A Slave of the Shadows, page 19
“That’s Charles and Olivia Hendricks’s girl. I hear she ran off with another man when the girl was little. A scandal, for sure. The poor man never married again after the heartbreak. Such a waste, with a handsome man like him. Our loss, I guess.” Their spiteful chatter faded as they rounded the corner and disappeared.
I sat paralyzed as I absorbed their words. Anxiety filled me and I felt physically ill. Lost in a daze, I did not heed Father’s call to me as he stormed out the sheriff’s door until he repeated my name loudly.
“Willow, wake up. Let’s get out of here, I said,” he grumbled. “Willow, what’s wrong with you? Looks like you saw a ghost.”
“I—I need to get out of here,” I managed to say, stumbling to my feet. I swayed as everything around me began to rotate.
“Willow?” Father caught me.
“Father, please, let’s leave,” I said into his shoulder, the words muffled.
He supported my weight as we walked toward the wharf. Minutes later, I regained my strength and pulled away from him.
“I’m good,” I said blankly. Giving me my space, he withdrew.
On the schooner and heading out of town, away from prying eyes, I studied the face of my father. I didn’t need to ask how things had gone with the sheriff. Father’s glum demeanor said it all. It had turned out as expected. My will for justice pushed me forward with the plan I’d thoughtfully worked out over the last few days. The time had come to prepare and put my plan into motion.
OVER THE NEXT SEVERAL WEEKS, my face repaired itself. No physical scars remained, but the slash along my neck remained an ugly red welt. Mary Grace’s physical wounds healed, but her emotional ones were still close to the surface. She withdrew within herself and disconnected from the world. Bowden gave Gray a pass to come nightly to assist in lifting her spirits. She no longer wandered off to the forest. The spring in her step disappeared, and no dreamy light danced in her eyes. I tried to comfort her the best I knew how, but it seemed the only one capable of putting a smile on her face was Gray. I knew Mammy wanted to protect her, but Mary Grace needed to get out of that bed and live again or she would wither away. Mammy’s wisdom in the matter seemed to be clouded with the overpowering desire to shield her.
Burdened and feeling despair, I sought out Mammy one evening. I found her in the kitchen house, cleaning up after supper. A slave from the quarters had replaced Mary Grace for the time being.
“Amelia, could you excuse us?” Mammy said to the girl when I flopped down at the table. She nodded and with a fumbled curtsy, she left.
“What’s wid de long face, chile?” Mammy had stopped her washing of the table and now gave me her complete attention.
“I can’t stand it, Mammy. I’m eaten up with guilt and anger over what happened to Mary Grace. I witnessed it firsthand. I understand she is hurt in ways no one should ever experience. I’m aware even I can’t begin to imagine her suffering. But she can’t lie in bed forever. If she is to get better, she needs to be busy and fill her days or she will replay this nightmare over and over until she fades away. You know I’m right, Mammy.”
She said nothing. Her face remained unchanged. But I saw her mind spinning over my words.
“Mary Grace is forever changed by this. Everything pure and beautiful about her, they took that day. But I love her too much to see them take her life too.” I examined Mammy’s face, seeking understanding.
She huffed and finally replied, “I know you’re right, chile.” She rested her meaty hands on the table and shook her head as if to clear it. “Time will be what et takes to fix my gal, and in time she will find her way back. But et won’t happen in dat dere bed.”
I blew out a breath of relief. “Yes, Mammy! Does this mean you will help me get her out of bed?”
“Yes, chile. You’re a bright gal. You love my Mary Grace, dat for sho’.” She grinned briefly before her face grew serious. “And chile, et ain’t your fault, what dose bad men did. Don’t be carrying dat guilt.”
Tears spilled from my eyes at her words, and I feigned a tired smile. “I’m trying, Mammy.”
“Dat my gal.”
I left the kitchen house. The sun was setting and the sky became sheathed in vivid shades of pink and orange. I thought about the last weeks as I made my way to the house. Father had left on his ship the day after the trip to the sheriff’s office and we’d never discussed the rumor the town ladies spilled. We did, however, speak about what took place in the sheriff’s office after I left. The sheriff claimed his hands were tied and there was nothing that could be done, as I wasn’t raped, and even if I had been, I didn’t see our attackers’ faces. Father said he wasn’t finished with the matter, but he didn’t want to stir up trouble while he was gone. The guards were to remain at their post until his return, but, overall, the plantation went back to normal.
Bowden honored his promise and taught me self-defense and how to handle a gun. Whitney refused to be left out. Knox and Bowden made a point to come by Livingston each day, and we spent hours over the weeks practicing. We led Bowden, Knox, and Jimmy to believe it offered us a sense of security, which it did, but it hadn’t been our only motive. Thankfully, we were quick learners and my confidence soared with each passing day. I no longer considered myself powerless. Like Mary Grace, the attack had changed me. I was aware of the ugliness of mankind before Rufus and his man’s attack, but now I regarded it free of the blinders of a young girl. Tonight I felt aged beyond my nineteen years as I carried myself up the steps and left the artistry of the night behind me.
AS EXPECTED, RUFUS WAS OVERCONFIDENT and thought he’d gotten away with his crimes. He came out of hiding and returned to the Barry Plantation. Mr. Barry threatened that if he tried the stunt again, he would hang Rufus himself. With a reputation and status in society like Father’s, Art Barry couldn’t afford to make an enemy out of him. Whitney said her father also couldn’t afford to lose Rufus because, due to the effectiveness of his cruel ways, he turned a handsome profit for Mr. Barry. So, he remained on the Barry Plantation.
This evening I reclined in the mahogany chair in Father’s study. I traced my fingers along the supple tan leather and over the brass studwork. The lantern on the desk flickered low. I folded my hands under my chin as I reviewed my plan.
Whitney sat in the chair opposite, her gaze locked on me. “You ready for this?”
“We’ve waited long enough. Now he’s let his guard down, there is no better time than the present,” I said loudly, trying to bolster my spiking nerves.
She nodded.
“You are aware, once we go ahead with this, there is no turning back? If you follow me in this plan for justice, it will change who we are and who we will become.”
“We do this for Mary Grace,” Whitney said firmly. “What of Dave? He is no better than the other two.”
“No; though he is no better than the others, he did not take part in this attack. Justice will be served only to the two involved. So, we stick to the original plan and no detouring from it,” I cautioned her.
I reached down into the satchel I had prepared and stored under the desk. “I arranged for Jimmy, Jones, and Mammy to receive a little extra something in their evening drink.” I smiled mischievously.
“How?” Whitney asked, her eyes wide.
“Mary Grace!” I called out.
Mary Grace entered the room dressed in dark trousers and an oversized coat. Her hair was secured beneath a hat that was pulled down low, half covering her ears.
Whitney gawked from Mary Grace to me, her bewilderment deepening. “Care to explain?”
I lifted a finger to Whitney to wait while I asked Mary Grace, “Did you turn down the lanterns throughout the rest of the house and deliver the drinks?”
“Yes, Miss Willow. Mama drank her tea and is passed out in her bed. I saw the confused look in her eyes before she dropped off and you know Mama—she is a stubborn mule—so I hope it’s strong enough to keep her out for a few hours. I served a pitcher of moonshine to James and Jones. Last I seen of Jones, he was sawing logs on the porch of his cabin and Jimmy was staggering off to his shack. The guards received their own pitcher of my liquid sleeping potion.” She cackled, her eyes alive with devilment.
“Perfect.” I grinned. Our plan was coming together nicely.
“What of the stranger?” Whitney asked.
Oh yes, my bodyguard. I hadn’t forgotten him. I’m sure he was acquainted with our efforts to learn defensive techniques and wondered what we were up to. I was alert and mindful in every step I took besides the training, as there was no chance of passing unnoticed by anyone in earshot of us. I had no idea when Father had hired the stranger, and time had not allowed me to get answers to the growing list of questions I had for Father. When he returned home I would confront him with the knowledge I had acquired. “Well, there is no telling where he’s watching from, so we can’t silence him. My hope is that he will see the lights have been turned down and will settle in for the night.”
“And what of Mary Grace? How did she become part of this?” Whitney asked.
“She is a house slave, Whitney, and a sly one at that.” I winked at Mary Grace, who smiled. “House slaves know more of what is going on in a house than their masters. They are taught to stand by silently and obediently, therefore witnessing everything unnoticed. They are a goldmine of information. This being said, their information has not worked in my favor thus far, as the answers I have sought for years remain a mystery.” I huffed, then continued. “Thankfully it was Mary Grace who got wind of our plan and not Mammy. She refused to stay behind and I could not deny her her own justice.”
Rising, I reiterated our plan as Whitney and I changed into the sets of father’s clothing I had hidden in his desk drawer from Mammy. I’m sure God frowned on me for what I was about to do, but I couldn’t think on that or I would turn back. I shook my head to dislodge the beseeching of my conscience, and we slipped out of the house.
Horses saddled, we walked them out the north field until we reached my escape trail. Mounted, we rode with haste to the Barry Plantation.
RUFUS AND HIS MEN, TRUE to their nightly routine, had retired to play cards on the porch of his cabin. We could hear their drunken laughter from the low shrubs where we crouched, surveying our surroundings. We needed to catch them off guard to balance our strength against theirs. The heavily flowing alcohol would give us the advantage.
We moved into position, pulled the masks down to conceal our faces, and slipped into action. Whitney took the right corner of the cabin, and Mary Grace and I approached from the left. Crouching to move below porch level, we approached undetected.
The men were caught off guard; they froze as our guns pointed at their skulls and we cocked the hammers. “Not a word!” I growled in a deep voice. “Rise slowly with your hands in the air. One wrong move and your brains will paint the front of this here cabin.”
The men fumbled to their feet, hands held high. Whitney and Mary Grace followed my lead and grabbed the back of their man’s collar to guide him from the porch and out of sight.
The night graced us with a half moon and while the poor visibility gave us the cover we needed, we strained to see as we shoved the men toward our waiting horses.
We gagged the men and bound their hands together, tying the excess rope to our saddle horns. We quickly mounted and, with a click of our tongues, the horses broke into a trot. The men had to run to keep up with the pace of our mounts.
A quarter mile from the plantation, we reined to a stop and silently dismounted. I jerked the rope that bound Dave’s hands. He stumbled and fell. I gave the rope a forceful yank to get him up, but he lay in a heap on the ground, peering up at me. Not wanting to give away our identity with our lack of strength, I pulled my pistol from the waistband of my trousers. I smoothly pulled back the hammer and aimed the gun at his face, gesturing for him to rise.
He frowned, misreading my silence as cockiness. He rose, his eyes never leaving my masked face. I gestured him toward a nearby tree with my gun, where I secured him with more rope. Tugging at my handiwork, I was satisfied he would be no threat.
Whitney and Mary Grace put Rufus and Yates on their knees. I retreated to my horse and removed the torch from a saddle bag, along with a small folded bundle. From my coat pocket, I took out matches and lit the torch. As light filled our immediate surroundings I saw the twigs and branches Whitney had skillfully built into a teepee-shaped pile earlier in the day. I set the torch to it, and soon brilliant orange and blue flames crackled to life. Sparks spit and shot up. We waited for the fire to heat up and then to die down enough to provide significant coals. I bent and unrolled the bundle I held. Lifting the large nail I would use as a makeshift branding tool, I laid it on the edge of the red-hot coals.
My heart pounded in my ears. Are you seriously doing this? My knees began to shake and a lightness filled my head. No, be strong, Willow! You have to get it together. Closing my eyes for a moment, I inhaled deeply. We needed to act promptly to minimize the time the men had to figure us out. If they saw a weakness, they would attempt to regain the advantage. I squared my shoulders and clenched my jaw.
I lifted a hand and signaled Whitney and Mary Grace to bring Yates and Rufus forward. They jerked the men up, encouraging cooperation by pressing the muzzles of their guns into the backs of their skulls.
Once they were kneeling in front of me, I looked into Yates’s face—the face of the man who had laughed as he inflicted pain on Mary Grace and me. He stared back with unwavering drunken arrogance. I looked over his head to Whitney for the support I needed to go on. She nodded—she was with me. I cranked my neck from side to side and trudged forward to execute the plan.
I stared at Dave from behind my mask. He stared back, wide-eyed. I lifted two gloved fingers to my eyes, then pointed them toward Yates and Rufus, instructing him to watch.
I returned to the fire and my gaze hardened as I glared down at Rufus. He peered back through narrowed eyes. For a moment I considered how he’d chosen this path in life. What had happened in his life to make him this sadistic, ruthless man? No one was born evil. Somewhere along life’s path, he’d developed into the poisonous man that knelt before me. The men made the choice to do what they did, as we made this choice now.
I nodded at Whitney. She grabbed a fistful of Rufus’s unkempt hair and snapped his head back. I handed her the torch. From the breast pocket of my coat, I withdrew a blacksmith glove and replaced my left glove with it. Carefully I removed the brand from the coals. I glared down at the slithering snake in front of me.
My first stroke sizzled into his forehead and he sent up a muffled cry. The smell of burning flesh made my stomach recoil. Each quick stroke drew a fit of muffled screams. Rufus arched his back in agony.
The grueling task complete, I moved on to Yates, relentless in my justice.
Finished, I stepped back.
The girls nodded, prepared for what I did next. I stripped the men as naked as the day they were born, their trousers piled at their knees. Mary Grace untied the whip from her saddle.
Dave angrily bleated behind his gag. I twisted to him, widening my stance while tilting my head. Deliberately I put a hand to my jaw to imply he might be the next target. In the firelight I saw the new fear flickering in his deep-set eyes as he shrank back against the tree, his objection silenced.
Whitney cracked the whip and it lashed Rufus’s bare back. He squealed like a pig. Whitney paused and he whimpered.
Zap! The whip cracked again.
I pushed down a groan as the whip tore at his skin. His punishment was a scratch compared to the pain he levied on the backs of the slaves of the Barry Plantation. This was for the crimes he and his men performed on them and for the violation of Mary Grace’s innocence. I fantasized the castration of these men and shame gutted me at the sick desire for vengeance that had chewed at me for weeks. Was it not what they deserved?
These men might be capable of evils of that magnitude, but we were not. That was a sin we could not wash from our hands.
One final whistle of the whip slashed Rufus around his lower midsection as Whitney grew tired. It elicited a suppressed yet chilling scream. He grabbed at his privates and doubled over. Whitney stumbled back, looking at us.
My breath caught and I gulped for air. I felt like I was going to pass out.
Mary Grace, however, did not lose her composure. Never faltering in her was her burning desire for revenge. This night, that was unmistakable. It was evident in the force she applied to the first slash of the whip. She repeated it with almost the same intensity in the next twenty lashes she inflicted upon him until she withdrew, dropping the whip to her side. She turned without a word and mounted her horse.
I’d been determined that justice be served. We had achieved that. I hoped to shame the men in a way that would restrain them from future attacks, but I knew this was out of our control. After gathering any evidence that could lead them back to us, Whitney and I saddled up and rode out.
NO SLEEP CAME TO MARY Grace or me that night. Morning drifted in and with it came the worries about yesterday. Had we made an effective impact without repercussions to us? Had the men realized we were women? If so, would this realization lead them back to us?
A single rider rode into Livingston around midmorning and I recognized Whitney’s profile. As I walked to meet her, an anxious Mary Grace came out of the kitchen house. We shared a worried glance when we met at the near end of the lane and waited for Whitney’s arrival.
A flushed-faced Whitney reached us. “Whoa…” she instructed her horse, then effortlessly slid to the ground. Her forehead was puckered and she turned from us, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
