There was a sudden, charged silence. The woman at the stove concentrated hard on her soup pot.
“Oh, you wouldn’t have heard,” said the black-haired man smoothly.
“I told them,” said the guard standing behind Kate, “that we can take them as far as Ham. After we have our supper.”
“Ah, yes. After supper.” The black-haired man banged the table. “Two more bowls of soup! Come, sit, eat.”
“No, thank you,” said Kate, grabbing Emmie’s sleeve to keep her from going to the table. There was something about the way the man had said “after supper” that raised her hackles. She thought, without being sure why, of Julia, and the man who just wanted to share his notes. Until he didn’t. “We just need someone to show us where we are on the map. And then we’ll be on our way.”
“But Kate . . . there’s soup.” Emmie had eyes only for the tureen. “Besides, it would be so rude to say no now that they’ve invited us. And I’ve only just started to feel my toes. It’s already so late, surely another hour won’t make any difference.”
The serving woman slammed two bowls down on the table, slopping soup over the sides.
Kate didn’t like the way the men were looking at them; she didn’t like the way the guard was standing between them and the door. “I don’t think we should stay, Emmie.”
“Why are you standing there?” The black-haired man came around the table. Sizing them up, he slung an arm companionably around Emmie’s shoulders. “Come, sit, take off your coat.”
“Er, um, thank you,” Emmie said breathlessly as the man’s hands went to the buttons of her coat. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Oh, we are all very kind,” said the man, showing too many teeth, as he propelled Emmie toward the table.
Emmie grimaced at Kate over her shoulder, more bemused than alarmed. Kate felt frozen, terrified and helpless.
Pausing, one hand on Emmie’s shoulder, the black-haired man said quietly to the serving woman, “The room upstairs, it is free, yes?”
Kate’s paralysis broke. She grabbed Emmie’s hand, pulling hard. “Emmie, we’re going now.”
The man grabbed Emmie’s shoulder, equally hard. “Oh, no,” he said, and he wasn’t smiling anymore. “I think she stays.”
Kate didn’t waste any more time. She hit him, right in the nose, with the full force of her five foot one inches and one hundred and two pounds.
She did it the way her stepfather had taught her: striking up with the flat of her palm. Her hand hit his nose with a sickening crunch, sending him reeling backward into the table, men yelping, chairs toppling, soup and bread crashing down. Blood spurted through the man’s fingers as he sprawled on the table.
He stared at it with disbelief, and then he lifted his head and Kate saw murder in his eyes.
“Quick!” Grabbing Emmie by the hand, Kate ran for the kitchen door, not looking back, ignoring the angry cries behind them, her fingers fumbling on the door handle, knowing every second counted, every second gave them a chance.
Kate was never quite sure how after, but somehow she got Emmie through that door and into the jitney, turning and turning the crank with all her might, praying it wouldn’t break down, praying the men wouldn’t catch them before they could start, knowing that she’d be no use against all of them. Any one of them could break her arm with one hand tied behind his back. She wished she had a gun like Maud, a knife like Julia, anything.
“Go, go, go,” Kate muttered to the jitney, and nearly sobbed with relief when the engine caught. Every instinct screamed speed, but she forced herself to go carefully; if the truck broke down, they’d have no escape and the retaliation would be dreadful.
Light arced across the snow as the kitchen door swung open. The motor hiccupped and Kate nearly cried, but then it caught again, the truck jerking backward, out of the clearing, as the man in the doorway shouted curses, his shirt stained with blood and soup.
Kate swung the truck. The road was dreadful, rutted and icy, but she clung grimly to the wheel and kept going, away, away, just away. She had no idea where they were; the only important thing was to put as much distance as possible between them and those men.
“But—what—” Emmie was twisting back, staring over her shoulder. “You hit him.”
“Not nearly hard enough.” The full realization of what had almost happened swept over her. A room upstairs—be kind—alone—