Vengeance Upturned

Vengeance Upturned - Chapter 11

Squealing laughter roused Etta. She cringed, expecting the pounding headache, but sighed in relief when no hammers came crushing in her skull. Chains rattled when she raised her hand, reminding Etta of her predicament. She couldn't remember how many days had passed since her kidnapping, was it one… two… or even three? The hits to her head were too much. She'd been drifting in and out of consciousness and sleep as Samantha tended her. She even remembered throwing up a few times.

The fact that the woman whose husband she had murdered took such care of her still baffled Etta. She couldn’t comprehend. It humbled her to the very core, reminding her of her father's teachings: kindness, simplicity and modesty. And Etta was none of that… the realization of everything she had done, the enormity of her deeds and how far she had strayed from that path, sat heavily in Etta's heart. Just as Henry's death always had. But now she knew she had to let go. If she wanted to move forward, she had to let go of the past.

How do you let go of the other part of your soul? He's already gone, you're just hanging onto the threads, keeping him bound to you, a voice whispered in her mind.

She sighed. Yes, she would need to make peace with Henry's death, but first… first she needed to deal with her misdeeds, the consequences, and the guilt. Probably hate towards her as well.

Kindness, simplicity, modesty. She would need to learn again, on her own. But she would succeed. As she lay there, Etta made a new vow, not one of vengeance but one of redemption.

Reluctantly, she peeled her eyes open and was surprised when vision came through her left eye as well, although blurry as it was. Daylight spilled in from the open tent flap, as did the sounds of people mingling about, footsteps shuffling past, and children playing.

Etta raised her hand again, the chains jiggling, and touched her left cheek. It was not as sore and sensitive as a day ago, but it still stung. She welcomed the slight pain, reassuring her she was not completely void of feelings, that she was not numb to life as she had feared she would become.

Turning her head to the right, she surveyed the inside of the tent, much the same as the one she had been questioned in, albeit smaller. Across from her, another cot was spread out, with a sleeping bag neatly rolled and placed at the bottom of the bed. A wooden beam stood to attention in the center of the abode.

Piercing child's laughter had Etta sitting up so she could see its source. There, through the open flap of the large tent, a little ball of red ran by, squealing in delight, as a man followed, calling after the red-haired girl, "I'm gonna getcha Immy!"

Etta sighed at the sight, her heart warming, melting the ice away as she remembered her own playtime with father. She looked down at the chains biding her hands and feet. She had enough leeway to pull her knees up, but not enough so she could place them on the floor. With her hands, she could reach her face while sitting up, or grab the chamber pot at the side of the bed.

She tugged at the chains, judging them solid and finely crafted. No way could she break free, not without her picks at least, even with those, she wasn’t sure that her skills would be up to par with these locks. She still wondered why they had placed her in someone’s home and not behind the bars or even stuffed her inside a gibbet, the hanging cage. She would have made quite an attraction.

A little girl ran inside the tent. Etta’s head snapped up and the girl stopped in her tracks as their eyes met. She was a tiny thing, wearing a simple green dress, with flaming red hair… no, bright orange, cut short to just below her ear with uneven fringe falling over forehead. Dark, cinnamon colored, wide eyes stared at Etta in surprise. As silence stretched, the girl relaxed and tilted her head to the side.