A Gown of Spanish Lace (6 page)

There was no answer. The two men moved farther into the room. Ariana could sense that their dark eyes were sweeping quickly over the interior, taking in everything they saw. Something about them made her feel very uncomfortable. She stood.

“Can I help you?” she repeated. “If you are looking for the town—”

The smaller man looked longingly at the iron stove. Ariana saw one hand reach out toward it, as though to take full benefit of its heat if only for a moment.

“Please, feel free to warm yourselves before you go on,” offered Ariana. In spite of herself, she felt a tremble of fear pass through her.

“Reckon we won’t take time fer warmin’,” said the bigger man gruffly. “Got some ridin’ to do. Now iffen you’d jest git yer coat, miss—we’d welcome ya to join us.”

Ariana stared in unbelief.

“What—?”

“Git yer coat, miss.” The order was growled more loudly from the gravelly voice. Ariana froze to the spot.

“I think ya better do as told, miss,” advised the smaller man. “It’ll be easier on ya iffen ya co-operate.”

“But I…I can’t go with you. My family is expecting me—”

“Then yer family will jest have to wait a spell,” said the big man. Ariana saw the end of a pistol peeking out from the furry sleeve of his heavy coat.

“But I—”

Ariana stiffened and pulled herself to her full height. She took a deep breath and told herself to hold steady. Not to panic. But at the same moment her whole body trembled. She was afraid she was going to faint.

She closed her eyes and grasped her desk with both hands.
Trust in the Lord
, she managed inwardly. That was as far as she got with her prayer.

“Git yer coat,” barked the big man again. “An’ I’d advise thet ya git any other wraps thet might keep out the weather. We got us some tough trails ahead.”

“If you think I have any intention of riding off—” began Ariana, finding courage she did not know she possessed.

Her words were interrupted by a hoarse laugh. The big man turned to the smaller one. “Ya got us one with spunk, Sam.” He laughed again. “I like thet. Should work in our favor—later.” Then his eyes turned cruel again. “But not now. Now—ya git yer coat.”

Ariana lifted her chin and tried to still its trembling. “I will go nowhere with you,” she managed.

The big man reached out a hand that closed firmly on Ariana’s wrist, making her wince with the pain. Roughly he jerked her toward the hook where her coat hung. She struggled against his iron grip, writhing this way and that in an effort to free herself. The grip on her wrist tightened, sending spasms of pain shooting up her arm.

With one last mighty effort, Ariana spun around and raked her fingernails down the face of her opponent. She saw the prickles of blood appear on the broken skin before he wrested her to the floor.

Dark curses filled the air. “Sam, gimme the rope,” he shouted.

The other man stepped forward, an ugly frayed rope dangling from his hand. For a moment he stood looking down at her, chewing on his stained mustache. Ariana was fighting against tears. Her wrist felt as if it had been broken.

“We be needin’ this, miss—or are ya gonna be reasonable?” asked the man named Sam.

Ariana nodded mutely. The big man pulled her roughly to her feet. “Then git yer coat—and I ain’t sayin’ it agin,” he growled.

Ariana had no choice but to obey.

“Take everything thet ya be needin’, miss,” said the smaller man. “Ya won’t be back fer a while.”

Ariana felt there might be just a trace of sympathy in his voice. Instinct told her to respond quietly to his orders. Perhaps, if she did not resist, in time she would have an ally.

She quickly moved to get her coat, her eyes darting over the room to see just what she might take with her that could be of use in the uncertain future. With her wrist throbbing painfully, she managed to pull on her heavy coat and do up the buttons. Then she pushed a few items into her cloth carrying bag. She really had very little at the schoolhouse. Just as she was about to move off, she noticed her Bible and quickly slipped it into the bag as well. She had the impression that it might become more important than ever to her.

She felt as though she were in some horrid nightmare. Nothing seemed real. She prayed that it wasn’t. That she would soon wake up to her usual life. But the pain in her wrist was a reminder of how real her present circumstance was. She had to do something. Had to protect herself someway. But what could she do?

Her hands trembled and she felt weak and faint. There was no point in screaming—no one was within hearing distance. There was no use trying to fight—she’d never be the winner. And there was no way she could break and run—at least not now.

She was being kidnapped. Cruelly, frighteningly
kidnapped
—by two desperadoes. She knew not why and she knew not where they were taking her, but her whole being trembled at the questions tumbling through her mind. What would they do with her—to her? Would she ever see home again? What would her parents think? Her poor mother! Her pupils? Bernard Dikerson? Her—

No. No, she must stop thinking. It would drive her insane. She had to pray. She had to trust God. She had to.

But it was hard to concentrate on Bible passages as she was roughly pushed out the door and toward waiting horses. It was hard to pray sensibly. It was even hard to think.

“Oh, God,” was all she was able to whisper.

She was boosted up on one of the horses and given a blanket to cover her legs and feet.

“Wrap yerself in this. It’s bitin’ cold,” said the smaller man.

Reluctantly Ariana obeyed.

“Ya ride?” snarled the bigger man.

“Some,” replied Ariana in a trembling voice.

He nodded as though that was good enough. “Yer gonna ride now,” he said in his rough voice, and he grabbed the lead rope attached to her horse and gave a jerk. They were moving out. One man in front of her, one behind.

It was snowing quite heavily now.

Mrs. Benson let the curtain fall back into place. Her eyes were dark with worry as she turned back to the kitchen stove, where the evening meal waited. She was troubled. Ariana was never this late. And it was snowing. Fairly hard now. She didn’t like it. She moved toward the living room to speak again to her husband. Maybe he should go—

When she reached the door he was already pulling on a heavy coat. “I think I’ll just walk on out and meet her,” he said, making the words sound reasonable.

Relieved, she smiled at him. “You’ll take the lantern?” she asked simply.

He looked out the window at the falling snow. It was getting darker. He nodded slowly.

“Might be a good idea,” he said. “I suppose she’s been busy and just lost track of time. Doesn’t realize that a storm has moved in so quickly.”

Mrs. Benson knew he was trying to reassure her. She also knew he was aware that their Ariana was not one to lose track of time or the weather.

“She might have slipped and twisted her ankle—or something,” she responded. “It’s awfully—”

“Now, Mother,” said her husband gently. “Let’s not borrow trouble.”

His words could not erase the worry from her face or the pang in her heart.

She quickly lit the lantern and brought it to him. “She might have stopped at the hardware store,” she said, trying her own explanation. “She did say she needed another bottle of ink.”

“Likely got talking with one of her students—or friends—and has—” He floundered to a stop.

Mrs. Benson could tell he was going to add “lost track of time.”

“I’ll check there first,” he said instead.

She watched him go, anxiety making her body tense. Ariana had never worried them with tardiness before. It just wasn’t like her.

Ariana’s mother turned back to the kitchen. She would busy herself with finding a way to keep the evening meal palatable.

Chapter Five

Searching

All through the long night and into the next day they traveled. Ariana had lost all sense of direction or any clear knowledge of time. Once they stopped, and the man Sam dismounted and came up to Ariana.

“Best slip off those shoes and put on these,” he informed her. Ariana was so cold she couldn’t comply. It was the man who pulled the shoes from her feet and slipped on soft-furred moccasins. He tucked her shoes into one of the packs on the extra animal. Then he handed Ariana some heavy fur mittens. “Put these on,” he ordered, and Ariana managed to obey.

At least they were protecting her—in some ways. But why? Why was she taken? What was their reason for picking up a simple schoolteacher? They must have confused her with someone else. Surely there would be no demand for ransom. Her father was simply a village parson—not a wealthy man. He had no money to pay for her release. But if a ransom was not the motive, then why was she taken?

The very question made Ariana’s blood run cold. Was she to experience a fate worse than death?

“Oh, God—please not that,” she breathed into the cold night air.

It was again dark when Ariana saw the dim outlines of a cabin. She was helped to dismount by the man named Sam and led—almost carried—into the cold interior—no better than the outside as far as temperature went.

Sam busied himself with starting a fire and nodded his head toward the flame as he spoke to Ariana.

“Jest don’t git too close, too quick. Might faint.”

And he left her with the big, surly man while he went out to the horses.

The big man said nothing. He did not even remove his coat or hat. He crossed to a wooden frame in the corner that made some sort of crude sleeping platform.

“Gonna git me some shut-eye,” he said, and even those words sounded threatening. “Don’t go try nothin’ foolish. I’ve shot more’n one man in my sleep.”

Ariana shivered from more than just the cold. She bit her lip to keep from crying and huddled more closely to the fire in spite of Sam’s warning.

When Sam returned he made a pot of coffee. Ariana was surprised at how good it smelled. She wondered how her stomach could even respond to it under the circumstances.

When the coffee had boiled he poured her a cup, then rummaged in a pack he had brought in and handed her something. It didn’t look good—and it didn’t smell good either. Ariana’s stomach revolted, even though it ached for something to eat.

“Pemmican,” the man informed her. “Boss ain’t got much use for Injun ways—’ceptin’ pemmican. Lets me make it the way I learned from—” He stopped, then shoved something else into her hand. “Hardtack. Eat it. It’s all yer gonna git fer a while, an’ yer gonna need yer strength.”

Ariana cast a glance toward the corner. She could hear snoring coming from the big man. She took a tentative bite of the hardtack. It was tasteless and hard chewing, but it wasn’t too bad. She took another and washed it down with the coffee.

She glanced toward the big man. Dared she—dared she ask Sam questions?

“I…I don’t understand…what this is all about,” she ventured in a quiet voice. “There must be some mistake. I…I’m not who you think I am.”

Sam chewed off a big bite of the pemmican and spent some time trying to get his teeth to work up the piece before he even attempted a response.

“An’ who do we think ya are?”

“I…I’ve no idea. I…I’m just a schoolteacher,” she stumbled on.

“Got nothin’ agin’ schoolteachers,” said the man, taking a swallow of the hot coffee to wash down the pemmican.

“But why—?”

“Now, miss—don’t ya go frettin’ yerself over it none.”

He took another bite of the pemmican.

“Don’t fret myself!” exclaimed Ariana, raising both her position and her voice.

Sam cast a quick glance toward the corner, reminding Ariana that she’d best watch her step.

She shrank back into her crouched position before the fire. In spite of her strong resolve, tears began to fill her eyes and trickle down her still-cold cheeks. She brushed them away with a trembling hand. Sam continued to eat his pemmican.

Ariana said nothing more. It was Sam who first broke the silence. He had finished munching on his trail provisions. He had even finished his third cup of coffee. Now he pulled the back of his hand across his unkempt mustache and sniffed.

“How’s yer wrist?” he asked, as though it was an ordinary question.

Ariana’s eyes showed her surprise, but she said nothing.

“Let’s see it,” he suggested.

She hesitated for one moment, and then held it out obediently.

He took the wrist in his two hands and ran his thumbs and fingers over the area, bending it forward, then back, nearly making Ariana cry out. He pushed it to one side, then the other, his fingers feeling each bone and muscle as he moved it. Ariana fought the tears.

“Don’t think nothin’s broke,” he said at last, “but it’s gonna pain fer a while.”

There was no apology. No offer to give any assistance with the pain. He released her hand and went back for another cup of coffee.

As he poured out the thick, steamy liquid he spoke again. “Iffen I were you, I’d jest curl up there beside the fire and try to git some sleep. Once daylight comes I ’spect we’ll be movin’ on out—an’ we got a mighty tough ride ’head of us.”

Ariana nodded. The fire was making her feel drowsy.