Chapter 4
Four
Dreary rain obscured the view, but Addie made out the shape of the building they sought.
She held the slicker around them and headed down the muddy path.
Mother stumbled repeatedly. Yes, the mud stuck to their shoes might explain her difficulty in walking, but despite the cold, Mother’s body gave off heat like a burning stove.
Addie would allow Mother to relieve herself, then get her back inside as soon as possible.
They had medicines in the trunk, but they were out of reach on the coach.
She’d simply do her best to nurse Mother.
Thanks be to God for this shelter and food supplies, for wood to warm the cabin, and for men like Nash to help.
Their business done, they began the return journey. Twice, Mother had to stop, leaning heavily on Addie.
“We’re almost there.” Addie urged her onward. If Mother fell, Addie wouldn’t be able to lift her. She’d have to leave her in the mud and run for help.
Another step. Another pause. Rain soaked Addie’s black skirt. Mud encased her shoes. Mother would be enduring the same discomforts as well as her weakness.
Another step. Another pause. Mother’s weight on Addie’s arm increased. She staggered and fought to stay on the path. Light faded from the sky, shrouding the land in streaked gray. Water pattered on the leaves. To her right, a solitary bird gave a one-note protest.
The door ahead opened, throwing a wobbly yellow square into the rain. Then, a shape blocked the light.
Addie peeked from under the slicker. Nash hurried toward them. He wrapped his arm around them both and hustled them indoors.
Mother sighed and would have collapsed to the floor except for Nash’s quick action. He tossed aside the rain protection, scooped up Mother, and carried her to the fur mat.
“She’s burning up.”
“I know.” Addie knelt at Mother’s side. “Where do you feel ill?” She stroked Mother’s hair from the fevered brow and eased her wet jacket off.
“I’m fine.” Except she wasn’t.
“I’ll get water for you.”
Before Addie got to her feet, Nash hurried away and brought back a cup of water.
Addie slipped an arm under Mother’s shoulders and helped her sit enough to drink.
“Thank you, my dear. Now, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” Her voice quavered and almost faded away.
“I know.” Except she did worry and had no assurance Mother would be fine. This journey had sapped her strength. But she would take care of her to the best of her ability.
“I’ll make tea.” Nash returned to the stove and filled the kettle. Thankfully, Hawk brought in more water when he came to the house. “The rest of you make yourselves comfortable and try to sleep. We’ll be as quiet as we can.” He turned the lamp down. Dark shadows crowded the corners.
Mr. Bertrand mumbled about the lack of accommodation.
He eyed Mother…or more correctly, eyed the fur she lay on.
But nothing would persuade any of them that he should take Mother’s place.
He’d have to sleep resting on the table as Mr. Zacharius did or curl up on the floor.
With much harrumphing, he chose the latter.
“It’s come to a pretty pass,” he grumbled, “when a man pays good money for passage, and this is what he gets. Harrumph.”
Addie sloshed cool water into a basin and returned to Mother’s side to sponge her face and hands. She loosened the collar of Mother’s simple gray shirtwaist so she could apply the wet cloth to Mother’s neck. Her damp clothing should have cooled her body, yet she still burned up.
The kettle steamed. The cupboard door squealed. Water gushed into the teapot.
Nash, leaning against the cupboard, watched her. Their eyes connected, his reflecting golden lamplight. He gave a slight nod. Whether to encourage her or promise to help or—
It didn’t matter. She gained strength from the look.
Hawk grabbed his slicker. “I’ll sleep in the barn.”
Addie almost protested before Hawk added, “A bed of straw beats sleeping on the floor.” He paused at the door. “Mr. Bertrand, you’re welcome to join me.”
“In a barn. I’m not a pauper nor a beggar.”
“Fine.”
Addie held back a grin at the relief in that one word. Hawk would enjoy the company of animals in peace and quiet.
Soggy cold swept across the floor as Hawk stepped outside. The door thudded shut. His boots sounded on the step. And then nothing but the rain pounding the roof.
She tipped her ear toward the ceiling. Had the noise grown less intense than it had been when they entered this place? Or had she grown used to it? Not that it mattered.
“We’re here for the night,” she murmured, more for her own sake than to inform anyone else.
“Come dawn, we’ll assess the situation.” Nash filled a cup with the steeped tea and brought it over for Mother. He returned and poured two more cups, handing one to Addie and then sitting cross-legged at her side, cradling the other between his palms.
Addie set her cup aside to help Mother, who drank her tea slowly and then closed her eyes. “I’ll be fine as soon as I have a good sleep.”
Addie didn’t respond. Something more than lack of sleep brought on Mother’s fever.
“I’ll sit up and watch her. In case she gets worse.” Addie wasn’t ready to leave her unattended for the night.
“I’ll keep you company.”
She should protest, but she didn’t. She found comfort in having someone sharing the evening, and she eased back to lean against the wall.
Nash scooted to her side. “Has she been sick long?”
The question startled her. “I put her weariness down to the trials of travel. I’m sure, once we reach Golden Valley, where she can rest and get better food, she’ll regain her strength.”
“No doubt that will make a big difference.”
Whether or not he tried to sound encouraging, his words dragged through her thoughts. Had she overlooked some need Mother had? Neglected her care?
“I’ve done my best to take care of her.”
“I didn’t mean otherwise.” He shifted to study her. “What takes you to Golden Valley?”
“Father Stone is there, and we’re joining him to help with his work.” She settled back. Talking about what they’d do proved to be a comfortable subject. “He’s a preacher, so of course, he is establishing a church. He reports that there are men and women who long for some religious instruction.”
Wood snapped in the stove. Mr. Bertrand snored loudly.
Addie continued. “He does much more than that, though. He’s purchased a building he wants to use to house widows and their children until they can return to their families.”
She looked away into the dark corners as she recalled what else he’d said and how it stirred a response in her. She didn’t want to talk about her plans. “Tell me about your ranch.”
“Well, it’s not big, but it’s productive. I’ve earned every penny that has gone into the land and buildings.”
“That’s an odd way of describing your success.”
His forefinger traced the wrinkle in his trousers. “Guess I don’t want to be like the miners in Golden Valley hoping to get ahead by luck or trickery. Robbing, cheating, and cards might seem like an easy way to some, but far better to earn what you have.”
“I certainly agree.” She’d never put herself in a position where someone might think of stealing from her.
“I’m going to raise horses. Horses with good breeding.
” The pride in his voice said this was something of importance.
“My ranch is in a wide valley. The mountains circle me. A river runs through. You should see it this time of year when spring flowers blossom everywhere. The mountains wear a cap of snow, green grass skirts them, and the sunrise paints them pink.”
“It sounds lovely. It must be nice to be able to call some place home and feel your roots growing deep.” Living a life of service meant the Stones moved from place to place, going where they were needed.
“Do you have family?” she asked. “A wife, children, parents…?”
“No wife. No children. My mother is alive. She lives to the south. My father is deceased.”
Did she detect a sorrowful note when he mentioned his father? Of course, she did. The loss of one’s parents hurt. But more than that edged his words…maybe regret. Or guilt?
How silly of her to think she knew anything about the man.
“Are you the Stones’ only child?”
“I’m not—” She didn’t need to tell everything about herself.
“Not what?” He watched her, waiting for a reply. When she didn’t answer, he added, “I’m curious as to what you meant to say.”
Nash didn’t have any right to expect an answer. Yes, he wondered why she’d broken off and pressed her lips together as if to hold back a secret. He had reason not to reveal every detail of his family, but he couldn’t imagine that she would have such.
“Did I cross a boundary when asking about siblings?” Perhaps she’d lost brothers or sisters, and she didn’t like to talk about it. “If so, I’m sorry. Forget my probing. Please.”
Shifting closer to the fur rug, she again sponged her mother’s face.
Her actions provided an adequate answer, and Nash pulled his legs close to his chest. The lamp flickered as a draft crossed the room. The men snored. He should check on Shorty, but Nash didn’t move.
Addie returned to his side. “Her fever hasn’t broken, but she’s resting.”
“It’s quiet.”
She laughed. “You mean apart from the rain pounding on the roof, the wood crackling in the stove”—she turned toward the corner—“and Mr. Bertrand’s snores.”
The man she meant drew in a loud, rattling breath.
Addie cupped a palm to her mouth to hold back her amusement.
Nash grinned. “Fine. It’s almost quiet.”
They settled back against the wall, sharing a space barely wide enough to accommodate them. She turned her knees to the side to avoid encountering his legs, but their elbows brushed. He could almost believe the two of them were alone in the isolated cabin.
“I don’t object to you asking about my family. To answer your question, I don’t have any siblings. The Stones have no children. They took me in when my parents died. They are all I have in the way of family. I owe them so much for how they’ve helped me.”