Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Hannah picked at the rope that bound her wrists to the post on the bed.
It was afternoon, and the chaos in this makeshift boardinghouse had started again at a dull roar a couple of hours before.
Her hand began to ache, contorted the way it was to get to the rope.
She dropped it to study the rope again. Her wrists were already pink with chafing, so she had to be careful trying to pull at it.
It felt useless, but it was the only thing she could think to do. She refused to simply sit here and let Jack Donahue get away with whatever terrible thing he had planned for her.
She leaned back against the headboard in her damp dress.
He’d at least had the dignity to take the bedraggled hat from her head when they arrived, eying her like a dog cornering its prey as he took his time unlacing the ribbon at her neck.
Hannah cringed at the memory of his fingers skating across her skin. He had tossed it into a corner.
Hannah blinked, trying to clear her head.
The night before had been a nightmare. After dragging her for what felt like miles outside of town, Mr. Donahue had turned her around to get her onto a horse he had waiting.
At that moment, she realized who he was.
He had grinned at her, and she’d returned it with the amount of horror she felt inside.
He’d immediately dropped the smile. It was odd, almost as if he’d expected her to be happy he’d grabbed and dragged her forcibly away from her home in the pouring rain.
He had tossed her onto the horse as if she weighed nothing at all before looping a wet rope around her hands and tying it to the saddle.
Then he climbed up behind her, and she’d had no choice but to sit against him.
He whispered something in her ear that Hannah was grateful not to have heard over the rain.
Then he set the horse in a direction that she guessed led somewhere south of town.
The ride seemed to last forever, but between the rain, the proximity to Mr. Donahue, and her fear, Hannah had no accounting of time whatsoever.
Her mind catapulted from thought to thought—praying for herself and for Rafe to find her, worry about Ada, terror at what might happen next, and even wondering how Mr. Donahue had learned to ride a horse.
She had the most unexpected vision of him galloping through Central Park when she started to spot lights in front of them. Hannah blinked through the rain, certain she was imagining things. But the lights were still there, twinkling between the raindrops.
It ended up being a town—if one could call the haphazard collection of wooden buildings and canvas tents a town.
Behind one of the buildings, Mr. Donahue slid off the horse with a knife in hand.
Hannah recoiled. Surely he didn’t want to murder her.
Of all the horrible scenarios that had played through her mind, that wasn’t one of them.
He didn’t appear to notice her reaction as he used the knife to slice through the rope binding her wrists.
“I’ll have this with me,” he said, holding the knife with the sharp end pointed toward her.
It was a threat, and Hannah nodded. As strongly as she disliked him, she had never imagined Mr. Donahue, with his crisp suits and with his perfectly combed hair, looking as wild and unpredictable as he did at that moment.
He slid the knife into a bag he pulled from the saddle before reaching up to help her down. Hannah’s knees almost buckled when her feet hit the ground. Ada’s poor quilt slid off, and the rain was much colder without it.
With a hand gripped around her arm, he began to lead her around the building.
“What about the horse?” The poor creature deserved better than to stand around outside all night in the rain, untethered and unfed.
“I’ll come back for him later,” Mr. Donahue said as they climbed two steps to the front door.
Hannah barely got a glimpse of the street before he shoved her inside. She blinked in the sudden light. It was dim, coming from a few dirty lamps, but compared to the blackness outside it might as well have been the sun.
She glanced around, trying to discern where they were. Plain walls, a scarred desk, a surly looking fellow in the chair behind the desk, rickety stairs that stretched upward, and raucous shouts and laughter coming from all directions.
It appeared to be a boardinghouse, but it was nothing like the one in Perseverance.
Mr. Donahue didn’t say a word to the man at the desk.
The grouchy man barely flicked a gaze at Hannah before returning to glaring at the wall.
Mr. Donahue led her up the stairs as any hope Hannah had that someone might notice something was amiss vanished.
The man downstairs neither noticed nor cared about the frightened look she was certain she wore.
And neither did anyone else they passed in the hallway upstairs.
Hollow-eyed women and men who’d clearly had too much to drink barely registered their presence.
Hannah’s heart lurched into her throat when Mr. Donahue stopped in front of a door with a crooked number 9 hanging on it. After tying her wrists to the bedpost with a length of rope that had been lying on the bed, he opened the door.
“Where are you going?” The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back. She ought to be glad he was leaving, not questioning him about it.
“Unlike the men out there,” Mr. Donahue said with a jerk of his head toward the hallway, “I’m a gentleman. This is your room.” With that, he closed the door behind him. The key scraped in the lock, and Hannah sat blinking at where he’d just stood.
Relief flooded her tired body when she realized she was safe for the moment. Hannah couldn’t imagine what he had in mind. Whatever it was, he feared her escaping. It wasn’t enough to lock her in this second story room, he’d also felt the need to tie her hands.
At some point during the night, she’d fallen asleep in her soaking wet dress on the bed.
She’d woken in the morning when Mr. Donahue arrived with a bowl of what looked like cooked oats and a mug of steaming coffee.
He untied one of her hands and then leaned against the wall to watch her eat.
Hannah choked down the tasteless food and bitter coffee.
Then he’d untied her other hand and led her downstairs to relieve herself in the stinking privies behind the building.
It was still raining, and the entire town seemed to be asleep. Mr. Donahue left her tied in the room again with a promise to return once he’d found a man he needed.
That had been hours ago.
Hannah had spent the time alternately working at the rope—which held fast—and thinking about Rafe and her friends.
Ada must have gone for help after what had happened.
She had no idea if Rafe and the others had returned to town yet.
She hoped he had. That he and the men he was with were searching for her now.
She wasn’t very far away, and she prayed they would be led to this town.
The girls had to be worried sick about her. After all her worries about what might happen when they reached Perseverance, her own kidnapping by a man she’d known in New York certainly hadn’t been one of them.
At least Ada knew who Mr. Donahue was. She had to have recognized him. Hannah held onto that fact, although she wished now that she’d told Ada and the other girls about the letters. But Rafe and Natalie knew, and Rafe had promised to keep her safe. She held that promise close to her heart.
But as the day stretched on, her hope faltered. Maybe he wasn’t back in town yet. Maybe Ada hadn’t recognized Mr. Donahue. And the worst of all, maybe Rafe wouldn’t come looking for her. After all, he hadn’t wanted them to come to Perseverance at all.
Maybe he’d never really wanted to marry her.
The door opened as that horrible thought churned through her mind again. Mr. Donahue stepped inside, glee stretching his mouth into a smile. “Everything is in order,” he said as he withdrew the knife. He sawed through the rope until Hannah’s hands were free.
It was such a relief that Hannah almost forgot that there had to be a reason he was untying her now. He stood before her, assessing her from head to toe with a frown. “You look a mess.”
Hannah didn’t know how she managed to rouse anger out of all the emotions she’d felt, but there it was. “Because I spent hours in the pouring rain and have no change of clothing or hairbrush.”
Her vitriol made him raise the corner of his mouth in a smile. “Yes, of course. Well, it’ll have to do. I’ll see you get a new dress or two before we head east. I’ve an entire wardrobe waiting for you at home.”
Hannah’s anger extinguished at those words. Head east? Home? What exactly was Mr. Donahue planning?
“Come,” he said, holding out a hand. “There are papers for you to sign before the preacher can marry us.”