Page 13 of Fairest of Heart

Another rope fiber frayed. Her sawing became more forceful, her voice louder.

“He s-sent Edith to r-rescue you as a b-babe. Tonight, he g-gave you a knife. Use it!”

With a loud grunt, she scraped the blade downward, pressing as hard as she could. The rope popped. The knife fell. She bent forward, straining after the lost tool, but gravity proved too efficient. The blade clunked against the ground, hilt-first, barely an inch from her stockinged feet.

Penelope banged her skull against the tree, then forced herself to take three deep breaths. The knife was gone, but the rope was severed. She could shimmy out of this. She just had to create enough strain on the rope to loosen the coils and create slack.

She slid up and down, her movements so minuscule at first that it felt as if nothing were happening. Her head scraped against the trunk, her hair catching in the bark and yanking at her scalp. Gradually, her range of motion increased. She twisted in every direction possible. Over and over. The skin along her shoulder blades rubbed raw. Her hair fell across her face in a ratted mess, and acorns poked the undersides of her feet. But the rope was loosening. She could feel it!

Turning sideways the few inches she could, she stretched the rope against her left side, then slid her right arm upward. It moved! Shrugging her right shoulder nearly to her ear, she pulled again, but her elbow caught in the rope. She raised up on tiptoes. Not enough. She planted her left sole against the base of the tree and pushed with her leg to lever herself another inch outward. She wriggled her elbow back and forth. The rope stretched. Her elbow emerged and extricated the rest of her arm.

Tears streamed down Penelope’s face. Tears of relief. Of exhaustion. Of gratitude.

But she wasn’t free yet.

Feeling her way along the coils, she searched for the cut end, found it, and jerked it outward. Other coils had been wrapped atop it, so it didn’t give way easily. But it did move. One beautiful inch at a time. She tugged and twisted, twisted and tugged, until, finally, the rope slackened enough for her to push the coils over her hips. With the widest barrier out of the way, gravity did the rest and carried the rope to the ground.

Penelope staggered away from the tree, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the air’s chill and keep the trembling at bay. Her attention was drawn heavenward, where a three-quarter moon shone in the inky sky. Light in the darkness.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

A handful of stars winked back at her. She wasn’t alone. She had a Father who would never leave her or forsake her. Yet even as the comforting truth embraced her heart, a cloud stole across the sky and blocked the moon’s light. Wind blew through the trees, creating a moaning sound that quickened Penelope’s pulse.

An owl screeched. A twig snapped. She spun to look behind her. Nothing but shadows. Creepy shadows. Ominous shadows.

The knife!

Penelope dropped to her hands and knees and felt around the base of the tree. There. Beneath the rope. She clasped the hilt and drew the weapon close to her body, her breaths coming in heavy pants.

Get ahold of yourself, Pen. You tromped across this very countryside mere hours ago. You’re fine.

The howl of a coyote shredded her logic to bits. She took off running. Three strides into her flight, her feet tangled in something lying on the ground, and Penelope sprawled face first in the dirt. She scrambled to rise, but the snakelike creature wrapped itself around her ankles.

“Get off!” She kicked herself free and had started to run again when the fog of panic finally cleared from her brain.

She halted. Turned. Took a tentative step back the way she had come.

The cloud obscuring the moon passed by and gentle light filtered down over the scene. A blanket. That’s what her feet had tangled in. Brown wool. The blanket Mr. Hunt had used to conceal her. He’d left it behind.

You goose.

Fear had stolen her sanity, but no more. Penelope slid the knife blade beneath the ties of her petticoat, securing it above her left hip. Then she set her jaw and stepped forward.

“‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.’” Reaching the blanket, she bent down to retrieve it, gave it a firm snap to knock off the worst of the dirt and leaves, then wrapped it around her shoulders like a cloak. “‘For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’”

“Thou art with me.”

No more running blindly through the dark. Or jumping at every strange sound. She’d wait for morning, then seek help.

Bedding down beneath the very tree that had held her captive moments before, Penelope piled up the rope to use as a pillow, then curled into a ball beneath her blanket. But sleep eluded her most of the night. Cold chilled her bones. Hunger clawed her belly. And despite her best intentions, worry pecked at her mind.

What if there were no homesteads within walking distance?

What if she couldn’t find water?

What if she stepped on a rattlesnake?

As soon as she batted one fretful thought away, a new one rose to take its place. Not knowing what else to do, she began to rock, imagining herself as a child in Edith’s arms, sitting by the warm cookstove in the school’s kitchen. Edith’s slightly off-key voice that sang hymns in place of lullabies. Taking inspiration from the memory, Penelope filled her mind with the lyrics of one of her favorite hymns.