43. The Curse

1865 OCTOBER 28, SATURDAY

43

"Apple pie, applesauce, apple dumplins—you name it, I've cooked it and eaten it. I don't think I've much room for more." Josephine Childe giggled, patting her round and heavy belly.

The Childes were insistent about Katie and I visiting, knowing it was once the home Brett and I shared—even if it had only been a short time.

She loaded up a basket for Katie and me to take home to the Mathis household.

"That's the last of them. Thank goodness! They're more ya'lls than mine, anyhow. I'll be glad to not see another apple until next year. Come back in a week, and I'll have jars of apple butter for you."

We promised our return and bid our farewell.

It was a dry, fall day, and puffy, white clouds sailed across the blue expanse. Katie and I took the lake road home, marveling at the last of the autumn foliage. There was a crisp chill in the air promising early snow, but we had yet to air out our winter woolens.

The heavy baskets slowed us, but we didn't mind, and Katie did not complain of the load. Birds chirped and flitted from branch to branch, and for the first time, it felt like this was home. Despite John's obvious avoidance, I was at peace. He knew where I stood. And I patiently waited for him. The heated glances we exchanged told me it was only a matter of time before he realized what was true in his heart.

His strength was returning, and I knew that time was soon. Just that morning, John and Seth left to check their traps and hunt wild turkeys. Over his dawn cup of coffee in the kitchen, I noticed color returning to his cheeks, promising his previous vitality. It warmed me, seeing his health return, watching him and Seth sling their hunting rifles over their shoulders, don their hats, and trudge out to the woods with smiles on their faces.

I was deep in my reverie when a branch snapping caused me to stop and look toward the tree line.

"Katie." I stopped her.

"What is it?"

I shushed her. The birds stopped singing. Black bears were not known to come down to the village, but knowing they were fattening up for the winter, it was not unheard of. For a moment, I wished I had my Colt, even if it was just a cat stalking its winged prey.

Movement caught in the corner of my eye. A man pushed through the brambles, stepping out of the shadows. His hat was pulled low over his face, and his hand was heavy with something. I gripped the handle of my basket as if I could wield it. Alarm bells started ringing in my ears.

He took another step into the road, lifting his face from the shadows.

I sucked in a breath, pushing Katie behind me.

Ethan Harris lifted his hand, pointing his revolver.

"Ethan." My voice sounded level, but my heart pounded like a drum in my ears. "I shot you."

But I knew in my heart he wasn't dead. All those months searching for any sign of him in the newspapers, and there was none. But I knew.

"Hurt like hell too." He rubbed his shoulder as if it still ached.

"What do you want?" I hissed.

Ethan laughed. "You, darling. Don't you know that by now?"

He inched forward, his firearm steady in his hand. A glint in his eyes told me that he was determined, and I could feel the cold grip of fear creep up my spine. I took a step back, edging Katie back with me. I could feel her little body trembling behind me, but I was thankful she did not say a word.

"Is that yours?" he gritted through his teeth, gesturing to Katie. The muscles in his jaw twitched.

"Robert's sister." If omitting the fact she was mine now would save her, I would do it. "Let me send her home. This is between us."

Ethan rubbed the stubble on his chin, remembering something. "She's mute?"

I did not try to correct him. If he thought she would not say a word about his presence here, it would keep her safe.

"Go, Katie." I nudged her. "Run home."

She looked up at me, her eyes large with worry.

"Go," I said again, gripping her hand and trying to silently communicate with her to find help. "Please." I pumped her hand one last time and she gave a quick nod, dropping the basket at her feet, apples tumbling in the dirt. She took off running down the road, her heels kicking up her short skirts.

"You're going to have to come with me, Ella," Ethan ordered.

I turned back to him. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I need to get my life back, and this needs to end now."

"I don't know how I can help you with that." I took another step back as he approached, his weapon still aimed at me.

"There are only two ways we can do this—you can either leave quietly with me now, or we can do this the hard way."

I wondered how far John and Seth were on their trapline from here, or if there was anyone nearby who would hear me if I screamed.

"Leave to go where?"

"Woodhue, Ella."

"Woodhue? You can't go back there. You're a traitor, Ethan. Pa confessed everything. They'll arrest you as soon as you step into Pennsylvania."

"That's where we have to go. It was stolen from me, and it has to end there."

I needed to get away. He was two yards away from me now, and I had to do something.

Desperate, I threw my basket of apples at him.

And ran.

I pumped my arms, trying to get away, my feet pounding on the dirt road, the cool autumn air filling my lungs, but it was not enough. He was quicker and stronger.

Ethan's arms went around my waist and crashed us to the ground, knocking the wind out of me. I can't breathe, I thought for just a moment before the butt of the revolver cracked the top of my head and everything went dark.

My head ached. Cold penetrated my bones. I tried to peel my eyes open, but I was so, so tired. My head was heavy on my neck, my chin resting on my chest. Stretching my neck, willing my head to rise, I grimaced.

He must have heard me moan because he was then in my ear. "You chose the hard way. I'm sorry, Ella. You didn't give me a choice."

I blinked. I didn't know where I was, but I knew Ethan was with me. My vision blurred and was tinged red from the blood dripping in my eye. My limbs were so heavy.

Cold earth. Cold stone. Damp, loamy air. Darkness engulfed us, but for gray light coming from my right.

I tried to move again, to shift my limbs, until I realized I was propped against a stone wall, my feet and hands bound.

"Where … where are we?" I managed to say. My tongue was thick in my mouth.

"A cave."

We were still in Vermont! Smuggler's Notch. The trapline was not too far from here. If I screamed, would they hear me?

"We'll stay here just until I find a horse." The dark was heavy. I could not make out his face, except for a vague outline.

My head swam, and I gulped down bile rising in my throat.

"A horse?" I managed to say with a steadying breath.

"We'll need a mount to travel. But here's how this is going to go. I need you to listen to me if you don't want any harm to come to you or that little sister of Robert's."

I steadied my head, my neck straining to look at him. My head felt so heavy.

Ethan crouched before me, hovering.

His stench enveloped us, taking over the earthy scent of the cave. My eyes adjusted to the grayness, and I saw his jaw clench beneath his scraggly beard. He had shed his coat, wearing a linen shirt stained yellow from sweat, and brown, wool pants. His boots were muddy, and he had set aside his hat, revealing greasy, dark-blond hair. I had never seen him so unkempt. His eyes were wide and wild.

"You're coming back to York with me, and you're going with me willingly. If you go with me, I'll tell the authorities everything. I'll tell them exactly what I did—profiteering, selling arms to the Union and Confederate Armies, helping Southern troops advance and prisoners escape. I'll even tell them how I orchestrated the raid on St. Albans."

My eyes narrowed. "Why would you do that, Ethan? They'll hang you."

"No, they won't, because then the curse would be broken."

The curse! Just like the other times he had cornered me. "What curse?"

"Do you believe in curses?" It was a serious question.

"I don't know what to believe."

He nodded, understanding my hesitancy. "I didn't either, not until Father died without cause, the money was gone, and so was Woodhue. Woodhue was meant to be mine, my own, separate from Father, separate from the Harris estate. That and Emilyn Murphy. They were both stolen from me. Your father stole Woodhue, and my brother stole Emilyn, and my father did nothing, even though he knew they were mine. And Emilyn used her Irish tongue to curse us."

My mind scrambled to comprehend what he was telling me, searching for all that I remembered about Emilyn.

"Your brother killed her?" I asked, although I knew the truth.

"Jeffrey was in love with her, but Emilyn chose me. He shot her so neither one of us could have her. Shot her right in front of me, so I killed him."

I sucked in a sharp breath. I knew the story, but I knew it as Jeffrey taking his own life after he took Emilyn's.

"Before he killed her, she cursed us.

"‘May you only feel death and loss. May all you claim fall into ruin and be torn apart. May all men of your blood feel yearning, never to be quenched. And may the curse only be broken when a bride spills blood onto stolen ground.' "

His eyes were distant as he remembered, speaking the words he had heard her say years ago. A bride? Did he mean me?

"When Father died, I discovered that over the years, he had given thousands of dollars to Christopher Coburg. His friend. Your father stupidly reinvested it back into the ironworks, thinking it would turn a profit. But Father was too entrenched in debt, leaving me with nothing but his house and his failing company.

"When the war came, I knew munitions were the only way out, so I convinced your father to turn it into a weapon manufacturer. I never did have much allegiance to the Cause or a desire to fight—only a loyalty to money and a need to end this curse. That's when I met Mr. Pocket, a Southern sympathizer who helped me contract with the Confederate Army and the Union, sending guns to both sides. By the time your father discovered his signature on the orders, it was already too late because I had his permission to marry you. And you are my way out of this curse."

I latched on to his words about Pa. Ethan used him, and he admitted it. He could save Pa. He could tell the truth, just as he said he would.

"You would tell the authorities everything then? That my father is innocent?"

"As I said, if you go back with me willingly, I'll confess, but your father is anything but innocent. He already surrendered. His signature is on all the orders. He knew, but he said nothing."

"Because you threatened him!"

"Yes, because he wanted to keep you and your family safe. I did everything I could to protect your family, even protecting you from ruin by sending that boy away."

"You might as well have killed Robert yourself!"

"He agreed to go. You see, money and fear are powerful things. So powerful, in fact, you would leave the woman and sister you love."

"You know nothing! You are so blinded by your greed and hate, you would hurt anyone and everyone in your path. You sent Robert to his death! You beat John nearly to death! You've forced yourself on me—twice—and you think I'll willingly go with you in hopes you will turn yourself over to the authorities and my father will be let free? Do you think I'm daft? That I would go because I believe you?"

"Nearly to death, huh?" His eyebrows rose. And I knew I had slipped up. "He's alive … and … here?" He saw the realization dawn in my eyes and straightened, checking the rounds in the revolver.

"No, Ethan! Don't!" I twisted on the ground, hoping to release my hands, to grip him, to stop him. I struggled against the bindings.

Ethan was pacing now, his mind working through this new piece of information I let slip.

"Ethan, please! You can't!"

"Shut up! I can't hear myself think!"

"Please! Leave him alone! He doesn't need to know I'm here with you! Please!"

"I said, shut up!"

He gripped me by my throat, pulling me back, only to let my head bounce off the wall of the cave.