style="font-size:15px;"> Juliana determined right then and there to stay alert and watch for her chance to get that gun. It was her only hope of escape.
Chapter Two
“I’ve never understood why some people choose to live on the wrong side of the law,” Juliana said. “Doesn’t it bother you that you’re harming innocent people?”
Harrison didn’t acknowledge the question. No surprise there. Her attempts at conversation had been met with stubborn silence all along.
They were moving deeper into the Smoky Mountains, in the opposite direction of Gatlinburg and the larger towns of Pigeon Forge and Sevierville. The foursome had traveled through lush forests and meadows, beauty she would’ve appreciated in other circumstances. The air here beneath the soaring canopy of tree branches was cooler than in the open countryside, and for that Juliana was thankful. Midsummer temperatures in East Tennessee could quickly become unbearable.
It was late now, though, and the sun’s heat had lost its bite. A soft breeze teased her hair and cooled her skin, rustling leaves whispering secrets above her. The forest was darkening, the shadows lengthening as they trudged on.
Juliana was having a hard time keeping up with Harrison. The trail had long since disappeared, and they were dodging trees and gnarled roots poking out of the ground. Twice she’d stumbled but managed to catch herself before hitting the dirt face-first.
“Poor Mr. Moore,” she said. “I can’t imagine how he reacted to being robbed at gunpoint. I hope he doesn’t have a heart attack.”
“Has he had one before?”
“No, but he isn’t well. Don’t tell me you’re actually concerned?” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “You did steal all his money, you know. What if he’s forced to close the mercantile? I know for a fact he doesn’t have any living relatives, so there’s nowhere for him to go. He’s such a kind, generous man, too. I don’t want to even think about what he would do if he lost the store.”
“If he’s such a fine human being, then I’m sure someone would be willing to take him in.”
“That’s it?” she demanded, her breath coming in puffs. “That’s your solution? You take away a man’s livelihood and the best you can come up with is to let someone else take care of it? What about all the other people you’ve hurt? Do you ever stop and think about the damage you’ve caused?”
The skinny outlaw, whom she now knew was called Art, slowed to match their pace. “I think about it all the time. Even see some of the folks’ faces I’ve robbed in my dreams.”
Harrison’s lips turned down at this, but he remained silent. Juliana studied Art’s features. “Aren’t you a bit young to be keeping company with ruthless criminals?”
“I’m seventeen,” he said matter-of-factly. “Old enough to make my own choices.”
The same age as her sister, Nicole. “Don’t you have a family? Brothers? Sisters?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do,” he responded softly, resignedly. “But my momma ain’t got no idea where I am. Better if she thinks I’m dead than knows the truth. She’d never forgive me …”
Her heart ached for him. “Oh, Art, I’m sure you don’t mean that. Were you and your mother close?”
His chest puffed out. “Yeah. I’m her oldest boy. She always said how proud she was to have me for a son.”
“You know what I think? Your mother won’t care what you’ve done as long as you’re home, living an honest life.”
Art was silent a moment, his brown eyes troubled. “You really think she’d take me back? And forgive me for up and leaving and joining this gang?”
“Yes, I do. But more than your mother’s forgiveness, you need God’s.”
“My momma believes in Jesus. She read aloud from her Bible every morning and prayed with me before bed. But I—” He shook his head in shame. “I didn’t always listen. I daydreamed a lot. Thought I was too young for religious stuff.”
“And what about now?”
His earnest expression startled her. Here was a young man searching for the truth.
“More than anything, I want peace. I haven’t had that in a long time.” He lowered his voice. “I hang with a dangerous crowd. Ain’t no tellin’ when a bullet might find me. I’ve been thinkin’ a lot lately about death. Trouble is, I don’t know where I’m headed when I die.”
“Art, I—”
“Enough yakking.” Fitzgerald scowled over his shoulder. “Harrison, if you don’t shut her up, I will.”
With a shrug, Art moved away. Beside her, Harrison shot her a warning glance.
Frustrated with the interruption, she prayed for another opportunity to speak with Art about Christ. She couldn’t help thinking perhaps he was the reason she’d been placed in this situation.
“How much farther?” she whispered.
Harrison wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “A quarter of a mile. Maybe more.”
Ugh. While her new boots were great for defense, their stiffness tortured her feet. Blisters were already forming. She sighed.
“Take a drink.” He paused to lift a canteen from the saddle. “I don’t want you passing out from dehydration.”
He made it sound as if he was more worried about her possibly holding him back than her health. Scoundrel. Her thirst overrode her distaste at sharing a canteen with a stranger. She took a long swallow of the cool liquid and handed it back to him.
“Watch your step,” he advised. “The last thing we need is a twisted ankle or worse.”
Juliana noticed he slowed his pace after that. When full darkness enveloped them, he lit a lamp to light their path.
God, I don’t understand why You’ve allowed this to happen. I know You love me, but I’m having a hard time believing I’ll ever get home. Please keep me safe. And comfort poor Mr. Moore. Somehow give him his money back. And my family, Lord, give them peace.
In all likelihood, every person in Gatlinburg had heard the news of her abduction. No doubt many of the church members were even now gathered at the church to pray. The thought brought her a small measure of comfort.
Had Sheriff Timmons already organized a posse to pursue her kidnappers? Her uncle and cousins were surely taking a lead in the mission to rescue her. But how long had it taken for someone to discover Mr. Moore?
Since she had no way of knowing what was going on back home, she comforted herself with the fact that at some point her captors would let down their guard, and she would be ready to spring into action.
Time passed more slowly than a snail in a windstorm. Juliana tried not to dwell on her bruised toes or aching calves. Nor did she attempt to start another conversation. What was
