More Than a Dream (30 page)

She took the front of his shirt in both hands and stared into his eyes. ‘‘Something is wrong. I feel it clear to the marrow of my bones.’’

Phillip clasped his hands over hers. ‘‘I’ll go look for her, then, if that will set your mind at ease. Did she mention what direction she might be going?’’

‘‘No, just that she’d be back before dark. Thank you, dear, and if I’m wrong you can tease me all you want.’’

‘‘Please, God, that you be wrong.’’

The sun had set by the time Phillip left the house. Trying to think like his daughter, he turned left toward Main Street but then decided that she’d probably gone right where she’d see more friendly yards than buildings huddled close to one another.

Why couldn’t she have asked him or her mother to go with her? Because she’s a young woman now and perhaps after all the pressures of the hospital would want some time alone. His thoughts darted faster than bats on a bug quest. She loved the river walk, so he turned down the next street to pick it up, although the mosquitoes would be fierce by now. If he’d started earlier, he might have been able to ask people sitting on their porches if they had seen her, but now the bugs had probably driven everyone indoors. True to what he’d thought, the only occupants of the river walk were fireflies twinkling in the grass and whining bloodsuckers wanting to suck him dry.

Phillip picked up a jog and kept it up in spite of lungs that started complaining after a hundred yards or so. He kept at it until his heart thundered, his legs took on lead, and a stitch in his side forced him back to a walk.

Lord God, give me strength
. He checked in at Mrs. Sitze’s Ice Cream Parlor, and though he was greeted by several customers, none of them had seen Elizabeth. Nor had Thorliff when he pushed open the office door.

‘‘You want I should come with you?’’ Thorliff laid down his pencil. ‘‘I’m on my way home now anyway.’’

‘‘You think she might have walked up to the college?’’

Thorliff shrugged. ‘‘I have no idea, but I’ll go look if you want.’’

‘‘Please do. That will make her mother happy, but let’s stop first at the house and see if she is home yet.’’

‘‘I said, shut up!’’ The man bopped her another one on her rear. He staggered under her weight and finally dumped her on the ground, her legs buckling on impact. She twisted around until she lay on her side, her feet and legs full of stinging bees as the circulation returned.

Other than his stentorian breathing, she heard no sounds of the town. Missing were the laughter, dogs barking, wagons and buggies on the streets. She listened hard, hoping to hear something that sounded familiar. Was that the river? She held her breath to make sure. Yes, they weren’t far from the river, so that meant he’d headed west. But how far? Far enough to not hear the town. She tried to think what lay out here besides farms, none of which were close together.

A dog barked off in the distance. A cow bellowed.

She flexed her hands, which were still tied down at her sides. Fear tasted metallic, like old blood in her mouth.

A stick or rock dug into her hip, so she scooted back only to encounter another. When she heard her captor get to his feet and walk away, she listened to which direction he headed. Where was he going? Would he leave her here, trussed up like a rolled rug? Quieting her breathing, she listened with every sense. When she heard him relieving himself, she clamped her teeth together. He’d be back. She wriggled her arms, bit by bit easing the ropes upward.
If he leaves me here, I know I can get free,
she thought as she heard him returning, brushing branches and grass aside as he came.

His sigh as he sat down again made her wonder if he had any idea what he was doing. She wriggled again to find a place on the ground that didn’t poke her. For once she wished for the heavier skirts and petticoats of winter. At least she’d have had more protection.

‘‘Could you please take this thing off my head so I can breathe better?’’ She kept her tone conversational, as if they were acquaintances out on a picnic. A grunt that she took for no was her only answer.

Mosquitoes whined, and she heard him curse and slap. ‘‘Ye buggers.’’

Perhaps she’d rather keep her trappings. At least she was protected from the blood-sucking critters.

She waited a bit. ‘‘Sir, would it be permissible for me to sit up and lean against a tree trunk or something?’’

He grunted and slapped at a buzzer again. About the time she’d figured he had no intention of making her more comfortable, he thrashed his way over to her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and hoisted her into a sitting position. Then he dragged her backward until she felt something solid behind her back. ‘‘Thank you.’’

Leaning her head back against the tree trunk, she could breathe more easily, and with her knees bent and her feet flat on the ground, the cramps in her legs let up.

Get him talking. How do I get him talking? Skilled as I am at
parlor chitchat, I should be able to find something to talk about. What
would my mother say I should do now?

‘‘No. No one’s seen her,’’ Annabelle said when Roger and Thorliff arrived at the house. ‘‘I asked Ina Odegaard to send a message out to everyone over the telephone. People are calling for her, but no one has seen Elizabeth.’’ Annabelle glanced at the clock on the mantel. While it seemed like hours had passed, the hands had moved only thirty minutes.

‘‘Okay, Thorliff, you go on up the hill then and I’ll . . . I’ll . . .’’ Phillip used both hands to scrub his hair back. The telephone rang, and he snatched up the earpiece. ‘‘Rogers here.’’ He held up a finger and nodded as the voice continued. ‘‘Okay, thank you very much.’’ He hung up, a sigh slumping his shoulders. ‘‘Mrs. Stone-bridge saw Elizabeth heading past her house toward the river. But I was down there, and I saw absolutely nothing.’’

‘‘You still want me to go up the hill?’’

‘‘No. Let’s both go toward the river. We’ll go west this time.’’

‘‘You could go faster on horseback. Or I could.’’

‘‘Good idea. You saddle up my horse, and I’m going to talk to Sheriff Meeker.’’ Phillip picked up the receiver again and barked into the mouthpiece. ‘‘Get me the sheriff, will you, Ina?’’

Thorliff headed out the door to the small pasture behind the carriage house.
Where could Elizabeth be? Perhaps she had fallen or
had some other kind of accident. For one usually so conscientious,
something must be preventing her from calling home or coming home.
Or someone? But who?
Elizabeth Rogers was loved or admired by most everyone in town. At least it seemed that way. He rattled a can of oats and the horse trotted up to him. ‘‘Good boy.’’ Thorliff looped the reins around the horse’s neck and led him up to the tack room. Tossing the feed can back in the bin, he slid the bridle in place and tied the horse to the post. He retrieved the flat saddle from the tack room and, after buckling that in place, led the horse outside to mount and trot down the lane. As soon as he reached the street, he nudged his mount into a canter and turned right at the first street. Once on the dirt track by the river, he leaned forward and gave the horse his head. A run would do them both good.

‘‘Please, sir, I need to use the facilities.’’

A bark of what might have passed for laughter made her flinch. ‘‘Ain’t no facilities out here, and if I let you loose and you take off, then where would I be.’’

Much safer than you are now. Surely Father will come looking for
me. Wherever I am
. But she felt certain that her captor had followed the river trail until he entered the brush, and he hadn’t staggered very far through that.

‘‘If you thought to ask for a ransom, my parents are not wealthy. And I have nothing to offer you.’’

‘‘Money ain’t me purpose.’’

Elizabeth heard him rustle around as if he were trying to get comfortable. Where had she heard that voice before? She closed her eyes and tried to think back, but the fetid odor from the sack made concentrating difficult. When had she spoken with a man recently? Thorliff, her father, Mr. Stromme, Dr. Gaskin . . . Think back further. The porter on the train, the manager at the hotel, the hack driver, Patrick at the hospital, a patient? She coughed, wishing for a chance to wipe her nose. Maybe he was a patient, but she hadn’t treated any men other than in surgery, and they were in no condition to talk. Why did the word
patient
keep coming back?
God, help me, I need you
. Was that someone coming? She stopped breathing to listen.

‘‘You make a noise, and I’ll be slittin’ your throat right now.’’ His whisper carried all the venom of an attacking cobra, a hiss as he fumbled his way to her and clamped a hand across her mouth. He blocked her nose at the same time. She threw her head back, banging it on the tree. Fighting for air, she grunted, the words screaming in her mind but getting no further than his palm.

‘‘Stop it!’’ He hissed the words in her ear, and she could feel her body going slack as darkness of a different sort descended. Had she really heard someone calling her name, or was it a figment of her brain suffering loss of oxygen?

‘‘Elizabeth!’’ Thorliff stopped the horse so he could hear better if there were a response. Nothing. He called again and listened before nudging his mount back into a canter.

God above, if she is in danger, please surround her with your
protection. And Lord, if she is visiting someone in town and been too
careless of time, please keep me from ripping into her when I see her
. Somehow he knew in his heart that the latter wasn’t the case.

Something had indeed happened to Elizabeth. He knew it down to his innermost self. Thorliff stopped the horse and called again. Thinking he might have heard something rustling in the woods off to his left, he waited silently, but when nothing else happened, he shook his head. Probably scared up a bird of some kind. He walked the horse a ways before picking up the canter again. How far could he be from town now? A mile and a half? Two? Or more. Grateful for a horse that had better vision at night than he had, he finally turned around and headed back to town. With no moon and overcast skies, he could only faintly see the trail, let alone anything down at the river or off into the brush. Every so often he paused and called her name again. Nothing answered but a dog barking at some farm off in the distance.

He rode back to the Rogerses’ home, hoping and praying they had heard something.

‘‘Only thing we’ve heard is Henry Stromme’s report that he saw a stranger in town.’’ Clyde Meeker, the county sheriff, stood with Phillip by the fireplace. ‘‘Sorry, Mrs. Rogers, Thorliff. We’ll all set out soon as dawn half lightens the sky and search every inch we can. Maybe she just got lost in the woods and is waiting until morning herself.’’

But Thorliff knew that was wishful thinking. There weren’t woods with that density close enough that Elizabeth would have gone walking to. She didn’t take the bicycle, and he’d ridden the horse.

‘‘Oh.’’ Elizabeth sucked in a deep lungful of air. What had happened? She blinked, but unless her eyes weren’t working properly, full darkness had fallen. She wiggled her fingers and feet and relaxed her cheek against the cool ground. She was back to lying on her side, but he hadn’t suffocated her, much as she had thought he did. Something teased the outside of her mind. Had she heard someone calling her name? Was someone looking for her?

‘‘Sir, could you help me sit back up please?’’ When there was no answer, she waited without breathing herself. She could no longer hear him breathing either.

‘‘Are you there?’’ Was he waiting for her to scream, and then she’d feel the knife like he promised? She waited awhile longer, her heart thudding, fear eating like acid in her stomach. If he wasn’t there any longer, had he run away? Where was she? What dangerous wild animals lived in these woods? She’d heard tales of bears and bobcats and once in a great while a wolf or two.

‘‘Well, I’m certainly not going to lie here and wait for something to attack me.’’ Speaking aloud offered only slight comfort, but slight was a far cry better than nothing. And trying to get loose would at least give her something to keep her mind busy.

Pushing her heels into the ground, she scooted on her back, rubbing the ropes down her arms. She banged her head into a tree trunk and grunted at the pain.

‘‘Time to go the other way.’’ Turning around took more rolling in the dirt and duff. She froze as something or someone crashed through the woods. Was he coming back? She waited, calming her breathing so she could hear better. Nothing. After what seemed like hours of more rolling and pushing and wriggling, Elizabeth had one hand free. With a muffled squeal of joy, she ripped the filthy sack off her head and shook out her hair. Ah, clean air. Stopping to listen frequently for any sound of her returning attacker, she released her other hand and clasped her hands around her bent knees. ‘‘Thank you, Father. Thank you. I know more than I ever have that you live up to your promises to be with us no matter what. I don’t know what made him run off, but I sure am grateful.’’ She loosened the rope, untied it from around her ankles, and finally, using a tree for support, stood on her own two feet. Now, which way was home?

‘‘Would that tonight was a full moon instead of no moon. And here in the woods, dark is even darker.’’ She held her breath to listen for the river, but the singing crickets and whining mosquitoes, along with other chirping, fluttering, crying, and squeaking noises that seemed to thunder through the leaves and branches, thoroughly buried the sound of the summer river that meandered rather than roared like the spring torrents.
‘‘If you are ever lost in
the woods, stay in one place, and I will find you.’’
Her father might as well have been standing behind her, she heard his voice so clearly. After banging into one tree after another, falling flat after tripping over a stump on the ground, and nearly losing an eye to a broken branch, she heeded her father’s long-ago advice.

Hoping she had gotten far enough away from the place her abductor had left her, she sat down to lean her back against a tree trunk. But as soon as she was still, a horde of needle-nosed scavengers attacked all her exposed skin. Elizabeth leaned over, separated her skirt from her petticoat and, wrapping her petticoats tight around her feet, threw the skirt up over her head, effectively covering every square inch of her tender skin. ‘‘So there.’’ She leaned back to wait for morning and willed herself to keep watch should her abductor return. But soon exhaustion took over, and she fell into a fitful sleep.