Fear the Wind: Heed the Wind, #3

By Wendy Dolch

This is not justice. This is corruption.

 

Pregnant and accused of high treason against the crown, an appointment with the gallows looms ever closer. But Staletta's accuser will stop at nothing to see that she and her brothers, the white chimps from Ireland, are dead. Like crows coming to steal the harvest, assassins are at her door…

 

Fleeing London, Staletta seeks protection at the remote yet lavish country estate of Lord and Lady Hutchens. Her brothers, on leave from the army, are her only defense against the assassins that follow her there; and an undefeated and corrupt defense lawyer named Maxwell is her only hope for winning the trial.

 

But when Maxwell commands her to lie at the trial in order to win, she fires him. With no one to defend her, the black wings of the crows enfold her and the assassins strike again. If justice cannot prevail over corruption, the court will condemn her to the gallows and all hope of raising the child in her womb will be lost forever.

 

FEAR THE WIND is the final book in the HEED THE WIND series. This is the conclusion to an Irish immigrant book and Staletta's quest to finally find home. It is Christian historical fiction done a little bit different.

 

If you like stories of bravery, brotherhood, redemption, grace, and the importance of home then you'll love the Heed the Wind series!

 

Reading order for the HEED THE WIND series

Book 1: Heed the Wind

Book 2: Capture the Wind

Book 3: Fear the Wind

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bramble Bird
• Release date: May 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215786000

Book preview

ALSO BY

WENDY DOLCH

THE HEED THE WIND SERIES:

HEED THE WIND

CAPTURE THE WIND

FEAR THE WIND

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To you,

dear reader:

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind be always on your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

The rains fall soft upon your fields

and until we meet again,

may God hold you in the palm of His hand

.

1

April 1860, Newgate Prison, London

A GRAND STAGE STOOD at the front of Newgate, the gallows standing black against the stone building, the hangman’s noose empty and waiting. The people passing by on the streets didn’t give it a second glance. It wasn’t a hanging day. That didn’t stop the crows from alighting from the prison roof to walk the crossbeam of the gallows as they waited impatiently for their next meal. In this world of stone, this barren field of blighted plants, this garden of death, there was no sustenance for the living, no law but that of sin and death.

Shoved from the black depths of the prison carriage, Staletta tripped on her skirts and fell to the ground, flesh scraping against stone. She studied the rope hanging in the distance, cowering from the shadows growing larger. Let my prayer come before you. Incline your ear to my cry.

A rough hand closed around her shoulder, shoved her further onto the sidewalk, towards the prison, further from home. The prison guard’s ashen face was as solid as the stones of the prison itself as he pulled her forward.

Please don’t do this! Pulling against the prison guard’s grasp, she tried to run, but her feet couldn’t move in the direction she wanted them to. As if in a dream, she drifted forward, subject to a force beyond her power.

The wind tossed tendrils of hair across her face and stuck to her lips - lips dry and cracked. There was no water there in this garden of death. The wind brought with it a sound like the cawing of a multitude of crows and she lifted her head to hear it. Blackened with wings, the sky darkened above her, releasing feathers to snow down around her.

A man leaned against the prison wall, one hand sunk into the pockets of military issue trousers, the other holding a pipe to his lips. Maybe she had seen this man before, but she couldn’t find him in her memory.

This is her, right? The guard pulled her in front of the military man, tobacco smoke rising in a cloud between them.

The man nodded and she could have sworn his were the eyes of a crow and not that of a man. They had no soul, no depth to them at all.

Who are you? Staletta stared down the man even as the guard pulled her away. Why are you doing this to me?

A laugh, so low, so penetrating, so like that of a crow’s hungry call. You’re dead, Mrs. May.

From behind, Daniel shouted her name. She whipped her head around to see him, but the guard pushed her into the depths of the prison.

I want to see my wi-

The doors of Newgate slammed shut, the noises of the street sliced in half along with Daniel’s demand.

Doldrums.

Here in this garden, there was no wind to shake the dried leaves yet clinging to the blackened stalks. There was no wind to sweep away the stench of rotten potato. Staletta glided in slow-motion through the desolate landscape, hands scratched and bleeding, singing:

My life draws near to the grave. I am counted with them that go down into the pit. I am as a man that has no strength. Abandoned among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave...

Rusty hinges shrieked as the guard pushed open a thick door laden with armored steel plates, revealing a corridor of windowless brick. The air, cold, damp, and sluggish made her claw at her throat; it was like breathing poison. Many-legged centipedes, scuttled along the walls, sprinting away from the cursed light of the guard’s lamp, escaping into the nearest crevices. Staletta stumbled on the uneven stone floor beneath her feet, feet crunching the carcasses of beetles long dead and still living. The guard’s hand tightened on her arm as he steadied her, thrusting her further into the corridor.

She faltered at the sight of a single cell at the end of the corridor.

No, please!

Her voice came out heavy and thick in the damp air and echoed off the barren walls. Ignoring her, the guard pushed her forward into the dark cell. Once again, she stumbled, but this time on metal hooks fastened to the floor with long chains attached to them like snakes. She looked at the metal bands circling her wrists and the chain that passed between them, then looked up to the guard, terrified that he would chain her to the floor.

Please, don’t!

He lit a gas lamp hanging just inside the door, then grabbed for her shaking hands.

No! She moaned, watching him fumble with the manacles.

He reached into his pocket producing a key. With a small click, the manacles fell free. Staletta breathed a sigh of relief, massaging the spots where the iron had rubbed her skin raw. The guard turned, pulling the solid iron door shut behind him.

The lock clanked into place.

Please don’t do this! Her words echoed off the walls, sounding shrill and frantic in the unmoving air.

She could not see past the door, but the guard’s boots thudded down the corridor.

I haven’t done anything! She threw herself against the door, pounding with her fists, but the boots continued thudding, their rhythm unchanged.

Don’t leave me here, please! Please, Sir!

The boots stopped. The rusty hinges of the corridor door squealed once, then squealed again. With ringing finality, the door clanged shut, the echoes reverberating back into her chest.

Silence.

I haven’t done anything wrong, her breath released into the heavy silence, the words crumbling to the ground.

She pounded against the door, but the hall door had already opened and shut.

Staletta turned on her heel and fell against the back wall. Gouging her fingernail into the mortar, she scratched until the nail and the skin of her fingertip were scraped raw. She stared at the bloody tip of her finger, crows flashing before her eyes.

Clamping them shut, she crumpled into the corner of her cell. Drawing her knees to her chest, she buried her face in her skirts, and swallowed past the rope tightening around her throat. In her mind, she saw a wooden crucifix standing upon a hill of wasted potato plants. Her movements slow as if walking through water, she turned to face it, set her bloody feet upon the dirt, upon the broken and mangled and rotting stalks of the potato plants and walked towards it, her singing voice mingling with the cawing crows, the wind growing mightier with each footstep:

You have laid me in the lowest pit, in darkness, in the deeps. Your wrath lies hard upon me, and you have afflicted me with all your winds. I am shut up, and I cannot get out.

The cross before her, she stepped on to it, bloody feet resting on the platform, arms stretching out wide, nailed into place as the wind blew harder and harder, the crows flocking, spinning, whirling around her, scraping her face, ripping her skirts, bloodying her arms.

Scarecrow.

She must scare away the birds...only the music can scare them away. Her voice sang louder, desperately reaching over the sound of the birds:

Why, o Lord, do you reject me, do you hide your face from me?

The rope of the hangman’s noose, scratchy and stuck with feathers, encircled her neck. A solitary tear washed down her cheek, as red as blood...

Will you work wonders for the dead? Shall the dead arise and praise thee?

The screeching of rusty hinges jarred her thoughts from the garden of death. Her hand went round her throat where the dream noose had lain. Staletta scrambled to her feet as hurried footsteps sounded along the stone corridor beyond the cell door.

Star? Daniel’s voice resounded against the stone.

Danny! Staletta fell against the door, pushing. Get me out of here!

He said nothing, but she heard the door creak.

Danny? She tried pushing against the door again, but it still did not budge. Get me out of here. I want to go home.

I can’t.

What do you mean you can’t? She stepped back from the door, her heart pounding louder than her fists on the door. "You have to! They are going to hang me, Danny, you have to get me out!"

I can’t!

Look, she moved back to the door, lowering her voice, Maybe I can dig out. I need something to scrape at the mortar. Can you sneak something in?

Star, it won’t work. You can’t dig through stone.

Slumping, she rested her forehead against the door. I have to do something! Danny, what’s going on?

I don’t know. She heard him move around outside the door.

Danny, talk to me! You got me out of jail once, why not this time?

She heard him move close to the door once more. This time is different. This is high treason. They won’t let you out on a work release program like last time. And this is no rebel camp we can ride into, guns blazing. It won’t work.

What am I going to do, Danny? I want to go home. I want to raise our child! I can’t do that if I’m dead.

Listen, He was silent for a moment. We have to play this one by the book. You’ll have to stand trial.

Staletta chewed on her fingernail, the memory of her dream still fresh in her mind. She moved her hand to her stomach, closed her eyes, and pressed her forehead harder against the door, trying to keep her voice from trembling. A trial ends in a hanging.

A heavy sigh followed a scraping of boots on stone. Don’t say that, Star, his voice faltered. I won’t let that happen.

What are we going to do? Staletta pressed against the door, trying to see past the solid wood.

Your hearing is on Thursday morning.

Hearing?

Listen; you will stand before the Magistrates and they will decide if your case goes on to trial or if you will be discharged. All you need to do is tell the truth and justice will prevail.

Danny, Staletta paused to swallow and looked at her feet. I don’t think I believe that.

You are with child. They will have compassion.

I don’t think that will save me at all, Danny. If anything, it hurts me further. The noose was still around her neck, she could smell the tallow that greased the knot.

Why would you say that?

I’m cursed by death, Danny. You should know that. She turned her back on the door and shrugged even though he couldn’t see her do it. I don’t know.

Listen, it’s only two days. I know you can hold on that long. You’re a survivor, aren’t you?

I’m a scarecrow, Danny. A scarecrow condemned to death. Two days until the hearing, but when I’m not discharged, how many until the trial? How many until the hanging?

Don’t talk like that.

Staletta rubbed her arms. How could she not talk like that? It was nothing but the truth. Justice would be done upon her head. She was a traitor. She did give the Indian rebels information. She would die a traitor’s death, out on the gallows for all to see.

Can’t you hear them, Danny? Staletta turned back around, drew close to the door, placed her fingers on its cold, dead face. The crows? Didn’t you see them on the gallows? Did they not call to you like they called to me? Did you not hear the man in the military uniform? ‘You’re dead, Mrs. May.’ That’s what he said, Danny!

Daniel’s voice, though tired, still cut through her like steel. I know you’re afraid, but you can’t go back there. Don’t go back to those visions of death. We’ll get through this.

Staletta rested her forehead against the door and closed her eyes. The garden of death sprawled before her eyes, rising up to meet the sepia-stained sky.

I’ve escaped death many times, Danny. But not this time.

Staletta jumped as the door rattled on its hinges from either a strong-handed punch or an angry kick.

You’re not listening, Star. Daniel snarled. I’m going to find out who has done this to you. Justice will be done on his head, not yours.

His footsteps moved away over the stone. The hall door opened and shut, leaving her alone in solitary silence once more. Resting her back against the door, she clamped her eyes shut. Only the music could scare the crows away. She sang, the words amplified by the entombing stone.

Is your love declared in the grave? Your faithfulness in the garden of death?

The scarecrow opened her eyes and the air caught in her throat as the platform gave way beneath her feet.

2

The door closed with a resounding thud, the guard locking it behind him. Daniel swiped the flat cap from his head, crushing it in his fist as he hurried up the stairs leading from the dungeons to the main floor, the temperature increasing with every step. How dare they keep her in solitary confinement. It was inhumane; out of proportion with her crime. He pushed through the last door, marched to the front desk, and wagged his finger under the nose of the bored clerk.

Who did this to my wife? Who has accused her?

Lifting his eyes from a stack of papers, the clerk peered back at him. Dunno.

Lowering his finger, Daniel balled his fist on the top of the desk. What do you mean you don’t know? Who was the man in the uniform?

How should I know? Does this look like Scotland Yard to you? The clerk gave a little shake of his head and returned his attention to his papers.

Daniel pushed off from the desk and quick-stepped out the door. Stopping on the sidewalk, he took a moment to gain his bearings. He followed the Strand towards the southwest, heading towards Trafalgar Square.

Twenty minutes later, he skirted around the edge of the square, down the street, and barged through the door of Scotland Yard. Much like at Newgate, the clerk seated at the front desk wore a bored expression as he scribbled on sheets of papers.

What can you tell me about the case against Staletta May? Daniel leaned into the desk.

The clerk glanced up and back down. What can you tell me?

She was arrested this morning for high treason.

The clerk whistled and rifled through his papers. What do you want to know?

She is innocent. Daniel leaned further into the desk, trying to get a glimpse of the papers the clerk had pulled out of his stack. I want to know who has accused her.

After scanning the paper, the clerk peered at Daniel out of the corner of his eye. You the husband?

Daniel nodded.

How badly do you want to know? The paper disappeared back into the stack. The clerk fixed him with a stare and smiled. When Daniel didn’t comprehend, the clerk held up his hand, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

Daniel pushed off from the desk, cursing. Hands on hips, he shook his head. Alright, how much do you want?

The clerk grinned broadly. Well, you see, I've been needing a new pair of boots on account of these spring rains...shall we say ten pounds?

Ten pounds! Daniel kicked the desk and leaned against it, glaring at the clerk. This should be knowledge that is free to the public.

The clerk rubbed his fingers together again. It is...for the right amount.

Look, I can’t pay you that much, Daniel pulled the hat from his head, wringing it in between his hands.

"How much will you pay to find out who the nasty Colonel is that accused your wife?" The chair squeaked as the clerk leaned back.

A Colonel? What Colonel?

A grin spread on the clerk’s face. Ten pounds and the name is all yours.

Daniel cast his mind back in time to the many days spent with the army in India, trying to remember a Colonel that would have had a grudge against Staletta, but no one came to mind. Gritting his teeth, Daniel searched his pockets for more bank notes, but there were none left. It had cost him everything he had to visit Staletta in the prison.

Daniel ran a hand through his hair, placed the cap back on his head, and turned away. I have nothing left.

AFTER A FITFUL NIGHT’S sleep, Daniel dragged himself out of bed, rubbing his aching head and bleary eyes. The bedroom felt too still, too quiet, the emptiness so thick it was hard to breathe. He rested his elbows on his knees, head hanging low. He pulled himself from the bed, his arms and legs like unhewn logs, not bothering to change into fresh clothes.

Staletta’s examination was tomorrow and he needed to prepare. Prepare what, he didn’t know. But he needed to do something.

After lacing his boots and combing through his hair, Daniel walked down the stairs to the carpentry shop and sighed. He had already told Henry not to come this week. Client projects lay forgotten and unfinished throughout the room, but he couldn’t work on them, not until they got through this trial.

Grabbing his flat cap from the wall by the door, he placed it on his head, and stepped outside into the wet spring air tainted by a screen of smog. Squaring his shoulders, he walked the few blocks to Cynthia’s dress shop.

He hesitated at the door. He had told his family what had happened yesterday. He didn’t want to relate the whole thing over again; but Cynthia was Staletta’s closest friend, and he owed it to both of them to tell her as soon as he could. He pushed the door open and walked inside. Daniel would normally feel awkward every time he walked into the dress shop. The soft, fluffy gowns and flouncy frills displayed around the room were a stark contrast to the sawdust and tools littering his own shop. But today, that didn’t seem to matter.

Cynthia looked up from the counter and froze at the sight of him. Something is wrong. She laid a length of ribbon on the counter, staring at his face in alarm.

Do I look that bad? He removed his hat, attempting a smile.

You do, Cynthia moved from behind the counter, not taking her eyes from him. Come on back, she gestured for him to follow her to her office. Liza, the tea, please.

Daniel followed her into the small back office where he sunk into the chair opposite her desk. Tight-lipped, she sat behind the desk as Liza, the shop girl, brought in the tea, poured it, and served it to them in cups painted with red roses. Daniel took the cup and rested it on his knee as he told Cynthia the story. She gripped her cup in her hands, but did not drink.

As he finished, she set the cup back in its saucer on her desk, and shook her head. I can’t bear it. It isn’t true?

I wish it were not. Daniel raised the cup to his lips and sipped, the milky taste of creamed black tea washing over his dry tongue, a hint of citrus lingering.

She bit her knuckle, still shaking her head ever-so-slightly. What can be done?

Daniel shrugged. I don’t know, he lowered the cup to his knee and rubbed his forehead with the other hand. I need to gather evidence or something, but how can I? Her hearing is tomorrow. I don't have much time.

Cynthia snapped her fingers and sat straighter. I’ll go to Eleanor. She can hire a lawyer.

Already shaking his head, Daniel stared at the dark depths of his tea. I can’t afford a lawyer, Cynthia.

Eleanor will not ask you to pay.

I couldn’t accept that. He looked back at her, kneading his kneecap with his free hand.

Cynthia cocked her head and leaned forward. Not even for Star?

Lifting his hand to his chin, he leaned forward so his elbow rested on his knee. "I know she’ll be acquitted. She has to be. She’s innocent. And she’s pregnant."

Cynthia leaned back, swirling a spoon in her cup, and looked back at him. I don’t know, Danny. The court is not something to trifle with. You and I both know the biases of the court. Remember what we dealt with trying to get Bobs arrested? It’s best not to leave anything to chance.

I know you’re right, but I hate to be indebted to the Hutchens. He sat straight, breathing deeply. Besides, I have to believe justice will prevail, don’t I?

Cynthia raised one corner of her mouth in a mock smile. "Your faith is not something with which I empathize. I don’t leave anything to chance and I do not trust the courts."

Folding his fingers in his lap, Daniel nodded along with her statements. She was right. Swallowing his pride would be a small price to pay for the assurance that Staletta would come home safe from the trial. Will you talk to Eleanor and Marshall?

Done. Cynthia finished her tea and placed her empty cup on the tray. You look dreadful, Danny. Have you had any sleep?

Daniel shook his head, finishing off his cup of tea, as well. Not much.

What about food? Cynthia narrowed her eyes.

Daniel again replied with a shake of his head.

Liza, Cynthia called to the shop girl. Could you bring in some breakfast for Mr. May, please?

A few moments later Liza entered, a tray laden with bread and jam, sausages, and a bowl of porridge in her arms.

We had our breakfast a little bit ago, it’s still warm if you’d like some, Mr. May, Liza placed the tray on the desk in front of him.

Thank you, he tipped his hat in thanks. Though he hadn’t felt hungry before, the smell of the sausages hit his nose and made his stomach grumble.

I’d like to come to the hearing.

Daniel smeared the bread with jam and took a bite. It’s ten o’clock tomorrow morning.

She nodded and looked at him sadly. I’ll be there. If you need anything in the meantime, please don’t hesitate to ask, Danny. You know I would do anything for you and Star. I will go straight over and talk to Eleanor.

Daniel finished off the bread and sausages, but left the porridge untouched. The breakfast had given back a bit of his energy, and now he felt restless, needing to think and to plan, to whittle away the last hours until the hearing. He smiled at Cynthia as he rose from his chair and headed for the door. You’re a good friend, Cynthia. Thank you.

A few minutes later, Daniel walked through the door to his workshop and froze. Footprints, pressed into the fine sawdust on the floor, traveled from the door to the table in the center of the room.

Eyeing the corners of the room, Daniel followed the footprints to the table and scoured the surface. The table was cluttered with old mail, receipts, sawdust, woodchips, and a scattering of tools. There was nothing unusual about the mess, but the mess was not the way he had left it.

Leafing through the papers, Daniel inspected each one, but nothing seemed to be missing. His eyes traveled to the