Chapter 13
Thirteen
Shouldn’t Addie be relieved something moving in the bushes had brought an end to their conversation?
But mostly, she was disappointed. She’d opened her heart and confessed something she’d never admitted to even herself.
She wanted to be free of striving to fulfill her duty to the Stones.
Not that they asked it of her. No, they’d deny such expectations if they knew what she’d said. They were genuinely generous people.
But when she’d said she wondered if something more existed for her, she’d hoped he’d say there was, and he’d help her find it.
Hawk was talking to Mr. Bertrand. “I see no reason we won’t be leaving tomorrow, but I can’t promise. Roads and weather will determine our journey.”
Mr. Bertrand harrumphed.
Hawk pushed to his feet. “Been a long day. I’m going to sleep.” He eased past Addie and Nash and headed for the barn.
And peace and quiet. Addie almost envied him.
“Thanks for showing me the stars,” she murmured to Nash before she went to Mother and touched her brow. “Cool,” she murmured, glancing at Nash as she did.
“That’s good news. Especially if we resume travel tomorrow.”
“Indeed.” Addie might have wished for another day or two here for Mother to rest. But also time to take walks with Nash.
Of course, they’d see each other after they reached Golden Valley.
They’d as much as promised to do so. But her reassurances did nothing to ease the loneliness growing in the pit of her stomach.
Mr. Bertrand grumbled his way to the spot on the floor where he’d spent the previous three nights.
Mr. Zacharius stayed at the table. Poor man must long for a comfortable bed and something to ease his cough.
Addie closed her eyes. Why hadn’t she thought to bring back one of Mother’s teas to help the man? How selfish and thoughtless.
Without apology, Shorty claimed the bed while Nash settled beside him on the floor.
Addie lay down next to Mother, so keenly aware of Nash’s breathing nearby that she wouldn’t sleep.
But she did and woke to Nash lighting the lamp. She sprang to her feet. “Is something wrong?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you. No. Nothing wrong. But Hawk is anxious to get things moving.” Nash scooped coffee beans into the grinder and ground them.
Hawk stepped inside with a bucket of fresh water and filled the coffeepot.
The men needed to eat before they returned to the task of clearing the trail, so Addie hurried over to start breakfast. With three people in the kitchen area, she kept bumping into Nash. Each time, her insides did a hop and a skip, and she smiled even as she murmured, “Excuse me.”
And each time, she raised her eyes and met his answering grin.
If she had to guess, she’d say he enjoyed this.
The coffee sputtered. Hawk poured a cupful and carried it to the table. Mother sat up, and Addie helped her to the outhouse.
“You seem improved today,” she observed.
“I’m feeling better.” But she clung to Addie’s arm as they traversed the path to the little place out back.
“That’s good. It appears we will be resuming our journey today.”
Mother nodded. “Good. I can’t wait to get settled and see Mr. Stone, of course.”
“Of course.”
The food was cooked and served, and the meal was eaten in haste. When the door closed behind Hawk and Nash, Addie told herself she didn’t feel lonely. She needed to keep busy, and it wasn’t hard to find that something.
Over the course of the days they’d been here, mud had been tracked into the cabin. She’d clean the floor and make sure they left the place as tidy as they’d found it.
Mother chose to sit on one of the chairs, so Addie rolled up the fur and took it to the storeroom. If something prevented them from leaving, she’d bring it out again.
Shorty held the door for her and helped her stow it away. She spied a bucket he must surely use for cleaning purposes and brought it out.
When Shorty understood her intention, he held up a hand. “No need to do that.”
“Shorty, your leg is still mending. Besides, I need something to pass the time while we wait.”
He nodded. “Very well.”
She scraped and swept up most of the mud. Then she filled the bucket with warm water and, on her hands and knees, scrubbed the floor.
The men moved aside as she washed under the table.
Satisfied with the job she’d done, she dumped out the dirty water and returned the bucket to the storeroom.
“It looks good,” Shorty said. “And it reminds me of other times.” He didn’t say anything more, and she didn’t like to prod.
But her concern for the man drew her to his side. She sat beside him. “Shorty, do you have someone to go back to? Someone who might be waiting for you?”
The bench creaked as he rocked back and forth. “I doubt I would be welcome.” His voice quavered. “I did something awful.”
“There’s nothing unforgivable.”
“I would like to believe that is so. But even if it is true, maybe I can never forgive myself.”
“Oh, Shorty.” She pressed her fingers to the back of his hand. “If God can forgive even those who crucified Jesus, I know He can forgive us. And if God forgives, shouldn’t we?”
“I had a son.” The words exploded from him. “He died because I was too engrossed in my reading to watch him.” He bent over his knees and moaned, a sound so full of agony the room echoed with it.
Addie waited and prayed, wanting to say the right thing. “Have you punished yourself long enough? What about your wife? Have you punished her long enough?”
He rocked back and forth. Then, with a groan, he got to his feet and staggered out the door.
Mother heard it all. “We need to pray for that man’s heart.”
Apart from that very important thing, Addie could do little else. She stared out the window. Well beyond it, Shorty leaned on the corral fence. The horses trotted up to him. Then he slipped into the barn.
She turned from the window. Beans had baked all night.
They’d be ready for the noon meal. It might be their last meal here.
Why not celebrate with another cake? Though she felt more like mourning than celebrating.
She measured raisins into the pot and set them to boil.
When they’d cooled, she added the other ingredients and put the cake in the oven to bake.
A glance at the clock told her noon time was an hour away.
The coats and shawls hung in a jumble by the door. She’d tidy that up.
Shorty’s slicker hung on the hook by itself. She straightened it so it hung neatly.
Jackets—some still damp—crowded together. She hung the damp ones by the stove to dry. She took her shawl and Mother’s and folded them on their bags.
Saddlebags hung crookedly from another hook. Did she recall Nash had them slung over his shoulder as he carried Mother here? Yes, she pictured him dropping them hurriedly, his concern about getting Mother settled.
The leather lay twisted. It needed to be straightened. She lifted the affair and lay it on the floor to smooth it out. A smudge on the underside caught her attention. She bent closer. Letters had been burned into the back. By squinting, she made out the first two.
S T.
The next few letters had been scratched or burned so they were hard to read. She angled the piece toward the window.
U.
Was the next letter R?
With a damp finger, she brushed along the marks until she knew for certain the last letter.
M.
S–T–U–R–M.
Sturm.
Her hands failed her, and she dropped the leather. “Sturm.” The whispered word burned across her lips.
The murdering beast had taken her parents’ lives.
She shoved the offending bit of leather away. It could dry into a twist. She didn’t care. Her eyes burning, her fists clenched, she sat back on her heels.
Who was Nash?
Sturm had a son. She’d never seen him. The authorities informed her he’d moved away prior to the dreadful event.
Could Nash be the missing son?
Or had he acquired that…that…offending object some other way? Perhaps he’d purchased it without realizing who had owned it. That would be one explanation for the way someone had tried to scratch out the letters.
Drawing in one deep breath after another, she calmed her anger. She wouldn’t judge Nash until she knew the truth. But she’d be watching him very closely to see if he was the man he appeared to be.
“I’ll get the horses. You get the passengers moving.”
Nash hurried to do Hawk’s bidding and burst into the cabin. Everyone turned at his entrance, but he cared only to see brown eyes welcoming him.
Her gaze slid past him, and she turned to the cupboard where she dried a dish and put it away. They’d eaten dinner. He and Hawk would grab a quick mouthful before they left.
Although he waited, she didn’t turn toward him.
“We’re ready to depart.” His words lacked the enthusiasm they should have carried. Would she offer him food? Shorty filled a dish for him.
Not bothering to sit, Nash wolfed the food down and handed the dish back.
“Miss Addie made cake too. Spicy raisin. It is good even if it is not ginger cake.” Shorty presented him with a small plate holding a generous portion of cake.
Nash ate the serving. “It’s very good. Thank you, Addie.”
“You’re welcome.” Her words lacked warmth, and she showed him nothing more than her back.
The empty plate gave him an excuse to go to the cupboard. “Addie, what’s wrong?”
Her whole body jerked as she faced him. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” She flung away. “I need to help Mother get ready to travel.” She skittered off as if chased by a snarling dog.
He looked at Shorty. The man watched Addie’s hasty departure, then turned toward Nash.
“Well.” That’s all Shorty said. It was enough for Nash to realize he was as surprised by Addie’s behavior as he was. And from the look in his eyes, he was equally confused.
Hawk stepped inside. “Is everyone ready?” Seeing the pot of beans, he scooped out a bowlful and ate them hurriedly, then grabbed a square of cake. “Sorry to leave you to clean up after us, Shorty, but we need to be on our way.” He led them from the cabin.