Back To Our Beginning (12 page)

“Oh, darling, he’s just concerned,” Marge began. “I think maybe your nose is a little out of joint at not being the only male here.”

The fury in Chris’ face told otherwise, yet Tansy couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it wasn’t a little true; it had been only them for some time.

“As soon as the storm subsides we’ll pack up and head out,” Tansy reassured him.

“What’s to keep them from following us? They obviously can cover more terrain, and I’ll bet they’re good at it,” Chris grouched.

“Maybe we should be grateful they’re here,” Marge said.

“Grateful,” Chris spluttered. “Are you insane? There’s only one thing they want from you women and when they get it, they’ll take off.”

“Do not be rude to me, young man,” his mother snapped, turning crimson.

Tansy watched the byplay between the two; she could see their points. Her mind was sidetracked by Michaela wanting a drink of water. Tansy realized there was no water left to give her.

“I’m sorry baby, but I don’t have...”

“Got a pot?” a deep voice called from across the room.

“Yes of course.”

“Go fill it with snow,” Cord said, he then went back to sharpening the long steel hunting knife he was working on.

Feeling stupid, Tansy almost smacked her forehead. It had snowed last night. They could melt some and they’d have lots of water. Maybe enough to wash up a bit. Tansy pulled out the cast iron pot, but was stopped by a shaky hand to her wrist.

“What about,” Emmy began, casting a sideways glance at the other fire, “them?” Tansy noticed how Emmy’s fearful gaze hypnotically watched Cord’s large hand slide up and down the long steel glinting knife.

“You’ll be fine. Chris has the rifle. Shanie can swing her bola and you have the slingshot. We all can’t go; it’s blowing too bad and Mike would freeze. I need you and Shanie to stay with her,” Tansy answered.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Tansy was concerned about being followed, but there wasn’t any way around it. She couldn’t send the girls, and she had noted the way Cord looked at Chris, as if he was tempted to take a swing at him. Chris was still more child than man, he wouldn’t stand a chance against any of them. Not that she would, even Chris was bigger than her, but Tansy doubted the men wanted to beat her up. Grimacing, Tansy knew what they wanted.

Tansy made her trek to the stairs holding the only cooking pot they owned. It was the only cast iron pot in the whole house; she had grabbed it off her knick-knack shelf along with the lanterns, thinking it more resilient than the other pans that burned, scorched or melted over the intense open flames.

Tansy made her way down the freezing halls, clutching her coat to her as wind whipped in from shattered windows. The howls and shriek’s accompanying the wind sounded eerie. Tansy couldn’t help but think they were lost souls haunting the building, looking for a chance to inhabit her body.

Enough of that.

Tansy reached the stairs to the door of the building. Although it was close to midmorning it was dark, just enough light permeated to help with her direction and Tansy reached for the door. Grasping the handle she turned the knob, but was knocked backwards off her feet; the iron pot went flying, rolling before it finally clattered to a halt. With the breath knocked out of her, Tansy struggled to her feet rubbing her hip; she reached for the pot. She’d have to be more careful, the force of the wind could’ve sent her farther back; she could’ve cracked her head on the stairs. Then what would she do? She’d be useless or dead. Where would that leave her girls?

Tansy reached for the doorknob, bracing herself. The force at which the door swung inwards had sent it crashing back to closed. With two hands this time, after setting the pot down beside her feet she pulled while also shoving her shoulder to the door. The wind was fierce. It whipped her hair around her face into her eyes. The snow was mixed with freezing rain and it struck her face with the effect of pins and needles. She made a fast grab for the pot, not wanting to prolong her exposure. She cringed in pain, thankful the children hadn’t come.

Tansy went far enough to a steel banister, bent down and scooped the heavy snow into her pot to reach the top. Visibility was zero beyond a foot; the wet snow fell in thick sheets, straight down like a waterfall. She didn’t relish the thought of doing this very often. Washing would be out of the question until the storm subsided.

With her pot filled, Tansy pushed at the closed door, it wouldn’t budge. Cradling the pot with one hand up against her upper chest she turned the knob, again no success. Beginning to panic, Tansy placed the pot of snow down beside her, grasped the handle with both hands and threw her shoulder into it. When this met with no success Tansy began kicking at the hard door. She was frozen. The storm beat down on her covering her hair and jacket, soaking her through to the bone; she berated herself for not even sticking a hat on her head or mittens on her hands. She’d been too concerned with returning. She wouldn’t last long in this weather.

Tansy continued to beat at the door, knowing if no one came soon she’d freeze to death. But no one would come, they couldn’t risk her daughters coming to help her, they couldn’t, please God wouldn’t. Tansy’s breath came in labored gasps at the terrifying thoughts of one or both of her daughters coming to look for her, the men going after them, hurting them, her dying and unable to help. What would become of them and Michaela if she wasn’t around to protect them?

Tansy screamed in raw fury, as the images bombarded her assaulted mind. She kicked at the door, battering it with frozen fists, howling along with the storm. Pushing, shoving, clawing, hurling her slight body at it while her flesh and bones complained at the agony she was inflicting. Finally the door flew open. Tansy went sailing inside, crashing against a brick wall that groaned with the force of the collision. She was caught up in a powerful embrace and began her assault anew. Kicking and flailing her arms, Tansy beat at a rock hard chest, arms only clasped her tighter until she sagged against the man and whimpered in defeat.

Tansy felt a hand cup her chin and she was forced to look up into brilliant blue eyes. Clint held her with one arm to his chest, or they both knew she would collapse to the hard tiled floor.

“What the hell happened?”

“I couldn’t—open—the—door,” Tansy stammered, trying to catch her breath, her lungs freezing, paining, she was shaking, her judgment clouded.

Assessing the situation Clint realized she’d been terrified. She must have been hitting at the door in terror, and her frustration had turned to him when he caught her.

“It’s okay, honey, you’re safe now; I’m here.”

Clint had never considered himself a bright man; he knew more about living off the land than he did about reading or writing. He was hopeless at math and had thought for the longest time ‘algebra’ was a girl’s name. But what he did know was the woman he was holding felt frozen and she needed warmth, now. Clint began to undue his jacket and to his surprise Tansy took up her pitiful assault on him, pummeling weakened fists against his chest, trying to pull free from his grasp.

“Hold still,” he commanded somewhat harshly, but when she looked up at him, her eyes so full of despair and sadness, he stopped. It dawned on him what was making her so frightened. “Look, honey,” he began with compassion. “I promised I wasn’t gonna hurt you and I mean it. But you’re too cold. If you don’t get some warmth you could get sick, you could get frostbite, a cold, or die a somethin’ far worse. I jist wanna help you.”

Understanding dawned in Tansy and she nodded her head. Her thoughts were becoming fuzzy; she needed his help to get back to the others. She made no protest when Clint pulled his jacket around her shaking frame, picked her up and held her firmly. He began to stride with purpose back through the halls.

“Wait, my pot,” Tansy wept out foggily, her frozen red hands attempting to grasp his stiff shirt.

Clint chuckled. “I’m thinkin’ I could go for some pot right ’bout now.”

“Mike’s drink,” Tansy implored, her thoughts still focused on her children, her desperate need to take care of them.

Her vision darkened, her thoughts grew muddled.
Is it nighttime now? Mike will need me when it gets dark.
A roaring noise invaded her thoughts like a pounding ocean.
Are we at the beach on vacation? Shanie loves the beach, but sometimes she swims out too far. Where is Emmy? She burns if she gets too much sun. I feel so lazy; perhaps I could look in a little while.
An odd sense of calm filled her, drawing her senses, encouraging her to follow on a flowing, rolling wave. She could see Shane beckoning in the distance; his smile encouraged her, her heart burst with joy as her mind reached for him, her hand stretched toward his. Oblivion claimed her.

“I’ll come back for your pot after I get you settled,” Clint promised.

With dismay he felt her body tremble and go limp. Stopping and raising his one arm higher, he lowered his ear to her nose and mouth listening for a breath. Feeling some semblance of relief, he felt a tiny puff of warm air against his cold cheek.

With easy strides, Clint went down the hall and made it to the basement stairs taking them two at a time until he entered the room. Emmy cried out. Shanie raced forward followed by an irate Chris.

“What the hell did you do to her?” Chris screamed.

When Tansy failed to return and the girls began exchanging fearful looks, Chris made a move to retrieve her, but Tansy hadn’t been the only one who had seen Cord’s evil looks. Marge refused to let her son leave. Clint had gone in search after hearing Mike’s distressed howls.

“Hey, easy buddy,” Cord cautioned; the boy held the rifle. Randy watched, his fists clenched as were Cord’s.

“I’m not your buddy,” Chris snapped at him and cast him a dirty look.

Randy narrowed his eyes at the boy’s insolence and took a threatening step toward him. He stilled at Cord’s raised hand. Cord looked at the boy but held his temper in check. There would be enough time to show the little bastard who was boss later.

“She got trapped outside and nearly froze to death,” Clint explained, setting an unconscious Tansy onto a blanket near the fire. He pulled her limp arms close to her chest and once more checked her breathing.

Marge crossed herself and offered up a prayer. Clint looked around, grabbed a blanket nearby and threw it over her; he took off one of Tansy’s boots and held her foot in his hands. Clint removed her sock and placed her foot inside his shirt onto his belly and began undoing her other boot. Hesitating just slightly, Cord came over and sat beside Clint to help.

Cord hadn’t been overly concerned the boy held the rifle, he didn’t care about the woman’s predicament, but he did understand his friend’s fondness for the child. It occurred to him, somewhat annoyingly, if the mother perished her children might follow. How could he have a new hierarchy with no one in it? The food offered them had an ulterior motive. He had seen where Clint’s thoughts had taken him and felt for once his friend was being intuitive.

Cord pondered the benefits of the woman’s life opposed to her demise. If the woman died the little one would succumb next, following her mother; Clint would be devastated once more. The two girls would be useless in their grief, unwilling and unable to listen to either promises of life or threats of death. He’d be left with an old dried up frightened woman and a defiant boy. Tansy’s existence was a boon, it remained attached steadfast to three lives.

The others sat back and watched, none ever having dealt with hypothermia. Clint looked up and took in Shanie’s terror-stricken face; he felt a moment’s empathy for the young girl.

“You go get my pack for me. The blue one.”

Shanie raced for the other side of the room, she returned just as fast, tossing the backpack to him. Clint grabbed it up opening the side pocket to produce a thermos with a metal cup. He dumped water into the cup and put it near the fire, handle side out. Clint cast an angry glance at Cord. Clint should’ve given the child his water, but Cord had told him the mother might not accept it seeing as he’d already fed them and they felt they owed him. Besides, Cord had promised him he wouldn’t cause any trouble, yet.

Clint removed a couple of sugar cubes from a watertight container and dropped them into the cup to dissolve. Michaela crept toward her mother but Clint commanded Emmy to hold her and keep her busy. He handed Emmy some of the sugar cubes and told her to let Michaela suck on them.

Clint removed the blanket he had thrown over Tansy and tossed it to the side. He took off the cold wet jacket he had wrapped around her and her own then placed a larger warmer dry jacket he’d removed from his blue pack on top of her. He wrapped it around her frozen small frame with a great deal of worry. Clint handed the wet jackets over to Marge and told her to find somewhere to dry them. Marge accepted, grateful to have something to do, and moved out of the way.

Clint knew if he had been alone with Tansy he would’ve stripped them both and he would have cuddled her unclad body. He doubted the others in her group would allow it and knew Cord and Randy would’ve just found it entertaining.

Clint retrieved the cup, the sugar cubes were dissolved, the water warmed. He lifted Tansy’s head and slapped very lightly at her pale cheeks.

“Hey,” Chris yelled, advancing.

Cord’s temper exploded, having enough of the boy’s interference. He sprang up and grabbed Chris by the arms so fast the boy dropped the rifle. It hit the floor hard, causing it to discharge accidently and a shot ricochet off the wall. Everyone dropped to the ground.

Cord jumped up and grasped Chris by the arms then smashed him into a nearby concrete wall.

“You stupid little prick. You could’ve killed someone,” Cord shouted into the boy’s stunned face.

“I...I didn’t mean to...”

“Put him down,” Shanie commanded. “Now.”

Cord smiled dangerously into Chris’ frightened face then remembering his promise to Clint, he let him slide back down the wall. Chris had been lifted off his feet high into the air and still he didn’t match the height of the huge man. Shaken, Chris stayed plastered to the wall, white-faced, while Cord sauntered away smiling to a chuckling Randy.