The Willows (24 page)

Michael’s tone, as well as the sheepish
expression on all their faces, might indicate they had been
responsible for both the hole and the fire. The little arsonists.
Creaturely expect her to stay with these monsters?

“
Jude,” Michael went on, “go
with him and use whatever might have gotten damp to rustle up some
breakfast. You all need all your energy, if you hope to finish the
repairs today.”

With that, Michael turned and
left.

“
No!” Desperate, Gwen
followed him outside. “You cannot do this,” she cried, reaching for
his arm. “Don’t you realize my father will skin you alive once he
learns you are keeping me prisoner?”

He looked at her hand, then up into her
eyes. His gaze softened. “Your father will do nothing, just as he
has done for the last five years. Have you forgotten how eager he
was for our marriage?”

“
No, but I haven’t forgotten
Lance, either.” She didn’t need his nasty reminders, or his
unwarranted pity either. “I hope you don’t think he will let this
go unpunished. He will track you down to the ends of this
earth.”

He merely shook his head sadly. “There
you go again. Counting on all the wrong people.” Reaching up, he
gently pushed the hair from her face. “Even if he did find you,
your Lancelot likes his lady’s print and proper. Right about now,
you look like more of a ground rat.”

“
Don’t dare you say such a
thing. Who do you think you are?”

“
Me?” He smiled. “Maybe I am
your conscience, lady. I’m here see that you keep your promise.”
With that, he hurried down the steps through the rain to go push
his boat from the bank.

Dazed by his odyssey, and the fact that
he had actually left her, Gwen watched him pull off. Slowly, it
began to seek in that he had pulled the perfect revenge on her. She
was alone here, with nothing to stand between her and the threat of
the swamp, save five unruly children. Children who would far rather
see the last of her.

She had to get away. Hearing the boys
move about in the room behind her, she tried to think of some way
to enlist their help. They could not want her over around, and now
that Michael wasn’t there to glare them into submission, maybe they
would help her escape. If she were them, she would consider it well
worth risking his anger to be rid of her.

Taking a deep breath, she went inside.
She found the four youngest sitting in cells at the fireplace. Her
first thought was, “wasn’t one fire enough?” Until she realized
they were trying to cook breakfast. “Her stomach rumbled, reminding
her it had been a while since she had eaten.

They seem to be having difficulty
getting the damp wood to burn. From there swearing, she surmised
that Christopher, the youngest, had forgotten to close the
flue.

They looked up when she entered,
staring at her blankly as if they had forgotten she was there. In
the growing light, she could see they were dirtier than ever. The
prospect of eating any food prepared by those hands killed all
thoughts of hunger.

Their blank stares quickly became a
collective force of hostility, but Gwen refused to be intimidated.
“I have a proposition for you.” She announced. “I promise a stick
of tapping for anyone who helps me get home.”

“
Taffy?” Christopher asked
with curiosity.

“
If he doesn’t trust her
promises,” the one named Jude hissed, “then neither should we. He
wants her here, and unless you want him getting angry at us, that’s
where she’s going to stay.”

The other three looked at Jude with
wide, frightened eyes. Realizing that “he” could only be Michael,
Gwen spoke with undisguised exaggeration. “For pity’s sake, you
don’t want me around, so why waste the opportunity? How will he
know you helped, if you don’t tell him?”

“
I really do like candy,”
Christopher said, looking to Jude.

“
Be quiet, Christopher. You
just get back to slicing the bread and pretend she is not
here.”

“
You’re not being fair to
Christopher,” Gwen pressed. “How often does that poor little boy
get a treat?”

Jude merely snorted. “The thing is, we
are family, and we stick together. If one of us says we are not
going to help you, then nobody will. Matter what or how you try to
trick us.”

All four, even the obviously reluctant
Christopher, stood with their arms folded aggressively across their
skinny chess. In the face of such unified hostility, when could
only retreat. “Maybe I will just fine my own way home then,” he
said in the last feeble attempts at bravado.

The effect was lost on Jude. “You do
that,” the child muttered, turning back to the
fireplace.

Marching out the door, Gwen was
determined to prove she was not as useless as they obviously
thought. She would find her way home, and she would eat the taffy
herself.

“
There is alligators out
there,” one of them called before she could shut the door behind
her.

“
And snakes.”

Hateful children. She slammed the door,
taking pleasure in the sound it made. She’d show them if she had to
walk until she dropped. She would spend the night in her own bed at
the Willows.

Standing on the porch, she paused to
get her bearings, wishing she is not been blindfolded. In truth,
she had at the least idea where she was, or what direction to take.
She looked up at the brightening sky, seeing that the sun would
soon emerge from the scattered clouds. Little good it would do,
though, when she did not know in which direction Willows
was.

Heading down to the bank, she decided
to follow the Bayou, hoping it must eventually lead to a road she
knew. From there it should be a simple matter of finding a familiar
plantation and securing a ride home.

Too bad she looked like a joy around
rat.

Stuck out her chin. Michael’s insulting
appraisal did not bother her; she was merely concern with what
others would think of her of periods. She just tell them Michael
kidnapped her, see if her neighbors didn’t band together to lynch
him. Sit earning what he’d done to her, it was no better than he
deserved.

I am your conscience,
he’d the nerve to tell her. Here see that she
Promise.

Her righteous indignation slowed
somewhat–as did her pace into the marshland–as she realized she had
several boats from which to choose. There had been the childhood
one to make him her King, then the adult version of crowning him
champion of the competition, and she must not forget her route to
love, honor, cherish, until death do them part.

She shuddered, thinking of a lifetime
spends in that cabin. It would not be a long life; after six months
in that cabin, she would wither and die. With a saw, she thought of
the Willows, Lance and father and Uncle, and even Edith. She had to
get out of this wretched swamp back to all that was safe and
familiar. More than anything, she wanted to be home.

You might even like it
here,
Michael had said.

Looking around her, Gwen found it
highly unlikely. Everything was so foreign, so threatening. How
still in watchful the swap seemed. Anything could be hiding in the
dense plants or waiting out of sight in the branches of the twisted
trees.

Lifting her already damp skirt, she
stepped gingerly through the deeper monk, referring to take her
chances with the mud bank of the Bayou, then risk what might find
her in the undergrowth. She thought of Lance. The instant she saw
him, she tell him he was right about everything. She would never
again doubt a word he might say.

Soon, she was a pastor ankle in mud,
and with each step it became harder to pull out her boots. Cursing
under her breath, she was forced deeper and deeper in land, as the
Bayou became a marsh and quicksand of variable threats. Eyes ever
alert for anything crawling on the ground, she would have walked
right into a snake-hanging from a branch not more than ten feet
away–had she not looked up suddenly when she heard a noise in the
bushes. Seeing the snake, she screamed, the sound scaring the
reptile as much as she. It slithered off into the brush.

She stood where she was, not moving.
She had no idea if the snake had been poisonous; hating them so,
she avoided all reptiles and now couldn’t tell a moccasin from a
garden snake. But it was her lack of knowledge, and the fact that
she’d nearly run into a hideous creature, that so unnerved her now.
It forced her to admit that she was out of her element here, that
she’d been a fool to come this deep into the swamp.

Deep down, she knew the wisest course
was to go back, but she cannot bear to the face the grins from
those of noxious kids. She had no doubt they would mock her, and
worse, the instant Michael returned home, they were go running to
him with the story.

No, only hope was to press forward, and
hope against hope that did not get herself killed.

So she moved on, moving closer to the
streambank again, deciding she would rather take her chances with
quicksand that anything she might encounter in the brush. Twice the
Bayou forked, branching off into the dark and mysterious distance,
but she was never tempted to follow it. It was dark enough where
she was.

She cannot like how the trees
intertwine to form a ceiling, keeping the lights out and the
humidity in, a non-two welcome condition for someone recently
drenched by the rain. The air was so heavy, not a breeze stirred to
cool her down. Nothing moved; the overall effect was as quiet as a
tomb. She moved on, more and more convinced that she must indeed
have died, it was now wandering closer and closer to
hell.

When she smelled wood smoke, she did
not recognize the order at first, her senses overloaded by worry
and the dusky cents of the swamp. The site of the weathered boards,
peeking through the dense vegetation, brought hopes back to life.
She’d stumbled upon a dwelling of sorts, standing alone in a small
clearing. Though it wasn’t precisely civilized nation, she ran to
it eagerly, seeing it as her first step home.

Too bad she did not see where she was
going.

The root tripped her; surprise help her
lose her footing. Before she could fully recover her balance, she
went sprawling into the Bayou. Sputtering, she pulled herself up
walled to the bank, grateful to be in her riding clothes and not in
tangled in one of her heavy gowns. Lauren knew her boots were heavy
enough. Tired, she grabbed another route to help pull herself out
of the water. As she reached for it, she heard a loud splash behind
her.

An alligator?

Blood freezing in her veins, she
scrambled for dry ground, praying to reach the cabin before the
alligator got her. In a panic, she grabbed too hard and half the
root came away in her hand. She fell back into the water with an
even louder splash.

Yet even with all the noise she made,
she could not miss the sound of boyish laughter.

Fear turned cold with anger as she
reached for the remaining half of the root. The movement she had
heard earlier when she encountered the snake, must have been the
boys following her.

Perhaps basalt her fear he, for she
could find no sign of them when she scrambled up to the sand on dry
land. They had been wise flee.

Forgetting them, she turned her
attention to the shack, they haven from which she’d seek help. She
took a few moments strain her riding dress the best she could,
hoping she did not look much of a fright. But then, perhaps the
occupant would take pity and be all the more eager to
help.

With every step she walked forward
growing anger filled her body. Or when she looked up at the head to
the hidden home, she realized she was back at Michael’s
cabin.

Chapter 11

Edith quickly closed her uncle’s door
behind her, served by his state of health. John had been spitting
up blood again, and his skin had turned an awful yellow, but when
she’d wanted to call the doctor in, her daddy insisted it wasn’t
necessary.

She hated to see her uncle suffer. He
and Amanda had always been good to their motherless niece,
providing the only stability she ever known. Losing Uncle John now,
especially after the way her aunt died, was unthinkable.

“
Damn her!”

She tensed. That was Lance’s voice, in
a room down the hallway. She might love him with all her heart, but
if Lance woke Uncle John after terrible day he had trying to fall
asleep, she’d smack him with a broom handle. Lifting up her skirt,
she ran down the hall, looking in each room until she found
him.

It did not help her temper to find
Lance in Gwen’s bedroom, “Lance,” she hissed. “You hush your mouth,
or I will have your head.”

He ignored her, as the men in her life
generally did. “She is gone!” He exploded, pounding a fist on the
bed post. “I told her not to leave the house, but no, she had to
have her own way, had to do as she damn well pleased.”

Before he could do any serious damage,
Edith stepped up to take his hand in hers. “You have got to calm
down, Lance. Then tell me quietly what is wrong.”

He looked at her, focusing for the
first time. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, though no less.
Furious. “I’ve found her horse wandering about the stable, all
lathered and trembling, and I knew, dammit. I knew she had defied
me. I appeared and found Gwen’s bed hasn’t been slept in. Why, I
bet she went out right after I talked to her.”