“Just what I figured. Come on. Let’s go home.”
“Mr. Sheffield,” Pew said. “Please show this man off the property.”
The burly Mr. Sheffield lumbered forward, reaching for Will.
“You lay a hand on me, I’ll knock you into the middle of next month,” Will said.
Sheffield grabbed Will’s wrist.
Will shifted his weight. There was a meaty thud, and Sheffield fell heavily to the floor, out cold.
Only then did Rose realize her brother had struck the man with a short, vicious punch.
“How dare you invade my property and assault my employee?” Pew demanded. “You will pay for this. What’s your name?”
“My name is Will Bentley,” Will said, stepping forward.
Pew staggered back to the wall and started to reach inside his black suit jacket.
“You pull a weapon on me, you’re gonna wish you hadn’t,” Will said, laying a hand on the butt of the big revolver shoved through his belt.
Pew brought his hand out again. It was empty. He backed up to the far wall and glared at Will, his eyes shining with indignation. “You’ll hang for this, Will Bentley.”
“Somebody wants to hang me, it’ll take some doing,” Will said, crossing the room. “Meanwhile, hear this.”
His big hand shot out and grabbed Pew by the ear. “You’re too old to hit. But I need you to hear what I say. Hear it and remember it.”
He twisted Pew’s ear, and the vile kidnapper cried out.
“If you ever bother my family again, I will kill you. You understand me, Pew?”
“Yes,” Pew cried. “I understand.”
“Good,” Will said, and released him. He gestured to Rose, who threw down her makeshift weapon and ran to him.
Rose swelled with relief and gratitude. Her brother had come home, praise God, just as she had known he would.
And with Will home, everything would be all right now.
CHAPTER 9
“So much for ending slavery,” Will grumbled as they cut through Pew’s plantation, heading for town. The fields were full of folks who had recently been emancipated from slavery into sharecropping.
“Well, I sure am thankful that you freed me, Will,” Rose side, riding close beside him. “Thanks for saving me. I knew you would.”
He nodded. “I’ll always do my best to take care of you and Mama. That’s what I thought I’d been doing all along. What happened to the money I sent?”
“Gone. All gone.”
“What? How?” He understood Confederate scrip had gone worthless overnight, but he’d sent Union money, greenbacks.
“Someone robbed the bank. Then it went belly up. And that was all she wrote.”
He burned with anger, thinking of all the work he’d done, all the money he’d sent, to take care of his family.
All gone.
“Who robbed the bank?” he asked.
