Circle of Spies (53 page)

To live is Christ and to die is gain
. Stephen had quoted that as he swung onto his mount before he joined his regiment. Had he thought of Barbara then? Was she what had made his eyes go soft?
I have living left to do—Christ still to show to many. I won't go home until the Lord calls me
.

The Lord must have called on that battlefield in Pennsylvania. But it would seem He hadn't, yet, called Marietta to join her brother. No
matter that she could see the gain in dying—she hadn't. And so she must yet live for Christ.

Beside her sounded a sniff, a moan from Mother Hughes. Dev obviously still held affection for his matron. Why else would he have instructed his cohort not to tie her too tightly, not to gag her?

A courtesy not extended to Marietta. He hadn't yet killed her. He wouldn't send her into eternity so quickly. If she didn't get free of these ropes, she would suffer long and painfully at his hands.

Another sniff, a longer moan, and the sound of rustling fabric. From the right came footsteps, two sets, and yet another heavy thud.

Sixty-two
. How much more could they possibly have to haul?

“Devereaux.” Mother Hughes's voice was faint and scratchy and sounded so heavily of resignation that Marietta's heart twisted for her. “Devereaux. I need water.”

Water! The very word made her ache, made her tongue push against the gag. But when she heard the boots pause, pivot, and head their way, she kept her body limp as a rag.

His footsteps paused mere feet away. “Are you finally finished crying?”

His mother sniffed once more. Perhaps she nodded or made some other silent answer, but she said nothing. There came a metallic scrape and then the sound of gurgling. Marietta nearly moaned in jealousy.

“You always loved him best.” Dev must have crouched down to assist his mother in drinking.

“No, I didn't.” Heartbroken amusement tinted Mother Hughes's voice. “I always loved you best. You should have heard how I fought with your father when he said he intended to train Lucien to take over his role instead of you.”

“So Father loved him best.”

“Don't be a fool. He loved the railroad best, pure and simple. Lucien stayed to learn it while you went off to make your own way. In his eyes, that meant your brother must love it best too. That was all that mattered.”

Something hit the ground with a soft thud. “So you would weep so long for me?”

A moment of silence, another soft moan. “That was for you, Devereaux. For my precious firstborn who has such a fight ahead of him.”

He grunted. “Lean forward, Mother. Let me untie you so you can drink.”

“May I take off the blindfold?”

A pause. “For now, yes. You will have to put it back on when we leave. For your own safety.”

“Thank you.”

Though she wanted to writhe and scream, Marietta kept her breathing even and slow, her limbs lax. She didn't even hold her breath when she felt him step nearer to her.

At last his footsteps headed away. More gurgling that made her throat ache in longing as the steps faded to nothing.

Then frantic rustling, padded thuds at her side. “Give me a moment, dear. My hands are tingling.”

What? She couldn't mean—but she did. The blindfold slipped away, though precious little light reached them in this rocky alcove. She could just make out Mother Hughes's foot as she reached behind Marietta and worked at the gag.

“There.”

Thank You, Lord!
Gasping in a long breath, she tried to speak her thanks aloud but managed only a rasp. Mother Hughes helped her sit up and then tilted a canteen to Marietta's mouth. Cool water touched her lips, her tongue, her throat, and made the rest of the world brighten.

The woman's frown didn't agree with that assessment. She lowered the canteen again and scooted behind her. “These knots will take me a moment, I'm afraid. Oh, Mari—your wrists are bloody and raw. Do they hurt?”

Terribly, but Marietta gritted her teeth against the pain. “They have mostly gone numb. Why are you helping me?”

Her fingers didn't slow. “Because you made Lucien happy. Because when I was ill, you cared for me with patience and love. Because every time I slapped at one cheek, you turned the other. You, my dear, are more my daughter than that monster out there is my son. He
killed
my son, my favorite son.”

Her head snapped around, though she still couldn't see her mother-in-law's face. “You—you were lying to him?”

“Where do you think Devereaux learned the art?” She grunted and
tugged hard at the rope. “You must have loosened it some. I nearly have it…there!”

Her wrists fell to her side. Blood rushed into her hands, making her wounds catch fire. She clenched her teeth and scrambled for the canteen.

Mother Hughes settled before her, her face a decade older than it had been that morning. “You must find a way out. He will kill you, but only after he has made you wish yourself dead a thousand times over.”

Nodding, Marietta took another drink and looked around. This must be one of the caves marked on his maps. Would he have selected one with a single entrance? Even if so, she could surely sneak past them. There were only the two of them, and they were gone for long stretches, no doubt as they unloaded more crates from the train and carted them over what had sounded like a small bridge.

Though her legs protested, she pushed herself up and crept to the edge of the rock wall beside her.

A large central cavern stretched out, the pile of crates and barrels small within it. The line of muddy footprints tracked the men's comings and goings. Lanterns revealed other dark, gaping places in the rock. Nine of them, counting the one she and Mother Hughes were in, which extended but ten feet off the main chamber.

“He told me nothing about where we are.”

“Rest easy, Mother. I have a few aces yet up my sleeve.” One large cavern, nine arms attached. The map surfaced in her mind. His sketch had been surprisingly good, the ratio exact. She hoped that meant she could trust it to have the twists and turns of the second entrance correct too. She turned back to her companion. “There is another way out. I saw a map he had drawn of this. We can—”

“You, dear.” Mother Hughes shook her muddied blond tresses. “I would slow you down. But when that other man carried me in, he knocked my head against something, and I've a bump. I will say you freed yourself and that you struck me. It will keep me safe.”

“I cannot leave you with him!”

“Mari, what hope have I of outpacing him through the woods?” Her look now bade her to be realistic. “You are young and strong. You must find the authorities and bring help back here.”

Another lie? Perhaps…perhaps she meant instead to warn Dev and
disappear with him. But since Marietta could hardly drag the woman from the cave, she had no choice but to trust.

She stepped back into the sheltering oblivion of the wall and slid her eyes closed. “Lord, lend me Your strength. Give wings to my feet. Give purpose to my life.”

“Amen.”

Drawing in a long breath, she turned her back to Mother Hughes. “Would you loosen my corset? And untie the hoop and petticoats, if you would.”

“Of course.” Her fingers seemed to have regained some agility, for they flew over the row of pearl buttons and then tugged at her stays.

Marietta sucked in a deep breath for the first time all day and, when her heavy petticoats sagged to the floor, stepped over them. Mother Hughes secured the now-too-long skirt for her and then stepped away.

Marietta took a moment to capture the woman's image as it was now. Dirty, bedraggled, broken—yet tall with that stubborn will that had caused Marietta so many headaches over the years. She surged forward and gathered her in a quick embrace. “I will send someone back for you.”

“I know. God speed, Mari.”

“God keep you.” Anticipation tying new knots in her chest, she pulled up the mental image of the map again, strained to be sure she heard no footsteps returning, and then darted along the wall of the cavern. Ten long steps and she could breathe again, back in the cover of darkness.

Trying not to think about what might be creeping and crawling along beside her, she felt her way along the tunnel, nearly panicking when her hair brushed the ceiling, when the sides closed in. Near panic ratcheted to full panic when she heard the men's voices echoing through the main chamber.

But that was good. If they were inside, they wouldn't be outside when she emerged. Drawing in a calming breath and whispering another prayer, she pressed on. The tunnel couldn't get too small, or Dev never would have made it through to realize it was an exit.

No light told her when she reached the end, nothing but rock one moment and then wet leaves in her face. Her toes struck a wall, her hands found a ledge, a hole. Pushing aside the leaves, weak moonlight filtered through the disbursing clouds.

She sifted through the other maps in her mind, finding the one of the area. Assuming this was the dot he had circled, assuming the other markings were accurate, her best bet was the inn a mile away.

If only he had noted every tree root, every undulation in the landscape. If only she had spent more time outside with the boys on Grandpapa Alain's wooded property in Connecticut. If only, when she crawled out into the chilly night, a hand of sorrow didn't press on her heart.

She curled into a ball on the wet ground to catch her breath. Sorrow choked her and made the tears well.

He was gone. Slade was gone, his body probably but a mile or two away—the train had squealed to a halt so soon after he fell.
Let someone find him. Let me take him home to his parents. Let me…let me…

The sorrow pressed her down into the earth until it threatened to swallow her.

His face swam before her, frozen in that last moment, the one that sealed his fate. When love had pulsed from his midnight eyes, when he had said without a single word that she was all that mattered. When his hand had given that simple, profound command.
Live
.

“Jesus, help me.” The words were barely a whisper.

But He was a rushing wind. It swept over her, blew away the sorrow, and lifted her back to her feet. Without another thought, she took off at a run toward that scratch on the map.

Sensations swirled and melded, a cacophony of impressions that made little sense. The light hurt. Why did the light hurt? Heaven should be free of pain.

Daggers attacked his chest when he drew a breath, and Slade's eyes flew open at the agony. The ceiling spun. A little face appeared above him with a cloud of dark hair and a smudge on her cheek. If she was an angel, then she needed to take a swim in the crystal lake.

“Are you waking up?” The cherub bent over him, a sticky hand
on his arm. “Aunt Abigail said to holler if you wake up. But you keep opening your eyes and just shutting them again, and that doesn't seem very awake. I do that sometimes when Ruby tries to get me to go to school but I don't wanna.”

Abigail…Ruby…faces flashed to match the names, but they wouldn't still long enough to figure out why he knew them. He drew in another breath, more slowly, and blinked.

The girl's halo cleared, and freckles appeared on her nose. She grinned down at him and patted his bare arm with those sticky fingers. “My name's Rose. I usually have to be in bed by nine o'clock, but it's almost eleven now, and I'm still up because you could die any minute, and it ain't right for a man to die alone, but all these guests are flooding in from the train stuck behind the fallen tree up on the mountain.”

“Rose Elizabeth Kent, will you stop chattering for five minutes and let the man die in peace?” A boy's voice came from the left, tired and short.

The cherub stuck out her tongue. “His eyes are open.”

“What?” Footsteps, and then a boy's face joined Rose's over him. Her brother, from the looks of him. His eyes went wide. “Mister? Mister, can you hear me? Say something if you can hear me.”

The girl gave the boy a push. “He's hearing me. I'm the one talking to him. You're just hiding in the hall in a grump.”