The Humiliation of Hannah

Title Page

The Humiliation of Hannah

by Lizbeth Dusseau

ISBN 13: 978-1-934349-30-4

A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

Copyright © 2013 by Lizbeth Dusseau, All rights reserved

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.

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Prologue

Some stale, moldering and smoky smell made her almost turn around. A cold chill raced down her spine. Such feelings—and in such an innocuous place. Shopping for dry goods was normally such a pleasant experience. But there were men, strangers jostling her and that stale smell growing stronger, until someone standing directly behind her leaned in and gruffly whispered in her ear.

“If you know what’s good for you, Hannah Crowe, you’ll find that bastard brother of yours and give him a message from Mr. Cain.” The man’s large hand moved against her bottom, squeezing repugnantly.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she whipped around, eyes flashing vehement scorn, “Get your hands off me.” When she looked up at the massive man, the sneer on the unshaven face put a fearful wedge in her resolve and she shrank back.

“Yeah, you best mind what I say, pretty lady,” the fellow glowered, “we have ways of dealing with cheating scoundrels and their pretty sisters.” He grabbed a lock of her long dark brown hair and twirled it between his grimy fingers. His nails were nearly black and he reeked of liquor enough to make her suddenly feel light-headed. He was just a ruffian, but a big, crude, unpleasant one who made her belly jar oddly. Beyond his uncleanly appearance, the man was curiously handsome and this surprised her. He reached for her breast and squeezed it before she could think to back further away. She let out a tiny scream and slapped his hand. “How dare you!”

“Eh, I see the light in those pretty eyes, Mrs. Crowe,” he gloated.

“Get the hell out of my store,” Terrance Somersby suddenly blared behind them.

The three men crowding Hannah Crowe turned to answer the order, sniggering.

“We was just leavin’,” the offensive brute sassed him, then turned back to Hannah for a parting comment.

“We’ll be meetin’ again, little lady, if that no account brother of yours doesn’t show. Count on it.”

The man turned and stalked away, grabbing a pack of jerky from the counter. Followed by two equally loathsome young scoundrels, he left a trail of fear and a fast beating heart behind him.

“You okay, Hannah?” Terrance Somersby moved her way, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“You sure? The Tremaine boys can be pretty wicked.”

“I’ll be just fine,” she said, as she nervously pressed her skirt with her hands. She took a deep breath to clear the fear from her trembling body, then attempted to smile.

“I’m afraid your brother’s in a pack of trouble. You don’t go angering Jarrett Cain, if you know what I mean.”

Hannah’s weary look betrayed her worry, but then quite surprisingly she smiled warmly as if her confidence instantly was restored and she’d made some crucial decision. “You know, Mr. Somersby, I think I’ll wait on the shopping for today. You wouldn’t happen to know where Millie Peacock lives?”

“I sure do. She lives just down the street, right next to the barbershop. Has a room upstairs.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But, you know, Millie Peacock is not fit company for a fine woman like yourself.”

“I don’t aim to ‘keep company’ with the woman.” Her gaze narrowed meaningfully. But more composed now than before, she straightened her dress one more time and graciously nodded to the shopkeeper as she swept from the store, heading in the direction of the barbershop. Her mission was quite clear.

Terrance Somersby watched as Hannah Crowe left with her single-minded air plainly in charge. She was a beauty, with a lustrous mane of russet colored hair, a natural pink blush to her porcelain-white cheeks and wide sparkling brown eyes. They could dance with merriment or lash out in righteous indignation. What spirit! Her fine body and ample curves drew the eye of every man in the county. And that smile could k****e their affection, although everyone knew that her lively but gentle heart beat only for her husband, Daniel Crowe.

Some thought their marriage was a terrible mistake—he was so beneath her learned upbringing. Some thought she married the man to spite her venomous mother. Others vowed the pairing wouldn’t last; she was simply on a young woman’s foolish adventure and would soon tire of the homespun farmer and trapper. He was an unschooled country boy of modest means. A handsome fellow, to be sure, but no good match for a woman of Hannah’s breeding, despite his wit, intelligence and strong work ethic. Yes, there were those who thought their union wouldn’t last, but Terrance Somersby didn’t agree. In his mind, there was still after five years, the same look of love in Hannah Crowe’s eyes that he’d seen when she first came to town on Daniel’s arm. One had to remember that their tiny village was no fine Eastern city, or even an upstart Midwestern town like Springfield where one might put on airs, where one’s social background determined who you married. No, in these wild and sometimes savage places, a girl like Hannah could do a lot worse than Daniel Crowe. He was a man used to danger who would know how to keep safe a beauty like his lovely wife.