Chapter Thirty-One
The wagon jolted violently over another rut in the road, sending pain shooting through Ruth’s shoulders.
The canvas covering only part of the wagon snapped sharply in the wind, allowing brief glimpses of dark prairie sky overhead. Stars stretched endlessly above them, cruel in their beauty.
Freedom, so close overhead, yet completely unreachable.
Clara whimpered beside her.
“I know,” Ruth whispered, shifting closer. “I know, sweetheart. I’m right here.”
Her reassurance came steadily, even though terror churned so violently inside her she could barely breathe through it. Still, she had to be strong for her sister.
The back of the wagon smelled of damp burlap, old hay, and mud. Loose straw scratched against Ruth’s skirts as the wooden wheels rattled endlessly beneath them, every bump threatening to throw Clara sideways.
Ruth twisted awkwardly, trying to shield the child with her own body as best she could.
The night air cut cold across her face, and above them, she heard men talking and laughing.
Clara pressed tightly against her side, trembling hard enough for Ruth to feel it through both their coats.
“It’s all right,” Ruth whispered again, even though the lie hurt now.
Clara made a small, frightened sound in her throat.
Ruth leaned her head gently against the child’s hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
God, please let that be true.
Her wrists burned painfully against the ropes binding them behind her back. She had tried earlier to loosen them against a nail in the wagon boards, but one of the men riding on the wagon seat had noticed the movement and slammed his boot hard against the side of the wagon.
“Quit squirming back there!”
The wagon lurched again.
Then, a familiar voice drifted down from above.
“You should’ve seen Collins this morning,” Victor drawled lazily.
Another man laughed. “He suspect anything?”
“Oh, he suspects plenty.” Victor sounded amused. “But suspicion won’t help him much now.”
Ruth closed her eyes.
Henry.
The thought of him stole her breath, and fresh tears burned behind Ruth’s eyes.
Victor continued speaking. “Woman like her will fetch a decent price.”
Another man spat over the side of the wagon. “Pretty enough.”
“And obedient, once she understands the situation,” Victor added smoothly.
Ruth’s stomach twisted violently.
“What about the other one?”
“She’s still too young,” Victor replied, “but they’ll put her to work with her sister when the time comes.”
Ruth wanted to scream, but she couldn’t get past the lump in her throat. She knew exactly what they intended now. Not kitchen work, but back to the brothel’s narrow hallways, thick with smoke and perfume. Back to drunken men stumbling through rooms while girls painted smiles onto exhausted faces.
Ruth had spent her entire childhood trying to protect Clara from that world. Sleeping with chairs shoved beneath door handles. Keeping Clara hidden upstairs whenever the drunker customers arrived.
This was her fault. She’d put them back on this path, and the guilt nearly crushed her.
“Ruth,” Clara whispered shakily.
Clara’s voice was still soft and uncertain from disuse, but hearing it now—here, in the darkness of this nightmare—broke Ruth’s heart.
“Oh, sweetheart …”
Clara’s frightened eyes searched hers. “Scared.”
She pressed her forehead gently against Clara’s. “I know,” Ruth whispered brokenly. “I’m scared too.”
Clara began to cry quietly, and Ruth wrapped herself around the child as much as the ropes allowed while the wagon rolled endlessly onward through the dark.
Victor laughed, and Ruth hated him then with a fierceness that startled even her. Not merely for what he planned to do to them, but for taking away the safety they’d finally found, for ruining the first real home either of them had ever known.
Ruth closed her eyes tightly. Please, she thought. Please find us.
Before it’s too late.