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Hello! Couple things:
1. From now to the end of these books, I'm going to respond to in-line comments instead of what I've been doing. It's fun and it's going to be my policy going forward, but right now I don't have time. Wanna know why?
2. Because from now on I'm posting ONE CHAPTER PER DAY. Wanna know why? Cuz I'm DONE WRITING THIS EFFING THING. I don't like cliffhangers, so from now 'till next Sunday (the epilogue) I'm going to post a chapter a day, around this time, to keep from stringing you along with all the cliffies.
3. From this chapter on, the story gets... a little dark. Like darkER than it already was. So if you have triggers, please be advised things get unpleasant and you may just want to skip forward a bit.
Alright. That's all 'till the end of the chapter. I hope you enjoy!
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Katherine
Katherine was born in this town. Raised in this town. She fell in love in this town and married in this town, became a mother in this town. She had fled in this town, died in this town, and been reborn in this town.
She knew this town. She knew all the people and all the roads leading in and out of town. She knew the way it smelled each day of each season. She knew the sounds of festival and the sounds of famine.
She knew it all so well, so it was odd that she couldn't make sense of where she was. She'd long since given up escaping Mulligan's horse, and lay belly-down across the saddle horn, her cheek pressed against rough hide. Her head was whirling and thick and aching, and every so often she would lift it, brace her chin on the horse's side, and vomit yellow strings of bile down the horse's side because each minute movement took the earth and sky and swirled them together into a nauseating mess. Every time she vomited, Mulligan cursed at her, but she couldn't stop.
She couldn't keep her eyes open for very long, because doing so made her unbearably dizzy and she invariably slammed them shut to keep from falling off the horse into the sky. But even those glimpses she was able to capture made no sense to her. She was lost. Alone. Stranded in a world that no longer made sense to her. The muddy, trampled earth beneath the horses' hooves was black like tar in the darkness, and even when Mulligan slowed his horse to a walk, the brush along the side of the road was a pale blur.
The men didn't talk as they rode, but she felt their intent as keenly as if they were carving the words into her flesh with knives. They were angry. They were going to hurt her. Jacob was going to hurt her.
Mulligan's horse stumbled, jostling her hip against the saddle horn, and she bit out a moan of pain.
"Shut up," her captor grumbled, and she felt the reins smacking against her back. It didn't hurt through the heavy wool of her coat, but it didn't matter. There would be time for that kind of pain later.
For some reason, the thought didn't fill her with as much dread as it used to. Perhaps because she knew Isobel was safe. Of course, she didn't know. In some dark and ugly corner of her mind, she watched a nightmare in which Gabe's horse stumbled and lost the pursuit. Gabe was killed. Gabe was hurt. Gabe was removed from Isobel's rescue as swiftly as he had turned away from Katherine's. She never watched that nightmare through to the end. She couldn't bear even to imagine her daughter's fear in the last moments of her short, short life.
Better to imagine the more likely scenario—that Gabe had found her and rescued her. She would be huddled in the safety of her arms right now, warm and secure.
Katherine didn't realize she had drifted out until the saddle shifted beneath her as Mulligan dismounted with a grunt. Then there were hands on her, rough and hard, dragging her unwieldy body from the saddle. They set her on her feet but her knees buckled and she toppled face-down onto the ground. Silky, wet grass pressed against her cheek and the smell of mud filled her nose. She turned her face to the ground and sighed into the earth, pleading with whatever spirit brought the spring to deliver Isobel safely into her father's arms.
"Lazy bitch," someone said, and the cruel hands were back, hauling her upright. Her head drooped on her neck, and she blinked at the shifting leather boots of her kidnappers. One man hooked an arm through hers on the left, another on the right. Her shoulders wailed as she slumped into their hold, her bound feet fumbling for purchase as they dragged her forward.
She didn't have to look around to know where they had brought her. She recognized the gravel walkway, crunching beneath the men's boots, her own trailing toes leaving trails through the tiny gray pebbles. She recognized the six cobblestone steps and the familiar darkened wells in the center of each where constant traffic had worn the stone to a smooth, glossy polish. Darkness gave way to orange, flickering light, and she was home. Home in the worst way—brought back to the house of a God she had forsaken.
The men dragged her down the center aisle between the long wooden pews. When her father had led this flock, the church had been plain and simple. She remembered helping him sweep the rough pine floors and singing hymns with her mother that echoed like birdsong off the vaulted ceiling. Before Jacob, there was always a tidy stack of worn Bibles on a table by the door. Their covers had been light blue, their delicate pages torn and dog-eared and splotched with ink where parishioners had scrawled little notes in the margins. There had been so much light, back then. Bright yellow light, spilling through the narrow windows that lined the walls.
Jacob had changed this place she had once loved. Heavy velvet curtains hung in the windows, and the air was thick with woodsmoke and incense. The Bibles were new, with heavy, leather covers, gold lettering, and unmolested pages.
The men deposited her at the base of the two carpeted steps leading up to the altar. Again, her knees gave out but she expected it this time and sat back on her heels to keep from toppling. A pair of shiny black leather boots stepped deliberately into her vision, toes lined up perfectly with the edge of the platform.
"Welcome home, Katherine."
His voice was a viscous slime, clogging her ears and trailing like clammy fingers down the back of her neck and along her spine. Her stomach twisted and lurched, cramping horribly. She longed to wrap her arms around her middle and curl into a ball, but her wrists were bound behind her.
"Katherine." This time, her name was command and reproach smashed together into two harsh syllables. She raised her chin, and told herself it was defiance, not surrender, with which she met his eye.
The church was lit with a dozen hanging lanterns, and the light glanced off his slicked-back hair and seemed to disappear into the depths of his soulless eyes. He towered over her in black slacks and a pressed black shirt, a shifting contrast of shadow and flickering orange hellfire.
"Jacob," she said, her voice rasping through her aching, swollen throat.
He sneered and lowered himself to a crouch before her, reaching out to wind a stray lock of her hair around his finger. Without warning, he gave a swift tug, but the sharp bite of pain in her scalp was a trifle. Isobel was safe. Gabe was with her. Jacob could pull her hair, but he couldn't lay a finger on her heart.
"You've forgotten your manners," he remarked, gently tucking the hair behind her ear.
She didn't know how to answer. In the months she spent with the Tuckers, she had at times dreaded and at times dreamed of this moment—her reunion with the man who thought he had broken her. In the dreams, she imagined herself as tall and strong and burning hot with defiance. She imagined herself spitting in his face and glaring icy daggers when he raised a hand to strike her. She'd conjured up a thousand witty rejoinders to his insults.
Here he was, and her mouth was too parched to conjure spit, and not a single clever remark found its way to her dry tongue. All she could do was stare, and hope he felt the heat of the contempt she couldn't voice.
If he felt it, he didn't seem to mind. With a sigh, he rose to his feet and slowly descended the stairs, each strike of his boot a hollow echo through the church. Somewhere behind her, she sensed the shifting unease of his followers, but she knew they were little more than an audience. She and Jacob may as well have been alone.
Her husband walked a casual circle around her, and a wave of prickles rose on her skin as he passed behind.
"It's a shame, Katherine," he sighed, as if he truly were sorry. "I could have helped you. I tried to help you. You are my wife. I wanted you with me in the Kingdom of God. It's where you belong. This defiance..." he trailed off, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out on a sigh as he sank to a seat on the step in front of her. His eyes searched her face and he shook his head. "He always had you, didn't he? The devil had his talons in you long before I ever came to town. People told me, you know. They said you were wanton. Willful. I didn't listen. Perhaps it was my own sin, my own pride, that had me so sure I could save you."
A false twist of humility curved his narrow lips, and he reached out. She felt the scrape of grit over her cheek as he brushed at a streak of mud. "I love you, Katherine. Truly, I do, in spite of your betrayal. Call me a fool, but I do believe you can be saved. Maybe I only failed before because I never understood the depths of your depravity. My lessons lacked the severity you needed to cleanse the darkest corners of your rotting soul."
Expression eerily blank, he drew his hand back from her cheek and studied it, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together to brush away the dirt he'd removed from her face.
"Perhaps I owe you an apology," he said, raising his gaze to hers and cocking his head. "My pride staid my hand. I thought I could cure you with a delicate touch." He leaned forward slightly, and she had to do battle with her heart not to cringe away. "I am so very sorry, sweet Katherine. I was wrong."
With no warning, and no change in his empty expression, he drew back and struck her hard across the face with the heel of his palm. The first stinging blow didn't knock her over, but the second did. The back of his hand met her temple with a splitting arc of pain, and she found herself sprawled on her side on the hard wooden floor with tears of dizzy pain blurring her vision. The silence from the men gathered behind her, the sheep led astray, was as resounding as her own.
"Oh, don't cry now," Jacob said as he grasped her by the shoulders and hauled her upright. Soft fingers swept away her tears and brushed the matted hair back from her clammy temples. He brought his face so close to hers she smelt the coffee on his breath. Eyes boring into hers, he pushed his fingers into her hair and then clenched them into a fist, and sparks of pain lit up all over her scalp. Then he kissed her. Holding her in place with that angry hand, he forced his smooth, slimy tongue through her unwilling lips, his uneven breath stuttering damp and rank against her face as he gasped and plundered.
Katherine closed her eyes and imagined Isobel in Gabe's arms. He would be sitting, straight and strong, on the back of his horse. Isobel would be perched sideways on his lap, her cheek pressed against his chest. With soft words and the surety of his presence, he'd have long since dried her tears. She would be dozing, exhausted by her ordeal. Muddy and weary but unharmed.
Jacob drew back and she gulped for clean air, slumping as his hand released her hair. She gagged, dry-heaving so hard her belly cramped, but Jacob only sat back and watched with a bemused detachment.
"Oh, Katherine," he sighed. "Don't be afraid, my love. By my hand, God will save you from this affliction. Come, now." Abruptly, he stood and snapped at the men behind her back. She was still heaving when the disembodied hands returned, yanking her to her feet. Dizzy and helpless, she drifted through the gray space between consciousness and dreams as they dragged her up to the altar, her toes thumping against the steps, and dropped her onto the floor.
Vaguely, she felt them untie the ropes from her wrists. Freedom! A wash of energy rushed through her limbs, and she wrestled numb, heavy limbs into order. Nails bared, she slapped and scratched and screamed, but it was no use. A hand closed around her neck, squeezing until black filled her vision. More hands wrapped around her wrists, yanking her arms out and pinning them to the floor. She bucked and writhed until a man's knee pressed against her belly, his weight driving the breath from her lungs and the fight from her blood.
Half the men held her down while the rest pulled at her clothes. She wept for the sheer, confused hypocrisy of it as well as for the abject humiliation and the gripping fear of what was to come. Jacob's smooth hand rested against her forehead.
"Don't cry, Katherine," he soothed, every word a shard of ice, driven into her spine. "You are the one who chose to walk the vile path of the impure. I will not be swayed by your false modesty. You have given your body to the devil. If you wish to return to God's favor, you must give your body back to His servants. I am only trying to help you, my dear."
His words set fire to her fear and rage, burning them away into dissipating wisps of shock and denial. The men held her down and stripped her of her jacket, her scarf, and her boots. With a knife, they sliced the fabric of her dress to ribbons and then her underclothes, until she lay naked beneath them, but for the ropes that bound her legs.
Katherine stared at the dark wood of the support beams, stretched across the plaster ceiling of the church, and thought once more of her family. Perhaps once Gabe had rescued Isobel, they would press on to Ridgecreek. Isobel was so excited to ride the train. Tears blurred her vision and the church faded away, replaced by a picture of her daughter, standing on a bench with her nose pressed against the window of the train. Gabe sat beside her, ready to catch her if she lost her balance.
What's that? Isobel asked, pointing out the window and Gabe leaned forward to follow the gesture.
That's a barge. For crossing the river.
What's that?
That's a factory. See the smoke?
Katherine had never seen a barge or a factory, either. Part of her was jealous of the adventures her daughter would have.
"Katherine." Jacob's voice was punctuated by the harsh slap of his palm against her cheek. She blinked, and Isobel and Gabe disappeared. She was back in the church, cold air brushing against every inch of her naked body. The men had dragged her to the wall at the front of the church and lashed her wrists to the decorative latticework beneath the cross. Her legs were still bound, but her feet touched the ground and she forced her knees to lock, taking some of the weight off her aching shoulders.
"I have some water for you, my love," Jacob said, gesturing with a mug that had appeared in his hands. "You seem unwell and I want you to be strong and healthy for your lessons."
He held the cup to her lips, and as badly as she wanted to spit it back in his face, she gulped the water down. It did little to sooth her aching throat, but some part of her wanted to stay strong. A silly, girlish portion of her heart wanted to be there for Isobel's first train ride. The odds were slim, but they'd trail to nonexistent if she simply gave up and died.
"We're going to wait, now," Jacob said quietly, blindly handing the cup to one of his gathered followers. Now that they had stepped back, she saw that there were only seven of them. Their faces were still smeared with mud, but she recognized each and every one. I'll remember you.
Her hair had come loose from its braid, and Jacob took hold of the loose tresses, draping them over her shoulders and meticulously arranging the matted strands until they covered her exposed chest.
"I know you're tired," he said, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Rest here, for a while. Gather your strength. Your little playmate will come soon, I'm sure. My men will bring him, and that vile bastard you brought into this world. I'd rather we proceed without them, but what good will it do to cleanse you while the devil's spawn still walks the earth? He needs to see that you belong to God before we send him back to his master."
The chill in Katherine's heart put the cold air around her to shame as reality finally smashed her silly fantasy to shards and shatters. Jacob was wrong. His men would never overpower Gabe. But he was also right. Gabe was coming. He would not take Isobel to Ridgecreek. He would rescue her, comfort her, and then deposit her somewhere for safekeeping. And then he would come for Katherine.
I've always chosen you.
God, he had.
He would again.
He would sooner die than abandon her to her fate.
A rush of fury burned away the cold, and she yanked at her ropes with fresh fury, clumsily kicking out at Jacob with her bound feet with no regard for the agony of her strained shoulders. Her husband stumbled back, but a noxious grin of satisfaction spread across his face.
"Rest, Katherine," he said, as she subsided in exhaustion, sagging against the ropes. He turned his back and led his followers away, down the steps and towards the yawning door. She could just see the gray light of dawn spilling across the rug in the entryway. Jacob stopped at the foot of the altar and turned, letting his men pass him as he fixed his dark gaze on her face. "Save your strength," he said lowly, the words a heavy, choking smoke. "You'll need it for your lessons."
* * *
Hours passed. Her legs grew weak and her shoulders went from aching to howling with pain. Her hands were numb and her wrists and ankles burned where the rope had chafed away her skin. It was cold in the church, and her body trembled with cold, then shuddered, then spasmed in bone-cracking waves. Her resolve and fury began to fade, replaced by a dull, strangling kind of dread.
Even in the awful, dark days of her marriage, there had been hope. She had curled up in her bed at night and closed her eyes when Jacob touched her. She had dreamed of a future where she ran away. But that future had now come. She had run. She had found her strength. And life had sent her in a circle, right back into his grasp.
And what left was there to pray for? That Gabe would take Isobel and run? That the man she loved would leave her to her fate—to be beaten and raped and imprisoned with this monster?
That Gabe would come for her? That the man she loved would leave their daughter an orphan—to be beaten and murdered before her eyes?
There was no future in which to place her hope, so she sank instead into despair. It ate at her heart the same way the cold at her body, so that when the doors of the church slammed open there was nothing left of her but a shivering, empty husk.
She watched through dull, heavy-lidded eyes as Jacob stalked down the center aisle, his boots hammering on the hard wooden floor. Two of his men followed behind him. Where were the rest? She didn't care.
"Hello, Katherine," he snarled as he stopped in front of her, gripping her chin and yanking her head up, lowering his own so that his eyes were mere inches from hers. "We've had a change of plans, wife." He spat the word at her, flecks of spittle peppering her face. She stared at him dully, watching as her apathy set fire to the rage that always simmered inside him. His face grew blotchy and his jaw muscles tickled, nostrils flaring as he sucked in furious, huffing breaths.
"You stupid, stupid whore," he growled, and she didn't have the warning or the energy to brace herself as he jerked her about in his grip. White exploded in her vision as the back of her head glanced off the narrow, latticed wooden beams behind her. Her knees buckled, and she slumped hard against the ropes around her wrists, barely feeling the stinging burn of her raw skin.
"Three of my men are dead," Jacob said, his voice echoing and hollow in the blackness that swirled around her. "Good men, Katherine. Three good men are dead because you gave your loathsome body to the devil."
She blinked at him, trying to make sense of his words. Three of his men were dead. That meant Gabe had killed them. She didn't realize a smile was spreading across her face until Jacob smacked it away, his knuckle splitting her lip. Her mouth filled with the coppery, iron tang of blood and she swallowed it down.
Hands pressed against the sides of her face, fingers digging into her scalp, and his pungent breath wafted over her face before he kissed her. "Don't be afraid," he hissed against her lips. "I'll save your soul, Katherine." His tongue probed her mouth, spreading the taste of blood and stale saliva. "You'll be free, soon. I'll bring you back to God." His hand smoothed down her body and gripped her breast, his nails biting into the sensitive flesh. "I'll bring you back, my love, and then I'll kill him. Don't worry. You can watch me do it. You'll see him die. You'll see that you're safe. It'll be quiet. He won't talk to us anymore. We can make our own child. A good child."
That was when Katherine realized that her husband was neither a man of God nor a charlatan nor possessed by the devil.
Her husband was mad.
"Please," she whimpered against his harsh kiss. "Jacob, please listen. Just listen to me. This isn't right. This isn't what God wants."
But he was beyond hearing. His hands were everywhere—yanking at her hair, gripping her face, digging into her breasts. She shuddered against him as she felt his hand move down, fumbling with the buckle of his own belt. Where were his men? Were they watching this? She closed her eyes and thought of Isobel. She thought of the night Isobel was created. She had met Gabe in the woods near the Bridge. They'd both born bruises—hers in the shape of fingers on her arm and his an ugly swelling purple beneath his left eye.
He had brought a blanket, and they had spread it out over a blanket of pine needles that poked up through the thick wool and prodded at her as he slowly laid her bare. She had let him, closing her eyes and sprawling limp on the lumpy surface beneath a blanket of darkness. She had felt his need for her in the heat of his skin and the way he stopped between each button of her dress to bend over her, his body pressing her into the earth, and kissed her. Gently. Sweetly. There had been a tang of whiskey on his tongue.
They hadn't spoken a word. He'd said all he needed to say in the reverence of his touch. The whisper of his fingers over her skin. And she had spoken every syllable of her own truth in the grip of her body around him. The marks of passion she left on his skin. She loved him, yes, but she had also always loved that. That he cherished her. Protected her. Hummed to her as he held her against him, his heart a soft, steady thump against her ear. She loved that she commanded him. Marked him. Bruised him. With him, she had never been helpless. Even as she lay limp and pliant beneath him.
"Katherine," Jacob snapped, but his voice was not so much a snarl as a desperate, pleading rasp. His hand wrapped around her throat and she choked, her eyes flying to his. She felt him free himself, the softness of him pressed against her belly. "Look at me," he growled, his hand tightening. "You are mine." I am not. "Your body belongs to God."
With all her strength, Katherine gathered up her dangling legs and bucked hard against her husband's weight, throwing her knees forward and knocking him back. He staggered away, an ugly, desperate expression of loss on his splotchy face.
"You can't deny me, Katherine," he said, standing there, several feet away with his manhood hanging limp over the waistband of his pants. He shook his head, his eyes boring into her as he stepped forward. "I am your husband. You cannot deny me. You cannot deny God. Don't you understand?" he whined, reaching out with loathsome tenderness and caressing her cheek. "My dear, I am trying to save you."
"Jacob," she croaked, her throat so torn and dry his name came out a wheezing rasp. "I don't want to be saved."
She'd never know if her words shattered him or poisoned him. She'd never know if his next move would have been to throw himself at her and beat or to sink to the floor and weep.
She'd never know, because at just that moment a shaft of sunlight broke through the narrow gap between the curtains, suspending motes of dust in the air around him and slicing across his face. It was a bright, shameless yellow and gave his twisted visage a serene, childlike quality. And at just that moment, as the sunlight washed over him and her words ran through them, a sound split through the air. A cracking pop, followed by a chorus of yelling, the strained, high pitch of men seized by panic.
Jacob spun away from her, cramming himself back into his pants. He stalked to the edge of the altar and pulled a rifle from the shadows beneath the lectern. Another crack resounded from outside, this time accompanied by shouting.
Gunshots.
A smile pulled at the edge of Katherine's aching, torn lips.
He's here.
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I was just reflecting on how when I first started posting on Wattpad I NEVER EVER EVER did Author's Notes because I thought they were self-indulgent and now I do them at the front AND END of every stinking chapter... oh, well. You win some you lose some, I guess.
Anyways... nothing and I mean NOTHING in this conclusion came out the way I expected it to. This is the first book I've ever written linearly and it's really thrown me for a loop watching not just the characters but also the plot work themselves out. Plotting is definitely not my strength and there's a lot of little holes to patch up here, but the big moving pieces are what have surprised me. Some scenes wound up a lot simpler than I expected, and some a lot more complicated. Hopefully you guys enjoy it.
Alrighty. As always, thank you for reading! I'll see you guys tomorrow!
Love!
Liz
P.S. It's never too late to join the discord server AvaLarksen and I are sharing!!! Invite link is in the comments. We'd love to have you join the party! <3
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