Chapter 19
Nineteen
J ackson’s whole body keened with the need to kiss Sage again—a need that wouldn’t be quelled no matter how hard he tried.
He blew out a tight breath as he walked along beside her toward the parsonage at the rear of Christ Church. He never should have kissed her again this morning—not once, but especially not twice, not after spending a night in bed beside her.
Was she thinking the same thing?
She was quieter than usual, had been for the steamboat voyage the rest of the distance up the Fraser River to Hope. They’d talked a little, mostly him explaining the different sandbars they passed, the gold that had been discovered in the area, and how the miners had moved farther up into the Cariboo region now that most of the easy gold had been discovered.
As usual, she’d asked him questions not only about the mining but about the wildlife and the Natives and how the smallpox had spread over the past year, wiping out whole tribes.
However, the air between them had been strained, and he’d caught her looking at him a time or two, as if she was wondering about his initiating the second kiss with her before boarding the steamboat. It had been one thing to kiss in the pub when everyone had been looking and demanding it of them. But it had been another matter altogether to kiss her when no one had been pressuring them.
Why had he done it?
He still couldn’t compute a plausible explanation.
With frustration pounding in his temple, he kicked at a loose stone in the gravel alley that led to the parsonage.
At least they’d arrived in Hope by the afternoon. The town was bigger than Centreville, having once been Fort Hope and an outpost for the Hudson’s Bay Company. It sat at the conflux of the Fraser and Coquihalla Rivers and was surrounded on three sides by mountains. The colorful changing leaves blanketed the mountains around them. It was truly a glorious sight, even with the clouds hanging low and filled with moisture.
Although each mile upriver brought him closer to the site of the accident, somehow the nearness wasn’t as hard to bear as he’d expected. Was it because he was distracted with his desires for Sage and his search for Augusta? Or maybe he was starting to finally accept all that had happened and heal from it?
If only once in a while his mind could function normally like other people’s. But it didn’t. It never had. And he couldn’t stop himself from being consumed with Sage—both in his waking and sleeping.
In fact, his need for her was growing more and more pronounced, so much so that he felt like he was one of the cables on a suspension bridge that was about to snap under the pressure. Should he just admit to himself and to her how much he cared about her? Even if he did, what would he be able to do about it?
Moreover, he needed to expend his mental capacity on their search for Augusta. Since their arrival, they’d walked along the waterfront, and he’d queried some of the regular stevedores he’d met on previous trips. One of them had finally recognized the small photograph of Augusta, claimed she’d been with a fellow but that he hadn’t taken the time to look closely at the man. The stevedore hadn’t exactly known where the couple had gone, but at one point, he’d seen them come out of Christ Church. If Augusta had been upset or struggling, the stevedore hadn’t noticed it.
Armed with that news, Jackson had led Sage over to the church. Unfortunately, the reverend, John Roberts, hadn’t been there, and now they were seeking him out at his home, praying he had seen Augusta and would be able to give them information about her.
“She has to be here in Hope somewhere,” Sage said, peering past the parsonage at the small homes that were on the outskirts of town. Most were new and made of clapboards since Hope boasted of a lumber mill. However, the residences were simple and small, not nearly as elaborate as his home in Victoria. Even so, this town in the wilderness of British Columbia was one of the mining towns that had lasted when others had dissolved as soon as the miners had moved on.
The parsonage ahead was painted a light yellow, and lacy curtains hung in each window. As they started up the flagstone path that led to the house, Sage slipped her gloved hand into the crook of his arm and held on tightly, as though she was afraid of the news that awaited them.
He laid his hand over hers and squeezed gently. “We shall find her, Sage. I vow it.”
She tilted her head so that he glimpsed her sorrowful eyes past the brim of her fancy bonnet. “I pray you’re right.”
He lifted a hand to knock, but before he could, the door swung open to reveal a plain but kindly looking young woman wearing a fashionable gown, a brooch at her neck, and a pearl circlet in her hair.
“May I help you?” She regarded them almost as if she’d expected them.
“Yes, ma’am.” Jackson gave a polite tip of his hat. “We would like to speak with Reverend Roberts, please.”
“I’m his wife, Mrs. Roberts.” She clasped her hands together in a ladylike movement that reminded Jackson of his mother’s mannerisms. “Regretfully, Reverend Roberts’s duties have taken him out of town today to visit several mining camps.”
“I see.” Against him, he could feel Sage droop in disappointment. “Do you know when he will return?”
“It may not be for a couple of days, perhaps longer.” She glanced in the direction of the river. Although not visible from the house, it wasn’t far, and the whistle of an arriving steamboat echoed in the valley.
Should they wait in Hope until the reverend returned? During the interval, they could search for other clues, perhaps locate additional people who’d seen Augusta and could give them information.
“Thank you for your time, ma’am.” He gave a slight bow. “When your husband returns, would you be so kind as to let him know that…” How should he refer to Sage now that they were in Hope? He’d planned to drop the marriage pretense, especially because he’d anticipated finding Augusta who could chaperone them. But now if they had to stay at a local hotel for any length of time, the gossip would run rampant if he introduced Sage as anything other than his wife.
Sage shifted beside him, her arm still tucked in his.
He tried to catch her eye, but she was too busy studying Mrs. Roberts and wasn’t paying him any heed. He stifled a sigh at their continued dilemma. Then he did what he needed to, even though he didn’t like having to lie. “I’m Mr. Lennox. Would you be so kind as to let the reverend know that my wife and I would like to speak to him as soon as possible? It’s a matter of some urgency.”
“Mr. Lennox?” She spoke the word with a note of relief.
“Yes.”
“My husband left something for you.”
Sage’s fingers tightened against his arm.
He pressed her hand back.
“Just one moment, please.” Mrs. Roberts closed the door, leaving them on the stoop by themselves.
“Maybe Augusta left us a note.” Sage leaned into him.
“Let us pray she gave us more than one word this time.”
“Yes, let’s hope so.”
He loved the way Sage’s shoulder felt pressed against him and the closeness of her arm wrapped through his. But even as he relished her touch, guilt prickled him that he was carrying on the duplicity regarding their marriage. “I apologize for having to deceive the reverend’s wife,” he whispered. “I had hoped we could find Augusta and not have to continue with our charade.”
“I regret that we have to lie too.”
“Maybe we should have gotten married before departing from Victoria.” As soon as the words were out, he inwardly cursed himself for blurting out the thought. It was one thing for him to mull over the possibility as he had last night, but it was another thing altogether to say it aloud.
He could feel Sage studying his face, likely trying to understand what he meant.
What exactly did he mean? He had to offer a plausible explanation. “It would have prevented us from having to lie.”
She was silent a heartbeat. “I don’t think that’s reason enough for entering into marriage, do you?”
It wasn’t. She was right. He’d already decided he didn’t want to coerce her. But…were there more reasons for them to be together? Or was he simply letting his desires for her get the best of him?
Before he could answer her question, the door opened again, and Mrs. Roberts stood before them holding out a folded slip of paper.
“My husband asked me to pass this along to you, Mr. Lennox, if you came while he was gone.”
Jackson took the paper, which was no bigger than the size of an envelope, and he unfolded it. There on the sheet was one of his drawings. A bridge. The Queen’s Bridge, to be exact.
He recoiled from it and let the paper fall from his hands and flutter to the ground. Augusta must have taken it from his study. Had she given it to the reverend? Or had the reverend stumbled across it at the church and realized it belonged to him as the builder?
Sage was already bending down and retrieving the paper. No doubt she recognized it after helping him organize so many other drawings and diagrams in his study.
“I wasn’t sure what good the drawing would do you.” Mrs. Roberts was watching him quizzically. “But my husband informed me that you are the talented engineer of the Queen’s Bridge and that this was likely important to the rebuilding efforts.”
Jackson could feel the angst swirling faster inside him, and he was afraid to answer for fear that his frustration would come out. Did the kidnapping have to do with his bridge? What if a family member of one of the deceased was seeking retribution and intended to use Augusta to make him pay for his mistakes?
As if sensing his turmoil, Sage slid her hand down and laced her fingers together with his. Somehow that simple movement seemed to seep inside and settle the storm brewing in his body. “Mr. Lennox’s sister was kidnapped several days ago.”
Mrs. Roberts’s hand fluttered up to her chest. “Oh dear. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Perhaps she left the drawing as another clue to her whereabouts.” Sage fished in her reticule and pulled out the photo of Augusta they’d brought along. “Did you happen to see this woman? Or perhaps she saw your husband and gave him the drawing?”
Mrs. Roberts examined the photo then shook her head. “I’m sorry. No, I didn’t see her. But my husband said she came to the church.”
Jackson dragged in a breath. “Did your husband indicate her state of mind or well-being?”
“No, I’m sorry. He only spoke of the need to return the drawing. Apparently Miss Lennox said it was of the utmost urgency to see that her brother got it. I was to send it in the mail if Mr. Lennox didn’t claim it by tomorrow.”
Utmost urgency didn’t sound good. It had to mean she was in more trouble than she’d let on, probably all she could communicate if she was with her captor.
After thanking Mrs. Roberts and heading back down the flagstone path, Sage’s expression had turned grave, her eyes solemn. She’d likely arrived at the same conclusion. “She needs us.”
He nodded. He needed Sage. In fact, a part of him didn’t know how he’d ever functioned without her steadiness.
Sage pursed her lips as if checking off items in one of her mental lists. “Before leaving Victoria, she had to have known where her kidnapper was taking her.”
“To the bridge?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps she’ll find a way to leave us another clue there.”
If his theory was correct about the kidnapper being related to one of the bridge workers who’d died, then maybe the fellow would be waiting at the bridge with a list of demands in exchange for Augusta.
If someone was waiting for him, he wouldn’t blame them. He hadn’t exactly apologized or made reparations for his role in the disaster. He’d had his accountant send the remaining earnings and a stipend to each family who had been affected. But other than that, he’d been more focused on himself than on the suffering of the families. Even if his mind had a tendency to turn inward and fixate on things, that was no excuse for being so selfish and only thinking about his own pain instead of others’.
“How far is Hope from the bridge?” Sage’s question cut through his thoughts.
He had to drag himself back to the moment. He was trying to find Augusta. He couldn’t let himself get distracted with another mission, at least not until this one was completed.
“The bridge is at least thirty miles north of Hope, up the river past Yale.”
“Could we get there yet today?”
“It’s too late.” Moreover, he didn’t know if the steamboat captain would be willing to take them the last part of the journey to Yale. The captain had indicated the need to return to Victoria tomorrow, which meant they would have to find someone else to transport them.
Once in Yale, the river became too dangerous for steamboats. From there, most of the miners set out by foot, which was why the roads—and bridges—up the rest of the river valley were so important, particularly for transporting supplies to the mining camps and for carrying the gold out of the mountains.
As they reached the street, Sage glanced to the sky overhead and then to the western range. “Are you sure we can’t leave today?”
“I am certain of it.” He was anxious for Augusta too, could only imagine her fear and the distress she was feeling at this point. Every passing day only put her into more danger in the hands of a lunatic kidnapper who most likely wanted revenge or a ransom or both.
As much as he wanted to help Augusta, he refused to risk Sage’s well-being. With the hour getting late, she would be safer if they waited to leave in the morning. They would take a hotel room, and tonight he would make sure to find one big enough that he could bed down on the floor.
As much as he loved his sister, the truth was, he was beginning to love Sage more. Though that thought should have surprised him, it didn’t. It felt completely logical and sane and natural to admit the truth—that he was in love with Sage.