The Green Lace Corset, стр. 26
At least that would be better than being killed by Cliff. Her body ached; she imagined crawling onto the ground and letting the snow cover her. She’d just stay there until she died. But she kept trudging along, until finally her knees buckled.
18
Collapsed on the ground, shivering to the bone, covered in snow, Sally Sue was sure she was going to die. She might as well. She had nothing to live for anyway.
As she lost track of time and space, the world smelled of cold. Her mind slashed through blurred childhood memories: her father’s kind face smiling at her, Kansas City folks’ disparaging glances and sneering faces, Ma’s twisted grimace and echoing rebukes—“Sally Sue, our miserable life is all your fault.”
Snow continued to fall. Had God really chosen this time to take her? Was he punishing her for wanting to kill Cliff, or for some earlier transgression, and that was why she was the one Cliff had held at gunpoint in the bank?
Preparing to die, she silently began to recite the 23rd Psalm: The Lord is my shepherd . . .
She started to lose consciousness.
The sound of slushing snow moved toward her. She hunkered down to meet her maker. A horse neighed. A hand touched her back.
“Are you a lunatic? You could have died out here!” Cliff hollered. He bundled Sally Sue in a blanket, rubbed her body to rekindle the warmth within it, and loaded her onto the horse, then climbed behind her and put his arms around her. She leaned her body into him and saw black.
As her eyes fluttered open, deep, unrememberable dreams enshrouded her mind in cobwebs. Dim light entered through the windows. How long had she been asleep? Why was she so weak? Recollections of snow falling on her back stirred the edges of her consciousness.
She shivered despite the mile of blankets piled atop her and the fire roaring in the hearth. His back to her, Cliff stirred a pot on the stove. He rummaged through the shelf of supplies, sprinkled in this and that. The smell of baking sweetness filled the air. He turned. She quickly closed her eyes and soon fell back to sleep.
Later, his hand touched her shoulder. “Welcome back to the living.”
As hard as she tried, her tongue wouldn’t form words. She blinked at him and attempted to sit up, but she collapsed back underneath the covers. She tried to wiggle her fingers, but they wouldn’t budge. He grabbed her hands, rubbing, and blew his hot breath on them. She laid her head back and felt sensation begin to return. An “ah” escaped her lips.
He let go of her hands. “Here. Give me your feet.”
They were numb. She slid her legs to the side, realized she was stark naked under the covers, and stared at him. She felt herself blush.
“Don’t worry—it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He picked up the nightgown lying on the floor and handed it to her.
She crawled deep under the blankets and slid it on.
At the hearth, from a cauldron on a swinging arm, he filled a teacup with his cooking concoction and came at her with a spoon.
Even though it smelled delicious, she shook her head. “I’m not hungry.” Maybe she should just starve herself to death.
“For goodness’ sake, girl. You’re as stubborn as a mule. Eat up—you need your strength.”
“For what?” She’d found her voice.
His eyes turned stormy blue. He approached her with the spoon again and said softly, “For whatever cotton-picking thing destiny has in store for you.”
She’d better not make him angry. There was no telling what he might do. She opened her mouth, let him slide the spoon inside, and held the deliciousness on her tongue. She closed her eyes: apples, cinnamon, nutmeg, molasses. What was that last ingredient?
She paused. She opened her eyes and glared at him. Rum. How could he? Even so, the apple concoction was the best darn thing she’d ever tasted. She accepted the cup, dipped the spoon in, and took another bite. It sure did warm her. Cliff filled her cup again, and she had to force herself not to gobble it down.
“Aren’t you gonna thank me?” He put his hands on his hips and smiled.
“What for?” she squeaked out.
“For saving your life.”
She glowered. “I wish you’d just let me die out there.”
“You fool!” His voice was as hard-edged as his knife. He stomped out the door, slammed it, and left her alone in the cabin.
He was right—she was a fool. She should have put more effort into escaping when they were in town, or should have told someone there that he’d kidnapped her. Feeling hopeless, she drifted in and out of sleep all afternoon, sensing his dark presence as he added logs to the fire.
She was too frail to get out of bed; it took all day for her body to thaw out. She’d lost track of time and presence and didn’t even know what day it was. It didn’t matter, because she had nowhere to go. Her leaden heart rusted within her chest as her last hope of escape perished. She raised her hand to brush away tears.
She jolted when Cliff’s hand touched her shoulder again, rousing her. It was light outside now. “Is it morning?” she asked.
“Yes. You need to get your strength back. Eat again.”
He must have hunted down a varmint, because the aroma of cooking meat filled the cabin. He handed her a bowl and spoon. She ate a few bites of the tasty stew and fell back to sleep again.
She awoke in the night. Darkness hovered as wind screamed down the peaks and circled the rough-hewn cabin walls. Hunched in bed, she felt waves of sorrow, loneliness, and fear sweep over her. She couldn’t get up to stoke the dying fire. She missed the blanket her grandmother had crocheted for her the year before she passed,