Page 3 of In Honor’s Defense

Nathaniel pushed away from the wall. “I’ll be back before suppertime.”

Shaking off her cynicism and suspicion before he could sense them, Damaris brightened her smile. “Be careful.”

He shrugged as if to dislodge her concern before it could settle on his shoulders, then disappeared down the hall. The front door slammed a moment later.

Damaris sighed. Someday he would accept her affection. Return it, even. After all, love was the strongest force on earth. Because it wasn’t of earth. It was divine. God’s very nature. It would win the day eventually, if she held true to her course. She must focus on the outcome, not on memories of salt in her tea or frogs on her face.

An involuntary recollection surfaced of slimy amphibian bellies against her lips and sticky feet massaging her chin. One frog had even fallen inside her mouth when she woke and gasped in fright. Damaris shuddered. She’d used half a packet of tooth powder that morning, trying to erase the taste and feel of the creature. Thank heaven Nathaniel had yet to repeat the same prank twice. She didn’t think she could survive a second amphibious encounter.

Never mind all that, though. She had apples to fetch. She wasn’t about to turn down her nephew’s first request, not when it was so easily granted.

Leaving her bread to finish cooling, Damaris marched over to the root cellar door built into the kitchen’s floorboards. She bent down and hefted it open. Then, sweeping her skirt aside so she could watch where she placed her feet on the ladder rungs, she climbed down into the cool, damp cellar and walked over to the bushel basket of apples in the far corner near the shelves of canned goods. Taking an apple in hand, she squeezed it gently, checking for bruises. She wanted to use the very best. Finding a soft spot on that one, she placed the apple back in the basket and reached for a second. As her fingers closed around the fruit, a shadow fell across the room.

Bang! The cellar door slammed closed. Everything went black.

“Nathaniel!” Damaris dropped the apple and ran toward the ladder.

Surely he wouldn’t trap her down here. He was mischievous, but he wasn’t mean. Unless . . . could this be retaliation for his window?

He’d been sneaking out at night despite her urgings that he stop. He gave no heed to her insistence that being out after dark wasn’t safe. Arguing him into her way of thinking hadn’t worked, yet she couldn’t call herself a responsible guardian without doing something to stop him. So yesterday she’d nailed his window shut from the outside, hoping that the hindrance would at least make him stop and think before running off into the night. He hadn’t said anything about it this morning at breakfast, just rushed off to school like normal. She’d thought he hadn’t discovered what she’d done.

Obviously, she’d been wrong.

“All right, Nathaniel. You’ve made your point,” she called as she felt her way through the pitch black, seeking the ladder. “You can let me out now.”

Something scraped above her. Something that sounded like table legs on floorboards. Then a thud. Directly above her head.

“I’ll make ya a deal, Aunt Maris.” Nathaniel’s voice echoed through the floor. Tight. Ominous. “You get yourself outta the cellar before suppertime, and I’ll stop using my window as a door. But if you’re still trapped when I get home for supper, you let me go wherever I want, whenever I want from now on without trying to stop me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t make that deal. It’s my job to protect you.”

“No, it ain’t. It’s my pa’s job, but he ain’t here no more, so now I take care of myself!”

Footsteps pounded, then faded away.

“Nathaniel!”

A door slammed.

He’d left her here. Trapped. In the dark.

The old, timid Damaris would have sat on the dirt floor and wept. Texas Damaris, however, had more grit. Weeping wouldn’t get her out of this cellar. Effort and ingenuity would.

Using the pinpricks of light that outlined the square of the trap door as her guide, Damaris centered herself beneath it and waved her arms until she knocked into the ladder. Grabbing hold of the sides, she fit her foot to the bottom rung and climbed. A few steps up, she reached for the door handle and pushed. It didn’t budge. She climbed higher, bending her head forward and hunching her shoulders until her upper back pressed against the door.

Please, Lord, let this work.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed with her legs as hard as she could. The door moved. Not much, but it moved. She tried again, her grunt of effort nearly becoming a scream.

To no avail. The door moved an inch. Maybe less. The table he’d positioned on top was too heavy.

All right, so effort and ingenuity based on brute strength didn’t work when one happened to be a woman with muscles accustomed more to needle pushing than table lifting. She’d have to make do with Option Two. Patience.

Her real battle wasn’t against wood and hinges. Her opponent was a stubborn, angry, heartbroken boy, and she couldn’t afford to lose. Not when Nathaniel’s well-being lay in the balance. She might be helpless to get out of this hole, but she could control how her nephew found her when next they met. His aunt Maris would not be weeping and distraught. Nor would she be defeated and hurt. She wouldn’t even be bristling with anger and indignation.

No, Nathaniel would find her calm, smiling, and ready to make him the best fried apples he’d ever tasted.

The strategy of turning the other cheek. The Lord endorsed it, so it must work.