Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (45 page)

*   *   *

The morning had been bright and sunny, but shortly after the noon meal, dark rain clouds banked in the west and moved steadily toward the east. Now, as evening approached, lightning flashed against the dark clouds.

The wind picked up, whipping the dry clothes around Mercy as she lifted them from the line. She buried her face in Daniel’s shirt and laughed with pure happiness at her foolishness. When she was growing up and had to take his shirts off the line, she had grumbled and complained.

“Meow!” The cry of the cat brought Mercy’s head around. “Meow!” Blackbird sat beside the barn door. He was not the slick, fat cat they had left when they went to Kentucky. He was thin, and it appeared that part of his long, proud tail was missing. “Meow,” he cried again, but didn’t move to come toward her.

“Blackbird! For heaven’s sake! What’s happened to you? You look half starved.” Mercy walked toward him, her arms full of clothes. “Oh, dear. I’ll have to take these in. You stay right there, I’ll be right back.” She spoke to the cat as if he understood what she was saying. He licked first one side of his mouth and then the other and stared at her with huge amber eyes.

Mercy hurried into the house, dumped the dry clothes on the kitchen table, picked up a few scraps of bread, and headed back to the door.

“What yo doin’, child?” Minnie, her hands in a mass of bread dough, asked her from her work at the counter.

“These are all the clothes, Minnie. I’m going to see about Mary Elizabeth’s cat. He looks half starved, and I think he’s been hurt.”

“It goin’ ta rain. Yo get wet, ’n’ yo’ll come down with the coughin’ fever.”

“I won’t get wet. If I do, I won’t melt.” Mercy smiled as she left the kitchen. Minnie, with her bossy ways and loving concern, was becoming very much a part of her life with Daniel.

“Yo mind me, chile. Yo get in here if’n the rain comes,” Minnie called, then seconds later lifted her voice in song. “Good news! The char-i-ot is a-comin’. Good news! The char-i-ot is a-comin’ . . .” Minnie usually sang while she worked. It was a happy sound.

The wind, becoming increasingly stronger, wrapped Mercy’s skirts about her legs as she hurried to the barn where she had last seen the cat. Blackbird wasn’t in sight, but he could not have gone far in such a short time.

“Blackbird! Where are you?”

The barn doors were closed. Mercy opened one of them, stuck her head inside, and called again.

“I’ve got something for you.” There was no answering meow from the cat, so she closed the door and walked along the rail enclosure where they sometimes kept the cow. She called, stopped, and listened. At the end of the rail fence and behind the barn was a thick growth of sumac. Something black fluttered in the grass.

“Blackbird,” she called. “Come, kitty, kitty.” She almost laughed at the sound of her voice. If Blackbird could understand, she was sure that he would be insulted to be called kitty.

“Meow!” The loud screech came from the sumac. “Meow!” It was an angry cry.

Mercy went around the barn, hurrying toward the sound. The cat seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He leapt past her, screeching, and bounded toward the woods.

“Blackbird!”

Mercy made a half turn to go after the cat and came up against two men who stepped out from behind the bushes. Each grabbed one of her arms. She was so startled, she was struck dumb for an instant. When her senses returned, she opened her mouth to scream. Before she could make a sound, a rough hand was clamped over her mouth. She struggled wildly, but her strength was no match for the men holding her.

“This is her. Ain’t we in luck? She come right to us. We was figgerin’ on havin’ to go in ta get ’er.”

“She’s a fine-bodied woman. I ain’t goin’ ta mind havin’ ’er a-tall.”

Mercy was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. She lashed out with her feet, her fear giving her strength. Her foot struck a shin.

“Bitch!” The man holding her mouth dug his fingers into her cheek and shook her head viciously. “Stop that or I’ll pinch your head off!”

Mercy’s fear had carried her beyond reason. She flayed them with hands and feet as they lifted her and carried her behind a screen of bushes. Her eyes were wide as she looked at first one man, then at the other. One had front teeth missing and wore the cap of a riverman. His face was scarred and his breath putrid. The other man was whiskered, his eyes red and watery. She was sure that she had never seen them before. Into her dull mind drifted the thought that they were going to kill her, and she’d not be with Daniel. . . .”

The riverman roughly swung her around. The instant his hand left her mouth, Mercy drew in a long breath to scream. The man’s fist shot forward. Lights flashed before her eyes in a bright blast of pain. Then, just as quickly, she dropped into a pit of darkness.

The whiskered man caught Mercy as she fell. “What’d ya do that fer? I likes ’em fightin’ and scratchin’. I ain’t likin’ to hump no limp woman.”

“Ya can’t do nothin’ here, nohow. The boss says brin’ her to the woods out back a that shack where the nigger lives.”

Rough fingers fondled Mercy’s breasts. “She shore do have fine titties.”

“They ain’t no different ’n a whore’s titties. Let me get on my horse, then boost ’er up.”

“Let’s go. Hit looks like them clouds is goin’ to open up ’n’ piss all over us.”

“Ain’t ya ever been wet, Melcher?”

“Oncet when I fell in the river.” He laughed a hoarse laugh, as if his throat were full of sandburs.

“The little prick’ll be waitin’. He shore don’t take no risk.”

“He don’t have ta take no risk. He’s got the money ta pay
us
ta take the risk.”

They moved the horses out of the sumac, taking care to keep out of sight of the house, and rose toward the woods. A low rumble of thunder came from the west. The man who held Mercy facedown across his thighs patted her bottom and chuckled. This was the easiest fifty dollars he had ever made, and a bonus was also attached. He ran his palm over Mercy’s hips at the thought of the treat that awaited him. His flesh hardened suddenly; he pushed it tightly against the soft hip that moved in response to the motion of the horse. He was going to get in the drawers of a quality woman. It would be something to brag about when he shipped out again.

*   *   *

Hammond Perry watched the men approach with the woman across the saddle. Her blond hair had come loose from the pins and was hanging down over her face. He felt a flush of satisfaction. At long last he had something of Farrway Quill’s in his possession, to do with as he saw fit. And he had plans for the bitch!

“We got ’er, Mr. Perry,” the whiskered man called. “It warn’t no trouble a-tall.”

“Shut up, ya fool,” the riverman hissed. “Let ’em think it was hard ’n’ risky.”

“I mean it warn’ no hard job fer
us.
”

“Anyone see you?” Hammond asked.

“Not nary a soul excepts fer a cat. I put my foot in his ass. He’s crossed the Wabash by now.”

Hammond turned his horse and looked back toward the house. The bent figure of an old man was walking slowly toward them.

“Get in the woods,” Hammond hissed, and gigged his horse. The others followed, moving out of sight behind a stand of cedars. “That’s the old nigger who lives in the shack. When he gets here,” he said to the whiskered man, “knock him in the head.”

“That won’t be no chore a-tall.” The man drew the pistol from his belt and grasped the barrel end.

Lightning cracked overhead, followed by a loud clap of thunder. Hammond Perry cursed when a few drops of rain began to fall.

Jeems walked slowly, his head down. When he reached the end of the cedars growing along the path, he looked up in time to see three men on horseback. A blondhaired woman lay across the lap of one of them. Seconds later, one of the men charged him, and even as he lifted his arm to protect his head, a gun butt came crashing down. Pain exploded in his head and he dropped.

“Did you kill him?” Hammond asked.

“He dead, Mr. Perry,” the man bragged. “I knows where to hit ’em. Thar behind the ear’s the place.”

“Good. We can take the woman on down to his shack outa the rain. It’ll be dark soon. She’ll not be missed till it’s too late to look for her. I figure there’s no men at the house except the one that’s shot. After we take care of her we just might go back up there and finish the job.”

“I can do it, Mr. Perry,” the whiskered man said eagerly. “But . . . it’d cost ya extra.”

“I figured it would,” Hammond said dryly. He put his horse into a fast walk and hurried him toward Jeems’s cabin.

Thunder and lightning came together now. Large drops of rain began to fall as they reached the shack. They tied the horses beneath a lean-to shed, and with Mercy thrown over the shoulder of one of the men, they went inside.

“Jesus! This place stinks worser than a hog pen.”

“Never mind, we’ll not be here long. Put her down and light a couple of torches so we can see.” Hammond’s voice shook with excitement.

The riverman dropped Mercy on the shelf built into the wall where Jeems slept. A flame was coaxed from the embers in the fireplace, and soon a blaze flared, fed by handfuls of kindling. As light filled the room, Hammond moved inside. Across one corner of the room, stout bars had been erected, and sitting quietly behind them on a stool was the largest Negro Hammond had ever seen. The man looked at them without any expression on his face, his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped together. He didn’t seem to be curious about them, merely accepted their presence.

“Jesus! What’s that?” The men moved up to get a closer look. What they saw was a big, bushy-headed, filthy Negro in ragged pants and shirt.

“It’s a hog pen!” Melcher said. “Niggers is strange. They don’t go fer whippin’s. His paw’s locked him up fer somethin’. He smells like he shit on hisself.”

“It’s a fitting place for you to die, you slut! We’ll let the nigger have ya when we’re through, and then they’ll hang him.” Hammond chortled happily. He grabbed a handful of blond hair and lifted Mercy’s head. When he glimpsed the young face, he stared in disbelief. “This isn’t the one,” he screamed. “You fools, idiots, sons of bitches!” He threw Mercy’s head down and turned on the two men as if he would kill them. His eyes blazed, his hands shook, his lips quivered. “This isn’t the one I told you to get! Shitheads! Bastards!” He called the men every filthy name he could think of, while they looked at him in stunned silence.

“But ya said light hair, thin—”

“S-sightly, she is,” the riverman said, stammering.

“This is not Liberty Quill!” Hammond was gradually losing control and continued to scream. “This is not Liberty Quill! This is not Liberty Quill!”

“Who is it?” one of the men dared to ask.

“It’s the brat that lives with them. Oh, God! Why am I always surrounded with incompetent fools?” Hammond sank down on a stool and put his hands to his face.

The men stood uncertainly. The riverman eyed Mercy’s legs. They were hanging over the bunk, and her dress was up around her thighs. “I don’t give a shit who she is. I got a thin’ in my britches what wants a woman.”

“Ya better wait—”

“Shut your goddamn mouths!” Hammond snarled like a vicious animal.

As the men looked at each other one of them made a slash across his throat with his finger. The other one nodded in agreement. The rain poured down on the roof, and water began to drip onto the earthen floor. Long minutes passed into a half an hour. They waited for Perry to speak. He sat as still as a stone, his eyes on some distant place. The men moved restlessly. They were uneasy about the way Perry was acting.

The big Negro watched too. He stood up, his head reaching almost to the roof. He came to the bars and looked at them with flat, black eyes.

Mercy slowly began to regain consciousness. Memory came back to her in a rush. Her jaw hurt, her head whirled, and her stomach churned. She was afraid to move. Her face was pressed against something that smelled foul.

“Mr. Perry? What ya want us to do?”

The words sank into Mercy’s mind like a stone. She moved her head cautiously, but she couldn’t see. Her hair was over her eyes. Then she felt her skirt being lifted and a hand probing between her legs. She reared up. Her vision was blurred, but she could see the face of the man close to hers, his front teeth missing.

“She come to, Mr. Perry.”

The pain in Mercy’s head was almost unbearable. Her eyes finally focused on Hammond Perry, sitting on a stool. He stared at her. She tried to get to her feet, but the man jerked her arm and she fell back down.

“Please . . .” she whimpered.

“Do you remember me?” Hammond asked.

Dazed with pain, Mercy could scarcely understand what he was saying. The faces that looked down on her were grotesque and, to her, no longer human. She felt a scream building in her throat and choked it back.

“Do you, slut? Answer me,” Hammond shouted.

“Yes.”

“Say my name.”

“Ham . . . mond Perry,” she whispered fearfully.

“That’s right.
Major
Hammond Perry.” A snide smile curved his lips.

“Are ya wantin’ us ta go get the other’n, Mr. Perry?”

“Not yet. We got time. All the time in the world.” Hammond laughed as if he had said something terribly funny. His mouth opened wide. “Haw! Haw! Haw!” He slapped his hand against his knee as he doubled over with laughter.

Into Mercy’s mind came the thought that these men were going to do unspeakably cruel things to her. Her mind cleared enough so that she wondered where she was, and if there was anyone who would come to help her. The thought was followed by utterly black despair.

Hammond continued to laugh, but it was now a giggle, high and girlish. His eyes began to glow and his nostrils flared. He got to his feet and reared back with his arms folded across his chest.

“Men,” he said as if he were addressing a troop. “The nigger can have her!”

The two men looked at him as if he had gone insane. They stared openmouthed. The riverman began to protest.

“The nigger? Ya promised me—”