Chapter 14
Fourteen
Addie stood at Mother’s side as Hawk and Nash guided the horses over the treacherous trail. One misstep and the coach and animals would go over the edge. There’d be no bringing them back.
Nash and Hawk wouldn’t let that happen without doing everything in their power to prevent it. Even putting themselves at risk. A shudder rattled her teeth. Nash could die before her very eyes, leaving her with a guilty conscience for the rest of her life.
Why hadn’t she told him she’d seen that name on his saddlebags? Given him a chance to explain? But even though she’d decided not to judge him, she had to her shame and regret.
She’d tell him the first chance she got to speak privately to him.
The outer back wheel slid toward the drop-off. “Oh no.” She grabbed Mother’s arm and hung on. Hawk and Nash, with the latter closest to the edge, pulled on the horses, urging them to put in more effort. He slipped, going down on his bottom.
“No. No.” She whispered the words, her legs buckling. She drew in a draft of damp air when he regained his footing, and the horses moved forward.
The coach reached higher ground, all four wheels safely on solid ground.
The spectators released sighs of relief.
Nash and Hawk set to work cleaning the horses’ legs and kicking mud off the spokes.
This was not the time to ask Nash about the saddlebags.
But now that she’d made up her mind to do so, Addie wanted to get it done.
She’d missed the friendship and openness she and Nash had shared so naturally.
Hawk turned to them. “You can get in the coach again, and we’ll be on our way.”
Nash assisted Mother and Addie up the narrow step. Addie smiled at him, a silent promise to clear the air between them. A flash of sunlight in his eyes rewarded her. He dipped his head in acknowledgment before he backed away and climbed up to join Hawk.
She wasn’t disappointed. It wasn’t as if she’d ever get a chance to say anything private in the coach. But Addie sighed as she took her place by Mother. Travel had been challenging for the older woman, and Addie studied her closely. She was pale and tired-looking.
“I’m fine,” Mother assured her.
Addie nodded. Thankfully, Mother was improving and able to endure the rest of the journey even though she wasn’t fine and likely wouldn’t be until she settled back in the company of Father.
They rattled and swayed along the trail, every turn of the wheels bringing them closer to their destination.
The horn sounded, signaling to the next station that they were drawing near. The first time Addie heard it, she’d leaned out the window expecting an army to approach. Mr. Zacharius had explained.
There would be no time to say anything to Nash here. Hawk was in more of a hurry than usual. They would barely have a chance to use the outhouse and get a drink from the well.
The coach swayed to a stop. Addie helped Mother down, and they rushed for the little house tucked away in the trees. By the time she’d gotten water for them both, the fresh horses were prancing, eager to be on their way.
Nash waited to help them aboard. She only had enough time to thank him and hope he understood her smile offered an explanation when they found an opportunity. Then, with Hawk calling for him to hurry, he joined the impatient driver, and they rattled onward.
In places, dust billowed around the wheels and filled the coach, but mostly, they dealt with mud.
Addie sat on the outward side, admiring the spectacular scenery—green valleys dotted with orange and yellow wildflowers and, at other times, nothing but rocks and jagged cliffs.
More than once, she glimpsed deer and moose and a large animal Mr. Zacharius called elk.
Water splashed around them as they crossed a stream.
She settled back, content to wait for a chance to ask Nash about those letters.
He’d have a reasonable explanation, of course.
And she’d explain why she’d had such a strong reaction—but wait.
Was that necessary? She’d taken the surname Stone to escape people murmuring behind their hands when they saw her.
Of course, she’d tell him should their friendship turn into anything more serious, but not until then. She’d not risk knowledge of her true identity making him wary around her.
They rattled onward. Dark shadows striped the trail and obscured the scenery.
The edge of the road disappeared in the gray light.
How deep the valley was at their side! Her teeth chattered.
It didn’t seem safe to race on into the darkness.
She gripped the window frame and peered ahead.
But the look provided no reassurance. They might be heading into danger for all she could see.
Her heart thumping in her throat, she sat back and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see what lay ahead.
“Whoa. Whoa.”
She jerked up at Hawk’s call. Had they arrived at safety? The last overnight stop before they reached Golden Valley?
Mr. Bertrand flung open the door and stepped down. “I’m counting on better fare than we had back there.”
His comment rankled. “We did very well, especially since Shorty wasn’t expecting us.”
“Harrumph.”
Mr. Zacharius signaled the ladies to go ahead of him, and Addie urged Mother to her feet.
Nash helped them down. As soon as they were safely on solid ground, he turned his attention to helping Hawk.
“You folks go on in,” Hawk called while he dealt with the horses.
Mr. Bertrand marched into the low cabin with the others on his heels. He grumbled that it didn’t look any better than Shorty’s place.
But there were three rooms. Perhaps she and Mother would be allowed some privacy. In which case, she’d see about a proper wash and clean clothes, though the items would be impossibly wrinkled from having spent days stuffed into a valise.
“You sit. I make tea.” A dark-skinned, diminutive woman spoke from beside the stove.
The others plopped wearily at the table, but Addie went to the stove. “My name is Addie Stone. Can I help?”
Dark eyes considered, and then the woman nodded. “I am Dawn. You take cups to them.”
Two steaming cups in her hands, Addie returned to the table. Dawn followed with two more. She waved Addie toward a chair, but Addie shook her head.
“I’ll help.” Supper would be expected. And welcomed.
Again, dark eyes in a beautiful face studied her. Again, Dawn nodded. “You help.”
A big worktable occupied space in the kitchen area.
A variety of vegetables lay on the surface—some that Addie didn’t recognize.
Dawn put a large frying pan on the stove to heat, and then in a soft voice, instructed Addie on preparing vegetables.
She added a root that smelled like onion to the hot pan.
Venison steaks sizzled, and the vegetables were cooked when Nash, Hawk, and a third man entered. The latter was tall and broad-shouldered with dark brown hair tied at the back of his head.
“This is Bart,” Hawk said. “Hello, Dawn.” He sniffed. “Smells good.”
“It’s ready.”
They gathered around the table. Although Addie had chosen a chair next to an empty one, Mr. Zacharius took that chair, and Nash sat across the table’s far end.
His gaze met hers. Full of uncertainty. Her behavior had given him cause to wonder, but she’d fix that as soon as possible. Seeing that name had shaken her, but she’d give him a chance to explain. Surely, he’d have a reasonable—acceptable—explanation.
The meal was excellent. Even Mr. Bertrand found it impossible to complain.
Addie insisted on helping Dawn with the dishes even though the other woman said it was her job. That done, and with Mother settled on the bed in the room off the living area, Addie gathered up her courage to face Nash. Their discussion must be in private.
“I’d like to go for a walk.” She headed for the door.
Nash rose to his feet. “It’s not safe to be out there alone.” He hesitated as if uncertain what her reaction would be.
“I’d be glad of your company.”
Nodding, caution lingering in his eyes, he joined her.
Night had fallen, soft and pine-scented. Stars filled the sky like sparkling raindrops. They sauntered along the clearing’s perimeter and paused at the trail they’d so recently traveled.
“Nash, you must wonder at my behavior today.”
“Yeah.” Caution rang in his answer.
“I’d like to explain what happened.”
“Do you want to sit?” He indicated the grass-covered slope that provided a natural bench.
She lowered herself to the ground and then wished she hadn’t as he stood over her. “Sit.” She patted the spot beside her.
He hesitated, then joined her. Although their shoulders touched, a vast chasm separated them.
“I wanted to leave Shorty’s place as clean as when we got there.
” That information had nothing to do with what she wanted to say, but planning to ask about that name proved easier than bringing the words to her mouth.
“After I cleaned the floor, I thought I’d tidy the things hanging on the hooks by the door.
” No need to tell him of all the items she’d moved nor to describe the hooks, yet that is what she almost did.
Get on with what you want to say. But, both the painful memories associated with that name, and the idea that Nash had a connection created a dam against her words.
“I fail to see how that offended you nor how it turned you against me.”
“Your saddlebags were there. I meant to straighten them. That’s when—” She gulped.
“I made out letters burned into the back.” Her whisper growled from her throat.
“Sturm. Why do you have something with that on it? Do you know awful things are associated with that name?” Agony quivered on her words.
The dip of his eyelids informed her that he did.
“It was given to me.” His hands hung over his knees as he leaned forward, tension rippling across his forehead. “I tried to scratch it out, but I never could.”
She rocked back and forth. It seemed a reasonable explanation.
Nash slowed his breathing. He must never let anyone guess how troubling that name was to him.
He shouldn’t have kept those saddlebags.
They’d belonged to his father—a shameful part of his past that he wished to never remember.
But they were good quality. He’d done his best to erase the letters branded on the leather’s backside. No one before had made them out.
It didn’t surprise him that she recognized the name. Surely, everyone west of the Atlantic Ocean had read about the horrible murders of a young, innocent couple. The motive had been abundantly clear. The husband had done well in business. Nash’s father wanted to benefit from the man’s efforts.
Nor did Addie’s reaction surprise him. No one could read or hear about that event without bitterness surging up their throat.
“I’m glad you told me the truth.”
She nodded. “I judged you based solely on five letters on a piece of leather.” She twisted her fingers together so hard the tips grew red. “It was wrong of me.”
“I understand how you must have felt to see that name. I think anyone would have had the same reaction.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t fair. I wanted to be honest.” Her dark eyes bored into his. “I wanted an explanation from you.” A smile softened her intensity. “And you’ve given it. Thank you.”
Thank you? What sort of explanation had he given? Certainly not the truth. How would she respond if he confessed the whole truth?
His throat worked at trying to swallow. He’d hidden it for a long time. Finding safety in denying his name. But he wanted Addie to see him for who he was—the son of a murderer—and accept him as a good man who, through hard work, earned everything he had.
He coughed to ease the tension in his throat. “My father gave me those saddlebags.” Would she understand what he meant?
“They’re good quality.”
A truth jolted through him. Good quality? Pa always insisted on the best. Had he stolen them? Or purchased them with money he’d robbed from an innocent victim?
“I should never have kept them.” Every word dripped with bitterness.
“But why? They were a gift from your father. Surely, they mean something to you.”
His bitterness grew into blazing anger, and he blurted out the truth. “My father was Morton Sturm.”
Surprise in her eyes gave way to a horror that twisted her face into shock.
“I can see you understand who I am. The son of a murderer.” His eyes closed, he swallowed back bitterness and regret.
“My mother fled town with me long before the murders. We changed our names and started a new life. I grew up away from the dark shadow of my father. Or so I thought. Seems the past is catching up to me.” Now numb inside, he shifted to watch Addie, not surprised her shoulders were rigid, her expression frozen.
“Addie, I might be the son of a murderer, but I am not like him in any way. He wanted to live a life of luxury without working for it. I will not take anything without earning it myself.”
She still did not move. A breath shuddered in.
“I don’t know what to say.” She pushed to her feet, moving as if her limbs lacked strength.
When he rose and started to follow her, she waved him away.
“I need time.”