Captive Bride - Alta Hensley Page 0,23

at the bowl of batter. No matter how hard I try not to, I smell feces. Scarecrow is dirtier than normal, and his stench is overwhelming. Without warning, he dips his filthy finger into the batter and puts it into his mouth.

“What a treat,” he says as he licks his finger clean of the raw cake. “Who’s the cake for?” His hand is crusty, scaly in brown and yellow flakes.

My heart sinks as my stomach churns. No way can I serve Christopher this cake now. It’s contaminated with the touch of Scarecrow. I’d rather feed Christopher poison than to feed him the disgusting grime of the man standing inches from me.

The cake is ruined.

“For you,” I lie. “To thank you for agreeing to marry Christopher and me.”

In the corner of my eye, I see Scarecrow beam a toothless and decayed smile.

“For me?” His voice is pitched higher than normal. “I’ve never had a cake made just for me.” He leans closer to the bowl and inhales. “My very own cake.”

I can’t stand the air I breathe for another second, so I walk across the room with the cake batter and make it appear like I’m looking for some ingredient in a nearby cabinet. I’ve yet to look Scarecrow in the eyes, and I hope to keep it that way. My hope is he will leave due to my lack of engagement.

“I’ll have it ready for you when Papa Rich comes back with your supplies this afternoon,” I say, trying not to grieve what should have been Christopher’s cake.

“Where’s your pa now?”

“Down the hill. I think he’s waiting for you there.” I don’t know that he is, but I decide to lie again in hopes that Scarecrow will leave to find him.

I hear the sound of his crutch hitting the wooden floor behind me as he walks to the door. “I’ll go find him. And… Ember…”

I know I have to turn to face him. He’s waiting. “Yes?” I say as I spin around and offer a weak smile.

“You’d make a mighty fine wife. If ever this man in the cellar doesn’t work out, I plan to make good by you. If need be.”

I give a slight nod, and go back to the cabinet, moving spices around in my fake attempt of being busy.

I hear him leave and release the breath I had been holding. I quickly finish the spoiled cake and put it in the oven. I may not be able to offer it to Christopher as planned, but I still have the flowers I picked earlier to try to lighten up his gloomy space. Maybe the little bit of color will cheer him up some.

As I enter the cellar, I see Christopher awkwardly leaned back in his chair, attempting to use his belt buckle to cast a shining light through the window across the room from him. He doesn’t even try to hide what he’s doing from me.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” I say as I place the mason jar full of jasmine next to where he sits.

He doesn’t stop but instead focuses on aiming the shimmering light toward the window.

“No one is out there that can see it,” I inform. “And if Papa Rich sees you doing this…”

He stops and stares at me, then at the flowers. “And what am I supposed to do?” he asks. “It’s been days. Days!” He raises his voice, but I’m not afraid of him. I can feel his anger is not directed at me.

He’s frustrated, and I don’t blame him. Caged animals want to be free.

I point to the flowers. “I picked the last of the jasmine for you. The first snowfall is coming soon, and things will change.”

“How?” he asks as he repositions himself on the chair, giving up on his attempt of escape by belt buckle.

“You haven’t angered Papa Rich since… well since last time. And everything gets better here when it snows. The tourists leave, the town is closed, and the road here becomes impossible to travel without a truck and chains, and even then, it’s difficult.”

“How is that better?”

I glance down at the chain on his ankle. “I think I can eventually convince Papa Rich to remove the chain. To allow us to move freely in the other buildings. Maybe you and I can stay someplace besides the cellar. Maybe the schoolhouse can become our home… after we’re married.” I feel my heart flutter and my mouth dries. “Papa Rich is less strict in the winter. And well…