Hearts Made Whole (25 page)

At her reluctance, Arnie turned and aimed a sharp kick into Ryan's side. Then another.

“Stop!” She strained against the rope binding her hands.

Arnie acted as though he hadn't heard her. He lashed out with another kick, this one directed at Ryan's head.

Ryan grunted, but hardly moved.

“I'll marry you!” she screamed. “Just stop!”

Arnie took a step away from Ryan. Even in the coolness of the fall day, his face was flushed, and sweat had formed on his balding hairline. His eyes held that same wildness as before, and for a moment she wondered if he was crazy. She'd always known he was a simple man, but she'd never imagined that a monster lurked beneath his bashful exterior.

If she hoped to save Ryan, she would need to stay level-headed and try to placate Arnie.

“I changed my mind. I'll marry you.” She forced calmness to her voice that belied the churning inside. She had to save Ryan, even if it meant her marrying a monster.

Arnie cocked his head, his eyes still narrowed.

“I didn't realize you were so intent upon marrying me, Arnie. I thought you made the offer out of compassion, to provide an alternative to my predicament at the lighthouse. I didn't know you wanted to marry me regardless.”

Arnie wiped his sleeve across his forehead, seeming to wipe away some of the tightness in his face.

She hurried on. “Now that I know how you really feel, I'll go back with you and we can get married.”

Arnie stared at her as if testing the truth of her words. “T-today?”

“Yes, of course, today.” She made herself smile at him.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he gave her one of his shy smiles. “Are you s-sure?”

“I'm positive.”

His smile widened, and the crazed look in his eyes dimmed a bit.

She drew a shaky breath. “Now, why don't you untie Ryan and let him go. He needs to get back to Tessa. She's in her wedding dress, waiting for him to take her into town to get married.”

The hard lines returned to Arnie's face, and he turned to Ryan, who lay unmoving on the floor.

A dark wet spot seeped through the back of Ryan's coat. Was it blood?

She wanted to rush over to him and tend to his wound. Instead she forced herself to look away and pretend to ignore Ryan. She had to draw Arnie's attention away from hurting him any further.

“Let's go, Arnie,” she coaxed. “We can go get married right now.”

Arnie nudged Ryan with the tip of his big shoe. “We'll g-go, but I'm leaving him t-tied up.”

She didn't know how she could walk away and leave Ryan bleeding and wounded. She had a strong feeling, though, that if she protested, Arnie would likely inflict more pain on him.

Arnie toed Ryan one last time before turning and joining her. He unhooked the rope from the post but wrapped it around his hand. He led the way toward the door, stepping over the fallen
bricks and stone. She stumbled along, her wrists chafing against his pull that tugged her arms at an awkward angle.

She cast one final glance over her shoulder to where Ryan lay. She willed him to wake up and look at her, so he could see the message in her eyes—that she would come back for him after the wedding. Or somehow she'd get word to Tessa to go to him.

One way or another she'd rescue him.

R
yan moaned. Fire seared his arm. He was in the middle of a battlefield, facedown in the trampled dirt. He knew he was alive only because of the grit coating his teeth, the dust lining his nostrils.

He lifted his head and found himself staring at a dismembered arm almost touching his face. The dirt-encrusted fingers were rigid and spread wide, as if reaching out to him and begging for help.

For an instant, he wondered if he'd died and this was hell.

He dropped his face back to the ground. The screams of the wounded penetrated the ringing in his ears caused by the blasting of cannons.

A white-hot burning sensation shot down his arm and ended at his hand. He wiggled his fingers, only to feel more fire licking at his skin. Strangely half his hand was numb. He could feel nothing in several of his fingers.

He tried lifting his hands, but something bound his arms behind his back. He yanked, then cried out as pain once again sliced like a knife into his arm.

His mind raced back to what had happened. He'd been sneaking along the edge of the clearing, low to the ground, crossing to the woods with his regiment. His comrades had been on either side of him, breathing hard, the stench of sweat and fear swirling about them.

Then the gunfire and cannon blasts hit them without warning, decimating them before they'd had the chance to return fire.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the fog. This time Caroline's face flashed before him, her blue eyes wide with shock and worry. She'd tried to rush to his side, but she hadn't been able to come to him.

He'd wanted to warn her to stay away, that it was too dangerous, but he'd fallen back into a state of oblivion where everything was black.

“Caroline,” he murmured, his tongue swollen and sticking to the roof of his parched mouth. “Stay off the battlefield.”

He pried open his eyes. A brick wall and silence greeted him.

Where was he?

He pushed against the dirt, broken pieces of brick cutting into him. He lifted his head enough to see crumbling walls surrounding him.

Everything came crashing back: Arnie dragging him through the woods, tossing him into the windmill ruins, and binding him so that he couldn't move. The young man had been strong and ruthless. And Ryan hadn't been able to fight back. He'd simply lain there, half conscious, not really caring if he died.

After a while, Arnie had returned with Caroline, had bound her too, and then had proceeded to beat him in front of her.

Being the sweet, caring young woman that she was, Caroline had caved to Arnie's demand that she marry him. She was
always sacrificing for others. She didn't take the time to think about what she needed or how the decision would impact her.

Arnie had known she wouldn't be able to withstand watching the beating, that she'd have too much compassion, that she'd want to put an end to his suffering, even though he'd deserved it.

Aye, he'd deserved every punch and kick for being so stupid and turning back to his drink. He'd been a fool to believe that he could just have one glass of whiskey or one sip. The craving inside him was still too strong.

He knew now that if he wanted to truly stop drinking, he would have to stay far away from the temptation. Turning to drink was the cowardly way to deal with his problems. He'd been afraid last night, afraid that Caroline wouldn't want him, afraid that he wasn't good enough for her, afraid that he wouldn't be able to be the kind of man she or her siblings needed. And he'd let his fears push him to swallowing the whiskey.

He didn't want to think that maybe he'd even unconsciously sabotaged his relationship with Caroline, giving her an easy way to say no to his proposal.

Even so, he hadn't meant for everything to get so far out of control. He hadn't meant to fail so utterly. He slumped back into the dirt.

Not only had he failed himself, but worst of all, he'd failed Caroline. If he'd been fully alert and at his strongest, he could have protected her. He could have figured out a way to help free her from Arnie.

He released a long, frustrated groan. There was no telling what Arnie might do to her. The man was dangerous. And he couldn't let Caroline marry a man like that, especially not to save him.

Ryan jerked against the ropes binding his hands and feet,
but they burned his flesh and dug into his skin. He had to free himself so that he could rescue her. He strained once more, but all he managed to do was rub his flesh raw. The pain ricocheting up and down his injured arm was almost as intense as the day he'd gotten the wound. His body throbbed, and his head pounded. Bile churned, the nausea rising up. He was going to be sick.

After several heaves, he moaned and lay listless, the stench oozing next to his face.

He closed his eyes, not bothering to move. He thought he'd been in hell on the battlefield, but the thought of Caroline marrying Arnie was worse. And there was nothing he could do to stop her.

Arnie shoved her into an empty chicken coop and then locked the door. She tried to protest past the gag over her mouth, but her muted cries only burned her throat.

“I'll be b-back . . . just as s-soon as I get the p-preacher,” he said, then turned and stalked off.

She was trapped again. She'd thought during the walk back to the inn that his anger had dissipated, for his expression had grown kind again. He hadn't rushed her as he had when leading her to the old windmill. They'd walked along amiably enough, or at least she'd tried to give the appearance of friendliness.

She didn't want him to know how he'd reviled her. But with each step away from Ryan, she hadn't been able to stop shivering as she thought about how brutal Arnie had been. And with each step the thought of marrying him grew more repulsive.

Nevertheless, she'd kept up her charade of civility, praying
that when they arrived at the inn, he'd free her hands and remove the gag. She'd hoped perhaps she could reason with him and make him understand that they needed to release Ryan.

But Arnie was determined to marry her before doing anything else. He probably thought Ryan would try to prevent the marriage if he was set free.

Ryan had tried to warn her to run. He'd known the danger she was in. But at the time, she was too confused to heed him. And now it was too late. Even if Ryan managed to free himself, he wouldn't know to look for her in this chicken coop. No one would think to look for her here.

The darkness closed around her. The only light slanted in through a few cracks in the walls. The air was stale and reeked of chicken droppings and the metallic scent of blood.

She crouched into a ball with her hands still bound behind her. She shifted, her knee squishing against something slimy. She shuddered to think of what remained in the coop. Body parts of one of the cocks killed in the weekend's fights?

“Arnie! Anyone! Let me out!” she cried. But the gag in her mouth choked the words back, making her cough. Her breath caught in her chest, and all she could think about was that she was going to die here. In the dark. Alone.

And if she died, then no one would know where Ryan was. No one would come to his rescue. He'd die too. What would become of her family then? Who would take care of them?

Tessa had no skills for earning an income. Mr. Finick would force her out of the lighthouse, and the Lord only knew what kind of work the girl would find then. Sarah would die. The twins would have to scrounge on the streets.

In a burst of panic, Caroline banged her shoulder repeatedly against the side of the coop. She had to find a way out. A
hollow echo was all her pounding elicited. Finally she stopped, dropped her head to her knees and gasped for air.

Darkness hovered all around her, ready to claim her. She felt dizzy and weak. All she could do was huddle in a shivering mass.

R
yan wasn't sure if minutes or hours had passed as he fell in and out of consciousness.

At the crack of a gunshot, he stirred. His eyes flickered open, and he found himself staring at the faded brick wall of the old windmill.

A gunshot meant someone was out hunting.

A jolt of energy propelled him up. He could hardly move without causing unbearable pain in his arm, but he somehow managed to rise into a sitting position. The knife abrasion in his back stung, and blood had plastered his shirt to his back. Yet he could tell it was only a surface wound; a few stitches should take care of it.

He strained to hear more gunshots. Instead, only the eerie silence of the overcast day met him.

“Help!” he shouted, hoping his voice would rise over the crumbling wall. If anyone was out in the woods, they would have a difficult time hearing his call for help. Still, he had to try.

“Help me!” he cried with all the strength he could muster. “I'm here in the old windmill.”

More silence.

“Help! Please help!” For several minutes he kept up his calling, until his voice turned hoarse. Finally he slumped back and listened for any sign he'd been heard.

The only sound was the faint whining of the wind. He expelled a sigh of exhaustion.

Where was Caroline now? Was she already married? Not only did he abhor the idea of her marrying Arnie, he felt the same about her marrying anyone else . . . except for him.

A new kind of pain speared his chest. “Oh, God,” he breathed, leaning his head back and staring up at the clouds that blanketed the sky. Now that the effects of the alcohol were wearing thin, the reality of the situation hit him with full force.

He'd fallen in love with Caroline.

Aye. He loved her more than any other woman he'd ever known. He loved her enough to die for her. The realization brought an ache to his throat.

That was why he'd been so desperate yesterday after the fire to stop her from running to Arnie. And that was partly why he felt so miserable now. He still wanted to marry her, even though he didn't deserve her, even though he was pledged to marry Tessa.

“Oh, God, what have I gotten myself into?” he said through bruised lips.

He'd thrown away the opportunity to marry Caroline, to have her love, and now he would spend his life trying not to think about her. If he allowed himself to desire her in even the slightest way, it wouldn't be fair to Tessa. He had to try to care for Tessa. He had to give their relationship his best effort. But it was going to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

“I'm tired of being a weak man, God,” he whispered. “I don't want to live this way anymore.”

He didn't want to rely on medicine or alcohol or even another person for strength. Doing so only weakened him, just like it had weakened his dad.

But what could he do? How could he be strong? He just didn't have it within himself.

“I need you, God,” he admitted.

The strains of an old hymn played in the dusty corners of his mind.
“
I need thee, oh, I need thee. Every hour I
need thee . . .”

He hummed the tune and searched for the words to one of the stanzas.
“I need thee every
hour, stay thou nearby. Temptations lose their power when thou
art nigh.”

Temptations lose their power . . .

“Yes. I need you, God,” he said again, digesting the truth. He'd been turning to everything else to cope with his pain, to the things that could never heal him or give him strength. Maybe for a time they could ease his inner demons, but ultimately if he hoped to heal, he needed to start turning to God, every hour. And once he did, God would fill him with strength. He'd be able to turn his back on the temptations.

“I
need thee, oh, I need thee. Every hour I need
thee . . .”
The chorus played in his mind until it became his prayer. He couldn't think of much else to say, but somehow in the process of making the song his inner cry, he sensed a moving of grace flowing over the depths of his sin.

He closed his eyes as tears of gratefulness pressed for release. During the war, the agony of all he'd experienced had driven him from his true source of strength. But since he'd arrived at the lighthouse, God had been gently drawing him back to himself.

Another gunshot sounded in the distance, this time echoing
louder. Maybe the hunter was drawing closer. He sat forward with a start that sent a burning ripple up and down his arm.

“Help!” he shouted. “Somebody, please help!”

He made as much ruckus as he could for several minutes, but to no avail. No one came running to his rescue.

He would have to accept that he was stuck, at least until after Caroline married Arnie. After that, perhaps Arnie would come back and let him go. And if Arnie didn't, he knew Caroline would find a way to help him. She wouldn't neglect him if she could help it, especially not when Tessa and the boys needed him now more than ever.

He leaned back and closed his eyes again, letting his heart return to the prayer of earlier.

“What is the meaning of all this shouting?” an ornery voice said from the doorway.

At the sight of Monsieur Poupard's red flannel coat and coonskin hat, Ryan pushed himself up straighter. “Here! I'm over here!”

“I see you,” the old man said, limping forward. “I'm neither blind nor deaf. Yet.”

The Frenchman dropped a lifeless turkey by the door and propped his rifle against the wall, all while muttering under his breath in French.

“What is going on?” Poupard asked, unsheathing the hunting knife belted under his coat. “Why are you sitting out here in the windmill tied up? Did those wild twins do this to you?”

“Nay.” Ryan twisted to give Poupard access to his wrists. “Arnie did it in order to trap Caroline into marrying him.”

“Arnie Simmons?” The Frenchman used the knife to cut the rope and free Ryan's hands. The muskiness of tobacco and woodsmoke hung in the air around the old trapper. Even though
the man came across as abrasive, Ryan had noticed a softer side to him, especially after the fire when he'd treated Sarah with tenderness, covering her with extra blankets, giving her sips of water when everyone else was too busy, and finally carrying her back to her sickbed and laying her there as gently as a porcelain doll.

He wouldn't have guessed Poupard to have such a gentle side, just as he hadn't expected Arnie to have such a cruel side.

“Believe it or not,” Ryan said, “Arnie Simmons has a monster living inside him.”

“I believe it,” Poupard said.

Ryan flexed his numb hands and moved his injured arm gingerly. “I suppose every son has a little of his dad in him.” That was what he'd learned about himself. He hadn't wanted to struggle with drinking the same way his dad had. For years he'd prided himself on being a better and stronger man. But now he'd learned the truth, the truth that he was just as sinful.

Poupard bent over Ryan's feet, wedged in the knife and began sawing at the rope. “That boy has a twisted side to him. A couple weeks ago I saw him driving nails through a duck.”

Ryan sat back as if the old man had just thrown a cold bucket of water in his face.

“The poor bird was squawking in pain. But that boy tortured it anyway.”

Ryan's chest turned to ice. “That means Arnie's the one behind all the mishaps at the lighthouse.”

“Mishaps?”

“The hole in the boat, the fire, the destruction of Caroline's garden.” Maybe he'd even been the one to lock Caroline in the cellar. How else would he have known to look there?

Poupard paused in his sawing. The gravity in his expression
sent chills into Ryan's limbs. “I would not doubt he's responsible for those things.”

“But why would he try to hurt Caroline if he cares about her and wants to marry her?”

“Perhaps he thought he could scare her away from the lighthouse and into his arms.”

Ryan nodded. “Aye. Unless his father or Mr. Finick put him up to the task of driving Caroline away from the light.”

The Frenchman finished cutting the rope. “Mr. Simmons wouldn't have asked his son to scare anyone for him. He takes too much pleasure in scaring folks himself.”

“You're probably right. Arnie is desperate for Caroline to marry him. Maybe he thought that by creating danger at the lighthouse, she'd want to leave so she could protect her family. And by rescuing her from the cellar, he thought she'd admire him for being the hero and fall more easily into his arms.”

The Frenchman grunted his agreement.

Ryan scrambled to his feet, almost falling in his attempt to make his legs work. He stumbled toward the door. He had to save Caroline from Arnie, now more than ever.

“Here. Take my rifle,” Poupard called after him. “You may need it.”

Ryan grabbed the weapon and said over his shoulder, “Tell Tessa to stay with Sarah until I get back. And go find the sheriff and ask him to meet me at the inn.”

He didn't wait for an acknowledgment from Poupard but instead forced himself to move faster.

She was going to die.

Her soul cried out from the darkness creeping into her
consciousness.
God, you'
re good. You're good all the time. Even in
the bad times
.

Her father's prayer sifted through her mind, the prayer he'd shouted during the brightest sunshine and whispered during the fiercest storms. He'd never wavered in his faith, had clung to the promise of God's goodness as if it were the buoy keeping him afloat.

Caroline's cheek pressed against her knee, her tears dampening her skirt. Her hair stuck to her face and neck in the cramped heat of the cage. She'd lost all feeling in her arms and legs except for a painful numbness. Dizzying blackness threatened to pull her under completely.

She'd always given in to her worry, had always let it control her.

“Cast your cares on Him
, honey,”
her father had always told her.

But had she ever really followed his instruction? Had she ever cast her cares on the Lord?

She pictured the twins casting their fishing lines, tossing the bait as deep and as far as they possibly could. Was that what it was like to cast her cares? Did she need to mentally throw them as far away from herself as she could and let God swallow them up?

God, I cast my
cares on you
, she silently prayed
. I'm tired of
hanging on to all my concerns and worries. I want
to give them to you to hold. I cast my
cares on you. . . .

The prayer echoed quietly in her heart until it touched her lungs. She drew in a life-giving breath past the gag. As sour and stale as that breath was, she somehow knew His presence was with her.

She couldn't be sure that Ryan would be safe. She couldn't
be sure her sisters and brothers would be safe either. But she had to keep casting her worries on God.

The door on the coop rattled, rousing her from her drowsiness.

“Caroline?” came Arnie's voice as the door opened.

Relief swept over with the fresh air and the light.

“I've g-got the preacher,” he said, his fingers wrapping around her bound arms. “It's t-time to get m-married.” He dragged her out of the cage, wrenching her arms painfully in the process. He yanked her to her feet impatiently, and she couldn't keep from crying out.

When she was finally standing, she swayed, the darkness still hovering and threatening to overwhelm her.

Arnie's eager smile faded, and his eyes flickered with anger. “Aren't y-you excited?”

Excited?
She almost laughed, except the rag in her mouth stopped it. How could Arnie possibly think she'd be excited after he'd kidnapped and beaten Ryan and then bound and gagged her, forcing her into a filthy chicken coop?