Forgotten Son. Linda Warren

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      Amazing grace…

      Someone help me. Please.

      THE DAY WENT THE SAME AS the one before for Eli. He chopped, loaded and carried wood until every muscle in his body ached. Being in the woods away from the compound meant he couldn’t see what Buford was doing. And he had to know. Was he with Caroline?

      With the wagon loaded, they headed for camp. Eli helped Daniel and David unload the wood by the kitchen. He noticed Ruth go into the vegetable cellar. She was carrying a pitcher and something wrapped in cloth. He kept waiting for her to come out, but she didn’t. He wondered what she was doing in there so long. Michael called for his help and he turned to him.

      But he kept an eye on the cellar.

      Soon Ruth came out with the pitcher and cloth and went into the kitchen. She was taking food and water to someone. Someone in the cellar.

      Caroline.

      There was nothing Eli could do now. He had to wait.

      Later, at supper, Eli watched the others carefully. Buford was the only one allowed to speak—everyone was silent until he spoke to them. Even the children were quiet. The women seemed nervous, hurrying in and out of the room, serving the men vegetable soup and bread.

      Buford called the men outside for a meeting, and as Eli rose, Jezebel reached for his bowl and whispered quietly, “If you want more vegetables, they’re in the cellar. But the shelves are empty.”

      It happened so quickly Eli wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. He knew better than to approach her, however—that could be detrimental for both of them. Buford and his men went to his house, and Eli stood outside, wondering what the woman had meant.

      He bided his time, waiting for everyone to go to bed. Tonight Peter took the dogs to guard the fences from unwelcome intruders. Apparently, Ezra and Peter took turns with the nightly chore.

      Eli stared up at the stars, wishing for a shower and a shave and a steak. He’d had about all the soup he could handle. Most of all he wished he could find Caroline Whitten. After a while he rolled over and glanced around. The camp was shrouded in darkness. He rose to his feet and made his way to the vegetable cellar. The moon was his only light, so he stepped carefully and quietly.

      He drew back with a start as he rounded Buford’s house. Three people stood at the back door—Buford, Ruth and Samuel.

      “She’s resisting and she’s singing hymns. I think she’s going insane like the other one.” That was Ruth.

      The other one.

      “When I was in town today, I saw it was still in the papers and on the news. The congressman is offering a big reward for her safe return.” Samuel’s voice was low, but Eli heard it.

      There was a long pause as if they were waiting for Amos’s reply. “Kill her. She’s become a liability and unfit to bear the messiah.”

      “Yes, master,” Samuel replied.

      “Do it later tonight and we’ll dispose of her body like the others. Then we’ll begin another search for my seventh wife.”

      “Yes, master,” Samuel replied again.

      Like the others.

      How many women beside Ginny had that bastard killed? Eli pressed up against the house as Samuel strolled by. Buford and Ruth went inside. Time was running out. Eli could get past Peter and the dogs to alert the FBI, but that would take too much time. Caroline didn’t have a lot of time left, and he still didn’t know her exact location. He suspected she was in the cellar and he had to get her out—now.

      Her life depended on it.

      He slipped through the night to the cellar. Gingerly he opened the door, careful to keep it from creaking, then went down the steps into a pitch-black hole. He felt around with his hands and all he encountered was shelf after shelf of jars, the same as before.

      The shelves are empty.

      Eli remembered Jezebel’s message and began to push on the shelves. They were sturdy and strong and nothing happened. Dammit. Dammit. What the hell was the woman trying to tell him?

      The shelves are empty.

      But the shelves were full.

      He quickly searched again, then found it—an empty shelf near the bottom. He pushed and pulled, but nothing happened. What the hell did the woman mean?

      Taking a deep breath, he tried to concentrate. Think. Think. Think.

      Ruth was a short woman and Eli was six feet two. So it stood to reason that if Ruth came to feed Caroline, she had to be able to open the secret door, and the latch or mechanism would be lower than where Eli was reaching. He stooped lower, pushing and tugging until he wanted to scream with frustration.

      With both hands on the empty shelf, he squatted on the dirt floor and ran his hands along the bottom, testing every nook and cranny. As his fingers touched the left corner, the shelf moved easily.

      Air gushed into his lungs. He’d found it. Thank God. He hurriedly squeezed through the opening, hoping Caroline was inside.

      “‘Amazing grace how sweet the sound,’” a woman’s voice sang.

      “Caroline Whitten?” he asked.

      The singing stopped, but she didn’t say anything.

      “Caroline Whitten?”

      Still no response.

      “I’m Elijah Coltrane, a Texas Ranger. Please answer me.”

      “Go away. Leave me alone and stop torturing me. ‘Amazing grace…’”

      “Caroline.” He had to get her attention. “I’m working with the FBI. We’ve been searching for you.”

      “You’re not real. The FBI has been here and they didn’t find me. Now they will never find me. I will die in this darkness because I will never marry him. Never. ‘Amazing grace how sweet the sound.’”

      “I am real and I’m trying to get you out of here. Do you understand me?”

      Something in his voice must have reached her because she stopped singing once more. It was so dark, though, he couldn’t see a thing.

      “Where are you?” she asked. “Let me touch you, then I’ll know you’re real.”

      “Here,” he said, and walked into her.

      Her hands trembled against him as they traveled over his body, then touched his growing beard.

      She jerked back. “You’re one of them.”

      “No. I’m not.” He tried to calm her. “Feel my beard. It’s short. I’ve been searching two days for you.”

      She didn’t move, but murmured, “How long have I been here? ‘When I’ve been here ten thousand—’”

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