Kathleen Woodiwiss: Come Love a Stranger

“Lierin! Lierin!” his mind screamed as his legs slowly crumpled beneath him. He had to save her! He had to! She was his life, and without her, naught else mattered. He collapsed upon the deck, and the night seemed darker than before as he labored to lift his head. Through a haze, he saw a snarling, bearded face with a mop of curly black hair hanging about it. The thief came forward with a long-bladed knife held ready, but somewhere a rifle discharged, and the brigand halted in sudden shock and gaped in disbelief as a ragged, bloody hole appeared in the side of his chest. His right arm fell limp, and as he stared, the knife slid out of his numb fingers. The darkness closed in around Ashton, and he never knew when the pirate staggered back down the stairs.

Lierin was not as fragile as she looked, and her determination to survive had flared strong in her mind. The thought had flashed through her consciousness that she had not found love so recently just to let it be rudely snatched from her grasp. She struggled valiantly to stay afloat as her once buoyant skirts threatened to drag her down again into the murky depths. But fight she did…until she saw the flash of the pirate’s pistol and her husband’s fall. The thief ran forward to ensure his work was finished, and her spirit died. Only a gnawing emptiness remained where joy and hope had been only a few moments before. The current caught her skirts and whirled her about as it dragged her into the shadows. The cold dark waters closed over her head a second time, and the struggle to rise above the surface became too much for her. She sank into the stygian void, and slowly her arms ceased their labor.

MARCH 9, 1833, MISSISSIPPI

A CIRCLING, confused wind had pelted the earth with a slashing rain for most of the day, but as night settled its ebon shroud upon the land, the driving storm and the erratic breezes abated. The countryside grew quiet in hushed relief. The very air seemed to hang in breathless suspense as an eerie white mist formed close upon the ground. The wraithlike vapors twined in aimless questing through the marshes and black-shadowed thickets, spreading ever onward, filling low hollows and rills and curling about massive trunks. High above the invading tendrils, gnarled branches waggled their mossy beards and sent small droplets plummeting into the roiling mass. Now and again the pale moon pierced the broken, scudding clouds and, with its silvered light, created an unearthly landscape of dark shapes rising from a luminous haze. A decrepit brick mansion, hugged by a cluster of trees in an overgrown yard and bounded on four sides by a tall, sharply spiked iron fence, seemed to merge with the small cookhouse in the rear. Together they drifted in the sea of fog as time slowed its passing. For a fleeting moment nothing moved and nothing stirred.

A squeak of hinges intruded into the silence, but the sound ended almost as quickly as it began. A bush twitched unnaturally by the back door, and a shadowy form cautiously emerged from behind the shrub. A waiting hush prevailed as the phantom carefully surveyed the enclosed yard; then like a large, winged bat the darkly cloaked figure flitted through the swirling vapors to the side of the house and settled beneath billowing folds at its base. There, the latticework between a pair of stone supports had been pulled away, and gloved hands hastily struck flint to steel over a small, sheltered mound of gunpowder. Sparks splashed outward until a sudden blaze flared up and became a cloud of dense gray smoke which mingled with the mists. Three slow fuses came to life in the flash and continued to glow after the powder was spent. Burning steadily, they trailed off in different directions beneath the house, meandering ever so slowly toward shallow, gunpowder-filled gullies that led to separate piles of oil-soaked rags and dry kindling. A nervous chittering and squealing grew as the fuses shortened, and as if sensing the approaching disaster, the furred denizens of the dank crawl space fled their burrows and nests to scatter abroad in the night.

The stealthy shadow retreated from the house and quickly crossed to the iron gate. A broken chain was lifted from it, and the earth-bound specter slipped through the opening and dashed toward the edge of the woods where a horse was tethered. It was a fine, tall gelding with a white star blazoned upon his forehead, an animal made for swiftness. Once astride, the rider held him in check, keeping him on the sodden turf to muffle the sound of their passage. When the need for caution was behind them, the quirt lifted and came slashing down, setting the steed to flight. Of a common hue with the night, the pair were quickly swallowed by darkness.

A deathlike stillness followed their passing, and the lonely house seemed to moan in sorrow for its impending doom. While jewel-bright raindrops fell like tears from its rotting eaves, a low, confused murmur began to drift from the house. Soft cries, distressed whimpers, and the mad, muted laugh of some demented soul shredded the night with haunting, mindless sounds. The distant moon hid its face behind a thick cloud and continued on its arc across the sky, heedless of time and these earthly things.

The triad of hissing serpents slithered with blind obedience along their prelaid paths until bright flashes marked their arrival at their goals; then larger heaps of gunpowder sputtered alight, suffusing the nearby mists with a pale, flickering yellow light. The fires jumped and spread as they feasted on the oiled rags and dry timbers, and soon the fresh-born flames licked hungrily at wooden floors. One of the front rooms began to show a dim light in the windows, and it brightened apace until the room was filled with a growing inferno and the black bars that covered the windows stood out in gaunt relief. The heat intensified, and the crystal panes burst, spraying shards of glass outward and allowing the flaming tongues to escape and lick upward over the brick walls.

The low, disconcerted moans that had come from the upper level became high-pitched shrieks of fear and deep-chested cries of outrage. Gnarled fingers clawed frantically at the bars, while bloodied fists smashed panes of glass. A heavy pounding sounded on the locked front door, and a moment later it crashed open, spilling forth a huge hulk of a man. He shielded his bald pate with both hands as if expecting to be struck down and scurried far out into the yard before he turned and stared in awe, much like a small child viewing some great spectacular event. An attendant escaped from the rear of the house and fled into the darkness, leaving the others to fumble in haste with reluctant keys and stubborn locks. Wailing cries and sobbing pleas came from those imprisoned behind locked doors, piercing even the loudening roar of the flames. One hefty hireling sought the release of those he could easily reach, while another of a slighter build was spurred to herculean effort by the sure knowledge that no one else would free the trapped inmates of the madhouse.

Soon a living stream of straggly, pitifully confused humans began to emerge from the burning house. They were garbed in various stages of dress; some had snatched shirts and gowns before being dragged or hustled from their cells. A few had seized their precious blankets and fared better for their foresight. Attaining safety, they huddled together in scattered groups like bewildered children, unable to comprehend what had befallen them.

Time and again the dauntless attendant braved the inferno to bring the helpless to safety until timbers began falling, blocking his way. Stumbling from the burning asylum for the last time, he carried a frail, elderly man out and dropped to his knees in the yard, where he gasped air into his aching lungs. Spent and exhausted, the attendant took no notice of the creaking gate or the several forms flitting through it. The escaping inmates fled into the brush, and the shadowy blur of their garments was quickly lost in the oblivion of darkness.