Chapter 18
It was freezing cold that morning, so several people were staying in their tents to hide from the cold. They'd managed to clean all the sheets they were given and get them all distributed before it got really cold outside. The only one's who'd been outside for any stretch of time was Jacob, Embry and Quil. They were tasked with going outside and gathering their stored potatoes, salmon jerky, and some pots filled with snow so everyone could make themselves some food while confined inside. Jacob returned to his own tent last with the last of the potatoes and other supplies. Renesmee was wrapped in the new blanket and the knitted blanket to keep warm.
"I'll be honest, Jacob," Renesmee said, "I kind of miss the insulation of a brick or wood house."
"It's warmer in here than it is outside," Jacob said. He rested the pot full of snow down and rested the potatoes to the side. Then he walked over to Renesmee and let himself into the blankets.
"Oh God, you're freezing," Renesmee whined.
"I'll warm up soon enough," he answered with a smile. "And once I warm up, so will you."
"I'd better," Renesmee joked. "Are you hungry?"
"Starving," Jacob answered. "Cooking will warm this place up I'd say."
"I'm staying under the blanket for now. You get the fire started and nibble on some salmon in the mean time." With a smile, Jacob eased out of the blanket and went to their fire pit while Renesmee kept bundled up. While Jacob worked, Renesmee took a deep breath and decided to finally ask the question she wished she didn't have to ask. "Do you think they'll come back?" Jacob stopped a moment then returned to working without looking at her.
"If they do, we'll deal with them." Once the fire was lit, Jacob turned around to look at Renesmee. "Do you still want to be here with me?"
"Yes," she answered bluntly. She opened the blankets and invited Jacob over. He snuggled up to her as they laid down together under the covers.
"I love you," Jacob said.
"I love you too."
They shared a brief kiss before Jacob started kissing Renesmee's chin all the way down her neck. Renesmee's head fell back allowing Jacob more ready access while she kept the blankets closed around them. At first, while Jacob was kissing her neck and licking tenderly, he wasn't terribly concerned about the blankets constraining them. He did mind, however, when he wanted to pull off her dress and her arms around him keeping the blankets up was making it impossible.
"Adjust the blankets," Jacob whispered into Renesmee's chest after unsuccessfully pulling at her dress.
"It's too cold still," she complained.
"Aren't I warming you up?" Jacob joked with a kiss on her neck.
"That's why I don't want to come out from under the covers." They shared a laugh until Jacob kissed her chin.
"I suppose I'll have to work around that, then."
Rather than pull her dress down at the shoulder like he'd initially intended, Jacob instead reached down and pulled her dress up. He kept kissing Renesmee's neck and chest as he maneuvered her dress up as far as he could manage. Eventually, he got her dress up over her breasts so he could give them adequate attention. Moving his head down to her breasts left Jacob completely under the covers. His kisses to her nipples combined with his breathing made a delightful heat source on Renesmee's chest that made her release a contented sigh. Also while Jacob kissed her breasts, his right hand wandered down between her thighs and started rubbing her most sensitive spot.
Jacob's finger remained where it was until she felt wet and slick to the touch. When she was, Jacob poked his head back up above the blankets and started kissing her tenderly. He reached down to remove enough of his own clothes so he could enter her. Renesmee kept a firm hold of the blankets while she sighed from the feel of him. Jacob did his best to move without disrupting the blankets too much, but after a few thrusts, he tired of it.
"We're moving the blankets," he ordered. Then Jacob lifted the both of them up, never leaving her, and moved the blankets around while Renesmee held onto him. The adjusted position caused her to whimper and she released the blankets from her hands to instead wrap them around his neck. When the blanket was on his back, Jacob rested both of them back down.
Renesmee pulled the blankets back up, but this time Jacob had more freedom to move inside her. Now that she wasn't focusing on holding the blankets, Renesmee dug her fingers into his back. A few thrusts after that, Jacob brought his right hand up to Renesmee's left hand and took it off his shoulder so he could lace his fingers through hers. He planted their hands on the ground and Jacob used that stability to lift himself up a little bit and give himself more range of movement. Renesmee's head remained held back and her eyes shut as Jacob moved and she moaned with each movement. Jacob looked at her as he moved and thought how beautiful she is, how much he loves her, and that no one would force her from him. No matter what, even if someone came to the tribe looking for her again, Jacob would make sure they didn't take her from him. Renesmee reached her climax shortly before Jacob did and once they were spent, they rested on each other for a moment. Renesmee stayed beneath Jacob, finding him to be the best blanket anyone could ask for.
"Have you warmed up?" Jacob asked.
"M-hm," was all Renesmee said back. She was contented and didn't want to move or really do anything. She ended up looking at the pot and noticed the water wasn't boiling yet. "I'll cook you some potatoes," she continued. "Just wake me when the water's boiling." Jacob smiled and kissed her forehead.
"Alright."
That unfortunate cold front lasted about three days. It was three days of relentless cold front making the pack the only ones that could stand to be outside for any prolonged period, though even they couldn't stand to be out long enough to go on patrol. Once it was finally warm enough to be outside with greater comfort, Jacob, Quil and Embry came outside first to clear away the snow so everyone could move around more easily. After clearing the snow, the pack walked around, tapping on people's tent doors letting them know the snow was clear and they could come outside. Jacob ended the route at his own tent and just let himself in. Renesmee was just as he'd left her: snuggled under the covers. She'd gravitated towards the fire Jacob had started before leaving as well. Jacob kneeled down and kissed Renesmee's forehead to wake her up.
"We cleared the snow," he said when she began to move her head and groan.
"Did you?" she answered.
"It's alright to move around outside now."
"That's good," she mumbled from under the blankets. Jacob chuckled and let himself under the covers with her and despite the shiver he caused from initially being cold to the touch, Renesmee cuddled up to him.
"You still tired?"
"A little," she answered. "I've just been a bit groggy."
"Groggy?" he asked, not recognizing that word.
"It's just another way to say tired." Renesmee rubbed her nose on Jacob's chest. "I'll get out of bed in a minute."
"Take as long as you want."
They stayed in bed together another ten minutes before leaving to assist with chores for the day. Renesmee went to Sokajili's tent first, but he shooed her away, claiming it was far too cold to be out of one's blankets. Renesmee laughed a little at him and let the old man have his sleep. Renesmee noticed Claire sitting next to her mother practicing the song the Meat Monger had taught her. Renesmee recognized the tune vaguely as a southern dance song played at parties or gatherings. She remembered soldiers would walk around the sick ward with fiddles ready to play such songs for soldiers that were home sick or as their last request before the gang green eventually killed them. It was the reason such an upbeat tune made her sad. Since the Meat Monger's visit five days ago, Claire had practiced the song and had managed to get good at one verse, forgetting the rest of it unfortunately. Renesmee went back to her tent to grab her own violin and sat down next to Claire so they could practice.
Claire's mother had not, at first, been too terribly pleased with her daughter obtaining such a noisy toy. But since the little girl was expressing such a liking and since she was beginning to sound much better, her mother had fewer objections. Given the relentless cold, their lesson wasn't as long as usual. They moved it to her tent so they could practice inside, but the chill still had her little fingers feeling a little numb. Renesmee promised that when they practiced tomorrow, they would start inside and it wouldn't be as difficult.
Further from the tribe and perhaps halfway to Forks, though it was likely further from halfway, Sgt. Lovejoy, his men and Peter were confined to an obliging cabin closer to the mountains. They'd left the morning after Sgt. Lovejoy received the telegram just as he'd promised, but he'd not anticipated the harsh cold front. They were lucky enough to happen upon a cabin on their way with an owner that was stuck in the middle of nowhere himself. With a hot fire, plenty of food and whiskey available to them and a joyous man with card games on the brain, the stay as a whole wasn't terrible, but Peter was understandably irritated. Though he never once voiced his discontentment. Regardless of how irritated he was, it was more at the weather than at Sgt. Lovejoy. The man had kept his word in leaving immediately after receiving the telegram about his wife's whereabouts. The only thing holding them and their horses back now was a relentless cold front.
"So how long have you been hunting for this young lady?" the man, he'd called himself Roger, asked after being shown the picture of Mrs. Wallis when he'd asked what possessed them to travel this far out in this kind of weather.
"Goodness," Harrison started, looking at his cards, "since late summer."
"She was abducted from his home," Roger nodded his head towards Peter, who was sitting at the table with the men but choosing to refrain from playing poker, "back in Hoquiam and you're looking for her all the way out here? Indians are crafty little thieves, but they're hardly equipped with magic carpets to travel vast distances."
"These Indians might be. We got a tip from the Mayor in Forks that the Quileutes might have her. They didn't actually see her, but they saw plenty of compelling evidence."
"Oh dear," Roger said followed by some bustle from the horses they'd forced into the cabin with them. "Well, you be careful. I've not had to deal with them personally but I've had lengthy talks with Mitch, the general store owner up in Forks, and let me tell you: those mother fuckers don't take anything lying down. They damn near killed the man over beef!"
"What on earth is there to argue about over beef?" Mitchell asked.
"I think the beef was poor quality if I recall what Mitch told me."
"Beef is beef," Sgt. Lovejoy said. "You'd think they'd be grateful to get any beef at all."
"All I'll say is you guys be wary of them. I'm told the son of the chief is a beast. I'll say Mitch is a rather tall man. That boy dwarfs him from what I hear. Hell, so does his father as the story goes!"
"Tall isn't really worth much as far as I'm concerned. It just makes you easier to shoot," Sgt. Lovejoy replied and the table shared a laugh. Even Peter managed the smallest semblance of a chuckle.
"I also hear," Roger continued, "that among them are half-blood children. Their mother was Quileute and their father German."
"No, shit?" Mitchell said. "Do they speak any German? I hardly ever get to speak it these days save for when I'm at home."
"You're German?" Sgt. Lovejoy asked.
"My mother is," Mitchell answered. "She grew up in Nuremburg and came to America when she was a young woman living with her brother. Her maiden name was Jagger. That means hunter, by the way," Mitchell said proudly.
"Well, you learn something new every day," Roger said.
"You never told me you were German," Sgt. Lovejoy said.
"You never asked, sir." Everyone laughed again.
"I suppose that's my own fault." Sgt. Lovejoy returned his attention to Roger. "So what else has Mitch told you about these savages?"
"I know the two half children are the only ones that speak English."
"As long as one of them speaks properly, I'm happy," Sgt. Lovejoy said before taking a sip of whiskey.
"I don't know if I'm allowed to ask this question," Roger went on, "but what'll happen if that young lady isn't there?"
"Not there as in she's not in their possession or not there as in she's dead?" Sgt. Lovejoy asked for clarification. The mentioning of dead made Peter hold his head down.
"Oh now, now, don't listen to me," Roger jumped in. "I'm sure she's alright. Forget I even asked that question."
"It's alright, Roger," Peter managed.
"We'll be thorough in searching the grounds. Don't you worry, Peter, we'll find her no matter what it takes. If we don't find her, we'll make sure those responsible get their comeuppance."
"Well, I certainly hope you find her. She's such a pretty little thing; it'd be a dreadful shame not to find her. You're a lucky man to have such a beauty as your wife, Peter."
"Thank you for saying," Peter answered.
"Come on, now, let's get back to the game," Harrison stepped in. "Is anyone good to fold?"
"I say we go one more round before we fold," Mitchell said. "My hand is absolute shit."
"If that's the case, I say we fold." Mitchell appeared disheartened as all the men folded their cards. But when the cards were down, Mitchell displayed a bright smile at his full house. "Son of a Bitch!" Harrison yelled and Mitchell just laughed.
"You just never learn," Mitchell joked, pulling the small pile of quarters and nickels in the middle of the table towards him. "How much did we get this up to? $10?" Mitchell laughed again.
"You've just cheated me out of 3 dollars, Harrison," Roger grumbled, though he really was laughing just a little.
"Even after all this time, he can't read my poker face for shit."
"Hell, I can't read your poker face," Sgt. Lovejoy said. "It's why I much prefer to not play poker with you."
"It's the price you pay," Mitchell said. "I have to say, this is the most I've enjoyed myself since we arrived in Hoquiam."
"I'm sure the $10 weighing down your pocket has added a little swish to your step," Harrison grumbled.
"It's more than that. It's just the first time we've all really relaxed, even Peter." Peter looked at Mitchell before returning to looking at the table.
"Well of course," Harrison said. "He can't very well blame us for the unfortunate drop in temperature."
'Honestly, boy, don't be so insensitive," Roger came to Peter's defense. "For a beautiful little thing like that, I'd start barking bloody murder too. Don't fault the poor man for being upset."
"Thank you," Peter said to Roger.
"Think nothing of it, Mr. Wallis. I'm sure this cold front will pass soon. Then you can make it to Forks in about two or three days. The trip's shorter in the summer of course, but I suppose that goes without saying."
"After all this, I'm eager to meet Mrs. Wallis. Beauty aside, she must be an angel for how much trouble her husband's willing to go through to get her back," Sgt. Lovejoy said. "I begged the man to wait at home, but he simply refused to."
"Brave man," Roger patted Peter on the back.
"A stupid man," Harrison sighed.
They were confined to that cabin for several days. When the cold front finally subsided, they were stranded another few days waiting for the temperature to warm up enough so they could clear away the snow and have the horses traveling safely. When they finally did leave, Sgt. Lovejoy thanked the man for his generosity and begged his pardon for any 'mess' the horses left behind that they simply couldn't clean. They had made an effort to take the horses outside to do their business whenever it was apparent they were in need, but there really was only so much one could do with an animal they never imagined would have a need for house breaking.
From there, the trip to Forks was another three miserable, grueling days of camping out in the snow next to a rush built fire with the men interchanging turns to stay awake and keep watch. When they finally did reach Forks, they went to the only inn in town and begged for shelter. Upon announcing who they were, the innkeeper provided them all a room and advised where they could rest their horses, already having been told by the Mayor that these gentlemen would be coming.
The first act of business was to get proper sleep in a proper bed. Even Peter didn't argue with that. The journey to Forks had been so draining that he was a dead man walking, barely capable of anything but wobbling around in search for a spot to rest his head. Lovejoy and his men were of equal wariness.
It was the first time in a long time that the people of Forks had anyone new come to their little town. They were used to the same two or three tradesmen that came and went so the arrival of Sgt. Lovejoy and his men had everyone bustling with curiosity. No one aside from Mitch, Robert and the Mayor knew exactly what was going on. The innkeeper had only been told to expect Sgt. Lovejoy and that it was regarding urgent business. Rumors spread rapidly over what that serious business could possibly be. Some people were arguing that the Mayor had asked for soldiers to be sent to help them reign in the Quileutes. Others had heard that it was regarding a young woman, or so Robert had disclosed to his doctor. Some said it was a beautiful young woman that had been kidnapped and they were searching for her. Others said it was a devious, misbehaved young girl who'd ran away from home. From sheer exhaustion, the men slept for nearly two full days, but when they awoke, they were met by several curious townspeople. Specifically, the innkeeper's wife was very hungry for juicy gossip to feed to her friends.
"So, gentleman," Debra, the innkeeper's wife, began while she poured Sgt. Lovejoy his first cup of coffee, "what brings you to our small town? We hardly ever get visitors for anything but goods to sell."
"We're looking for someone," Sgt. Lovejoy answered. "This gentleman here," Lovejoy pointed at Peter, "had his wife stolen late last summer by Indians and we've been searching tribes high and low for her."
"Goodness me!" Debra exalted, though admittedly more due to the fact that it had been her rumor that had proved accurate. "Where was she taken from?"
"Our farm in Hoquiam," Peter answered.
"Hoquiam?" Debra said with less vigor. "She was taken from Hoquiam and you're looking for her here?" Everyone at the tablet took a deep breath. They were growing quite tired of hearing that God forsaken question.
"We, of course, searched for her at tribes closest to Hoquiam first. But no matter how much we looked and no matter who I've spoken with, none of them had seen her or knew where she was. I've even searched their graves and found nothing."
"Goodness," Debra said. "How do you suppose she would've been brought here of all places? As far as I know, those Indians only do business with us and each other."
"Please remind me," Sgt. Lovejoy said, "how many tribes do you have near you?"
"Three that I'm aware of. The Hou tribe, the Makka and the Quileute. The Hou and Makka tend to be a touch more agreeable, but it's hardly measurable. The only difference it the Hou and Makka tribesmen have never nearly killed poor Mitch over beef."
"Yes," Sgt. Lovejoy chuckled, "we've heard about that. We had the pleasure of staying with a Roger Laurence on our way here."
"Oh, Roger!" Debra grinned, "He is a darling that man! I'm pleased you got to meet him."
"We were too," Sgt. Lovejoy replied. "He gave us plenty a mouthful about the Quileute tribe."
"Oh," Debra shuttered, "they're devils, all of them. They're so mean and simply no pleasure to interact with. I've not spoken to them myself, mind you, but Mitch speaks with them far more often than anyone would ever care to. I've only ever spoken with one member of their tribe. Uileila was the girl's name."
"And how did you happen to become acquainted with this Uileila woman?"
"Hugo Jagger had married her," Debra answered.
"Wait, Hugo Jagger?"
"Yes, Hugo Jagger. He came to America from Germany I think he said. A very nice man! He moved here after his sister got married and became a fisherman."
"Well, holy shit, it really is a small world. My mom is from Germany and she came here with her brother and married my dad maybe a year after they all arrived in America. Her maiden name was Jagger."
"My, oh my, it certainly is!" Debra chirped.
"So your uncle married an Indian?" Harrison raised an eyebrow.
"We all tried to talk him out of it," Debra went on with a sigh. "But he would not be swayed. Love truly is blind. I can't even recall how those two met. Something about him being out hunting and swearing he'd seen an angel after shooting down a deer. The man had been smitten."
"How is my uncle then?" Mitchell asked.
"Why, he's dead. I nearly got off topic! That Uileila may have seemed a blossoming beauty with a sweet smile and a big heart, but she birthed little monsters. They had two children, Leah and Seth. I shall admit, Hugo was always a heavy drinker, but it certainly was no reason for his daughter to shoot him!"
"His daughter shot him?" Peter looked up perplexed. "How could a little girl shoot her father?"
"Well, I wasn't on the scene when it happened, but from what I've been told, Hugo and Uileila were dead on the floor and the children were missing. Why, we were all in a panic! 'Where are the children? Where are the children?' Well, Mitch had seen them go in the direction of the Quileute tribe, Leah covered in blood! We followed after them and found them with the tribe, and they simply would not give the children back to us! Leah was spouting absolute nonsense while her poor little brother was crying his little heart out calling for mommy and daddy. Leah claimed Hugo was about to kill them! Complete nonsense!"
"Such a sad story," Sgt. Lovejoy mumbled, thoughtful.
"Oh my," Mitchell. "This won't be pleasant news to give my mother."
"And to think those rats are your cousins," Harrison joked.
"Debra," the innkeeper came over with their food, "you should know better than to spread vicious gossip. You might not have seen Hugo at his worst, but I have and that man could be a monster when on the booze. In truth we all hoped Uileila would knock some sense into the man. I understand times were tough for him back home, but he was in America. Land of the free and the brave."
"How tough were things back in Germany?" Debra interrupted. "Surely your mother must have said something. Hugo simply would never tell us why life had been so hard back home. He only said he drank to make the memories go away."
"Well," Mitchell rubbed the back of his head, "I only know what mother would tell me. She didn't like talking about home either. When my father spoke of Ireland, he complained of war tearing the country apart, yet he always had a happy story to tell. Mother: she had none to tell from what I recall."
"Good heavens," Debra said. "Please explain."
"Honestly, Debra," the innkeeper said before walking away, having given everyone their breakfast.
"Well," Mitchell sighed, "from what mother told me, she and her brother had a bad upbringing. Evidently grandpa was a taxidermist and he used to do things with the bodies he stuffed." Mitch got uncomfortable. "Honestly, mom wouldn't tell me much after that. She said grandma had left grandpa but grandpa had taken back mom and her brother. They stayed with him for years until they ran away from Germany. Grandma came to America later."
"How does your grandpa being a taxidermist make for a terrible childhood?"
"Like I said, mother wouldn't tell me much. I asked dad once if mom had told him anything and he just said to me, 'young man, there are some things in this world that are best left alone. I'm afraid that's one of them.'"
"And here I thought I might learn about the mysteries of Hugo's childhood," Debra sighed.
"Sorry to disappoint you Debra," Mitchell said. "Though if my mother simply couldn't stand to explain what she and Uncle Hugo went through with old grandpa, it might be for the best that you not know either."
"I suppose so," she sighed. "I wonder if Leah or Seth would've known."
"Frankly, I doubt it."
"I'm afraid that's not important," Sgt. Lovejoy took a bite of his breakfast. "I'm more concerned about where the General Store is located. That is where this Mitch works is it not?"
"He owns the place," Debra laughed. "You finish your breakfasts and I'll show you right where it is."
Debra walked away and let them men enjoy their food. She didn't come back until they were done and she followed her husband to the table to get their dirty plates. She handed all the plates to her husband and asked the men to follow her outside so she could lead them to the General Store. It really was just a brief walk away. After showing them to the store, Debra excused herself and ran back to the inn where it was properly warm. Sgt. Lovejoy, Mitchell, Harrison and Peter let themselves into the general store. The oldest man there was sitting in the corner smoking a pipe while one man, they assumed it was Mitch, was standing at the front behind the counter looking through some finance books. He looked up at them with a smile, but it lightened when he realized he didn't recognize his patrons, assuming who they must be.
"Are you Sgt. Lovejoy and company?" Mitch asked, attempted to be humorous.
"Indeed," Sgt. Lovejoy answered. "I'll get right to the point, Mister, uh-"
"Just call me Mitch. Everyone does."
"Alright, Mitch. I'm to understand you're the one that went to the Quileute reservation am I right?"
"Yes, that was me, sir," Mitch answered. "And Robert of course. He used to be enslaved by the Quileutes, so he knows their language."
"A tragic thing for such a young man," Sgt. Lovejoy said. "Leave it to an Indian to take possession of something that simply isn't theirs." The men walked further in behind Lovejoy until they reached the counter. "Now I've already heard an earful from the Mayor in that telegram he sent us. I'm more interested in the tan woman you said you saw."
"Yes, she was much tanner than the others. She looked like those Indians you find closer to Nevada and Arizona."
"Really?" Sgt. Lovejoy looked at Peter. "Did your wife ever say where Caevia was from?"
"I never asked," Peter held his head down.
"When I asked about her, they told me she was a gift from another tribe as a repayment of debt. I suppose one of the tribesmen took a shine to her and married her and now the woman's pregnant."
"Did they say her name?"
"No, I fear I did not ask. They didn't really give me the opportunity to, actually."
"Suspicious," Sgt. Lovejoy responded.
"She spoke their language very well, too," Robert chimed in. They all looked at him. "But her accent was strange. It seemed like a dialect of the Quileute language."
"Well, that's odd," Mitch said.
"I also hear," Sgt. Lovejoy looking back at Mitch, "that these Indians are violent."
"They are if you trifle with them. As long as you just ride the wave, everyone walks away happy. The moment you so much as speak out of turn, they act out."
"Or punch you in the chest and damn near give you a fucking heart attack," Robert mumbled.
"Oh my," Sgt. Lovejoy said. "Proceed with caution in other words?"
"Extreme caution," Mitch clarified. "And the Chief's son, Jacob, he's the one you have to look out for. He speaks English now to boot. So now he's twice the pain in the ass. Leah used to be their sole interpreter."
"Leah Jagger, correct?"
"Yes," Mitch nodded. "I'm sure Debra gave you an earful on that."
"We got one from Roger too."
"You met Roger?"
"He gave us shelter on our way here. He told us that apparently Leah killed her father?"
"She didn't have a choice," Mitch came to Leah's defense. "Hugo was a violent drunk and he'd strangled their mother right in front of them from what I gathered from looking at the scene. It looks like Hugo had strangled Uileila and when he went for Leah and Seth Leah took her father's gun and shot him right between the eyes. After that, they ran to the tribe and the Quileutes refused to let the children go. Hell, Leah and Seth refused to come with us. Poor things were scared shitless."
"So it was self defense?"
"There's no other rational explanation. I was good friends with Hugo. He'd come to my shop with the children frequently and I'll tell you something: that little girl adored her father."
"I see why you defend Leah so seeing as you were friends with her father."
"Hugo was a good man when he was sober. It's when he drank that his demons seemed to get the best of him."
"Do you happen to know what happened back in Germany?" Mitchell asked. His response was a heavy sigh.
"I see Debra's gotten to you."
"I honestly want to know. My mother was Hugo's sister."
"No shit?"
"No shit. She refused to ever tell me what happened back home."
"And for damn good reason. Hugo has confided in me before about his childhood and he told me in the strictest confidence. I do know Uileila knew about everything and he'd asked her to keep quiet about it too."
"What did happen?" Mitch sighed heavily again at Mitchell's question.
"Long story short, their father was less than within his right mind and he used to exhume bodies from grave plots to study them. Hugo recalled times his father had kidnapped children and opened their chests while still alive. His father used to beat them relentlessly as well. He told me horror stories of how he'd lock them in the closet for days with no food, water, or means of sanitation. One time, his father made them dinner and forced Hugo to eat the food from the hot pan that he'd placed on his lap fresh off the fire. Their father had forced them from their mother's care when they were young and unfortunately the laws of Germany were not on her side. They didn't escape until Hugo was a teen and he took his little sister and ran."
"Good God," Mitchell mumbled, grabbing his chest. He almost wanted to cry. He wished he could be home and hug his mother, tell her everything was alright now. "No wonder mother never wanted to talk about it."
"Indeed," Mitch agreed. "We'd hoped marrying Uileila would help. And for a while it did. But whenever things got really tough, he'd resort to alcohol. It was the only release from reality the man had."
"Did Leah or Seth know?"
"No, and they're to never know," Mitch asserted. "It's bad enough I said something to the lot of you. But Hugo begged me never to mention this to Seth or Leah. He wanted better for the two of them. He didn't want his past atrocities to ruin their lives."
"It looks like they did regardless," Sgt. Lovejoy said. "So when can you show us to the reservation, Mitch?"
"I'll give you directions, but I'll not go with you. I'd prefer to keep our trading relationship intact. It's so fragile my going with you would almost certainly pull the rug right out from under our little arrangement."
"I understand," Sgt. Lovejoy said. "Do you suppose we could leave today?"
"Really?" Peter said, hopefully. He'd been certain Sgt. Lovejoy would insist on waiting until tomorrow.
"Yes, really. Don't you worry yourself, Peter. We'll have your wife back in no time."
"I didn't see Mrs. Wallis there, I'm afraid."
"Yes, but her touch has shown itself. Perhaps we're lucky and they've taken a bit of a shine to her and haven't harmed her."
"I'm sure she'll be relieved to come back home."
"What do you recommend we bring before we leave?"
"Just bring means of defense, but keep them out of site. Nothing pisses them off more than seeing white people armed. Also, make sure you speak with the Mayor before you leave. I think he said there was something he wanted you to take with you to the reservation."
"We'll stop by the Mayor's office before leaving, then."