Nothing felt worse than being cradled in Jack’s arms. With her eyes closed and her face pinned against his shirt pocket, which held his flask, she let her body go limp. If he suspected she was conscious—even alert—she would be in great danger.
Lord, danki for sending Gordon when You did. You saved me from Jack’s evil intent. Her throat tightened. I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone with him . . . It’s dark, God. What will he do to me when Gordon is asleep? I need a miracle.
In the same moment she finished the silent prayer, she heard the familiar scripture play over in her spirit. My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in your weakness. An image of Jesus flashed in her mind. She envisioned herself resting against His shoulder, safe in her Savior’s arms. Tension drained from her body. Her eyelids grew heavy and peace washed over her.
Sometime later, something stiff jabbed her in the ribs.
“Wake up.” Jack poked her side with the toe of his boot.
It took a moment for her eyes to focus. When they did, a shadowy form stood between her and the campfire. She closed her eyes. Maybe if she concentrated, she could pretend she was somewhere else. But she was toed in the ribs again, this time harder.
“She’s awake,” Jack said.
So much for pretending. He wasn’t going to let her forget she was under his control. Something minty wafted to her senses. When she opened her eyes, Gordon had sat down beside her.
He handed her a strip of dried jerky, a chunk of sourdough bread, and a cup of minty tea. She sipped the tea. Strong. He must have boiled it too long. It tasted bitter, but she wouldn’t complain. Not after Jack held her underwater in the frigid river. Her dress was still wet despite lying close to the fire.
Grace took a bite of bread. After not eating since breakfast, the sourdough tasted like candy. So did the jerky. She finished the crusty heel of the loaf and the smoked meat, wishing she had more. Though she would rather starve than ask Jack for more food. He hadn’t stopped staring at her—the snake. Pure evil ran through his veins. She lost her appetite.
Gordon scooted closer to Grace. “You talk in your sleep,” he said.
“Oh?” She should probably be concerned. After all, a man shouldn’t know her sleeping habits. But as odd as it was, she appreciated him watching over her as she slept—protecting her from Jack as darkness settled in. Over the past several hours, she’d developed an unusual sense of trust in Gordon. He had intervened for her twice, when Jack held the gun to her head and then at the river.
“You were talking about God’s grace being suffic”—Gordon looked at Jack—“what word did she say?”
“How would I know?” Jack grunted and tore another bite of meat off with his teeth.
“Sufficient,” Grace said, giving Gordon her full attention. “It’s a Bible verse I often quote.”
“I heard it before.” Gordon nodded and pointed to his head. “I have a weak mind. But my mom said I have God’s power. Like David had against Goliath.”
“God’s power, really?” Jack huffed. “You don’t even know what that means.”
“My mom said.” Gordon’s voice rose.
“She’s right, Gordon,” Grace said. “Your mom’s right.”
Gordon nodded.
“Mei mamm used to quote the Bible because of mei weak leg. ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ ”
Gordon smiled. “We’re both weak.”
“Yeah, you are,” Jack interjected.
Grace leaned closer to Gordon. “We’re both strong. Don’t forget that.” She needed to heed her own advice. “Your mother is a wise woman.”
“She’s dead.” Jack stood and tossed another log on the fire.
Tiny red embers squiggled to the sky.
Gordon stared at the flames.
“Mei mamm has passed away too,” she said softly.
“But I bet you didn’t kill her,” Jack said, poking the burning log with a stick. “Gordon got rid of his family.” He motioned over his shoulder to where the stone chimney stood several feet away. “He torched the place with them in it.”
Oh, God, the rumors are true. The hairs on Grace’s arms stood on end. Her throat dry, she took a large gulp of tea. Now that the tea had become tepid, the bitterness seemed more pronounced. Her tongue tingled. Grace tipped the cup. Tea leaves. Mattie’s words replayed in her mind.
Don’t drink the tea.
A wolf howled in the distance and Ben froze midstep. He had run hard, trying to make it as far as he could before the sun went down, but now he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, let alone his surroundings. He stumbled over a root and fell facedown.
“You must want me on mei knees, God.” He lifted his hands up in the air and tilted his face toward the blackened sky. “Well, here I am!” he shouted. “Broken.” He dropped his arms and buried his face in his hands. “I’m like a blind man. How will I find Grace now?” His thoughts reeled. How he’d failed Grace, his father, everyone in his life. How he had dodged responsibility . . . dodged baptism and joining the church. Ben rubbed his eyes. This wasn’t the time to let his emotions run amuck, he tried to tell himself. But as he dropped to the ground, inhaling the earthy scent of the soil, he realized his spirit had been heavy for a while. “I am clay, oh God, and You are the potter. Please forgive me. Mold me into the man You’ve made me to be.”
You fool. You can’t barter with God, he chided himself. But as he lay quietly before the Lord, searching his heart, a greater power rose up within him. “Search mei heart, God. I want to be made new. A new creature through Jesus Christ, mei Savior.”
Something touched his hand and he opened his eyes, startled. In front of him, the fox lay down and placed his head on Ben’s hand. But what was even more amazing was how the sky flickered with light. Streams of greens and yellows bouncing across the sky stole his breath.
He scrambled to his feet and turned in a complete circle, mesmerized by the changing hues. He stood in awe of the work of God’s hand, too dumbfounded to move, to speak.
Ben glanced down at the fox, sitting patiently at his feet.
“I suppose this isn’t new for you, is it?”
The fox stood, turned around, and walked a few feet down the lit path.
Ben made another circle, admiring the vibrant colors. “Praise Your holy name, Jesus.”
Captured by the tranquility, Ben sighed. He wished he could have shared this moment with Grace.
Grace! He could find her now. As he headed down the path, he caught sight of the fox sitting on the carpet of pine needles. It hadn’t dawned on him until now how God had used a raven to bring Elijah food. Perhaps the fox was sent to lead him.
It wasn’t long after Grace ingested the tea that her vision blurred and she became light-headed. Her heart was beating in an irregular way, skipping beats, then coupling a few in a row. She wiped her moist brow. What was in that tea?
Grace glanced at Gordon. He looked confused, staring at something. She followed his line of vision upward and her jaw dropped open. Brilliant lights—flickering greens morphed into yellows and stretched across the sky. She had seen the northern lights plenty of times, but they had never been this spectacular. Maybe she was hallucinating. Even the old stone chimney that was once part of the burned-out cabin seemed to glow.
Jack took a long drink from his flask, then set it on the ground and stood. He walked around the fire pit and stopped before her.
Her surroundings waved like heat off a paved surface. His face went in and out of focus. She would never be able to fight him off.
“Grab the shovel and follow me,” Jack said.
She glanced at Gordon, dazed and staring at the sky. Please, Gordon, pay attention. Don’t leave me alone with him.
“Do as you’re told.” Jack reached for her arm and jerked her up off the ground.
One whiff of his alcohol-laced breath and her stomach roiled. Acid gurgled to the back of her throat. She swallowed, but instead of diluting the burning sensation, it made her cough. She almost lost what stomach contents remained. The back of her throat flamed even more.
“Gordon!” Jack waited until he had Gordon’s attention. “Watch her.” He stormed toward the river. Once he was gone, Gordon redirected his attention to the flickering lights in the sky.
An inner prompting told her to run, but Grace’s brain couldn’t convince her muscles to move. She plopped down. Her eyelids felt heavy, as if her lashes had glue on them, because every time she blinked they wanted to stick. She closed her eyes and saw the same beams of greens and yellows.
“Who said you could go back to sleep? Get up.” Jack nudged her arm with his wet boot.
She had difficulty prying her eyes open and when she did, they closed again. Whatever was in the tea, it made her sleepy.
Jack grabbed her arm and forced her to stand. “Gordon, grab the shovel.”
“But . . . it’s nighttime.” Gordon crinkled his brows in confusion. “Isn’t it?”
“What have you been smoking?” Jack motioned to the shovel leaning against the tree. “Pick that up. While it’s light enough to see, you two might as well be digging.”
Grace moved as Jack prodded. She followed Gordon, who had the task of finding the spot to dig.
Gordon roamed aimlessly around the stone fireplace, touching the river rock more in a sentimental gesture than in search of something. The corners of his mouth turned down and tears glazed his eyes, obviously affected by seeing what remained of his old homestead. Grace wanted to reach out to him, but Jack trailed Gordon’s every move.
“Was it behind one of these rocks?” Jack asked.
Gordon ignored the question. If purposefully or because he was deep in a trance, Grace wasn’t certain.
Jack shuffled his feet. “Gordon, you said the treasure was buried.”
“I did?”
Jack blew out a breath, growling. “Just use your head and think.”
“Gordon has a weak mind.” He ran his hand over the large stones. “Gordon’s simple.”
“We talked about finding your treasure all winter,” Jack said. “Gordon’s treasure. Remember?”
Gordon continued to study the chimney. A tear slipped down his face.
“I might as well take you back to the behavior ward.”
“No.”
“Yep. That’s what I’m going to do. I’ll tell Nurse Phyllis that you went wild—that you stabbed the nurse at the hospital.”
Gordon shook his head. “But I didn’t. You did.”
“Who are they going to believe?”
Gordon paced the old cement foundation.
Jack paced beside Gordon. “They’ll put you right back into a chemical straitjacket. You didn’t like that, did you?”
“No.” He covered his hands over his ears and shook his head.
Jack tried to move Gordon’s hands, but he fought back, arms flailing. Jack pinned him in a headlock.
Grace winced. “Don’t hurt him.” Her words slurred. Lord, I need Your power to work through me . . . I need to think straight.
“It’s by a tree,” he said, trying to wiggle out of Jack’s hold.
Jack released him. “Now you’re thinking.”
Gordon shied away from Jack and walked a few feet away, adjusting his shirt collar.
Jack picked up the shovel and handed it to Gordon. “Let’s find that tree.”
Grace didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but from what she’d heard, when the cabin caught fire over twenty years ago, the fire spread over several acres. None of these trees looked older than that. The pines were huge, but they were also fast-growing; they would have sprouted after the fire.
Gordon wandered from tree to tree. He finally picked one. Although she believed it was purely a random choice, it didn’t matter. Jack wasn’t thinking about manhandling her, and she would dig holes all night if it meant him not having his way with her.
Gordon sank the shovel into the soft ground and tossed the dirt to one side. In a matter of minutes, he had a waist-deep hole dug and was moving to a new location.
Jack tipped the flask and drained it, then tossed the container on the ground. “Make yourself useful, woman. Make me something to drink.”
Gladly. Mint tea coming up. It ought to be potent now that it had steeped so long. Danki, Lord, for increasing his thirst. She ambled back to the fire pit, added more tea leaves to the already boiled ones, and placed the pot on the cinders. The steam alone caused her eyes to water.
She carried the tin mug back to where they were digging. “I tried not to make it too hot,” she said. Although she couldn’t have cared less if he burned his tongue, she also wanted him to drink it quickly.
He grunted something that might have sounded like a thank you and drank.
She moved over to the other side of the mound of dirt. While she fought to stay standing and keep her eyes open, Gordon acted as though he’d been given a shot of energy. He was on his third hole. She stole a glance at Jack drinking the tea and she smiled.
Jack grinned. “What are you smiling about?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
He eyed her hard, head to toe, as he moved boldly toward her.
“How’s the tea? Do you want me to make you more?” Her words running together only made him smile.
He stopped in front of her and tipped his mug. “I have plenty. In fact, I want . . . to share it . . . with you.”
“No thanks.” She took a step backward. He sounded intoxicated. Whatever plant those tea leaves came from, they didn’t mix well with the alcohol he’d consumed earlier.
He pushed the cup toward her. “Drink it.”
He’d consumed most of it, but there was still more than a sip left. She pretended to take a drink, then passed it back to him. “Thank you.”
“Drink it all.”
She straightened her shoulders. “I’m nett thirsty.”
“I don’t care. Drink it.” His eyes narrowed. “You did something to it—didn’t you!” He placed his hand on the small of her back and jerked her up against him. “Do you want me to spoon-feed you?”
A shudder went down her spine. She was still feeling the effects of the last cup. What would more do to her?
She took the mug from him, her hands shaking. She slowly lifted it to her mouth, drank some, and gagged on the bitterness.
“Keep drinking.”
“It’s hot. Maybe if I put some river water in it—”
He tightened his hold, burying his fingers into her ribs. “Do you need a lesson in obedience?” His hand roamed over her backside.
She shook her head and drank more. She’d rather die from poison than be his victim. By the time she finished the drink, the warm liquid had numbed the back of her throat. Her heart pounded erratically. She was vaguely aware of Jack walking her backward, pinning her against a tree, and moistening her neck with his traveling mouth.
“I found it!” Gordon shouted.
Jack pushed away from her and staggered over to the hole. “Let’s see it.”
Sporting a wide smile, Gordon lifted a quart-sized canning jar, which looked empty from her view.
Jack snatched it from Gordon’s hand and headed back to the campfire.
Gordon shot out of the hole and trailed Jack while Grace walked gingerly over what she perceived as shifting ground.
Jack emptied the contents on the ground, then examined them using the fire for light. He rubbed his eyes and brought the piece up closer. “Tell me these aren’t just rocks.”
“Gordon’s treasure.” He patted his chest. “David’s stones to fight giants.”
“Rocks?” Jack’s voice grew louder. He lunged toward Gordon and had him by the collar.
“Stop!” Grace shouted. “There is a treasure around here.”
Jack pushed Gordon aside and grasped her arms. “Where is it?” He swayed, used her for support, then shook her hard. “Where?”
Dizzy and unable to focus on anything that wasn’t spinning, she felt vomit rise to the back of her throat.
“Answer me!”
“I’ve heard people talk . . . there’s gold or silver . . . maybe copper.”
“Copper cave,” Gordon said. “Long tunnel. Dark. Too dark.”
“Where, Gordon?”
He shook his head. “Too dark. Too, too, too dark.”
Jack released her and took hold of Gordon, who shrank. “Where is it! Tell me or I’ll dump your body in the river!” Suddenly, Jack grasped his abdomen and doubled over.
Gordon squatted down beside him. “What’s wrong, Jack?”
He moaned.
Gordon peered up at Grace. “Something’s wrong with Jack.”
Guilt replaced any thoughts of celebrating his incapacitation. She took the mug down to the river, rinsed it, and filled it with water. She hurried back and sat down next to Jack. “Drink this.”
“Why should I trust . . . you?”
“You shouldn’t.” She drank it herself, and surprisingly, she was thirsty. Grace handed the mug to Gordon. “Fill it with more river water.”
“I’ll . . . get you . . . for this.” His body convulsed.
She believed him. Let the poison take me first.
Gordon returned with the water, and as he helped hold the mug to Jack’s lips, Grace moved to the other side of the campfire not feeling so well herself.
Something crept into the firelight.
Her vision was cloudy, but that wasn’t a tree stump. It looked a little bit like . . . a fox?