“He’ll watch over your loved ones.” The servant patted her back. “You pray and keep on praying.”
What if He didn’t watch over them? What if He let Devon die, just as He’d allowed her mother to die?
Footsteps on the stairs.
Flora started. “They’s coming.” She jumped back and grabbed the green wool dress from the trunk. “Don’t tell ’em I told you nothing. Massar says anyone help you, they’s be taken to the caboose, whipped to within an inch of their lives, and sold.”
Morning Fawn swiped her nose.
A rapid knock rattled the door.
Flora worked the dress over her head. “Just a minute, Massar, Miss Beth still dressing. Just a minute.” She whipped the dress into place. “Keep your courage up, girl, and keep praying,” she whispered as Morning Fawn quickly buttoned up the front.
The door burst open. Her uncle marched in, his riding whip in hand. “What are you doing up here, woman?”
“Missus’s orders, sir.” Flora curtseyed. “Wanted me to wash her up. In case you had plans of taking her into town.”
“Get out. And don’t come back unless I or Owens say so.” His mouth contorted like a tree burl.
Flora scurried out.
No fine suit today. LeBeau wore his hunting trousers and coat. He smacked the whip against the doorjamb. “You have disgraced this family with a deeper stain than can ever be washed out with blood. I will. Never. Forgive. You.”
She shuddered and hung her head. There were no words to buffet his wrath. “I’m ready to go to jail.”
He snorted, a chilling laugh that sent goosebumps up her arms like a January norther. “I’d like nothing better, but I’ll not have you disgrace this family further. I’ll be living down the scourge Reynolds has brought to this house for the rest of my life. He traded on my good name.” LeBeau’s fingers curled until his hands were white-knuckled. “As far as anyone outside this plantation is concerned, you had no prior knowledge of Reynolds’s plans. You were just a silly girl fooled by that traitor scum, giving away a few moonlit kisses. If anyone says differently, they’ll answer to me for it.”
No threat of execution or arrest? She gaped at him. His good name? His reputation? “I’d rather be locked away in town than be your prisoner in this attic.”
He scoffed. “That sounds like something you’d say. Cut off your nose to spite your face. But you aren’t going to have any say about your fate. Don’t worry. I have no desire to have youunder this roof a minute longer than you have to be. I have no intention of leaving you around here to cause any more trouble.”
“I’d say or do anything you asked if only you’d convince the authorities to spare Devon’s life.”
“You’ll do what I say or end up in a locked room in an asylum. As for Reynolds, the only choices left regarding him are whether he’ll die by hanging or a firing squad, and whether we’ll have the pleasure here in Alleyton, or if that will be saved for San Antonio.”
Dear God, no. Please don’t let it be so. Her legs wavered. She closed her eyes.
She blinked as the door slammed. LeBeau was gone for now. If only he could stay away forever. Nick too.
Devon. She dropped to her knees by a pile of clothing. His Bible lay amongst the garments. She grabbed it and pressed it to her chest. The only thing she had of his.
Dear God, help me. Help Devon. Please.She folded over and wept.I can’t do this on my own. Please, Lord, I can’t lose him. I’ve lost so much. I need You to scrape me off the floor and put me back together. I cannot bear this.
A seed of comfort awoke within her chest. She was not alone.
CHAPTER 32
Eyes puffy and swollen, Devon peered through a narrow slit in his right eye. Bars. He groaned and rolled over to his side. His whole body ached, and the cold stone floor didn’t help. There was no good side to lie on. A bullet had passed through his left bicep’s outer muscle, and his right hip throbbed, badly bruised from the impact of the tree.
They’d taken away the cot, given him two blankets—one to lie on and one to cover up with—and nothing else but a tin cup and a bucket to do his business in. He was filthy from head to toe.
He’d already be dead if it weren’t for the fact that Moyer and the quartermaster wanted a public execution. That was the only reason they’d allowed a doctor to treat his wounds.
The quartermaster took pleasure in telling him that Gunter and Dr. Schramm had died at the hands of Confederate troops. No one escaped the cotton warehouse. Troops had entered, there’d been firing, then the explosion. As far as Devon knew, they hadn’t caught Frieda or Frederick. Otherwise, the Rebs would have bragged about it, and the other cell wouldn’t be empty.
Thank God, Frieda had escaped, but she shouldn’t have been there at the river in the first place. If she hadn’t shown up, would he have escaped, or would his fate have been the same?
Moyer said the explosion had hardly touched the cotton. Devon didn’t believe it. When the trial came, he’d hear a different story of the horrendous damage he’d done. The truth probably lay somewhere in between.
