Grace had lost her sense of direction hours ago when the deer trail they’d been following took them into a dense cedar swamp. Her feet were swollen and the area above her ankle had turned raw from constantly rubbing against her leather shoes.
Gordon had paid a high price for tackling Jack to save her. The bullet hit a tree, but Jack pulped Gordon with his fist until poor Gordon vomited blood. Grace hated to see him suffer, but the hope that someone might have heard the gunshot and would know their direction lifted her spirit.
Gordon, staying a few steps ahead of Jack, trailed alongside of her. “Hey, lady,” he said, after they had been walking awhile. “Did you hurt your leg?”
“No,” she said, “I was born this way.”
“Me too.”
She glanced sideways at him but said nothing. The man wasn’t limping.
“You and me are both special,” he said, sporting a wide smile.
She forced a smile in return. “Jah, I suppose you’re right.”
Jack came up between them. “You two stop yapping and walk faster.”
Grace clamped her mouth closed. She hoped Gordon did the same.
A few minutes of silence went by when Gordon stopped, tossed the shovel on the ground, and sat. “I’m tired of walking.”
Grace would have joined him had Jack not grabbed her arm before she sat.
“You and I aren’t stopping,” Jack said.
Grace inwardly cringed. She wasn’t sure of Gordon’s state of mind, but the thought of being anywhere alone with Jack made her stomach curdle like week-old milk left in the sun.
“Pick up the shovel and let’s go.”
Grace bent down and grabbed the shovel, silently willing Gordon to get up. But he made no attempt to join them, and Jack pushed her forward. She had no choice but to follow his orders. She took a few steps and looked back at Gordon still sitting in the same spot. “Aren’t you worried he’ll get lost in the woods?”
“He might. But I’m not waiting.”
They walked several minutes. She looked back once but Gordon was no longer in sight. “Isn’t Gordon the one who knows where the treasure is?”
“What all did he tell you?” He jabbed the gun barrel against her spine when she didn’t answer immediately.
“Nothing.” She gripped the handle of the shovel tighter.
Branches snapped.
Jack pushed her behind a tree. He leaned toward the sound of snapping branches and slowly lifted the gun.
Gordon strolled into view.
Jack lowered the gun. He grabbed her by the wrist and moved out from behind the tree. “It’s about time you caught up to us.”
“Gordon doesn’t like to be alone.”
“Then I suggest you keep up. It’ll be dark in a matter of a few hours and you need to show me where that cabin is.”
Lord, where are You? Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her legs felt like she was dragging sandbags just to walk and Jack wasn’t about to let anyone rest. She took small steps, shuffling as she went. Pushed by Jack from behind, she fell.
Even if he aimed the gun at her head, she couldn’t move. Spasms caused her muscles to constrict. She searched her mind for a reason to continue, but nothing gave her strength to press on.
“I said get up!”
Gordon walked past them a few feet and froze. “That’s it.” He pointed to his right.
Jack reached down, snatched Grace’s arm, and jerked her up.
Her shoulder socket popped and Grace cried out. He didn’t ease his grip until she started to move. Grace whispered scriptures mixed with prayers for strength with every step she took. The fifty or so feet felt more like miles before they reached Gordon.
Once they passed the towering pines, she spotted what Gordon had found. Only all that remained of the cabin was its burned-out shell and the stone chimney.
Grace swallowed hard. Her brothers had talked about this cabin—the cabin set on fire by an unbalanced son.
Gordon stared at the structure. He lifted his hands and covered his ears.
Jack came up beside him and clapped Gordon’s shoulder. “Good job. Now, go gather some sticks to make a fire.”
Gordon kept his hands covering his ears.
“Did you hear me, Gordon?” Jack spoke louder. “You found it.”
Gordon faced Jack with a haunted gaze that seemed to look through Jack. Gordon nodded, but Grace wasn’t so sure Gordon was aware of his action. He ambled away.
Grace turned to follow Gordon, but Jack grabbed her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I was . . . going to . . .” Fear stole her voice. She looked away from his probing eyes.
“You’re staying with me,” he sneered.
Prickly sensations traveled along her arm like thousands of spiders crawling all over her. She didn’t want to be alone with him for even a second.
His grip on her arm tightened. “You’re going to be a good girl tonight, aren’t you?”
She stared at him hard and unblinking.
“Doesn’t it say something in that Bible of yours about a woman being submissive?”
A shiver snaked through her. She was running tonight even if he killed her.
The downpour had gradually reduced to a drizzle. The scent of burning wood was still strong, but only a trace of smoke curled over the trees. Ben held the prayer kapp and closed his eyes. “God, there’s a part in the Bible where Joshua prayed for the sun to stand still so that he could defeat his enemy. I need that same favor nau. I don’t know my way in the woods, and once the sun goes down I won’t be able to find her.”
The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous . . . His ears are open to their prayers.
Ben dropped to his knees. “I’m far from being righteous, God, but I beg of You to hear mei prayer. Grace needs You—I need You.”
When he opened his eyes, a fox was standing before him. Ben froze. Everything he’d ever heard or read about wild animals said they feared humans. But this fox not only wasn’t running away, it didn’t seem fearful at all.
Ben gulped.
Matted with mud, the animal’s body was slender, its reddish-orange fur dull. His small black eyes stared at Ben. Perhaps the animal was sick or hungry. Ben had heard about a raccoon that showed up at one of the local parks. When someone stopped to feed part of his sandwich to the raccoon, it bit him. Later, the park officials issued a warning about not approaching nocturnal animals that appeared friendly during daylight since they had a high likelihood of carrying rabies.
Ben wasn’t that curious about a fox. He wasn’t about to get close enough to be bitten. But that meant waiting for the fox to move away from the path.
The fox lifted its nose and sniffed. Then, taking long, sleek strides with its tail lowered, it crept closer to Ben.
Ben held his breath and froze, afraid to breathe, to move. He should be searching for Grace, but instead he was trying to hold still while a fox sniffed his pant legs.
Don’t bite . . . Oh, God, I need help here.
The fox looked up at Ben, then turned and walked away.
Ben blew out a breath. “Danki, God.” Now he needed help to find Grace. But the human footprints he found in the dirt were traveling in the same direction the fox had gone.
Grace took shallow breaths, keenly aware that Jack’s wandering eyes were canvassing every inch of her. He leaned the gun against a nearby tree, then removed a flask from his shirt pocket and took a long drink. He licked his lips.
Grace looked away. Being alone with Jack curdled her stomach. Where was Gordon? He’d gone into the woods to collect sticks to start a fire and still hadn’t returned.
Jack stalked toward her.
Stay calm. Grace tightened her hold on the shovel and backed up.
“What are you going to do, hit me with that?” He took another drink from the canister, then placed it in his pocket. Laughing, he reached for the shovel.
She jerked it away, which seemed to provoke his determination.
He grabbed the handle, but instead of snatching it from her, he leveraged it between them, backing her up against a tree. He leaned closer, touching his lips against her ear as he spoke. “We have all night.”
The stench of alcohol wrenched her stomach. God, help me.
Jack released his hold and reached for the flask.
Grace waited until he took a drink before she whirled the shovel with all the strength she could muster. Thwack. Jack held his head, staggered a few short steps, then dropped to his knees.
“Ach, God. Please help me. Please.” She ran, cutting through the woods toward the sound of the river. Her dress snagged on a thorny bush and tore when she pulled it free.
“Woman!” Jack bellowed.
She should have hit him again while he was stunned.
Brushwood snapped under his heavy steps. Her heart hammered as she broke through the buckthorn. The droning sound of her blood pulsating in her ears made the trout stream, babbling over a shallow bed of rocks, barely audible.
Jack grunted, closing in behind her. She looked back, caught a glimpse of him, then her feet went out from under her. A shrill cry escaped her mouth as she hit the rocky riverbank with a thud.
He pounced on her, clamping her mouth closed with a calloused hand, the weight of him stealing the air from her lungs. “Did you really think you could run away?” Licking his lips, he bent down, buried his bristly face in her neck, and slathered her neck with wet kisses.
She tightened her lips when his mouth moved over hers.
He lifted his mouth slightly. “Cat got your tongue?” His breath sour—wet—his lips touching hers as he spoke. “Fight me.” Jack took her mouth again, this time with more force.
She caught his lip between her teeth and latched on. He weakened momentarily, giving her enough wiggle room to free her hands. She reached for his neck and gouged her nails into his flesh.
He pulled her against his body and logrolled her into the cold stream. Her head slammed against a rock. She cried out, releasing his bottom lip in the process. He buried her scream underwater. The image of his face—his bloody lip—distorted. Black spots filled her vision before he yanked her out of the water by her hair. She gasped for air seconds before being immersed again.
“Jack! Stop it!” Even muffled underwater, Gordon’s shout rang out.
It wasn’t until Gordon added “please” that Jack jerked her to the surface.
“Don’t you see we want to be alone?” Jack growled between clenched teeth. “Go back to camp.”
“Ah . . . what are you doing?”
“Help—” She wheezed as Jack pressed his thumb against her throat, cutting off her air.
“I’m going to help her bathe.” He turned his head and wiped his bloody lip on his shirtsleeve. “Now give us some privacy.”
She wiggled, was able to squeak, “Nay!” but her desperate cry didn’t reach past her mouth. The pressure against her throat increased and she fell limp in Jack’s arms.
“Jack!” Gordon’s voice deepened. “What did you do to her?”
“She passed out—that’s all.” He hoisted her into his arms and stood. “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”
The night air chilled her to the bone, but she fought the urge to shiver and clamped her teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter.
“Are you sure she’s not dead?”
“Not yet,” he mumbled under his breath.