The Prodigal's Prayer
Chapter 6
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Sean leaned back against the coarse, wooden wall of the shack, breathless and angry, his frustrated gaze sweeping over their cramped prison. He must have paced the room a hundred times, running his hands blindly along the rough boards of the floor and walls, pressing his fingers into the grooves, vainly searching for a way out. Instead, all he had to show for his efforts were cracked fingernails and hands full of splinters. He could hear Molly hiccoughing in the corner, trying bravely not to cry, but he knew she was as terrified as he. "It's okay, Molly," he assured her, forcing himself to sound cheerful. "The boards are just being stubborn. I'll pry a couple up. Then we'll go back to Mrs. Sheppard and tell her about what a great adventure we had. . ." A scuffling noise interrupted him, and then soft, wavy curls brushed against his arm as Molly pressed against his side, burrowing her tear-streaked face in his chest. Sean choked back his own tears and rubbed his hand comfortingly through those red-blond locks. He imagined he could make out the vivid color in the darkness, like a sunset sky. She would have become a very pretty young lady, Sean thought, remorse tearing at his heart. He couldn't save her. He knew it, and his guilt cut deeper than any knife. He'd failed her. . . Sean set his jaw, forcing the morbid thoughts from his mind. "No," he whispered, too softly for Molly to hear, "no, it won't end this way. . ." Gently detaching Molly from his arm, he attacked the floorboards with new vigor, heedless of the splinters that dug under his nails and shredded his skin, making his fingers throb and bleed. He had to get Molly out! After half an hour of desperate tearing and prying, Sean sat back on his heels. He raised a fist, ready to pound the floor in angry despair, but held back. Getting tied back up was the last thing he wanted. Molly crawled over, placing her small hand on his. "Are we really going to die?" she asked softly. Sean put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders gently, staring helplessly into the suffocating darkness. He couldn't bring himself to voice the truth. "I. . .I think we should ask God to protect us. . ." Molly said after a while when Sean remained silent. Sean hesitated, part of him recoiling from the idea. Finally, he swallowed hard and nodded his agreement. There didn't seem to be anything else they could do. He and Molly got to their knees, and Molly pressed her hands together and bowed her head. Sean folded his hands over hers. He took a deep breath, feeling very much like the prodigal son in the Bible parable as he tried to push a suitable prayer past his lips. He only hoped his prayer would be accepted as blamelessly as the prodigal son's return. "God," Sean said humbly. Their eyes closed and their heads nearly touched as they offered their petition to the heavens. "Please deliver us from these evil men. In your name, we pray: Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed. . ." After he and Molly finished the Lord's Prayer, he lifted his head and stared up into the darkness. "And God, I know I haven't been faithful of late, but please, save Molly from these men," he added softly under his breath. "Do what You want with me." Moments later, the sound of footsteps outside the door made Sean's head snap up. He scrabbled across the floor as the lock turned, shielding Molly behind him and spreading his arms protectively as the door opened and lamplight flooded the room. "You're not going to take her without a figh--" Sean gaped, leaping to his feet but wincing as his eyes adjusted to the lantern light. "Mr. Richards, is that you?" "Shhh!" Gregory Richards pressed a finger to his lips. "It's lucky for you that Mr. MacDonald was up late tonight writing in his journals, or I'd have been on a train to Philadelphia. He and Toby Sikes have distracted the man guarding the shed. Let's go! Quickly!" Sean bent and picked up Molly. The little girl wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. "See, Sean, God heard us!" Molly whispered happily. Sean smiled and nodded. "He did! Come on, let's get out of here!" "I don't think so." Stephen's bulky, menacing figure suddenly blocked the doorway. His right hand held a gun, trained squarely on them. "Thought you'd get away by having someone distract me, eh? I'm no idiotic Irish! Now you're gonna pay," Stephen snickered. He clicked back the hammer of the gun, then sighted down the pistol's length. Sean gulped, knowing that the barrel was aimed right at him. He quickly put Molly down, shoving her behind Richards. "Goodbye, Irish." Sean squeezed his eyes shut and waited silently for death. But then he heard Stephen mutter an oath, followed by a brief scraping of feet and a low grunt. Sean's eyes flew open, and he saw Sam MacDonald wrestling with Stephen in the doorway, grappling for the pistol, while Toby Sikes hurried in from the shadows to help. Stephen fought against the two men vigorously, but Sam and Toby expertly wrested the pistol from him. In what seemed a mere blink of an eye, Sam had cuffed the big man roughly in the back of the head with the pistol. Stephen crumpled to the slatted wood floor, unconscious. "Come on!" Sam barked, motioning them toward the door. "We've got to get out of here quickly!" Sean peered out the door, cold with dread. The commotion had drawn unwanted attention; dark shapes hurried up from the river. "It's Maxwell's men! Run!" Sam cried. Sean grabbed Molly's hand and dragged her outside. Richards barreled out the door behind them. Sean's ankles and wrists throbbed, the blood rushing quickly and painfully through his rope-burns. He half-limped, half-ran with the others, but quickly fell behind. "Hurry!" Toby Sikes shouted, looking back at Sean as he ran. Sam swept Molly up and took the lead. Sean had never run so hard in all of his life. Yard after yard, his pumping legs carried him away from the stump of Washington's monument. Sam's and Toby's long strides carried them further ahead of Sean with every passing second. And the men behind them were closing fast. Sean could hear them hollering and cursing behind him. Sean bit the inside of his cheek and summoned a final burst of speed. Yes! Sean thought as drew almost parallel with the others. Then, without warning, he tripped and fell, twisting his ankle beneath him. Sam and Molly and the others did not notice until it was too late. From the edge of the darkness by the river's edge, Sean saw Sam glance back, then spin around. Sean struggled to his feet but knew it was too late now to escape. Fighting tears as he offered a desperate, silent prayer, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Please, Lord," he breathed, "Please help Molly and the others escape without being seen!" Now sooner had the words escaped his lips, than did several pairs of hands grasp him roughly by the arms and shoulders. Seconds later, Sean found himself facing a circle of angry men. Spitting and jeering, they hauled him to his feet and dragged him back toward the empty shack. Suddenly, the group pulled up. Lantern in one hand and a pistol in the other, Holm blocked the way. "Back to the boat! Any more delay and Maxwell will have your hides!" "What about the boy?" snarled one of men. Steely-eyed, Holmes cocked the pistol. "Leave the boy to me. I'll take care the rest." |