Ever My Love: A Saga of Slavery and Deliverance (The Plantation Series Book 2) (20 page)

Five minutes back toward the corn field, she stopped. Was
that a bird rustling the high dry grass? Or maybe a possum prowling in the night.
She listened, but didn’t hear it again.

The cut-off shone plainly in the moonlight. She was far into
the field when she heard that noise again. Damnation! Her shotgun was still in
the wagon. She stepped into the corn and watched the way she had come.

A man’s figure emerged from the shadowed road into the open
lane. He carried a rifle in the crook of his arm. He stopped as if he were
listening, and then he took to the line of trees along the field road.

My God. She had led him right back to the wagon.

She couldn’t cut through the corn to warn them. She might as
well scream and shout as run through the dry sheaves. She couldn't see him. She held
her breath, listening, waiting. He’d gone back for the others!

Certain he was gone, she stepped out of the corn and hurried
round to the wagon. “Joseph,” she hissed. She didn’t have to call him again. He
raised himself up.

“They’ve found us. We have to go.”

He roused the others silently. Marianne headed for the
mules. No, that wasn’t a good idea. They’d never outrun men on horseback.
They’d have to play the innocents.

She ran back to the wagon. “Pearl, stay where you are.
Joseph, we’ll hide them in the woods. Then we’ll come back here and act as if
night caught us on the road.”

The three runaways stood in the lane now, Bess leaning
heavily on Elvin. Marianne looked around the moonscape. There was plenty of
brush about, but the corn looked far more dense. “In there.”

The rustling and creaking of the stalks as the three entered
the corn seemed loud as thunder, but twenty or thirty feet in, it ceased. They
were settled, hidden.

Joseph hoisted himself in the wagon. “Look like you
sleeping,” he whispered to Pearl.

Marianne climbed back onto the hard bench and lay down. She
sat up again and reached for the shotgun. It was still loaded. She lay down,
arranged her skirt over the gun, and hooked her finger on the double trigger.

What good would this shotgun do? She couldn’t shoot down men.
Dogs, yes, she did that. But not men. And there were four of them, and four
rifles. God, help them.

Maybe the man hadn’t seen the wagon. Maybe he had no
connection at all with those men at the house. He could be out coon hunting.
She kept her finger on the trigger, but the tension eased from her neck.

She had panicked, that’s all.  The bench bit into her
shoulder blades. It was unbearable, and Marianne sat up.

Four men surrounded the wagon. She hadn’t heard a thing.

“What do you want?” Marianne demanded. She was the daughter
of Albany Johnston, a planter of substance and influence; she knew very well
how to assume a tone of superiority.

“Might as well light that lantern now, Wilson,” one of them
said.

Before the match was struck, Marianne made sure her skirt
covered her weapon. The sudden glow of the kerosene wick darkened everything
outside its circle, but she could see their faces now. Her heart thumped in her
chest, but she meant to bluff these four men as well as any card sharp on a
Mississippi gambling boat.

“Gentlemen, you are intruding. My servants and I are passing
the night here, and your presence is indelicate and unwelcome.”

“That right?” This was the tallest of the four men. Tall and
lanky. “Gotta wonder why a lady like you is out here in the fields when you
passed a farm not a mile back. Whyn’t you stop there for the night?”

“Several horses tied at the trough made it clear those
people had plenty of company already.”

Another man with a chaw of tobacco in his cheek looked in
the wagon, staring at Pearl and Joseph. “Come on down out of there.”

“Do not presume to address my slaves, sir.”

The man raised his rifle at her. “I presume any damn thing I
please, lady. Ain’t that right, Monroe?”

She stood, almost certain her shotgun remained hidden in the
folds of her skirt. “Joseph, Pearl, please stand down so these men can see you
are not the runaways I presume they are pursuing.”

“You think we’re after runaways?” The tall man, Monroe,
grinned at her. “What makes you think that?”

She could have bitten her tongue out. They might merely be
robbers. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

Wilson, the one with the lantern, held it up to inspect
Pearl. “Turn her around,” he said to the one chewing tobacco.

“Why else would you disturb us? We obviously are not
carrying a shipment of gold bullion nor expensive wines. If it’s a spinning
wheel you desire, then we can accommodate your avaricious pursuit. Otherwise,
please leave us as you found us.”

Monroe grinned again, looking at his confederate. “She’s
feisty, ain’t she?”

The fourth man tossed the tarp out of the wagon and shoved
the baskets around. “Nobody back here, boss.”

Wilson held the light close to Pearl’s face. “You belong to
this old man, sugar?” He ran a hand over her breast. Pearl stood as one frozen,
but Joseph moved to protect her. The man backhanded him, quick and hard, and
Joseph went down.

Wilson set the lantern on the ground. “Keep your barrel on
him, Jack.” He grabbed Pearl by the arm and hauled at her, heading for the dark
shadows under the trees.

Joseph lay with the man Jack’s rifle pointed at his gut.
Pearl struggled to free herself from Wilson’s grip, but he wrapped an arm
around her waist and half lifted her as he kept on. “Miss Marianne!” she
yelled. He slapped her and she cried out again.

Marianne turned her back on her friends. She faced the
leader and raised her shotgun. The man who’d thrown the tarp stood not five
feet from him. She could kill the two of them where they stood.

“Tell your friend to let her go.”

Sight of the shotgun wiped the smile off Monroe’s face. He
glanced at the man near him. “You didn’t see she had a gun? You a worthless
piece of shit, Sonny.”

 Monroe looked back to Marianne and held his hands up in a
peace-making gesture. The smile had returned. “Now don’t get all upset, Miss.
Wilson ain’t going to hurt the girl. Just gone give her a little. You know what
he’s gone give her, don’t you? A pretty gal like you? Somebody give you some of
it by now, ain’t they?”

God gave her the strength to hold the gun steady, aimed
right between the two of them. “I’ve already cocked this firearm. Call your man
back.”

 Monroe stepped forward, his hands still up. “Now, Miss, you
don’t want to go aiming a gun at a man. That thing go off, you kill somebody.
Why’nt you come on down here, and I’ll treat you good? You treat me good, too,
won’t nobody get hurt.”

The leer on his face sickened her. Her finger, slick with
sweat, tightened on the trigger. The smell of the oil on the stock and the
barrel stung her nose, but the heavy weight of the big shotgun seemed nothing
to her.

“I’m not coming down. You’re going to call that man back and
release my people.”

He was close enough now she had to shift her aim.  She’d
only the one man in her sights now. In the lantern light, she could see the
color of his eyes. More yellow than brown, like a fish eye.

She swallowed hard. Joseph, on the ground with the rifle
pointed at him, hadn’t moved. Pearl hadn’t called out again. She was likely
already raped.

“Tell you what,” the leader said. Sonny started stepping to
the side out of the line of fire. He could work his way all the way around her,
she realized, if she kept the gun on the first man.

“Tell you what. You put the shotgun down, and I’ll
personally see to it your man and the gal are put back in the wagon. You don’t
have the ones we was after noway. How’d that be?”

She could pull the trigger. She could kill this one, then shift
the gun and get the other one. The tension in her finger intensified. But what
good would that do? There would still be two more of them.

“I see your man moving around,” she said. “But I can kill
you before he gets to me. Bring Pearl back now.”

Again the man’s humor left him. He glared at her, then
nodded to Sonny. “Go get Wilson and the girl. Hurry up, damn you.”

“Joseph,” Marianne said, “you all right?”

“I be all right.”

“Get in the wagon.” As if the wagon, with no mule tethered,
were an island of safety. She didn’t turn around to see if the man Jack let
Joseph up. She kept her sights on Monroe, the tall one. When she felt the wagon
shift under Joseph’s weight, she knew he’d climbed into the back.

The shotgun didn’t waver. “Tell them to hurry up.”

“Wilson,” Monroe hollered, “bring that gal on back. You had
time enough to rut her twicet by now anyways.” He smirked at Marianne when he
said it, and she could have pulled the trigger just for that. And only a few
minutes ago, she’d been doubting she had it in her to kill a man.

She heard the two men approaching, laughing and carrying on,
using words Marianne did not understand. She heard nothing from Pearl. Finally,
the wagon shifted again. “Pearl?”

“I got her, Missy. I got her,” Joseph said.

“Now you and your men leave us. If I so much as see a twig
move after you’re gone, I’ll shoot it. Don’t come back.”

 Monroe had his hands up in conciliation again. “Don’t need
to get all riled up. We ain’t done nothing to you. You keep your spinning
wheel, thank you, and we’ll be moving on.” He backed away from her, palms still
out.

“Come on, boys. We bothered the lady enough.” He looked
around for his men. Sonny and Wilson were there, but not Jack. Monroe picked up
the abandoned lantern and held it high. He looked around, the lantern glow on
the wall of the seemingly impenetrable corn. “Jack? Jack, where the hell you
gone?”

Marianne still had her shotgun aimed at the leader, but she
believed now she wouldn’t have to pull the trigger. They were going to leave,
as soon as this Jack came back.

Damn, she thought. What if that man Jack caught a sound or a
movement in the corn? What if he’s found them?

 Monroe stepped down the lane, calling out. “You piece of
bug shit, Jack. Get over here.”

The weight of the shotgun began to register with her now,
and her arms trembled, but still she kept her weapon up, aimed vaguely toward
Monroe.

“Jack!” No answer.

Monroe turned on his heel. “What’s going on here?” he called
back at Marianne. “You got somebody else with you? Sonny, put your gun on her.”

Wilson, not far from the back of the wagon, let out an
“umph.” He dropped to the ground, his rifle thrown out of his hand.

 Monroe ran toward Wilson, who was rolling to his knees now.
“Keep your gun on that girl,” he yelled at Sonny.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he roared at Wilson.
“Get up, you ass.”

Sonny yelped and lowered his rifle, his free hand at the
crack on his forehead. He swayed a little, then straightened up. “Somebody’s
hurling rocks!” Another missile caught him square between the eyes and he went
down.

 Monroe took cover behind the wagon wheel and fired into the
woods. And again. Wilson struggled to his feet and reached for his rifle.
Another stone caught him in the shoulder and he howled. “Blow the damn lantern
out!”

From the dark woods, an angry voice called out. “Marianne,
get down!”

Startled, she sat, then rolled off the bench to her knees,
her shotgun at the ready.

 Monroe fired at the voice. Then Wilson fired.

With her eyes adjusting to the lack of lantern light,
Marianne saw Sonny on his feet and about to climb onto the wagon seat. She
swung the shotgun at him and he jerked back. Again she swung and this time
caught him on the side of the head with the heavy steel barrel. He fell to the
ground, flat on his back, and lay still.

A cloud covered the moon, and for a moment she couldn’t see
even the end of the wagon. Who was out there?

No one made a sound. No one moved. The cloud sailed on and
again the moon lit the scene. Marianne could make out Joseph and Pearl crouched
together in the back of the wagon. She saw Monroe steady his rifle against the
side of the wagon and aim it toward the woods.

The wagon shifted. Wilson was on the bench beside her, his
hands grabbing for her and the shotgun. She twisted away -- he must not get the
gun. He socked her in the jaw and she reeled, but she held on. He socked her in
the belly, then in the chest, and she lost her grip.

Wilson yanked the gun from her hands, but before he could
turn it on Marianne, Pearl was on his back. She scratched and tore at his face.
Her teeth found his ear, and Marianne shoved herself into his knees. He
flailed, fighting for balance with Pearl on his back and Marianne in the tight
space at his feet.

Marianne heard Monroe’s rifle fire again, saw Pearl’s
moon-whitened face as she gouged at her rapist’s eyes.

Screaming, Wilson reached over his head for Pearl. He
grabbed her and pulled her around his body. Her fingers tried again to maul his
face, but now he had his hands on her neck. Squeezing. Choking the life out of
her.

Marianne found the shotgun at her feet. She shoved the
muzzle against the man’s ribs. She fired.

A strained endless gasp came from Wilson’s chest. His hands
let go of Pearl. She fell back into the wagon on top of Joseph, who at the
moment the gun went off was tackling the man’s legs.

Wilson, his torso a shredded, ruined mass, collapsed on top
of Marianne.

More gun fire.  Monroe shooting into the dark again. Then
nearby, a different gun with a different report. Someone was firing back at
Monroe, and not with rocks.

“Joseph?” Marianne couldn’t breathe with the dead man on top
of her. Suddenly, silence. No shots. No sound at all. “Joseph?” What if Monroe
had shot Joseph? The wagon shifted. Fighting panic, she screamed, “Joseph!”