Summary: Shelia Johnson, Little Joe Cartwright’s fiancée, gets captured and held hostage by the Lassiters. A WHI for Five Sundowns to Sunup.

Rating: T

Word Count: 10,268

To Live or To Die

 

(Chapter 1) Milkmaid

I plop onto my little three-legged stool and push the wooden bucket under Alice’s full udder. Reaching down, I continue my morning routine of milking. As soon as the first stream of milk echos off the empty bucket, Tommy slides up to me, his familiar purr rumbling in his chest. Even though I’ve already given him a little bit of milk from each of the other four cows, he wants more just like he does every morning. Just as he rubs against my legs again and I’m about to click my tongue so he’ll turn to catch the milk, the barn door squeaks open behind me. I don’t turn to look, I figure if it’s Pa or my little brother Toby, they’ll holler if they want something. 

“Well, if it isn’t my little milkmaid hard at work.” I’d recognize that deep, manly voice anywhere but I purposely ignore it just to mess with him. I turn the teat in my right hand towards Tommy and squirt the milk at him, which he expertly catches in his mouth. A sudden thought crosses my mind, making a grin stretch across my face. Might as well play around with the man I hear as he walks closer to me, apparently not all too pleased with being ignored. 

“Why, Tommy, I didn’t know you could talk! Is it something you picked up on your own or did Alice teach you?” He licks his milky chops and slowly gives me a kitty wink but then a tan suede boot steps right onto his fluffy tail. It only takes a second for him to turn into a hissing and spitting orange flurry as he attacks the gray pant leg attached to the boot on his tail. Little Joe lets out a shriek as he tries to get the cat off him but Tommy stops the moment his tail’s released. With a final hiss, he goes and sits in the far corner of Alice’s stall to lick his injured tail. Joe bends down and pulls up his pant leg to inspect his shin, which thankfully was protected by his boot. His head turns and he looks at me with slightly panicked, wide eyes and I can’t help the giggle that escapes my throat. 

“All I did was accidentally step on his tail!” He exclaims, his voice almost a squeak. 

“There’s a reason Tommy’s known for being the most dramatic cat we’ve ever had!” Laughter spills out of me and it only pours out harder as Joe’s face splits in that very familiar grin of his. After I wipe my eyes, I continue my milking as Joe plops down on the ground beside me. I glance over and say, “If you call him, I bet he’ll come back over to you. Anyone who gives him a good scratch behind the ear is instantly his best friend. What are you doing out here today, anyhow? I thought you were working on the house.”

“I have been working on the house, it’s actually almost done.” He snaps his fingers at Tommy, who after giving him a suspicious look, shimmies over. Joe scratches him behind the ear and he melts into an orange ball of fluff as he begins to purr. Joe laughs, “Hey, I guess he does forgive easily!”

“I told you so.” Finished milking Alice, I turn to face Joe and the purring cat. Joe looks up at me and I give him a sly grin, “Can I see the house yet?” 

“That, my little milkmaid, is a big fat no.” He sits up on his knees and puts his right arm around my waist as he taps the top of my nose with his finger. “You know the deal, you can’t see it until after the wedding.”

“But that’s two weeks away.” I push my bottom lip out in a slight pout and he just grins at me.

“Patience, love, patience.”

“That’s something I’m running low on.”

“Me, too.” He moves his hand across my cheek and down the back of my neck as he pulls me closer. Our lips meet and as he deepens the kiss, his hand reaches into the back of my hair. The silky, white blonde strands slip towards my face and act like a curtain around us as he pulls out the blue ribbon I always have it tied back with. I move my hands up his back and feel Tommy squish himself between my bare feet and Joe’s thighs, still wanting to be petted.

“Well, if there ain’t two love birds out here in the barn.” Joe and I jump apart and turn in the direction of Toby’s voice. He’s standing in the barn doorway, arms crossed over his chest with a huge grin plastered on his face. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

“No, Toby, I was just finishing up the milking.” I reach out and grab my ribbon out of Joe’s hand and hastily tie my hair back as he jumps to his feet. With my head tilted down slightly so I can pull the ribbon tight, I watch Joe’s boot land on Tommy’s tail again. Quickly before the cat has a chance to react, I shove it off with my foot. I snap my eyes shut and cringe as Joe knocks into the full buckets of milk behind him. Not hearing the slosh I expected and Toby’s loud laugh instead, I open them again to see the milk safe in the buckets and Joe still on his feet. 

“I think it’s best that I get the business I had with your Pa finished before I end up maiming your cat or spilling all your milk!” Joe laughs as he helps me to my feet. “Where’s your father at?”

“He’s in the house.” Toby wipes his eyes and walks over to grab two of the buckets of milk. Joe snatches two of the three left, which leaves only one for me. I pick it up and follow them out of the barn and towards the house. Ma’s face peeks out from behind the curtain on the window before it falls closed and the front door swings open for us. 

“Good morning, Little Joe.”

“Morning, Nancy.” He nods at her as she takes the buckets from him. 

“Why, Joe, what brings you out here this morning?” Pa asks as he walks over to shake his hand. I slip past them and put my bucket away with the others. 

“Morning, sir.” He takes off his hat and holds it at his waist. “I came out here to talk to you, Denny. There’s been quite a lot happening in town since you were there last and I wanted to warn you about it.”

“Alright, come on over to the table and let Nancy pour you a cup of coffee.”

“Thank you, but no. I’ve already been here too long as it is.” Toby lets out a short laugh but I quickly give him a sharp kick to the shin, which, thankfully, shuts him up fast. Joe glances over but continues, “You know the Lassiters, right?”

“Yes.” Pa replies as the rest of us answer with an echoing nod.

“Well, earlier this week Harry Lassiter killed Major Sutcliffe’s son. Sheriff Coffee arrested him and he went through a fair trial. Harry is sentenced to hang in five days.” Joe’s shoulders droop slightly as he sighs. “Mrs. Lassiter is furious and they’ve already tried to break him out of jail once. Carver Lassiter shot Roy during that attempt so now Pa’s taken his place while he recovers. Hoss and I are helping him out by being deputies alongside Johnny Maddock.”

“Is Roy going to be alright?” Ma asks, her brows scrunched in worry over her light blue eyes that are identical to my own. 

“Yeah, he’s fine. The Doc told him to keep off his feet, so he’s laying on a cot in his office; he’s too stubborn to go home. But that’s not all the Lassiter’s have done.” He pauses momentarily to rub the back of his neck before going on. “They captured Judge Simpson and are holding him hostage. Margie brought us the news and the note that Carver left. Mrs. Lassiter plans on taking another person each night at sundown until the day of the hanging. We’re thinking the next four people will only be those who had something to do with the trial and verdict, but we aren’t sure. Since you all are practically family with us Cartwright, it would be smart to watch your backs for the next five days. Well, at least until all of this is over.”

“What does she plan on doing with the hostages on the fifth day?” Pa asks.

“She said that if Harry hangs, they’ll hang, too.” Silence falls heavily in the room as Little Joe’s words sink in. I make eye contact with him and can practically see the worry seeping out those hazel green gems of his. I wish I could wipe every drop of it away so that his shoulders wouldn’t droop slightly and that that look would disappear, but unfortunately I can’t. 

“How’s Margie?” Toby’s quietly spoken question breaks the solemn silence. Still watching Joe, I see his lips twitch like he’s trying not to let himself smile. Both of us have noticed the spark of attraction between Margie Simpson and Toby, we’ve even talked about ways to throw the two of them together. 

“Worried, as expected, but thankfully not hysterical. I walked her home before I came here and she told me to tell you hello.” A goofy grin spreads across his face as Toby turns red in a rosy blush. Joe plops his hat back on his head, a sign he’s about to leave, as he says, “Well, I best be going now, I have to catch up to Hoss, Johnny, and the others; we’re searching for the Lassiter’s place. It was nice seeing you all this morning, I just wish my visit could’ve been longer.”

With a final goodbye from everyone, I follow him as he walks out onto the porch. He pulls me close and gives me a slow kiss before resting his cheek against mine, “I love you, Shelia, take care of yourself and stay safe, you hear?” 

“I love you, too.” I whisper. “You know I’ll watch my back until this whole crazy mess is over.” 

He kisses me once more before he lets go and steps down off the porch. I watch him stride across the yard to where he left Cochise by the barn. He swing mounts into the saddle and looks over his shoulder as he throws me a wave. I wave back and lean against the porch railing as I stare at him until he’s just a distant blur on the horizon. 

I hear a creak behind me and turn to see Ma’s head peeking out the door, “Are you ready to come help me make the butter now?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

 

(Chapter 2) A Lovely Memory

Up, down, up again and then back down. The churning stick smoothly glides methodically through my hands as I listen to the cream slosh against the sides of the churn. I’ve churned butter so many times, I could do it in my sleep. It seems like a simple, easy task but it takes arm strength and if that’s something you don’t have, then your arms will burn like nothing else. 

Joe likes to joke with me that my arms are almost as muscular as his, which isn’t true, but I can’t help having a little more muscle than most girls. It’s just something that happens when you’ve churned butter for eighteen out of the twenty-three years of your life. And then to add in the fact that another fifteen of those years have been spent milking four or five cows twice a day, arm muscles are just something you acquire whether you want them or not. Our family’s small dairy farm keeps us busy and well taken care of yet I’ll be glad to only have to milk one cow a day instead of four after Joe and I get married. 

A few people started an unwanted, and untrue, rumor about me only marrying Joe for his money after our engagement was announced. But it didn’t last long though since nearly all of our close friends squashed it out rather quickly. I love Joe with everything in me, always have, always will, and I’d marry him if he didn’t have a speck of dirt to call his own or a penny to his name. 

My mind drifts to that handsome, curly haired man, the butter forgotten yet still being made through reflex, and let one of the most precious, lovely memories we’ve made together wash over me. It was the day after he proposed. His proposal had been simple but full of love and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. It was a wonderful day, yet the day after will always be a lot more memorable to me. 

I woke up early the next day and spent the whole morning fixing a big picnic lunch since he asked me to go on a picnic with him the night before. When I asked him where we were going, he wouldn’t tell me, he said it was a surprise. So about an hour before noon, he showed up on Cochise and after the picnic basket was tied down and I was mounted on my palomino, Tennyson, we were off. 

We rode out across the Ponderosa to a beautiful spot beside Lake Tahoe, the same stunning spot Joe took me on our first date. On that first date he explained to me that it was his special place that he didn’t just show anyone right before he leaned in and kissed me soundly on the mouth. 

While we ate our lunch right beside the lake that day, Joe told me that he wanted to build our house right there in his special place, only that time he called it our special place. We discussed how the house should look and after we decided to have the front windows and our bedroom face the lake with a sturdy little kitchen and living room towards the back, he said he would write to Adam and ask him to draw up the house plans. Joe could have drawn them himself but I knew he wanted Adam to do it because he respected his older brother and hoped it would maybe bring him home from his travels back East. 

Joe told me that as we needed to, we’d add little rooms on to the back of the house. With the talk of those little rooms came other plans for our future together: children. He told me he wanted a couple of sons so that the Cartwright name would be carried on and then a few daughters to be his pride and joy. When he asked me how many I wanted, I told him I’d keep having babies until he got tired of building more rooms on to the house. 

After putting all the empty dishes back in the basket, so full we thought we’d burst, we pulled the blanket right down to the edge of the lake. We shucked off our boots and socks to dipped our toes into the cool lake. Even though the mid-spring air was hot, the water was ice cold but we kept our feet in it anyways. We laid back side by side on the blanket, eyes closed as we listened to everything around us while our stomachs relaxed. 

It doesn’t take much to take me back to that day, the memory’s so vivid I can nearly reach out and touch it. I can remember every sound and smell. How there was a bird chirping right above us in the tree, all the little spring peepers croaking alongside the lake, and Joe’s steady breathing beside me. And the way the smell of the fragrant new flowers drifted around on the gentle, warm breeze as it swirled back and forth. 

Without really even thinking about it, I scooted closer to Joe and laid my head on his chest. I had draped my arm across his stomach and nuzzled in with a sigh. The feel of his solid form next to me was comforting and warm. He put his arm around my shoulders and tucked me in closer as he untied and slowly pulled the ribbon out of my hair. He raked his fingers through the silky strands, always gentle and never getting it tangled. As his fingers slowed down, I felt his chest begin to rise and fall slightly deeper like he was starting to doze off. It only took me a few minutes to doze off as well and we slept for nearly an hour before I woke up with a shriek. There had been a big minnow in the lake that was trying to take a taste of my toe but it startled me more than it hurt. 

We realized the time and hurried to dry our feet and get them back in our shoes. Still sleepy, I fumbled around and Joe had his boots on before I had one sock on. He took the other sock out of my hand after watching me for a moment and he gently put it on my foot. I let him take over and I watched as he slowly slipped my boots on. Once they were both on, he pulled me to my feet and kissed me long and slow. 

“Shelia, Shelia?”

“Yes, Ma?” I quickly ask as her voice brings me back to reality. 

“I think the butter’s finished.” She points to the churn at my feet and gives me a small, knowing sort of smile.

I hear the quiet thud coming from inside of it and nod as I bend to open it. Together we quickly take all of the fresh butter out and begin to pack it into the molds. Ma presses a large glob of it into a mold and smooths it out as she asks, “You were thinking about Joe, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” I blush with a smile. “How did you know?”

“A look sometimes has more to say than a thousand words.”

“It was that obvious?” She nods as that same knowing smile returns. 

“I can tell you’re beginning to get impatient,” she laughs, “I remember the feeling quite well. But don’t worry, you only have two weeks left to go.”

“Yeah, the longest two weeks of my life.” We both laugh as we finish molding the butter. 

 

(Chapter 3) Fright and Love

Three nights later I quietly hum to myself as I milk Alice. Pausing, I listen to see if the very quiet creak I heard repeats and when it doesn’t, I continue. It wasn’t much of a creak, just a slight squeak like a hinge moving a little. Suddenly Alice shifts nervously on her feet, almost spilling the full bucket under her which is something she never does. A small chill goes up my spine as I get the odd feeling that I’m being watched. 

I’m about to spin around to look behind me when a large, manly hand claps over my mouth. Whoever it is isn’t quick enough to quiet my scream because it slips past his hand. He drags me along with him out the door, letting go of my face to pick me up by the waist and haul me on his horse. As he plants me firmly in his saddle, I get a good look at his face. Carver Lassiter’s sharp, blue eyes flash angrily at me as he swings up behind me. He kicks his horse into a full gallop and we’re out of the yard before Pa and Toby have a chance to do anything. 

As I bounce along in front of him, a devastating thought keeps drifting back and forth through my mind: I should’ve watched my back like Joe told me and because I didn’t, I’m now the Lassiter’s hostage. Joe’s going to be devastated when he finds out and he’s liable to tear through the countryside, half cocked, searching for me. But then, they’ve already been searching for the Lassiter place for the past three days, what’s the chance of them finding it now?

As we ride silently along, I try to keep track of where we’re going but I fail miserably due to the quickly fading light as the sun goes down. The wind whips past us and I feel the ribbon in my hair loosen and fly away as my bare feet bounce gently just above the too long stirrups. A sense of dread fills me as I realize that my odd habit of not wearing any boots around the farm in the summer is coming back to bite me. Out of all the days I had to not put on my boots, today had to be it, but then, of course the unimaginable just happened and it was the least expected thing. 

The heat of the day is beginning to cool but the heat seeping into me from the man riding behind me reminds me of the day I met both Carver and Little Joe. It was ten years ago; I was thirteen and they were fifteen. We all went to the same little schoolhouse that Miss Abigail Jones reigned over. Joe and Carver were in their last year while I still had two more to go.

My family had just moved to Virginia City from Texas and were continuing our dairy farm in a new place since there was a horrible drought going on where we lived. Ma sent Toby and I to school three weeks after we settled in and it was while Miss Jones put our names in the register that Carver and the rest of the class found out about my Pa running a dairy farm. What Pa did for a living didn’t bother any of the other kids since most of their own pa’s were farmers or ranchers yet for some reason it irked Carver. 

Toby and I became the victims of his relentless teasing. But then for some reason after a few months, he quit bothering Toby and doubled down on me. It was constant teasing, nagging and name calling. It hurt but I tried not to let it show, especially in front of Carver. I always tried to stand my ground with Carver and no matter how much I wanted to, I never stooped to his level and bullied him back. Miss Jones was aware of it and even unsuccessfully tried to stop him; he wouldn’t quit and his mother didn’t do a thing to try and make him either. Then one day he got shut up by someone in the class and he never bullied me again. 

I can remember that day like it was yesterday even though it was ten years ago. I had been jump roping with a few of my friends when all of a sudden they were pushed to the side and Carver was in front of me. Taunting me, calling my father and I crude names, he reached out and began to yank painfully on one of my long, white blonde braids. He’d never touched me before, just thrown insults at me so it threw me off. Then suddenly before he had a chance to pull on my braid again, he was spun away from me. With wide eyes, I watched Little Joe Cartwright, the pretty boy of the school who was constantly flirting with all the girls his age, pound on Carver Lassiter. I’d seen Joe in a few school brawls before but never one over me or with him getting the upper hand. Because of Joe’s smaller size, Carver normally worked him over pretty good but not that time. Joe’s famous hot temper was flaming that day and before Miss Jones got to them to break it up, Joe’d nearly knocked Carver senseless. 

After the fight was broken up and the class on its way back into the schoolhouse, Joe came up to me and apologized for causing such a ruckus and that he was sorry I had to deal with Carver for as long as I did. I told him it was alright and that it never really bothered me. It was in that moment that the way I looked at Joe changed; he was my hero, my knight in shining armor disguised as a rough and rowdy cowboy. I developed a very bad case of puppy love but it was short lived when one day I found him stealing a kiss from one of the older girls behind the school house. 

School ended and Joe left yet I saw him in church every Sunday that his family was able to attend. I finished my own schooling and not long afterwards heard gossip around town about Little Joe being with the infamous Julia Butlette. For years after that there was always gossip going around about his love life. Some of it was shocking like the time he was with an actress who sang in the saloon until she got a jig in California but some of it was heartbreaking, especially the time one of his loves died suddenly of an illness in their future home. 

I stepped out with many different boys all during that time yet Joe was always my hero despite him no longer knowing I existed. But then about a year and a half ago, we were thrown together by chance. It was a Saturday night dance, we had backed up into each other and after finding out neither of us had a partner for the next dance, he asked me for the honors. We spun around that night multiple times and the rest is history. 

We started out slow, with only talking on the Sundays he was able to come to church and then he took me to his special place. Picnics and dinner in town soon followed and before I knew it, I was his girl. We both fell for each other hard and fast and were soon planning our future. Ma and Pa both liked him from the start despite the many women in his past and I got along very nicely with his family as well. It didn’t take long for us to get engaged after that. 

But it seems like that now I’m going to end up being one of his heart breaks instead of his forever since Carver has me. I’ve never been this frightened in my life yet thinking about Joe and the love we share is keeping me from getting hysterical, which is something I’ve only done once or twice. It almost seems ironic that the man who helped Little Joe become my hero is now holding me hostage with the intention to hang me. If only I’d listened to Joe and watched my back better. 

 

(Chapter 4) An Encounter With Ma

Carver slows his horse to a walk as he takes a path through the dark woods. Looking in front of us, I try to figure out where we are and I see a faint light ahead and as we get closer, I can tell it’s a lantern in the window of some sort of shack or cabin. The path opens up into a very small clearing and there on the other side of it is a puny shack, the lantern I saw shining brightly out its window. 

As he pulls his horse to a halt in front of a hitching post right outside of the shack, Carver gets down from behind me and another man steps out of the shadows. Reaching up, he grabs me around the waist and jerks me roughly out of the saddle and my bare feet smack the ground. The other man opens the door while I feel Carver’s hand push into my lower back as he shoves me forcefully into the little house. I lose my footing and skid to a halt inside, landing flat on my face on the floor. 

Carver and his partner step over; they each grab one of my arms and yank me roughly to my feet. After walking me over to another door, they open it and toss me inside like a discarded sack of potatoes. I lose my footing yet again as I fall and slide across the floor, only stopping when I slam into the wall across the room. I glance up briefly and find Judge Simpson and L. B. Merrick, who apparently is their second hostage, watching me. 

Carver strides into the room, swaying cockily with a rope in his hand, “Well, here you are, little lady, I hope you find this new room of yours to your liking.”

Something on the wall behind me jabs me in the back. I shift slightly so whatever it is will quit stabbing me as I quickly glance behind me to find a large nail sticking about three inches out of the wall. Evidently someone forgot to hammer it in all the way. 

Elizabeth Lassiter walks into the room and steps up to me, hands on her hips as she asks, “You remember me, Shelia?”

“You’ve changed, what happened to you?” I don’t think anyone could forget the blue eyed, strawberry blonde woman standing in front of me once they’ve met her. “Why Mrs. Lassiter, why?”

“Because I’m going to kill you, Shelia Johnson,” she pulls her gun out of the waist of her split shirt as she bends down beside me so that we’re eye to eye. She cocks the hammer and points it right at my chest, “and them, too, unless that sheriff gets some sense in that thick head of his and lets my boy go.”

“They aren’t going to let Harry go, Mrs. Lassiter.” I steadily hold her gaze even though I’d rather be watching her finger on that trigger. “Killing us isn’t going to do any good.”

“Yes, it will.”

“How?”

“It’ll help even the score.” She stands up and sticks her pistol back into its place in her waistband. “You don’t think I’ve forgotten what your future father-in-law and the rest of them noble citizens of Virginia City did to destroy my husband, do you?”

“Oh, Elizabeth, hold on,” Judge Simpson interrupts, “the bank did what it had to do with that loan. They had to turn it down, Will was too deep in debt already. Everyone on the board of directors for the bank agreed on it.”

“And it forced him into going bankrupt,” she angrily barks back, “he wound up killing himself.”

“Yeah,” Carver steps up beside his mother, “and ever since, we’ve been running like wild animals.”

“You don’t think I’m gonna let them take my boy, Harry, now too, do you?” She asks me, glaring, but I just meet her glare with one of my own. 

“But, Elizabeth,” she quickly turns back to Judge Simpson, “why do you have Miss Johnson here? She had nothing to do with Harry’s trial or Will’s loan.”

“Oh, I have my reasons,” she laughs, “but the main one is humiliating my Carver in front of the whole school years ago.”

“I never humiliated him,” I gasp, shocked and angry, “he taunted and bullied me everyday for nearly the whole school year until Joe stepped in.” 

“Yeah, that boyfriend of yours worked Carver over good, too. He came home with a busted up face, too ashamed to tell me that puny Little Joe Cartwright was the one that did it to him.”

“But that was ten years ago!” I exclaim. “And Carver deserved every bruise that he got that day.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Shelia.” Turning to Carver, she orders, “Carver, go on, tie her up, I’m done talking to the little tramp. Froggo, Blackie, make yourselves useful, give him a hand.”

 

(Chapter 5) The Insult

All three men step towards me, ropes ready to go in their hands. If my entrance to this shack was an example of how I’m going to be treated, then I’m in for a rough time. Mrs. Lassiter apparently doesn’t care if her son and men manhandle a girl half their size. 

Putting his boot on my shoulder, Carver shoves me over onto my stomach. I feel one of the other two men loop a rope around my bare ankles, they pull it so tight that it digs in and I silently curse myself for stupidly not wearing shoes. Carver grabs my hands and ties them roughly behind my back; then using his boot again, he lifts my shoulder, pushing me up to a sitting position along the wall. My skirt flips up almost above my knees but it thankfully goes back down as I stretch my legs out in front of me. As he bends down beside me, I see a fire of desire light Carver’s eyes while they lazily make their way up and down my figure. His look makes me feel like I’ve been stripped of all my clothing and a chill of fear settles in me as he leans in loser, his right hand reaching out to caress my cheek. 

“I’ve always been jealous of the way all the pretty gals flocked around Little Joe like crows to corn. And it really made me mad when he started sparkin’ you.”

“Why would it make you mad?” I ask, not liking the feel of his rough hand on my cheek or how close he is. “You’ve never liked me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” his voice almost sounds like a purr, “I like you a lot, I always have.”

“If you liked me so much then why’d you bully and taunt me all those years ago?”

“Cause that’s how I treat girls I like.” I shutter, not wanting to know how he’d treat a girl he loved if that’s how he treated one he just liked. Even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I hold his gaze as he starts to talk again. “But now that your precious Joe Cartwright ain’t here and can’t do a thing about it, I can get a taste of what he’s been gettin’ for the last year or so.”

His hand moves down my cheek to my chin, which he grabs in a painful grip, holding my face in place. He leans in and roughly kisses me on the mouth. As he finally lets go after what seems like ages, I look at him as he rocks back on his heels. My breath goes furiously in and out of my lungs with so much force I’m surprised that they aren’t bursting. 

“How dare you?” It comes out a deep and breathless, angry growl. “Little Joe’ll kill you when he finds out about this.”

“Oh, will he now?” He laughs. “You know what, I think I just might try to talk Ma outta killin’ you so I can have a purty little wife. How’d you like that, Shelia?”

“I think you’re disgusting, you’re filthier than the dirt on the bottom of my feet!” 

Quickly reaching out, he slaps me hard across the face. The sting of it brings tears to my eyes but I don’t let them fall. He stands up as he says, “I’ve heard enough outta you Shelia Johnson, and if I hear you again, you’re going to be the first one to swing in that tree out front.”

His piece said, he strides the three steps across the room over to Judge Simpson and L.B. Merrick. Squatting down in front of Merrick, he pulls out his gun and cocks it right in his face. Merrick squirms under the taunting but relaxes a bit as Carver snaps the hammer back in place, stands up and walks out of the room. The door shuts and the click of the lock sounds loud as it echoes through the quiet room. 

“Why me?” Merrick moans. “Why do I have to die because of a feud that started years before I came to Virginia City?”

“Mr. Merrick, just relax,” I wish I could scrub my mouth out with soap but unfortunately that’s not possible, “nobody’s dead yet.”

“No, but I will be if they don’t do what that crazy woman asks.” Merrick carries on, obviously skittish as all get out. “My wife’s gonna have a baby in two months. Is hanging Harry Lassiter worth my child growing up fatherless?”

“You sang a different tune at that trail when you demanded the death penalty for Harry Lassiter.” Judge Simpson reminds him. “Are you saying that you think that verdict should be changed now just because your life is in danger?”

“If I had the power to make a deal with Mrs. Lassiter right now, you better believe I’d do it.” Judge Simpson gives him a disgusted look so Merrick throws back, “Alright, you stand on principle if you want to, but I’m more interested in keeping alive.”

“Mr. Merrick, trust me, we’re all in the same boat,” I say, already tired of his complaining, “we all want to make it out of this alive. I, for one, want to walk down that aisle like I planned to in two weeks.”

“Shelia, did Carver hurt you?” Judge Simpson asks after giving Merrick a final look of disgust. 

“No, sir, but thank you for asking.” I shift myself to the side, positioning myself in front of that nail that nearly tried to stab me. I lift my tied wrists and begin to saw the rope back and forth across it. The position is awkward and I know my shoulders are going to ache for days after this but it’s the only way out of here.

 

(Chapter 6) A Faithful and A Faithless

A few hours earlier, right as it became dark for the night, Carver busted through the door and shoved the fourth captive across the room. Reverend Holmes skidded to a halt beside me with a heavy sigh. Judge Simpson, L.B. Merrick, me, and now Reverend Holmes. Who’ll be next?

“Miss Johnson, please,” Reverend Holmes watches me while I continue to cut my rope on the nail, “don’t be fool hardy. I can’t truly believe Mrs. Lassiter will actually go through with her threats.”

“I’m sorry, Reverend,” I glance over, “but I’m not so sure about that now.”

“They have to let that Lassiter boy go.” Merrick’s endless complaining starts up yet again. “Can’t you all see that?”

“Merrick, will you just shut up for once.” I sigh tired of his fretting. 

“I’ve got things to do,” he continues, “a life to live. Why have I got to die, why me?”

“Get a hold of yourself,” Reverend Holmes’ voice takes on stern tone as he gives him a steely look, “please Mr. Merrick.”

“But I don’t want to die.” He’s beginning to get frantic now and it wouldn’t surprise me if he begins to sob or something. 

“None of us want to die, Mr. Merrick, but everyone of us must face that possibility in life sooner or later. Yet the thing is to face it with dignity.”

“Reverend, don’t start giving me any of your theological nonsense. There’s only life or death, that’s all.”

“Is that all you truly believe, Mr. Merrick?”

“Well, what else is there to believe?”

“Leave it all on God.” Mr. Merrick shuts his mouth and finally quits complaining about our predicament. 

Still continuing with my sawing, the sound loud in the silence, I can feel that the rope is nearly cut. With my heart pounding and my breath coming in excited short spurts, I move faster. Finally with only a little bit left to go, I pull down with all my might and the rope snaps quietly. 

 

(Chapter 7) To Live

“What are you doing?” Merrick’s voice sounds scared and panicky; I just know he’s going to cause a ruckus. Quickly untying my ankles, I flip up my skirt and tear off a decent sized strip of my petticoat. I hear his shaky breath as he angrily says, “You’re trying to escape, aren’t you? Mrs. Lassiter!”

I leap across the room towards him and cram the piece of petticoat in his mouth, tying it tightly behind his head before he has a chance to shout again. He just looks up at me and for a second I get the feeling that he’s going to try to make more noise but then he placidly leans his head on the wall beside him. I release the breath I was holding, thankful I don’t have to knock him out to make him shut up; I can’t hurt my hand on him, I’ll probably have to fight my way out of here. Moving over to Judge Simpson, I turn him towards me so I can untie his hands.

“Shelia, just what exactly are you planning to do?”

“Getting all of us out of here.”

“No, no that’s not any good, Shelia.” He twists away from me so that I can’t untie him. “Reverend Holmes and I aren’t cut out for this sort of thing and unfortunately neither are you.”

“And just why am I not fit for this sort of thing?” My temper begins to flare as I clearly see what he’s saying. “Don’t you think I ought to be the judge of that?”

“Now, Shelia don’t get me wrong,” he continues, “but except for Elizabeth, all of them out there are men. Men who are double your size and who could easily overpower you.”

“He’s right, Miss Johnson.” The Reverend nods his agreement.

“I know that,” I look between the two of them, my anger quickly cooling off and solid determination taking its place, “but, gentlemen, you’re forgetting something.”

“And what’s that?”

“I grew up chopping wood, milking cows, and churning butter. My whole life I’ve done nothing but hard labor so I’ve got quite a bit of muscle and strength even though it doesn’t look like it. I’m not your average girl, I’m a farmer.”

“Alright, Shelia, do what you think you have to do.” I give Judge Simpson a grateful nod before I try to turn him towards me again so I can untie him. But he doesn’t let me, saying, “No, you’re going to have to do this alone, we’ll just get in your way and slow you down.”

 “But I can’t just leave you here.” 

“I don’t think you have much choice, Shelia, if you’re going to do this, you’ll be doing it alone.” I look once more at the Reverend and then him as I stand up. Stepping over to the door, I listen for anything on the other side. The only thing that drifts through is the sound of multiple snores. 

“Alright, well, in order to do this I’ll need your help getting out of here.” I glance back at them, not sure if they’ll do as I ask but by the looks on their faces, I can tell they will. “The door’s locked, I can’t get out so I’ll need to get someone in here.”

“What do you want us to do, Miss Johnson?”

“Sing. Sing something, anything.” I say after thinking for a moment as I step behind the door. “Just make sure whatever it is that you sing it loud.”

They nod at each other and Reverend Holmes begins as the Judge quickly joins in, “Yes, we’ll gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river. Gather with the saints at the river that flows by the throne of God. Yes, we’ll gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river…”

As the door flies open, I hastily move my toes so they don’t get smashed. Carver’s voice booms into the room, “Hey, shut up!”

Pushing the door I rush out and grab the back of his shirt to spin him around towards me. The surprise and his still partly asleep demeanor makes him not react as I punch him in the stomach and then the jaw with all the strength I can muster. He twirls and then smashes into the little table and chair behind him, out cold. I quickly turn around, my hand throbbing, as the noise he made falling wakes up the others. Bolting out of the room, I deftly shove the small kitchen table at the half asleep man coming my way. As I open the door, the man posted outside tries to snatch me but swinging as hard as I can, my fist connects with his hard jaw. I feel three of my fingers crack. A gasp escapes me as I shove past him and run with all I’m worth, bare feet thudding against the ground tear filled eyes quickly adjusting to the dark. 

 

(Chapter 8) To Die

I’m scared, scared and burning up from the heat wave that’s been drifting through the territory. With the hot, morning sun beating down on me, I take a rest. I’ve been running for over an hour and every inch of me hurts. My bare feet are oozing blood and my right hand screams in pain; it’s already swollen with discolored bruises and out of all of my fingers, my pinkie is the only one I can barely move. I know they’re still chasing me but I don’t know how close they are, so I just lay as still as a mouse while I try to catch my breath. 

“Blackie, I’ll go around, you look up in that scrub.” My head whips up as I hear the shout, my whole body filling with dread as I realize the scrub they’re referring to is exactly where I’m hidden. 

“Shelia, you’re going to be one dead gal.” Tiredly yet quickly, I leap to my feet and begin to run once again. 

“There she goes.”

“She’s still running.” Frantic as sweat drips down my face into my eyes, I fight my way through the bushes around me. “I hear her over to your left.”

“I see her!” As the shout echoes through the air, I hit the ground and flatten myself into the bushes with the hope that they can’t see me anymore.

“Froggo, are you still up there?”

“Yeah!”

“Alright, now stay with her, I’m taking this side.” Half crouched, half standing, I run to yet another bush a few feet away from me and drop with a slide into its sparingly leafed branches. “Blackie, over your way now.”

“Shelia?” Beginning to crawl, I drag myself with my good arm. Only able to go a few feet, I rest for a moment as terror and exhaustion wash over me. “Alright, Shelia, just give it up. You can either come out of this breathin’ or bleedin’, make your choice.”

Slowly I raise my head as I shove myself to my feet and try to look around above the brush when suddenly a shot rings out. I take off sprinting again, pure fear the only thing pushing my bleeding feet to move. Another shot echoes through the air as a puff of dust flies off the ground not five feet away from me. Completely filled with terror now, I leap to the side, flipping around as a bullet bites the dust in front of me. I yank myself forward and use the force to roll down the small hill beside me. I bite down on my bottom lip so hard I taste blood as my broken fingers smack the ground.

“Did you hit her?” The voice sounds odd as I continue to roll down hill, finally stopping as the ground flattens.

“I don’t know.”

“We lost her!”

“She’s down in that dip, come on!” Hearing them move in, I know I have to try and get away. I stand once more and take the first step. Just as my right foot solidly plants on the ground, a thorn or something shoves into the fleshy arch of my foot. With a nearly silent cry of pain, I throw myself forwards and land on my stomach in the dirt only a few feet from where I started. I lay with fear and pain trembling through me as I fight the tears welling up in my eyes.

I hear horses coming my way; I quickly look up, scared it’s the Lassiters but what I see makes me want to cry in sheer relief. It’s Joe, Pa, and a few others. As I watch, Joe jumps off his pinto and sprints towards me. 

“Shelia, are you all right?” He grabs my arm gently, his eyes quickly scanning my face as Pa bends down on my other side. 

“You sure are a sight for sore eyes.” I sigh with a smile while they carefully pull me to my feet.

Suddenly the sound of hoofbeats and a loud voice drifts down to us from above, “She must be down here.”

Quickly scooping me up, Joe hurries over to the big tree that’s a few feet away and sits me down behind its large trunk. He flies over to his horse, yanks out his rifle and is back by my side with his knees on the ground, cocked gun to his shoulder in the blink of an eye. My Pa and the other men, who I now realize are Hoss, Toby, and Johnny, rush over and hide behind the tree with us. All of them start shooting and within seconds it’s all over. 

I feel a gentle hand on my arm and open my eyes to find Joe looking at me. Slowly his hand moves down my arm to try and take my hand but I quickly jerk it away and tuck it close to me with a quiet hiss of pain. As Pa bends down on my other side, Joe worriedly asks, “Shelia, what’s wrong?”

“Three of my fingers are broken.”

“Did one of Mrs. Lassiter’s men do this to you?” Pa’s voice has an odd tense tone to it and when I glance over, I see a hot anger beneath the concern in his eyes. 

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘Not exactly’?” Joe exclaims, clearly confused.

“I broke them when I punched one of the men in the jaw as I ran out of the shack. I don’t know who it was but he sure had a hard jaw!” I smile and try not to think of the pain as I hear Hoss softly chuckle at my answer. 

“Besides your hand, is anything else hurt?” Pa asks as he looks me up and down for visible wounds. 

“Just my feet.”

Toby, who’s standing near my feet, drops down to look at them and I see him cringe. I know they’re a mess; I can feel that the bottoms are scrapped and I can see one of my toenails is peeled back, nearly ripped off. Very gently, he turns my right foot, looking at something on the bottom of it. He glances up at me, “There’s a big thorn in the arch of your foot, do you want me to yank it out?”

I nod and grab Pa’s hand and squeeze it so tight I know my knuckles have to be white. Toby reaches out and with a quick tug, rips out the offending thorn. A sharp cry of pain escapes me but I quickly bite down on my lip to contain it. I take a deep breath as he slowly stands up and tosses the decent sized thorn to the ground. I quickly say, “I need to show you the way to the Lassiter’s shack before she kills the others.”

Joe stands up and swings me gently into his arms. He walks towards his horse, looking down at me with eyes full of love and concern as he whispers, “Shelia, did they hurt you?”

“No, Little Joe.” I answer, knowing the true meaning behind his question. He smiles, his relief written plainly on his face as he gently lifts me into his saddle before swinging up behind me. He reaches around me and grabs the reins in front of me as everyone else mounts up. I lean back into his solid chest with a tired, contented sigh and lift my arm to point in the direction we need to go. “That way, boys.”

 

(Chapter 9) The Return

We’re there within minutes but after a quick decision, they leave the horses and I back out of gun range so we don’t get hurt. As they slip off their horses, Hoss, Johnny, Pa, Toby, and Joe pull out their rifles. They creep away and are soon gone. Left alone in a little clearing, I can’t see the shack but I don’t hear any gunshots.

About ten minutes later I hear voices and horses through the trees. A flash of green catches my eye and Joe’s familiar form comes walking through the woods, face grim, rifle in hand. I fear the worst as I try to read his face but it’s as blank as an empty piece of paper. Leading two horses, Hoss appears beside him. Perched on one horse is Ma Lassiter and the man on the other I recognize as Kirt, her right hand man. Just beyond then I see Judge Simpson, Reverend Holmes, and L.B. Merrick each on a different horse with Pa, Toby, and Johnny trailing them.

I sag with relief and catch Joe’s eye as he steps up beside me where I still sit on his trusty black and white pinto. Giving me a very small smile, he winks at me as he puts his rifle away and swings up behind me. Hoss and Joe take the lead and before I know it, we’re homeward bound. 

As Joe wraps his arms tightly around me while he holds the reins, I lean back into him, laying my head on his shoulder. Feeling his steady heartbeat on my back, his strong arms wrapped protectively around me, and the kiss he brushes on my cheek, I know everything’s going to be all right now. I relax completely into Joe and just try to enjoy the ride and soak up the feel of the man behind me. 

A few hours later, we ride into town and I wake up with a little start when Joe whispers in my ear, “Shelia, we’re in town.”

I quickly straighten myself as we turn down the street. I see Mr. Albee run up to Roy’s office, throw open the door and yell something inside. Ben must be waiting inside for the search party with Roy. As the man who’s soon to be my father-in-law slips out the door, another figure shadows him. My eyes fill with tears as I see my mother step up beside Ben where he stands with his foot propped on the hitching post. Even though we aren’t close enough yet and the tears blur my vision, I can tell they’re both smiling. A single tear drops off my face and splashes down onto Joe’s hand at my waist, which gently tightens its grip, as a huge, happy grin spreads across my face. 

It’s a happy moment for all of us in town, especially the Cartwrights, us Johnsons, and the families of the three other hostages, yet it’s a grim one for Mrs. Lassiter and Kirt. As we get closer, I can see a finished gallows standing tall in front of the jail with its builder watching us ride past. It’s a grim yet happy moment.  

 

(Chapter 10) Safe and Sound

With a sigh, I push the peas around on my plate of food. I’m not really hungry even though I haven’t eaten since the last time Mrs. Lassiter fed us in that shack and that had only been bread and water. With everything that’s happened today, it’s sort of stolen my appetite. What I really want is Joe; I haven’t seen him since he helped me to this room in the hotel and that was hours ago. Turning my head towards the window, I can tell it’s dark outside despite the fact that the curtains are closed. I’ve been asleep ever since Doc Martin fixed up my hand and feet and I figure Joe’s been too busy to come check on me yet I hope he comes soon. 

Just as I lean my head back onto the pillow that’s propping me up, someone knocks on the door so I call out, “Who is it?”

“Shelia, it’s me.” Joe’s voice drifts through the door. Surprised, I quickly smooth my hair and fix my dress. 

“Come in, Joe.” I answer, feeling tears prick the back of my eyes. The door opens and his familiar form fills the doorway. He shuts the door with his foot and steps across the room to the bureau, where he lays down the tray he was carrying. He walks over to the bed and my eyes never leave him for a second; I was so sure while I was held hostage that I’d never see him again. That thought alone makes my eyes fill with tears as he sits down on the edge of the bed beside me. Looking at him, I notice that his hazel eyes are shining with unshed tears, too. 

I quickly pull the tray off my lap and onto the other side of the bed before I throw myself into his outstretched arms. As I wrap my arms around his back and bury my fingers into his curls, being careful with my broken hand, I feel his shoulders begin to shake as the tears stream down my face. We sit there like that for a few minutes, just crying in each other’s arms. 

Joe leans back and takes my face in his hands, wiping the tears off my cheeks with his thumbs. He pulls me closer and kisses me soft and slow yet like he’ll never get to kiss me again. I grab a handful of the back of his shirt as he pulls me even closer and wish that my right hand wasn’t in a cast so I could hold him tighter. 

Our kiss finished, Joe buries his face in my neck and hair, “Shelia, I love you so much!”

 “I love you, too, Little Joe.” I run my fingers through his hair, the feel of his soft, brown curls comforting. 

“I didn’t think I was going to see you alive ever again.” His shoulders shutter again. “When I saw you laying on the ground out there today, I was so relieved I wanted to cry and jump for joy at the same time.”

“I heard you all ride up and I thought it was Carver and the others. I was so scared but then I looked up and there you were.” He leans back and grabs my hand, squeezing it tight before kissing the top of it as I smile at him. “Joe, you’ve never looked so good to me before.”

“Shelia, I know you told me they didn’t hurt you, but are you sure?” His face falls into a serious expression. 

“No, Joe, they didn’t,” I shake my head, “they offended me but it’s over now because I’m safe with you and Carver’s dead.”

“What do you mean by offended, what did Carver do to you?” His grip tightens painfully on my hand but I don’t care, I’m holding his hand. I’ll never take the little things like holding someone’s hand for granted again. 

“Carver said that he’d always been jealous of you because of all the attention the pretty girls gave you, especially me.” I sigh. “He said he wanted a taste of what you’ve been getting, so he kissed me. I went off on him, saying when you found out, you’d kill him. Then he said he was going to talk to his mother about keeping me alive so he could have a wife. I got a slap to the face after I told him he was disgusting. He didn’t touch me after that though.”

“Then I’m glad it was my bullet that killed him,” he sighs angrily, “but are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Joe.” Reaching up, I caress his cheek. “What’s been going on while I was asleep?”

“Well, about an hour after we rode into town, Pa hung Harry Lassiter.” He pauses to lean in and kiss my cheek before he shakes his head as he continues, “Mrs. Lassiter stood there with Kirt and watched the whole thing.”

“What are they going to do with Mrs. Lassiter and Kirt?”

“Their trials start tomorrow.”

“What do you think will happen to them?”

“They’ll probably both go to jail for the rest of their lives and there’s also a possibility that Kirt might hang.” He lays my hand in my lap and walks over to the bureau where he grabs the tray and carries it back over. He quickly steps around the other side of the bed as I pull my tray into my lap. With one smooth motion, he climbs onto the bed beside me, plopping his tray of food in his lap, “Well, let’s not think about that right now, our supper is getting cold and I like my food to be warm when I eat it.”

“Little Joe?” I watch him shove a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. 

“Yeah?” He asks around the food in his mouth. 

“I love you.” He looks at me and quickly swallows. Leaning towards me, careful not to spill his food, he kisses me again. 

“And I love you, my little milkmaid.” 

The End 

 

Tags:  hostage, Joe / Little Joe Cartwright, kidnap, revenge