Chapter Two

What Rebecca had hoped would be an enjoyable evening with her husband, quickly proved to be quite different.

Martin had spent the entire evening in a separate theater box as he had smoked, drank and chatted with his friends and business associates.

Rebecca had been forced to sit with the other wealthy women of the town in their own box and had felt quite out of place. These women were all nearly twice her age, or more, and they had been raised in the world of wealth and prestige. None of them had much in common with Rebecca and she always found herself struggling to converse with or relate to them.

The show was a good one, at least. Full of comedy and laughs—both of which Rebecca had been needing. When the show had ended and she left her box, Martin was waiting for her in the hall. He held out his arm and she took it. "Did you enjoy the show?" he asked.

"Yes," Rebecca replied honestly. "Though, I wish we could have watched it together."

The look on Martin's face made Rebecca feel as if she were no more than a petulant child. She hated when Martin treated her that way. "You wanted to come to the theater and I brought you. You cannot sit around the men smoking and drinking. That would be highly inappropriate. And you can't honestly expect me to sit with you women. All that gossiping and cackling." He winked, clearly hoping to amuse her.

Rebecca forced a smile. "No, of course not."

They could have sat together in the main theater seating but that would have been unacceptable to Martin. Both because those seats were made for common folk and because his friends might grow offened if he didn't join them.

"Are we going to dinner together?" Rebecca asked hopefully.

Martin frowned. "I didn't realize you wanted to. I'm sorry, darling. I already made plans with the men."

Rebecca sighed inwardly as her heart fell. Of course he had. And asking him to change those plans would be quite pointless.

"Don't pout," he scolded as they stepped out of the theater. "If going to dinner means so much to you, we can come into town tomorrow and dine together."

Rebecca swallowed her disappointment and nodded. "I would enjoy that."

She knew asking more from the man would merely be ungrateful. She had a far better life with him as her husband than she would have had without.

Martin patted her hand. "Felix will see you home," he said, motioning toward the waiting buckboard and his faithful driver.

Rebecca allowed Martin to help her onto the seat. "Get her home safe, Felix."

"I will, Mr. Smallwood, sir," Felix replied with a tip of the hat on his gray hair.

As the buckboard started forward, Rebecca turned to wave goodbye to her husband but Martin had already turned his back and was walking away.

She folded her hands on her lap and stared straight ahead in the darkness as they started the forty-five minute journey home.

"Did ya enjoy your evenin', Mrs. Smallwood?"

"Yes, I did, Felix. Thank you."

"Are ya feelin' alright?" he questioned.

"I'm fine. Why do you ask?" Rebecca asked, turning to look at him.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Smallwood. Ya just seemed a bit upset. I thought perhaps ya weren't feelin' well."

Rebecca sighed. "I'm only a bit tired."

"Body tired or soul tired, ma'am?"

Rebecca's eyes widened toward the other man. "What?"

He turned a bit red and grinned sheepishly as he adjusted the reins in his lap. "I apologize again, Mrs. Smallwood. I shouldn't speak so plainly with you."

Rebecca was quick to shake her head. "No, please. I would love if you would speak plainly with me."

Rebecca hadn't had a true conversation like an equal since leaving home.

Felix smiled. "Mr. Smallwood wouldn't like that, ma'am."

Rebecca shrugged. "I won't tell him if you won't."

"Okay then, ma'am," Felix relented. "I'll repeat my question. Are ya body tired or soul tired?"

Rebecca picked at her silk glove. "Soul tired."

Felix nodded. "I reckoned ya were. Is there anything ya wanna talk about?"

Rebecca frowned. It had been so long since she had opened up and shared her troubles with anyone. She tried hard to keep them to herself so Martin would not think her ungrateful.

"Do you ever feel like you just don't belong?" she finally whispered.

"I can't say that I have, ma'am," Felix replied. "Do ya feel that way?"

"Whenever I'm around Martin and his wealthy friends. Whenever I'm in that giant house.... I guess I feel that way a lot."

Felix frowned. "Ya shouldn't feel that way, Mrs. Smallwood. That's your home and your husband."

"But I'm so different. I was raised with nothing and they have so much more than they need."

"No matter how ya were raised, ya have wealth now, ma'am," Felix reminded her.

Rebecca sighed. It wasn't just the money. "My family was poor. There were days when we did not even have food to eat. But there was always warmth and love and affection. There was always time together. They seem to lack that here. I miss it."

Felix's aged hand patted her gloved one. "Mr. Smallwood cares for you, ma'am."

Rebecca nodded. She knew he did. If he didn't care about her, he would have cast her away and served her with a divorce after so long without a child. "I grew up watching my parents and the clearly shown warmth, love and affection between them." She held up her hand before Felix could speak. "I know. I know. Love like that is so rare it's nearly myth. I am blessed to have Martin. I know that."

Felix smiled in the glowing lantern light hanging from the buckboard. "Ya are a good woman, ma'am. I think Mr. Smallwood is the blessed one."

Rebecca blushed as she averted her gaze and looked out into the darkness. The road home was a long one and it was empty.

Movement on the distant plains caught her eye and Rebecca frowned. Squinting, she kept her eyes trained until she could make out the large number of figures on horseback heading their way.

"Felix?" she whispered, fear blossoming in her chest. "Look." She pointed oer the plains as the men rode closer and closer.

"Hold on tight," Felix warned. He let out a yell and urged the horses faster. The buckboard jerked and lurched as it thundered down the road, dust billowing around them.

Hoofbeats filled the night air as the figures took chase, gaining quickly. Rebecca could hear them hooting and hollering as the quickly surrounded the buckboard. There were at least ten men. Every direction Rebecca turned there was a leering face and a gun.

Felix had no choice but to pull the buckboard to a stop. "We don't want no trouble with ya!" Felix announced, his voice trembling in the night.

One man on a large black horse stepped closer. He was terrifying, with a scar on his cheek and nothing but blackness in his eyes. "Well it sure is trouble we want with you." He chuckled before pulling the trigger on the cold piece of iron in his hand.

Rebecca screamed as a bullet slammed into the kind old man's chest and he tumbled from the buckboard. "Felix!" she cried as two men stilled the spooked horses.

Rebecca stared down at Felix's bloody, lifeless body. The man hadn't even been armed! This was supposed to be a safe place. Things like this just didn't happen here.

"Please...." Rebecca pleaded, her head whipping around hoping to see at least one sympathetic face among the men. "Please, don't kill me. My husband...."

"We know damn well who your husband is, Mrs. Smallwood. Why do you think we're here?"

Rebecca swallowed hard. She was shaking, terrified and struggling to breathe. "What do you want?" she demanded, cringing away as two men left their horses and came to either side of the buckboard seat.

"I don't reckon we're gonna talk about that just now. We're in a bit of a hurry."

Rebecca felt a hand close around her arm and raw terror consumed her. She felt herself being dragged from the buckboard. Rebecca screamed, kicked, clawed and punched but her struggles were in vain.

She was dragged into the dirt next to Felix. Tears flowed from her eyes as she struggled violently.

It became harder to breathe when a burlap sack was tossed over her head. "Shut her up, will you?" A voice grumbled.

Something hard struck Rebecca in the temple and her world went black.

***

It was well past midnight when Martin found himself riding home after dinner and cards with the men.

He could himself feeling a bit guilty as he thought of Rebecca. She only wanted to spend time with him. Martin supposed perhaps being raised poor had given Rebecca a different expectation of marriage than he'd been rasied to have.

Martin had grown up seeing husbands go about their own lives while wives went about theirs. Seldom did they spend much time together. There was mutual respect, space and distance given.

Was marriage different among the poor?

Honestly, Martin hadn't wanted a wife for anything other than the heirs that would come with her. He'd wanted children to carry on his legacy and leave his life's work to. Despite Rebecca failures in that regard, Martin had grown quite fond of her over the years.

She was a lovely woman that any man would be proud to have on his arm.

Martin's thoughts were interrupted when he saw the glowing light ahead. He hurried his horse when he realized it was the lantern on his buckboard.

Worry filled him. Had something happened to Rebecca? That worry dropped into the pit of his stomach like a ten-ton anvil when he saw Felix's bloody corpse on the dirt beside the buckboard.

"Rebecca!" Martin cried, but there was no response.

He was preparing to rush back to town for help when he saw the paper on the buckboard seat. "Sliding from his horse, Martin wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers before picking up the note and holding it under the lanterns glow.

Dear Mr. Smallwood

As I'm sure you have deducted by now, we've taken your dear wife. She is most certainly and beautiful creature and we'll take excellent care of her as long as you do as we say.

If you come after us, we'll kill her. If you go to the law, we'll kill her. If you attempt to hire someone to come after us, we'll kill her. You're a smart man so I'm sure you understand my point.

You are to return home and simply wait. We'll be in contact with you soon.

There was no signature and Martin felt cold with dread and fear. He clutched the note to his chest and looked up at the moon.

His poor, poor Rebecca.