Chapter 11

As the Conestoga wagon thundered on day after day, Anna’s fear turned into a murderous rage.

Not all was fair in love and war. Jacob’s villainy surpassed anything her imagination could devise. Although in the heat of the enclosed wagon, her creativity expanded daily.

How many ways could she kill Jacob?

The games of love were gone. The war had escalated.

They had courted for a short time before she knew Philip wasn’t the kind to grow jealous. But Jacob believed her acceptance to a dinner was approval for marriage. And he took control of her life, her family’s lives, until Philip found a way to chase Jacob away, at great cost to himself.

She looked across the dusty interior through the canvas-diffused light and into Beth’s eyes. Her listless head shook with every jolt. Beth was only ten, and it took two dozen men to escort her south?

Slippery trails oozed below Beth’s nose. Poor girl. She, most of all, hated the gag. But despite threats and a good beating, they yelled at the top of their lungs the first day of capture, so they’d been gagged for weeks. All their lips were chapped and raw.

Anna reached out her bound hands and touched the girl’s fingers. Beth curled against their mother’s breast and looked away.

She suspected Beth blamed her for the kidnapping.

Her mother’s hands brushed Beth’s cheeks, but the awkward position was difficult for her to maintain. Her mother lowered her hands and looked at Anna, a depth that swallowed the world in sorrow.

The tiny hole in the canvas opening allowed a token of fresh air. The farther south they traveled, and as April surged into May, heat drained their souls of hope and energy. They were let out once in the morning and once at night. Both times meant water, a bit of food and a chance to find a private bush or, as they entered the desert, a rock.

They were unmolested, and she’d found out why. They would be worth more money in Mexico.

The thought made her shiver despite the confined heat. This was hell, surely.

Next to Anna, Rachel focused on the tiny portal to the outside as if the bit of blue was a sapphire of hope. Did she wish she were back in Deadwood plying her old trade? No, that wasn’t the Rachel she knew. Rachel was surviving, something she did best. These shackles were as intolerable for Rachel as they were for Anna, both free spirits.

She rubbed her forehead against her soaked shoulder.

Becky lay curled in a ball at the wagon’s front. The only time she stopped sobbing was when she slept.

Thunder of hooves day and night. Sobs, woeful glances. Stolen whispers and rough hands pulling them from the back of the wagon capsulated their lives.

Philip was coming. Philip would follow.

She guessed the kidnapping had been in the works for months. Fresh horses and the animals’ caretakers had been waiting for them at almost every stop, adding an additional member to the guards.

Numbers didn’t matter. Philip wasn’t simply a man. He was a whirlwind. And whirlwinds left a wide path of destruction.

Oh, if she could lay eyes on her whirlwind!

Jacob didn’t ride with them. She debated putting a bullet through his heart the moment she saw him, the Derringer she hid in her shirtsleeve still undiscovered, but she decided against his murder. Jacob’s warnings kept the guards civil, and they needed some semblance of peace for now.

Any hotter and she would melt into the thin blanket, then pass through the planked wagon bed into the sandy desert.

She closed her eyes and dreamed of the night in Branson, Missouri. It was a cool spring evening, when fireflies scurried across the cropped grass underhanging lanterns. On the dais, four violins and two cellos hummed, a tour from Washington. They lifted their magic into the night, capturing a young girl’s imagination. The milling crowds around her swirled into a distant, colorful fantasy so that the only reality was the melody coming from fireflies. Stars had descended to listen as well. Bach’s continuo in D minor vivace lifted her, along with the fireflies, into the skies to float on a bed of starlight.

The wagon jarred, and she opened her eyes. What a lovely dream. Her white dress and small body blossomed into the shape of a woman, trapped in jeans and a stained flannel shirt. She laid her head back and stared at the canvas tarp overhead.

Oh, if only something would happen. Anything! But she didn’t want to wish too hard.

She sat up. Was that a dog barking? She could barely hear the sound over the horses.

Suddenly the nearby horses seemed to peel away, leaving the beasts that pulled the wagon. After weeks of incessant horseshoes clapping against stones, thudding against sand, and kicking up dust that seemed to filter through the canvas, the silence was deafening.

Was she hearing the clucking of chickens?

The wagon slowed, and this time she was sure she heard the screech of a burro. She’d heard it once before in a traveling show in Branson. It continued to bray as they passed.

Women’s voices sounded like tinkling water.

They were in a town.

They had all sat up now, leaning toward the wagon’s end. She could just see through the slit in the canvas at the back. Small shacks lined the edge of town. Miserable lean-tos covered anvils, large clay ovens, and waiting burros. Few people were out. All were dark-skinned and wore colorful clothing. Everyone remained focused on their tasks.

In the distance, a bell rang.

Beth turned to their mother, and she tried to speak through the gag. “Uh shink were ‘n a kown.”

Her mother looked down and nodded.

The wagon stopped.

After jiggling in the wagon for so long, tingles ran through Anna’s body like little bugs, and she squirmed.

There was the doleful ring of a bell, closer now.

A man’s voice said, “You fool, take them around back.”

The wagon jerked and they were on the move again.

They rocked back and forth until the wagon stopped again. This time the end canvas widened, and the hinges on the back flap squeaked as it dropped. A filthy hand reached inside and grasped Anna’s leg. She screamed as it tugged her to the edge. She tipped, falling in a heap in the dust.

Anna brought both hands over her eyes as the sun beat down.

A body thumped next to her, and Anna reached out. Rachel.

Soon they all lay on the ground. A hand untied her gag.

“Up,” said a familiar voice.

Through the tears, she saw Jeb. “You.” Beyond him stood her horse Alita, worn, ragged, but alive.

He snatched the front of her shirt and jerked her to her feet. He looked at her as she stared back. She was too terrified to speak.

With a nearly toothless grin, he yanked her close and she felt his hot, slimy flesh against her neck. He was licking her skin.

She screamed, and he flung her to the ground.

Deep, scratchy laughter from several dry throats filled the small lot.

The men grasped the girls and hauled them into a shadow and then in the building, but they left her outside.

Gasping for air and rubbing her collar against her neck, she turned and looked up.

An adobe church filled her vision. A small bell tower topped with a cross threw the symbol’s shadow at her feet.

“Lord,” she whispered. “Help us.”

The shuffling of feet brought her attention to a small wooden door cut into the adobe wall. Was it a friar walking toward her? A monk? A priest? She didn’t know. Her Protestant beliefs were showing now. He wore a long, brown, homespun tunic that brushed against the sand as he walked. A hood covered his head and face. His hands were folded in large sleeves, in pious devotion.

Her heart cried out to him for mercy. In all her books, those who had taken the cloth or taken vows of obedience or chastity had been kind and passionate. Monks and nuns, devoted to Christ, helped the poor, the needy, and the oppressed.

She was all three.

He stopped in front of her, his sandals just visible from under the robe. The straps were elegant, smooth leather. The buckles were bright gold.

She looked up.

The man brought his hands up, the smooth, ivory skin of his fingers so familiar, the unwanted caresses still locked in her nightmares. His thumbs grasped the outside of his hood, his fingers wrapping inside, and he pushed back the head covering.

Jacob’s blond hair was matted against his forehead with sweat. His bright, blue eyes—the color of the sky—met her gaze. His teeth, so perfect, were visible in his false smile.

“Hello, Anna,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m pleased you can join me.”