Bandit's Hope (28 page)

"You listening to me, boy?" Otis seemed upset. "You watch her close, you hear?"

Dazed, Tiller nodded. "I will, sir. I promise." He entered the room and eased Otis down on the bed. "Just rest until we bring your supper." He pointed behind him. "I have to go get cleaned up now."

Stopping on the threshold, he turned to look back, worry gnawing the back of his mind.

Otis shook his skinny finger. "Watch her."

Tiller fretted the whole time he washed up and changed his clothes. Was the old boy trying to tell him their secret was bound to come out? Was he warning Tiller that her uncle was about to steal her away?

Otis knew things, after all. God-things too wonderful for Tiller’s mind to grasp.

The whole thing reminded him of the lie he’d told Otis that first day on the trail. His made-up story of a wife named Lucinda and her brutish brothers, who came in the night to snatch her from his arms.

It seemed a hundred years ago he’d spun the fanciful tale. Could it be coming to life in the form of Uncle Joe taking Mariah out of Tiller’s arms, catching him in his own deceitful web?

He left his room determined to be more cautious, to guard Mariah’s secret with more care.

Miss Vee had already set the dining room table then graced it with heaping platters of ham, fried eggs, and skillet bread. Lifting a hefty plateful, she placed it on a tray with a cup of coffee. "Sit down, Tiller. I’ll take this to Otis and come right back to serve you."

Uncle Joe, lounging at the head of the table, stabbed a piece of bread with his fork and started eating.

Tiller pulled out a chair beside him. "Mariah’s not back yet?"

Joe raised his head, his bulging jaw working. "From where? I thought she was in her room."

Tiller poured them both a cup of coffee. "She’s tending Sheki."

Adding a cube of sugar to his cup, Joe stirred and took a long sip. "Counting my nag and your gelding, there are only three horses out there. She could’ve tended a stable-full by now."

Tiller shrugged. "You know how she is about Sheki. She’s likely brushing his teeth and reading him a bedtime story."

Uncle Joe spewed a bit of coffee then swallowed and laughed with Tiller, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Miss Vee hurried into the room rubbing her hands together. "Now then, where were we?" She settled in her place and forked a pile of ham before passing the silver charger. "I’m not sure what’s keeping Mariah, but I say we go ahead without her. If she was as hungry as I am, she’d be here by now."

Tiller took a slice of meat then handed the platter to Joe. "Share the bread, will you, Miss Vee. I can smell it from here."

Miss Vee balanced the butter dish on the tray of fried rounds and stretched the whole thing toward him. "Anything else before I get busy?"

"Tiller!" Otis swept around the corner panting hard. "You ain’t watching."

Miss Vee’s shoulders jerked, and she dropped the tray, scattering bread like savory place mats over the table. The careening butter dish upset the coffee urn, spilling rich, dark liquid in a puddle that soaked the bread.

Tiller leaped to his feet.

Still in his nightshirt, Otis clung to the doorpost, his mouth sagging and his eyes glazed with panic.

The hair on Tiller’s arms tingled. "Something’s wrong?"

Otis nodded frantically.

Tiller hurled himself past Otis and out the door.

THIRTY

T
wo steps inside the barn, and Tiller knew. His stomach a quivering jumble of mush, he whirled to face Joe and Miss Vee. "She’s gone."

Miss Vee smoothed her hair with a shaky hand. "What do you mean ‘gone’? She’s somewhere on the grounds. Maybe down by the river. The girl does that sometimes." She started for the door. "I’ll just walk out here and call her."

Joe caught her arm. "She won’t answer, Viola. Tiller’s right. Mariah’s gone."

She stamped her foot. "Now blast it, how do you know?"

He pointed at Sheki, still wearing the unbuckled harness and nuzzling Tiller’s hand for oats. "She brought him to the barn, but that’s as far as she got."

Miss Vee spun to face Tiller. "I don’t understand. Mariah wouldn’t just walk away."

He shot her a pointed look. "She didn’t."

Pale and trembling, Joe lurched to a nearby post and clung to it. "Any ideas, son? We need to know where to start looking."

A high-pitched ringing shrilled in Tiller’s ears. He rubbed his forehead. "Give me a minute to think."

Joe glanced between them. "Did John Coffee have any enemies?"

Besides you?
Tiller shook his head, panic climbing his throat. "She never mentioned anyone."

"A drifter?" Joe persisted. He gripped Miss Vee’s shoulders. "Think, Viola. Who might have taken her?"

She licked her lips. "We get all kinds at the inn. Just a few weeks ago, we had a right rowdy bunch. They made trouble, and I ran them off." Her wide eyes flashed with fear. "Maybe they came back to take revenge."

Tiller glanced at Joe. "There was another band of rough-looking strangers after that." He pointed toward the house. "The men who brought Otis."

"That’s right," Miss Vee said, snapping her fingers. "We realized once they’d gone they could’ve been the very ones who robbed poor Otis and left him for dead."

Remembering his ruthless gang, the real culprits, Tiller shuddered and cast her a doubtful look. "I never held with that idea. Believe me, the animals that hurt Otis wouldn’t have turned right around and helped him." A picture came to mind of the strange man on the far bank snapping a jaunty salute. "Let’s face it, folks. This is still the Natchez Trace. The Devil’s Backbone. There’s never been anything but greed and mischief along this road." Tiller swept past them to saddle his horse. "Are you going with me Joe? We’ve got to hurry."

Spinning, Joe grabbed his tack and carried it inside the other stall.

Miss Vee paced and wrung her hands until they led the horses out. "Where will you go?" Her voice shook. "You don’t know where to look."

Tiller swung onto the gelding and gathered the reins. "Pray, Miss Vee. Pray that God will give me a taste of what He gives Otis before it’s too late."

She clutched his leg and handed him her lamp. "I’ll pray. And I’ll ask Otis, as well. I promise."

He lifted his chin at Sheki. "Take care of him for Mariah, would you?"

Tears in her eyes, she nodded.

Side by side, Tiller and Joe barreled from the barn in a flurry of hooves and dust. By lantern light, they combed every trail and stand of brush in a ten-mile sweep around the inn, searching until Tiller’s eyes burned from the strain.

Joe dismounted twice. Once to study a clutch of broken twigs near the house and now to crouch and stare at the print of a boot heel in a low spot off the road. "No Indian has her. This man is a clumsy fool."

Tiller squatted beside him with the lamp. "I suppose there isn’t one clumsy Indian in Mississippi?"

Joe shrugged. "Among the Chickasaw, maybe."

Tiller watched to see if he was joking. He didn’t smile. "If he’s such a fool, why don’t we know which way to ride next?"

Joe stood, his hands on his hips. "Because it’s dark and we’re tired." He lifted one shoulder. "Because I’m not the Choctaw I used to be." He sounded close to tears.

Glancing up from the dim circle of light, Tiller sighed. "I’m no Choctaw, but I think I know which way to ride." He stood and pointed toward the horses. "We’ve got to get these animals to the barn before they drop from under us." Holding up the lamp, he shook it. "Besides, we’re almost out of oil." Passing Joe, he gripped his sagging shoulder. "Maybe you should take them home and get some rest. If you know where I can find oil and a fresh horse—"

Joe shoved his hand away. "A woman needs rest. I won’t stop until I find Mariah." He sniffed. "We ride back together. You can take Sheki. I’ll find myself another horse."

Tiller gazed at him with new respect. "All right then."

A bobbing lantern swept toward them in the pitch darkness as they reined off the Trace into the yard. Miss Vee ran toward them shouting Tiller’s name, her shrill voice echoing off the trees.

His heart dared to hope. He laid his heels into the gelding’s side and galloped to meet her. "Did she come back?"

Panting, she held her side and gasped for breath. "No. But I know who took her."

Tiller leaped to the ground and gripped her shoulders. "Who?"

"I’ve been thinking for hours, and it came to me just now. I was about to saddle Sheki and go after her myself."

Joe reached them, jumping to the ground. "You know something, Viola?"

Losing patience, Tiller shook her. "Where is she, Miss Vee?"

Her eyes glowed like an angry cat’s. "I don’t know why we didn’t think of it sooner. Gabriel Tabor’s got her."

Shock fired through Tiller. Loose-lipped, potbellied Gabe who couldn’t keep his hands or his dirty thoughts to himself?

Joe pushed between them. "Julian Tabor’s son? Why would Gabe take Mariah?"

"To get revenge." Miss Vee started to cry. "To ruin her if he can. Mariah’s all he’s ever wanted, and she spurned him."

Gathering his reins, Tiller smoothed his horse’s neck. "Hang on for just a while longer, can you boy?" He slid his boot into the stirrup and threw his leg over then reached for Miss Vee’s lantern. "How do I get there?"

"I know the way," Joe said, pulling his horse around. "We’ll go as the crow flies. Follow me." He swung into the saddle, shouted a command in Choctaw, and thundered toward the Pearl.

They picked their way over the nearest crossing. At the Tabor’s fence line, Tiller kicked an opening in the leaning pickets. "What if we’re wrong, Joe?" he asked, guiding the horses through.

Joe glanced up. "We’ll owe this man a new fence."

Mounting up, they skirted a pecan grove then sailed over rows of young cotton in a field that seemed to stretch on forever, until the shadowy outline of a stately plantation house rose in the distance. Despite the late hour, lights burned in most of the tall windows.

Joe glanced at him. "Something’s stirring, that’s for sure."

Tiller nodded grimly. "It’s about to get a whole lot worse."

They rode up to the porch and slid to the ground. Tiller strode up the steps with Joe at his heels. Together they pounded with their fists, showing no regard for the hands on the clock and no mercy for the rattling door frame.

A shouting voice ordered them to keep their trousers on, and then the door jerked open. "What’s the meaning of this infernal hullabaloo?"

Could the scowling little sprout be Julian Tabor? Tiller had braced for big Gabe or a slightly older version, so the tiny, stoop-shouldered gentleman caught him off guard. Thin and frail, a high wind would carry him off without the weight of his full, gray beard to hold him down. If the man was Gabe’s father, Mrs. Tabor hailed from sturdy stock.

Leaning closer, he squinted. "Joe Brashears, is that you? How dare you beat on my door at this hour?"

"Julian, we’re looking for Gabe," Joe said through clenched teeth.

Mr. Tabor stood up straighter. "Well, that makes two of us."

Joe narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean my boy’s not here."

Tiller edged closer and peered over his shoulder into the house. "You need to let us in, mister. We’re bound to find him."

His hollow eyes flinched, fixing Tiller with a murderous gaze. "I told you my son ain’t home. You hard of hearing?"

Joe cleared his throat. "Gabe took Mariah, Julian. He ran off with her."

Interest flickered on his face. "Ran off? You mean to get hitched?"

Tiller shook his head. "No hearts and flowers, sir. He slipped inside the barn and carried her out against her will."

The old man winced. "That’s the craziest talk I ever heard. Gabe wouldn’t hurt Mariah." His tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip. "You boys have the wrong man."

Joe glanced at Tiller and heaved a sigh. "I guess it’s time to ride for the sheriff in Canton. A posse will ferret him out."

Mr. Tabor’s hands shot up. "Now Joe, there’s no call to bring in the law. We sweep our own doorsteps out here."

Joe clenched his fists and leaned threateningly. "Then start sweeping."

Backing away from the door, Mr. Tabor motioned them in.

The moment Tiller crossed the threshold, his anxious gaze flitted over the high-ceilinged entry and the fancy parlor off the hall, searching for any sign of Mariah.

"You’re wasting your time looking, boy. She hasn’t been here." He swallowed hard. "And neither has Gabe." Sadness dulled his eyes. "He’s been missing all night, and I’m worried sick. It ain’t like him not to come home."

Tiller nodded at Joe over Mr. Tabor’s head. "Do you have any idea where he might’ve taken her?"

The old man’s hand shot up. "I never said he did." Breathing hard, he leaned one hand on his hip, kneading his shaggy brows with two fingers of the other. "Let’s say for argument’s sake that Gabe’s your culprit. My boy wouldn’t pluck a hair from Mariah’s head. He’s quite fond of her."

A knot rose in Tiller’s throat. "A little too fond of her, isn’t he, Mr. Tabor? Surely you’re not blind to your own son’s heart."

"The boy’s right," Joe said. "There’s more than one way to harm a decent woman."

Mr. Tabor glanced away.

Joe shifted in front of his face. "You know something, don’t you, Julian? I can see it in your eyes." Clutching his arms, Joe gave him a shake. "Come on, man! This is Mariah at stake. The same little girl who groomed your horses, played in your cornfield, brought soup to your sickbed."

Mr. Tabor groaned and spun toward the parlor. "Come this way."

They followed him inside the well-appointed room, every nerve in Tiller’s body yearning for the chase. "We don’t have much time, sir."

He stopped in front of the mantelpiece. "This won’t take long." Rummaging in an ornately carved box, he turned with a folded paper in his hands. "This is the map to a little cabin I own up near Cypress Swamp."

Tiller lifted his brows at Joe.

"Ten miles from here," he said.

Mr. Tabor leaned against the mantel and crossed his arms over the paper. "If I know my son, Gabe’s headed one of two places." He cleared his throat. "If he plans to do right by Mariah, they’re bound for Canton and a justice of the peace." He paused. "But if his mind’s gone twisted, he’s taking her to this cabin."