The Soldier's Bride (9 page)

“Give her to me,” the man’s whisper sounded more like a yell. Evelyn’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and she cringed when she recognized the face matching Harlan Callaway’s voice. It was only a glimpse before he dragged her farther into the field.

Her blood turned to ice when she recognized the direction he was taking her. A few steps later, her worst fears were realized when Blaine pushed open the door to a barn. Evelyn could see the inside of the barn as a flashlight illuminated it in a sweeping line. She kept struggling, but her slight frame was no match for three men. She watched Michael close the door as Harlan dragged her to the back of the barn.

The light was dim, but she could see the blankets spread out on the pile of straw. Her body shook now, and the tears burned her eyes as they trickled over Harlan’s rough hand clamped across her mouth. Harlan leaned over the blankets and moved his hand from her face to her back so he could lower her to the ground.

She immediately screamed, kicked, and pulled his hair. Harlan cursed. Michael and Blaine grabbed her arms and held them down.

Harlan took hold of her waist and moved her body farther up on the blankets. “I’ve got her now. You two keep an eye out front.” He grabbed hold of each of her wrists and lay down on top of her, the weight of his legs immobilizing her kicks.

“Help me!” Evelyn screamed. She knew what Harlan planned to do, and she felt helpless against him. She prayed for help and tried to keep the panic from overcoming her completely.

Harlan moved his hand back over her mouth but kept her arm pinned down with his elbow. She struggled to get out from underneath him, but he held her so tightly she could hardly move.

His face hovered over hers. “You weren’t very nice earlier this evening, so I thought I’d give you a chance to make it up to me.” He stared at her for a long moment, and Evelyn watched his face contort with different emotions.

Harlan tried to appear in control, but he was angry and frustrated; she could see it behind his eyes. “Don’t cry. I really do like you. I think once we figure out a few things, we’ll get along just fine.”

The tears continued to fall, and Evelyn kept fighting, trying to bite his hand. He took a handful of her hair and yanked her head back. “Quit fighting me or you’re going to get hurt.”

She screamed again and he slapped her face and cursed. The force of his hand sent an electric current buzzing through her head. She paused for a moment hoping her head would stop throbbing.

“There, that’s better,” Harlan whispered as he nuzzled her neck. “I love war widows. They know how to treat a man.” He fumbled at the buttons on her dress and muffled her screams with a wet kiss. As she struggled underneath the weight of his body, he covered her mouth with his hand and growled, “Hold still or I’ll have my friends hold you down. If you don’t scream, I’ll be gentle. No one will hear you out here anyway.”

He removed his hand from her mouth and she cried, “Please, please don’t do this!”

Harlan stopped and caressed her cheek, leaning closer to kiss her neck. “I know baby, you miss him and I’m here to help you. Don’t feel bad about wanting me. It’s hard to go without when you’ve tasted the good stuff.” His kisses moved lower, pushing the front of her dress down and exposing her skin.

Evelyn whimpered and tried to wriggle away from him. He lifted his head and smiled at her before covering her mouth in another kiss and pulling up the skirt of her dress. As he fumbled with her slip and stockings, hot tears spilled down the side of her face. She was helpless against his sinewy body, the muscles in his arms rippling with strength as he held her down.

Harlan ripped the stockings when they caught around her knees, and the sound seared into Evelyn’s consciousness. His hand slid over her bare thighs.
No!
she screamed in her head. Fear and shame washed over her as he pulled the waistband of her panties down. She tried to wriggle away, but there was no escape from him.

She heard the metal of his belt jangling as he undid his pants. She twisted and tried to knee him in the groin but he anticipated her movement and leaned against her, panting. His dark eyes flashed with a hunger that terrified Evelyn, and she closed her eyes and cried, “Please stop! Please!”

Laughing, Harlan edged down next to her, his hand running over her chest, pausing to fondle her breasts. “I’m doing you a favor, baby. Just relax.” He pushed his body against hers.

No one had ever touched her so intimately. No one besides Jim, and that had been far different. A scream ripped from her throat. “No! Please, someone help me!”

Harlan snarled and slapped her face again, the sound carrying across the room. “I said don’t scream. I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t fight—just relax and enjoy this.”

Evelyn’s cheek stung, but she cried out anyway as he ripped open her dress with a grunt. She was smothering, dying. Vomit rose in her throat as she felt Harlan’s skin against her own. The blackness of despair crept into the edges of her vision. For the first time, she was thankful Jim was dead so he would never know of this horrible shame—he wouldn’t have to touch her defiled body.

She fought to keep her legs together, but Harlan pulled them apart, jamming her thigh painfully with his knee. She gasped and choked on her tears, wondering if he might kill her when he was through. A dark part of her mind welcomed the thought, but she cried out as she thought of Danny.

She closed her eyes, praying silently for help when a voice rang out, “Get off her!”

She saw a gleam of something silver and heard a thud as metal connected with Harlan’s skull. He groaned and rolled over, but was up in an instant, fists clenched as he faced Sterling.

“Don’t do it, Callaway.” Sterling pointed a gun at Harlan’s face and motioned to Evelyn with his other hand. “You’re safe now.”

Her lungs convulsed as she struggled for a breath through the sobs tinged with hysteria that seemed to overshadow any other sound. For one moment, she looked at Sterling and felt safe, but she recoiled at the memory of Harlan pushing against her. She crawled to the other side of the barn, struggling to pull up her slip and attempting to piece together the ripped fabric of her dress.

“She’s mine,” Harlan snarled. “You think she wants some cripple?”

“Shut up or you’ll be the one who’s crippled and under a headstone. Get down on your knees.” Sterling held his gun steady and Evelyn noticed him glance toward the opening of the barn.

“Michael and Blaine—how did you?” she asked.

Sterling frowned. “There are things you learn in the war—particularly how to take down the enemy quietly, if needed.”

Harlan glared at Sterling. “I don’t think you have the guts to pull that trigger.”

“Try me,” Sterling said through gritted teeth. “I wish you would—a piece of scum like you doesn’t even deserve to rot in jail.”

“I won’t go to jail. They’ll never send a soldier away for giving a woman what she wants,” Harlan said.

Sterling moved so fast Evelyn cried out in surprise. He hit the side of Harlan’s face with his gun and kicked him in the stomach. “If I hear that you’ve said even one word against Evelyn, I’ll find you and kill you.” Sterling bent over Harlan and touched the barrel of the gun to his head. “Or should I do it now? When they see Evelyn, they’ll know I had to protect her.”

Harlan moaned. “No, don’t shoot me,” he cried. “I won’t say anything.”

Sterling shoved the gun against his head harder. “One word, Callaway, that’s all the reason I’ll need to pull this trigger.”

“I got it,” Harlan mumbled, trembling under Sterling’s anger.

“The police will be here any minute. I sent the Rasmussen boy for the sheriff as soon as I found Evelyn’s purse on the sidewalk.” Sterling glanced at Evelyn. She still cowered in the corner, shaking and crying. “Let me help you.” He motioned to her. “You’re gonna be okay now.”

Evelyn couldn’t stifle the sobs that shook her body. Her stockings were torn and her legs had angry red welts where the straw had chafed against her skin. She retched into the pile of straw and wiped the side of her mouth with the back of her hand. Scooting backward, she held the material of her dress together to cover her chest.

She staggered to Sterling’s side, and he put his arm around her waist, pulling her close. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there to walk you home.”

Evelyn couldn’t speak through her tears, so she leaned her head against him and focused on breathing. She wanted to run and never stop as the heat of shame coursed through her body. The places Harlan had touched her burned, and she almost retched again as she thought how close he had come—too close in the seconds before Sterling arrived. With a shudder, Evelyn began crying anew.

As if reading her thoughts, Sterling handed her a handkerchief and murmured, “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She wanted to believe him, but she felt so dirty, as if she would never be clean again. The anguish pounding in her head clouded her vision as a steady stream of tears fell to the ground.

Sterling kept an unflinching gaze on Harlan as he held Evelyn close. After the police arrived and took care of Harlan, Sterling helped her outside.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“It’s not your fault,” Evelyn whispered. She looked at the gun with a question in her eyes. “How did you know?”

“I keep it in my car—in the glove compartment. I drove over from my house, hoping to catch up with you.” Sterling frowned. “When I saw your purse on the sidewalk, I knew it couldn’t be for a good reason, so I grabbed my gun.”

“I’m glad you did,” Evelyn said.

Sterling looked at the torn remnants of Evelyn’s dress as she clutched it tightly to cover herself. “If only I’d been sooner.”

Evelyn lifted her hand and placed it gently on Sterling’s cheek. “You came. That’s all that matters.”

“But did I come soon enough?” Sterling’s eyes were filled with pain. “Evelyn, did he . . . ?”

Evelyn felt the tears rolling down her cheeks again as she shook her head. What could she tell him? Harlan had defiled her, but Sterling had stopped him before he actually raped her. She gasped at the burning pain that clouded her vision. She felt as if she’d been raped.

“Shh, I’m sorry.” Sterling held her close. “I’m so sorry. I should have shot him.”

Evelyn cleared her throat. “You came just in time,” she whispered.

His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Thank God.”

In her mind, Evelyn had also cried out thanks for her rescue, but at the same time she didn’t feel rescued—she could still feel Harlan’s hands on her body, his skin pressing against hers.

Sterling continued to shield Evelyn as more cops approached. A few questions were all he allowed the detective before muttering, “Look at her. If you need more information, ask her tomorrow. She didn’t do anything wrong and doesn’t need to be traumatized anymore.”

Harold and Marie were roused from their beds to help their trembling daughter. They wanted to take Evelyn to the hospital, but she refused. Marie used a cold compress on Evelyn’s face and helped her take a bath. It was early morning before Evelyn finally fell asleep lying on the bed with her mother’s arm around her.

Harold and Sterling dozed in the front parlor and kept watch as the darkness faded into morning light, both worrying over a woman who had already seen her share of pain.

The wind pushed through a tiny opening in the front room window, and the cool air filtered through the parlor and upstairs to where Evelyn shivered against the chill and pulled the blanket closer to her chin.

When a windstorm ripped the branches from the towering oak tree, Leland didn’t hear them fall or see the leaves scuttle across the sidewalk. Inside his shop, he heard the sounds of building, smelled the sweet scent of sanded wood, and listened to the rhythmic nudge of the hammer against a nail.

Working on the special desk for Shunsaku’s wife had given him hope again. Hope that his hands could do more than clutch a bottle—they could bring joy to others. He had changed, and he knew it was for the better. Whereas sawdust used to remind him of every painful particle of life chafing against his skin, now he saw it as a soft, powdery cushion from the past. With work, he could go on and build beautiful furniture for others and rebuild his life at the same time. He wanted to help others see the good that was still around—and maybe help someone else heal.

Shunsaku had returned to the shop with his family, and his wife glowed with anticipation when Leland showed her the pile of wood he intended to use to build her desk. Emika had visited twice more with Shunsaku as he brought a little money every other week and checked on the progress of the desk.

A few months ago, Leland would’ve promised the desk in four to six weeks, but since word had got out that he was back in business, more orders flowed into his shop. He worked long hours and didn’t begrudge doing so.

Leland hummed the tune from the music box as he measured and marked the wood for an order of matching rocking chairs. He had fashioned a similar pair for him and Rhonda when they were first married. They had sat on the front porch laughing, smiling, beaming with expectancy at the life before them. Rhonda had sold the rockers during his drunken haze to try to keep up with their dwindling cash flow.

He shook his head. A part of him still ached for Rhonda, but he knew she wouldn’t be back. The divorce papers were signed and sent along with a letter and fifty dollars for Rhonda. He felt guilty for the way he’d allowed her to use the small savings she had to keep the bills paid. In his letter, he told her he had changed and maybe she could come back. When he received her reply, he promised himself not to be angry with her. She had found someone else who didn’t carry such heavy heartache. Leland didn’t resent her happiness and sent her fifty dollars more.

He gripped his sanding block and breathed in the cool air flowing through the open window. He was determined to make things right, to shape his life into something beautiful, the same way his hands worked magic with a block of wood.

Footsteps crunching leaves outside the window drew Leland’s gaze away from his project. He recognized the shiny black head of close-cropped hair belonging to Shunsaku and hurried to the door. Pulling it open, he glanced down with a smile expecting to see Emika dancing in place, eager to see her ballerina friend.