Chapter Twenty-Nine
The room was barely larger than a closet.
Ruth sat rigidly on the narrow bed with Clara curled tightly against her side while weak lamplight trembled across peeling wallpaper stained dark with age and damp. The air smelled faintly of mildew, old smoke, and something sour she could not identify.
The mattress sagged beneath them, thin enough that Ruth could feel the wooden slats underneath whenever she shifted. A single cracked pitcher sat atop the washstand beside a chipped basin, and the lone window overlooking the alley had been nailed partly shut.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the glass.
Ruth had made a terrible mistake. She’d known it the moment the wagon had stopped hours earlier.
Victor’s man had come for them, just as Beatrice had said. He’d picked them up at the bottom of the road. He was a broad-shouldered stranger with tobacco stains on his fingers, and he’d barely spoken to her during the journey.
It had quickly become clear to Ruth that they weren’t going to Victor’s ranch, and when they had arrived, she’d barely been able to make out the house in the dark.
When she realized her mistake, she had tried to run, to grab Clara’s hand and make a break for it, but the man had grabbed her roughly around the arm and forced them inside, into this tiny room, locking the door behind him.
Ruth had no idea how much time had passed since then.
Clara sat close to her, silent but clearly frightened, her wide eyes darting nervously toward every sound outside the room.
Ruth forced herself to smooth Clara’s hair gently. “It’s all right,” she whispered automatically.
The lie tasted bitter; nothing about this felt all right. They’d been shut away like prisoners.
I never should’ve trusted Beatrice.
Ruth lowered her eyes quickly before tears could rise again.
She could still see Henry’s face in her mind, so clearly it hurt. The warmth in his eyes when he’d looked at her lately. The way he’d helped her down from the wagon after church. The softness in his voice as he read stories to Clara by lantern light.
She’d left without even saying goodbye, without explaining, and now he would wake to an empty house and think …
Ruth pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.
He’ll think we abandoned him.
Beside her, Clara shifted anxiously, and Ruth gathered herself.
No.
She could not fall apart, not when Clara needed her steady.
“You remember what I told you?” Ruth asked, brushing her thumb over Clara’s knuckles.
Clara nodded.
“We stay together,” Ruth whispered, forcing strength into her voice she did not feel. “And no matter what happens, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Clara leaned against her then, small and warm and trusting, and Ruth closed her eyes.
How could she have been so foolish? She’d been afraid—afraid Henry would look at her differently if he learned where she came from, that he’d see dirt instead of a wife—and Beatrice had known exactly where to press.
Just then, Ruth heard heavy footsteps outside the door, and she jolted violently.
The knob turned as her pulse thundered, but the door opened only wide enough for someone to slide a tray inside before locking it again.
Ruth stared at the locked door long after the footsteps faded, until Clara tugged at her sleeve, and Ruth looked down.
The child pointed hesitantly toward the food.
Ruth swallowed hard. “Yes,” she whispered weakly, though her stomach churned too violently for food. “We should eat.”
She told herself that, somewhere out there, Henry was probably searching for her already.
I hope.
***
Ruth must have fallen asleep, because when she woke, the weak light beyond the narrow window had faded completely, leaving only the oil lamp’s trembling glow.
Clara had also drifted into an uneasy sleep against Ruth’s shoulder, though every sound from downstairs made the child flinch, even in her dreams.
Ruth looked down at her sister, and a lump rose in her throat. She’d promised their mother she would always keep Clara safe, and she’d failed.
A tear rolled down Ruth’s cheek, and she did not wipe it away, allowing it to drip off her chin and onto her lap.
“Please Lord,” she murmured. “Help us.”
As the whisper left her lips, the lock suddenly clicked, and Ruth jerked upright.
Clara startled awake beside her just as the door swung inward.
Victor stepped into the room, and the lantern light cast sharp shadows across his face as he closed the door quietly behind him.
Victor’s gaze moved over Clara before settling on Ruth. “We’ll be leaving tonight,” he said calmly.
Ruth’s stomach dropped. “What? I—I don’t understand.” She rose too quickly from the bed, nearly stumbling in the cramped space. “Beatrice said we would be working for you.”
Victor smiled. “Yes, well …” He glanced around the miserable room. “Circumstances have changed.”
Cold fear spread rapidly down Ruth’s spine. “Please,” she whispered. “I’ve changed my mind. I only left because I thought …”
Victor studied her quietly for a moment, then sighed softly. “I did briefly consider keeping you myself,” he admitted, “but Henry would never allow that, and he’d tear this entire town apart looking for you.”
Ruth’s breathing turned uneven. “Please,” she said again. “Let us go.”
Victor ignored the plea entirely. “So,” he continued smoothly, “I made alternative arrangements.”
The room suddenly felt too small to breathe in.
“What arrangements?”
Victor smiled. “Let’s just say, you’ll be returning somewhere more familiar soon enough.”
Understanding struck slowly, and Ruth recoiled. “No,” she said. “You can’t?—?”
“Can’t I?” Victor arched a brow. “Women disappear every day, Ruth.”
“You said you wouldn’t hurt us.”
Victor smiled again. “I said your secret would remain safe,” he said.
Tears burned in Ruth’s eyes. “You promised?—?”
“I promised nothing,” he interrupted smoothly.
Ruth’s stomach lurched so violently, she thought she might be sick. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
Victor’s expression darkened. “Because Henry Collins has spent years taking things that should have belonged to me.”
The hatred in his voice startled Ruth, because it was not loud or wild. It was controlled.
“And now,” he said quietly, “it’s finally his turn to lose something.”
Ruth stared at him in horror. She had walked directly into this trap.
Victor glanced toward the door. “Get some rest if you can.”
Then, he left, and the lock clicked again behind him.
Ruth remained frozen for several long seconds after he disappeared. Then, she sank back onto the bed.
She could not let them take Clara back.
“Lord, please,” she whispered shakily into Clara’s hair. “Please keep us safe and provide us with strength. Let us have faith that there is something better for us. ”
***
Time passed strangely after that. Minutes or hours … Ruth could no longer tell.
The lamp burned lower and lower until shadows swallowed the room entirely.
Then, finally, footsteps stopped outside the door, and Ruth stood, heart pounding.
The lock turned, and the door flew open.
Before she could react, rough hands seized her arms. A sack dropped over her head, thick fabric blinding her instantly.
Beside her, Clara cried out in terror.
“Clara!” Ruth screamed. “Don’t touch her!” She struggled violently as strong arms hauled her forward. She kicked blindly as she was lifted bodily off the ground.
A hand locked tightly around her waist. “Move,” a voice snapped.
Clara was crying.
“Clara!” Ruth twisted desperately against the grip holding her. “Clara!”
But the only answer was the sound of boots thudding down the hallway as they carried her away into the darkness.