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“Really!” Virginia was genuinely pleased. “Anybody I know?”
“Nope. Babe from Clearwater. In B.C. On the Yellowhead.” Johnny frowned, chewed a mouthful of peanuts and swallowed again. “Hey—you hungry?” He offered her the open bag. She shook her head.
“So, got any kids?”
“Nah. Marriage went belly-up a few years back. She couldn’t handle the life-style, know what I mean?”
That didn’t surprise her. What woman could?
“Worked a few jobs here and there, tried to stay straight. Sawmills, oil rigs, drove truck for a while. Harper’s Transport out of Olds.” He glanced at her. “Nothing that amounted to much. Spent a little time in the clink—I already mentioned that, huh?” Virginia had the distinct impression he’d spent more than a little time in jail, and maybe that had been the part of the life-style his wife couldn’t handle. “What about you?”
“Oh, this and that. I was down East for a few years. I’m going to law school up in Edmonton now, second year—”
“No kidding! So you can put guys like me behind bars, eh?”
“I guess so.” She smiled. It was hard to stay mad at Johnny. She remembered that about him. He could always make her laugh, even during the worst times. Firmly she reminded herself that this was different. This was serious. Mr. Gibbon had no doubt freed himself and called the Mounties. Any minute now they’d hear a police siren and they’d be pulled over and Johnny’d be arrested and that would be the end of it.
Suddenly Johnny slowed the Jeep and they lurched off the road, which had been gravel for the past several miles, onto a rutted lane that wasn’t much more than a grassy track. The vehicle heaved and bounced, engine growling.
Virginia held tight to the armrest. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like it one bit. At least the road they’d been on was public; there’d been a chance of flagging down another car, if she’d had the opportunity. But what could she do out here in some shack in the bush? Somehow, though, she didn’t think Johnny was a walker. Too lazy. The cabin he’d mentioned couldn’t be too far and she figured it had to be on some sort of road.
She was wrong.
They came to a stop in the middle of a clearing with a faint turnaround. There were tiny spring flowers and grasses growing in the tracks, indicating it hadn’t been used for a while.
“What are we stopping for?” she asked, on the off chance this wasn’t what she thought it was—their destination.
“We’re here, babe. This is old-fashioned cabin country. You take the cash bag and I’ll grab that duffel in the back. I’m banking on my buddy keeping the joint stocked. Otherwise it’s pepperoni and peanuts or, if the lady prefers, peanuts and pepperoni.” He laughed, as though it was a tremendous joke.
Reluctantly Virginia took the canvas bag. She didn’t know what else to do. She was stuck out here now. She had to put her faith in Johnny’s good nature. Surely he’d drive her back to civilization, or at least to the road, once they’d talked.
She shivered, realizing no one knew where she was. No one even knew she was in Bragg Creek, except Mary Prescott, and Mary was in France right now. Virginia had planned to call her parents and tell them about her summer job and the place she’d found to stay, but she hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
No one would miss her. Not until she didn’t show up at the Banff Springs Hotel next Monday for her new job. It was a horrible feeling.
She walked beside Johnny through the clearing and over a small grassy knoll, through sparse groupings of birch and poplar and mountain ash. A few conifers, spruce and pine, were interspersed with the deciduous trees. It was a lovely time of year. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the sound of water flowing. Snowmelt? Elbow Falls was somewhere up here. Were they near it?
The cabin was surprisingly comfortable, despite its remote location. It consisted of two rooms, a tiny bedroom with a sagging double bed and a larger main room combining small kitchen, dining nook and living room. A large iron woodstove stood in the center of the main room. Seasoned firewood was split and piled to the eaves outside the weathered wooden door. The walls were log and the roof was rusted tin. The place had a certain charm.
“You’ve been here before?” she asked Johnny as he threw the duffel bag onto the old-fashioned sofa draped in a granny-square afghan on one side of the living room. She wrinkled her nose at the musty smell in the air. Mice, definitely.
“Couple times. Buddy of mine owns it. Fishing cabin.” Johnny yanked open a window a few inches, then went to the cupboards. He whistled with satisfaction. “Man, ain’t we lucky? Everything a guy could want,” he said, holding up some soup mixes and other dehydrated-food packages in one hand and a large bottle of rye whiskey in the other. “Good thing we had a mild winter or this woulda froze—and that woulda been a darn shame.”
Whiskey. Virginia had a sinking feeling in the pit of her belly. Johnny had always been a boozer. She’d forgotten that about him. In fact, it struck her that perhaps he’d already been drinking. The Jeep, she recalled, had smelled faintly of old booze, along with cigarette smoke and damp canvas. Maybe to get his nerve up for the robbery. Suddenly this no longer felt like a lark—not that it ever really had. She wanted to go home.
“When are you taking me back, Johnny?” she asked nonchalantly, trying a smile. She had the feeling it wouldn’t be a good idea to get into an argument with him out here. Not until she knew exactly where she stood.
“Oh, hell, Ginny,” he said sharply, unscrewing the cap on the whiskey and splashing several inches into a water glass. “What’s your rush? It’s party time. Hell, I haven’t seen you in six years and now you can’t spend a couple hours with an old buddy? What’s the matter? The doctor’s daughter too good for old Johnny Gagnon now?” He held up the glass in a mock toast and smiled, but his smile didn’t quite match the look in his eyes. Virginia felt a tiny shiver run over her flesh.
“I guess you’re right,” she said lightly. “Well, I’ll start a fire.” Why not play Girl Guide? Maybe Johnny wasn’t welcome in this cabin, and someone would come to investigate the smoke. It was as likely as not that the “buddy” who owned the place was like the buddy who’d lent him the Jeep—a flgment of Johnny’s wishful thinking.
Virginia found some old newspapers on a rickety table in the bedroom, yellowed and dated the previous fall. Did that mean the owner hadn’t been back since?
She crumpled up a few sheets and poked them into the stove. Johnny slouched on the sagging sofa, whiskey in his hand, watching her every move. She opened the door to get some firewood.
“Don’t go anywhere, eh, babe?” he called out. There was no mistaking the warning in his voice, and Virginia shivered again. She looked out the door into the deep, quiet afternoon woods. She had no idea where she was. What were the chances of her running out of here, away from Johnny? Not great. She’d play for a little more time; maybe he’d get drunk and fall asleep.
“I’m just getting some wood for the fire,” she said. She stepped off the stoop and ambled casually toward a large stump that had obviously been used for splitting wood. Dry chips lay all about the ground. Virginia bent to pick up a handful—starter for the fire. As she did so, she glanced toward the cabin. Johnny was watching her through the small window. So much for making a run for it.
Why did he want her? Surely not as a real hostage. That was crazy, just something he’d made up on the spur of the moment. Virginia carried in the chips, along with a few sticks of the firewood. She’d go along with him and stay as determinedly cheerful as possible. Any chance she had to run, she’d take it.
The fire caught immediately, and soon a welcome warmth penetrated the cabin, warming the chill, dank air and even driving off the mousy smell she’d noticed when she’d first walked in.
“Soup and crackers?” she asked Johnny, checking out the cupboard contents herself. “I didn’t have any breakfast or lunch.”
“That’s more like it, babe. Make yourself useful. Sure, put on some soup. Throw in some of that beef jerky.” Johnny grinned and raised his half-empty glass to her. He’d already refilled it once. “Let’s party!”
Virginia didn’t reply to that. She filled a pot of water from the outdoor hand pump, letting the rusty water seep into the ground until it ran clear. A squirrel scolded her from a nearby jack pine. In other circumstances, this could be quite pleasant.
The soup was good and filling, especially simmered with a handful of the jerky. Something new, she thought, almost smiling—cream of jerky soup. The crackers were stale, but she felt better after she’d eaten. Johnny was drinking too much and mumbling to himself. She ignored him. All she could hope was that he’d pass out.
When she’d cleaned up the dishes and pot she’d used for the soup, Virginia pawed through a stack of magazines and newspapers she’d discovered in a corner of the bedroom. She found an old Reader’s Digest magazine and curled up on the rickety armchair to read and pass the time. He was definitely incapable of driving anywhere now. Johnny had progressed from mumbling to singing to himself on the sofa, a third—or was it a fourth?—tumbler of whiskey in his hand.
Oddly, she didn’t feel threatened. She knew her captor too well. He was the same old Johnny. Impulsive, headstrong, a joker... He was too badly organized to carry off anything complicated or serious. Virginia had no doubt he’d be back in jail within days. And not for the last time either.
A sudden groan and then snoring from the direction of the sofa alerted Virginia to the fact that she’d finally had some luck. He’d fallen asleep. Or passed out. Now she could sneak out and find her way back to the main road—there was still an hour or two of daylight—hitch a ride to town and put as many miles between herself and her captor as possible. If she could avoid it, she wouldn’t go to the cops. Let them catch him themselves; it wasn’t as though anyone had been hurt in the robbery, including her.
Virginia got to her feet and walked quietly to the door, one eye on the snoring Johnny Gagnon. He’d knocked over his glass when he’d fallen asleep and the pungent fumes of twelve-year-old whiskey filled the room.
The key! It was missing. Virginia clenched her jaw in surprise and shock. Damn him. He wasn’t as disorganized as she’d assumed. There’d only been an old-fashioned latch on the outside when they’d arrived, but she’d noticed an ancient skeleton key stuck in the rusted lock from the inside when she’d gone out to get the firewood earlier. That skeleton key was gone. She glanced toward Johnny, her lips compressed in annoyance. No doubt the missing key was in his pocket.
Then she realized he hadn’t taken the gun out of his jacket pocket and his jacket was hanging over the back of the sofa. She tiptoed toward it Shuddering, she touched the icy-cold steel of the gun. She withdrew it, then panicked. It was a lot heavier than she’d thought it would be. What was she going to do with it? She didn’t know; she just didn’t want a weapon like that available to a man as drunk as Johnny. She looked around the small cabin. There weren’t many hiding places. In the end she put it in the crisper of the old icebox, which hadn’t been used for months. Johnny wasn’t the type to rummage around for vegetables, anyway.
After that she searched through the cupboard and found a couple of packages of noodles and mix, which she decided to make for an evening meal. The discovery that Johnny had locked her in was a shock. She was stuck until tomorrow now. It would be dark soon, and even if she got out, she didn’t think she’d be able to find her way to the road at night It wasn’t as though the Powderface Trail got a lot of traffic even in the daytime.
Johnny woke up for supper, cheerful but still very drunk. He ate two huge platefuls of the concoction she’d made, complimenting her on her cooking. Then he dug the key out of his jeans pocket with a sly grin at her and swaggered onto the stoop outside, where she could hear him relieving himself. When he came in, she went out with the same object in mind, finding some privacy behind a bush to one side of the cabin. There was no outhouse that she could see, but there was probably one a few yards . down a nearby trail. She wasn’t about to hunt for it, though. Johnny was waiting for her on the stoop when she returned.
“Thought I’d let you sneak off on me, eh?” he said with a snort of laughter. “Not a chance, babe.”
“When are you taking me home?” she demanded. None of this struck her as being the slightest bit humorous.
“Whoa, don’t get your shorts in a knot, babe. I’ll drop you off tomorrow somewhere. Canmore, Calgary, wherever you wanna go. No sweat.” He followed her back into the cabin and locked the door again.
“Why are you locking up?” she asked. She didn’t like the idea of a locked door with a fire in the stove. Or Johnny. He was drunk. What if he upset an oil lamp or something?
“Keep out the bad guys,” he joked, winking at her. “You can’t be too careful these days. There’s a lotta riffraff out there runnin’ around.” He gave her a significant look and dropped the key back in his pocket. Virginia went into the bedroom to return the magazine and surreptitiously tried the small window there. It was either nailed or painted shut. There was no way she could get out without breaking the glass. Well, if she had to, she would. Maybe when he passed out again.
Half an hour later it was too dark to read. Luckily her captor had shown no interest in lighting the lamps that were lined up on the kitchen counter. Johnny fell asleep sprawled out on the sofa, with only an inch or two left in the whiskey bottle. Virginia hoped that was the only booze the cupboards would yield.
She tried the bedroom window again. It wouldn’t budge. Then she went back into the main room and tried the window he’d opened earlier. It was stuck, too. She looked for some kind of tool in the kitchen drawer, but didn’t come up with anything more lethal than a dull knife, which she took into the bedroom. She began chipping at the paint that covered the window frame.
“Whatcha doin’, babe?”
Damn. Virginia put down the knife and cleared her throat. “Nothing,” she called back. She froze for a few moments, then heard snoring again.
She was trapped here. But did she really want to get out now and try to make her way through the dark forest? She could get seriously lost. For tonight, anyway, things seemed pretty hopeless.
She might as well go to bed. She picked up an afghan that lay on the end of the bed and carried it into the main room. Johnny was stretched out on the sofa. She unfolded the afghan and draped it lightly over his snoring form. With any luck he wouldn’t wake up until morning.
Then, just in case, she jammed the kitchen knife between the door frame and the door itself of the bedroom as a temporary lock and studied the sagging double bed. When had the sheets last been changed? Did she want know? For extra security, she lodged a rickety chan under the latch, then took off her jeans and sneakers, leaving her socks, shirt and underwear on, and climbed between the fairly clean-looking quilt and blanket that covered the bed. She could only hope that morning would come soon. And that Johnny would be sober enough to drive her to the nearest town.
It was so quiet. Except for the soughing of the wind in the trees and Johnny snoring in the living room, there wasn’t a sound. And it was getting so dark. There wasn’t even a moon.
Despite her certainty that, exhausted or not, she wouldn’t sleep, she did, only to awaken suddenly in a horrible fright, the room pitch-dark, and with the stinking, whiskey-laden breath of her captor in her face. He obviously had broken into the room somehow and fallen across the bed. He was trying to kiss her.
“Johnny!” She wrenched her face away. “Stay away from me!”
“Whassamatter? Doc’s daughter too good for me now? Eh?” He persisted, rubbing his whiskery face over hers. She wanted to gag when his damp mustache swept across her mouth.
“Get off me!”
“Shut up, you stuck-up bitch,” he growled, grabbing her hair. “Kiss me. The way you used to.” Real fear stabbed Virginia’s heart. This wasn’t the Johnny Gagnon she knew. She realized at the same time that he’d taken off his clothes. He was stark naked on top of her on the bed, only the tattered quilt between them.
He plunged his tongue into her mouth and she gagged. He swore and grabbed the quilt off her and tore at her panties. Virginia fought him, scratching his shoulders and pulling his hair. She was filled with complete panic and the strength of ten women.
Johnny swore in French several times and slapped her, then fumbled with himself, his other arm holding her down on the bed. She realized he was trying to rape her. She screamed. He laughed. “Go ahead. Nobody’s gonna hear you, babe.” She screamed again and twisted, desperately trying to free herself. “Come on, honey, settle down. You used to like this, remember?”
He thrust and thrust again. Nothing happened. Obviously he was too drunk to maintain an erection. Then he slumped suddenly, weighing her down so heavily she could barely breathe. Omigod.
He’d passed out again. On top of her. Stark naked on top of her. Virginia wanted to scream again, this time with hysterical laughter. But she was afraid she’d wake him. The impulse turned to painful whimpers as she heard his breathing slow, and the wet, sloppy, ragged sound of his snoring again. His breath overpowered her and made her retch. She tried to wriggle out from under him, with no success. She told herself to calm down, to save up her strength for one huge effort once he was deeply, fully unconscious.
Gradually, over the course of the next hour or so—she had no idea how long she lay there, terrified—she wriggled herself ever so slightly away from him. Inch by tiny inch she moved, so that less of his weight pressed her into the lumpy mattress springs.
But it was no use. There was no escape. Johnny woke up. He raped her twice before morning. The second time, the birds were singing mightily in the trees outside and it was nearly the gray of first light. Battered and feeling sick beyond words, Virginia pushed the unprotesting Johnny off her and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She no longer cared if he tried to stop her. There was nothing more he could do to her, except kill her.
She stood, shaking, and looked down at the man she’d once loved with all her innocent teenage heart. She hated him now. She hadn’t known hate could flood the heart as hotly and thickly as love.
She groped in the dark for her jeans. She couldn’t find her panties. She felt around for her shoes. She realized she’d put her hand on another pair of jeans, Johnny’s, in the darkness. She thrust her hand in his pocket. The key. Then she groped around until she found her shoes.
“Where you goin’, babe?” Johnny groaned sleepily, and she froze. She couldn’t believe it. He acted as though they’d just shared a night of consensual sex. As though this was just the morning after, one among many morning afters.
“I’m just going out to pee,” she said, willing her voice to steadiness.
Johnny moaned something indistinguishable and buried his face in the mildewed pillow.
She slipped into her jeans, shuddering. She had a few dollars in her pocket, for the Danish she’d planned to buy the morning before. She hadn’t brought a purse. Then she walked to the door of the cabin, opened it, closed it quietly behind her and turned the key in the lock from the outside. Squeezing her eyes shut, she threw the key as far into the long grass as she could.
She made her way to the Jeep and, in the rapidly lightening forest, managed to hot-wire the vehicle with shaky fingers. Some of Johnny Gagnon’s early lessons had been well learned, she thought ironically. The engine roared as she put it in gear and retraced the path they’d taken the previous day. If Johnny pounded on the cabin door, she didn’t hear it. She didn’t hear anything. All her thoughts were on getting away and blocking the entire incident out of her mind.
That afternoon, after she’d showered and scrubbed herself until she was raw, she phoned the police. A constable picked her up at the Prescott cabin and she gave a statement at the area headquarters. She knew Johnny was as good as in jail. She didn’t mention the rape, and when they asked her if she’d been hurt, she said no, she was fine. A month later, she was subpoenaed to testify against Johnny Gagnon in court and he was sentenced to nine years for armed robbery, grand larceny, assault and kidnapping, to be served in a federal penitentiary.
Three weeks after that, Virginia knew her dreams of a law degree were over. She needed to make a living, starting right now. She was pregnant; she was going to have Johnny Gagnon’s child.
CHAPTER THREE
“Y-YOU MEAN I HAVE the job?” Virginia sat a little straighter in the hard oak chair facing Pete Horsfall’s desk.
The old man spread his hands wide, an indulgent smile on his good-natured face. “I don’t see why not. Everything’s in order here—” he rearranged a few papers on his desk, then leaned back, still smiling “—and if I can’t do a good turn for the doc’s daughter, I’d like to know why not.”
“I don’t want the job because I’m Jethro Lake’s daughter,” Virginia said firmly. But she knew that wasn’t the real reason Horsfall was hiring her. It was because she was qualified, maybe even overqualified, for the job.
“No, no—you’re not getting the job because you’re a Glory girl, my dear. Heavens, no! It’s because you know the work and I’m convinced you’ll do a fine job for us. Have you seen Lucas yet?”
“No.” The thought of working with Lucas Yellowfly made her a little nervous. She hadn’t seen him in years, not since that crazy night they’d spent together after her graduation. Talking, laughing, kissing, looking at the stars. Not that anything serious had happened—but it had made Jethro mad enough that he’d shipped her off to New Brunswick on practically the next train. “You said he wasn’t in the office?”
“No. He’s stepped out for the afternoon to go to a christening celebration. You remember Joe Gallant?” the older man queried from beneath grizzled brows. “Farms out toward Vulcan way.”
She nodded. She had a faint recollection of the Gallant family. Joe and his sister had been a few years ahead of her in school.
“Well, Joe’s finally married. Last year, to a real nice girl from Calgary. Honor Templeman. A lawyer! Oil- and gas-business law. Maybe Doc and your ma told you, eh?” When Virginia shook her head, he added, “Honor may do some title work for us a few days a week when her baby’s a little older.”
“I look forward to meeting her.” Virginia smiled. “Well, I’d better go. I left Robert with Mom for the afternoon.” She stood up and extended her hand. Pete Horsfall shook it warmly.
“I’m looking forward to meeting the little gaffer. P’rhaps Doc and I can take him fishing one of these days.”
“Robert would like that,” Virginia responded, smiling. She thought of her small, serious, bespectacled son. Fishing on the Horsethief River with a couple of old men would be a fine experience for him. That kind of thing was exactly why she’d made up her mind to come back to Glory. It was time to settle down, to stay in one place long enough for Robert to make friends. He’d start school in September, kindergarten, and it was time she quit running and made some long-term plans in her own life.
Maybe she’d stop having nightmares about Johnny Gagnon and whether he’d ever find her or find out about Robert. Johnny Gagnon was in jail, after all, where he belonged.
Virginia hesitated when she reached the sidewalk outside the law office. It was the middle of the week, and many Glory merchants clung to the old-fashioned custom of half days on Wednesday. The streets were quiet. Virginia breathed deeply. She swore she could smell the ripening fields of grain and alfalfa outside of town blowing along Main Street. She could smell the pungent blossoms of the town’s caragana hedges, for sure. Caraganas, lilacs and peonies. Rhubarb and crabapple trees. The harshest northern winter didn’t kill the stubborn roots of those prairie faithfuls.
She glanced at her watch. Robert had been with her mother for about two hours now. Doris could probably handle another hour or so with this grandchild she’d seen for only a few days a year. They’d visited her parents every Christmas since Robert was born. She heard a distant church bell and remembered what Horsfall had said about a christening. Why didn’t she wander over to the church? Maybe she’d see Lucas. She’d feel a lot better getting that first meeting over with. Now that she had the job, the worst of her worries was behind her. Next would be finding a place to stay and getting settled. Her parents had offered—grudgingly, she thought—to let her and Robert stay with them in the big brick house at the top of Buffalo Hill. Her pride did not allow her to accept.
She’d stood on her own two feet for quite a few years now. She’d given up law school and completed an office-management course before Robert was born. She’d worked and supported them both ever since, and was determined to continue as she’d begun. She’d never asked for favors and wasn’t about to start now.
People—including her parents—could take her and Robert as they found them or not at all. She had never pretended to be a widow or divorced, and no one had had the nerve, so far, to ask any questions. Perhaps in Glory someone would. Small towns were small towns. No one knew that better than she did.
Still, their hometown would be the last place Johnny would ever think to look for her. If, indeed, he wanted to look for her.
Virginia approached St. Augustine’s, conscious that although several people on the street had noticed her, no one had tried to talk to her. She wasn’t sure anyone would recognize her after all these years. She still had the red hair she’d been famous for, but she’d grown up. Slender now, not scrawny. Red hair neatly tucked up, not flying wild. Crisp skirt and jacket, not scruffy jeans and a T-shirt. Of such were most people’s memories made, or so she believed.
The christening was over and the large crowd had moved next door to the church hall, where the women’s league always served tea and cakes after funerals and weddings and, obviously, christenings. Virginia stepped up to the door, smiling at several people she knew. She couldn’t tell whether they remembered her, but they smiled back.
The hall was noisy with talk and laughter. The big multipaned windows on each side spilled bright sunlight into the room. Virginia saw the postmistress, Myrna Schultz, who was a town fixture, and said hello, then walked farther into the room, confident that within very short order the entire population would know about her, Robert and her new job.
Holding center stage were a much-older-than-she-remembered Joe Gallant with a slim, brown-haired woman who must be his wife, a teacup and saucer in her hand. Honor Gallant chatted animatedly with an older woman Virginia didn’t recognize. Several ladies stooped over the baby, who was decked out in white lace and satin and gazing quietly up at the world from a fancy bassinet. A gray-haired man leaning heavily on a cane stood proudly beside the bassinet, a rather spectral-looking man in a bowler hat at his elbow, solicitously holding a tray with two cups and saucers and a small plate of cakes.
Virginia fought a sudden ache. How differently she’d welcomed Robert into the world. She’d taken a bus to Regina a week before her due date and stayed with a friend, whom she’d sworn to silence, so that her baby would be born in Saskatchewan and wouldn’t even be traceable in Alberta records. Now she realized she’d probably gone somewhat overboard in her desperate fear that the man who’d raped her might find out about Robert and make life more difficult than it already was.
