Mary Connealy (70 page)

Mandy didn’t fight her for it, so she knew Mandy was serious about setting Sally free from the man who seemed to delight in picking on her.

“He wasn’t like this at first. He’s getting worse as the year goes on. And he seems to especially like to pick on Sally.” Beth had felt the lash of those six whacks with his ruler. They all had. Six-year-old Sally, the littlest girl in school, seemed to earn the brunt of his temper, and Beth couldn’t help believing it was because she was so small and defenseless.

Mandy looked away from the building. “Ma and Pa might not agree that we need protecting from Master Parrish, but I’m not going to sit quiet while he hurts my sister.”

Beth nodded in complete agreement.

“I say we take care of it ourselves.”

“But how?” Beth asked, thinking of the power of a teacher.

Mandy looked around the school yard. All the other children lived in town in Mosqueros. They had gone home for lunch while the McClellen girls lingered over their tasteless food.

Mandy leaned close to Beth and whispered, “I’ve got a plan. But we might need help.”

Beth felt her heart beating with excitement. Mandy was almost as good at setting a trap as Ma. “Tillie hates that he makes us call him Master. She’ll help.”

“She will for a fact.” Mandy smiled a mean smile.

Beth crunched into her apple, and it almost tasted sweet—like revenge.

“The weather is almost springlike, but that gap is still packed to the top with snow. What if it stays forever, Pa? What if we have to just live in here by ourselves for the rest of our lives?” Mark tugged on Daniel’s pants as they trekked through the woods.

Daniel had a surprise for the family and decided to let Mark in on it. Mark was still openly hostile to Grace, and Daniel blamed himself for it. He needed to unteach the lessons the boy had learned at his side.

“There wasn’t any snow in it when we bought the place in June. So it figures it melts sometimes. And anyway, that snow we got was a freak blizzard. I don’t reckon we’ll ever get snowed in here so rock solid again.” He laid his hand on Mark’s shoulder. “It hasn’t been so bad, being stuck together all winter. We got the house built and all that furniture. If we’d been running to town for schooling and such all winter, we’d’a never gotten half as much done.”

“But now Ma is trying to make a school for us out here. I don’t wanta hafta study all the livelong day.” Mark kicked at the rotting leaves and fallen branches that littered the woods.

“It comes in mighty handy to know some figuring. And reading is just plumb useful. We should count our good fortune to have a schoolteacher of our very own, right here.”

Mark snorted. “If she’s so good, why’d you get her fired from her job in town?”

Daniel flinched. “I think she’s changed some since then.” He thought of his warm, generous, playful wife. Nothing like the fussy, impatient schoolteacher she’d been. “I know she’s changed.”

“Well, she still comes at us with the Bible, trying to make us read it. I’m already a good reader. I don’t need no more schoolin’.”

Daniel tried not to smile at his five-year-old son. He remembered school. He’d spent more time fighting it than he ever had learning anything. He’d missed every day possible, and he’d quit the first second his pa had let him.

“Look up ahead. That’s the surprise I was telling you about.”

Mark stopped. He looked around the woods.

Weak winter sunlight filtered down through the bare branches. A light cold breeze made the treetops sway, but tall, thin saplings blocked the wind near the ground. It was a pleasant day for a walk.

“I don’t see anything.” Mark turned left and right.

“Look up.” Daniel lifted Mark’s chin.

A grin broke out on his son’s face. “A bee tree.”

Daniel chuckled. “Yep. And where there’s bees…”

Mark chimed in, “There’s honey.”

Daniel nodded, and he and his stubborn son shared a smile. Everyone back home would love this treat. “We’re taking it. The bees will be sleeping because of the cold. They won’t give us a bit of a fight.”

Daniel pulled the sack off his shoulder. He’d collected every jar and crock in the house and brought them along. Mark and he would fill them all then take back what they could carry. Daniel could already taste honey on his biscuits.

Daniel and Mark were greeted like heroes. Mark even endured a hug from Grace. Daniel did more than endure one. He gave her one right back.

They ate their lunch with their biscuits smothered in honey. Daniel showed Grace how to sweeten the sourdough and add extra flour and eggs to make a cake. They all spent an afternoon in the crisp mountain air fetching more of the sticky sweet treat.

When Grace made the boys settle in for lessons after supper, Mark went along willingly.

“Daniel, it wouldn’t hurt for you to do some reading along with the boys,” Grace said sternly. “You’re never too old to learn.”

Daniel’s mouth dropped open. Then he saw Mark staring at him and quickly controlled himself. He said with mock obedience, “Yes, ma’am.”

His boys snickered, and Daniel let them. In fact, he did a fine impression of them for the fun of it. He slumped over to sit in front of the fire in the rocking chair he’d built for himself to match Grace’s. Grace handed him a piece of bark and a chunk of coal.

“Do the multiplication tables. Your stubborn sons think they’re too hard. You need to set a good example for them. Start with the ones, and when your slate is full, let me check them. If they’re all correct, you can rub them out and do more.”

Daniel was stunned at her bossy voice.

Ike’s giggle turned to out-and-out laughter, and the rest of the boys joined in.

Grace, her eyes shining, couldn’t keep a straight face.

Daniel gave up and laughed along with them. And he did his multiplication tables swiftly. The little woman might as well know he had some book learning.

When Grace said, “Daniel, I’m impressed,” his heart turned over and he kissed her.

Then she thanked him for the honey just as warmly. She thanked Mark, too.

They finished their lessons together, with Daniel reading to them out of the big Bible.

T
illie heard the whispers from behind the chicken coop. This time it was no accident that she’d stumbled on the girls. She’d seen the welts Sally had tried to hide. The girls were still determined not to tell their parents, but they’d confided in her before. Maybe they would again.

When they got home from school on Friday, the girls made quick excuses to go outside, either to hide Sally’s wounds or to commiserate.

Tillie watched them slip behind the little building and followed them as soon as she could, leaving two sleeping babies and Sophie with Laura on her lap.

Tillie heard Sally’s little voice break. Mandy and Beth made cooing sounds of comfort. Comfort. That was what Tillie had come to give to the girls. She stood straighter as she remembered the comfort God had sent to her when she was young and afraid.

God, I’m sorry I turned from You. I am truly sorry. Thank You for Adam’s miracle. It called me to my senses. Only now that I see children trapped in their own prison of fear do I remember the comfort of Your saving grace
.

Tillie felt God’s own arms wrap around her and protect her. Tears nearly bit at her eyes as she realized all she’d given up. The only One who would always be with her.

Forgive me
.

She walked around the shed.

The three girls, sitting in a little huddle whispering, straightened and looked fearful. It cut at Tillie’s heart to think she’d added fear to these little girls’ lives.

“Now then, young ladies, what are we going to do to rid this town of that nasty
Master
Parrish?” She made sure to sneer his name.

Three sets of bright blue eyes hardened with determination.

Mandy said, “I told Sally to make sure you saw her hands.”

Tillie realized that it had been a little too easy, especially when an observant mother like Sophie had missed it.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because we’ve got a plan that might need a little adult help.”

Tillie had planned her escape for months. She approved of plans. “I’ll be glad to help.”

“Good.” Mandy’s eyes sharpened in a way that made Tillie glad she was on the same side as these little rascals. “Because we’ve got some work to do before Monday morning.”

“And what happens Monday morning?”

Beth put her arm around Sally and lifted her little sister’s palm so Tillie could see the cuts and welts. “Come Monday morning, we’re breaking free of things like this.”

A hundred less-than-Christian thoughts flooded though Tillie’s mind, all centering around that awful man who’d hurt these girls. But she saw their courage and knew how smart they were.

Tillie didn’t get mad. Instead, she smiled and dropped down on her knees, joining the girls’ circle. “When it comes to breaking free, I’m just the woman you want.”

Parrish’s cruel hands reached for her. They grabbed her, and his fists landed. And then it wasn’t she they were hitting; it was Grace.

Hannah jerked awake with a scream.

Parrish had Grace. Hannah knew it. Nothing less than terrible danger could have kept Grace from sending the money. But finally, after months of silence, Hannah had to give in and admit it. Grace was in trouble. Which meant she and Libby were on their own.

Libby had healed more slowly than ever this time, too laid-up for Hannah to leave her and find work, not that anyone would hire her anyway for anything but mill work, not dressed in rags like these. She’d moved the two of them to a deserted cellar because she didn’t want Trevor to come hunting and see how much trouble they were in and maybe give up his new home.

Mr. Daily always remembered the bread, and there was more for her and Libby now, without the boys sharing, but that was all. For a month, except a few scraps Hannah had dug out of the garbage and a few bites she’d bought with money begged from strangers, they’d lived on nothing but bread. It took good food, meat and vegetables, to knit broken bones, and their meager fare had kept Libby from healing.

They were warmer here than the shed because of the approaching spring. But still their cellar became sharply cold at night, even with the two of them snuggled up.

The house, less than twenty steps away, had a single man living in it. He’d never noticed them. His scraps, thrown out in the alley for stray cats, had helped keep them alive.

No one showed any interest in this hole in the ground.

When Libby came down with her third cold of the winter, Hannah sat next to her, fighting back tears as she longed to give her little sister suppers of warm broth full of meat and vegetables and hearty breakfasts of oatmeal and honey.

They lay together in the pitch dark of the cellar. Hannah’s nightmare had awakened Libby. Hannah could see her little sister’s eyes silently worrying. They were able to see each other only because moonlight had found its way through the cracked cellar door only inches overhead.

Hannah put her arm around Libby. “I’ve been thinking about Grace. I’m worried about her.”

Libby had never met Grace, but Hannah talked of her often.

Hannah considered all that was involved in her plan; her main worry was for her silent little sister. Libby would agree to anything if it meant helping others. She’d never make a demand for herself.

Hannah brushed her chapped, calloused fingers down Libby’s hollow cheeks. “Grace and I are sisters, just like you and I are sisters. We just found each other and hung on.”

Libby watched her with wide eyes. Her eyes shone with love when Hannah talked to her or read her stories.

“I was six and Grace was seven. She’d already been with Parrish for three years. He adopted her out of the orphanage when she was three. That’s how old I think you are right now.”

Hannah held up three fingers and counted slowly, “One, two, three.”

Libby touched each one of Hannah’s fingers, copying the motion but not saying the words. Hannah hoped that, inside her head, Libby was learning. Soon she’d teach her to write. Then maybe Libby would find a voice through the written word.