“Elise . . .” he breathed. “What have they done to you?”
“B-Benjamin. . .” Her voice seemed to catch, and she could say no more.
At first he could not see what was wrong with her. There was a red welt on her cheek, but he saw no blood on the front of her dress to indicate a bullet wound. Then he lifted away more of the blanket and saw the most horrible sight he had ever seen in his life. The back of her dress was ripped to shreds, and the exposed flesh was crisscrossed with blood-encrusted welts.
Had Benjamin given it conscious thought, he would have known in that moment what white-hot fury was like. But he didn’t think. Instead, he was driven by animal instincts as he leaped to his feet and flew like a crazed beast at the man who would dare inflict such dreadful harm on the woman he loved. He clamped his hands around Maurice Thomson’s throat, prepared to choke the life from this evil man.
Thomson, gagging, turning red in the face, then blue, tried to fight Benjamin off, but somewhere Benjamin found the strength of ten enraged men. Thomson would have been dead in another minute had John Hunter not intervened.
“Benjamin, you sure you want to do this?” he asked calmly. “I figure you got every right, but you’re gonna have to live with it when you’re done.”
It wasn’t so much the words as it was the quiet, almost soothing manner in which they were spoken that penetrated Benjamin’s inflamed senses. He stopped, his hands loosening a slight degree from their death grip. He glanced at John, who had moved, with musket aimed at the struggling Thomson, to the front of the man and about ten feet away so he would have a good advantage.
Perspiring and shaking, still feeling he wanted to kill, Benjamin forced himself to back off. He returned to Elise’s side.
“Th-thank you,” she murmured.
He wasn’t sure why she was thanking him. For rescuing her? For not killing Thomson?
Smoothing back the damp, tangled hair from her face, he didn’t know what to say except what he had been hoping he’d have a chance to say since leaving the cabin after her.
“I love you, Elise.” He kissed the mass of hair.
“Ain’t that sweet.” Thomson’s snide voice reminded Benjamin they weren’t finished with him. He was sitting up again, rubbing his throat, but not looking too bad after his ordeal.
Benjamin tried to convince himself he had done the right thing in letting that miserable creature live.
“So you are a preacher after all,” Maurice continued. “I almost believed her when she tried to tell us you weren’t. I mean, who would of thought a preacher would take up with a common trollop, eh?”
“Shut up, Thomson, or I will kill you,” Benjamin warned. “And believe me, you try to harm my wife again, and I will do it—and do it joyfully.”
“Wife, you say?” Thomson’s eyes glinted with amusement.
“Yes, and you have no more claim on her.”
“We’ll see about that. I got a legal claim, and now I got a moral claim for you killing my brother. You are gonna pay dearly for that!”
“I am sorry about your brother. But he wouldn’t have come to harm if you hadn’t tried to bring harm to others yourself.” Benjamin glanced at Elise so that despite his regret over the death of Thomson’s brother, he could be reminded about the kind of man he was dealing with. “No law will condone what you’ve done to my wife.”
“Even if she was your legal wife, she was my property first. But last I heard, a woman can’t have two husbands.” He sneered. “It appears she’s put a big one over on you preacher, ’cause your so-called
wife
already has a husband back in South Carolina.”
Benjamin quickly brushed off the statement as a lame attempt by Thomson to force him to give up his claim on Elise.
“Give it up, Thomson,” Benjamin said. “You’ve lost. Even if the legal authorities uphold your claim of ownership, you are going to have to come and get her—and you’ll have to get past me to do so. I won’t hesitate again.” He then rose and glanced at John. “What’ll we do with him?”
“You won’t have any peace unless he’s dead,” John said with more logic than ire.
“Killing the other man was self-defense. It had to be done,” Benjamin said. “But neither you nor I could kill a man, even a rascal like this, in cold blood.”
John nodded, though he didn’t look any more convinced than Benjamin felt. If Thomson lived, Elise would always live under a shadow. Yet no matter how he or John felt, Benjamin knew they could not live with murder, which killing Thomson at this point would amount to.
So with deep reluctance, Benjamin found a length of rope from among Thomson’s supplies. The best he could do was to tie his hands, take his weapons and his horses, and let him fend for himself. He and Elise would find some way to live with the threat of Thomson.
“After I tie your hands, Thomson,” Benjamin said, “we’re going to ride off. I’ll let your horses go after a few miles, and no doubt they’ll find their way back to you. I’m giving you half a chance to survive. But if you ever show your face on my land or make any attempt to harm me or mine, like I said, I will kill you.”
Benjamin stepped close to Thomson, who was still sitting on the ground. He was about to step behind him to bind his hands at his back when Thomson’s arm shot up, a flash of metal catching a ray of the setting sun. Before Benjamin could react, Thomson’s arm encircled Benjamin’s neck with a viselike grip, the point of the knife pressed against Benjamin’s throat.
“All right, you!” Thomson yelled at John. “Drop that gun.” When John hesitated, Thomson sneered, “You’re both fools. You should have killed me when you had the chance. I ain’t leaving without my property, and
I
won’t hesitate to kill you both.” As if for emphasis, he tightened his grip on Benjamin. “Now drop the musket!”
John let the weapon slip from his hands too quickly. It struck the ground hard, discharging the loaded shot. John jumped back in surprise. The explosion took Benjamin and his captor by surprise also. With the knife at his throat, Benjamin couldn’t move. Thomson only jerked slightly, but that momentary distraction was all Benjamin needed. The instant he felt the tip of the knife move, he lunged his elbow back hard into Thomson’s stomach.
Thomson fell back, still gripping the knife, then quickly shook off the effects of Benjamin’s blow and made a swift lunging uppercut at Benjamin’s arm, slicing the fabric of his sleeve. Benjamin spun around and, in the same motion, caught Thomson’s knife hand and jerked it back, forcing Thomson to the ground. Benjamin tried to smash his hand against the dirt, but Thomson held fast his weapon.
The two men grappled on the ground, first with Benjamin on top, holding back Thomson’s jabs with the knife. Then Thomson gained the advantage and rolled on top, the knife hovering above Benjamin’s face. Out of the corner of his eye, Benjamin could see John lying on the ground. Had he been struck by the discharged shot?
Benjamin quickly forced his concentration back to his opponent, who had once again maneuvered the knife into a good striking position. Benjamin held back the knife hand, but a sharp pain coursed up his arm. It was then he realized Thomson’s earlier blow had done more than cut his sleeve. Blood dripped from the ragged fabric of his shirt.
With the strength in one arm ebbing, Benjamin made another desperate attempt to dislodge the knife from Thomson’s powerful hand. Lying on his back with Thomson on top of him, he managed to wedge his knee between them. With all his strength and concentration focused on his arms and the battle to keep the knife at bay, his thrusts with his knee were not as strong as he wished. Once, twice, slowly his effort began weakening Thomson’s hold. With the third thrust, Benjamin managed to get an advantage over the knife hand.
He twisted the arm back, drawing a loud, pain-filled bellow from Thomson. Another full body thrust, and Benjamin was on top once again. Thomson’s arm was definitely weakening, and he offered little resistance as Benjamin attempted to smash the hand against the ground.
The knife bounced from Thomson’s hand. But Benjamin made the mistake of loosening his grip in order to shove the knife out of reach. Thomson was not about to let that happen. As Benjamin loosened his hold, Thomson proved faster and smashed his fist into Benjamin’s nose. Nose bloodied, head spinning, Benjamin fell back. Then Thomson grabbed the knife, jumped up, and charged Benjamin. Either Thomson thought Benjamin was still stunned from the blow, or he was simply too full of confidence, but clear shock registered on his face when Benjamin rolled in time to avoid the charge.
His momentum having a life of its own, Thomson could not pull back in time. He hit the dirt where Benjamin’s form had been an instant earlier. Benjamin jumped up, expecting his adversary to do the same. But Thomson did not rise. Instead he lay there, his body jerking convulsively.
Cautiously, Benjamin approached the fallen form that had suddenly grown still. He tapped it with the toe of his boot. Nothing. He bent down and shook a shoulder, then heaved the body over and saw Thomson had impaled himself on his own knife. Blood oozed from his mouth. He was dead.
Benjamin looked around. John was sitting up now, rubbing his head.
“It’s over,” Benjamin said, panting, voice raw and sick.
“You all right?”
Benjamin nodded, still looking dazed. “How about you?”
“Sorry I wasn’t much help,” John said. “Tripped over a rock when that rifle fired and hit my head on that.” He pointed to a large sharpedged rock. One of the edges was tinged with blood.
“He’s dead,” Benjamin said, trying to make that awful fact penetrate his benumbed senses.
“Let me have a look at that arm of yours.” John reached for Benjamin”fs wounded arm.
“It’s all right. It doesn’t hurt. I have to see to Elise.” He returned to her blanket-covered form and laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Benjamin . . . I’m s-so sorry!”
“Shh, it’s time to get you home, Elise.”
F
OR DAYS BENJAMIN DID NOT
know if Elise would live or die. The wounds on her back had festered, and fever assailed her. She was never fully conscious. In her delirium she would cry out incoherently, seemingly in pain. At other times she mumbled things, often just Benjamin’s name.
It frightened the children. Hannah clung to her mother, often crying herself. Benjamin thought how fearful Elise had always been of losing Hannah. No one ever considered that the loss could be reversed.
Isabel was inconsolable at first. “Papa, will she die?” Her weeping was pitiful to behold.
But Benjamin wasn’t much help. He lifted his own tear-filled eyes to his daughter. “I . . . I don’t know. Dear God, she can’t die!” He hugged Isabel to him, and they cried in each other’s arms.
They both soon found strength in tending to Elise’s physical needs. Keeping her inflamed skin cool was a full-time endeavor. Nell Hunter came to help for the first three days. John’s grazed head was healing nicely, but he remained at home to tend neglected chores. Nell had insisted on cleaning and bandaging Benjamin’s cut arm. He’d hardly felt the wound in his concern for Elise but it was a deep cut, and Nell was worried that it would putrefy and cause lockjaw. She made a poultice of garlic and witch hazel, which she swabbed on the wound to prevent inflammation, then bound it with a rind of pork, explaining that would fight lockjaw. Benjamin accepted these ministrations impatiently.
But Nell, wise and logical like her husband, said, “What good will you be to Elise if you get sick?”
Finally, she turned her attention to Elise. Benjamin could hardly watch the process of cleaning her battered back. In fact, he’d had to leave the cabin once, sickened by her cries of pain at the mere touch of the wounds. Also sickened at the raw, angry sight of them. It was Isabel who helped Nell most. Once the stripes were cleaned, Nell put the garlic and witch hazel poultice on her patient’s back. This done, she covered the back with a bandage, instructing that it must be changed frequently.
Somewhat reluctantly she turned to Benjamin, who had ventured into the sickroom again now that the worst of the work had been done.
“Reverend Sinclair, I know you don’t approve of ardent spirits. Neither do I, for that matter, but”—she gazed sheepishly into Benjamin’s eyes—“I have administered a little whiskey to your wife. It was all I had for pain,” she added quickly, then appeared braced for rebuke.
Benjamin looked down at Elise, lying on her stomach and moaning softly. “Give her all she needs,” he said firmly, “if it will take away the pain.” He didn’t even think to inquire how sweet, God-fearing Nell had come by whiskey. He really didn’t care.
“We need not go overboard, Reverend.” She smiled. “A little will go a long way in a woman of your wife’s tender sensibilities.”
But as the days passed, he wondered if all the care in the world would help. He agonized by Elise’s bed day and night, thankful Nell was there to care for the children. Eventually Nell had to leave because her own family needed her. Then Benjamin’s home returned nearly to the state in which Elise had first found it so many months ago. It was only slightly better because Oliver was older and less demanding and Isabel was able to take on more responsibility. But it was far from the pleasant, peaceful home Elise had created.
Benjamin prayed by Elise’s bedside as much as he wept. He simply could not believe that God would restore his life to him only to wrench it away again. Perhaps that was his worst difficulty. He refused to say, “Thy will be done.” He refused to let go of Elise. He feared if he did so it might be his undoing. He could almost hear Elise gently admonishing him that God would never require more of him than he could give. It was wisdom that came from a heart sensitive to spiritual things without theological enlightenment. Thinking of what she would say to him if she could, Benjamin was reminded of the scriptural promise. “God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able.”
He clung to this and other Scriptures in the dark days when Elise teetered on the very precipice of death. And he clung to God as he had never done before—in helpless humility. But he did not contemplate what his life would be like if Elise wasn’t there. He simply could not face that.