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nd the nearby village.
Later, after years of praying—begging—for help, Ivy eventually realized they had been forgotten. He was not coming. He would not help them. They could only depend on themselves to survive. She had learned how best to outwit the Earl and keep herself as safe as possible. Through hours of pure will and tenacity she taught herself how to escape any form of restraint while shackled to her bedpost to keep her from her sister. Later, after being caught, she would pay the price with a whipping to her back. Or worse, watched as they whipped her sister.
Moira had long lacked the desire to survive. Ivy knew Moira blamed herself for their situation, since it was she who had brought them into the Earl’s home when she took on a job as a kitchen maid after their parent’s death. Being the oldest, she had taken the blunt of the Earl’s evilness. She could recall lying awake at night, always on guard for an unexpected attack from either the Earl or his growing and equally vile son. But as it was, it was her sister they would come for. And Ivy would sit silently watching. Too fearful to utter a word in fear they would take her too.
A tear slid down Ivy’s cheek and she brushed it aside without thought. Memories of her sister would haunt her for the remainder of her days. She was grateful for the tears, for they meant she had not forgotten. That her heart had not stopped bleeding. It was a wound she gladly bore.
The sound of horses outside jerked Ivy’s attention back from the past. Sam was back already? She didn’t think he had been gone all that long. She hadn’t even thought of an escape. That was so unlike her. How could she have let herself become so neglectful? She cursed silently and craned her neck to look out the window.
But it was not Sam on horseback she saw. It was five Indians. A momentary flash of panic struck her until she recalled what Sam had said. Most Indians were peaceful people. Just like any other man. She sighed and relaxed once more, believing she had nothing to fear.
Her gaze fell on the cross once more. She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight and any thoughts from the past wanting to resurface. Shouts from outside had her eyes flying open once more. Sitting up, she glanced back out the window. Two of the Indians were waiting outside the shop, while the other Indians had gone inside. Another shout came from within the shop. It was the voice of a white man. Probably the shopkeeper, she figured.
Curiosity had her sitting straighter. She watched the two Indians who sat stiffly on their horses, not moving or exchanging words. Silence seemed to fall all around. Not that there was much noise before either. It just seemed now it was an eerie quiet. Then, unexpectedly, a shot rang out. Ivy jumped, startled.
The silence erupted into more shouts. This time, the yelling belonged to the Indians. Another blast from a shotgun. The Indians waiting quietly outside the shop, all of a sudden lunged forward on their horses, throwing rifles in the air and whooping loudly. Shotguns erupted, resounding off the buildings in the nearly deserted town. Fear made a swift return in Ivy.
Oh God!
She leaped to her feet only to cry out when the sudden pinch of the cuffs on her good ankle pulled her back. Frantic, Ivy dropped down and quickly worked at the pin holding the latch together. She had done this numerous times, but at that moment her fingers felt like rubber. More shouts from outside had her chin snapping up. The Indians were on some type of warpath.
Turning her attention back to the handcuffs, she forced herself to concentrate. To breathe slowly. More gunshots had her instinctively flinching as if they were aimed at her. Her fingers worked faster.
Move.
Horse hooves drummed on the hard earth outside the church. They were coming. Her heart skipped several beats; while her palms sweat horribly making the release of the cuffs even more difficult.
Please, God, I don’t want to die.
Her gaze flew to the cross. It swayed, as if nodding. More than likely from the vibrations of the horses stampeding outside. But still confusion momentarily paused her fears. An Indian’s cry just outside the church had her head snapping back around. Then, with a small click, the cuff released her ankle.
Her eyes darted around frantically. She had to hide. They were coming. Now.
She spotted the trap door to the cellar and limped painfully toward it. Her good ankle twisted, unable to support her weight as she tried to move too quickly. She fell with a hard thud to the ground. Pulling herself up onto her knees, she crawled the rest of the way. She glanced over her shoulder toward the entrance, saw a shadow and with all her might, lifted the heavy trap door and dropped down into the darkness below. With a resounding thud, the hefty door slammed shut behind her.
Then silence.
She was kneeling on the small wooden staircase, holding her breath, listening to sounds up above. Footsteps pounded the wooden planks of the church floor. Ivy slipped the remainder of the way and slid behind the stairs to hide. Over her head, she heard Indians speaking in their own tongue. She held her breath, praying they did not see her slip into the cellar door. If they followed her, she had no weapon to protect herself.
Her eyes dropped from being strained on the door above, to take in her surroundings. She realized only then the small confined quarters. Nausea immediately swelled in her stomach. A new panic began to rise. The urge to bolt, to get out of there had her clinging to the wooden stairs. Her life depended on her remaining exactly where she was.
She stared into the blackness without blinking. Her imagination picturing all sorts of things lurking in the darkness. Horrible memories of a child being lowered into a cold, damp well as punishment, resurfaced. The fear of being forgotten and dying a slow death in that dark cavern still clung to Ivy’s conscious.
It’s all in your head.
She could almost hear Sam tell her. All right, she tried to calm herself. What had he said? What had he done to quell her fears? Think of something else. Yes, that was it. She tried desperately to force her thoughts away from the suffocating enclosure. But nothing would sustain. Until, finally she closed her eyes and pictured Sam.
The tangle of his blond, stringy hair. His unshaven face. The hazel of his eyes. The dimples in his cheeks when he cracked the odd smile. How she wanted to see his smile again. Wanted to hear his voice. She drew in a huge breath and felt her body relax.
Then the smell of smoke drifted down from the floor above. With a start, her eyes flew open. The Indians were burning the building. Had they seen her? Were they trying to smoke her out? Why? Oh God, she had heard so many horrible tales of Indians and their savage ways. She shivered in fright from the mere thought of what they would possibly do with a woman.
More trembles racked her body. She moved away from the stairs and huddled further into the darkness. She did not want to die. Oh God, where was Sam?
The realization she thought of him as her protector was startling. She could not afford to let those feelings in. He was not her protector. From the moment she met him, he made no secret his goal was to return her to Chicago. Dead or alive.
She closed her eyes. An unbelievable feeling of loneliness swept over. She wished Moira was there with her now. As a frightened child, her sister’s soothing voice and comforting arms would calm all her fears. Ivy, however, had never been able to shelter her sister. She had failed her.
Her eyes stung as the heat above penetrated the cellar. Her breathing grew heavy as the air slowly thinned into evaporation. She clutched her hands to her chest. For so long she had fought to stay alive. Had been through hell and survived. But fate was finally catching up to her. It was coming to claim what it had wanted so many years ago.
