Chapter 7 - Sinking Sand
. . . ."On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand; all other ground is sinking sand" . . . .
A distant chorus of voices nudged Lee back to consciousness. "Mmm," he moaned as his body slowly awakened to agony. Pitched forward at a painful angle, his chin rested awkwardly against his chest. Biting on the cloth that gagged his mouth, he tasted blood on his lips and tongue.
Peering through bleary eyes, Lee surveyed his sparse surroundings. By all appearances, he was alone in a small cabin. The room was stifling, making it difficult to breathe. He was awash in perspiration that dripped from his nose and sideburns and soaked the front of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. The whine and swoosh of a squeaky ceiling fan was his only reprieve from the oppressive heat.
Through the window, he glimpsed remnants of the fading sunset as it peeked through the dark woods and cast long shadows on the knotty pine walls. In the distance, flickering lights and rousing music reminded him of the rural campground setting.
Giving his head a shake, Lee struggled to form a coherent thought in his muddled brain. Memories of his ordeal were scattered - the revival, a beating, an interrogation. Names and faces were a blur, but the image of Amanda held steady, giving him a focal point to orient his thoughts. He had to get the hell out of here and find her.
Empowered by the sense of urgency, he fought the restraints that bound him securely to a ladder-back chair. Twisting against the ropes, he soon realized he was only rubbing flesh from his wrists and ankles in a useless attempt to free his hands and feet. He'd have to maneuver himself across the room and search for a sharp object.
With a rocking motion, Lee slowly bounced his chair toward a table by the window. Panting breathlessly with the effort, he labored toward his destination. Finally close enough, he leaned sideways, allowing his chair to fall hard against the table. "Oomph." Pain shot through his arm as he bore the bruising impact with his shoulder.
Running his fingers along the rough wood, Lee sought a barbed surface. When the splintered edge of a table leg sliced into his flesh, he began the tedious task of sliding the rope back and forth until it started to fray. By sheer will, he kept up the motion, finally snapping the tight bindings apart. Slipping his bloodied wrists from their restraints, he reached to untie his ankles, now so numb he could hardly feel his feet.
Removing his gag, he swiped a hand through his hair. "Ouch." Lee winced as he pulled his fingers away from the goose-egg welt that protruded from his scalp. God, the thugs had spared no mercy when they pummeled his entire body. Of even more concern were his disorientation and the heavy feeling in his limbs. In all likelihood he'd been hit with some kind of drug.
Fighting a wave of dizziness and nausea, Lee managed to hoist himself into a standing position. Pausing to catch his breath, he weighed his options. He could either await the return of his captors, or he could press on and try to traverse the one hundred yards or so to the tent. He opted for the latter, hoping that he could find Amanda before someone else found him. Following the sound of the old hymns, he lurched into the night.
- "Rescue the perishing . . . care for the dying . . . snatch them in pity from sin and the grave."-
With a Herculean effort, Lee trudged toward the camp meeting, barely staying on his feet as he moved from tree to tree. From the volume of singing, he anticipated quite a crowd. It would take a major effort to find Amanda among the mass of people.
- "Rescue the perishing, duty demands it . . . strength for their labor, the Lord will provide." -
The music was growing louder, causing a throbbing behind his eyes as he drew closer to his goal. He was going to have one hell of a headache before the night was over.
With his heart pounding, Lee somehow reached the tent. Grabbing onto a thick support pole, he scanned the rows and rows of worshipers. The visual search failed miserably. He'd never spot Amanda in this mob.
"Come - just as you are," summoned the preacher.
Lee watched, mesmerized as scores of people left their seats and streamed toward the altar. Maybe this could work, after all. If he headed to the front, Amanda may spot him.
Forcing his inebriated body to move, Lee joined the throng and staggered toward the railing. Converging rows of the faithful pressed against him in their steady procession down the aisles. Helpless to control the momentum, he was swept along by the tide of humanity surging toward the altar. Finally stumbling against the rail, his arms grappled for purchase.
"Lord, save this soul tonight," Reverend Armstrong prayed as his hands clasped the broad Stetson shoulders and forced him to his knees.
Lee's muscles tensed against the intrusion, but his weak resistance was no match for the strength of the burly minister. Instantly his knees buckled, slamming him against the railing. "A-man-da," he moaned.
And suddenly she appeared. "Lee, I'm here," she whispered against his ear. Leaning over him, her warm breath caressed his bruised cheek and her cool fingers stroked his throbbing brow. "Hang on, sweetheart. Just hang on."
Reassured by her presence, Lee reached for her hand and claimed it as his salvation.
Dropping to her knees, Amanda pressed her side close to his. "We'll play along until the hymn is over."
The choir continued its medley. "Touched by a loving heart, wakened by kindness, chords that were broken will vibrate once more."
Sagging against his devoted partner, he trembled uncontrollably.
"Lee, are you all right?"
"No," he rasped, his mouth so dry he could barely say the word. A dark sense of foreboding gripped his mind. Somehow he had to warn her. "Get us out of here, Amanda, before Armstrong's thugs grab us."
"It's going to be okay," she assured him as she draped an arm across his shoulders. "We're going now."
Another hand touched his back, and he heard a feminine voice he couldn't quite place.
"Amanda, what are you doing?"
"Mother, he's hurt. Please help me."
"Mother?" he mouthed. It must be Dotty West.
"We have to try to get him up," Amanda instructed. "Now lift on the count of three - one, two, three."
He felt his legs give leverage as he pushed against the railing. Then with both women tucking an arm around his waist, he miraculously rose and put one foot in front of the other. Locked together, they maneuvered through the crowd toward a side exit. With the strains of another hymn filling the tent, the faithful threesome disappeared into the sacred cover of night.
"Leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms . . . Safe and secure from all alarms . . . Leaning on the everlasting arms."
Lean on Me When You're Not Strong
"Amanda, why are we getting into a trailer?" Struggling to support the sagging frame of the very docile one hundred and eighty pound man, Dotty was beside herself. She was clearly at her wits end with their 'Good Samaritan' effort. "What are you doing with a recreational vehicle, anyway? Two years ago, it was a motorhome showing up in our driveway, and now you produce an Airstream."
"Mother, we don't have time to argue." Holding up a set of keys, she pointed out the identification. "See, the tag says Leroy Simpson. He asked me to bring him to his trailer. Now let's get him inside and lay him down."
"I think we should call an ambulance," Dotty said as they helped Lee through the door and eased him to the sofa bed. "Mr. Simpson has been in some kind of accident."
"Let's check him over and offer some first aid before we decide about a hospital." Amanda shook her head in disbelief. The whole evening was positively surreal. It must have taken an act of God to bring the three of them together at the exact same moment in time. Now she'd have to tap dance around her mother's inquisition while she tended to her partner and planned an escape from the campground.
"Mother, there are some clean dish towels by the sink. Would you wet a couple, please? And check the cabinets for medical supplies."
"I'll keep her busy," Amanda murmured to Lee. "If she's distracted, I can tend to you."
"Uh, huh," he replied, more dazed than aware.
Noting his precarious position, Amanda maneuvered his body, trying to straighten him out.
"Oh, God," he moaned, wincing in pain when she repositioned his legs.
"Sorry, Lee." Was there any place she could touch him without inducing agony?
"Amanda," Dotty called from the sink, "you certainly seem at home in this trailer. Are you sure, it's not yours?"
"Mo-ther, of course it's not mine."
In a frenzy of motion, Dotty opened and closed cupboards.
Relieved that her mother was occupied, Amanda gently examined Lee's face and head. "Someone certainly went to great pains to rearrange Leroy Simpson's handsome features. There are cuts along your brow and hairline that may need stitches. Your nose is swollen and your left cheek is badly bruised. And to finish off your new look, there are lovely shiners blooming around both eyes. Can you tell me who used you as a punching bag?"
"Ushers," he rasped through gritted teeth. "Bubba Bliss was there, too."
"But why did they come after you?"
"They're onto us. They suspect we're spying on their operation."
Amanda absently ran a hand through his hair.
"Ouch," he yelped, as she found the knot in his scalp.
"Oh, I'm so sorry." Pulling her hand away, Amanda pressed for me information. "Lee, where is Agnes?"
"They grabbed her, too," he said, his voice filled with remorse. "When we left the trailer, the thugs came at us with guns. They dumped her in the backseat of a car and threw me in the trunk. I never saw her again."
"Oh, Lee, that's awful."
Tugging on her hand, he tried to get up. "Amanda, we can't stay here. We have to escape before the revival ends."
"I know; we'll leave soon," she said, holding his shoulders down. "Once the music stops the campground will be flooded with worshippers and ushers." With a sense of urgency, Amanda resumed her examination with a little too much vigor.
As she probed his chest, Lee recoiled from her touch. "Amanda, stop."
"I'm sorry, but I need to get a better look." Determined to catalog his injuries, she worked the buttons of his shirt until she exposed his chest. Carefully running her fingers across his ribs, she pressed gently. "Does this hurt?"
"Oh, God, yes," he groaned.
Continuing to trace a path across his flesh, she felt a blush move up her neck. She wondered if he was affected by her touch. It certainly seemed rather intimate to her mind. Taking a peek at his face, she saw him watching her intently. At least he wasn't objecting.
Shaking off her fleeting embarrassment, she opened the cuffs of his shirt and pushed the sleeves up his arms. "There're several bruises here. I think they're needle marks. You probably have drugs in your system."
"Yeah, I figured that out. My brain feels like it's been fried."
"Okay, here you go, darling." Dotty suddenly materialized with an armload of first aid items. "I also brought ice."
"Thank you." Amanda deliberately positioned herself between her mother and Lee, hoping to conceal her patient from prying eyes. Securing the ice pack against his injured scalp, she tried to reassure him. "I'll be gentle."
As she dabbed at the blood along his hairline, Lee closed his eyes and drifted off. He grew so still, she wondered if he'd fallen asleep or lapsed into unconsciousness. Lord, she hoped he didn't have a concussion, too.
"Darling," Dotty interrupted, startling Lee to wakefulness. "Your stint as a Cub Scout den mother paid off in spades. You certainly know how to patch-up every kind of wound."
"Being a mother of two rough and tumble boys taught me a lot about wound care."
Dotty bumped against her daughter's back, trying to get a better look at the proceedings. "It occurred to me that Mr. Simpson looks a little like our new neighbor down the street."
"Who would that be?" Amanda asked, not wanting to go where her mother was going.
"Darling, you know perfectly well that I'm referring to Mr. Sampson, the neighborhood hunk.
"Oh, yes, I do remember the new single man down the street."
"Really, Amanda, don't play dumb with me." Turning her attention to their patient, Dotty changed tactics. "Mr. Simpson, did you by any chance rent the Cooperman house on Maplewood Drive?"
"Ah, no," he said, his face a mask of confusion.
"Mother," Amanda cautioned, "I think you have the wrong person."
"Well, darling, Simpson and Sampson sound so much alike, I thought maybe we'd gotten his name mixed-up. Don't you see the resemblance? They both have very strong profiles."
"Sorry, Mother, I can't compare the two men - you know, feature for feature."
Dotty tried to peer over Amanda's shoulder. "It's hard to see the similarity tonight, but there's something vaguely familiar about you, Mr. Simpson. Do you have good posture?"
"Huh?" Lee stared back at her as if she was speaking Portuguese.
"Come to think of it," Dotty continued, ignoring his feeble response, "I haven't seen Mr. Sampson lately. What a shame. I had so hoped we could ask him to dinner."
Amanda rolled her eyes, while nodding in agreement. "That would be nice, Mother, but I think Mr. Sampson has vacated the Cooperman house."
"Honestly, darling, what man would move into a house one month and then be gone the next? It's too bad," Dotty lamented. "The sight of that gentleman picking up his morning paper made me look forward to my daily jog."
Amanda laughed. "You're right about that. I think Mr. Sampson's presence inspired a lot of Maplewood Drive women to take a morning run."
"Well, when we get home, dear, I think we should investigate the whereabouts of Mr. Sampson. One minute the man drops into the neighborhood like some extra terrestrial being and then suddenly vanishes into thin air."
"Mother, I think we'd better leave it alone. There could be any number of reasons for his disappearance . . . I mean absence."
"See, that's just what worries me," Dottie said with motherly certitude. "You lack curiosity, darling."
"I know, Mother, but, for now, let's just put the Cooperman tenant to bed . . . ah, I mean, let's put the subject to rest."
Dotty shook her head in defeat. "It's your life, Amanda. Far be it from me to interfere with my daughter's choices. I just think you need to take some risks . . . look for some excitement."
"Yes, well, I think we have all the excitement we can handle right now." Amanda was determined to put the brakes on her mother's runaway observations. "It's time for the three of us to hit the road."
Dotty held out a red and white bottle. "Maybe before we go, you should give Mr. Simpson some Tylenol for his aches and pain."
"Good idea, Mother."
Amanda emptied two pills into the palm of her hand and reached an arm under Lee's shoulders. "Do you think you can sit up a little?"
Lee managed to raise his head and brace himself with his elbows.
Dotty reappeared with a glass of water in hand. "Here you are, Amanda." Handing over the offering, she hastily began gathering up the first aid items.
Placing the tablets on Lee's tongue, Amanda held the glass to his lips. As droplets of water traced a path down his chin, she wiped his face with her fingers. "There you go," she said as she eased him back down. "That should relieve some of your pain."
Lee studied her intently and reached to close his large hand around her arm. "Thanks." Silently, his eyes conveyed messages of trust and affection that he'd never put into words.
Amanda flinched at the honesty in his open face. He looked totally vulnerable with his Scarecrow façade in taters and his upper body laid bare. Unmasked, Lee Stetson's raw need reached straight to her soul.
Flustered by their unspoken exchange, she hastily buttoned his shirt. Then laying a hand against his cheek, she gazed into his hazel eyes one more time.
"So, are you ready, darling?" The spell was broken as Dotty inserted herself into their private moment.
Taking a calming breath, Amanda turned to address her mother. "It's time to transport our patient to the hospital. I think he needs to be checked for broken bones and a concussion."
Grabbing her purse, Dotty suddenly balked. "Oh dear God, we forgot all about Agnes. I have to find her. She'll need a ride home."
Amanda looked at Lee in alarm.
He struggled to turn his head toward Dotty. "Ah, no," he said, his voice rough with pain. "I saw Mrs. Ferguson leave. She found a ride with someone else."
"Oh, that woman," Dotty complained. "She probably attracted a new beau tonight."
"Let's hope not." Amanda sighed, wondering if Agnes' latest interest was a certain secret agent. Shaking off her discomfiture, she quickly grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa and gingerly spread it over Lee's long form. "We're going to get you out of here," she said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
Lee's expression was filled with unasked questions as he barely managed a weak nod.
Heading for the door, Amanda made one last request. "Please hang on tight, just in case our ride gets a little rough."
TBC:
Hymn References: "My Hope is Built," written by Edward Mote in 1834, "Rescue the Perishing," written by Fanny Crosby in 1869, "Leaning On the Everlasting Arms," written by Elisha A. Hoffman in 1887
