Sinful Suspense Box Set (20 page)

“I loved her, Henry. I loved Ella.” The words fell weakly from my mouth.

He wrapped his giant hand around my throat. At first I fought him. I grabbed at his arm, ready to defend myself. Then I caught a glimpse of Ella’s face as her head rolled to the side on Pearl’s lap. She was gone. And she’d taken a piece of me with her. From that moment on, I vowed never to hand my heart over to anyone. It wasn’t worth the agony.

I dropped my hand and stared at Henry as he squeezed my throat between his iron fingers. Pressure built behind my eyes and in my ears as I waited for him to squeeze the life out of me. I’d tried to drown myself but hadn’t had the balls. Now Henry was going to do it for me.

Willie swung around. I’d been on the receiving end of his anger more than once, when Ella and I had gotten caught messing around. Every time, he’d chase me off with his fist and his rifle. But I’d never seen white hot rage in his eyes until now. He pushed Henry aside and plowed his beefy fist into my face. Blackness spread through my head like ink spilled over a cotton tablecloth. I stumbled back, but Willie caught my arm before I could fall out of his reach.

The ringing in my ears sounded like a hundred tea kettles going off at once. Willie silenced them. His knuckles pushed so hard into my stomach, it forced the air from my lungs. I dropped to my knees. Through the haze, I could hear Pearl and Katy pleading with him to stop. But I’d never seen Willie Cooper pay attention to anyone but my pa. Pa was one of the few people who could make him stand up and listen. Ole Roy could make anyone stand up and listen. Even a grizzly bear like Willie Cooper.

“Tie him up in the shed, Henry. I ain’t through with him.” I heard Willie’s gruff tone but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The whole world seemed to be tilting funny as if someone had kicked it like a ball. Henry yanked me to my feet and dragged me across the yard.

“William Cooper,” Pearl cried, “you leave that boy alone. He loved Ella just like us, and he’s suffered enough.”

Henry wrapped a rope around my hands so tightly it made my wrists bleed. He nearly wrenched my arms from my shoulders as he pushed my bound hands up over the hook hanging from the beam in the shed, the hook where Willie would hang a slaughtered pig to drain it of blood. Seemed I was the next to be slaughtered, and I was too frozen with grief to give a damn.

Willie walked back into the shed with a horse whip. His face was a mask of stone, and even though I’d seen him at his angriest, the fury carved into that stone expression sent a shiver through my aching body.

He walked up and pushed his face up to mine. The smell of whiskey and sweat and hate rolled off of him. “I told you to stay the fuck away from her. Now she’s dead and you’re not. That ain’t right. That ain’t gonna stand. I want you to suffer for my little girl’s death.”

“There isn’t anything you can do to make me suffer more than I am right now. I loved her. You do whatever makes this right for you, but it’s not going to bring her back and it’s not going to change the fact that I loved her.”

His fist drove into my stomach again. I struggled to breathe, but I didn’t black out. It was as if God wanted me to stay awake and feel every strike of the whip. The first few lashes stung. They were no more than a punishment  Ole Roy might have dealt for catching me with a jar of bathtub gin. But as Pearl’s and Katy’s cries rolled into the shed from the patch of dirt where they both cradled Ella’s dead body, Willie’s rage boiled like a pot of oil on flames that heated into smoke and then fire, a fire that could only be doused with seeing me bleed.

The whip whirred through the dank air in the shed, sounding like a swarm of mosquitoes. The skin on my naked back split open. Instantly, blood dripped from it, oddly enough giving some comfort with its warmth. My hands, strung up high above my head, lost all feeling as the flesh was stripped from my back. I didn’t want to feel. I needed the ache in my heart to stop. I hung there nearly as lifeless as sweet Ella tucked neatly in Pearl’s arms.

The thin leather strap cut into my skin again and again, carving out a new river of blood each time. So much blood poured down my back, it soaked the top of my pants. With a grunt of exhaustion, Willie dropped the whip and stooped over to catch his breath. His face was red and his filthy, tattered shirt dripped with sweat.

Henry sneered up into my face, but I could hardly lift my eyes to look at him. “You ain’t even puttin’ up a fight, Jarrett. Guess you knew you had this comin’. I was sick and tired of you ballin’ my sister all over the damn place. Now you’ve caused her death.”

“No more,” Pearl sobbed. She was standing in the opening of the shed looking even smaller than I’d remembered, as if a piece of her soul had shrunk away with Ella’s death. Katy still sat in the yard holding tightly to her sister. “William, you listen to me,” Pearl’s voice shook. “That girl lying out there in the yard loved this boy. She’s up there watching you right now, Willie Cooper, and crying over what you’re doing to him. You stop this right now, and let the boy go. You’ll only bring the wrath of Ole Roy down on your head, and that’s the last thing you need. Cut him down.”

Willie stood in his own puddle of sweat, his chest still heaving from the beating he’d just given me. He glanced out toward Ella’s body and then covered his face with his hands. I’d never seen Willie Cooper cry, and I wasn’t sure that’s what I was seeing at that moment, but it seemed Pearl’s words had gotten to him.

Henry fidgeted uncomfortably at seeing Willie upset. “Pa, what are we going to do? We going to let him get away with this with just a few strap marks? Hell, you’ve given me a beating like that just for eating your piece of pie.”

Willie lowered his hands. “Where’s Noah?” he asked Pearl. “Tell him to carry a stool out under the cedar.”

Pearl’s face smoothed like white stone. “Noah ran off the second you hung Jackson up on that hook. What are you up to?”

Willie glanced around. His moment of despair had passed, and blistering rage splintered off him again. He pushed aside two shovels and dragged a milking stool out from the dusty corner. It was so thick with cobwebs, it looked more like fabric than webbing. “Henry, get some rope and take it out to the cedar.” Willie stormed out with his web covered milk stool.

“No,” Pearl chirped. She no longer sounded like Ella’s ma. Agony was twisting her into knots. She ran over to Willie and grabbed his arm. He shoved her away.

Katy cried louder. “Stop, Pa, you can’t do this. You can’t.”

It seemed everyone was pleading for my life except me. Hanging there, covered in blood and shivering from the cold and the nightmare of the day, I came to the conclusion that if I died right then, I could still be with Ella.

Henry walked to the back of the shed and emerged with a long coil of rope around his shoulder. He jerked my hands up, and the rope came off the hook. My legs collapsed beneath me as if my bones had been pulverized. Henry dragged me along the ground to the tree. Halfway there, I pulled away from his grasp and stumbled over to Katy. I dropped down to my knees and leaned over Ella. Her lips and face were pale blue like the sky at dusk. I lowered my face to hers and kissed her mouth. Plump, warm lips had been replaced by smooth, cold stone.

Henry grabbed my arm, and I fell onto my shredded back. Grit and rocks wedged into the open sores as he pulled me along the ground. The pain was torture. I twisted my arm out of his grasp and pushed to my feet. Once the spinning stopped, I walked toward the tree. I needed no command or gun pointed at my head to help me obey. I stood perfectly still, staring only at Ella’s limp body draped across her sister’s lap. Even with the bitter bile rising in my throat, I could still taste her on my lips. Her sweet fragrance was still on my skin.

Henry stared hard at me with a glint of pure hatred in his eyes as he dropped the hand-tied noose around my neck. He pulled it tighter, pinching the skin on my throat. I was only seventeen, but it wasn’t fear I was feeling. It was surrender. ‘Stay tough’, my pa’s words coasted through my head. I kept my attention on Ella, not wanting to lose sight of her, hoping that would help me find her once the last breath ushered out from my aching ribs.

“Now you’ve done it.” Pearl stared at something down the road. “Roy and Gideon Jarrett are riding this way. Stop this nonsense, and untie that boy.”

The thunder of horse hooves and a cloud of dust rumbled up from the trail below. Undeterred, Henry tossed the rope over the branch. I’d already made up my mind. I needed to follow Ella, just like I’d tried to do in the river when I’d lost my fucking nerve. But I wasn’t losing my nerve this time. I stepped onto the unstable stool. It rocked back and forth under my feet. I steadied it just as Ole Roy and Gideon rode up. As much as people respected my pa, they feared my older brother. He’d been in more fights that anyone could count, and he always left his opponent in a crumpled heap. He’d even earned the nickname Crusher, which he hated as much as he loved. Even Henry Cooper was afraid of Gideon Jarrett. About the only person who wasn’t afraid of him was our pa.

Ole Roy reined his horse in. They’d both ridden up bareback, not having taken the time to saddle their horses. Anyone else would have brought along a hunting rifle, but my pa had no need for a gun. Noah Cooper had been the messenger, of that I was sure. Pa looked over at Ella, and sadness crossed his ruddy face. His gray eyes flickered my direction. His expression caused an even bigger knot in my throat than the one pinching my neck.

“What happened, Jackson?” Ole Roy asked.

My voice stuck in my dry throat. I swallowed hard, but it didn’t help. “Ella had gone up the rocks to pick some flowers.” I dropped my gaze, no longer able to look at anyone. “She fell and hit her head.” The words tumbled down to my bare feet and bounced off the wobbly stool beneath them. All I’d been thinking about was messing around. I should have gone up the rocks. It should have been me stretched out with the crease in my head.

“Henry,” Ole Roy said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone, “carry your sister’s body inside. Gideon, untie Jackson’s hands.”

Henry hesitated at first, but as Gideon pulled his hunting knife from its sheath, it prodded Henry into action. He stomped toward Katy.

Willie took a defiant step but shrank down beneath Ole Roy’s gaze. “My girl is dead. The boy needs to be punished.”

Pa looked over at me. “Looks like he’s been disciplined enough. I imagine losing Ella is going to stick like a thorn in his heart for some time. Killing my boy ain’t gonna bring her back, Willie.”

I couldn’t look Gideon in the eye as he sliced the ropes off my wrists. He backed up and looked at me until I had no choice but to meet his stare. “Jacks, take that rope off your neck, and let’s go home.”

My hands were free, but I didn’t take the rope off. Henry walked across the yard with Ella in his arms. Her small, bare feet were nearly purple and her head rolled from side to side with each stride. Everyone’s attention was on me. I looked around at all their faces, finishing with a glance toward my pa. He looked big and imposing and invincible sitting astride his gelding. He knew me well, Ole Roy. He’d given me more whippings than I cared to remember, but he’d been there to talk when I needed it. We’d always been close. The flicker of recognition in his weathered face assured me he knew just what I was thinking.

“It was a terrible thing that happened today, son, but it wasn’t your fault. Ella wouldn’t blame you for what happened.” There was a twinge of desperation in his tone. Never in my life had I heard Ole Roy plea for anything. But it was there now.

It wasn’t enough.

I stepped off the stool. The rope tightened around my throat.

“Goddammit,” Gideon sneered as he pulled the stool under him and climbed on it. My strength was draining fast, but I kicked my legs out to push him away. Kicking my older brother was like throwing my feet into a wall of rock. His fist came at me, and it was the last thing I saw before the sky, the ground and everything in between went black.

I came to a few seconds later, gasping for air. The rope was gone, but a burning sensation circled my neck. Shards of light flickered in front of my eyes. Gideon’s giant hand wrenched me to my feet. I swayed back and forth, just waiting for my face to meet the solid ground.

“Get on the fucking horse, Jackson,” Gideon barked.

I took several faltering steps. My body felt more twisted than the rope I’d just been cut from. “You get back on your own horse, Gideon,” Ole Roy said as he reined his horse around. “It’ll do Jackson good to walk. Then he won’t ever forget this day.”

Henry had returned from the house. He glared at me as I followed behind the horses.

“One day, Jackson, you and me are going to meet up one-on-one. I’ll be waiting for that day.”

***

Two years later, we did meet one-on-one, Henry Cooper and me, but it wasn’t in Harper’s Cross and it wasn’t because of Ella. It was a bitterly cold September day during the Grand Offensive at Meuse-Argonne, a faraway forest in France. Henry, Gideon and I, and every other man with good enough health and little to keep him at home in Harper’s Cross, had joined the American Expeditionary Forces to help the British and French fight against Germany.

In the cloak of night, a night that was rich with the smell of blood and gunpowder, several of us crept back to the trenches to retrieve the wounded and the dead. It had been a long, tense evening. My legs shook from carrying injured and dead soldiers on my shoulders back to the medic camp. Most were too far gone to save, but we couldn’t leave them to die alone and cold in a ditch.

A bullet hit my side as I returned for the last body. I had no idea where it had been fired from. I held the wound tightly and slid on my stomach across the ground, sticky with blood, to the trench. I rolled into the ditch and found the last soldier. He was draped over his rifle. Most of his back was gone, and his intestines hung out of him like a hunter’s trophy foxtail dangling on a belt. And that was when Henry and I had our one-on-one. Once again, I found myself carrying one of Willie Cooper’s dead children. That time they didn’t throw a rope around my neck. Just a medal, a Silver Citation Star. But back then in France, when you could be sharing a smoke with someone one minute and see his skull blown apart with a bullet the next, back then when seeing death had become as commonplace as losing a sock, I would have preferred the rope.