Blood Feud Read online

  “You’re a healer, ma’am?”

  “I’m many things, boy. After you.”

  “No, ma’am,” Chace said sweetly. “My ma raised me to always be polite. Ladies first.”

  Woman tittered and went in, saying, “You Shannons aren’t as I figured. To most Harkeys you are downright evil.”

  “I guess the Shannons feel the same about you Harkeys.” Chace stopped just inside and let his eyes adjust. He swept the place, his gaze lingering on a pair of rifles propped in a corner. He walked to the table, leaned his Spencer against it, and sank into a chair. “Nice place you have here.”

  Woman was at a cupboard. She took down a jar. “I like it. I’m a simple woman with simple needs.” She opened the jar. “How about the tea first and then some vittles?”

  “That sounds fine, ma’am.”

  Woman stepped to the stove and touched a kettle and frowned. “Damn. It’s cold. I’ll have to heat the water.”

  “I’m in no hurry, ma’am,” Chace said. “Take as long as you like.”

  Woman tittered again. “Yes, sir. Polite as hell. And so handsome, too. You’re about the good-lookingest boy I ever did see.”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am. That’s awful kind. But I reckon I’m no better-looking than most.”

  She appraised him in earnest. “No, boy. I’ve seen more of the world and I’m telling you true. You’re handsome as hell. Any chance you’d like to poke me while we wait for the tea?”

  “Poke you, ma’am?”

  “You have poked, haven’t you? A handsome boy like you?”

  “A gentleman never tells, ma’am. And what about your husband?”

  “He has his secret pokes he thinks I don’t know about. I don’t mind ’cause I know how men are. Plus, it’s less he has to poke me and when he does he about bores me half to death.”

  “How can poking be boring, ma’am?” Chace asked.

  “Trust me, boy. When a man does it the same way, year in and year out, you could sleep while he’s doing it and not hardly notice.”

  Chace laughed. “You sure are sassy, ma’am.”

  Woman removed the top from the kettle and filled it with water from a bucket on the counter and set the kettle on the stove. She rekindled the fire and took off her apron and put it on the counter and came over and stood beside him. Leaning against the table, she ran a hand down her black dress. “What do you say to my offer?”

  “About what, ma’am?” Chace leaned back in his chair, his right hand on the seat.

  “About that poke, silly boy.”

  “You were serious?”

  “I never joke about pokes.” Woman touched his hair and fingered it. “Fine as silk, yet curly some. Topaz eyes, too. Were you to grow up, you’d be a lady-killer for sure.”

  “I’m counting on growing up,” Chace said.

  “We all do. But we never know but when our time has come.” Woman traced her finger across his temple and down his cheek and along his lower lip. “You ain’t answered me yet. Don’t let my hair fool you. I’m gray on top, but my body is right fine. I won’t disappoint.”

  “I couldn’t, ma’am.”

  “Why the hell not? Are you shy? Or is it you haven’t ever done it before? Is that it? I’d be your first?”

  “There’s been one other,” Chace admitted.

  “Who?”

  “I can’t say.” With his left hand Chace reached up and gave her arm a light squeeze. “I thank you, though. The thing is, when I said I couldn’t, I meant we won’t be able to because you won’t be breathing.” He brought his right hand around and up, quick as a striking cotton-mouth, and sank the double-edge blade to the hilt in her belly. Woman went rigid with shock. Still smiling, Chace twisted the blade. “One of those rifles yonder belonged to my pa, the other to my uncle. You shouldn’t ought to have left them out in the open.”

  Woman came to life. Screeching like a bobcat, she pushed Chace so violently that he and the chair rocked back and he lost his grip on the toothpick. She bounded to one side and yanked the knife out and screeched louder. Blood poured as she flew at Chace in a rage and swung the red blade at his neck. Chace dived from the chair. He landed on his shoulder and rolled up into a crouch and tried to level the Spencer but she was on him before he could take aim. The toothpick sheared at his head. Barely in time, he thrust the rifle up. Metal rang on metal. Straightening, Chace backpedaled. Woman hissed through her clenched teeth and rushed him, spearing the blade at his ribs. Chace dodged and she came after him, swinging furiously. He skipped back and collided with a wall. Woman, her eyes aglow with bloodlust, lanced the toothpick at his belly. Chace twisted sideways. The knife sliced his shirt and his skin, but not deep. He drove the Spencer’s stock at her face, felt her nose give and a spray of wet on his fingers. Woman howled and staggered back. He struck again, smashing the stock against her arm, and the toothpick clattered to the floorboards. He drew the stock back to strike at her face, but she grabbed it and screeched and sought to tear the rifle from his grasp. Struggling fiercely, they went round and round. The lower half of Woman’s dress was soaked with blood and the lower half of her face was a scarlet smear. Chace crashed into a rocking chair and it toppled. Woman shrieked and wrenched on the Spencer, and Chace let go. Off balance, she staggered. Chace was on her before she could recover. He punched her in the throat, once, twice, three times, and she went to one knee. He tore the rifle free, reversed his grip so he was holding it by the barrel, and raised it on high.

  Woman had both hands to her throat and was sucking in breath in ragged heaves. She looked up.

  Chace smiled. “For my pa,” he said, and brought the rifle down. The stock caught her above the ear and she folded like a poled cow. He stood over her, breathing heavily, and said, “Damn.”

  Backing against the table, Chace leaned on it. He set the Spencer down.

  His side stung and he examined the cut and the trickle of drops.

  Woman groaned.

  Chace straightened and picked up the toothpick. He wiped it clean on her dress, then cut a strip from the hem. He tied her wrists behind her back. He cut another strip and tied her ankles. Sheathing the toothpick, he went to the stove and touched the kettle. It was warm, not hot. He carried it over and upended the spout over her face.

  Woman sputtered and swallowed and cried out and opened her eyes. She glared and said, “You rotten little bastard.”

  “How did he die?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “What are the names of the Harkeys who raped my sister?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “Go to hell, I say.”

  Chace squatted and set the kettle on the floor. He palmed the toothpick. “Before I’m done you’ll tell me.”

  “That’s what you think,” Woman said, and laughed. “In a minute I won’t be able to tell you a thing. And it’s your doing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Woman nodded at the teakettle. “I was fixing to poison you, same as I did your pa and his brothers. It doesn’t kill. It makes it so you can’t move or speak. Yet you can still feel. You’re still aware of what goes on around you.”

  “It doesn’t kill? Then how did you do him in? Did your husband shoot them?”

  “I ain’t saying.” Woman looked down at herself. “The tingling has started. Won’t be long now, it will reach my neck and my brain and then you are out of luck.”

  “One of us is,” Chace said. He held the knife so the tip was close to her eyes. “You can still feel, you say?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I have nothing better to do until your husband shows up.”

  “You’re forgetting you stuck me.” Woman’s head sagged and she rested her cheek on the floor. “I’m not long for this world.”

  “A few minutes or half an hour, it will seem a lot longer,” Chace said. He pricked her shoulder and she flinched. “Your poison is taking its sweet time. Maybe you didn’t swallow eno
ugh.”

  “Don’t do this, boy. You won’t ever be the same, you do a thing like this. Hate me. Kill me. But don’t make a game of it.”

  “A game?” Chace repeated, and shook his head. “This isn’t fun for me. It’s pleasure.”

  “What?”

  “You helped kill my pa. Your kin hurt my sister. What I do to you will be like eating a slice of my ma’s apple pie. It will be sweet and delicious and make me feel good.”

  “God, what are you? You can’t compare killing to eating.”

  “I just did.” Chace reached behind her and took hold of a finger. “How about if I start with these and then do your toes?”

  “Rufus!” Woman screamed. “Kill, boy! Kill!”

  Chace spun. He hadn’t closed the door when he came in, and the big black dog was in the doorway. Chace lunged at the table and the Spencer, but he didn’t quite have it in his hands when the dog rammed into him, a four-legged monster that weighed almost as much as he did. Together they went down, Chace with his free hand locked in the dog’s throat, the mongrel snapping and struggling. Chace stabbed it in the body and it went into a frenzy, tearing from his grasp. He slashed at its eyes but it was too fast for him and skittered aside. He rose onto his elbows and the dog was on him. Fangs gnashed at his jugular. He cut it, stabbed it. Teeth opened his shoulder. Then he was on his back with the dog on top and it was all he could do to keep it from ripping his throat open. Coiling his legs, he kicked and knocked it back, gaining the space he needed to heave himself at the table. His fingers closed on the Spencer.

  “Kill, Rufus! Kill!”

  Chace fired as the dog leaped, fired as it crashed down, fired as it started to get back up. The last shot sent its brains out the other side of its head and it collapsed. Chace took aim but there was no need. He kicked it. It didn’t move.

  “So much for your hound.”

  Woman didn’t respond.

  Chace turned. He stepped over and poked her. The knife wound had taken its toll; her lifeless eyes mocked him. “That’s all right,” he told the body. “I won’t get the information I want but I can still put you to good use.”

  Chace bent and gripped her wrists.

  11

  Cassie was feeding the chickens. She scattered handfuls from the pail without paying much attention. She was thinking of Chace and how much she missed him. The chickens had strayed over near the woodshed, and a sound from inside brought her up short. It was someone singing. There was no door on the shed. She poked her head in. “Grandpa?”

  Jed sat with his back to the pile of logs and was about to tilt a flask to his mouth. “Cassie girl. What is that you’ve got there?”

  “Chicken feed.”

  “I’m not hungry, but thank you.” Jed chortled and drank and lowered the flask to his lap.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “Hiding from your ma.”

  Cassie sniffed and said, “Is that liquor I smell?”

  “It’s not chicken feed,” Jed said, and chortled anew. “Which is why your ma will blister my ears, she finds out I’m sucking bug juice down.”

  “Where did you get it?” Cassie asked.

  Jed raised a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Don’t tell her but I have a couple of bottles in my saddlebags. I use them to fill this.” He waggled the flask. “It’s less con—” He stopped. “Less conspic—” He stopped again. “It’s easier to hide.”

  “I never knew you were a drinker.”

  “Afraid so, girl. I used to partake on social occasions and that was all. But after my Mary died I took it up and now I can’t seem to stop.” Jed held out the flask. “Care for a swig?”

  “I should say not. Ma would roast me alive.”

  “That’s the trouble with Erna,” Jed said sadly. “She never truly lets her petticoats down.”

  “Grandpa!”

  “Well, she doesn’t. I love her dearly, you understand. She’s been a good wife to Buck and a good mother to you three kids, but she is so god-awful serious all the time.”

  “That’s a fine thing to say with my pa and Uncle Granger and Uncle Fox missing and my brother off hunting them.” Cassie started to back out. “I have half a mind to tell Ma on you.”

  “Wait!” Jed came to the opening. “Please don’t. She might want me to leave and I promised your brother I’d look after you women while he’s gone.”

  “You can look after us real good from in the woodshed, can’t you?” Cassie sarcastically asked. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I am, girl. I truly am.” Jed held the flask out. “Are you sure you wouldn’t care for a swig?”

  Cassie scrunched up her nose. “I’ve never had the taste for it. Ma says hard spirits are the Devil’s brew.”

  “She would. When she looks in the mirror she sees a halo over her head. The rest of us won’t get ours until we see our Maker, if then.”

  “Oh, Grandpa.”

  “Here.” Jed pressed the flask to her hand. “Just one sip. It won’t harm you. I promise.”

  Cassie took the flask and looked at it uncertainly. She knew her father liked to imbibe on occasion. “I take a sip, you’ll stop pestering me?”

  “As God is my witness,” Jed said solemnly.

  “Just to make you happy, you understand.” Cassie raised the flask and took a tiny swallow. It tasted terrible but she forced it down. Almost immediately a burning sensation spread from her throat to her tummy, her eyes began to water, and she had an impulse to blow her nose. Coughing and dabbing at her face with her sleeve, she said, “How can you drink this stuff?”

  “It gets easier. Try another swallow.”

  “Not in this life.” Cassie gave the flask back. “No wonder Ma says it’s the Devil’s work. Only the Devil would think a thing like this tastes good enough to drink.”

  “You’ll change your mind,” Jed predicted. “Wait and see.”

  Cassie noticed that the warmth in her belly was spreading and with it a surprisingly pleasant sensation. “I better get back in.”

  “You won’t tell?”

  “I can’t promise,” Cassie said. “Ma has a right to know about your shenanigans.”

  “Just don’t let her smell your breath,” Jed advised. “She does, she’ll know you’ve been drinking, too.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cassie held her hand close to her mouth and breathed and sniffed. Sure enough, she could smell the whiskey. “So that’s why you wanted me to take a sip. You tricked me, Grandpa.”

  Jed chuckled, and swallowed. “I’m sorry, girl, but I gave my word to your brother. You’ll just have to put up with me until he gets back.”

  Cassie stalked off. She was mad at being duped. That he was a heavy drinker disturbed her. She wondered what other secrets he was hiding. She hung the pail on a hook in the barn and went into the cabin.

  Scarlet was at the table eating soup.

  “You’re up and around,” Cassie said in delight, her uncle momentarily forgotten. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not as terrible as I have been. But I won’t be my old self for a long while yet.” Scarlet’s face clouded. “I’d feel better if Pa was back. I’m worried something happened to him, and all on account of me.”

  “You?” Cassie said. “It was the Harkeys who, well, you know. They’re to blame.”

  Erna came out of the bedroom carrying her knitting bundle. “Done with the chickens? You didn’t happen to see your grandfather out there, did you?”

  “No,” Cassie fibbed.

  “That man. I swear,” Erna said. “He keeps disappearing. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t like my company.”

  Cassie sat across from her sister. She tried not to stare at the bruises. They had faded some, but Scarlet still looked like a black-and-blue quilt. At least the swelling had gone down. “I wish I was a boy.”

  Scarlet spooned chicken soup into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed and asked, “What brought that on?”

  “If I was a boy I coul
d have gone with Chace. He only didn’t let me because I’m his sister.” Cassie wasn’t saying anything new; she had long regretted she was born female and not male. Men got to do more and have more fun. They hunted, they fished, they went to taverns and saloons. The women mostly stayed at home and did chores.

  “You’re just about a boy as it is,” Scarlet said. “Oh, you wear a dress, but you don’t act like a girl at all. You don’t do up your hair and you don’t care about your face. You’d rather be off with Chace in the woods.”

  “He’s my twin.”

  “So? He’s a boy. You’re supposed to be a girl. Why you have to do everything he does is beyond me.”

  Cassie dug at the table with her fingernail. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’re just you.”

  “What on earth does that mean?” Scarlet asked in mild exasperation. “I swear. Sometimes you act like you and him are one and the same.”

  “We are.”

  Erna was in her chair by the fireplace preparing to knit. She clacked her needles and remarked, “Folks say, Scarlet, that twins share a bond. That they’re like two sides of the same coin.”

  “That doesn’t excuse her acting like a boy,” Scarlet said. “A girl is a girl. In a city they’d laugh her to scorn.”

  “I don’t care what other people think,” Cassie said. “I am me. I have to do as I want to do, not as others want me to.”

  “You talk plain silly sometimes.”

  “Now, now,” Erna said.

  “Maybe I can explain it so you’ll understand,” Cassie persisted. “I’ve given it a lot of thought and I have an idea how it works.”

  “How what works?”

  “Being a twin.” Cassie sat back. “I look so much like Chace that he could be me and I could be him if I didn’t have girl parts and he didn’t have the part that only boys have. But it’s not just our bodies. We’re alike inside, too. Our minds and our hearts are alike even though they are in two bodies. Entwined, you might call them.”

  “That’s just not true,” Scarlet said. “You don’t act like him in everything. And your minds are nothing alike. You worry all the time and he doesn’t ever fret about anything.”