Romancing Olive (28 page)

“We’ll be fine.”

“No, I don’t think you will be fine. I thought we were friends, Jacob,” Olive said.

“We are friends.”

“And you’re too proud to ask me for help. You helped me and Mary and John. Why wouldn’t you let me help you?”

Jacob looked at Olive’s angry face. She was wrong. It wasn’t pride that stopped him from asking her help. He lay in bed too many nights and fell asleep to a vision of Olive telling him she loved him. And if she was near that sentiment would be right smacked dab between them, making him feel his heart threatening to break yet again and Mary’s accusations too true. He didn’t want to face them, didn’t have the time or energy to deal with them, only knew that if Olive wasn’t within sight, he could forget his fears momentarily.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Jacob said.

Olive’s eyes opened wide. “Of all the stupid things I’ve heard you say that takes the cake. Never mind,” she continued to Jacob’s open mouth, “that these children bear the brunt of your stupidity. I’m going back to the house, now and fix dinner and help Mary with laundry. Come on boys. You’ve had enough for one day. I think you two should go fishing.”

Jacob watched her stomp away and mutter, a boy on each side clinging to her hands. Here she was again, in his life, full of sass and deciding that the day’s work was done for the boys.

“Now wait a second Olive. If I have Luke out here, I can get this field done,” Jacob called out.

She turned to him and Jacob stepped back from the look on her face.

“These boys are tired and are going with me. Don’t you dare say another word, Jacob Butler. I mean it.”

His mouth closed as Olive’s head whipped back in the direction of his house and John and Luke skipped along beside her. Damn her, he thought. But a smile wrinkled his face at the toss of her hair as she challenged him to speak. He missed her so goddamned much. He missed how she guided the children and smiled and spoke her mind. He let out a hoarse laugh, thinking how much he loved arguing with Olive. And loved Olive. His face fell as the sentiment strung along naturally in his thoughts. But I can’t. I won’t. I won’t love someone like that ever again, he thought. What if she got sick, what if she died. Jacob let all the ‘what if’s’ work on his mind as he gathered the horses reins and steeled his resolve. I don’t love her. I can’t love her he chanted to himself and threw his weary body into the mind numbing tasks before him.

* * *

Over the next few days, Olive arrived shortly after Jacob left his house and left as she saw him coming through the fields. His house was clean, bread was baked, and his children, happy. He sent John and Luke home everyday at noontime and someone would deliver his meal in kind. The constant worry over Peg and Mark alone was gone and Luke’s sullen attitude had disappeared. Jacob pushed himself hard in the fields, knowing his work there was near done and happy with what he produced. He stepped into the house, full of chatter and the smell of dinner on the stove. He was surprised to see Olive’s wagon still there.

* * *

“Jacob, I want you to bring the children over to my house every Tuesday and Thursday to begin with studies again. Luke told me you were near done with the fields and I won’t be coming over during the day,” Olive said as she folded her hands at her waist.

“Alright,” Jacob said and plopped down in a chair.

Olive’s head tilted in surprise. She had expected an argument from him and was prepared for battle. “I don’t want the children to have a long lapse in their school work.”

“Fine,” Jacob said and poured tea from the crockery pitcher on the table. Peg and Luke kissed him and ran outside with Mary and John already in the wagon.

“These children, everyone of them are bright and continuity is important especially in their reading skills,” Olive continued.

“Olive, I said fine. I’ll have the children over there every Tuesday and Thursday for lessons.”

Olive snorted and stumbled. “Well, fine, then.”

As she neared the door she stopped when Jacob spoke.

“Thank you, Olive.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and take what he offered but she knew she could not. She longed for his kisses and touch, but knew she could not give herself to a man who didn’t love her. Her mind ached for his conversation and opinions but she knew she was not entitled to them. She longed for his heart and knew it would never be hers.

* * *

Olive decided fall was her favorite season. Children back to routine, trees with a symphony of colors and cool nights. She sat on her porch one such evening watching fireflies after the children had gone to bed. She was planning a lesson for the following day and now closed her book and leaned back. Olive’s eyes were near closed in the quiet of the evening when she heard the sound of a horse. The beat of hooves was not from the direction of Jacob’s and she jumped up and flew into the house. Olive threw the bar over the door with shaking hands and climbed onto the hearth to retrieve the shotgun. The shells rolled in her sweaty palms as she struggled to load and heard a banging at the door.

“Who’s there?” Olive shouted.

“I’m here for the boy and the girl both. Git em up and out here or you’ll be sorry, girlie.”

Olive’s eyes widened with fear and she saw Mary peeking around her door. “Get John, Mary.” Olive’s stomach rolled as she peeked out her front window and saw Sophie’s father swaying on his feet. She saw only one horse. “Take John and climb out your bedroom window, Mary. Get behind the barn and then make your way to Jacob’s”

John and Mary’s faces were white with fear and Olive was afraid John would begin to cry. Mary pulled him along to her bedroom and closed the door. “They’re not here. Now get off my property.”

Olive jumped and the rifle clattered to the floor as Jeb Davis threw himself at her front door time and again. The hinges heaved and the man stumbled into her house.

“Where are them kids?” he growled.

Olive watched the spittle drip from the corner of the man’s mouth and saw the drunken wild look in his eyes. Her breaths were short and she knew fear as she had never known before.

“They’re gone,” she whispered.

Jeb Davis flew forward, faster than Olive could have imagined and slapped her, open handed across the face. She flew into a heap on the floor, in the moment of no pain before an injury takes hold. When she looked up, she watched Mary leaping at her grandfather, beating him with her fists, around his face and chest. Olive’s heart fell, knowing they were now both at this wild man’s mercy. Please, dear God, let John be gone, she mumbled and tasted blood on her lip. But her prayers went unanswered as she watched John stare white faced and wide eyed at the milieu. Mary screamed as her grandfather pulled her hair sharply and her head snapped around.

Mary spotted John and screamed, “Run, John.”

Mary’s face contorted with pain and Olive grabbed her from Jeb Davis’ hold. The shotgun lay between them. Mary watched him eye the weapon and dove for it. But the old man was faster and he chuckled as he stood, rifle in hand. Olive’s heart was racing and Mary shook wildly in her arms.

“I ain’t going with you,” Mary spat at him. “You’ll hafta kill me first.”

An evil grin split the man’s lips and he replied. “Yer gonna wish you were dead, when I git ya home.”

Olive and Mary uniformly backed up until their legs hit the chair. But Mary’s courage in the face of this man made Olive’s back straighten.
By damn, we’ll go down fighting, she thought.

“You’ll never get these children. They are mine. John’s on his way for help this minute. Soon you’ll have no choice but to leave,” Olive said.

He stepped forward and pulled Mary out of Olive’s arms. With a rope he pulled from his jacket, he began to tie her wrists. Olive watched blood bubble where the rope dug the girl’s flesh, but Mary never took her eyes from her grandfather’s face.

“Keep your mouths shut and I won’t stuff ‘em,” he muttered.

Davis yanked Olive up and out of her seat and she was sure her arm nearly came out of her shoulder. Olive flinched as he pulled her arms around her back and Mary stepped forward and spit in his face. The child’s grim countenance did not change when the man slapped her and she fell, hitting her head on the rocker. Jeb Davis slowly pulled a filthy bandana from his pocket and wiped the spittle from his cheek.

“Get up,” he shouted.

Olive’s eyes widened as she saw blood dripping from Mary’s forehead. She shook her head in a vehement warning. Mary looked back at her grandfather as she stood. 

“Get outside,” he growled.

Once on the porch with the two prisoners in front of him he lifted his leg and kicked Olive in the backside. She tumbled down the steps unable to catch herself and her head rang. Rolling around in the dirt, spitting dust, Olive felt Jeb Davis pull her upright. He leaned close to her ear and said, “That’s for taking what’s rightfully mine.”

Olive smelled liquor and body odor and her vision swam.

“You two start walking. I’ll be right behind ya. And if ya try anything funny girl,” he said as he turned to Mary, “I’ll blow your Auntie’s brains all over this here field.”

Olive hurried to Mary and whispered, “Come on, Mary. Do as he says.”

Olive and Mary walked and stumbled down the road in the moonlight, until the man on the horse shouted. “Here, turn in here. We’ll cut through Butler’s land.”

The bottom of Olive’s dress was soon heavy and covered with mud and she stumbled stepping over the rows of cut corn. She prayed John could make it to Jacob’s. Afraid and alone, she imagined, poor John, he’ll never recover from this whatever the outcome.

“Where are we going, Mary?” Olive asked.

“I don’t know,” the girl whispered back. “They’d know where to look for us if we were going to his homestead but we’re going the other way.”

The moon came through the clouds on Mary’s words and Olive saw stark terror on her niece’s face.

* * *

Jacob had trouble falling asleep that evening as he checked on his children for the tenth time. Everyone’s fine, he said to himself, even as felt a wave of panic arise in his chest. He lay back down and finally gave into the long day and closed his eyes.

Jacob awoke slowly from a fitful dream that would not surface nor release him. He rolled to his back and felt compelled to turn his head to the side. A small shadow shaking and heaving stood before him in the darkness. He sat up and said, “Luke?”

The head twisted in the darkness from side to side. Jacob scrambled from his bed and lit the lamp with a suddenly shaking hand. He turned back to the form as light crept into the shadows and saw John barefoot in his nightshirt before him. Fear writhed down his back as he knelt in front of the boy and put his hands on the small arms. The nightshirt was filthy and John’s feet bloody and caked with mud. Jacob swallowed when he saw the look in John’s eyes.

“What John? What happened?” Jacob asked.

John trembled and flinched and Peg and Luke woke up. Jacob wanted to shout and shake the mute boy but he knew the child was close to hysteria. “Luke, he tells you things, sometimes, somehow. See if you can find out what happened.”

Jacob pulled on his pants and a shirt over his shoulders as he listened to Luke beg the other boy to speak. But John stood numbly and Jacob saw him begin to shake violently.

“Was there a fire?” Jacob asked.

John shook his head.

Then Jacob asked the question to which he knew he did not want an answer. “Are Mary and Olive alright?”

John’s head shook from side to side and tears rolled down his face.

Jacob loaded his gun with shaking hands, wishing he knew what or whom he faced and turned back to John. “I’m going there, right now. I’ll help them.”

John’s mouth opened as if to speak and closed.

“Please, John, tell Daddy what happened!” Peg cried.

The boy swallowed and took nervous breaths as Jacob continued to ready himself.  Jacob checked the bullets in his pistol, ready to tuck it into his pants when he heard a grating word emerge in a voice that did not come from either of his children.

“He . . . he,” John struggled and fought to say.

Jacob flew to his knees in front of the boy and held his shoulders. “Who John? Tell me who.”

If Jacob had been able to will the boy the courage or composure to complete the sentence he would have, but he could only watch as the small-frightened child formed letters with his mouth, unable to voice them as words.

“It’s alright, John. You did good. You got here on your own at night and I know you’re afraid. I’ll go to Olive and your sister. You stay here with Peg and Luke.”

John’s lips pulled together and he closed his eyes. “He . . . he took ‘em.”

Jacob knew real fear now and nodded slowly to John to continue.

“Ma’s pa,” John grated out and coughed.

Jacob pulled the boy close and hugged and kissed him. John had spoken and Jacob knew it had taken all he had in his small heart to say the words. But knowing Jeb Davis was the culprit spurned Jacob’s fear higher.

“Come on children. Luke, get your brother. I’m going to take you down to the fruit cellar. Here, Peg, carry the lamp.”

Jacob hurried and carried and dragged the crying children to the cellar with some blankets and put the lamp on a high shelf. “When I leave, Luke, I want you to bar the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me. Do you understand?”

Jacob settled the children as best and fast as he could and began up the steps. He looked back down to three ashen faces and Mark sleeping in Luke’s arms. “I’m going now. Don’t worry, children. Everything will be fine. Luke, don’t forget the door.” He wanted to hold them and kiss them as he watched them nod bravely. “I love you all.”

Jacob waited until he heard the bar cross and began to run in the direction of Olive’s. Now knowing what he faced and not occupied with hiding the children or arming himself, Jacob’s mind wandered. What had that madman done to Olive and Mary? How could he live with himself if the worst came true? He should have killed Jeb Davis the first time he bothered Olive. He would surely kill the man now. But what if he were too late, he said aloud as he panted in the cool night air. If she’s gone, I won’t be able to go on, he thought and tears came to the back of eyes.