Page 117 of The Souls of Lost Lake
The front door closed behind them.
Noah, Hanny, and Ava all stood in silence. Until Hanny laughed and waved the tip of her cane toward the door where the men had exited.
“Bunch of goons, they are.” She leveled her hazy eyes on Ava. “With Councilman Pitford head of the church board, you’ll be fine. I can see he isn’t taken in by all the lies. Good man, he is. Now. There’s the issue of you two. All swoony-eyed and—”
“We’re not—”
“Pshaw, Noah Pritchard!” Hanny waved him off. “It’s plain as the nose on your face you have a thing for this girl. Backwoods country girl meets preacher from back east. It’s quite the match, I’d say.” Hanny moved to leave, then paused. “Oh, and I think you’d best tell the girl about Emmaline before you find yourself in another hot mess.”
Wren
Pippin hadn’t compensated for the fact that what could hold a six-year-old child captive was not something that could hold her. Wren pulled the canvas side of the deer blind off the ground enough to slide through. Sitting outside, she followed the chain she was tied to until she reached the bolt that was twisted into the base of a tree.
“Jasmine?” Wren called softly.
“Yes?” The little girl sniffled. She was frightened, and rightfully so. Wren wished they could see each other for the sake of Jasmine, but they couldn’t with Wren outside the blind.
“It’s going to be a bit, but I’m right here, honey. I’m not leaving you.”
“Okay,” the watery voice replied.
Wren set to work trying to twist the screwed-in bolt from the trunk. It was tight, rusted, and the trunk was already swollen over it. Her ankle was bleeding again from the zip ties she’d worn earlier. Her wrists zip-tied together didn’t help much either. For the next hour or so—she’d lost track of the time—Wren grunted and cajoled the circular steel bolt to turn. She moved it a few millimeters, but then it became harder to budge again.
“Arwen?” Jasmine’s voice called from the blind. “Are you still here?”
“Yes. I’m here,” she reassured her. Wren’s fingers were bleeding where they’d scraped the bark on the tree. She readjusted and tried again, and again, then gave a small “whoop!” when it turned. This time it was easier. “Jasmine, I think I’ve got it!”
A few minutes later, the bolt finally came free from the trunk, and the chain dropped to the ground. There was no way to detach herself from the chain without cutting the zip tie, so Wren hefted it into loops around her arms.
She hurried around to the front of the blind, dropping the chain and using her bound hands to unzip the door. She pushed her wayin. “Jasmine, I’m free.” She wanted to run now, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave the little girl behind. “I’m going to find where your chain is bolted and work on that. Okay? We’ll get out of here.”
Jasmine’s eyes were enormous, frightened, and the dark circles under them told Wren she was dehydrated, malnourished, and exhausted. Still, the brave little girl nodded, and Wren set to work on Jasmine’s chain.
It was turning dusk by the time Wren wrestled the second bolt from the tree. Her fingernails were broken, her fingers bloodied and burning. Her neck muscles had cramped from her position, and the ties had bitten into the skin on her wrists, leaving them raw.
A sense of euphoric elation stabbed through Wren as she stumbled back to the blind. “Jasmine! I got it! You’re free!”
The girl hurtled toward Wren at the door, the chain around Jasmine’s foot clanking. She threw her arms around Wren’s neck, knocking Wren backward. She wanted to hold Jasmine, but with her hands still bound, that was impossible.
“Okay.” Wren leveled her gaze on Jasmine. “I need you to help loop the chain over my hands, and then you’re going to need to carry yours. It’ll be heavy, but we can do this.”
Jasmine was eager. Both filled with a sense of hope.
Soon Wren and Jasmine were pushing their way through the woods and into the brush. She was a little trouper, but Wren kept an eye open for Pippin. She had the nervous feeling of being watched, the hairs prickling on the back of her neck. Where they were in relation to the Coons home ruins and Lost Lake, she had no idea, yet Wren couldn’t help the uneasiness she felt growing as darkness set in. She couldn’t still the vision that Ava Coons would come raging from the trees, ax in hand.
A large crash ahead of them sent Wren ducking behind some trees. Jasmine followed, pressing against Wren for security. Balancing herchain around her exhausted, cramped arms, Wren huddled with the child.
“Shhh,” she whispered.
Jasmine nodded wordlessly. The chain she was holding clanked as Jasmine inadvertently dropped it to the ground. Probably to relieve her arms, but the noise made Wren wince.
The night sky was no friend in spotting what had made the crash. Wren hoped it was a coyote. Even a black bear would be more welcome than Pippin returning to the blind. What was his end goal? He had to know people would miss her sooner rather than later?
Just as Wren was about to call it safe, a lone shaft of light from a flashlight bobbed through the woods. She crouched lower, drawing Jasmine to her side. Every prayer, every ounce of faith was poured into this moment. The light lifted, disappeared, then flicked back on. It was joined by a second shaft. Wren closed her eyes, willing her breathing to stay steady. If it was Pippin, would she be able to fight her own brother to escape? Jasmine’s little hand slipped into hers. She was reminded of a day that she’d never recall, but a day that had happened when Pippin had picked her up as a newborn and hustled her away from her birth mother. An innocent. Taken. From that day forward, she had been displaced. Lost.
A shout filtered through the trees. Wren shrank farther into the bushes, thorns snagging in her hair. She drew Jasmine into the shelter of her side. The warmth of the trembling girl awakened in Wren something she’d never felt before. A sense of protectiveness. Of nurturing. She would fight for this little girl with everything she could muster. Just like Patty had, in her own quiet way, fought for her.
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