Oh, God. I ran faster.
The rain had eased to a sprinkle, but the road oozed with rivulets of mud, particularly in the grooves left by wheels. I wasn’t certain how many miles away the Linton homestead was but didn’t doubt that Mr. Linton, after capturing Rachel, would have absconded by wagon rather than foot. He wouldn’t have managed to kidnap her without a vehicle, not with his infirmity. When I’d encountered him, he had walked with a limping gait and used a branch for support.
And as a club.
This recollection of Mr. Linton delivering punishing blows with his makeshift cane compelled me to break into a sprint. My mind spun with terrifying images of my friend being subjected to his ruthlessness. That he had beaten her I knew. I’d seen the bruises around her neck. Even as I had stood in arm’s reach, he’d jabbed her in the side. That he had raped her, as well, I suspected. He was brutal, unconscionable. And he had my friend.
This dreadful line of thought made me realize I didn’t have a weapon. Stupid! I should have grabbed a farm tool from the barn to use as a cudgel or spear. I should have taken Daniel’s or Phineas’s horse to expedite my chase.
With a skid across the muck, I staggered to a halt, my hands flying to my wet head. What would Daniel and Phineas think when they discovered I’d gone missing, too?
I looked back, guessing how far I’d traveled, wondering frantically if I should return and collect my friends. The empty road stretched to the north like the wet slash of a knife wound. The forest fenced in its sides, the trees’ thick upper branches black against the gray sky. Already darkened by weather, the day was fast slipping toward night.
No time to spare. I ran.
A stitch in my side, the ache in my right ankle, and welling fear: I could ignore the first two but not stave the third. What had that man done to my friend? What would he do? And would I be too late to stop him?
I jerked up my head and forced myself to focus on a plan. I would tear into that ramshackle cabin and demand Rachel’s release. I’d threaten Linton if he tried to stop us.
Threaten him with what?
I slowed to a stop again and stuffed my pockets with good-sized stones; then I plucked, from along the road’s slick edge, a fallen branch. Thanks to the storm, there were many, and my selection was big enough to inflict damage.
As I flew toward my destination, the rocks clanked against my sides. The heavy limb, raised over my head like a sprinter’s flag, whooshed through the air, its young leaves wetly twitching.
I desperately did not want to mentally prepare for the worst, for the darkest possibility, and strove not to contemplate it. When avoidance proved futile, I tried reason and thought Linton probably wouldn’t kill my friend because he had uses for her. Oh, but what cold comfort! There were evils other than murder.
I had to hurry.
Rachel, my friend, my dear Rachel. I strung the words into an invocation, as if in mentally repeating her name, I might summon her, conjure her …
And then: there.
In the mist-shrouded distance. A silvery form. An approaching figure.
I slowed. I stilled. I stared. Straining my eyes to make out the person, I discerned first a steady stride, then a swish of a skirt, then a lowered head, then a familiar shape.…
For the first time since this horror began, I released a sob. Leaping forward, I cried, “Rachel!”
Her head came up. She flew my way.
We collided in an embrace made noisy with clinking rocks, labored breaths, and weeping.
As soon as we parted, I blinked away the tears and ran my eyes over her, looking for hurts, reassuring myself that she was here, really here, alive and in one piece, and all the while I panted, “Oh, thank God, you’re—I never thought I’d—are you—”
Her hands were on her face. She pulled them away to stare at the damp fingers, then closed them into fists and dropped them to her sides. “I never thought I would, either,” she said faintly.
I reached for her arm and paused when I realized I still held the branch. Instead of tossing it aside, I switched it to my other hand, then grasped her above the elbow. I wasn’t ready to release my weapon. Who knew if we were safe?
I urged us in the direction of the mill. We walked pressed together along our sides, so tightly our legs brushed, making clumsy our strides. I felt we could not get close enough. Could never be safe enough. “Oh, Rachel.” The enormity of the situation rattled me, and I stumbled. Glancing nervously over my shoulder, I clung to her tighter. “Did he hurt you?”
She began to answer. A sob cut short the words. She gasped when her wrist grazed her brow.
I halted us and scanned her features. A swelling discolored her temple. My eyes burned. “He did that.”
She closed her eyes, nodded.
My breath came fast, like I was still running. I gripped the branch. The bark bit into my palm. “I want to do the same to him.”
Her eyes opened. “You can’t.”
“I can. We can. We have friends. We’ll hold a meeting. We’ll tell them…” My shoulders jerked up. Gnawing on my lip, I shook my head and tried again: “We will tell them enough. There are good folks here, plenty to form a posse, and we’ll—”
“He’s dead.”
I stared. “He’s—”
“Dead.”
“How?”
“A fit. Some kind of fit.” She started walking again, slowly. She looked behind her, strode faster, tripped, but righted herself even as she continued forward in scrambling haste.
“Let me…” After lunging to catch up with her, I hooked my arm through hers. She leaned in to me but stared straight ahead, intensely, as if in focusing her gaze on the distance she would reel us more quickly in that direction.
“It was his legs that gave out first. He stood like he aimed to charge me but … didn’t. Couldn’t. He went down, hands flailing. The arms fell wide, splayed from his body, and his mouth spread into a grimace that was like”—she sobbed a thin laugh—“a grin. The whole time, he watched me. He followed me with his eyes. He followed me…” She slowed and wavered.
I wrapped my arms around her. “Oh, Rachel, Rachel.”
We wept into each other’s necks.
When the tears abated, we slogged forward again. It felt like I was bearing my weight and most of hers, too. Hoping talk would keep her from fainting, I asked the first question that came to mind: “His family?”
“Not there. Mrs. Linton left days ago. Took the children. The last of the money. Fled.” She scrubbed her face and shuddered. Her hand went to her throat. “He blamed me. Said I gave her the notion. Said I had to … to…” She shook her head violently and, on a single keening exhalation, finished: “Take her place. After that, he…” Another sob shook her.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said helplessly, holding her up, wishing there was more I could offer than a litany of apologies and an embrace.
“I know.” She pulled away. Then, like someone putting herself back together, she straightened, ran trembling hands over her hair, and smoothed her dress at the waist, again and again. “He ordered me to fix his supper, threatened to kill me if I didn’t do his bidding, but then shoved me toward a pantry that held more rat droppings than food.” She gasped a disbelieving sound and staggered forward. “Nothing but a bit of cornmeal and lard. Nothing in the garden, either.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him I’d have to forage.” Her face crumpled. “I hoped he’d release me long enough so I could flee. Instead he tied a rope around my waist with a kind of knot I couldn’t unravel.”
My breath caught. He’d leashed her?
“I fixed his meal.” She stared blindly ahead. “And—and that was that. I found a knife on the shelf over the kindling bin and sawed off the rope.”
A drum of horses’ hooves charged the air. Daniel and Phineas appeared in the distance, their galloping pace blurred by the misty dusk. We hurried to the side of the road. I waved my branch to draw their attention.