Chapter One #2
“I don’t care what you meant!” His voice rose, harsh and cutting as his hand sprang forward and he wrapped his fingers around her neck. He squeezed tight, nearly cutting off her air. “You’ll speak when spoken to. And no other time. Do you understand?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Shame, confusion, and fear, all tangled together until she couldn’t tell one from the other. She nodded quickly, or tried to, then lowered her gaze.
Inside, her stomach lurched, and a cold panic crept up her throat.
She’d suspected something was wrong with him, but she’d prayed she was wrong.
The truth stood in front of her, unmistakable and ugly, and impossible to deny.
But there she was, alone with him, miles from home, with no one to turn to and nowhere to run.
The thought of running flickered through her mind, and she had a wild, reckless urge to bolt from the wagon and disappear into the trees. But her legs felt rooted to the floorboards. All she could do was sit there, trembling, as the awful reality of the situation settled over her like a stone.
“Good.” He turned away again. “Remember it.”
She followed him silently, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to break down in tears. Not in front of him.
They reached the front door just as it swung open. Two men stepped out, and Abby froze.
The first man was enormous—broad shoulders, thick neck, arms like tree trunks. His beard was wild and matted, streaked with gray, and he had a jagged scar cut across his cheek. His eyes were small and dark, and when they landed on Abby, something like hatred flickered there.
The second man was leaner but somehow even more frightening.
His hair hung greasy around his face, and his grin showed several missing teeth.
A long Bowie knife rested on his hip, the handle worn smooth from use.
He looked her up and down with a slow, deliberate stare that sent a cold shiver up her spine.
These were not teachers or farmhands. They weren’t even respectable men. They looked like dangerous outlaws.
Abby took a small step back.
The bearded man jerked his chin toward her. “This the girl?”
Edmund nodded. “Yes. Her folks won’t be any bother. Did we find a buyer?”
The thin man’s grin widened. “Yeah. That same saloon in Bozeman that bought those last girls from us. Said they’re working out nice. They’re payin’ good for any fresh stock we send their way. They’ll be pleased when they see this one.” He leered at Abby, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Abby blinked.
The last girls?
Fresh stock?
It was all she could do to stifle the groan in her throat. “I—I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Edmund… what is he talking about?”
Edmund didn’t even look at her. He just grinned at the thin man and said, “Nice and innocent. Just the way we like ‘em.”
The bearded man chuckled and said, “Yeah, darlin’. We’re about to make your dreams come true.”
Laughing, Edmund turned to her. “It means you’re about to get that education I promised. Isn’t that what you kept asking about? Your lessons?”
Her pulse hammered. “But—you said—”
“Grab her,” Edmund ordered the men.
They moved instantly.
“No,” she breathed. “No, please—”
The bearded one seized her arms from behind, lifting her off her feet as if she weighed nothing. Abby screamed, kicked, twisted, but the thin man clamped a filthy hand over her mouth.
“Stop fighting,” Edmund snapped. “You’ll only make it worse.”
“Where do you want her?” One of them stood behind her with his arm around her neck, grasping her hair.
“Put her in that first bedroom. Alone. I don’t want to risk anyone hurting her before we get our money,” he replied.
She didn’t understand. They dragged her inside—down a narrow hallway, past a kitchen that smelled of stale grease, past an empty parlor with curtains drawn tight.
She caught glimpses of things she didn’t want to see: a woman’s shawl tossed carelessly over a chair, a broken hair comb on the floor, a torn ribbon near the stairs.
Other women had been here.
Were they still there?
Her panic surged.
The men shoved her into a small bedroom at the end of the hall. There was nothing inside but a narrow bed, a single chair, and a tiny window near the ceiling.
Before she could regain her footing, they slammed the door behind her. Then, she heard the sound of a lock clicking into place.
Abby spun around and lunged for the handle, twisting it desperately. It didn’t budge.
“Stop!” she cried, pounding on the wood. “Please, don’t do this! Edmund, please!”
Footsteps retreated down the hall.
Voices murmured.
Then, laughter followed by silence.
Abby pressed her forehead to the door, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. The room felt smaller with every passing second. The walls were closing in around her. She backed away, shaking so hard she could barely stand.
Finally, she walked over to the chair and sat down. Then, her eyes snagged on something beneath the windowsill. She leaned closer to see what it was and discovered the name Eleanor Scruggs etched into the wood.
She was right. She wasn’t the first woman locked in this room.
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. For a moment, she couldn’t swallow; her mouth had gone dry as dust. She pressed her palms to her knees, but they wouldn’t stop trembling.
Someone else had sat in that very spot and scratched her name into the wood.
And where was Eleanor Scruggs now? The thought nearly crippled her with fear.
Panic seeped into her bones as she looked around the room, trying to picture the women who’d stayed in there before. How many had sat on that same narrow bed, waiting for help to come? How many had prayed for a way out that never came?
Suddenly, the air felt too thin to breathe, and for a heartbeat, she thought she might faint. She was trapped, and the walls were closing in.
She could feel the fear soaked into the floorboards, the hopelessness clinging to the air. How many other women had sat on that narrow bed, awaiting their fate? How many had waited to be taken away?
Her stomach churned.
She couldn’t stay here.
She wouldn’t.
She stood, forcing herself to search the room. She checked the corners, the floorboards, and the underside of the bed. Nothing. No hidden door. No loose boards. No extra latches.
Only the tiny window.
She dragged the chair beneath it and climbed up. Standing on her tiptoes, she could see out. The glass was warm beneath her fingertips. She pushed. It didn’t move. She pushed harder. Still nothing.
Studying the window more closely, she wasn’t even sure if she could squeeze through it. But it was the only way out. So, she would have to try. Just not right now. Tonight. When it was dark, and they might be asleep.
She’d just have to be patient.
Around sunset, she awoke when she heard the lock click and the door swing open. She jumped to her feet, ready to beg Edmund to let her go. But a tray appeared on the floor. She saw a man’s boot kick it toward her. Then the door slammed closed and was locked again.
Abby was furious. Her first thought was to pick up the tray and throw it at the door. But if she really was going to escape, she needed to eat. She’d need her strength.
So, she ate the food and drank the cup of water, or what was left after half of it spilled, then sat back down again to wait.