Always and Forever

  Lane smiled with malice. “Well, if it ain’t our former sheriff. Heard you was back.”

  Jackon replied coolly, “Trent.”

  One of the riders, an older man with gray stubble on his face, snarled, “It’s Mister Trent to you, boy.”

  Jackson turned a cold eye on the man before his attention slowly swung back to Trent. “I see you’re still traveling with trash, Lane.”

  Jackson knew addressing Trent by his given name would only infuriate the old Reb more, but he’d no plans to be meekly led to the slaughter.

  Trent’s eyes flashed with a mild humor. “Never did know your place, but we’re going to fix that in a few minutes.”

  Jackson’s insides tightened, but he kept his face even.

  Trent said, “We got a new sheriff now. It’s ol’ Box over there.”

  Jackson directed his eyes to the grinnning hyenalike features of the man Trent indicated, then looked away.

  “You’re still a wanted man here, Blake. Did you know that?”

  “I assumed I would be.”

  “Then what the hell’re you doing here?”

  “Came back to try and clear things up.”

  Trent guffawed. “Clear things up. Nigra, don’t you realize that we could string you up right here and now for killing my daddy that day?”

  “I didn’t shoot him and you know it.”

  “Yeah, I know it. Shot him myself.”

  Jackson stared with surprise.

  Trent chuckled, “Surprised? Got tired of him lording it over me, telling me what to do. When those bullets started flying that day, I knew I’d never get a better chance, so—” And he shrugged as if that were explanation enough.

  “And framed me for it,” Jackson spat.

  “Sure did. Still got the warrant, in fact, cos I knew you’d come back someday. You got too much pride, too much honor to stay gone like you should’ve.”

  The beady-eyed man named Box tossed out, “Maybe he’d like a tour of the place to welcome him home. What do you think, Mr. Trent?”

  Trent’s eyes, cold as Satan’s, said, “Tie him up.”

  Jackson knew struggling would be futile, but he tried nonetheless. Because they outnumbered him, they made short work of the task. With his hands and ankles tied, Jackson prayed Grace was still asleep and would stay that way so she wouldn’t witness the horror to come.

  Grace awakened to what sounded like gunshots, men yelling, and the thunder of galloping horses. Groggy, she shook off the dregs of sleep and fought to remember where she was. The whooping and hollering rang louder now, and her first instinct was to look for Jackson. He was nowhere to be seen. Except for the sounds of the celebrating going on outside, the small cabin was quiet.

  Walking over to the window Jackson had pried loose earlier, she looked out and saw a group of men riding and shooting and seemingly having a good time. For a moment she watched curiously, wondering what they were about. Only then did she see the man being dragged across the scrub-littered ground behind the fast-galloping horse. It was Jackson. Heart in her throat, hand to her mouth, she stared frozen with horror. He was tied by his wrists to a rope leading to the saddle. His face was covered with red dirt and blood, and his body bounced over the hard ground lifelessly as the rider whipped the horse into another wide circle.

  “Bring him around again,” she heard a male voice call out. The closeness of the sound made her think he must be standing on the small porch out front. He then uttered a laugh so filled with evil the hair stood up on her neck. Filled with a fear that equaled her rage, Grace grabbed up her rifle, fed it some shells, and went out the back way. She’d no idea what she, a lone woman, could do, but she was going to make them cut him loose or die trying.

  Quietly making her way around the side of the cabin, she stopped short at the sight of a young woman seated in a fancy buggy. As the woman turned and looked her right in the face, Grace froze. Hoping she wouldn’t raise the alarm, Grace held her breath and waited. They eyed each other for a silent moment and Grace noticed that the woman’s eyes were filled with tears. Looking away from Grace, she cast a furtive glance toward the porch as if to see if anyone else had noticed Grace’s approach. Evidently no one had, because she gave Grace an imperceptible nod, then turned back to the macabre show.

  Blessing the mysterious woman for her silent aid, Grace pressed her body close to the wall of the cabin and crept ahead, all the while praying this would work for her as well as it had for Loreli that night Lucas Wordell and his gang came into their camp. She paused at the corner. Peeking around it, she saw the man on the porch. He was a short man, dressed in an expensive suit, standing with his back to her. He was laughing so hard and was so intent upon enjoying the sight of Jackson being dragged to his death, he didn’t know she was behind him until Grace stuck the barking end of the rifle into his spine and said coldly, “You must be Lane Trent.”

  He stiffened, then slowly raised his hand above his head. “And you are?”

  “Grace Blake, Jack’s wife.”

  “Well, Miss Blake, you’re obviously not from around here. Otherwise you’d know the gravity of this mistake.”

  “There’s no mistake. Either tell them to untie him or I’ll send you straight to hell.”

  By now the celebration had slowed as the riders became aware of the drama unfolding on the porch. “Tell them,” she snarled angrily.

  He let out the beginning of a chuckle. “Gal, have you lost your mind?”

  Grace moved the rifle to the base of his skull. “I can shoot you high, or I can shoot you low. Your choice.”

  He quieted real quick.

  “Have them drop their guns and untie my husband, or you’re going to learn firsthand just how lost my mind is.”

  The riders were now staring stonily at Grace. Jackson lay unmoving on the ground. Grace could feel the sweat running down her back inside her blouse. She was so brittle with tension she thought she might snap.

  Trent finally called out, “Throw down your guns, boys, and untie him. His uppity wife’s got me by the balls.”

  He then added sarcastically, “For the moment.”

  Grace wanted to shoot him just for his arrogance, but held off for the moment.

  They cut Jackson loose from the lead, then did the same to the ropes around his wrists and ankles. Grace could barely contain her urge to run to his side, but she had to get rid of some trash first. “Now, tell them to get!”

  Complying, he yelled out, “Go on back to the house. I’ll meet you there.”

  When they hesitated, he told them, “Go on.”

  Showing great reluctance, they turned their mounts.

  After they rode away the surroundings grew quiet once again.

  Grace’s voice still held its deadly edge. “You may leave now too, Mr. Trent. Walk straight to your buggy and don’t turn around.”

  Grace was certain he didn’t like being ordered about, but since she was the one with the rifle, he did as he was told.

  He climbed into the buggy and took his seat next to the silent woman. Picking up the reins, he ran his cold blue eyes over Grace for the first time and they malevolently looked her up and down.

  With hate in his voice he promised quietly, “I’ll be back, gal, and when I do, I’m going to let my boys have you for as long as they want, and then I’m going to kill you.”

  “You have a nice day too.”

  He slapped the reins. Grace and the woman shared a speaking glance, then Lane Trent drove away. As they headed toward the road, Grace flew across the field screaming Jackson’s name.

  He was so still she thought he might be dead. Carefully raising his head to her lap, she called to him softly. When he answered with a barely discernible groan, happy tears streamed freely down her cheeks and she sent her thanks up to the angels above. Placing him gently back on the ground, she ran for the buckboard.

  When she returned, she knelt beside her barely breathing husband and whispered, “Darling, you’re too heavy for me to move, y
ou’re going to have to help me get you in the board.”

  He didn’t move.

  Fighting panic, she shook him gently. “Jackson, sweetheart, please open your eyes.”

  He did, but barely. “Grace?” he breathed.

  “Yes. You have to get up so I can get you to a doctor.”

  Grace looked around. She didn’t put it past Lane Trent to send his men back to finish their foul play. She had to get Jackson to get away from here. She stood and tried to lift him under the arms. Her tears made it hard to see. “Help me, Jack, please.”

  He stumbled to his feet, and the hissing sound he made in reaction to his great pain increased her anger and fear. “Come on, darling, just a few steps.”

  Using her body to lean against, he dragged himself the few steps to the wagon. She knew it must have cost him greatly to have to climb into its back, because once he did, he lost consciousness.

  Grace slapped the reins forcefully and headed east, praying that the angels above would keep her from becoming lost on the unfamiliar terrain. Grace drove the horses with the reins and her yells. As the landscape began to look familiar, she increased the pace and hoped Iva was at home.

  She was. In response to Grace’s urgent calls for help, both Iva and Davida quickly came out of the house. “He needs a doctor.”

  “Dear Lord,” Iva gasped, as she looked at him lying so still in the wagon. “Trent do this?”

  Grace nodded, anger flashing in her eyes.

  “We’ve got to get him to the swamp,” Iva said with an urgent calmness.

  “He needs a doctor, Iva.”

  “I know, Grace, but he has to get away from here first. Trent and his men will be hunting him down soon, if they aren’t already. Davi, get the medicine kit.”

  A teary-eyed Davi ran back inside and got what Iva’d asked for. Iva quickly ran her hands over his limbs and he groaned sharply. “He’s got some busted ribs, but the blood trickling from his mouth means he might be bleeding inside.”

  Iva turned to the tensely watching Davida. “Davi, hustle yourself over to Riley’s and tell him I’m taking Jack and Grace into the swamp to M’dear, and I’ll be back as soon as they’re settled. In the meantime, if anybody asks where I am, tell them I’m gone to see my sister in Shreveport.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t tell anybody but Riley where I’ve gone, and tell him I want you to stay with him until I come and get you. I’m depending on you, now, and so are Jack and Grace.”

  Davi nodded to show that she understood.

  “Now, get going.”

  Davi looked at Jack lying so motionlessly, then at Grace, and whispered thickly, “Godspeed, Grace.”

  “You too, Davi.”

  Davi took off at a run to get her horse. She rode away at a full gallop.

  Iva was all business. “I’ll drive, you get in the back with Jack.”

  Grace climbed into the bed and Iva said, “You should probably get under this blanket here. Lie down.”

  Grace snuggled close to the unconscious Jackson and draped her arm across his barely moving chest. The blanket came down and Grace held her husband tight.

  They traveled until the sun went down and night claimed the sky. Once the stars came out, Iva allowed Grace to toss off the blanket. Grateful, Grace sat up and drew in deep breaths of cool night air.

  “How’s he doing?” Iva asked, as she continued to head the team northeast.

  Grace placed her hand on his battered forehead. “He’s burning up with fever, and his breathing’s still slow.”

  “I hope he can hang on.”

  “Who’s M’dear?”

  “Someone I hope can help him.”

  Grace did too.

  When dawn broke they were still traveling. Grace had managed to catch a few winks of sleep, but they had been filled with dreams of the laughing Lane Trent and the sad eyes of the woman in the buggy. Grace wondered if she was Trent’s wife.

  The land had changed during the night. The surroundings now looked marshy. Cattails were standing in pools of water and she spied towering willow trees ahead.

  “Where are we?”

  “Getting ready to enter Caddo Swamp.” Iva then pulled back on the reins and brought the team to a halt.

  “Why’re we stopping?” Grace asked with concern.

  “Need to blindfold you?”

  “What on earth for?”

  “Where we’re going they don’t like strangers knowing where they are or how to get there.”

  Grace didn’t pretend to understand, but sat quietly as Iva covered her eyes with a long, clean rag, then tied the ends tight.

  “Can you see?” Iva asked. “I need you to be truthful with me, Grace. Jack’s life might depend on it.”

  “No, Iva, I can’t.”

  “Okay. It might be best if you lie down the rest of the way so you don’t lose your balance trying to sit upright. We’ll be there in a little while.”

  So taking Iva’s advice, Grace lay down next to her shallow-breathing husband and let Iva drive them into the swamps of Caddo Lake.

  Throughout the trek, Grace had whispered words of encouragement to the man she loved; she talked to him about their baby, their future, and told him again and again just how much she loved him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t respond; she sensed he knew she was there.

  Still blindfolded, Grace had no idea how much time had passed, but she could hear birds calling, and the smell of water now filled her nose. The air seemed cooler, too. Were they now in the swamp? Insects buzzed by her ears and she swatted at the few quick enough to bite her bare arms and neck. Sightless, she fanned her hand over Jackson’s face, hoping to keep the little beasties from lighting on him, because he couldn’t keep them away on his own.

  They finally stopped. The eerie quiet echoed. The buzz of insects sounded loud and the occasional bird call made her turn her head in an effort to discern its location.

  “We’re here,” Iva told her quietly. “You can free your eyes now.”

  Grace reached behind her head and untied the knot. She looked around. They seemed to have entered a different world. Trees, mostly mossy cypresses, climbed as high as the eye could see, effectively cutting off the sun and making the surroundings glow with a gloomy dimness. They were on the edge of a murky amber waterway that twisted its way off into the distance. Some of the giant cypresses were growing right out of the water. She saw a large fish suddenly break the surface to feed on the insects hovering above. But the silence was what that affected her the most. It was an echoing, resonating silence that seemed to permeate her soul. It felt forbidding, yet oddly welcoming.

  Grace turned her attention to Jack. The fever still had him in its grip and he’d been murmuring nonsensically for the last few hours. As she caressed his head with a loving hand, she wished she could somehow give him some of her strength. “What now, Iva?”

  “We call.”

  “How?”

  Iva went over to a large hollow tree and reached inside. “With this.”

  She pulled out a large, tall drum and a small mallet.

  Amazed, Grace smiled. The drum looked very old. Judging from the intricate carvings and bits of color left on its sides, it might’ve come from the Mother Continent and had probably been very beautiful once.

  Taking up the small mallet that had its head covered with cotton and soft moss, Iva struck the head of the drum, first six times, then six times again, then twice. Done, she secreted the drum back into its hiding spot.

  “Now, we wait for M’dear. She’ll be here soon.”

  “Who’s M’dear?”

  Iva paused for a moment, and as she held Grace’s eyes, Grace had the impression Iva was trying to decide how much to tell her. In the end she didn’t reveal much, saying only, “She’s a healer.”

  “And she lives here?” Grace asked, looking around at the exotic surroundings.

  Iva nodded. “Most of her life.”

  “Do others live here, too?”

&
nbsp; “A few, but during slavery these swamps were full of escaped captives. The patrollers and their dogs usually left folks alone, though. This swamp and the lakes that flow in and out of here cover hundreds of thousands of acres, there’s nearly sixty-five miles of water alone.”

  “Easy to get lost.”

  “Real easy. It’s like a maze. Parts of it will take you right into Louisiana if you don’t know where you’re going.”

  Grace glanced around again and wondered how it might’ve been to live here. There looked to be plenty of fish and birds to eat. Wood from the trees would’ve provided materials for cabins and furniture. The swamp prevented the catchers from hunting you down. It undoubtedly would’ve beat slavery hands down.

  “So how long will our wait be?” she asked, turning her attention to the prone Jackson.

  “Not much longer,” said an elderly voice.

  Grace’s head shot up and she saw a very old woman moving with the aid of a mahogany cane walk slowly out of the trees. The braided hair was snow white, the ebony face unlined, but she had the stooped stature of the aged. Her purple gown had the shape of those seen on the Mother Continent and flowed around her as she neared. Accompanying her was the largest man Grace had ever seen. His height rivaled the cypresses. Unlike the woman, his skin was white, his hair dark, his face very badly scarred. His eyes were black and so blazing cold that when he turned them Grace’s way she felt a chill crawl over her skin.

  The woman must’ve noticed Grace’s reaction, because she said, “He only hurts those who hurt me. I’m M’dear. And you are?”

  Grace looked into a pair of wise old eyes that were as clear and as lively as a child’s. “Grace.”

  “Welcome to Sanctuary, Grace,” she said, smiling. “The boy behind me is William.”

  Grace nodded at William. His great size contrasted sharply with M’dear’s youthful description.

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  She expected to receive the same skin-chilling gaze, but he surprised her. He smiled, then resumed his solemn stance.

  “Who have you and Sister Iva brought me today?”