to spur her on. The chestnut mare was flagging, the heat and hard ride making her sides foam, but Rafe pushed her until they arrived at the front steps. There were no signs of life, but the horse was snorting through her nose and stamping, and Rafe couldn’t hear much. He slid off and walked her to the barn, hitched her near a trough that was half full of murky water, and then walked twenty feet away from her. He stood still and listened. As his pain subsided, he heard the faint whicker of a horse. It wasn’t his – she was still standing with her head down by the trough, sides bellowing in and out. He walked quietly to the barn and pushed open the door. Inside was a covered buggy, and a black horse was eating oats in a stall.

He knew that the barn, which had been hidden from the house before he sold off the timber, was now visible from the windows, but there was no other way to approach the house with stealth from where he was, unless he waited until night. By night… No, he wouldn’t think of that. He left the barn and held his rifle in his right hand. He didn’t know how he’d fire it, since he could barely lift his left arm. But he would, if Livvie was in there. He would.

Chapter Fifty-Six

H
E HAD A HUGE ADVANTAGE, having grown up in this house. He entered through the sleeping porch, knowing which boards would squeak and protest with his weight and avoiding them. He crept through the kitchen, surprised to find that it looked much as it had when he lived there. Mr. Monighan had taken everything from his mother, and not bothered to change a thing. He grabbed a knife, slipping it between his belt and trousers.

He looked quickly into the hallway, seeing no one. He took a few steps in, then stopped and listened. The old house had always made noises of its own, settling and moaning in the wind. Rafe knew those as well as he knew his mother’s voice. But now there were other noises, the groaning of floorboards that weren’t a part of the house’s rhythm. It was coming from upstairs.

Slowly, he walked to the stairs. If Wyman was in his mother’s room, he’s both seen and heard Rafe approach. If he was in Rafe’s own room, he would have heard the horse, but might not have gone to the front windows to see who was coming. He strained to listen. It was quiet. Staying on the edge of the treads, next to the wall, because he knew that almost all of them squeaked, he started up the stairs. He moved slowly, ignoring the pain radiating through his shoulder and neck and down into his chest, holding his finger on the trigger of the rifle, ready to swing it up and fire.

He was halfway up the flight when he heard a muffled moan, the sound of flesh meeting flesh, and a woman’s cry. Rafe’s face flushed. Wyman had just hit his wife. He stopped and closed his eyes, praying for Livvie, and praying that his anger would be kept in check until he found her. The sound had come from his bedroom, though, and that gave him critical information.

He reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the wide hall. Stopping again to listen, he heard the floorboards groan. Wyman was by the window, judging by the sound. Rafe considered. It was likely that the door was locked, and, even uninjured, he would be hard pressed to break the iron lock on the thick oak door. There was another door in the room, which led to what had been his nursery. The room hadn’t been used in some time, at least when his mother owned the house, but it wasn’t generally locked. Rafe had played in that room when he was a boy and the rain kept him inside, and the family had treated the two rooms as his own.

Slipping down the wall, Rafe opened the first door on the right. The knob was stiff, but the door swung open. The drapes were closed in the room, making it feel gloomy except for a few thin shafts of sunlight coming from the edges of the curtains. Dust motes floated there, and even in the gloom Rafe could see that everything in the room was covered with a thick layer of dust. Sheets had been draped over a rocking chair in front of the interior door.

When he tried to lift the wooden chair to move it, he gasped at the tearing, grinding sensation in his chest and shoulder. Afraid he’d made enough noise to alert Wyman to his whereabouts, he stood, leaning on the door frame, listening. He heard a woman’s voice murmur, and then an angry answer and another slap. Livvie cried out, and Wyman gripped the shotgun tighter, clenching his jaw. He heard more conversation, and took advantage of the noise and distraction to slowly slide the chair on its rockers until he had clear access to the door.

He listened, unable to make out the words. From the tones, though, it seemed that Livvie was talking, arguing, maybe pleading, and Wyman was becoming even more angry.
Good
, thought Rafe.
If he gets angry, he’ll be careless.
There was a good chance that he was drunk as well.

Footsteps went to the hall door, and he heard it squeak open. He imagined Wyman looking out, looking around the hall, then he heard footsteps to the stairs. After a moment, Wyman returned to the bedroom and closed the door. Rafe heard the lock turn, then footsteps to the bed. Livvie screamed.

Gardner had gone to the Byrd house, and ridden by slowly on the street in front of the it, noting nothing amiss. He went around to the alley behind, and stopped one house over. He slipped off his horse, tied her up to a white picket fence, and walked quickly to the back of the Byrd house. The barn was quiet, and he couldn’t see anything through the rear windows. As he stood there, he saw Emmy walk past one of the large kitchen windows, looking calm and casual. He watched a few more minutes, saw nothing unusual, and went to the back door.

When he opened the door, Emmy screamed, threw her dish towel in the air, and clamped her hand to her heart.

“Emmy! It’s me, Gardner. I’m sorry to scare you.” He went over to her and sat her in a chair.

“Oh, my Lawds, Mistuh Gardner, you done scared the life outa me!” She fanned herself with her hands. “What in the world you doin’, sneakin’ in the back door like that?”

“I was lookin’ for Livvie. Is she here?” He tried to ask neutrally, but concern immediately sparked in the old woman’s face.

“I ain’t seen Miz Livvie in… well, a month a’Sundays. Longer. Since she was here with Miz Madeline. Why you lookin’ for her here?”

Gardner debated a lie, but decided it would serve them all in good stead if Emmy was on the lookout for Wyman and Livvie. He quickly told her what had happened, and told her to go for help if she saw Wyman.

“But don’t confront him, Em, he’s dangerous,” Gardner warned.

“Don’t I know it,” she said, angry. “Miz Clara and I, we knew he was a snake all along, but Mistuh Hugh, he ain’t never listened to a thing nobody said, not even that poor wife a’his. I’d like nothin’ better than for that connivin’, lyin’, smilin’ devil to spend his life in jail.”

“I’m serious, Emmy,” Gardner said, afraid she would try to take on the young man with her bare hands. “Don’t talk to him. If he comes in the back, you run out the front, even if Livvie’s with him. You hear me?”

She nodded, but there was a fire in her eyes that made Gardner worry. He didn’t have time for more worry. Grabbing his hat, he went to the back door.

“I’m doing to Rafe’s old house. The sheriff and his men went out to Mrs. Hauser’s. If they come on by here, you tell ‘em where we went.” She nodded, and he left, running through the yard, down the alley, and to his horse.

When Rafe heard his wife scream, he quickly turned the knob and flung open the door, raising his rifle with his right hand. Wyman was holding Livvie in front of him, his arm around her throat, a knife in his right hand. The point was resting on the side of Livvie’s neck, and she had a rapidly blackening eye. Her dress was torn, but her look was still defiant.

“I thought it must be you,” Wyman said. “No one else could be so quiet in this old house. This is good, though. Once I get rid of you, she’ll be mine. She told me you were married, like that was gonna change anything. She was promised to me, and I mean to have her, here, in this house. It being
your
house, well, that’s gotta be a gift from God.” He laughed, and his knife pricked Livvie’s neck. A small bead of blood oozed out and started a slow slide down her neck. She didn’t flinch.

“That’s not gonna happen,” Rafe said stiffly. He kept his eyes on Wyman, trying to judge whether he was drunk. Either way, he couldn’t let that knife do any more damage to his wife.

Wyman laughed again, but this time he loosened his hold a bit on Livvie’s neck. Rafe glanced at his wife. She looked left, towards the bed, then back at him. He knew what she wanted. He just didn’t know if his injured arm would let him do it.