Star had been right. Naturally. She knew her family better
than he did.
“Anyhow,” Nick began. He wasn’t going to lie. He wasn’t
going to admit it either. “It’s all water under the bridge now. I better say
goodbye and thank you for your hospitality—”
Ward’s eyebrows shot up. “Goodbye? Pardon my obtuseness,
Nick, but I believe you just vowed to return my daughter to me.”
“I’ll save her from Price. Del will return her to Newport.
Chicago’s most of the way home and I reckon I’ll just keep on going.”
Ward’s brows lowered as calculations flashed through his
eyes. He looked disturbed. It didn’t make sense. Nick had expected him to be
distraught over Star’s situation, and to be overjoyed at Nick’s departure,
especially
if he knew they were lovers. Instead, Ward studied him coolly, like he was a
chessboard. “I see,” he said presently. “Be that as it may, I’d prefer
you
to return with Star. We’ve grown quite fond of you, Nicholas.”
Nick swallowed a lump rising in his throat. “Me too, sir.
Maybe you and Morgan will come on out to Colorado for a visit. As I recollect
Morgan wanted a tour of the mountains.”
Ward continued to scrutinize Nick with a piercing gaze that
suddenly seemed capable of seeing through a body. Nick shifted in his chair
like a boy being scolded by his pa. “Star will miss you most of all,” Ward
said.
His words twisted the knife Star had left lodged in his
chest, the serrated edge shredding his heart. “Yeah, until another fella comes
along,” he said gruffly.
“I doubt that. I confess I thought I’d marked a stronger
bond between you and my daughter than this hasty departure implies. I believed.
. .” He paused. “Forgive my lack of delicacy, but I believed it was the most
intimate of bonds.”
Nick winced. No doubt, this was where the man lunged across
the desk and throttled him for taking his daughter to bed. Except Ward didn’t
seem troubled about it in the least. Nick was the one blushing.
“Ah, I see I was correct,” Ward continued almost smugly.
“Morgan and I expected to hear a happy announcement any day now.”
The knife jerked upward, gouging Nick’s vocal cords,
rendering him mute. Ward couldn’t mean it. This was just Eastern politeness. A
man with Ward’s connections, his status, couldn’t think a Colorado rancher good
enough for his daughter.
“Granted,” Ward went on, “Star is rather, shall we say,
difficult
,
to hold on to, but I detected no marks of trifling this time.”
Nick frowned. Had he mistaken her feelings? No, a woman
who’d give away a man’s baby sure as hell didn’t want to marry him. If he had a
lick of sense, he wouldn’t want her either.
“She’s,” Nick said, groping for words, “she’s a remarkable
woman, sir, but she made her choice long before she met me. She’s pretty clear
that nothin’s gonna change her mind.”
Ward peered at him a moment longer. He sighed disgustedly.
“Why then,” he said, “she is more fool than I should have credited, and selfish
as well. You would have made me a fine son-in-law.”
And that was it. No rage over Nick’s betrayal, not even
dismay. Suddenly Nick recalled something Jess had said months before.
Ward
has as much interest in being tamed as does a wolf.
He’d never cared about
Star’s honor. Nick’s anxiety had been a creation of his own beliefs, not
Ward’s. Wasted, wasted time.
“I suppose then,” Ward said rising and coming around the
desk, “we must make do with visiting you. While we visit my son.” Regret
touched his eyes. “It seems you’ll have company in Colorado. Lee and Jess have
decided to move to Denver after the baby is born.”
“Denver?” Nick said, rising also. For the first time in
days, his heart lightened. “He didn’t tell me that. We’ll be mighty glad to
have him. Not that I don’t understand you’ll miss him sir, but, well Jess. . .”
Ward nodded. “She’s unhappy here, as is Lee. He’s never
cared for Society. I give them credit for trying. As for his hurrah’s nest of
Star’s. . .” Ward frowned, concern tightening his eyes again. “Perhaps I ought
to join—”
Nick interrupted with a shake of his head. “No, sir. We’ll
be travelin’ light. The more people involved, the harder it’ll be to maneuver.”
“All right,” he said offering his hand. “You’d better make
sail. Lee, Keller and I will collect and disseminate information from here.”
“Yes sir,” he said, shaking Ward’s hand. “We’ll telegraph as
often as possible.” After one final squeeze of Ward’s hand, he started for the
door.
“Nick,” Ward said, stopping him. When Nick turned, he noted
lines of anxiety and traces of guilt on Ward’s face. “I told her that I
believed Romeo was harmless—”
“Yes sir,” Nick interrupted, hoping to prevent Ward from
useless self-punishment. “You’d have said differently if she told you
everything. But don’t worry. Price loves her.”
“She’s quite a capable young woman, but she does not always
know her limits. Were she to run afoul of him. . .”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get her back long before that.”
Christopher Marlowe, The Jew of Malta
The summer sun bore down upon Star’s bare head as miles of
flat farmland slid by. She memorized the twists and turns that Simon took as he
drove the rented carriage to his cousin’s farm. Remembering directions might
aid in her next escape attempt.
Her first plan—to attract attention at the train depot—had
failed. Simon had guided them through the depot with his gun hidden in his
coat, but shoved up against Jane’s waist. Star didn’t dare scream for help.
Content to be by his side, Jane made no attempt to get away, either. She kept
silent until ten minutes out of the city, when he’d stop the wagon to bind
their hands. Since then she’d alternately wept and pleaded.
Up ahead a line of trees cut through the farmland,
indicating water nearby. A minute later, a bridge confirmed it. Simon directed
the horses closer to the side of the road.
Water. Perhaps if she asked Simon for a drink, she could
convince him to untie her hands for that purpose. Or maybe, she thought more
excitedly, she could claim the need to relieve herself. He might not care about
her thirst, but he could hardly wish to be party to such an embarrassing
accident. Hands free, she would use her strength and size to overpower him. The
gun could go off, true, but she’d concluded that he might kill them regardless.
The farther they were from the city, the less likely they would find help.
Simon slapped the reins on the horse, speeding it up. They
crossed the threshold of the bridge, the hoof beats on wood drowning out Jane’s
whining.
He
might
anticipate her actions, Star thought, but
she could employ a knee to his groin as Lee had taught her when she became a
reformer, for purposes of self-defense. Simon wouldn’t expect
that
.
They reached the end of the bridge. Suddenly Simon let out a
huge, outraged growl. “Enough!” He dropped the reins and then, with strength
she’d not have credited, he picked up Jane and
threw
her from the
carriage.
“NO!” Star yelled in horror as Jane hit the ground with a thump.
A long, ear-piercing screech rent the air. Jane started rolling and sliding
down the embankment, hitting trees as she went. . . .
Simon pulled out his gun. . .
Oh God
no
!
As he aimed it, Star slammed into him. The gun still went
off . . . and the screeching ended.
“No! You bas—” she started as he turned in the seat. The
palm of his hand crashed against the left side of her face, halting her tirade.
Pain burst in her head. He backhanded her, hitting her right cheek, snapping
her head to the other side.
“Never,” he snarled as her vision darkened. She was sliding
down the bench to a lump at his feet. “Never touch me in anger. Do you
understand? A woman is subservient to man.”
“You killed her,” she whispered as the world started to fade
away. Jane could not be dead. Why would anyone kill Jane?
“Her harping annoyed me. A woman does not voice her opinion
unless asked. You shall learn your place, Virginia, or I’ll deal with you in
the same manner.”
***
A rooster was crowing, a surreal sound in her surreal world,
Star thought as she listened. Before these last two days with Simon, she’d
never truly believed that roosters woke up farmers. For what reason would they
do such a thing? It had turned out to be true, however, and was just one of
many new learning experiences. Like learning how to wring a chicken’s neck,
dress it and cook it. Like learning how to fry eggs and wash dishes. Like
learning the blood-curdling scream of a woman thrown from a carriage, and the
way blood spurted from a man’s head when struck by a bullet.
Simon had answered his cousin’s greeting with murder.
“Virginia, that is the crow of the cock. It’s time for you
to make breakfast. Rise up my love, and I shall unlock those handcuffs.”
She’d learned, as well, the consequences of disobeying
Simon—the feel of a hand slamming into her head, followed by a ringing in her
ears. She jerked up and before her eyes were fully open, threw her legs over
the side of the backbreaking Jenny Lind bed. “Yes, sir,” she replied
obediently. He unlocked her cuffs.
For the last two days, when he’d not cuffed and chained her
to the bed, Simon had held a gun on her, even during visits to the necessary.
He swore he’d not hesitate to use it and she believed him. She would, he
insisted, learn to obey men “like the Good Book said” or receive correction in
heaven, like Jane. And Bella.
He’d told her about that, too. About how he’d courted Bella
for months, while trying to teach her the error of her ways and the perils of
the movement. Bella had refused to learn, however, which compelled him to kill
her. At one of the Carrington’s balls they made plans for a secret late-night
rendezvous in Central Park, where he’d plied her with wine, liberally dosed
with arsenic. After she died, he paid a cab driver to take her up in his cab and
crash it. The driver, believing Bella had died in a “compromising position,”
felt no compunction about murdering a dead woman.
Neither did Simon.
He wished, he’d said, to do better by Star, for he loved her
more than Bella. Star had refrained from telling him
precisely
how much
she relished his love.
After taking the handcuffs off her, Simon leaned against the
cracked, whitewashed wall of her prison-bedroom and fixed his gun upon Star.
Wearing only her chemise, she washed, then dressed, as he followed her every
movement with hot, lustful eyes. Thus far he’d made no attempt to molest her,
but she expected it was only a matter of time before he acted upon those
impulses. She must escape.
She finished dressing—fourth day in her grey silk travel
gown, which was stained and starting to smell. She would never again take clean
clothes for granted. On the other hand, her dreams no longer haunted her by
night. The demon had escaped from the dream world, and held her at gunpoint by
day, a living nightmare.
Turning to Simon, she kept her eyes downcast. “I’m done.”
She must escape, but for now she’d resolved to play his
game. Chess had taught her the tactic of outwitting one’s opponent under the
pretext of submission, panic or fear. As much as she wished to throw herself at
Simon, to tear his face up with her broken, ragged nails, to glory in blood
running down his cheeks and splattering his clean white shirt, she clamped down
on her emotions. She feigned subservience, while devising escape plans.
“Good,” he said. “We’re off to the henhouse to collect eggs,
and then the smoke house for bacon.”
“Yes sir,” she said. When she’d lulled him into false
security, she would act.
***
“Well, we’re at the right place, then,” Nick whispered to
Del. Hunkered down behind a piled of chopped wood, they watched as Simon
escorted Star, at gunpoint, back from the smoke house. Not sure what they’d
find at the farm, he and Del had left their rented horses and wagon a half mile
away.
“Wonder where the cousin is,” Del said.
“No sign of him, but that doesn’t mean he’s not around,”
Nick replied. “Could be in cahoots for all we know.”
“It seems unlikely,” Del said.
“But possible. We don’t want to take any chances. The family
doesn’t seem exactly steady.”
“An understatement,” Del said wryly.
While they’d been en-route to Chicago, Keller had tracked
down Simon’s father, who’d given him a more detailed rundown of the family
history. The family had moved to the elder Price’s native Chicago shortly
before Simon had been born. Because of her unwed pregnancy and her fast, quiet
marriage to lowborn Price, Boston Society had exiled Price’s mother, Harriet
Farnsworth Price. Furious with the inequity of it all, she’d became a marginal
player in the woman’s movement in Chicago, attending lectures and rallies. She harangued
men whenever possible and publically humiliated her husband and son. Women, she
asserted, didn’t deserve equality, for they were
better
than men. Women
created life, and deserved
superior
status.
When Simon was fifteen his mother died from an accidental
fall. Keller believed Simon had “arranged” the fall.
“Hey Nick, that cat there, across the yard, it’s looking
under that tarp . . . oh good God, ‘tis a hand.”
Nick inhaled sharply. “The cousin.”
A gunshot rang out in the house.
***
The smell of bacon filled the small red and white kitchen as
Star laid Simon’s eggs and bacon in front of him. With the other hand she
poured him more coffee, and controlled the urge to let it run over the top of
the mug and burn his left hand. The gun was in his right.