Savage Arrow

Suddenly things were still again except for the soft wind whispering through the trees, and the occasional yelp of a coyote off in the distance.

A chill raced up and down Thunder Horse’s spine as he turned his steed back in the direction of his village once again . . . a chill caused by the unknown. . . .

Chapter Six

Relieved that the party was finally over and she was secluded in her bedroom, Jessie sat in her soft lacy nightgown at a mirrored vanity while Jade stood behind her, brushing Jessie’s long auburn hair.

As Jessie looked into the mirror, she could see the reflection of the room behind her.

Although she had found Reginald vastly different from the person she had known years ago, he had remembered her fondness for pretty, delicate things. Before her arrival he had decorated her room thusly.

The four-poster bed projected a luxurious ambiance of elegance. It was a stunning, tall, hand-painted bed of black chinoiserie, its canopy draped in rose-colored French silk damask, trimmed with handmade fringes and a cream-colored silk lining.

She had loved the bed the first moment she set eyes on it. The canopy gave her a sense of sanctuary; this would be a place where she could get away from the day’s woes and discomforts, and no one could disturb her.

Everything else about the room was pretty, too. The matching draperies at the window were of velvet and decorated with ribbons and lace.

“Jessie, I have a daughter,” Jade suddenly blurted out.

“You do?” Jessie said, now gazing at Jade’s reflection in the mirror instead of the grandeur of the bedroom. “Where is she? Is she still in China?”

“No, she isn’t in China. She is in Tombstone,” Jade murmured, pausing in the brushing of Jessie’s hair.

Instead, she nervously turned the brush in her hands, her eyes revealing her worry as she told Jessie about her daughter.

“She is . . . in . . . one of those awful cribs?” Jessie gasped when Jade had finished. She turned on the bench and faced Jade, who now sat on a chair beside her.

“Ah hao, yes, she is there,” Jade said, resting the brush on her lap. “Her name is Lee-Lee. She is tiny and so very afraid of what has been forced upon her. I’m helpless to do anything for her except . . . except . . . to take food to her, and that only once a week.”

“Once a week?” Jessie gasped. “What does she do on the other days?”

“She is fed, but it is her mother’s food that she craves,” Jade murmured, casting her slanted eyes downward.

Then she looked in desperation at Jessie again. “Crib women don’t live long,” she blurted out, tears shining in her eyes. “They die from disease passed on by the men who frequent the cribs, or . . . from . . . suicide.”

“Suicide?” Jessie said, her eyes widening. “Do you think your daughter will—”

Jade interrupted her. “I have seen the hopelessness in my daughter’s eyes the last few times I have gone to her,” she said tightly. “She won’t last much longer. She can’t stand the humiliation. She can’t stand the men’s callous treatment, or being locked up all day.”

“How horrible,” Jessie murmured, truly horrified by what Jade was telling her. She placed a gentle hand on Jade’s cheek, then drew it away again. “Who is responsible for your daughter’s misfortune?”

Jade looked quickly and nervously toward the closed door, then leaned closer to Jessie. “Your cousin,” she said in a whisper.

“Reginald?” Jessie said, searching Jade’s eyes. “He—?”

“Yes, Reginald Vineyard,” Jade said tightly, her eyes filled with rage. “My daughter is a prisoner of your cousin. He owns several cribs in Tombstone. He has forced not only my daughter into prostitution, but many other unfortunate women who have no family or anyone to care for them.”

Jessie was totally stunned and sickened by what Jade had told her, not only about her daughter’s troubles, but also about Reginald being such a demonic sort of man. She slid her feet into soft slippers and went to stand at the window, gazing out into the pitchblackness of night.

“I don’t understand,” she said. She then whirled around to face Jade again. “He . . . he . . . is loved by the people of the church. How can that be if he—?”

Again Jade interrupted her. “The decent townsfolk who go to church with him have no idea he does this,” she said flatly. “He has threatened anyone who tells. And . . . he has threatened to kill any woman who tries to escape. He has told them that he will hunt them down and kill them. I am afraid to try to flee his clutches, myself. Where could I even go? Reginald would send out word to everyone not to hire me. I would be homeless. I would die of starvation.”

Almost speechless now at what she was learning about her cousin, Jessie realized he was anything but religious. Religion was just a front for him, to keep people from discovering his illicit activities.

“Should you be telling me all of this?” Jessie asked, placing gentle hands on Jade’s thick shoulders. “If Reginald finds out—”

“I felt that I could trust you not to tell,” Jade murmured. “You won’t, will you?”