Chapter 9
Something was wrong. Charlotte could tell by the way he sat, shoulders tense, staring straight ahead. There was none of the ease she’d felt between them earlier.
“Is it going to rain?” she asked, looking up at the darkening sky. Silly question. Anyone with eyes could tell it was going to rain.
“Sure is,” he said, his voice grim.
His hands shifted on the reins, readying his horse for a turn.
She scanned the woods for a sign of the road but saw nothing.
Not until they were half through the turn did she notice a pine with two branches lopped off.
This must be the beginning of the blazed path.
Her heart jumped. They were that much closer to Simon.
Her relief at leaving the jostling of the corduroy road was short-lived.
Bess did her best, but her gait was slow and ungainly as they picked their way through the bush.
Brambles and vines grew over the path, brushing the sides of the wagon and springing back like Jack’s magic beanstalk once they’d passed over. Unstoppable.
The forest was predominantly pine, so there were few clearings and little light, especially as the morning wore on and the sky grew ever darker. If Charlotte stared hard, she could make out faint ruts that must indicate the road, but she doubted she’d have been able to find it on her own.
Charlotte shivered. What if she had insisted on riding Scarlett? The rough road would have played havoc on her unshod hoof. Would they have even made it this far?
“Cold?” Joshua flashed her a quick look, his brows drawn together in worry.
“No, I’m fine.” His concern warmed her. Since Mama died, no one ever bothered about her comfort, not even Fulton, whose chief concern must always be Papa. She couldn’t grow dependent on the feeling, of course. Tonight she’d be back with Simon, her work cut out for her to convince him to return.
Soften his heart. Help me know what to say.
The prayer stilled her racing thoughts, as did the quiet of the woods. There were few moments lately when she’d been able to step back from the constant work of Edenbrook and notice the beauty around her.
As children, the woods around Edenbrook had always been a refuge, too.
Simon would escape Papa’s unreasonable demands and Charlotte could avoid Mama’s lessons on needlepoint and decorum.
In the woods they were Robin Hood and Little John.
In their minds, Deacon Cole was the Sheriff of Nottingham.
And when they fought this villain, they always won.
She stole a glance at Joshua’s grim profile.
He had little to say, but when he talked, she glimpsed something that compelled her.
She wished she knew how to go back to the moments when he’d told her about the walnut wood, and she sensed the real man behind his solemn exterior.
That man interested her. He’d showed her the beauty in these woods, where before she’d only seen a sea of trees standing like a barrier between her and her destination.
Was it possible that nature called out to him as it did to her?
Unlikely. He was a man busy surviving. He agreed to take her with him because she held out a sack of coins, not because he wanted to show her the beauty of the backwoods.
She was a silly girl to have her head turned by the first handsome young man who’d ever taken the time to talk to her. Not that he had much choice.
A second after she reached this depressing conclusion, the first drop of rain hit her cheek.
Charlotte pulled her coat closer about her. Ain’t the rain you worry about, lass. It’s the mud. She looked down. A thick layer of clay already clung to the wagon wheels. Surely it couldn’t get worse?
Joshua reached under the seat to pull out a folded oilcloth. “Here. Put this on.”
She hesitated, wondering if she ought to share it. But did she want to be huddled under a cloth with him?
“Now,” he ground out. “Can’t you see the sky is about to open up?”
Drops fell faster as she worked to unfold it. He muttered something uncomplimentary and grabbed the cloth, opening it with a mighty shake. She ducked under it just in time to avoid the worst of the downpour.
Rain streamed off his wide-brimmed hat and ran down the back of his coat. She ought to share the oilcloth with him. “Here,” she said, lifting a corner. “Take what shelter you can.”
“I’m fine,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road. His hands were busy at the reins, holding Bess steady as she plodded through the downpour.
He’d soon be soaked if she didn’t do something.
She stretched the cloth around his back, resting her hand on his shoulder.
He sent her a quick, sharp nod and pulled the fabric around to meet in front of them.
Instantly, she was warmer as heat rolled off him, his hard shoulder giving her a measure of stability in the constant jostling of the wagon.
The tension that held her shoulders stiff ebbed away as she leaned against his solid weight.
Her eyes grew heavy, and no wonder, for she’d only had a few hours of restless sleep in Mrs. Norris’s bed.
Her head slipped to the side and came to rest on his shoulder.
She’d close her eyes, just for a moment.
Charlotte jerked awake as the wagon rolled to a stop. The warmth beside her vanished and she sat up sharply, looking around to get her bearings.
They were in a different part of the bush now. The pines were replaced by low shrubs and grass, pounded down by the steady rain into sodden brown clumps. Joshua stood at Bess’s head, a calming hand on her neck.
“Easy, girl,” he murmured. “One step at a time.”
“What’s wrong?”
He looked up, his face tense. “Mud.”
Charlotte looked down in dismay. Thick mud oozed over Bess’s hooves up to her fetlocks. Torturous going, even for a horse as strong as Bess. She glanced over the side of the wagon. The wheels sank in mud almost to the axle.
Her only thought was to make the load lighter for Bess. She jumped down and soon felt an icy trickle on her toes. Drat. She’d sunk to her ankles in muddy water.
“What are you doing?” Joshua’s outraged voice came from behind her. Before she could sputter an answer, he’d placed firm hands around her waist and lifted her in one smooth arc until she sat once again on the wagon bench.
“I was lightening the load,” she snapped, wrapping the oilcloth around her again like a mantle of respectability. “Obviously.”
“Only thing that’s obvious is how sick you’ll be if you get soaked in this cold.”
“You’re far wetter than I am. If anyone gets sick, it’ll be you.”
“I don’t get sick.” Joshua turned his attention back to Bess.
The man was an idiot. Everyone got sick. Even tough-as-nails Fulton caught a cold every winter.
With a few more encouraging murmurs from Joshua, the horse lowered her head and strained, lifting her great hooves out of the mud and plodding forward.
She was useless up here on the wagon. Worse than useless, for she added to Bess’s burden. If the man would let her, she could help. She was used to solving problems.
“Let me walk. I can loosen the mud on the other side.” She raised her voice to be heard over the pounding rain and the creak of the wagon.
He didn’t turn around. “Stay there. The last thing I need is to worry about you, too.”
Charlotte clenched her hands on the wagon bench. Fine, Mr. Robertson. Do it all yourself.
They continued like this for an hour, their pace slowing still more as the rain continued and the mud grew heavier.
How much more could the horse stand? Just when she thought the marsh would go on forever, they began a gradual incline.
The low cover gave way to trees, and they were once again in the forest, the ground firmer under the wheels.
The trees were different here, small and straggling. Maples, she thought, not the giant white pines they’d passed earlier. Most weren’t even as tall as Joshua, and they provided little cover from the driving rain.
Bess came to a shuddering stop, her head so low her nose almost touched the earth. Joshua would return to the wagon now. She almost sighed in relief, already feeling the warmth of his solid form beside her. Her wet feet made whatever shelter she got from the oilcloth feel worthless.
But he walked past her to the wagon bed, pulled out a spade, and set to work on the wheels, cleaning off the thick clumps of clay with sharp jabs of the shovel.
Finally, he jumped back up beside her. “I imagine you’re thinking you’d be better off on that mare of yours.”
She looked down, heart clenching. She hadn’t let herself think about Scarlett. It hurt too much, losing her on top of the other losses. All that mattered was finding Simon and saving Edenbrook.
“It should be better now,” he said, his voice softer, as though he were apologizing for the rain and the cold. He didn’t meet her eyes. Perhaps he didn’t want to acknowledge what Charlotte knew to be true. Bess’s stamina was fading fast. And her brother’s homestead was nowhere in sight.
They wouldn’t make it.
Joshua knew this with a bone-deep certainty, just as he knew at a glance the final shape he would coax from a split log. But how could he tell this woman she wouldn’t reach her brother today?
She was cold and miserable, and he couldn’t shake the sense that he was to blame. He shouldn’t have brought her. On horseback, she might have made it. But what if she hadn’t? His heart sputtered. What if she’d been lost, alone, in this icy rain?
He thrust away his hesitations as a shelter emerged out of the gloom. The Collins family had lived here a decade before, and their cabin still stood, rough but functional. The hand-hewn shingles were intact, as was the stone chimney. They’d be dry and warm until the rain let up.
“Why are we stopping? Who lives here?” Her voice was high and tense.