would not now go and attack the poor stable boy. This time, he had made it all her fault and she did not have to watch while he hurt some poor unsuspecting innocent because of her carelessness.
“I have been quite gentle this time, haven't I, my love? You are not even bleeding. Well, why not? Everyone knows that I dote upon you. Married a girl half his age, they all say, and I do whatever you want.” He squeezed her shoulder harder and she tried not to wince with the pain of it. “But we know the truth, do we not, my dear? I am the master in this house, not you, and you will do whatever I want. Your tricks do not work on me, no matter how bewitching I might find them at times.”
He slapped the doubled leather belt rhythmically in his hand, and her eyes followed it without volition. His expression became suddenly expansive, and she knew then that the worst of the beating was over. The relief that she felt was so intense, she felt dizzy with it. God, help me, I cannot take very much more, she thought. He will kill me some day. One day when I raise my head and accidentally catch some man’s eye, he will kill me.
“Smile at me and only me,” he ordered roughly, and she nodded immediately. "You belong only to me. You must remember that. I am your master and I command your complete and total obedience."
"Yes, of course, David," she cried, the lie souring in her mouth as she spoke it, her hatred of him nearly choking her. "It is only you that I care about."
“I am the only man who will reap the benefit of your weak nature. After all, I own you, do I not, my sweet Maggie?” His tone became gloating again, and she could not stand it anymore. She began to close herself off, to think of the life that she had lived with her parents such a short time ago, for she could not bear this travesty of existence she lived with David for much longer.
One day I will escape, she vowed to herself while he ran his hands over her back, her skin shrinking from his alternately caressing, pinching fingers. She could hear him breathing behind her; feel the hot, fetid fumes on the back of her neck as he leaned over her. She waited, tensed, for the blows to begin again, for he was ever changeable and might decide to hit her again on a whim. When they did not fall, she nearly wept with relief.
One day, I will run and never come back. I will go far, far away and no one can ever make me come back.
Or I will kill him.
Southern Missouri
June 1852
ONE
“Hell and damnation!” roared Nick Revelle, hurling his bowl across the room in a fit of temper. “This is the worst food I have ever been served from my own kitchens, and given the quality of the fare around here for the last few months, that is saying something! Even the pigs would not eat this swill!” He rose to his feet to storm out into his kitchen and confront the person responsible for this affront to his taste buds.
“Jackson!” he shouted. “Where are you hiding, you mangy old bastard?”
Jackson came staggering out of the storeroom, obviously the worse for drink. Nick scowled at him in disgust. Surely the man had not looked this unkempt when he had hired him. He had been clean then, at least. Now, he reeked of harsh spirits and looked as if he had not bathed in weeks. He swayed and stared blearily at Nick through bloodshot eyes, wiping his dirty hands on his already soiled apron. A lock of his dirty, coarse gray hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it back with one wrinkled hand, nearly unbalancing himself in the process.
“Wot does ya want?” he slurred belligerently. “I got a lotta work to do, I ain’t got time to stand around jawin’.”
“I would like to know,” Nick said through gritted teeth, “What kind of damn soup that is supposed to be.” He pointed an awesomely muscled arm to the pot that sat atop the stove. His stomach roiled as he looked at it. A chunk of fat floated on the surface of a cloudy liquid that resembled used bathwater.
“Soup’s soup,” said the man, leaning against the wall. “I run outta stuff, so I threw the rest all together