Galveston Between Wind and Water - By Rachel Cartwright Page 0,3

heart quickened. She pressed her feet and legs together as she edged back toward the spiral staircase leading to the second floor.

“C’mon, bright boy,” Haines said. “You heard the captain. Maybe you can give us all a lesson.” The men whooped it up again, and Haines shoved Gus forward.

Gus stumbled for a few steps then stood for the longest time gawking at Lorena and her son. He frowned and kept blinking as if unsure of what he was looking at. “With all due respect, Captain Boland, I don’t think I can—”

Before he finished his explanation, Bret broke away from Lorena’s side and jabbed his hand into the young man’s groin. Gus howled and buckled at his knees.

Lorena bolted for the stairs with Bret just a step ahead of her, leaping toward the second floor.

“Get that little bastard!” Gus yelled from the parlor. “Jesus! He almost got my—”

Haines guffawed. “Wouldn’t be no loss to the ladies, any hoot. But at least the bulls won’t get jealous now, Gus.”

Bret pulled on the rope lowering the hatch ladder leading to the attic. As he motioned for his mother to hurry, Lorena saw the gleam of a short, fine blade in his hand, his whittling knife, a birthday gift from his father.

“C’mon, boys,” the captain roared. “Enough bein’ civil.” The stairs creaked as the drunken men lumbered up in no apparent rush. “Ain’t nowhere for them to go.”

Lorena’s arms stretched out but grasped only air. “Bret?”

“Up the ladder, Mother. Hurry!”

Hot tears streamed down Lorena’s face as she climbed, and she gasped for breath as she reached the top rung. Over her shoulder she saw the top of the captain’s hat clearing the second floor landing. The voices of the men sounded close behind him.

“Where you goin’, missy?” Weems hollered. “A traitor’s whore got nowhere to hide.”

She held back a scream. Please, Lord. Not here. Not like this with my son’s eyes open to every evil. Lorena had never asked God for anything before and promised she would never again.

As small as he was, Bret pulled at her with all his strength until she reached the timbers placed loosely across the attic joists.

Behind her, the captain shouted. “Up there. Quick, you drunken cowards.”

Lorena and Bret drew up the ladder and tossed it aside. She kicked down the attic door and slid a heavy wood beam across it until the tip passed under the iron bracket.

She collapsed on top of the door and hugged her son to her side. His tears soaked into her blouse. Gasping to catch her breath, she clenched Bret tighter and pleaded for the delivery of his innocent soul.

The stagecoach rumbled and skidded around a rocky bend in the road. As it cleared the sharp turn, the driver squinted through the dust kicked up by the horses. He sucked in his breath and his eyes went wide with shock. He pulled back on the reins, slowing the team. Allowing the horses to break their full gallop, he yanked back on the brake lever, bringing the coach to a skidding stop.

Only the panting of horses filled the silence in the remote plain. The driver took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow, all the while keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead.

The nervous guard kept his rifle at the ready in both hands, his finger tapping on the trigger. The driver slid his hand down on the grip of his Colt Peacemaker.

William unbuttoned his jacket, revealing his holstered Colt. The small boy, Evan, poked his head out the open window to see what was happening. His mother, Mrs. Alice Rutherford, immediately pulled him back into the coach.

“What did I tell you, Evan? Don’t you dare move.”

The boy sobbed, his face buried into his mother’s side. The elderly couple lowered their heads and prayed.

William placed a comforting hand on Mrs. Rutherford’s arm. “Please. Don’t be troubled. Evan and you will be home soon. I promise.”

Mrs. Rutherford nodded through her tears. “And don’t worry your family, Mr. McGowan. I’ll do as you’ve asked.”

The sudden sound of scrambling feet on the stagecoach roof made everyone stare up at the ceiling. A single gunshot echoed from a still distance. A moment later, the guard fell past the open window and thudded to the ground. Mrs. Rutherford hugged Evan closer. The passengers stared in silent, frozen terror at the dead man on the ground.

As William withdrew his weapon, two shotgun muzzles poked around the sides of the open window. “Your choice, Mr. McGowan,” one of the