Eleanor Tatum

“Calm down, please, the both of you.” Catherine smoothed her skirt to give her nervousness an outlet. She leaned over Joann and took the reigns from Ross to get the team of mules moving again. Once the mules obeyed and the wooden wagon bumbled over the uneven road, she attempted to explain in an edited version of her previous evening. “I was lucky. Mercer gave me to a rare gentleman, and I left. I didn’t need to say a word.”

Catherine felt the mules’ muscles twitch through the reigns when Ross loudly release a sigh of fear and frustration. “Mercer, Good God! We need to keep you ladies away from him! He’s mean. Really Bad!”

“It’ll be difficult staying away from the camp boss. How will we get paid, get the order numbers?” Joann’s hands bunched the fabric of her apron. “What if he comes into the kitchens again? He often does, you know.”

“I’ll handle all that, the money business. If he does come in, Joann, you say as little as possible, but we really need to keep Miss Mute, here, out of sight.” He took the reigns back and slapped them in anger, giving the mules another scare. “He wanted you, Catherine, for more nastiness than you can imagine. I know what goes on in that lodge. You’ve seen those women when we serve the late afternoon buffet. Have you noticed they never appear for breakfast? They’re too exhausted from their work the night before.” By the time Ross had finished his sermon, his voice had strained back into an anger that had the mules jumpy again.

He directed the team into a clearing and stopped the ladies from their descent from the wagon with a hand signal. “I mean it. I know you’ve seen those those camp b…, I mean women, those hired camp followers. They’re tarts!”

“Ross, you’re frightening us,” Joann put a calming hand on his sleeve.

“Good. Catherine, did he force you to go with one of his guest hunters? Did he?”

She heard the anger, but she recognized the concern. She read the protectiveness and she was grateful. “Yes, sir, but like I said, I was lucky. A real gentleman came forward. I was given his room key and during his dinner I left him a note.” She jumped down from the wagon to the ground and turned to look back and up at her saviors. “I saw him again this morning for just a minute.” She gazed away and mumbled, “He was kind.”

“Kind?” Ross grunted a disbelieving sound, “Maybe he’s slow, stupid, or strange. Miss Catherine, he and the others, they’re like that ugly bunch who had you in town.”

She shuttered at the sharp memory. She felt her stomach muscles clinch in pain from her residual fear. Those attackers had surrounded her with a nastiness. They had descriptively told her how they would enjoy her before returning her to her step-father. They were determined to have their fun before forcing her back to Charleston. They had spelled out in verbal graphics what their individual preferences were and how they would enjoy watching each other’s pleasures in their sport of rape. During all of this, they had not touched her on the outside, but they had damaged her soul.

The Garretts had rescued her in many ways.

She had learned to trust her rescuers and she had retaught herself to breathe, but her insides still hurt. “Yes, of course, you’re right. I’ll stay hidden.” She marched to the back of the wagon and relaxed her fingers enough to pull the poles out for the picnic tent. Together the three of them had the small shelter erected over a luncheon that served sliced meats, cheeses, and fancy muffins. All types of fruited jams were displayed on silver trays. Desserts with lots of coveted chocolate and vanilla wafers were placed at the end of the long table.

The muffled voices of the hunters approached. “Quickly, Catherine, run back to the wagon. Hide under the tarp,” Ross commanded.