The Dwarf Girl the Mistress Kept in the Parlor — And Fed Like a Pet – Part 4

 Some said he’d been a sheriff once, others a soldier. The truth didn’t matter. What mattered was that people feared him, and he liked that better than payment. Mrs. Brantley hadn’t wanted to meet him at first. Men like Reeves didn’t come to parlor. They came to back doors, to sellers, to places where dignity was something you could buy back later.

 But she’d sent for him anyway, her voice trembling just enough to make it sound like desperation instead of guilt. I want her found, she’d said alive if possible. But found Reeves smiled through the smoke of his cigar. You sure you want her back, ma’am? Things that run once got a habit of running again. She won’t run twice, the mistress said.

He tipped his hat and left before Edward could stop him. Now he rode north, following tracks that only someone who liked the chase could see. A footprint in the mud, a piece of torn cloth snagged on a branch. He didn’t hurry. He never had to. The world was built for men like him. It bent to their cruelty and called it law.

Minnie had spent two nights in the town Elias left her near. She’d earned a few coins sweeping the floor of a sewing shop, and the woman there had given her a shawl for the chill. But she knew better than to settle. Safety, she’d learned, was just a pause before danger. On the third night, she left again north toward the Savannah River.

 The air was cold now, the moon thin and sharp. She followed the road until she saw the lights of a campfire flickering between the trees. Her stomach achd with hunger, but she approached anyway. A young black couple sat by the fire. The man strumming a broken guitar. The woman stirring something in a pot that smelled of salt and beans.

 “Come on, girl,” the woman said when she saw her. “Ain’t no one out here but ghosts and fools.” “Sit.” Minnie hesitated. “You don’t know me.” The woman smiled. Don’t need to. I know the way you look over your shoulder. Mini sat, and for a little while the fear dulled. They talked in low voices about the river roots, about the families that had made it north, about the ones who hadn’t.

 But somewhere out in the dark, miles away, a horse snorted. Reeves dismounted, crouching low, running his fingers through the dirt where the tracks were still fresh. He smiled. She’s getting slower, he murmured to himself. That’s good. Makes it easier to hear her coming. Then he mounted up, turned his horse north, and began to hum a tune. The kind sung at funerals.

 The night air was soft with mist, the fires glow barely enough to hold back the dark. Minnie sat close to it, warming her hands, watching the smoke curl upward and vanish into the trees. The couple, the woman who’ called herself Dora and the man named Isaiah, talked quietly about heading west, away from the patrol routes.

 They spoke of the river like it was a promise, something that could wash away names and pasts alike. “You can come with us,” Dora said, her voice kind but practical. “Ain’t safe to travel alone, not for a child.” Minnie shook her head. “I ain’t a child.” Dora smiled faintly. Then what are you, baby? Minnie poked at the fire, the embers shifting red to gold.

Something too small to keep, but too big to hide. Dora’s smile faded. She didn’t ask more. Isaiah looked up suddenly. Hear that? The forest went still. Even the frog stopped singing. Then faint and rhythmic hooves on the dirt road. Slow and deliberate. Minnie’s heart started to race.

 She’d learned that sound too well, the steady weight of pursuit. Isaiah rose, hand on a rusted knife. “Get to the trees,” he whispered. “Now Dora grabbed Minnie’s arm and pulled her toward the brush. The hooves grew louder, closer. Through the thin veil of trees, they saw him, a lone rider, lantern hanging from his saddle, the light swaying like an eye that refused to blink.

 He dismounted, the sound of the horse’s snort, the metallic jingle of spurs. Evening, Reeves called softly, his voice carried calm like a snake carries poison. Ain’t looking for trouble. Just looking for a girl Isaiah stepped out first. Ain’t no girl here, mister. Reeves smiled. You sure? She’s small, quiet.

 Don’t talk much unless you ask real nice. Isaiah gripped the knife tighter. Ain’t seen her. Reeves took a slow step forward. See, I don’t think you’d lie to me. You don’t look the sort. But that fire back there, that small folks fire, travelers fire, not settller’s fire, means somebody’s moving. And folks that move tend to keep company with runaways.

 Dora whispered to Minnie. Run when I say. Minnie’s hands shook. He’ll hear. Then don’t stop. Dora hissed. Reeves’s voice cut through the trees again. Why don’t you step aside, friend? Let me look. I don’t aim to hurt nobody. Don’t deserve it. Isaiah didn’t move. You don’t decide who deserves what out here. Reeves smiled.

 You’d be surprised who lets me. He drew his pistol slowly, almost politely. The sound of it clicking was enough to send Minnie bolting. Dora shoved her forward. Go. Gunfire split the night. One shot, then another. Birds burst from the trees. Minnie ran until her breath tore her throat roar. When she finally stopped, the forest was silent again.

 No voices, no footsteps, just the smell of smoke and gunpowder drifting on the wind. She wanted to turn back. She almost did, but then she heard it. That same tune hummed soft through the trees, the one Reeves always sang when the chase began, and she knew he was still coming. Minnie ran until her lungs burned and her legs gave out beneath her.

 She collapsed near a fallen tree, the bark slick with rain, her heartbeat so loud she thought it might give her away. The night around her was black and deep, the kind of darkness that swallowed the world whole. Somewhere far behind her, she thought she heard another gunshot. Or maybe it was only thunder. It didn’t matter. The sound was enough to make her crawl deeper into the trees until the ground turned soft and cold under her palms.

She pressed her back to the trunk, clutching the little pouch that now held nothing but dirt and scraps of memory. For a long while, she didn’t move. She couldn’t. When the sun began to rise, she opened her eyes to see mist curling between the branches. The forest was quiet again, too quiet. No birds, no wind, no footsteps.

It was as if the trees themselves were holding their breath, waiting. She forced herself to stand, her body trembling from exhaustion and cold. Her feet left faint prints in the wet soil, and each one made her chest tighten. She had learned to measure safety by the distance between sounds, and right now there was too much silence.

 She followed the faint trickle of water until she found a creek, its surface silver with morning light. Kneeling, she splashed her face, the chill cutting through the haze in her head. She stared at her reflection. Hollow cheeks, wild hair, eyes that didn’t look like a child’s anymore. A branch snapped somewhere to her left. Minnie froze.

 It wasn’t a deer. The sound was careful. Human. She crouched low, pressing herself against the mud and peered through the reeds. A shape moved between the trees. Tall, slow, deliberate. The glint of metal in his hand caught the light for just a second. Harlon Reeves. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, willing her body not to tremble.

 He was humming again, that same low tune she’d heard the night of the gunfire. The song of a man who never rushed because he never had to. Minnie’s mind raced. The creek curved north, narrow, but deep. If she followed it, it might hide her tracks. Slowly, she slid into the water, the cold biting at her skin. The current tugged at her legs, urging her forward.

Reeves stopped humming, his head turned, his eyes scanning the trees. Then, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he said softly, “You can run, little one.” But every road ends somewhere, Minnie didn’t wait to hear more. She pushed forward, the water rising to her waist, the sound of her breath lost beneath the rush of the current.

 When the forest swallowed her again, Reeves stood on the bank, watching the ripples fade. He knelt, dipped his fingers in the water, and tasted the mud. “She’s close,” he whispered. “Close enough to start praying.” The creek curved north, winding through the trees like a thin thread of silver. “Minnie followed it until her legs nearly gave out, each step a fight against mud and exhaustion.

 Her clothes were soaked, her fingers numb, but the sound of running water comforted her. It was the only thing in the world that didn’t sound like pursuit. When the sun began to set, she saw smoke curling above the treeine, faint, steady, not campfire smoke, but chimney smoke. She crept closer, careful with each step, until the shape of a cabin appeared through the mist.

 It leaned slightly to one side, built of gray wood, and surrounded by a small patch of garden gone wild. She stood at the edge of the clearing for a long time before knocking. The door opened to a thin woman with rough hands and weary eyes. “You lost?” she asked. “Just tired?” Minnie said. “I can work for food.” The woman’s eyes softened when she took in Minnie’s size, her torn dress, her swollen feet.

 You’re too little for work, she murmured. then louder. Come in before the night takes your bones. Inside, the air was warm and smelled faintly of stew and smoke. The woman poured her a cup of water, then sat across from her at the table. Name’s Martha. My husband’s buried out back, and I don’t take kindly to questions, so let’s skip them. Minnie nodded.

 Yes, ma’am. You on the run? Minnie hesitated. I’m on my way north. Martha studied her for a moment, then reached for a loaf of bread. Then you’ll eat and rest. Ain’t my business what you’re leaving. Long as you don’t bring it to my door. For the first time in days, Minnie slept under a roof.

 She dreamed of rivers and voices calling her name of fire light that never went out. When she woke, dawn was just breaking. Martha was already outside tending to a line of traps near the creek. You walk careful, Martha said when Minnie came to her side. There’s men down river asking about a girl fits your shape. Said she’s dangerous.

Minnie’s heart clenched. He’s close. Martha’s eyes were steady. Close enough. I heard his horse. The older woman looked at her a long moment. You got anyone waiting for you? Minnie shook her head. Then you best make sure you live long enough to find someone who will. That night they sat by the fire in silence.

 The woods outside was still, the kind of stillness that meant watching. Minnie thought of the house in Charleston, the parlor, the mistress, the cage dressed in lace. Mom, she asked softly. You ever been owned? Martha stared into the flames. Once, she said, long time ago, but I gave myself back. Minnie nodded understanding. That’s what I’m doing.

Martha smiled just barely. Then keep running, little one. Don’t stop till the land feels different under your feet. Outside, somewhere beyond the trees, a horse snorted. The fire flickered once, and both women turned toward the door. The forest was quiet again, but neither of them believed in quiet anymore.

 It began with the sound of gravel under hooves, slow, deliberate, the rhythm of a man who knew he’d already found what he was looking for. Martha was the first to hear it. She stood from the hearth, her face pale in the firelight. “You go to the back,” she said. “Through the pantry, there’s a trap in the floor.

 Get down there and don’t make a sound.” Minnie froze. It’s him. Martha didn’t answer, but the way her jaw set was enough. She pushed Minnie toward the narrow door and dropped to her knees, prying up a loose board. Beneath it, darkness. “Stay until the night’s quiet again,” Martha whispered. “If I’m gone come morning, you run north till your feet give out.

” Minnie wanted to speak, to say thank you, to say don’t open the door. But the knock came before she could. Three measured wraps, the kind of knock that sounded like a command. Martha lowered the board and stood. When she opened the door, Reeves tipped his hat. The lantern in his hand cast a long shadow behind him, stretching across the porch and onto her feet. “Mom,” he said.

“Evening. You keep a fine fire for someone so far out.” Martha’s voice stayed steady. Ain’t much else to keep out here. Reeves nodded, stepping just close enough that his boots touched the threshold. “You alone? Been that way a long time?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Funny.

 A neighbor down the creek said they saw footprints. Small ones. Could be yours, but don’t seem it. Then your neighbor needs new eyes. Reeves looked past her into the cabin. His gaze lingered on the stew pot, the second bowl, the damp footprints near the hearth. You got company? Martha’s hand twitched toward the stove. You think I’d be feeding someone in times like these? Reeves tilted his head.

 Depends who it is. There’s a girl gone missing. Little thing used to belong to a fine lady back in Charleston. Says she took something that wasn’t hers. Martha’s voice went quiet. Maybe what she took wasn’t meant to be kept. Reeves’s eyes narrowed. You got a mouth on you. Had to, Martha said. World don’t listen otherwise.

 He took one slow step inside, the floor creaking under his weight. Mind if I look around? I do, she said. Silence stretched between them, tort as wire. Then Reeves smiled again and tipped his hat. Suit yourself. He turned as if to leave, then without warning, spun back and kicked the door wide open.

 The lantern light flared across the room. Martha grabbed the poker from the hearth and swung. The sound of iron meeting flesh rang out like thunder. Reeves stumbled, blood running down his temple. His smile didn’t falter. “Well,” he said, straightening his hat. “That answers my question. Outside,” his horse shifted restlessly.

“Inside, the fire cracked and hissed, throwing shadows that moved like things alive. And under the floorboards, Minnie held her breath as the hunter stepped farther into the cabin. The sound of boots on wooden planks echoed above Minnie’s head. Slow, heavy, calculated. She could see dust drifting down through the gaps between the boards.

 Every footstep shaking loose another fine trickle of ash and soil. Reeves voice drawled low, almost friendly. You swing like someone who’s done it before. Martha’s reply came through gritted teeth. Don’t mistake a woman’s quiet for her being weak. Minnie pressed a hand over her mouth, her heartbeat slamming in her ears.

 Through the thin seams in the floor, she could see his shadow stretching across the room. He moved carefully, sweeping his gaze over the table, the fire, the pantry door. “See, I got a rule,” Reeves said. “You don’t lie to me unless you’re ready to die for it. You ready, miss?” Martha didn’t answer. She stood by the hearth, poker raised.

 The fire light flickered against her face, turning her eyes into something that looked almost young again, sharp and alive. Reeves stepped closer, his pistol loose in his hand. I ain’t here to hurt you unless you make me. All I want’s the girl. She’s not yours to want. He smiled faintly, as if amused by the resistance. You sound just like the lady that lost her.

 All pride and no sense. Tell me, you think you’re saving her? The small ones don’t get saved, Mom. They get found. Martha swung the poker again, not wide, but clean and fast. The metal struck his arm. The gun went off, the blast filling the room with smoke and thunder. Minnie bit her hand to stop herself from crying out.

The sound left her ears ringing. She saw more dust fall, felt the boards tremble as Reeves staggered back. “Godamn,” he hissed. You got more fire than I figured. Martha didn’t flinch. Fire is all I got left. He lunged. The struggle was clumsy, more shoving than fighting, but desperate. The table overturned, the lamp shattered, flames licking across the spilled oil.

 Smoke filled the air. Reeves shoved Martha against the wall, his hands gripping her wrists. “Last chance,” he growled. “Where is she?” Martha spat blood. gone farther than you’ll ever reach. He drew his knife, the blade catching the light. But before he could bring it down, the floor creaked, loud, sharp. He froze.

Slowly, his eyes turned toward the sound. The board under Minnie’s foot had shifted. She went still, not breathing, not blinking. Reeves crouched, smile returning, the kind a wolf makes before it bites. Well, now, he whispered. Ain’t that sweet? Martha saw his eyes move, and something fierce lit inside her.

 She grabbed the fallen poker with her free hand and drove it forward, straight into his ribs. He gasped once, a sound half growl, half laugh, then stumbled back, knocking over the burning lamp. The flames leapt up, catching on the curtains, crawling fast across the wood. “Many,” Martha shouted, voice breaking. “Run!” Reeves fell to one knee, blood spreading across his shirt.

 The fire light turned his face red and gold. “You,” he rasped, reaching for the pistol again. “You ain’t done nothing but delay it.” But by then, Minnie was already climbing out from under the floor, her bare feet hitting the dirt as the cabin roared behind her. She didn’t look back. Not when the smoke thickened. Not when the heat bit her skin.

 Not even when she heard Martha’s voice one last time, shouting through the flames, “Don’t stop now, girl. Don’t you ever stop.” The woods behind the cabin burned in streaks of orange and silver. Smoke curled low to the ground, chasing Minnie as she ran. Every breath tore her chest roar, but she didn’t slow.