Her Safe Harbor: Prairie Romance (Crawford Family Book 4) (16 page)

She tried to pull away from his iron grip but his fingers
would not release her. She looked up at him and he smiled at her.

“Are you done yet?”

Jennifer screamed as loudly as she could. When Rothchild
clamped a hand around her mouth, she bit down on his finger, and he took a wide
roundhouse swing with an open palm, landing a slap on her cheek and the side of
her head. She was stunned but screamed again, tasting blood from her lip as she
did. She saw a door open a few houses away.

“Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”

Rothchild grabbed her around the waist and dragged and
carried her to a set of steps. He pulled her along and released one hand while
he fumbled with a key at the door. Jennifer shoved at him wildly and slipped by
him. He caught her by the hair just a few steps away and pulled her up the
steps again, losing a slipper as she went, and through the door. He locked it
behind him and dropped the key in his pocket.

She was shaking and terrified. There was no one to help her
but herself. “What is this place?”

“This place is my secretary Mr. Jefferson’s humble home. It
is not as plush and accommodating as a hotel room, where I’d planned to spend
our wedding trip, but it will do. There is a bed upstairs with clean sheets and
a bottle of wine for you to settle your nerves, but after this ridiculous
display of independence you will not have it so easy, my dear Jennifer. You are
going to bend over one of Jefferson’s wooden kitchen chairs like the whore that
you are and have your maidenhead breached. I am quite ready to perform several times,
as I have not visited my mistress for weeks in anticipation of this event.”

Jennifer gagged, shook her head, and began to back up. She
turned and ran down the dark hallway into a kitchen, lit only by a sliver of
light coming through a window. She could hear Rothchild laughing and following
her. Her hand swept across a wooden counter, dishes and cups clattering to the
floor until she touched what she’d been looking for. She waited there then, her
back up against the counter, glass from the broken dishes cutting through her
slipper and the skin of her bare foot with each step or movement.

“I see you are much anticipating the kitchen chair,”
Rothchild said with a laugh, putting his jacket on the table and rolling up his
sleeves. “Drop your skirts now, Jennifer. There is nowhere to run.”

She drew a shaking hand up her side, watching his movements
in the dim light, and picked at the buttons fastening her skirts to the bodice.
One gave way and she pulled at another. “I can’t get them to unbutton,” she
said and swiped at the tears rolling down her face.

“Use both hands, Jennifer. There is no need to prolong your
misery. Let us get this first coupling out of the way as it will most likely
not be pleasurable for me and I’m certain it will not be pleasurable for you.”

“I’ve cut my other hand on a broken dish. It is bleeding
badly.”

“You poor, dear,” he said and walked toward her. “Do not get
any blood on your skirt, Jennifer. We will be arriving late at the soiree.
There will be little doubt then that we will be marrying when the men smell the
sex on you. Even your father. He will know, and if he doesn’t, we will endeavor
to lead him and others into a room where he will find you on your knees with
your mouth taking the full length of my cock. You will have practiced a few
times before we arrive so you will know exactly what to do. We’ll be married by
tomorrow noon.”

* * *

Zeb hurried from the station the
minute the train rattled to a stop. He hailed a carriage for hire and told the
driver to take him directly to the soiree. He fingered his gun in its holster
and knew with some clarity that if Jennifer had made it to the hotel, she would
be relatively safe. Danger lay ahead if she hadn’t arrived. He told the driver
to take him to Willow Tree instead, as fast as he could drive. He jumped from
the carriage, pounded on the door, and waited until Bellings opened it.

“Mr. Moran. It is good to have you back at Willow Tree.”

“Where is Miss Crawford?” Zeb asked in a rush as he stepped
into the foyer.

“She’s gone to the Hospital Soiree with her mother, Mr.
Moran. She left more than thirty minutes ago.”

“Was Luther with her?”

“No. Very unusual. We believe Luther was drugged, sir.”

“Moran!” Zeb heard through the open door.

“Miss Crawford’s been taken!” an older man shouted as he limped
up the front steps, a handkerchief over a large, bleeding gash in his head.

Bellings shouted to a young servant to get Dr. Roderdeck
from Luther’s quarters as Zeb helped the man into a chair and knelt in front of
him. “We’re going to get you to a doctor, but please tell what you know. Where
is Miss Crawford?”

“I rode up with the driver. Weren’t Jasper. New man instead.
I asked the man where we were going when I seen we weren’t going to the hotel.
He hit me in the head with something heavy, knocked me off the bench, and kept
going.”

Bellings handed the man a glass of water, and he drank every
bit down, making Zeb want to yank it out of his hand, take him by his homespun
collar, and shake him until he told him the the last place he’d seen Jennifer.
The old man handed off the glass.

“I got pushed out at Green near Third Street. By the time I
could stand up, the carriage was gone but I saw him turn onto Fifth Street. I
hightailed it back here for help.”

“They’ve taken her, haven’t they?” O’Brien said as she
hurried across the foyer, followed by her father. “Where is she?”

Zeb stood. “Miss O’Brien?”

“I heard Luther was drugged. He told me he was to look out
for Jennifer, and then I heard he could not go with her this evening.”

“Hadley says he saw the carriage carrying Miss Crawford turn
onto Fifth,” Bellings said.

“Fifth near Green? Yes?” She looked at Zeb. “Father has made
recent inquiries for me. Rothchild’s secretary lives on Fifth. Jefferson.
Bernard Jefferson is his name.”

Zeb ran out of the house to the carriage still waiting.
Thomas O’Brien grabbed his arm.

“I have a horse saddled. It will be faster. I’ll leave
Kathleen and Sean here with my man. Hadley and I will follow in the carriage.
Go! Go! Time is wasting!”

“I don’t know Boston! Where is Fifth?”

Thomas gave him hurried directions as he climbed into the
carriage with Hadley.

Zeb ran down the steps just as a young boy came around the
side of Willow Tree riding a massive beast of a horse. The boy slid down the
horse’s side and handed the reins off to Zeb, barely in the saddle and stirrups
and already kicking the horse into motion.

“Yaw!” he shouted. He ran the horse down city streets,
carriages pulling out of his way and one horseless carriage blowing a horn,
making his mount rear up on hind legs. He got the horse under control and saw
the street ahead that he was looking for, making a sharp, dangerous turn as
fast as the horse would take it. He thundered down the next street, praying
that he was not too late, that he would see his Jenny, rescue her and keep her
safe for as long as they lived. But there were no guarantees as he was well
aware, and he steeled himself for whatever heartbreak that might be ahead this
night.

He followed the final direction Hadley had shouted to him
and turned onto Fifth Street, slowing his mount and peering into the shadows of
trees down a long avenue, with no idea which door Jennifer was behind. A man
and woman stood on a stoop, he could see from the gas streetlight, arguing, the
woman shaking a finger in the man’s face.

“I’m searching for a woman. She’s in trouble. Have you seen
anyone while you were out of doors?” he called to them.

The woman pulled a wrap tightly around herself and hurried
down stone steps. “Yes! There was a woman screaming for help when I put me cat
out just a few minutes ago. I’ve been trying to get my husband to look for
her.”

Zeb jumped down and grabbed the woman’s shoulders. “Where?
Where did you see her? Do you know which house belongs to Bernard Jefferson?”

The woman shook her head. “They went up the steps of one of
the houses right there,” she said and pointed down the street. “But I’m not
sure which one. I ran back into my house for my husband and didn’t see where
they went.”

Zeb hurried down the street, looking and listening for
anything that might tell him where to look. Something blue caught his eye as
the moonlight cut through the trees, giving off a silver reflection. He ran up
the steps and picked up a shoe. A woman’s shoe, covered in pale blue satin, new
but scuffed and torn along the side and heel. Jennifer!

Zeb ran full tilt at the door, ripping some of the frame
away from the brick. “Jennifer!” he shouted. “Jennifer! Where are you?” He ran
at the door again, throwing his shoulder and side at the wood near where the
frame was loose.

* * *

Jennifer blinked away tears and
tried not to focus on the vile description that Jeffrey had just given. To
think her father would see her on her . . .
Stop! Stop allowing Jeffrey to
frighten you when you need your wits about you
, she said to herself.
Save yourself!
She let the tears tumble then and dropped her shoulders,
acquiescing with her body to his pronouncements and praying that he would come
just a few more steps closer. She had but one chance and she would not lose it
by giving into the emotion and terror that she was feeling. Let him think he
had the upper hand as he always had! Let him think she was weak and cowardly!

Jeffrey took a step closer and undid the button she’d been
struggling with, letting her skirts fall around her knees. He ran his hand gently
through her hair as she held her breath, not daring to look him in the eye.
With one smooth motion he wrapped his right arm around her, pulled her close,
twisting the fingers of his left hand in her hair, pulling back sharply on her
head. “Get ready, my dear.”

Jennifer welcomed the pain as he yanked her head back,
growled low in her chest, and bared her teeth at him. “Never!” she shouted and
brought the cooking knife up from her petticoats in a swift motion, the tip
entering Rothchild’s side. She met his eyes then, now shocked, as he stumbled
away from her, looking down at his stomach where the knife was buried to the
hilt and his ripped shirt was turning crimson.

“Jennifer! Where are you?” she heard.

“Zeb! Zeb! I’m here!” she shouted, as she stumbled out of
her petticoats and skirt, and pushed her way past Rothchild as he pulled the
knife out of his body.

Jennifer went down the hall just as Zeb came through the
door, landing on the broken wood of the frame and jumping to his feet.

“Jennifer!”

“Help me,” she said, then crumbled to her knees, tears
streaming down her face.

But Zeb was not looking at her. His eyes and gun were
trained on Jeffrey Rothchild as he staggered out of the kitchen behind
Jennifer, raising his hand holding a bloody knife and staring at her back. As
his arm began its descent, the sudden quiet was broken by a gunshot from Zeb’s
pistol. Rothchild pitched wildly and landed, eyes open in a dead stare, beside
Jennifer.

Jennifer gasped out a few horrified breaths as she looked
into the face of her tormentor, just inches from her, blood pooling in his
mouth, running down his cheek, and dribbling onto her chemise caught under the
weight of his soon-to-be dead body. And then everything in her world went
black.

Chapter Fourteen

Six Months Later

Zeb handed his hat to Max’s butler
and turned to Bella. “I am starved,” he said to his sister. “I don’t remember
eating anything all day.”

“You need to gain two stone to begin to look like the
brother I know and love. Your cook is not lacking, though, I’ve found.”

“I’m very glad of your company for this upcoming week,” he said
and pulled her arm through his as he led her down the hallway to Max and
Jolene’s dining room. He could hear laughter and conversation already, and
Max’s booming voice above all.

“It is no wonder!” Bella admonished. “You work twelve hours
a day and nearly fall into bed from your exhaustion. That poor young man,
Luther, begins before you in the morning. When one’s stoic brother writes that
he’s adrift, it is time to speak to him face to face. I got your letter and
went directly to my room to begin packing.”

Zeb squeezed her hand where it lay on his arm. “I did not
mean to be dramatic.”

She stopped and looked up at her brother, now sporting tired
lines around his mouth, set grimly as she was unfortunately becoming accustomed
to seeing. His shirt collar was a tad loose, and even though he was looking at
her, she sensed he was not seeing her, that his mind was far away with a woman
he’d not spoken to in nearly six months.

“You’re breaking my heart, Zebidiah,” she whispered. “You’ve
mostly been a man of few words, but you were never sad like you are now. You
are so unhappy and I’m afraid I am unable to help you.”

“I’m fine, Bella,” he said and smiled down at her. “I’m much
better for your being here.”

“So this is the sister you’ve been hiding from us,” Max said
as he came down the hallway.

“Senator Shelby,” Bella said with a smile and held out her
hand. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“A Southern belle!” Max said. “I’ve forgotten how lovely a
woman sounds when she hails from Atlanta. Don’t tell my bride, though. Those
Bostonians think they are the most perfect women, but then I do, too!”

Bella laughed, and Zeb followed Max, now leading his sister
through the dining room doors. He saw Jolene stand from her chair and walk to
Bella with a welcoming smile. He looked around the room, hoping Melinda had
been allowed to stay up and eat with the adults. But his gaze did not travel far.
His eyes were arrested by a woman. The most beautiful, delicate woman he’d ever
known. Would ever know. He felt tears at the back of his eyes at the sight of
her and concentrated on getting his emotions under control. Jennifer stood,
facing him across the table, her lip trembling.

“Hello, Zeb,” she whispered.

“Miss Crawford,” he said when he found his voice. He did not
take his eyes from her, as she was once again seated. Wishing to drink in her
likeness, commit it to a permanent memory, so that her vision in his head was
fresh and new when he lay down to sleep that night. She was wearing a daring
dark green dress, low-cut and matching the exact color of her eyes. He was
still standing when Max stood and touched his arm.

“How about a bourbon, Zeb?”

He shook his head. “No. No thank you,” he said, finally
taking his eyes from Jennifer and seating himself.

Soup was served, and Bella answered Max and Jolene’s
inquiries about her home and town. Zeb heard little of it. He could not stop
himself from looking across the table, and she returned his regard but made no
movement other than to sip her wine and nod to Max or Jolene. Dishes were
cleared and Zeb stood abruptly, bringing a servant forward to catch his chair.
He walked around the table, oblivious to the now awkward silence filling the
room.

“May I speak to you, Miss Crawford?” he said when he stopped
beside her chair, napkin still in his hand.

She nodded. “Please do.”

“Perhaps I can call on you tomorrow. We could take a drive
through the city or a walk if the weather is amenable.”

“If you wish,” she whispered as she glanced around the
table.

It was then that Zeb realized what he’d done. Max was
staring at him, elbows on the table, hands folded together as if in prayer.
Jolene was looking at the wineglass she was picking up with pursed lips and
raised brows.

“Zebidiah?” Bella said. “The main course is being served.
Perhaps you can pour me a sherry.”

* * *

Jennifer’s hands stopped shaking and
she felt confident enough to pick up her wineglass and bring it to her lips.
She laughed at a silly comment Jolene made and even asked Bella Moran a
question. She meant to avoid looking at him, at Zeb, but couldn’t stop herself.
He still was everything true and right. He was her hero and savior and still as
handsome as could be, his blond-brown hair a little longer than usual. He was
still broad shouldered with an angled, masculine face, now looking at her with
his water blue eyes.

She had missed him so! Yet when they adjourned to the parlor
for desserts and coffee, she seated herself beside Max on a settee, leaving no
room for Zeb to be near her. When he and his sister rose to leave, he walked to
her and sat on a hassock nearby.

“Would the afternoon be convenient for you to step out with
me tomorrow? Maybe we can visit a museum or a shop?”

“Perhaps your sister would like to join us,” she said.

“Certainly,” he said, and looked at Bella.

“I’m sorry to spoil your plans, but Bella and I have already
arranged to visit the theatre tomorrow. Isn’t that right, Bella?” Jolene asked.

“Yes. Yes. We have already made plans,” Bella said. “I’m
sorry Zebidiah. I won’t be able to join your party. Another day, perhaps?”

 “Yes. We will all go another day. It will just be Miss
Crawford and I tomorrow if that is agreeable to her.”

Jennifer thought Zeb looked triumphant with his response. He
rose, eyes on her, finally turning to leave, when his sister prompted him to do
so. Jennifer happily wished that the floor would open up and she be swallowed
up in nothingness and quietly leave with the memories of all those who were
dear to her. But wasn’t that exactly what Mrs. Jenners had spoken to her about?
Why should she slip away? She had survived!

Max kissed Jolene’s cheek and patted Jennifer’s hand when
she held it out to him. “I’m exhausted. If you ladies don’t mind, I’d like to
relax and do some reading in my study before retiring. I’ll check in on Melinda
and Andrew before I go to bed.”

“I’m going to sit up a bit. Jennifer? Will you join me? I
could have coffee and desserts brought to my sitting room where there are two
cozy chairs for a pair of sisters who have not seen each other in ages to curl
up in and gab!” Jolene said.

She shook her head. “I’m very tired, Jolene. Perhaps another
night?”

“Oh. Of course. How thoughtless I’m being. Traveling can be
quite exhausting.”

Jennifer knew her sister was disappointed. She’d said
earlier, shortly after Jennifer had arrived, how much she had missed her and
was looking forward to talking to her. What a coward she was! But she wasn’t
one really, was she? And what was she scared of? The same things that had kept
her sleepless for the last half year.

They climbed the marble steps together, and when Jolene was about
to enter her bedroom, Jennifer called out. “Wait. Tea and a cake sound good,
and I can sleep late tomorrow.”

Jolene walked to her smiling. “Are you sure? I know your
trip was arduous.”

“I slept a bit before dinner. I’m fine. Really. I intend to
do nothing more than stare at your newest child on this visit. Andrew is
already quite handsome.”

“He takes after his father in looks and is a sweet child.
I’m so glad you are here to meet him,” Jolene said just as a maid came on to
the landing. “Please have Mrs. Trundle send our desserts and a drink cart to my
sitting room.”

Jennifer followed Jolene to her rooms and slipped off her
shoes, digging her toes in the soft carpet under her feet. A maid knocked and
rolled in a cart of pastries and a steaming pot of tea. Jennifer pulled her
feet under her and stared into the fire.

“Zebidiah Moran is still taken with you, I saw this
evening,” Jolene said when they were alone. “He is a good man.”

“He is the best of men,” she replied. “I would not be
sitting here if it were not for him.”

“He acted as though he hadn’t seen or talked to you since .
. . since . . . for quite some time. I thought Maximillian told me he had traveled
to Boston a few months ago.”

“I haven’t seen him since the night of the Hospital Soiree.
Although I believe he did visit Boston in the early part of the summer.”

“And he did not stop at Willow Tree? I can hardly believe
it!”

“He did call on us,” Jennifer said, and stood to prepare a
cup of tea.

“I imagine he was just as attentive then as he was tonight.
Smitten, I’d say,” Jolene said and accepted a cup of tea.

“I really don’t know. He visited with Father.”

Jolene turned in her chair. “Are you saying you didn’t see
him while he was there? In Boston? At Willow Tree?”

Jennifer shook her head. “Mother was indisposed, and I
wasn’t up to callers as of yet.”

“Really? I thought you had begun your work at the bank by
then. That’s at least what I thought your and Father’s letters said, but
perhaps I was mistaken. Has he written you?”

Jennifer sat very still, listening to the crackle of the
fire and the clink of the silver spoon against bone china as she stirred a
sugar cube in her tea. There was very little reason to lie, no reason at all
actually. She thought about what Mrs. Jenners had said to O’Brien just last
week. Speech is freeing, she said. Even troubling truths are better said aloud
than buried.

“I was back to work at the bank by then, although O’Brien
was not. She just recently began to go with me. I will be curious to see if she
goes by herself this week.”

“Will you tell me why you didn’t visit with Zebidiah when he
was in Boston? Mother may have been indisposed, when isn’t she, but you were
taking callers if you’d already begun to go back to the bank. Was it something
he’d done?”

“I could not bring myself to face him. I couldn’t do it. I
was mortified! I still am,” Jennifer said in a rush.

“Mortified? I don’t understand.”

Jennifer shrugged, feeling her neck and ears redden with
embarrassment. “I defied everything that everyone told me, leaving him to risk
everything to save me, and for him to see me there.” She closed her eyes,
instantly envisioning that night, that hallway, the smells and the sounds.

Jolene knelt in front of her. “Jennifer. You mustn’t be
embarrassed. There is nothing you could have done differently. Mother and that
. . . that man had it planned.”

Jennifer leaned forward, close to her sister’s face, her
eyes filling with tears. “Even when Zeb saw me on the floor, with no skirts, knowing
full well what Rothchild intended?”

“No. I will not let you think of yourself as if you did
anything wrong,” Jolene said and grabbed her hands. “This is not your fault.”

“It
isn’t
my fault. I have been speaking to a woman who
comes and visits O’Brien. I have actually been doing very well. My nightmares
are rare and I am able to be alone outside of my rooms. But Zeb is different. I
don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with him again! How can I be? I respected
and cared for him and he was witness to my humiliation!”

“Jennifer, dear,” Jolene said, a tear at the corner of her
eye. “Do you realize how very glad we are, he is, that you are alive? That you
faced this monster and were the victor? When I think of you having to defend
yourself with a knife . . . it is too much to think about. You are brave beyond
words.”

Jennifer kissed her cheek. “It means the world to me that
you think so.”

Jolene reseated herself and swiped at her eyes. “You must
tell me about the woman who visits O’Brien.”

“Mrs. Jenners? She is a woman who attends church with Mr.
O’Brien. She has spoken to other women when they’ve encountered violence. She comes
and talks to O’Brien and me. She has set me free.”

“Has she been a victim of violence herself?”

Jennifer closed her eyes. “Of a level you cannot imagine.
Her arms are covered with burns from a cigar and she has a terrible limp. Her
leg was broken and never set properly when her husband beat her.”

Jolene shook her head. “I hope her tormentor is gone.”

“He is. He was drunk as he usually was and walking on the
edge of the dock. He lost his balance and fell in. It was storming and the seas
were high and strong. No one went in after him, thank the dear Lord.”

“And she speaks to others about this?”

“Yes. There is something about her. Something soothing and
restful that lures me to speak openly and when I do, I inevitably feel better, even
if it takes days or weeks to digest what she has said. For months I woke with
terrible pain in my feet, long after all the cuts had healed over. I would wake
in a cold sweat, screaming sometimes, feeling as though someone was stabbing me
in the sole of my foot.”

“What . . . did something . . . I did not know that your
feet had been cut. When I was there at Willow Tree you were mostly abed and I
did not stay long. What happened?”

“Of course you did not. You were in a delicate condition. I
was amazed that Max let you make the journey.”

“What happened, Jennifer?”

Jennifer stared away, not willing to look at her sister’s
face. “When he told me what he was going to do to me, I ran into a dark room,
praying it was the kitchen. It was. I’d lost one slipper when he dragged me up
the outside steps and when I swept my arm over the counter I knocked china and
glasses to the floor. I was standing there in one shoe, going back and forth
from foot to foot in my fear and stepping on shards of glass and crockery. I
had no idea I’d done it until I woke up and Dr. Roderdeck was pulling glass
from my feet.”