A Heart Made for Love Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  A Heart Made for Love

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  A word about the author…

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  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  This was the moment Mae would have to prove herself. Instinctively, she found the little beauty and fired a round into the air. The man froze and then turned slowly toward Mae. The look on his face would have urged most men to full retreat.

  “I said let her go, and I meant it. I don’t want to have to shoot you, mister.”

  The man let out a bark of laughter. “You think you can hit me, little lady, before I can take your gun away from you?”

  Mae stood her ground. Her heart was racing and her insides quivering, but her voice was firm. “You can try, but I warn you, I will not hesitate.”

  The man had let go of Emma and now turned fully to face Mae. “You’re the reason I’m here, ain’t ya? You’re the one who put some crazy notion in her head, like she can just up and leave and get away with it. She’s got a home, and I’m takin’ her back to it.”

  As the man reached out to grab Emma again, Mae fired. The man’s arm jerked in reaction to the white-hot pain. He wheeled sharply and took a step toward Mae, then stopped. He could see she had gone pale, but her grip on the pistol was firm, and her arm was rock steady.

  A Heart

  Made for Love

  by

  Linda Tillis

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Heart Made for Love

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Linda S. Tillis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Vintage Rose Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0797-8

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0798-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to

  the South Georgia House of Hope,

  where good folks do the real work of helping women—

  women who need a place to

  recover, reset, and renew their faith.

  [email protected]

  ~

  And to my loving husband, my Beau,

  who had faith in me when no one else did.

  Chapter One

  The cold rain on Mae’s face brought her to the edge of consciousness, but it was the pain running through her battered body that pulled her into a world she didn’t want to face.

  She could still hear the men’s voices, feel their rough hands, and smell their whiskey-drenched breath, even though they’d been gone for what must have been hours. She’d been beating the rag rugs hanging on the rail fence when they came upon her. Papa must have told her a thousand times, “Never go out without the rifle.” Now she understood one of the dangers he feared.

  Papa…oh, dear Lord, he and the boys would be coming home from the sawmill soon. That realization cut through the pain and brought her to her knees. She swayed there for a while, taking note of each ache as she tried to remember which offense may have caused it. There was at least one loose tooth, and she well remembered the fist that loosened it. She could feel the blood and pain between her legs, but the blessed fist had made the memory of that horror dark and vague.

  Mae managed to crawl over to the rail fence and pull herself to her feet. As she leaned there, catching her breath at the fiery pain in her ribs, she saw she was resting on the quilt she and her mama had made together when she was but ten. And so came the tears.

  Mae raised her head and saw the Florida sun sinking low in the west. She was startled by how much time had passed as she’d leaned on the fence. She needed to make it to the water bucket, to try and clean some of the blood and dirt from her face and hands, even if she was never able to wash the stain of this event from her soul.

  She managed to strip off her dress and do a meager washing before crawling into bed and drifting off in pain. She was pulled from her semi-conscious state by the sound of her Papa’s voice yelling her name.

  “Mae, girl, where are you?” Papa never shouted, and she could hear the panic in his voice.

  Oh, Lord, she’d left her bloody clothes on the porch. “I’m here, Papa, in the bedroom.”

  Garth Hinton came roaring into the room, wild eyed and pale. When he saw Mae struggling to rise, he dropped to his knees beside the bed. Her two younger brothers stopped at the doorway, showing round eyes and frightened faces.

  She rolled away, saying, “Papa send them outside. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

  Garth did as she asked. “Boys, run fetch water and put it on to boil.” As they continued to stand frozen in the doorway, he shouted, “Now!” The boys jumped to life at the sound of their father’s command and turned to run out of the house.

  Garth Hinton was a strong man. He’d survived the Civil War as a young child. He’d lived through carpetbaggers stripping his family’s farm. He’d even managed, with the Lord’s help, to move on after the death of his beautiful wife, Ruth. But he was damn near broken by the sight of his daughter, lying there covered in bruises and cuts, her weakness apparent in her attempt to sit up.

  “I’m so sorry, Papa. I forgot the rifle,” was all Mae could manage to sob.

  Her father held her hand and tried to soothe her. He was afraid to touch her anywhere else, as he couldn’t tell the extent of her injuries. “Mae, honey, listen to me. The rifle is not important now. Just tell me what happened.”

  “There were men, Papa, and they hurt me,” she whispered, not able to make eye contact with her papa, that gentle man who had always been her tower of strength.

  “Oh, God,” he moaned, as tears filled his eyes.

  Garth heard the boys coming back. He stepped to the door and looked at Samuel. Samuel, at fifteen, was six feet tall and as mus
cular as a grown man. Now his eyes were dark and hard, and his jaw was clenched, as he returned his papa’s look. Cyrus, just twelve, was right behind him, with eyes still round and filled with worry.

  Cyrus turned to his papa. “What happened to Mae, Papa?”

  While Garth was trying to find a suitable explanation, Samuel spoke up. “Mae fell out of that big water oak down the hill. She was trying to see if the bees had made honey yet.” Garth blinked. He’d never known Samuel to lie.

  “Well, why’d she do that? She’s a-scared of high places.”

  “Never mind that now, son. Just jump back up on my horse and hie yourself to town and get Doc Walters out here as fast as you can. Now, go.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cyrus yelled as he took off for the horse.

  “Papa, do you know who hurt Mae? Do I need to load the rifles? Just tell me who did this, and I’ll find ’em.” Samuel’s voice vibrated with his anger.

  Garth put his arm around the boy’s broad shoulders. “Son, you’re a good brother. I don’t know who did this, but until I have a chance to really talk with Mae, we’re going to keep this to ourselves. Right now, the best thing you can do for your sister is to drag that tub in here and fill it with the hot water from the stove. Doc will need it to clean her cuts.”

  Garth went back to Mae’s bedside and pulled up a stool. “Mae, honey, I’ve sent Cyrus for the doctor. We need to know what injuries you have.”

  “Oh, Papa,” she cried. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

  Garth gently wiped the tears from her face. “Honey, Doc has to see you. You might have injuries that need attention, and Doc’s not going to be talkin’ about it. While we’re waiting, can you tell me any more about what happened?”

  Mae took a deep, shuddering breath, closed her eyes, and began to speak so softly that Garth had to lean in to hear her. “I was beating the rugs on the fence. I heard a step, and then there were hands on me. Somebody threw something over my head and I couldn’t see. I started kicking and fighting. I know I hit some of them, ’cause they yelled.”

  She paused so long Garth was afraid she might have fainted. He waited, not wanting to force her.

  When she continued, her voice was just above a whisper. “I was thrown to the ground and hands were holding me down. I started kicking and heard one of them screaming and calling me a she-cat. That was when something hit me real hard. I think it was a fist ’cause I don’t remember much more till the rain woke me.” By the end of this she was sobbing again.

  Garth gathered her into his arms and held her while she wept, until there were just little mewling sounds now and then. He laid her back onto the bed, and she rolled to her side to drift off once more.

  He’d never missed his wife more than now, nor had he ever felt so inadequate with one of the children before; but then, few men were required to face something so horrible as this, thanks be to the good Lord. What do you say to your baby girl when her whole life has been altered? How do you tell her everything will be all right when you’re not sure that it will be? Ruth had always known just what to say or do, whether it was a piece of motherly wisdom or a fix for some ailment; she’d always risen to the occasion. But Ruth was gone, and Garth was treading unknown territory.

  Mae had fallen into a restless sleep, just moaning now and then. Garth was wondering what horrors she must be reliving when he heard Doc Walters’ buggy squeaking into the yard. He stepped out onto the porch just as Cyrus bounded up the steps. Not wanting the boy to hear any more than necessary, he said, “Son, take my horse to the barn, wipe him down, and give him some oats.” Cyrus reluctantly did as he was told.

  Doc Walters waited until the boy was out of earshot before asking, “What’s going on, Garth? Cyrus was babbling about finding Mae’s torn and bloody clothes on the front porch.”

  Garth hadn’t thought beyond getting help for Mae. Now he just stood, searching for the right words. Doc gave him a moment, and then said, “Well, how hard can it be, man? Out with it.”

  Garth looked at Doc and, as tears ran down his cheeks, answered. “I think she’s been raped.”

  Martin Walters had been a medical assistant, as a half grown kid, during the last two years of the war. He’d seen some pretty gruesome things, but he paled as Garth’s words sank in. “Oh, hell, where is she?” he barked. Garth raised an arm, indicating inside.

  “Do you know who did this? Did she give you a name?”

  Garth’s jaw clenched, and he swiped a shaking hand across his face. “There was more than one.”

  Doc muttered a curse, picked up his bag, and stepped inside the neat, wood-frame home.

  He noted, and was grateful for, the pot of water simmering on the wood stove. When he pushed open the door, his heart broke at the sight of Mae, curled in a ball in the middle of the bed. He was immediately struck by the bruising on the slender arm that had worked its way from under the quilt. When he saw the swelling and purple blotches on her pale, heart-shaped face, it hit him like a fist in the gut.

  Doc moved to the bedside but did not touch her. “Mae,” he called. She winced and made a soft moaning sound. “Mae, honey, it’s Doc. Can you open your eyes for me?”

  Those blue-veined lids fluttered, then slowly opened. As recognition and remembrance came, her dark eyes began to fill with tears, and she whimpered as she drew her arm back under the quilt, as if hiding under the covers could make the whole thing not have happened.

  Doc had witnessed the strength in this girl when her mother died. He’d watched her grow into a strong young woman who was given to curiosity and a joy for life. How she handled the next few hours would determine whether she survived as a whole person or just a piece of her former self.

  “Mae, listen to me now. Your pa told me some men had hurt you. I need you to tell me all you can remember, and Mae, I’m not your pa. You can tell me anything and not be embarrassed. I need to know what happened so that I know how to treat your injuries. But before you start, I want you to pretend you’re telling me a story about someone else. I want you to look at the event in your mind, not in your heart. Tell me about this thing that happened today.”

  Mae pulled herself up a little, took a deep, shuddering breath, and closed her eyes. This was the moment she’d dreaded since she had wakened. Mama had shared some womanly things with her before going to be with the Lord, but Mae wished there was a woman to guide her through this now.

  She knew enough to understand that this event was not what the Lord intended when a man “took” a woman. Her time of the month was not for another three weeks, and she should not be bleeding the way she was. The pain and bleeding were brought on by what the men had done to her. She was grateful to have very little memory of those actions.

  Mae looked over Doc’s shoulder and started to speak. “The girl was airing quilts and beatin’ rugs on the fence. She was supposed to have the rifle with her, but she’d forgotten it. But it wouldn’t have mattered ’cause she never heard them until they were on her. Someone threw something over her head; it might have been a shirt. Then they grabbed her arms and dragged her down to the ground. She fought. She fought as hard as she could.”

  Mae started to sweat and didn’t even realize she was wringing her hands. Her eyes were open wide as if she was seeing all that she described. “And she got one of them in the face, ’cause he started screaming that she had blinded him. Someone was holding her shoulders to the ground. She couldn’t use her arms anymore, but she kept fighting. She kicked out and must have got a good shot at one of them, ’cause she heard a scream. Then something hit her in the face. It must have been a fist. After that the girl didn’t hear or feel anything for a long time.”

  Doc thanked the merciful Lord that she must have lost consciousness at that point, so perhaps she didn’t know that probably she was repeatedly abused.

  “Think, Mae. Did the girl recognize any of the voices? Can she remember anything else? Just think a minute.”

  Mae closed her eyes. After a minute or so, she start
ed to tremble; it began deep inside her. Hands were holding her down. A button pressed into her face. Something was dancing around the edges of her memory. Something that was new to her and she could not recognize…Wait! It was a smell, no, a fragrance. It was sort of like the lemongrass Mama used to grow, only different. Her heart was racing. Even as Doc reached out to her, she began to scream.

  “Mae, open your eyes! Mae, look at me, honey. You’re okay. The men are gone, Mae. Do you hear me?”

  Mae was pale, and her eyes were almost glazed over when she opened them. When she began panting, Doc knew what was coming. He grabbed the bucket beside the bed just as Mae started heaving. Doc held her sweat-matted hair aside while she emptied her stomach into the bucket. Afterwards he bathed her face with the damp cloth Samuel had placed by the bucket. She lay back on the bed with her eyes closed, and in time her tremors eased off.

  “Did you remember something, Mae? Can you tell me any more?”

  She said, “It was a shirt. A shirt they put over her head. She…I could feel the buttons cuttin’ into my face, and the shirt smelled. Not like, you know, not dirty or sweaty, but clean like flowers. No, not like Mama’s roses, but like the lemongrass in the garden.”

  Her eyes flew open, round and fixed on Doc. “There was one man,” she started. “He was different from the rest. I heard them all, and the others all sounded just like anyone from town. But this man sounded different. His voice was smooth and deep, and he spoke like you do sometimes. Like a schoolteacher.”

  “What did he say, honey, that sounded like a teacher?”

  She lay there gazing across the room, wanting to remember but afraid to remember too much, lest she remember everything. “He said, ‘Perhaps this is not such a good idea after all.’ ”

  Mae looked into Doc’s eyes and whispered, “Is the girl going to be all right?”

  Doc took Mae’s hand, gently stroking it as he spoke. “You tell me, Mae. Is the girl going to be all right? Does she realize she did not do anything wrong? Does she know the Lord loves her, weeps for her pain, and will always be there for her?” He paused, searching her eyes for any signs of guilt or remorse. “Mae, does the girl understand not all men are good? That some are driven by their own weaknesses and therefore try to control anyone they can? Does she know life is not always fair; sometimes the innocent have to pay for the sins of others?”