Hurricane Bridge, West Virginia. September 24, 1857                                                                            

      Katherine Vanderbilt sat quietly, dangling her bare feet over the bank into the crystal-clear waters of a small pond, feeling its cool waters lap at her ankles. Leaning back on her elbows, she turned her face up towards the warmth of the sun, splaying her fingers out in the tall grasses surrounding her. The leaves of the trees were changing colors signaling the coming of fall and she breathed deeply its cool, brisk air. Nibbling close beside her, her bay mare, Barley, pricked her ears, raising her head and snorted, tousling her stubby mane. Sensing no further danger, she bent her head back to the ground and continued in her assault on the green grasses and weeds.

      Trees encroached on the small pond that sat situated in a thicket of pines, oaks, and maples, creating a barrier between her father’s house and small hideaway. After she’d unceremoniously left her father’s house, grabbing Barley directly from the stables without having her saddled, she’d rode hard and fast across the cut hay field and into the line of trees furthest away from the house.

      The evening sky was warm against her face in contrast to the biting chill of the wind on her bare arms and feet. Her mind drifted back to the events of the day and she sighed. Why couldn’t she and her father ever agree on anything? Why must he be such a brute about this? It was unknown to her as to her father’s thoughts on what they’d discussed, but she knew that none of it was meant for her benefit. Anything to line his pockets with gold, she thought with a grimace.

      Her return this morning had been less than eventful. When the carriage had lumbered up the dusty driveway, Katherine had been near on fits of coughing and had protested the driver go anything further, choosing herself to walk the last few feet for fear of death by dust. Their kitchen maid, Cordelia, had hobbled out the door toward her waving her pudgy arms wildly.

      “Miss Katherine,” she’d said joyfully. “You’ve made it. How glad I am to see you.” The short, round woman hugged her tightly and then hurried her into the house which was alive with maids darting in and out of the kitchen carrying platters of food and decanters of wine. Their faces, nervous and twisted, stared blankly ahead of them, tears seconds from spilling down red cheeks.

      “How are things, Cordelia?” She’d asked once they’d found a quiet table to sit at. Cordelia glided around the kitchen piling a small plate with food for Katherine.

      “You must be famished, dear,” she’d said sitting the plate of biscuits and ham in front of her. “Here, eat up and then we’ll talk.”

      Cordelia’s eyes glittered as she looked at Katherine. Since her mother had died birthing her, Cordy had been the closest thing to a mother that Katherine had ever known and she loved her dearly. Cordelia came from a large family where everyone took care of everyone so it was no chore for her to take on another mouth to feed. Katherine’s father, Charles, had been ill-equipped at handling children. The sight of them made his lips twist in disgust. As soon as the doctor had confirmed her mother dead, he wasted no time procuring another maid to take care of her.

      Katherine ate quickly and smiled up at Cordy when her plate was empty. “Okay now,” she’d said wiping her mouth with her handkerchief. “What’s happened since I’ve been away?”

      “Well, Miss Katherine,” Cordelia had begun, clasping her hands in front of her. “Seems that your father has taken on an apprentice; young William Parsons. No one really knows where he came from, but he’s charmed your father, that’s for sure.”

      Cordelia had dropped her gaze from Katherine’s eyes and focused on her twitching thumbs.

      “What is it, Cordy? You can tell me.” She’d reached out for the woman’s wrinkled hands, taken one gently between her own and smiled at her, reassuringly.

      “Miss Katherine, there’s been a,” she paused, searching for the right word, “a rumor of sorts going around the manor. I hear all the young girls whisperin’ about it when they don’t think I can hear them.”

      Cordelia shook her head gently, her silver hair tossing about the sides of her head. “You’ll have to ask your father about that,” she’d said finally. “’Tis only a rumor, miss, and I don’t wanna get the lash for spreadin’ ill truths about Mr. Vanderbilt.”

      What a rumor it had been! Once she’d found her way to her father’s office, her interest was so piqued that she thought she’d die if she didn’t know. Thinking back now, she wished she’d never even heard the name William Parsons.        

      The sun, perched high in the sky, well above the tips of the pine trees surrounding her, signaled mid-day. The chill in the hair bringing her back to the present, she realized that soon she'd have to mount Barley and ride back home. As if hearing her name in Katherine’s thoughts, the mare lifted her head sharply and perked her ears, listening intently, eyes watchful and cemented in the direction from which they’d came.

      “What's the matter, girl?” Katherine asked, gathering her tucked skirts to stand. Laying her palm gently against Barley's large neck, she scanned the small outcropping of slate stone to the south where the mare's eyes and ears were currently fixed. Snorting loudly, the mare stamped her foot and bit her hoof into the rich soil.

      She could hear it now. Crackling of leaves and snapping of sticks just inside the line of trees connected to the slate stone. Instinctively, Katherine grabbed hold of the reins and mounted Barley with a practiced ease. “Not yet, old girl,” she said quietly, leaning her torso closer to the mare's back, ready to bolt whenever the time came.

      The rustling didn't cease but became louder the longer she waited and watched. Barley was becoming tense and Katherine knew that she would dash toward home if something scared her. “Easy, girl,” she said softly, patting the animal's broad shoulder soothingly.

      “...woman, I'd give 'er a good slap for sayin' such things to me.” A man. The voice was oddly pitched and low-toned as it floated harshly out of the trees into her ears.

      “Jonas Wilson, you know better than to say such things 'bout yer own wife, man,” came another voice from the trees. Pulling on Barley's reins, she guided her as quietly as she could into the adjacent tree line, all the while keeping her eye out for the two men.

      Safely hidden behind a patch of leafy oaks, Katherine dismounted and, still holding the reins, stood quietly, peering through the limbs. Two men, dressed in plain trousers and shirts that Katherine assumed has once been white, now stained heavily with mud and something red.

      Blood? Katherine held her breath, for fear of gasping too loudly and giving herself away.

      “She cain't 'ear me down 'ere,” the man named Jonas laughed gruffly, holding a hand to his rounded stomach. “And she's none likely to either if her filthy brother'd keep 'is blasted mouth shut for once.”

      The other man, bending down to the pond to fill his water bottle, chuckled and shook his head disapprovingly. “Well,” he said, standing to grip his counterpart by the shoulder, “if my brother-in-law could keep his blasted mouth shut then I wouldn't have to tell her anythin', now would I?”

      Katherine bit back a laugh as Jonas’s cheeks and neck reddened with anger as he slammed a fist into the other man's chest, knocking a heavy, choked exhale from his body. “Lord Almighty,” the man gasped. “What did ya do that for?”

      “Yer a foolish man, Isaac McLean,” said Jonas. “If you put half as much thinkin' in yer head as ya do in other matters, then ye'd be an alright feller.” The other man made no attempt and lashing back, but only laughed.

      “Well, now,” he said. “Momma always did say that mouth was gonna get me into more trouble that my name would.”

      Both men, now recovered, patted each other’s backs as they squatted next to pond and filled their pouches, dipping handfuls out for themselves as they prattled on and on about various things that Katherine couldn't hear.

      Brush cracked and snapped behind her. Barley, spooked by the noise, dragged the reins from Katherine's hands and barreled through the woods. Crazy horse!

      “Well, well, well,” came a voice from behind her. Sweaty, large hands grabbed her shoulders and roughly turned her to face a man twice her size and three times as ugly. Scraggly hair that pointed out at all ends, mud covered face and held sunken, bloodshot eyes, an upturned nose that was covered in crusted blood, and wide, wicked grin that held a mouthful of rotten, green teeth. Katherine shrieked and clawed at the man's arms. His chest rumbled with laughter as he picked her up, hauled her over his shoulder and carried her out, kicking and scratching, out of the cover of the trees and thumped her unceremoniously onto the ground in front of the two men still seated beside the pond.

      “Look at what I foun’t, boys,” the man said. Katherine pushed wildly at her skirts that had folded up around her chest and head. Scrambling to her feet, Katherine made for the brush. A hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her back and down onto the ground again. The man flipped her onto her belly and, after his none too gentle inspection of her posterior, tied her hands with pieces of cloth from his now torn shirt.

      Jonas eyed her thoughtfully as she maneuvered herself back onto her back and spoke first. “Pete, where'd ya find this little wench?”

      The man named Pete loomed over her, towering in his height and intimidating in his bulky appearance. “Foun’t 'er hidin' yonder in the oaks,” he said as he shot her a chilling glare. “I’d like to see ya try to get away again.” The lusty look of his bloodshot eyes pinned Katherine to the ground, unable to move or cry out.

      “What's yer name, little lassie?” Jonas asked, tipping his finger under her chin.

      Katherine bit his finger indignantly drawing a screech from Jonas's mouth and slap across her face. Tears pricked her eyes, burning the corners, but she was determined not to cry. Her eyes fell helplessly on the other man that sat across from them. How could a man sit by and watch a lady be treated this way? She pleaded with him.  

      "Please sir," she cried. "I won't tell anyone about this, just please let me go home."

      Jonas reared his hand back at her, causing her to flinch back onto the ground. "Shut yer mouth, woman! Ain't nobody goin' nowhere."

      Isaac, who’d spent the last few minutes looking her over, finally stood and pulled his steaming companion away from her before he could do anymore damage and bent down to her level.

       "Please sir," she cried. "I won't tell anyone about this, just please let me go home."

Jonas reared his hand back at her, causing her to flinch back onto the ground. "Shut yer mouth, woman! Ain't nobody goin' nowhere."  

      "I'm afraid, as badly as I hate to admit, that Jonas is right, miss," he said. "I just can't let you go back up to the big house and tell your pa about us being here. It'd be much too dangerous. For all of us." 

      His eyes glittered at her dangerously. What sort of men were these? Why were they traipsing around her father's property like a bunch of common thieves?

"Now," he said with a smirk. "You wanna tell us your name?"

      “No, I would not,” she replied dryly. If he was going to try to get anything out of her of her own freewill, then he was sorely mistaken.

      Isaac reached his hand out to her, but she knocked it away with her bound wrists and scooted further from the group. “What are we gonna do with you?” he said lowly as if thinking aloud. He rubbed absentmindedly at the stubble on his chin and looked her over. His face, though not unpleasant to look at, intimidated her with its various scars. He looked as though he’d been fighting all his life, for he did not seem much older than Katherine. Under his close examination of her face and body, however, she found she could no longer study the face in front of her. Embarrassed by what he might be thinking of this woman lying in front of him with her skirts pushed above her knees and tears that revealed pieces of her corset, Katherine averted her eyes and pushed the skirts down and around her feet, trying to form a protective barrier between her and these men.

      “I know what I’d like to do to ‘er,” said Pete. Katherine’s head shot up at the sound of his belt loosening from his trousers. The man was grinning from ear to ear, a mouthful of rotten teeth.

      “Don’t even think about it, Pete,” Isaac said, standing to face the other men. “If yer gonna come along with us, you best follow my rules. You’ll leave the lady alone. Ya already did enough damage slappin’ her around.”

      Pete stepped forward, clearly none too happy with Isaac’s display of authority. “I’ll do as I please, boy,” he fumed and stepped forward, pulling a large knife from his left boot.

      Isaac made a blurred movement and pulled a pistol from the back of his trousers, previously hidden by the tail of his shirt. “I don’t wanna kill ya, Pete,” he said. “But I will if ya start causing trouble and for disobeying direct order from my father.”

      “Just coz yer daddy’s in charge doesn’t make you nothin’,” Pete said.

      “You’ll not harm the lady, Pete,” Isaac said icily, glaring at the large man. “Now,” he pulled back the hammer on the pistol and aimed it at him, “I’ll thank ya to be puttin’ that knife away before ya hurt yerself.”

      Reluctantly, Pete stuffed the knife carefully back into his boot and said, with a glare toward Katherine, “Yer Pa can only protect ya so far, boy.”

      Pete grinned salaciously at her doing nothing to shield his desire to have what he wasn’t allowed.

      Katherine, no longer pinned to the ground with fear, gathered herself and bolted back toward the thicket Pete had brought her in from. A deft hand wrapped easily around her bicep and whirled her around. Isaac stood directly in front of her. Perhaps an inch away from her face. Katherine’s breath caught in her throat. She’d never been this close to a man before.

      “Easy now, girl,” he breathed, his eyes glistening at her. “Can’t have you runnin’ off, now can we?”

      Katherine’s mouth ran dry and her tongue felt like it had swollen three times its size, choking any rebuttal she had been forming. Heat rose to her cheeks and blossomed along her chest.

      “Please, sir,” she pleaded in a whisper. “I promise I won’t tell anyone that you were here. Please let me go.”

      Isaac clicked his tongue at her and wrapped his arm around her waist, hualing her up over his shoulder with a small grunt. “Sorry,” he said, but Katherine could tell by the rumble of muted laughter she felt in his back that he was anything but. “Can’t do that, miss. Ya might not keep yer word, then where would we be? The end of the hangman’s noose, I suspect.”

      His clear disregard for her angered Katherine. She clasped her hands together and thumped them hard against his back, causing him to huff a large breath of air. “Let me go, you brute!”

      Isaac’s back rumbled against her chest with laughter. “A brute, am I?”

      Katherine pushed her hair from her face with her bound hands and huffed. “Yes, a brute. Now put me down this instant.” It was a split-second decision that she wanted to undo as soon as she’d said it.

      “If you knew who my father was then you’d let me go.”

      “Och, is that right?”

      They were now moving slowly through the forest, back the way she’d watched them enter. Jonas in front pushing branches and watching for signs of disturbance in the forest floor; Isaac and Katherine in the middle; and Pete, lumbering slowly behind them staring at Katherine lustfully.

      “And who might yer father be, dearie?” Jonas chuckled from the front of the group causing Katherine’s temper to rise.

      “He just so happens to be Charles Vanderbilt.” The moment she said it, all three men stopped and eyed each other curiously. Pete clucked his tongue in thought.

      “Yer a Vanderbilt?” He asked with a glean in his eyes. “You mean to tell me yer daddy’s Charlie Vanderbilt? Richest man in Putnam County?”

      The look in his eyes and the shared looks between the men told Katherine that she should have kept her mouth shut, but her mother would have turned in her grave if she’d seen her daughter be kidnapped without any resistance, no matter how ill thought out it may be. That much she knew about her, albeit they were second hand accounts, but everyone always said her mother was a brave woman. She could rival any man, they’d said. A pity it had to be Charles Vanderbilt.

      Isaac jostled her on his shoulder and she slid slowly to the ground. His eyes searched her for false truths she assumed and then finally they settled and the left corner of his mouth rose into a crooked, half-smile. “What’s yer name again?”

      Katherine averted her gaze, focusing on the moss and dead leaves surrounding her feet. She’d counted fifteen small ants crossing over her bare foot before he spoke again. “I haven’t got all day,” he said, exasperated. “Tell me yer name.”

      He wasn’t playing anymore, that much she could tell. The fire in his crystal blue eyes terrified her in the deepest recesses of her body, chilling her bones, and –quite oddly, she’d thought– causing her heart to beat frantically.

      “Kate,” she finally said in a faint voice.

      Pete and Jonas sidled up beside their companion and set their eyes firmly on her. “Kate? Charlie got no daugh’er named Kate,” Jonas exchanged glances with Isaac, “does he?”

      Something flickered in Isaac’s eyes. Pity? Remorse? Katherine couldn’t be sure, but something was there as he looked at her, shaking and near on tears. The skies were now overcast with building rainstorms, a sure sign that if anyone were to come looking for her they’d be stuck indoors until morning. Droplets of fat rain rolled from the dark clouds and soaked her dress and hair. The chill of the air bit into the exposed skin of her shoulders and rattled her teeth. Katherine prayed to God that someone would come looking for her. Anyone would do as long as someone did.

      “Don’t reckon so,” Isaac sighed pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Turning his face toward the sky, he blew out a heavy exhale. “Kate, is it?” He said looking down at her. “Reckon it’s getting too cold out here for a lady,” he pushed wet strands of hair from her face, “if anyone comes lookin’ for ya, they’ll be stuck until the morning way this storm’s building. We’ll take ya to our camp so you can warm up by a fire and get some food in yer belly.”

      Katherine had no time to answer. They’d tramped through the wild undergrowth toward a row of small trees that hid their horses. She was pushed up to sit in front of Isaac who kept a firm grip around her waist. If it was remorse she’d seen in his eyes, she had been sorely mistaken. He still intended on kidnapping her. Her wrists were still bound and the leather pieces, now soaked with the rains, were cutting into her wrists, the friction creating raw patches over the skin.

      The rain still poured down on them and the night air became frigid. Trees howled with the wind around them, setting Katherine’s nerves on edge. She’d never been this far into the forest and had never bothered to even try. Townspeople always claimed that the forests outside of Vanderbilt Manor were haunted. Most people wouldn’t venture anywhere near her father’s house for fear of attracting some other-worldly demon into their lives. Katherine’s heart sank to her stomach and tears brimmed at her eyes. If someone was to come find her, it’d take them longer than one night to come this far and by then, she’d probably be dead.

Appalachian Mountains, West Virginia. September 25, 1857

      Katherine’s backside ached fiercely from being jostled around in the saddle all night long. They’d rode long and hard through the night to get to Isaac’s camp. She had no idea where they were, or even the remotest idea of how to get back from here. Her dress was soaked and she chilled deep in her bones. Being unused to the elements like this, Katherine feared that she’d most likely be dead long before anyone discovered she’d even disappeared.

      The camp was nestled snuggly within a patch of thick brush. Tents were spread out in a large semi-circle around a half-smoking campfire where a robust woman was roasting what looked to Katherine as a deer. There were only a few people there, scattered about the camp sharpening weapons, cleaning pistols, and eating parts of the cooking venison. Katherine thought they all look positively primitive with their long, shaggy hair and animal skin coats. Nothing like the high society she’d been raised in. Her father was never seen without his suit jacket and pocket watch.

      When they arrived, a large man stepped from a tent situated directly in the middle of the semi-circle. He was a kindly looking man with a long beard and greying hair atop his head, a rounded belly that jostled about as he walked toward them with a cheery look on his face.

      “Isaac, my boy,” he said heartily with a grin. “Glad to see you’ve finally returned.”

      Isaac slid off the horse, leaving Katherine alone, and walked to the man with his arms spread wide. They hugged tightly, patting each other’s back, and pulled away smiling. “It wasn’t without some scraps,” Isaac said coyly. “Met some Duncan’s down near Potters Creek. They made off with one of the horses, but we lessened them by two, at least.”

      The other men in the camp whooped at Isaac’s words, beating their fists against their chests with pride.

      So, that’s what the stains on their shirts were, Katherine thought.

      “And, uh,” the old man directed his gaze toward her. “Who might this be? A Duncan woman?”

      Isaac peered over his shoulder at her. If he told them her identity, they’d hold her ransom, but if they hated these Duncan’s as much as it seemed, ransom would be the least of her worries.

      “Not sure yet,” he said finally. “Found her out shiverin’ in the woods. Think she might have lost her horse and her way once the storms set in.”

      The older man’s eyes dropped to her bound wrists. “What’s with the straps?” He asked suspiciously.

      Isaac laughed. “Weel, ya see, she got a good lick in on Pete there,” he pointed toward the man now holding the reins to the horse she was still atop, “figured we’d bind her wrists so she couldn’t clout me o’er the head while ridin’ back here.”

      Katherine’s eyebrows knit together curiously. Why would Isaac lie about her identity? If he told them her name, they’d ransom her off to her father who had more than enough money lying around. Anyone would jump at the chance to get money out of Charles Vanderbilt. This man was a real mystery to her.

      Surveying the camp, Katherine could see no way out save the way they’d came in. The surrounding perimeter was guarded by men –possibly to keep the Duncan’s out, she thought. Her senses had been dulled by the rain and the cold from the night, but now, in the brimming light of the morning sun, she could see now more clearly where they were. She’d never been much in the way of a sense of direction, but a full night’s ride would put them at least thirty miles from her father’s house, but she had no idea what direction they’d taken and with all the hills they’d crossed, Katherine was becoming unsure of any kind of escape plan on her part.

      Feeling a hand on her bound fists, Katherine was pulled abruptly from her thoughts of escape. Isaac looked up at her with a blank expression and pulled her from the horse’s back, setting her roughly on her feet, and pulled her by the arm toward the edge of the camp. A full night on a jostling horse made her legs and back ache, and she wobbled slowly behind him.

      “Where are we going?”

      He jerked her forward not answering and pushed her toward an empty tent. “Get in.”

      Stumbling into the dimly lit tent, Katherine lost her footing and fell forward onto her right shoulder. Crying out, she wiggled onto her back, tears spilling down her cheeks. Isaac hurried into the tent, lifting her carefully from the floor and onto a small wooden cot.

      Isaac knelt in front of her, unbinding her hands. “Are you alright?”

      Jerking her hands away, she rubbed at her raw wrists, her face twisting into a grimace. “I’m fine,” she sneered.

      “A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice,” he grunted.

      She looked up at him, dumbfounded. “Excuse me?” she demanded. “Thank you? Why is God’s name would I thank you?”

      “Well,” he began but quickly halted his speech with a seething Katherine stood from the cot.

      “Thank you for kidnapping me? Thank you for tying my hands and dragging me to God knows where? You’re out of your blasted mind if you think I’m going to thank you for anything.” Her face was flush with anger and her hands were balled up at her sides. He’d backed away only slightly and they were now standing almost nose to nose, his hot breath washing over her heated face and neck. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her breath was tight with rage.

      He did not waver, only bent slightly toward her, his voice in a whisper. “I didn’t know young Katherine Vanderbilt had such a temper.”

      Taken aback, her anger dissipated into shock. “What?”

      His shoulders shook with laughter. “You think I don’t know who you are? Katherine Elizabeth Vanderbilt, daughter of Ruth Anne, deceased, and Charles Vanderbilt, owner of Putnam County Bank and one of the largest plantation in Putnam County. You really think I don’t know who you are?”

      “How do you know all that?” She looked him over thoroughly, wondering if she’d perhaps seen him somewhere before. Certainly, his features were unmistakable; the long brow and deep-set blue eyes; squared, strong jaw with only a slight bit of stubble, set around a pair of pink, thin lips; tousled brown hair that poked out at the ends grown down to frame his broad, muscled shoulders covered by the stained shirt: no, she thought, I haven’t seen you before, but how do you know me?

      Calling his bluff, she retaliated. “If you know all that, why didn’t you tell Jonas and Pete who I really was when you had the chance?”

      Isaac’s eyes squinted at her as he thought. Cocking his head to the side, eyes drifting up and down her body, he replied: “I could go tell them now, if you like.”

      Katherine snorted unladylike at him and rolled her eyes. “Not likely,” she responded. “What reason do you have to protect me, huh? How do you even know all that stuff about me anyway?”

      Isaac shrugged, clearly done with the conversation. “Public knowledge,” he said in finality, walking out of the tent and leaving her inside, alone.

      Katherine sat back on the cot clasping her hands together in front of her. How could he know all those things about her? His ‘public knowledge’ excuse seemed likely, but Katherine’s mind didn’t settle well on it. Isaac wasn’t being honest, and she knew it. This was something completely different; something dangerous that she’d now been thrust unwillingly into.

      Peeking through the flap of the tent that billowed in the light breeze, she saw Isaac sitting amongst a group of men all huddled around the morning fire, their voices low in discussion. Women looked at them through the corners of their eyes, but managed to steer clear of the group, giving them a wide birth while they tended to their children’s and other’s needs. What were they discussing? From their positions, Katherine couldn’t see any faces to read lips.

      Intrigued, she crept closer to the entrance, focusing solely on picking up any words from the men.

      Nothing.

      She stepped closer and was finally standing outside the tent, becoming the central focus point for onlookers. They had all been present when Isaac, Jonas, and Pete had hauled her in; hands bound and dress in shambles. What did they think had happened? Did she look like the poor, lost girl that Isaac had painted her to be with her wild hair and ivory features? None of their eyes showed pity or even remorse for her being brought here; blank, unfeeling eyes looked upon her, regarding her quietly, then were cast down and sent to their daily works.

      Katherine felt utterly lost in this place. The men, no longer huddled in discussion, turned to gaze upon her. One man stood. Katherine didn’t recognize the man from her earlier appearance in front of everyone. He stood half-bent at the waist, dipping mostly in his left side, hobbling on his one intact leg and a wooden stump; his dark eyes regarded her softly and his scarred, black face was etched with thin, pink lines.

      A runaway slave?

      She’d had no previous encounters with slaves other than the few that her father owned that worked inside the manor house doing odds and ends; cooking, cleaning, doing her father’s laundry, and the one man who dressed her father and sent out and received his business messages. This man walked up to her, eyes now softened, and bent his head toward her.

      “Good day to ya, ma’am,” he said politely.

      Katherine didn’t know what to do so she mirrored him, bowing her head slightly with a small smile. “Hello, sir,” she said cautiously.

      Isaac, who had been silently watching the scene in front of him, stepped forward, taking Katherine by the shoulder. “This is Colin.”

      He looked back at Colin whose eyes were sparkling with misty tears. “You look just like her,” he said, one tear sliding down his scarred cheek. “Miss Ruth, I mean. You’re the spittin’ image of her.”

      Katherine’s heart leapt. He knew her mother. How could he though? She couldn’t remember this man ever being at the manor house, but then again, she’d been away since she was seven at boarding school. “How,” she swallowed nervously, “how do you know that name?”

      Colin smiled, but Isaac spoke before he could. Bending toward her, mouth close to her ear, he whispered, “This isn’t the place for this conversation, ma’am.” He looked back up at Colin with a frown. “Sorry, Colin,” he said. “We’ll have to continue this conversation some other time. I’ve got some things to discuss with the lady, if that’s alright with you?”

      Colin’s eyes darted between hers and Isaac’s, and then he inclined his head toward Katherine reluctantly, consenting. “Of course,” he said. Katherine watched silently as he painfully made his way back to his seat beside the low-burning fire.

      With no time to process what had just occurred, Katherine was pulled roughly by the arm toward the plot of trees behind the campsite that housed the dozen or so horses. Isaac stared forward, his jaw working, clenching and unclenching beneath the taut, tanned skin on his face. Katherine couldn’t decipher the expression on his face, but it looked rather grim. Pushing the thoughts of Isaac’s face out her mind, she focused on what had occurred between herself and Colin. He knew her mother, or at least, had known her mother. But when? And where? As far as she’d known, her mother’s family hadn’t owned slaved; being from the north, her mother, from what she’d learned over the years, had been completely against the idea of her father purchasing them to work the fields.

      Katherine had been of two minds about it growing up; wanting so badly to please her father as a child, she’d made no fuss when’d she seen him use the lash on another man until he lay limp at her father’s feet, blood pooling around his lifeless body; even though she knew that it was wrong in the eyes of the Lord to harm anyone. Thou shall not kill, was one of His commandments and her father had broken it, but her childish mind scrubbed the memory. To a child, that just how things work. Your parents own slaves, you grow up to own them, too. But, her mother abhorred the idea, and had fought her father until her death about their freedom. Katherine couldn’t fathom how she and Colin had ever been acquainted.

      Finally arriving at the grazing horses, Isaac pulled her in front of her, facing her away from him. “What are you doing?” Katherine shrieked when she felt his hands on her waist.

      “Stop it,” he demanded. She looked down and watched his hands tie something –a cloth? –around her waist. “Trust me,” he continued, whispering harshly in her ear. “This is for your benefit. If anyone sees ya with this one, they’ll not touch you. As barbaric as it may sound to your high-class ears, this cloth marks you as mine.”

      “I beg your pardon!” Katherine whirled around to stare directly into his eyes, demanding answers and a removal of his presence. “What on earth do you mean that this marks me as yours?”

      “Impatient woman,” he sneered. “Would ya let me finish? Lord, give me strength.” He peered up at the sky and shook his head.

      “Remember in the clearing,” he said, referencing the pond where she’d been taken from, “he’s not gonna leave you alone just ‘cause I said so, Kate. If he wants ya, he’ll do his best to take you, consenting or not; and I’d hazard to say that not would be most likely. Maybe,” he turned her in a circle, inspecting his work, “if he sees this wrapped ‘round ya, he’ll not try anythin’. It’s a tradition in our family. A wrapped woman is a taken woman. Understand?”

      He looked at her gravely. “That’s not a guarantee, mind you,” he sighed. “But, if you stay close to me, then I can protect ya as best I know how.”

      Katherine fought hard against herself to thank him for this; instead, she turned her nose up at him and pulled out of his grasp. “I am not yours,” she snapped. “And if you think that’s ever going to happen, then you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

      Wheeling around to face away from him, her eyes caught on a moving figure in the trees.

      There was another, and another, and another. Darting in and out of the trees, using low hanging limbs and brush for cover. Isaac’s hands were on her shoulders instantly, pushing her behind him and back toward the camp. “Go back to the tent! Now!” he yelled, pushing her.

      She’d made it to the outer rim of the campfire when the shouting started. Pistols fired in the distance and Katherine could hear the screams of injured men. Women rushed around the clearing, gathering anything that looked to have any value, their children running automatically into the tree line. The others were upon them almost instantaneously, knifes drawn and pistols aimed, with deadly looks on their faces. Katherine could see Isaac, arms swinging deftly in battle, clashing towards with another man, both grunting from the force of each blow.

      Ducking under a rounded attack, he thrust his knife upwards into the man’s stomach. Blood poured from the man’s mouth as he fell to the ground with Isaac’s knife still lodged in his stomach.

      Looking away, Katherine suppressed a scream. Run, she thought numbly. Picking up her skirts, she made a direct line for the spot in the trees she’d watched the children run into. Sticks and branches scratched and grabbed at her skin, ripping her dress and yanking out strands of her hair, but she couldn’t stop. Her eyes darted wildly through the trees looking for somewhere to hide.

      “Kate!” She heard Isaac’s voice and immediately stopped. “Kate, where are you?!”

      Hesitating, Katherine was unsure of what to do. She was free now. Away from the men who had taken her. She could run until she found a house or a town, and she could go home. But the fear in his voice stopped her and compelled her to turn back and run to him.

      “Well, well, well,” a phrase she’d heard once before drifted into her ears just as it had yesterday. “Look’t what I found.”

      Grinning down at her, mouth wide, and eyes that terrified her to the bone, Pete stalked forward with his hand clasped around the hilt of the dagger he’d tried to use on Isaac. She backed away and tried to dart around him, but he cut her advance off with a swift shuffle of his feet and a grizzly laugh.

      “Where do ya think yer goin’?” He laughed, twirling the dagger around in front of her. His eyes fell on the sash of cloth tied around her waist. “Well,” he laughed, tipping his dagger to the folds. “Isn’t that cute? Young Isaac done went and claimed ya. Guess I can’t have ye know. Isn’t that what he told you?”

      Pete laughed darkly. Katherine knew that, tradition or not, she was in great danger with this man.

      “Kate!” Isaac’s voice sounded again, closer this time. He was searching for her and at this moment, she’d like nothing more than to run back to him. The man in front of her took a step forward his eyes trained on her every move.

      Her hands clamped around the folds of her skirts and without thinking, she spun around and ran. Pete’s laugh followed her, only making her run harder toward the camp. Her breath fought for space in her lungs, inhaling and exhaling at an alarming rate as she sprinted through the trees and briars.

      “Kate!” There it was again, but this time it sounded like it was coming from her left when she’d been sure that it was coming from the right. Darting to the left, she ducked her head and maneuvered easily into a secluded crack in the hillside.

      “Where’d ya run off to?” Pete called out. Katherine sank further into the crack, pressing her body flat against the sides, and clamping her hand over her mouth to keep quiet.

      Coming into view, Pete’s body was slouched over as he crept across the forest floor in search of Katherine. Stifling her labored breath, she watched as he pushed branches and brush around, growing more and more impatient.

      “The fight’s that way, Pete,” a familiar voice called. Isaac’s blood-soaked form appeared behind Pete, startling him. His eyes were void of emotion and his face was smeared red.

      Pete stepped back as Isaac stepped toward him, drawing his dagger from his belt. “Best get on back to camp now,” he said icily, to which Pete made no qualms about this time.

      Once Pete was out of her view, Katherine felt a rush of relief wash over her and she let out a long sigh. Isaac’s head jerked up in her direction. His eyes squinting through the leaves to find to source of the sound. “Kate,” he called out. “Where are you?”

      She said nothing, just pressed herself harder against the wall, willing herself to disappear. Should she step out and return to the camp where Pete would most certainly be, waiting for her? If he caught her alone again – Katherine shuddered at the thought. As she watched Isaac’s back, she realized in that moment that, while he’d taken her from her home unwillingly, he was the closest thing she had to protection. Perhaps, if she did as he’d asked her to, she could convince him to take her home.

      That’s it, she thought. That is how I will get home.

      It wasn’t a terribly good plan, but it was a plan, nonetheless. She stepped soundless from the crack and, for a moment, she was completely certain of what she had to do.

Hurricane Bridge, West Virginia. September 24, 1857

      William Parsons glided confidently up the steps into the Vanderbilt Manor. Since being employed by Charles, he’d had nearly all permissions when it came to entering the man’s home; and soon, he thought maliciously, full permissions to his daughter. Charles Vanderbilt, wealthiest man in Putnam County and owner of one of the largest plantations in Hurricane Bridge, had employed him to learn the banking business and now, he’d weaseled his way into convincing the man to sell his beautiful daughter in exchange for more properties.

      William laughed at the thought of Katherine Vanderbilt; by all accounts, she was a sizable woman, with a full figure and sickly, pale skin, and dull green eyes. Clearly not a woman he’d been accustomed to having relations with, but she’d have to do. Since her father was the most powerful man in the county, he’d benefit well from the transaction. Once her father died, he’d inevitably inherit the business and all his wealth.

      The maidservants ran through the house, carrying platters of foods and decanters of wine toward the dining area where he was to meet the woman. Their eyes cast side glances at him, sparkling with envy. He’d worn his best clothes for this occasion, determined to swoon her, though he cared not whether she liked him or not; this was business, after all. Dressed in long, tan trousers and his matching tan waistcoat, he looked the picture of a wealthy businessman as he sauntered down the long hallway, passing by paintings of dead Vanderbilt’s.

      The door to Charles’s study was open meaning that he didn’t have to knock and announce his presence. Once he stepped inside, Charles turned in his chair from the long window facing toward an open field and smiled up at him. “William, my dear boy, please have a seat!”

      Charles was a man of considerable age and it showed on his face; he was dressed in his usual black trousers and waistcoat, the gold cufflinks he’d received from his poor dead wife were made visible as he fingers drummed nervously on the ever pristine desk.

      “Good afternoon, Mr. Vanderbilt,” William said politely, taking his seat. “How are you? I trust Miss Katherine arrived in good health?”

      William listened half-heartedly as the man spoke of his own day; his ailing back and lungs, and the incompetent wait-staff; the same problems every day.

      “But,” William heard the tone in his voice shift, “my impulsive daughter is not here at the moment.”

      Interest piqued, William sat forward. “Oh? Where might she be?” He asked, concerned.

      “Well,” the old man sat back in his chair, clasping his blunted fingers across this stomach. “I told her about our arrangement and, well, she ran off.”

      William’s eyebrows creased his forehead. “Where to, do you suppose?”

      Charles shrugged, turning back toward the window. “Likely to the stables,” he sighed. “The girl gets her temperament from her mother, God rest her soul.”

      “Do you think perhaps that we should go look for her? How long has she been gone?” William cared not whether she was safe or not, but her disappearance hindered his chances at her father’s wealth. Standing from his chair, he walked around the desk, toward the window, propping himself against one of the many bookshelves in the room.

      “I reckon not,” the man said slowly peering out the window. “She’ll return shortly. She used to do this when she was younger.”

      William began to roll his eyes at the old man’s foolishness, but the action was cut short by a hysterical Cordelia bursting into the room. Her large bosom heaved wildly with the exertion of running through the house and her forehead was misting with sweat.

      “My God, Cordelia,” Charles barked, irritated. “What’s the meaning of this?”

      The woman took another long, deep breath and spoke in fragmented stutters. “Miss Katherine… Barley came back… without…”

      William was becoming exhaustingly irritated with the woman. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her once. “Explain.”

      Cordelia stared up at him with wide eyes. “Miss Katherine’s horse has returned without her.”

      William could see the panic in her eyes and that panic was mirrored by Katherine’s father who, for his advanced age, jumped from his chair and darted out the door toward the stables. He let Cordelia’s shoulders go and caught up with Charles. The trees were billowing in the winds and the sky spoke clearly of a coming storm. If this woman was missing then her father would expect him to go after her; Katherine being his betrothed, it was seen as his duty.

      The stables were decently large, but small in comparison to the other buildings on the plantation. Holding only Katherine’s horse and a pair for Charles’s carriage, it boasted only four stalls and a small paddock for occasional grazing. It was situated to the right of the family’s large home, across from the small herb garden that Cordelia always insisted upon growing each year.

      Standing outside the building’s doors was the stable boy, Jeffery, holding onto the bridle of Katherine’s mangy looking beast, Barley. The horse was lathered around its flanks and under its front shoulders, and its barreled chest and stomach expanded rapidly from running home. Twigs and dead leaves stuck out from its wild, unkempt mane and tail.

      “Sir,” Jeffery said nervously, looking up at William.

      Conducting an air of concern and authority, William looked down on the small, dark boy. “What’s happened here, Jeffery?”

      “Well,” he began timidly. “I was in the barn cleanin’ out the stables. I came outside to get fresh hair from the stalls when all a’sudden, I sees Barley runnin’ as fast as she could up the hay field ova’ yonder.” His skinny arm stretched out, fingered stiff toward the flat, cut hay field that bordered a long, winding tree line.

      “We must mount at once,” Charles said suddenly, broken from his silent panic. “Jeffery, saddle the horses. William,” he turned toward him, clasping a hand around the young man’s lean shoulder, “you’ll ride with me.”

      “Charles,” William sighed looking at the darkening sky, “a storm’s coming, sir. If we go out tonight, we’ll most likely catch pneumonia.”

      Charles’s face reddened. “And what of my daughter?” he said, outraged. “What of your wife, William!”

      Shaking his head as if he’d been overcome with something ridiculous, he set his jaw tightly, saying the words he did not believe. “You’re right, sir. We must go tonight for Katherine. And I swear to you, if anyone has harmed her, I’ll have them dealt with accordingly. You have my word.”

The search dried up inside a small clearing just inside the trees. Charles became frantic, pushing his horse hard through the trees, searching for any sign of his missing daughter. William dutifully followed after, acting as worried as he could manage without rolling his eyes, or laughing at the man’s bulgingly red face. The skies had broken open not long after they’d arrived and their clothes were now drenched. William pushed a low hanging limb aside and clucked his horse to stand alongside Charles’s red gelding.

“What am I to do?” Charles said in defeat. His waistcoat was soaked through and his body shook occasionally with the cold wind.

“My advice, sir, would be to go back home. I’ll gather a party of men tomorrow and we’ll continue the search. It’s only been a few hours, Charles,” he looked into the man’s eyes and gripped his shaking shoulder, “how far could she have gotten on her own, on foot?”

Seeming to believe his words, Charles’s shoulders slumped and he nodded, turning toward home. Once they had arrived, William set himself to the task of locating reliable men to help in his search; but first, he thought with a lopsided grin, some entertainment.

Gathering his coat and hat from the Vanderbilt Manor, he mounted his horse once more and road hard toward the next town. After an hour, he finally passed under the worn, weather-beaten arch that connected to the fence that surrounded the small, four building town. Taking his familiar route, he dismounted and, taking the stairs two at a time, finally arrived at the door to Miss Shirley’s Saloon. Turning the grimy knob, he stepped into an air of smoke and whiskey, his ears filled with giggles and sounds from the upper rooms. His usual table in the back corner was currently occupied by a rat-like man, with a scraggly face and hair, an upturned nose, and beady eyes that darted around the room nervously.

William’s lips turned up into a smile as he took a seat across from the man. “You’re not the usual Duncan,” he said, calling toward the bartender.

“No sir,” the man stammered, sipping at the drink in his hand. “Name’s Lewis, sir.”

“Well, Lewis,” William said. “Why don’t I get us a couple drinks and then we’ll hear what you have to say?”

Standing from his chair, William walked casually toward the bar, ordering whiskies from himself and his companion. Slapping a couple coins onto the table, he returned, sliding a glass toward Lewis, who took is graciously and drank the contents quickly.

“So now,” William began, leaning back in his chair, sipping at his drink. “Why am I seated across from you and not Mike?”

Scratching his greasy head, Lewis thought hard. “Well, sir,” he started slowly. “Seems the party that met up with Isaac and Jonas, well, they got put a knife through Mike’s gullet.”

Outraged, William slammed his glass on the table attracting stares from the others in the saloon. “What!”

Lewis flinched at the action. “Pa sent me instead.”

Breathing deeply to fight off the oncoming waves of rage, he drank the rest of the whiskey, letting it cool his temper. “What exactly happened?”

“Well, Mike and some other boys were out patrolin’, looking for McLeans, like you asked, and they met up with Isaac, Jonas, and that new guy, Pete,” he said quietly, avoiding William’s intense stare. “Ya see, Mike had a tussle with Isaac a while back and he was still sore about it. Didn’t want him getting away, so while they were skinnin’ out a couple rabbits, Mike ran for ‘em.”

“So, it was McLean who killed him?”

Lewis nodded, fidgeting with the frayed ends of his sleeves anxiously. “Aye, sir, ‘twas McLean.”

Cursing under his breath, he called for another drink, raking a trembling hand through his neatly coiffed hair. Shakily, he poured the contents of his new glass down throat and breathed deeply the burning sensation in his throat. “This presents a rather large problem, Lewis,” he groaned. “Go back and tell your father that I am very displeased and,” he pulled a purse of coins from his pocket and slid it toward the man, “I’ll only be sending half this time until McLean is dealt with properly, understand?”

Lewis nodded, tucking the purse into the pocket of his trousers. “And furthermore,” William went on, “I need some men. Not many, just perhaps three or four men to help with a search. Bring them to me this time Saturday and I’ll send the other half of your father’s pay.”

“Aye, sir,” Lewis replied as he shoved up from his chair and darted out the door.

Sitting back in his chair, William sighed deeply. Employing the Duncans was an awful business, he thought. His thoughts, however, were broken up by the shrill tones of Miss Shirley, who came barreling down the winding staircase with one side of her skirts draping uncomely over her forearm.

Grinning widely, William followed up her the stairs all the while plotting the McLean’s demise.