The Bad Seed
Chapter 5
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Cold stone pressed hard against Sean's back. Groggily, he lifted his head, the swaddling of sheets and bedspread now removed. Fighting to open his eyes, he tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten into this small, wooden room. Had he been sleeping? Had he bumped his head? A hand roughly loosened his gag. Sean licked his lips. His mouth felt dry and swollen. "Molly!" he croaked, trying to focus on his surroundings. He instinctively tried to move his numb, tingling hands, but rope still bound them tight. A little head pressed into his shoulder and Sean winced, still tender from his fall off the bed earlier that night. But his relief at seeing the familiar red-blond hair spread in springy curls over his chest quickly washed away any thought of pain. "Are you. . .OK?" A hand seized his chin, stopping Sean's words. He looked up, his vision still fuzzy, discerning the hard, unforgiving features of Thomas Maxwell. "You," Maxwell said evenly, "are a very foolish boy." Sean defiantly wrenched his chin away. Maxwell chuckled. "Ah, such stubborn spirit. So common to your breed. Like the weed that never dies. But then, one can always get rid of even the most resilient weed. All one needs is the proper trowel." Fear constricted Sean's throat. "Are you going to kill us?" "One by one, my boy, one by one," Maxwell smirked. "If you keep killing off the shoots, sooner or later, the whole plant will die. One has to start pruning somewhere. I might as well start with you." Molly began to cry. Sean leaned his head against hers comfortingly. Tightly bound, it was all he could do. "Mr. Holm said we wouldn't be hurt!" Sean argued pleadingly. "I should've known you wouldn't keep your word!" Maxwell shrugged. "Spare Molly," Sean begged, "please. She's just a little girl. Do whatever you want to me, I don't care, just please, Mr. Maxwell, don't kill her." "And leave a witness? Tsk tsk, boy, I thought you'd have more sense. Imagine yourself in my position. Would you let her live?" Maxwell replied, unmoved. Sean's eyes stung, and he buried his face in Molly's hair. Her little body shuddered against him with quiet sobs. "Yes," he whispered as Maxwell turned to leave. "Any decent human being would." Maxwell spun around quickly. He snorted, his sharp, cold features seeming even crueler in the harsh torchlight from outside. Flames reflected and seemed to flicker in the depths of his icy blue eyes. "Then you're a Catholic and a fool," he replied harshly. "I don't know which I despise the most. I'd close that trap of yours and start praying while you have the chance." Sean made one last attempt to secure their freedom. "Come morning, Gregory Richards will be wondering where we are." "No, he won't," said Maxwell through a yawn as he stepped out of the shed. "He'll be on a train to Philadelphia, trying to find you. We left your Mr. Richards a note. He thinks you're heading north with the girl to meet some newly discovered kin." Sean bit his lip, his hope shattered. Molly was still weeping on his shoulder. He wanted to run a soothing hand down her back, but his hands were tied securely. What could he possibly do? She didn't deserve to pay for his mistake! "Please! She won't remember anything clearly. No one will believe her anyway. She's just a child!" A shadow falling across the floor turned Sean's gaze to the doorway. Gerald Holm! "Please, Mr. Holm, don't let Molly die!" Sean entreated. "You promised!" Holm averted his gaze, a look of deep struggle and anguish flitting briefly over his face before Stephen shouldered past him, grabbing Sean and Molly by their clothing and shoving them aside. "Quiet, kid," Stephen grunted in a low voice, "or I'll finish you both now, no matter what Holm said." Then Stephen whistled and four burly men with hate-filled eyes materialized in the dim torchlight beyond the door and entered the room. "Grab the stone," Holm said raggedly to the men, "and get on with it." Stephen sneered down scornfully at the inscription on the pinkish marble stone. "From Rome to America, eh? Well, here's a little something from America to Rome!" Stephen spat on the Latin words. Laughter and cheers rose up from the others, but Holm moved silently inside the door and off to one side. Sean felt stirrings of indignation, his battered faith crying out as he silently watched the saliva slide into the proud words on the Pope's Stone. As the men stomped by, Sean and Molly pulled their feet back and kept out of the way. Throwing ropes around the stone, the men dragged it outside to a waiting cart. Streams of hot breath flowed upward and vanished into the night air as they tugged and strained at the heavy stone. After lashing the stone securely into the cart, Stephen took the last of the rope and headed for the guard shack. His friendly greeting to the sentry carried back into the room where Sean and Molly sat tied. "You won't get away with this," Sean told Maxwell flatly, watching the corrupt scene in horror. Sean had wondered how they could make so much noise without drawing the guard's attention. They must have paid him off. "Someone will find out. . ." Maxwell stepped back into the doorway. Torchlight framed his head and shoulders. "Foolish boy," he sneered. "I've already gotten away with this." Maxwell glanced over his shoulder at the man driving the wagon. "Don't just sit there! You know what to do! Take it down to the Potomac. Holm and I will meet you there with the pickaxes and hammers." With a creak and a bump, the cart rolled away, two torchbearers perched in the back with the stone. Stephen passed it as he returned to the stonemasons' shack, a cocky bounce in his stride. "You sure you don't want me to take care of the Irish now?" he added eagerly. Holm stiffened suddenly. Maxwell shook his head. "No. I promised them a chance to pray. We'll take care of them after we've finished with the stone. I want you to stay here and watch them." Catching Stephen's crestfallen look, he continued quickly, "Don't worry, Stephen. I'll leave one of the best pieces of the stone for you." Stephen's face brightened. He poked his head in briefly and shot a sinister grin at Sean. "The stone and some Irish all in one night. God's really smiling on us this evening!" After Maxwell and Stephen had walked away, Holm quickly knelt down. He glanced back at the two men, then slipped a knife from his belt and swiftly cut the ropes that bound Sean and Molly. He sighed deeply, bounced to his feet and strode from the shack, slamming the door behind him. Confused but thankful, Sean rubbed his sore wrists, then pulled a sobbing Molly close to his side. |