Chapter Thirty-Four
George and Jenny set a brisk pace to the farm covering the five miles in short order. They approached cautiously, watching for signs that the men had returned. Finding none, George led the horses into the stable while Jenny hurried to the house. Anxious to check on George’s ma, Jenny propped the rifle by the door, stomped the snow off her boots as she stripped off her hat, gloves, and damp coat, tossing them all on the entryway table. Sara should be in school right now, and George had said he’d left his mother in bed resting, so she rushed directly upstairs.
“Mrs. Gleason,” she called softly through the door, not wanting to startle the sick woman. When she got no response, she tapped lightly, finding it odd to be knocking on the door of her own room for over twenty years. When there was no answer, she eased it open. The bed was empty. A woman’s dress lay over the foot rail, so she knew this was her room.
Moving to the end of the hall, she looked in her parents’ old room, and then checked Will’s. The transformation of her brother’s room was startling. Gone were the toy soldiers and drawings tacked to the walls, replaced instead by dolls and a chipped tea set on a battered old table. Rather than Will’s haphazard mess, the room was spotless, the girl evidently taking pride in her new room. Compared to the cot in the corner of their cabin in South Town, she imagined Sara Gleason thought she’d been transformed into a princess, and the old farmhouse her castle.
Jenny was happy things had worked out well for George and his family. Now, if they could only get Mrs. Gleason back to her old self. She’d have to ask Janelle to come round and check on her once more.
The second floor empty, she started down the stairs to search the rest of the house. When she reached the bottom step, the hall clock sounded the hour and an eerie sensation washed over her, that she’d done this before. She felt eyes on her and looked up. Expecting Mrs. Gleason, she screamed when she found Eugene Harper standing in the hallway.
Frantic, Jenny lurched toward the front door, not to run, but to get the rifle she’d propped in the corner. A cold, cruel laugh echoed in the hall behind her, as her eyes swept the entryway. The rifle was gone. The ominous ratcheting of metal sounded as the Winchester’s lever was cocked. Turning back slowly, she found the deadly muzzle pointed directly at her chest. With unfathomable control, she stifled the shrill cry that rose within her.
Her eyes searched behind him. “What have you done with Mrs. Gleason?” Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, diminishing the brave front she was trying to maintain. The last time he had enjoyed her fear and reveled in her tears; she vowed not to give him that same satisfaction.
“The dear lady is in the kitchen. We were about to have tea. Why don’t you join us, Jennifer?” He vanished. His audacity was impressive, but if he thought she would follow him meekly, he was mistaken. The front door creaked as she eased it open. Unexpectedly, a harsh gust of wind ripped it from her grasp and sent it crashing into the wall.
The rush of air didn’t drown out the threat that thundered down the hall. “Defy me, girl, and the woman will suffer.”
“No, Jenny, run—”
The sound of a palm cracking against skin preceded a cry of pain and her uncle’s vile words. “Quiet, bitch. Your life is less than nothing to me, so push me if you dare.” Muted sobs followed.
Seeing little other choice, Jenny shut the door. As she walked slowly toward the kitchen, she felt helpless, as though stuck in yet another nightmare. She stopped in the doorway, her eyes trailing over Sally Gleason, freezing on the red mark that marred her pale cheek. Jenny knew precisely how that felt. The initial burst of throbbing pain would soon change to a dull ache, the swelling would then set in, making talking and eating, or any movement for that matter, an uncomfortable reminder of his abuse for days. She turned her gaze to Eugene, hoping the hatred she felt for him was reflected in her eyes.
“What do you want?” Jenny asked, getting right to the point.
“I came for my due.”
“You have no due,” Jenny snapped, unable to keep the sneer from her voice. “We owe you nothing. The judge ruled against you. Go home; forget about us and our farm.”
“Oh, ho! The little whore has developed some mettle. What’s changed, my dear? Do you think spreading your legs for a rich man in exchange for a ring on your finger gives you some kind of power? Have you got your fine man so wrapped up by the lure of that cunt that he’s at your beck and call?”
“You’re vile.”
He glanced around dramatically. “Where is your cowpoke husband, by the way?”
“He’ll be coming after me any minute. You’d be wise to get, before he finds you here and breaks you like a twig.”
“Thank you for the warning, but I’m not going anywhere until I get what I came for.”
“Take it and go, then.”
“How hospitable of you, my dear; get your coat and we’ll go.”
Her mouth fell open for a split second, and then she laughed, but without a smidgen of humor. “You are insane if you think I’d go anywhere with you. I despise you.”
“It makes no never mind whether you like me or not. You’ll do what I say, when I say, or feel the back of my hand again. You owe me, harlot, and you’re going to repay me one way or the other.”
As his lecherous gaze skimmed over her body, she could practically feel his vile touch on her skin. His intentions clear, she got angry. “Calling me a whore doesn’t make it so. I’ll never be your bed warmer, as you so charmingly put it. The thought of you touching me makes me sick.”
Heath would call her harsh words and bitter contempt toward a man holding a gun reckless, but it felt good to vent her spleen. As soon as she threw the insults in his face, she began regretting her hasty taunts. Already dappled in a most unbecoming shade of red, his pudgy face puffed up and an ugly vein appeared on his oily forehead. He looked like a tick about to pop. Her gaze slid down his portly frame to his hands; one fist clenched and released in agitation. The other held the rifle in a white-knuckled grip; the familiar red-stoned ring bringing on a wave of painful memories. Although the bruising had faded in days, she could still feel a ridge along her cheekbone and her lip bore a small pink scar. Prudently, she took a step back, well out of range of his backhand.
His upper lip curled briefly, but he didn’t come at her with violence as he’d done the last time. Instead, he took a deep breath and swung his head slowly, ominously toward Sally. He stared at her a moment, then glanced at Jenny with a purely evil grin. He ambled Sally’s way—if an overstuffed sausage in a suit could amble—with calculating intent.
Jenny tensed when he lifted his stubby hand, setting it lightly on Sally’s head. The older woman flinched at his touch and Jenny could well imagine how her skin was crawling as he began stroking her mussed hair. Somehow, with more control than Jenny could ever muster, she remained seated. If it had been Jenny, she’d have retched all over his fancy clothes and ridiculous red boots.
“What a pity, I was hoping you’d cooperate.”
Sally’s long hair fell past her shoulders, reaching midway down her back. Jenny watched as her uncle’s hand raked through it, finger combing it all the way to the ends. It was then she noticed the looped and knotted ropes that bound Sally Gleason to the chair.
“Let her go,” Jenny entreated, holding her hands out helplessly, taking a step closer before she realized she’d moved. “She’s been ill and has nothing to do with this.”
“A sympathetic whore is a very rare breed,” he marveled, his smirking grin causing his double chin to protrude further over his collar. “Fortuitously, it plays in my favor. She serves a purpose, you see, which is to keep your tender heart in line. If you don’t cooperate fully, I’ll shoot her.”
“No,” Jenny gasped in horror.
“Oh, I won’t kill her right off. Wound her with a shot to the thigh, maybe. It would be painful and dreadfully messy, but not life-threatening unless you continue to be difficult. Then another shot would be necessary. To the knee, which would immobilize her certainly. Once we’re gone, if she gets loose, she wouldn’t be able to go far. That most likely would be fatal, being unable to move while bleeding, hoping someone comes along before it’s too late.”
Sickened by his cold-blooded brutality, Jenny nearly choked. She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry with revulsion. She glanced at Sally, seeing the fear blazing in her eyes and tears trickling down her ashen cheeks. Jenny struggled to breathe as guilt overwhelmed her. She’d brought in the gun, but foolishly left it by the door. It was her fault entirely that it had fallen into his clutches.
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for another weapon. There was a knife on a breadboard on the counter, but clear on the other side of the room. That was out. The broom was close by, but being no match for a repeating rifle that could fire a dozen bullets in mere seconds, that wasn’t a good option either. Bullets! Her lips twitched as she remembered. She eased her hand into her pocket, relieved when her fingers wrapped around the shells. He thought he was so smart.
“That’s going to be difficult, uncle,” she spat, the word tasting like bitter gall on her tongue, “when it’s not loaded.”
“Is that so, little miss know-it-all?” He aimed toward the ceiling and pulled the trigger. The report of the gun at close range was near deafening. Jenny and Sally both jumped, screeching with alarm amidst a shower of plaster.
When they quieted, Eugene laughed derisively. “Do you think I’m too stupid to check the load? Allow me to thank you for bringing along extra bullets. It made things very convenient.” He turned the gun back toward Sally. “What’s it going to be, Jennifer? Do you come with me willingly, or do I start making the old gal bleed?” He cocked the lever, readying the rifle again, the ratcheting sound echoing coldly through the kitchen.
“No, please,” Jenny implored. “I’ll cooperate as long as you promise not to hurt her.”
He snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it. You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day I laid eyes on you. It’s about time I get some use out of you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Ransom you, of course. You and those damn Jacksons have ruined all of my plans and decimated my finances. After court that day, the bank took action and froze all my money. I intend to get it back and then some.”
Seemingly done with talking, he pulled a coil of thick rope from a sack on the floor and walked toward Jenny.
“Enough with the pleasantries,” he said tersely. “We need to go. Face the wall, hands behind your back.”
She hesitated. While he’d yammered on endlessly, Jenny had prayed for George or Heath to magically appear and rescue them. She attempted to stall, to buy a little more time for a miracle, but Eugene’s patience was at an end. He wrenched her arms behind her back and tied her wrists tightly.
“You won’t get away with this. If you’re lucky, my brother-in-law the marshal will find you and lock you up.”
“How is that lucky?”
“It will keep your sorry hide safe from my husband, who is going to kill you with his bare hands for this.”
With a hard shove, he propelled her toward the door.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere your rich husband and his family won’t find you until they pay up, and pay big.”