Chapter 8
Eight
Addie picked up the nearest object—a mug—and dried it, although it had been washed and dried already.
She’d never told anyone about the riot of emotions she’d experienced after the death of her parents.
Nor had she before realized that she’d, indeed, faced a crossroads of faith as he called it.
Father would be pleased to know it had been in church as he preached that she put aside the past and chose to trust God with the future.
She owed so much to Preacher and Mother Stone.
What would have become of her without them—a young girl with no home?
She’d have been sent to an orphanage or, given her age, become a mother’s helper in a home overrun with children.
Not that she didn’t like children. She did.
But she’d once watched a girl about the age she’d been back then struggling under the weight of a toddler on her hip.
The toddler’s runny nose dripped on the girl’s shoulder.
Two slightly older children tugged at her, whining and crying.
It did not look like a happy way to live.
The cup was as dry as wood. She forced her restless hands to stop polishing it and put it in the cupboard, all while Nash watched her every move.
She resisted an urge to press her hands to her shoulders where he’d held her, providing comfort and stability.
Something about his touch and even his presence made her fears go from a rolling boil to a gentle simmer.
She folded the drying towel into thirds and, with equal care, draped it over the bar close to the stove to let it dry.
And still, Nash waited. His presence reassuring and unsettling. He must wonder at the way she fussed about the position of the towel. Drawing in a deep breath, she forced herself to face him. The heat stinging her cheeks could be explained away as caused by being close to the stove.
She couldn’t meet his eyes and settled her gaze mid-chest. “The dishes are done.” A needless comment. What else could she say?
“Are you all right?” The depth of his voice jerked her attention to his eyes.
“Yes! Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”
He shrugged, but the warm concern in his gaze did not falter. “If I had to guess, I’d say telling me about that time in your life triggered memories that were both good and bad.”
Exactly. He’d pinpointed her confusion, and it had nothing to do with his hands on her shoulder and her wish that they were still there. “The bad is in the past. The good is my here and now.”
His smile filled his eyes with silvery sparks reminiscent of stars on a clear warm night.
“Thank you for telling me. It makes me see even better your sweet, gentle spirit.”
She gulped so loud everyone must have heard. Then she sputtered with laughter. “I’m no saint.”
“Nor would I want you to be.”
Laughter fled. “What does that mean?”
“Saints are otherworldly. Or as Ma once said, ‘Too heavenly minded to be of earthly good.’”
More sputtered laughter escaped her lips. “I doubt you’ve met many of that description.”
He chuckled. “Only one.”
“Do tell.”
They leaned against the cupboard as they talked. The others read contentedly except for Mother who turned to her other side, mumbling in her sleep. Mother always said sleep was the greatest healer.
Nash folded his arms. “A student preacher came one summer a few years ago. An upright, godly man. Except he was narrow-minded. His judgments were harsh. There existed not one drop of human kindness in him. Pious words about God’s law and God’s righteousness cloaked everything he said but never a word about His grace.
That’s when Ma said that.” His chuckle was as much regret as amusement.
“I couldn’t help but wonder how many individuals he turned from the kingdom. ”
Mother snorted awake and tried to sit up, reaching into the air for something.
Addie hurried to her side. “What is it? What do you want?”
When Mother mumbled, Addie made out enough to know they needed to make a trip to the outhouse. She helped Mother to her feet and held her steady.
Seeing their intent, Nash lifted the slicker from the peg and draped it over them. He opened the door.
Mother staggered and fell against the wall.
Addie pulled her upright and clung to her.
They took two unsteady steps together.
“She’s never going to make it.” Nash scooped her into his arms. “Lead the way.”
“You’re going to get soaked.” As would Mother.
“Take my slicker,” Hawk said.
Nash draped it over his head to cover Mother and his shoulders. He’d still get wet, but it protected Mother.
Addie huddled into Shorty’s rain gear.
They stepped into the rain and hurried along the muddy path. Addie slipped on the wet ground and grabbed Nash’s elbow to steady herself.
“Hang on.”
And she did. At the door of the little building, he set Mother on her feet. Then Addie assisted her while Nash waited in the rain.
The rain! Addie cocked her head toward the sound on the roof. It didn’t sound as loud as it had.
Done their business, she opened the door. Nash again picked up Mother, and they began their return journey.
“It isn’t raining as hard.”
“I noticed that.” Nash paused long enough to look around. “There’s a hint of light in the west.”
“It’s almost over.” Of course, she was happy about that.
They all needed to get to Golden Valley for whatever reason they had.
But it meant an end to the time she and Nash shared.
Except—must it? Yes, he’d continue to his ranch, but wouldn’t he have call to visit the mining town?
Would it cross his mind to pay her a visit?
Besides, hadn’t he suggested she visit his ranch, and hadn’t she agreed?
They reached the cabin without an answer to her questions. Because there was no answer. They had only the few hours before they left the cabin.
She gave Mother water. Offered her a biscuit, but Mother refused and curled up under the blanket.
Nash stood nearby, watching. She met his gaze, needing, wanting something from him, though she wouldn’t acknowledge it.
“Sleep is good,” he murmured.
Addie nodded.
With Mother sleeping, the kitchen area clean, the dishes washed and put away, she had little else to do. So she picked up her book, rested her back against the wall, and began to read.
Nash sat beside her, his legs curled up, and he opened the book he read.
After a few minutes, he put his finger in the book and lifted his head.
“I thought David Thompson wrote this book, but it’s written by someone else and tells about his life.
It’s amazing to think how much of North America he explored and mapped.
He overcame many challenges. His father died when he was young, and at seven, his mother placed him in a school for the disadvantaged.
It doesn’t appear he let those circumstances deter him.
” Nash tapped the book. “I’m in awe of what he achieved when it would have been easy to idle through life feeling sorry for himself. ”
“That’s fascinating.” She didn’t mean only the information about the explorer. Nash’s enthusiasm proved equally spellbinding.
They both returned to their reading.
“Addie,” Nash exclaimed, “the man lost the sight in his right eye, but it doesn’t appear to have slowed him down. What a marvelous life he lived.”
“No room for self-pity?”
“None whatsoever.” His eyes glistened. “I feel like he’s an example of how I should choose to live.”
Addie smoothed the crinkled cuffs at her wrists. “Seems to me that is how you have already chosen, isn’t it?”
“I hope I have. Like you said, we should leave the past and live in the here and now. But to read about someone who did kind of opens my eyes.” One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Sorry. Guess I’m getting a little enthused about it.”
“I don’t mind.” She gave off fiddling with a fraying thread.
“That’s good. I’ll try not to interrupt your reading again.” He bent over the book, but she didn’t immediately return to her own story.
Nash’s enthusiasm, his determination to be a good man, his—well, everything she’d learned about him so far—filled her with admiration.
Afraid he would catch her staring at him, she continued the story she’d begun before supper. A story about a man and a woman crossing the mountains, much as she currently did. They worked together and were destined to find love.
A sigh escaped her as she read the hero’s words to the heroine. It drew Nash’s attention.
“Something good in your book?”
“I think so.”
“Read it to me.”
If he found the love stuff amusing or even trivial, it would erase the pleasure the words had given her.
“Please.”
How could she resist his gentle pleading? “Very well. But you must promise not to mock.”
“Of course, I won’t. I promise.”
“Very well then.” She settled her spine to the wall. “This is what the young man says to the young lady, ‘I loved you the first time we spoke though I knew it not at the time.’ She replies, ‘Sir, how do you know it now?’”
Addie’s cheeks warmed as she continued to read words so intimate it felt like she spied on the couple.
“‘Now?’ he said. ‘Because you dwell on every breath I breathe, you accompany every thought I think, you reside in every step I take. You are what brings joy to my very being.’” Addie’s voice faded.
Would Nash think her foolish to be so moved by the tender words?
He cleared his throat. “That’s nice.”
Nice! That was like saying the rain was damp. And she’d thought him a tender man!
A reading like that required more than “that’s nice.” But Nash couldn’t find words to express how they’d stirred his heart. He cleared his throat. Opened his mouth and closed it without uttering a sound.
Addie’s eyes narrowed, and she turned back to her book.
He’d disappointed her. And he’d disappointed himself. “Addie, that’s the kind of love a woman deserves.”