Galveston Between Wind and Water - By Rachel Cartwright Page 0,4
unseen men said. “But you raise that gun and these fine, innocent folks will be joining you in hell faster than you can cock the devil’s hammer.”
CHAPTER 2
Lorena cowered in the attic, listening to the men stomping up and down the hallway, punctuated by mumbled cursing and banging on the ceiling. Surely they would tire of trying to figure a way past the barred entryway and leave. Burn the barn, kill the livestock, but leave me and my son in peace.
She prayed for just some of the strength and the determination she had always taken for granted in her husband. Lord, how she wished William was with them now.
The scraping of boots stopped directly beneath the attic door. “Make things easy on yourself, ma’am,” Captain Boland yelled. “’Less you want something awful to happen to your boy. Don’t matter much to some men during these damnable times of tribulation.”
Lorena backed away from the door, stumbled over the ladder and fell back on the joists.
Bret put out his hand. “Mother. Are you hurt?”
“No, darling. Thank you, but . . . ” She stepped onto the timbers where her son was crouching. “Maybe I could have convinced them to leave. Now we’ve only made them angrier.”
“But the man . . . he wanted to hurt you.”
She could feel his body heave as he fought back sobs.
“They came for Tommy Jenkins’ father, and Mrs. Jenkins was there and—” Bret lost control and gushed with tears. “They made him stand there. Tommy saw every—”
Lorena put her hand over his mouth. “Hush now. I’ll not hear anymore. Do you understand me?”
Bret sniffed and nodded his head.
“Mrs. McGowan? Please ma’am. We can forget about this.” The young man, Gus, spoke again. His pleasant, reassuring voice made her stomach contract in a tight ball. “Just open the door and climb back down.”
“We have good horses in the stable and there’s money in the brown crockery pot in the kitchen. Take everything and leave us alone.” Lorena prayed that would satisfy them and bit her tongue to stop from screaming at them from the anger raging in her heart. You’ll never touch my son. I’ll die before I let you or the rest of you lickfinger cowards touch us.
Gus’s tone became even more amiable. “No ma’am. Captain Boland didn’t mean anything by that, and your boy didn’t hurt me. I’m fine. We’re just trying to make you see sense.”
Lorena cried softly and pulled Bret to her breast. “Go away. You’re the traitors. Attacking innocent women and children. You call yourself the home guard? Whose home are you protecting?”
“Come now, Lorena,” Captain Boland said. “If your husband had been loyal to the Confederacy, we’d all be sitting down to turkey dinner on Sunday.”
The men’s hushed laughter rose through the attic.
“But to show you I’m still a gentleman. I’m going to give you a minute to think about your predicament again and decide what’s best for your family.”
Boot heels and furniture screeched against the floor.
“And I will still honor my original promise to you and do my best to spare your husband.”
Lorena wasn’t listening to anything Captain Boland said. She pulled an old blue pea jacket from a trunk and told Bret to put it on while she searched for boots.
She had nothing more to say to any of them. The noise below was the desperation of the damned, for she would never forget this day. Pray as she did, Lorena knew God wasn’t going to save her. But there was still a chance she could save her son and husband.
She pulled Bret close and whispered, “Reverend Vaughan believes in our cause. Tell him you need to spend the night until your father arrives on the eleven o’clock coach tomorrow.”
Lorena led him to the dormer window and silently pushed open the shutters. It was just wide enough to allow Bret’s slender body to pass through. “Once you’re on the sill, darling, you’ll have to edge yourself around until you can reach a branch of the old oak.” She hugged him and felt him tremble in her arms. “Don’t be frightened, Bret. I’ve seen you jump to that branch many times.”
“I’m—I’m not afraid.” He wrapped his thin arms around her neck.
“Promise me you’ll meet your father at the station tomorrow for the eleven o’clock coach.”
Bret wiped back his tears and looked up at her. “I promise, Mother. I know a shortcut to the Reverend’s home. No one will see me.”