A Man With a Pure Heart Read online

  When she entered, the man was finishing his meal. She was careful not to make eye contact. He had not used her body in four days, and she hoped to get through another night.

  It was not to be.

  Nash grabbed her wrist as she passed by, causing her to jerk and the chain to slide off her shoulder. It landed on his foot, and he grunted in pain. With no hesitation, he backhanded the woman. She made not a sound as she crumpled to the floor.

  She regained her senses sometime later, and could tell from the wetness between her legs that he had used her while she’d lain unconscious. She could make out nothing but blackness through the one high window. It was the middle of the night. No stars could be seen. She rolled to her side, with her back to the lightly snoring man. Nothing but darkness through the window. Good. He would travel tomorrow night.

  ****

  He’d been gone about half an hour now. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel a trickle of sweat between her swollen breasts. She had to get hold of herself.

  As she had often of late, she spoke aloud to the heartbeat inside her. “Okay, little one, here we go.”

  She had been working on the chain over a period of months. She was allowed outside when he was chopping wood, and she took the opportunity to hang clothes in the sun. She had spotted a sharp piece of granite one day and managed to slip it into her pocket. She could not work on the links nearest the ankle cuff, for fear he would catch it. So she had started on a link about midway of the eight-foot length. She was so close to having it cut through that she’d been worried it might break while he was there. She perched on one of the two chairs in the room and began to saw away with the piece of granite. She wanted to get out before it was pitch black. She would take the oil lamp with her, but the oil was low and would probably not last long.

  As she worked, she reviewed everything again and again in her mind. Don’t panic. Don’t thrash through the woods and leave a trail. Find the river as quickly as possible. Tie the length of chain left to your waist so it doesn’t snag on anything on the bottom and drown you. She was so intent on repeating this mantra that it actually startled her when the chain snapped.

  “Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord. We’re free, little one! We’re free.” She was suddenly weak and dizzy. She had to lower her head and breath deep to keep from passing out. Once the dizziness passed, she stood and began to gather things.

  “All right, some jerky. No need to take bread; it would just get wet. The dress, the small blanket, and the oil lantern, the butcher knife, and some matches.” She kept an eye on the window as she babbled to the little one. “Okay, time to go.”

  She stood at the now open door and looked back over her shoulder. The length of chain still attached to the iron bed frame screamed at her. Run, run, and don’t look back! She shuddered, and her eyes filled with tears. She had lived in fear that this day might never come. She angrily swiped a hand over her eyes, pulled the door closed, and then stepped out into the deepening dusk. Lord, the night air had never smelled so sweet.

  She raced across the small clearing toward a narrow trail she’d spotted one day as she hung clothes on the line. It appeared to be no larger than a small animal, but it never grew over, and she only hoped it led to the river. She could see a faint glow in the west, and the trail was running northerly, so she was pretty sure that she was headed in the right direction. She’d tied a cord through the chain and then around her waist, so she could walk freely. She held her bundle tight to her body so as not to snag on the bushes. After about twenty minutes, she stopped to light the lantern. It was now full-on dark, with the trees blocking any last light from the sun. The sound of a bullfrog chorus had been getting louder, and she finally stepped out of total darkness to see the ghostly movement of water.

  She set the lantern and bundle down. “All right, little one, so far so good. Now comes the hard part. You’re going to get a little chilly once I hit the water, but I’ll get across as quick as an otter, I promise.”

  She looked out across the water as if she could see the other side. There was nothing but darkness and the soft whisper of moving water. There would not be a neat little trail on the other side of the Ochlockonee, and only heaven knew what she would have to fight on the way across. As she turned back to the lantern, she caught sight of a large, dark shape on the bank and screamed in terror. She grabbed the lantern as she scrambled backwards, expecting to be devoured by a huge gator at any moment. Her escape was stopped when her back slammed into a small tree, causing her to almost drop the lantern. She raised it over her head and stared at the shape, only to realize it was not moving. On closer look, she dropped to her knees in weakness, looked to the stars, and began to babble through her tears.

  “Oh, Lord Jesus, thank you, thank you.” She could hear the hysteria in her voice but couldn’t seem to stop praying. “Lord, I was a-feared you had forgotten all about me. But no, you were here when I needed you most, Lord.”

  She scrambled to her feet and started flinging the drying limbs off the small canoe. Yes, there was a paddle and a push pole lashed to the side. She quickly cleared the vessel and dragged it to the water’s edge. She tied the lantern to a small pole at the stern but smothered the light to save the oil. She placed her bundle in the bottom of the canoe and, with one bare foot, slowly shoved away from the bank. She grabbed the push pole and started upstream.

  She placed her hand on her belly. There was the tiniest of flutters, as if her partner in this escape was happy to be free. She wiped the last of the tears from her face, and as she shoved the canoe out into the black water she smiled, for the first time in years.

  ****

  Nash lumbered along, ignoring the hard wagon seat, his thoughts dark as always. She had not opened her mouth, but he could tell the girl was pregnant. This one was his. Not like the little puling thing before. This one would be strong, and he would train him to be a man. If it was a female, he would smother it, then kill the girl. Satisfied with that plan, he imagined teaching a boy to hunt and fish.

  He spent the ride calculating many things; how far along the woman was, how long he’d have to wait after the birth to head west, how much land he’d be able to afford.

  It was after midnight when his wagon rolled up behind Hamish’s storage building. There was no lantern hanging over the door as usual. Nash sat a moment. He did not like this. He was a creature of habit and liked things to be ordered and predictable. He climbed quietly off the wagon and approached the door slowly. As he got near, he heard the door slide on its hinges, and he froze. He could barely make out the figure of the “cinnamon” man approaching.

  “Be quiet,” the little man whispered.

  Nash did not move. He waited until Hamish was inches away before he spoke.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You’ll need to unload in the dark. I have a candle set up inside. The taxman has been round asking questions. So be quick and be quiet.”

  Hamish was glad the beastie did not argue. He would give him the flyer and his pay after the wagon was unloaded.

  Twenty minutes later, the big man hurried to the side of the building, where Hamish was waiting. It was time.

  Hamish handed over the bag with the money. Nash took it and had turned to climb into the wagon when the little man reached out and grabbed his arm.

  “Wait. There be something ye be needin’ to know.” Hamish held out the flyer, and when Nash took it, he lit a candle for the big man to see by.

  Nash looked at the paper. It was a picture of him. He’d never learned to read. He looked at the little man. He recognized the fear in Hamish’s eyes, and his animal senses took over. He grabbed the little man by the arm. Trying to keep his voice low, he said, “What the hell is this?”

  Nash could see the sweat popping out on the little man’s face, and his breathing had quickened.

  Hamish’s mouth was so dry he could barely speak. “It be a flyer the law has put out on ye. They think ye killed the wee schoolteacher.”

  Nas
h might not know how to read, but he was not a stupid man, nor was he slow. He was holding onto the only man that might be able to place him in town the night the schoolteacher was killed. He looked down at Hamish and sensed there would be no more money from him. Ten seconds later he had removed another wad of money from Hamish’s pockets and laid his broken body gently on the floor of the storage building, closing the door quietly. He was glad he had oiled that squeaking wheel as the wagon rolled away from the storehouse. He was about to move onto the main road when he realized that, even now, they might be watching for him. Without thought, he veered off to the smaller lane, just south of the main thoroughfare. As he passed the lone cottage, he wondered what the new schoolteacher looked like.

  ****

  She was tired. It seemed like she had been rowing for hours. The muscles in her back and arms were on fire and she could feel them quivering. She wasn’t sure how far from shore she was or how far she had come. She was afraid to go ashore before daylight.

  “All right, little one, Mama’s gonna find a tree to tie up to and rest for a couple hours. Then we’ll see what we ought to do.”

  ****

  Nash could just begin to make out the forms of the trees when the wagon rolled up behind the cabin. He was so filled with rage, so needing to hurt something, that he was afraid to go inside. The woman was carrying his son, and he couldn’t risk that life. Hers was of no importance to him, but a son to carry to the tribe, that was important. He unhitched the horses and allowed them to roam free. He stomped over to the well, and his anger overtook him. The damn fool woman had left the bucket on the ground. He grabbed the bucket, and in his rage he snapped the rope attaching it to the well. The cabin door slammed against the inner wall as he kicked it in. He felt around for the lantern…and found nothing.

  He bellowed, “Bitch, where is the damn lantern?” He waited for the whimpering to start. They always began with the whimpering, and then the begging. Nothing. There was no sound. Not the creaking of the bed. Not her frightened breathing. He made his way to the table and lit the candle, holding it high. The candlelight reflected off the length of chain still attached to the bed frame. He hurled the oak bucket with such rage that it splintered against the far wall.

  The sky had begun to lighten. A half-mile away, a herd of deer had just begun their morning graze. The sudden echoing scream of some wounded animal caused them to freeze, and then scatter toward the west.

  Nash ran out of the cabin, threw back his head and filled the air with a second primal scream. He would kill her. As soon as he found her she was dead. He ran back to the well and started looking at the ground. He found her tracks leading toward the river. He ran down the trail with branches slapping his face and grabbing at his shirt. He barreled into the small open space with so much force that he toppled into the water. He rose up with a roar, slinging water in all directions. Then his eyes found the empty spot on the bank where he had left the canoe.

  ****

  The woman woke with a start. She could see across the river. Oh, Lord, it was almost daylight. She lay there listening. Something had dragged her from sleep. Still, she could hear nothing now but the gentle lap of the southbound water slapping against the side of the canoe. She stretched her cramped body, extending her arms toward the sky. Her shoulders screamed at her. She unrolled her bundle and took out a small piece of meat. She didn’t know when she might find food again, so she rolled her things back up, leaving out the butcher knife.

  She had to pee. “Good morning, little one, I feel you sitting on my bladder,” she whispered softly. “Just be still for a few more minutes. Mama doesn’t want to pee in the boat.”

  She untied the boat and continued rowing north, keeping close to the eastern shore. She needed a spot clear enough to drag the canoe in and hide it. She had rowed another half hour, and her bladder was threatening to burst, when she smelled smoke. She looked at the moss and could tell the wind was coming out of the east. She must be fairly close to a camp or a house. Maybe someone who could help her find her way to Tallahassee. Another five minutes of rowing and she found an opening in the brush along the banks. She nosed the canoe in until it dragged bottom, then stepped out into the water. She tried not to break down the underbrush as she dragged it up onto the bank. She managed to drag and carry it about twenty feet into the trees before she stopped to pee.

  She walked back to the water’s edge, cupped up a handful and drank.

  “All right, now we head inland and look for help.” She rubbed her belly and then placed her bundle under one arm, with the lantern and knife in the other hand. She had fought her way through about a hundred yards of growth when she stumbled upon a narrow path.

  “Well, what do you think?” Talking to the child in her belly had become second nature now. “It’s probably an animal trail, but at least it’s level. All right, then, it’s agreed, we’ll stay on the track.”

  She finally stopped to lean against a tree and catch her breath. She looked up at the treetops. The wind had changed and was coming out of the north. At least, she believed it was north. The sun was up full now, and she had been trying to keep it right on her face as she walked, and besides, she couldn’t smell the smoke any longer. She was about to step away from the tree when a branch snapped behind her. She froze. No. It couldn’t be him. No. There was no way he could have found her. Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid it might burst. She turned and took off down the trail like a wild deer.

  She was making so much noise she couldn’t tell if there was anyone behind, but she kept running. She was drenched in sweat, and her breath was becoming labored, when she suddenly burst through the trees into a large, wide field. Across the field was a small cabin with a thin trail of smoke coming from the chimney. She ran a few more feet before she heard a grunt. She looked over her shoulder, and her blood froze in her body. A bear, a large bear, was lumbering out of the trees.

  The woman took off running toward the cabin again. She didn’t think she had a good breath left in her, but she managed a scream that rent the morning air. She could see a small figure outside the cabin now, but her eyes were on fire from the sweat running down her face, and she couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. She had long since dropped her bundle and the lantern, but she kept a death grip on the butcher knife as she ran. Her breath was coming in short bursts of flame, and her legs had begun to quiver.

  She was only fifty yards or so from the cabin when the chain loosened from her waist and fell to the ground. Her right foot came down on it, and her left ankle rolled. She was face down in the dirt before the pain could even register in her fear-fogged brain. What little air she had left in her whooshed out as her chest slammed into the ground.

  Her blood was pounding so hard she could not hear, but she could feel the rhythm of the bear’s gait in the ground beneath her face. She barely had time to think of dying when there was an explosion near her, followed closely by a second one, and a pained roar from the bear. A third explosion was followed by the earthshaking thud of the bear’s dead weight hitting the ground.

  The woman managed to raise her head and look over her shoulder. She could see the bear not thirty feet from her. She turned her head back toward the cabin and spied two bare black feet. She followed the line of those feet upward, past ankles and faded dress, and met the gaze of a wizened little woman with white wooly hair. She was holding a gun that was almost as long as she was tall.

  “Lawd a-mercy! Child, you know how close you come to meetin’ yo’ maker?” The old woman lowered the butt of the gun to the ground and used the barrel to hold herself upright.

  “That’s just too much ruckus before an ole lady done had her breakfast.” She now stood over the girl on the ground. “Oh, child, yo ankle ain’t lookin’ none too good. You hurtin’ anywhere’s else? Did that animal get you? And what you doin’ with a chain hooked to your leg, anyhow?”

  The woman’s heart had slowed to the point that she could hear over the pounding now, but she could
n’t quite speak.

  The old woman tried again. “Child, you gotta name? Speak up now, what’s yo’ name?”

  The woman on the ground had curled up on her side, and now tried to sit up. The movement caused the chain to pull on her ankle, and pure fire ran up her leg. It took her a moment to recover. She stared blankly up at the old woman, as if she had no answer for her. Her mouth opened to speak but could make no sound. She tried again.

  “My name is… My name is Iris. Yes, my name is Iris,” she sobbed as she hugged both arms around her middle. It had been almost two years since anyone had spoken it, and she had almost forgotten her name.

  Chapter Ten

  Samuel woke with a start. It was the new moon, and the sky through the window was still a very dark gray. Samuel figured it was somewhere around five in the morning. He lay still, waiting for his mind to recognize what woke him. Nope, nothing came to him. Well, he was awake now, so he might as well make a start on the day.

  There were no lights on in the main house yet, so he pushed his motorbike a quarter mile or so down the lane before he started the engine. He’d go on into town and check on the officers on patrol, see if any strangers had been seen around McDuff’s place.

  When he pulled his motorbike in front of the station, it looked like the whole nightshift patrol was gathered on the front steps.

  “Mornin’, Sgt. Wilkes. You boys about ready to go home and get some sleep?”

  Sgt. Wilkes shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’ll sleep a whole lot today. Especially when Captain Lance gets through with me.”

  Samuel had known Howard Wilkes for several years. Wilkes had been the patrol deputy who informed them when Margaret, the housemaid, was murdered.

  “What’s wrong, Wilkes? Why will the captain be after you?”

  “Well, it seems that while Deputy Harris was having his supper, someone snuck into Hamish McDuff’s place and killed him.”

  Samuel’s every sense became instantly alert. “What time did you find the body?” Samuel snapped.