Heart of a Dove (36 page)

I’ll save you if I’m able
, I tried to tell Angus, looking intently into his storm-gray eyes
. Just don’t threaten them, Gus, dear God, don’t threaten them.

But he could not sense my thoughts.

“I will kill you,” Angus told them calmly, and I stared at him, begging him to be silent.

Something else caught my eyes then, drawing my gaze upwards. Dread froze every drop of blood in my body. Union Jack rode into the firelight on a horse I didn’t recognize, but he was leading both Fortune and Aces by their lead lines. I blinked and looked wildly for Whistler.

“Nah, I don’t think you will,” was Jack’s confident reply, from horseback, and Angus turned to regard this new voice. “You goddamn Rebels. It was right satisfying to kill the others you was riding with.”

The man on the ground added, “That’s what sold me to sign on to steal this here whore, back in St. Louis. Never too late to kill a Rebel, that’s what. We thought the whore was with them three. Had to backtrack to find you.”

My mind, scalded with shock, at last grasped what he was saying, and I jolted back against Sam, almost too short of breath to gasp, “You…
ki
…you
killed
…”

Behind me Sam murmured, “You’re upsetting Lila, Dixon.”

The man called Dixon regarded me with dispassionate eyes. “We shot them Rebels clean through, just a day or so past. They was on the route we thought you was on.”

“Recognized that paint mare from a hundred yards out,” Jack added. “Though she bust away after I got these two,” and he thumbed over his shoulder at Aces and Fortune. “I shot after her.”

Wails of anguish ripped violently from my throat. Sam breathed out in a rush, startled by the intensity of my reaction, shoving me forward and to the ground, where I curled and gripped my head in both hands, unable to accept what I’d just heard.

Because of me, they’d been killed, all because of me
.

I could not fathom a world in which Sawyer was not living. And Boyd, and my sweet little Malcolm…the last of their families, all of them. I clutched my head and could not stop screaming, even when Sam yelled at me to shut up. I was beyond hearing him, beyond hearing anything. My screams would echo on through the terrible, unforgiving darkness that so quickly enveloped my soul. My throat was ragged and I choked on vomit, but still I could not stop those screams, until Sam kicked me in the ribs, the toe of his boot forcibly driving the breath from my lungs. I was curled with my back to the fire, away from Angus, and so I would never know exactly what happened in those next few seconds, though the wondering would haunt me always.

Angus made a sound of rage. He must have lunged at the one called Dixon, as Sam’s booted feet were still in my view. I heard the sharp report of gunfire, just one shot, followed by an intense ringing in my ears.

“Take her on your horse,” Dixon instructed, and though his booted feet were suddenly only inches from my nose, between those boots all I could see was the sight of Angus sprawled on the ground, one arm flung to the side, palm up as though in supplication. I tried to crawl towards him. My side hurt so terribly that I could hardly drag myself forward. Soon they would kill me, and I would welcome it. I deserved death. Four of the best men I had ever known were dead because of me. I collapsed, overwhelmed by choking sobs, rolling to my back and pressing my hands to my face, sobbing as I had never known.

“
Sawyer
,” I moaned, again and again, though I ached for all of them. But his name was the only one that came to my lips. The moment I died, my soul would rush to his.

I knew this.

They left Juniper behind, after quickly looting the wagon for anything they could move.

“Don’t bother with that there plow horse,” Jack ordered.

“These here are our horses now, girl, an’ you mark those words,” Dixon told me.

“Wouldn’t want to be accused of stealing no horses,” Sam muttered. “That’s a hanging offense, that is. Killing Rebels, that’s just a service to our fine country. Ain’t no one in his right mind’d find fault with that.”

When I realized that they were planning to bring me with them, I fought with every ounce of strength left in my body, disregarding the sharp pains in my side. I clawed at Sam’s face as it hovered near, catching him across the cheeks and leaving ruts in his skin. I meant for him to shoot me, but he hadn’t. Instead he’d clubbed my left temple with the base of an open palm, knocking me from consciousness for a time. Long enough to get me in front of him on his horse, my wrists bound tightly together.

We rode through the night. They kept a steady, cantering pace for hours, until the sun was just beginning to send yellow trailers up from the east. At that point they’d reached a copse of cottonwoods, near the riverbank. When Sam lifted me down from his horse, I went limply, my mind numbed from the horror of the past hours. Before they pitched their tent, Sam propped me, wrists yet tethered, against a tree, though I curled immediately to my side on the ground and wrapped my arms around my head, all my bound wrists would allow for. Just beyond the trees, I could see the horses, and I focused on Fortune, Aces and Admiral, grazing not twenty feet from my head.

I lay without moving and pictured Sawyer. I could see his eyes so clearly, his eyes that saw into my soul. I focused upon the image of him as I huddled there in the dawning light. Though it was impossible, though I knew they’d killed him, I imagined that I could sense his thoughts, even now. I could sense agony and desperation, though those were surely my own emotions, waiting to ravage me when the numbness wore away and left me exposed. And yet then I caught a hint of his stubborn determination, as clearly as though he’d spoken to me. I heard him, I could have sworn it.

Where are you, Lorie, where are you?

Was I hearing him from heaven? Was that possible?

Louder then, words shouted in ferocious desperation. My breath caught.

Lorie, tell me! Tell me where you are!

It was so strange a sensation, prickling along my nerves, that I lifted my head.

I’m here
, I thought, as hard as I could.
Sawyer, I’m here
.

Then I fell to whispering his name, over and over, keeping my arms over my head.

When Sam came and cut my wrists free, and hauled me to my feet, I could hardly stand straight from the pain in my side. Its tentacles had spread to my lower belly, and I bent forward with a groan. My thighs were slippery with wetness; my mind floundered, wondering if I had urinated on myself.

“Get up, whore,” he commanded. “Ginny didn’t say we couldn’t have a taste, before we brought you back.”

“No,” I whimpered, dragging backward from him and his limping gait. “Please, no…”

He had no time for resistance and dragged me roughly into their tent, a low-pitched structure in which it was impossible to do anything but sit, and I would have fought him, I would have, but I hurt too much. His kick had likely broken a rib. Once inside, he shoved me to a blanket spread over the grass, where both Union Jack and the man called Dixon waited, crouched low. Sam jerked me to my back and I cried out, from the pain and pure, simple fear, tears flowing over my temples. He bent over me, the other men hovering in the background, and took my chin in his fingers. I closed my eyes against the sight of him, filled with hatred as I had never known, and it gave me strength.

“You are a fucking beautiful whore, even after a beating,” Sam murmured, squeezing my chin, moving his other hand to my left breast, cupping it and then straddling my hips to bite my nipple through my dress.

I cried out sharply. As he leaned back I brought my knee up between his legs as severely as I could. I connected with his flesh, hard enough that he gasped in pain.

“Goddamn
whore
!” he rasped, breathlessly, and backhanded my face fiercely enough to stun me. I fell inescapably still, seeing only flashing bursts of light. I found myself thinking of Sawyer telling me the story of falling from the runaway horse, Charley Bean, and how all he could see at first were stars.

Sam bunched the skirt over my hips, furiously, his movements rough. I expected to feel his naked body next, but instead he made a strangled sound and reared back.

“What in the hell?” I heard Dixon mutter, leaning over my body, bare from the waist down.

“She must’ve been carrying,” Jack muttered. “Shit, I’m not…I won’t…”

They withdrew before the stars had cleared from my vision.

- 21 -

I couldn’t catch my breath at first, panic still rioting freely in my bloodstream. My vision returned in fragments and at last I rolled gingerly to one side. Jack had said…he’d said…

I lifted my skirt, and the petticoat and shift beneath, baring my lower body. My bowels seemed to liquefy as I beheld blood. So much blood, and my mind scrabbled like an insect beneath a sharp point, trying to determine what was happening. My thighs were covered, as though maroon-red paint had been slashed there with angry strokes of a brush. I smoothed the hair on my pelvis with shaking fingers, trying to twist enough to see between my legs. I hurt so badly I moaned and fell back. I put my fingers between my legs with utmost care, and encountered heat and wetness, a raw pain. The aching across my lower abdomen was excruciating.

The child.

I was too terrified to cry, to do anything but blink at my fingers as I withdrew them, red with blood. I heaved, though my stomach was empty. I retched and tasted bitterness in the back of my throat. Sam had split my bottom lip when he’d struck me, and I tasted blood from that too, salty and warm.

They left me alone for more than an hour, as a dim gray day spread itself across the sky. Clouds massed and I found room to pray that it wouldn’t rain, as that would perhaps force them back into this, their only tent. My mind meandered as I lay prone, unable to stop what was happening to my body, unable to prevent it from expelling the child that had been growing there. I understood this, as cramps clenched my belly, similar to those which accompanied my monthly bleeding, though more intense. A mental numbness had swallowed me almost whole, keeping at bay my sorrow, any thoughts of what may be my immediate future, here in Sam Rainey’s tent.

Had Ginny wanted me dead? Or, as Jack had said upon his first attempt to take me back to her, was I to be left unmarked? I almost laughed, hysterical, deranged laughter, at imagining them explaining all of the marks upon my flesh to Ginny, back in St. Louis.

Much better to die here, rather than there
.

Certainly I would be dead before too long, bled completely out, and then perhaps my soul would be allowed to fly to Sawyer’s. As the morning drifted by outside the tent, I envisioned heaven, and those who were there waiting for me. Would I be permitted to join them, or would I be damned, sent directly to hell for my sins? I could imagine no hell worse than being kept from Sawyer.

In late morning, I tried to sit in an attempt to shift the pain in my body. My head swam, as it had when I’d been fevered, but I didn’t believe I was feverish at this point. As I sat, I saw something flash on the ground, a glint like the winking of an eye. I blinked and stretched my fingers over the grass, closing them around a small, solid object. I brought it close and realized I held an arrowhead, perhaps two inches long. It was crafted from stone rather than any sort of metal, with numerous nicks along the straight edges. I rubbed a fingertip over the point. It was sharp. I curled it into my fist.

My heart seized as Jack crawled abruptly into the tent, his face bearded and dirty, his eyes holding a bizarre mixture of disgust and sympathy. I calculated how far I could stick the point of the arrowhead into one of his eyes, and wondered if it would kill or only blind him.

“Get up,” he commanded me, holding out a handkerchief, damp with creek water.

I remained unmoving, still considering which of his eyes I would stab.

No, Lorie, save it for Sam.

“Now, girl,” Jack said, and he narrowed his eyes at me as though in speculation. He lowered his voice and said, as though betraying a confidence to me, “I don’t relish hurting a woman, not like them two. Listen to us, Lila, and we’ll get you to St. Louis without further harm.”

He set the damp cloth upon my lap, wincing at the sight of me, before ducking back out. From outside he ordered, “Sam wants to ride out, girl, so hurry yourself.”

My heart beat faster, gaining momentum at the thought of possessing a weapon, however small. If I waited and maimed Sam, would they kill me outright or make me suffer first? I had no wish to be a coward, but the thought of being tortured at their hands made my blood run as ice. If I only managed to wound Sam, he would make me sorry for every last breath I took before dying.

Instinct warned me to wait, but I vowed to the empty tent and the slice of gray sky I could see through the gaping opening,
Sam Rainey, you despicable murdering bastard, you son of bitch, you fucking woman-killing coward,
I will take you out if before I die, that I swear. You robbed me of everything I had left in the world and I will kill you, if I can. I swear by my soul.

I was reluctant to use the cloth Jack had left, but I dabbed carefully at the blood upon my thighs, avoiding the flesh between the legs, as I hurt there so badly I couldn’t bear the thought of even my own hand administering the handkerchief. I shifted to all fours, uncertain if I’d be sure-footed enough to stand, let alone walk. Their blanket was beyond repair, stained now with so much blood it appeared as though someone had been murdered upon it. I gagged, closing my eyes as another wave of dizziness struck my head. But by the time Jack returned, I was kneeling.

“Come on, girl,” he said, taking my elbow.

I hated to touch him, revolted at even being near him, but I didn’t think I’d be able to walk without his support. The man named Dixon tore down the tent; Sam was already mounted. Lead lines connected Admiral, Aces and Fortune to their horses, and my eyes roved over the three animals, as pain so raw and terrible that I could hardly breathe cinched my chest.

Malcolm, my sweet Malcolm, oh God, Boyd, Angus…

Sawyer
.

Tears streamed over my cheeks. I had cried so much in past days it seemed impossible that any tears remained in my body. When Sawyer rode out, leaving me with Angus, there had still been the hope of seeing him again; my tears for that seemed as nothing, now that he’d been taken from me for all time. Jack bound my wrists and helped me atop his horse, a rangy gray that side-stepped and whinnied frantically at the scent of the blood on me. Jack cuffed its nose and then climbed behind me; I kept my eyes on Aces, closest to me, the arrowhead curled against my right palm.

They set a hard pace through the day, pausing only to water the horses before pressing on again. Sitting the saddle became a constant nightmare. My legs were bare as my skirt rode high, scraping against the sides of the horse and the edges of the saddle, though that was nothing compared to the ache between my legs. I felt as though I had been beaten with a tree branch, both there and where Sam had kicked me. When they paused to water the horses Jack passed me his canteen, and I was too thirsty to refuse, gulping until I choked. There was a part of me that could be grateful it was not a particularly hot day, overcast as afternoon sank into long summer evening; occasional spatterings of rain fell over us.

They spoke not at all as they traveled, as though to do so was to expend too much effort. Sam, especially, seemed tense. When he rode, it was not possible to discern that his leg was injured. I watched him for a spell, concentrating all of my hatred, imagining how it would feel to plunge the point of the arrowhead directly into his eye. I would use every ounce of strength I possessed, and then I would welcome the death to follow.

Let me be brave enough
, I pleaded, over and over.
Let me survive long enough to take him down first.

I dozed a little, though even in a half-stupor I was sure to keep my hand fisted around the arrowhead. Exhaustion won out and took me momentarily under, my head lolling, and I saw Sawyer in a dream, felt him even more completely than I had this morning, and was overwhelmed with a sense of his furious anger and his all-consuming determination. I woke with a jolt, clinging desperately to the image of Sawyer in my mind, before the essence of the dream faded, leaving me without him.

The sunset was brilliant scarlet beneath the cloud ridge, burning into my eyes as they at last made camp, depositing me against a tree trunk with my wrists bound.

“We’ve days yet,” complained Dixon, his voice carrying to me as he set up their tent. “What if she don’t make it back to St. Louis?”

Little did he know I didn’t expect to make it through this night, but Sam would die before me, I was determined. Jack hadn’t noticed my fisted right hand as he’d bound my wrists, thank God, and I clutched the arrowhead like a talisman. At the very least, I wanted Sam to be blinded, damaged beyond repair. I wanted to make him suffer. I wanted all of them to suffer, but him the most. In some tiny, insignificant way, that would help ease the wreckage I had made of four lives. Five, if I counted the unborn child’s. I leaned against the tree, hearing the river somewhere just beyond. The setting sun painted my face with red light, blood-red to my eyes. I blinked, remembering how Malcolm had presented the turquoise hair ribbon to me, from behind his back. How he’d lamented that his mama might not know him in heaven.

I hate to think that Mama wouldn’t recognize me when I get to be an old man
, he’d said.

“Malcolm,” I whispered, staring into the sun. Now he wouldn’t be as much as a young man. I trembled violently, unable to get my arms around myself. “Oh Jesus, Malcolm. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

I prayed for all their souls then, nearly blinding myself as I continued fixing upon the sunset; I felt a sense of final reckoning. This was the last time I would watch the setting sun, and I recalled Sunday services of my past, words spoken at funerals.

“Malcolm, Boyd, Gus…
Sawyer
,” I whispered, pressing my fisted hands to my forehead as both my body and voice shook. “I love you, I love all of you, and I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…please understand. Please forgive me, oh please.”

I repeated those words until the sun sank and pulled with it the bloody light, leaving me in the gloaming, if not in peace.

They worked silently, staking out the horses, building a small fire. I remained sitting, vaguely assessing the damage to my body, contemplating if I would have the strength to hurt Sam as much as I longed to hurt him. In the past few hours I hadn’t felt the slickness of any new blood flowing from between my legs, and the cramping in my gut had dimmed to a dull ache. My right side burned with pain and there was a swelling bruise on my temple. I’d thought for a time as we rode that Sam had knocked free a tooth from the back of my mouth when he’d backhanded me, but after exploring with my tongue, I determined it was still there. My bottom lip, though no longer bleeding, yet stung.

They ate and passed a small flask, again in relative silence. I felt Sam’s gaze from time to time. I doubted he could see me clearly, as I sat in darkness while his face was highlighted by the fire, but I met his gaze and did my best to convey to him my fury, my loathing, to communicate to him my intent.

You bastard
, I thought, trying to steady my trembling, to gather my wits and my courage for what was to come.
You absolute bastard. I will hurt you. I will kill you if I can.

Jack rose and wiped his hands over his thighs, then brought me a strip of jerky, as though he’d been somehow assigned my unwitting keeper. I shook my head at him.

“Dammit, take it, you need to keep your strength,” he said. “You lost a pile of blood, girl. We didn’t bother bringing that blanket along.”

I hoped he felt the hatred in my eyes.

Perhaps a little of it did soak into his dim wits, as he tossed the jerky to my lap and retreated.

He said, “I don’t hold with taking a woman this way,” as though that excused him for other personal atrocities. He’d shot at Whistler. His bullets could have killed any of them. My breath came faster as the panic I’d managed to hold at bay all day rushed to assault me.

I hadn’t allowed myself to picture what had happened; surely they’d been taken by surprise as they’d slept. Had death come quickly? The thought of Sawyer shot and in pain, of their bodies sprawled dead, sent me reeling forward, vomiting until my innards seemed turned inside-out.

I wished Angus had never found me, that I was still rotting away at Ginny’s place.

Jack grunted in disgust and walked away; it was only after I ceased heaving that his words registered.

Taking a woman this way
.

I understood just before the man called Dixon came to scoop me up by the elbows. He wasn’t tall, but wiry and strong.

“Come on, girl, you’ve rested enough,” he said. “I wish Sam wouldn’t have beat your face so. I liked it better last night. Shoulda taken you last night, but you’ll do.”

Sam remained sitting at the fire, watching in silence as Dixon led me to him. I walked haltingly, my heart firing with renewed energy, sensing this was the moment I’d been waiting for since being lucky enough to scrounge a weapon from the grass. I stared without blinking at Sam, holding his gaze as I sensed he disliked that. He took another long pull from his flask and swiped at his mouth. He eyes were a flat red in the fire’s light.

“Ginny wants you alive,” he told me. “Said we could kill the others, but not you.”

“What did she offer you?” I whispered, not able to stand completely straight, pressing my bound wrists to my belly.

He didn’t answer and I figured he would not. He sighed and his eyes roved up towards the dark sky. He stared there, as though star-gazing, and replied, “She couldn’t give me enough gold to risk myself for a whore, brother or no. I knew I’d get a chance to kill those Confederate bastards who took you from her place. Bragged about it to that dumb cunt Eva, about being of the south.”

My upper lip curled in anger before his words had fully arranged themselves into meaning in my mind, but then one word echoed within me.

Brother…

“She’s your sister?” I whispered. My thoughts flashed backward through time, recalling Ginny’s words, her behavior. She knew better than anyone Sam’s obsession with me and how she could warp it to her advantage, and she would be willing to protect him, because he was her blood. I shuddered at the thought of the evil that had surely spawned the both of them, the black and sadistic souls that writhed within their bodies.