The Color of Ivy (15 page)

She stiffened her spine and drew away.  But she had made far too many mistakes in the past.  Thought she saw something that wasn’t there.  Thought she could trust, when there was no trust
being offered.  She had survived all these years on her ability to remain distant, cold.  Aloof.  She would not let one man risk destroying all that.  Particularly this man.  She had to force herself to remember he was not her savior.  He was her executioner.

He must have noticed her withdrawal for he moved and sat across from her.  Not on the other side of the pit as he had earlier, but closer.  Yet she felt no threat.

“What did they say happened to Moira?”

“They told me she
’d gone and taken the child, had abandoned me.  Naturally, I didn’t believe them.  She would never have done that.”  She paused.  “I heard her that night, ye know.  Crying and screaming in pain while she be giving birth.  She called out to me, and I wanted so badly to go to her.  But they had chained me to the bedpost, told me to stay put and keep me mouth shut if I wanted to see me sister again.  Three days later, they finally undid me shackles.  But it was too late.  She was gone.”

His eyes shifted down to her wrists.  “You didn’t try and escape?”

Her eyes felt hard as she turned to him.  “No.”  Regret poured from that single word and she was relieved to see he did not push it further.

“Is it possible she died during childbirth?  You said yourself she had looked weak beforehand.”

Ivy shook her head.  “No.  She was weak in the spirit, not in the body.  I heard her.  She was crying, begging for her wee one.”  Falling silent, her mind unconsciously replayed that horrible night.  “And the babe.  I heard it.  It was crying.  They were alive, I know it.”

“Did the servants not even give you any clue as to where she went?”

“They said she ran off.  Took the babe and left.  I waited several days.  Believing she would return.  She wouldn’t have done that to me.  But after weeks passed and still no sign of her, I began to think that perhaps she had finally had enough.  Had made her escape.  After all, she now had a wee one to consider and to protect.”

“After everything she did to protect you, Ivy, do you really believe that?”

“No, not at first.”  She shook her head.  “But she was gone.  And so was the babe.  Before giving birth, she revealed to me she was frightened of what the Earl would do to the child.  She feared for its safety.”

Sam gave her a sad look then waited a moment before asking, “What did you do then?”

“Nothing.  I didn’t want to leave.  I wanted to ensure I be there waiting when she returned.  But she never did.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered silently.

The gentleness of his voice had a well of emotion bubble up inside.  Her eyes closed momentarily, forcing the tears aside before she opened them again.

“Without Moira, the Earl and his son turn
ed their vile attention to me.  I guess I finally became frightened enough to run.”  And found herself running ever since.

“Where did you go?”

“Initially, I just wandered, looking everywhere for her.  I asked at the village and surrounding estates, hoping she might have gotten employment there.  When she didn’t show up, I headed for London where I got work and continued me search.  But no one had seen her.  After years of searching and finding no trace of her, it began to dawn on me, I would never see me sister again.”

“Do you
think she’s still alive?”

“I would like to believe that, but in me heart I know she’s gone.  Whatever happened to her, whether she fled on her own or been forced out of the Earl’s home, she didn’t deserve it.  She was decent and kind and didn’t have a mean bone in her body.  When she smiled, her cheeks would glow so sweetly and her eyes sparkled.  She had a knack for making me fears go away.  I can remember when I was younger and frightened and be missing me parents, she would tell me to imagine the sound of music.  We would dance across the floor in
each other’s arms.  Me mother loved to dance.”  A tiny smile lifted the corners of her mouth at the memory.  “It made me feel comforted.  As if she be there in the room dancing with me.  Until even that was gone.”

His eyes shifted down to her ankle.  “Did he push you?”

She nodded.  “He was furious I’d gone and escaped me locks again.  I hated being chained up like a dog.  One of the servants found me wandering the upstairs wing.  Told me I’d get a thrashing for sure.  I was cussing with anger when Moira appeared.  Warned me to withhold me tongue, she did.  Not that it mattered.”

Sam paused, studying her before asking, “Why did he lock you up?”

She shrugged.  “It was one of his favorite forms of punishment.  Other times I’d be lowered into the well until mornin’.”

“Jesus,” he cursed.  “That explains your fear of small spaces.”

“At times, they’d cover the opening if it looked like rain so I wouldn’t go and drown on them.  Can’t explain away so easily a dead child at the bottom of a well, now could he.”

She felt his eyes boring into her.  It made her uncomfortable.  As if he could see into her past, feel her pain, her loneliness.  Immediately, she turned away.  For so long she had wanted to share that
anguish, perhaps let someone else help shoulder the memories. But this was Ivy’s burden to bear alone.  Wear it like a pendent of retribution.

“How often did he punish you?”

She sighed and raised her hands to cover her face, using the tips of her fingers to rub her temples.  “Several times a day.”

“How old were you?”

“I was about the age of twelve when the punishments began.  The restraints came a little later when I became too feisty to handle.  That continued until I left at the age of fifteen.”

“How did you manage to escape your restraints?  I’ve only seen
a few outlaws who were able to manage that feat.”

“When ye have little else to do, Mr. Michalski, one’s mind becomes quite astute.  I’d be sitting there for hours studying them, figuring out how they worked.  How they were put together.  Me fingers were tiny and slim and managed to release the wee pin that be holding the cuffs together.  When he realized they were useless on me, he began using rope.  But it didn’t deter me.  I was patient and studied the knots, knowing there was a weak point somewhere.  It was a matter of finding it.”

Sam actually looked impressed.  “Pretty amazing for a girl of thirteen.”

“I did what needed to be done to survive.”

Their eyes met and held for an entire heartbeat before Sam finally gave her a silent nod of understanding.  Turning his attention back to the fire, he asked, “So, how does any of this relate back to Philip Hendrickson and his death?”

Their
gazes locked again and for the tiniest heartbeat, she contemplated telling him.  Then it was gone.  “It doesn’t.”

He sighed and dropped an arm over his raised knee.  “More secrets, Ivy?”

“Don’t we all have secrets, Mr. Michalski?”  She thought about how he had alluded to a time he had made a grave mistake and allowed a female prisoner to convince him of her innocence.  Only to have her turn around and commit another crime.  There was no doubt in Ivy’s head that whenever Sam looked at her, he saw this other woman.

His expression stilled, suppressing any thoughts going through his head.  “Yes, I suppose we do.”

* * *

The night was cold.  The wind had picked up considerably.  Sam looked across the fire at Ivy.  She was shivering in her little cloak.  He felt a wave of compassion.  He couldn’t help it.  She had been through hell in her past.

Getting up, he shrugged out of his duster and went over to drape it over her shoulders.

She glanced up
, startled.  “You’ll get cold.”

He frowned. 

Hell, just once why didn’t she act like the criminal she was supposed to be?  Consideration for another, especially her captor, shouldn’t be her first concern.  “Take it.  You’re smaller than me.”

“Thank ye,” she whispered, looking slightly baffled
, but slipped beneath his coat.  “What about the blanket?”

He shook his head.  “We’ll need its warmth later.  When it gets colder.”

Sam retrieved his seat on the large protruding boulder.  Damn, it was as cold as ice.  He didn’t doubt it was going to snow soon.  The storm he had earlier seen on the horizon had passed without incidence.  But he guessed a much bigger one was on its tail.  He just hoped he got them to the city before then.

Automatically, his eyes
drifted back to Ivy.  Tomorrow they would part ways.

She was still trembling
, but it had subsided quite a bit.  He figured they would need each other’s body heat to survive the night.  But how Sam would survive holding Ivy in his arms once again and have the strength not to touch her, he didn’t know.

She looked up suddenly; catching him off guard, then froze.  As if she had the ability to read his thoughts.  But her eyes stared without blinking at him and the tiniest flicker of fear danced in their shadows.  As Sam frowned
in return, he realized she was not staring at him, but somewhere beyond him.

He turned around to look.  So engrossed in his thoughts and with the night air blowing upwind, he did not hear someone approach from behind. 
From within the shadow of trees he saw the outline of a horse.  The orange glow from the fire provided just enough light to see the Indian sitting on top of it.

Slowly, Sam got to his feet.  Generally, Indians didn’t leave him feeling nervous.  But that was before they nearly burned Ivy down in the church earlier that day.  Though if he were to be honest, he suspected they knew nothing of her presence inside the building.  If they did, she wouldn’t be sitting across the bonfire from him now.

The Indian rode his horse further into their camp.  Sam recognized him immediately as the same Indian that was in the shop.  He kept his eyes on the shaman as he slowly surveyed the area.  His dark eyes settling on Ivy, before returning to Sam.

In his native tongue, the Indian asked, “Is that your woman?”

Without hesitating, Sam replied, “Yes.”

The Indian’s eyes drifted over Sam, taking note of his size and build, then stopping at the holster noticeably visible without his coat.  “It is cold night for white man.”

Sam slowly nodded and responded in the native language, “Yes, it is.”

“Tonight the snow will come.”

The natives had a way of predicting the weather.  Their understanding of nature and the earth was like no other.

“The woman will need warmth.”

At that, Sam made no reply.  If the Indian thought he would be the one to offer Ivy warmth, he had a battle to face.  Then the Indian moved and Sam instinctively became alert.  Reaching behind him, the Indian produced one of the fur pelts he had brought to the shop earlier for trade, and held it out to Sam.

Hesitating, he watched the Indian warily, and then took the offered fur with a nod.  “Thank you.”

The Indian nodded, and then glanced back at the fire.  The smell of food drifted up from the tin can it was cooking in.  From the conversation in the trading post earlier, he was aware of the natives being deprived.

“You’re welcome to sit at our fire and eat with us.”

In his peripheral vision he saw Ivy jerk.  Ignoring her, he locked his eyes on the Indian.  The man nodded, then slowly slid off his horse and approached the fire.  His eyes shifted to Ivy, who huddled further into Sam’s coat.

“Your woman has
eyes of ice and hair of fire.”

“And a temperament to match.”  He thought it best to detour the Indian’s interest in Ivy as best he could.  There was no getting out of his being there in their camp.  It was best Sam played it cool and saw exactly what the Indian wanted.

The Indian actually smirked, then surveyed Sam.  “You know my tongue well, white man,” he said and offered Sam a nod of approval.

“I’ve spent much time with the
Chippewa’s of Montana.”

Again the Indian watched Sam closely as if weighing the validity of his words.  Then he nodded once more and turned his attention back to Ivy.  “And the woman?”

“Does not understand.”

Nodding again, he took his first mouthful.  Then ate in silence.  Sam met Ivy’s wary glan
ce over his bent head.  Silently, he sent her a reassuring look.  She seemed to relax slightly.

“Where do you go?”

“Fort William.  We were on the train that derailed.”

The Indian seemed to absorb this bit of information.  Finally, he got to his feet and Sam followed suit.  The Indian turned and nodded to Ivy before heading for his horse.  Sam watched the
shaman and felt a pang of remorse.  He did not agree with murder.  But murdering and killing were two different things.  Hell, Sam had killed enough men in his own time.  But they had all been well deserved.  Even if there was a plausible reason, murdering was the lowest form of man.  Still, he found himself saying, “Hold up.”

The Indian turned and waited as Sam went to his saddlebag and retrieved the bag of rice he had bought at the shop.  Holding it out to the Indian, he said, “In exchange for the pelt.”