Chapter Sixteen
The fence post gave slightly under Henry’s grip. He frowned, crouching to press it more firmly into place, testing the wire with a practiced hand.
It’ll hold.
He straightened slowly, resting his forearm against the top rail as he stared out over the land. His mind wasn’t really on the fence. Instead, his thoughts kept circling back to the breakfast table. He hadn’t meant to shut Ruth down like that, but the memory of his harsh words sat heavy now.
He exhaled through his nose.
He’d had no use for religion in a long time. Not after watching two good people, who’d done everything ‘right,’ be taken anyway, despite their faith.
Still, it obviously meant something to her.
His jaw tightened.
Ruth wasn’t like him. She didn’t carry the same bitterness. The same resistance. And maybe … Maybe he was in the wrong for trying to stamp out the merest spark of faith the moment it showed itself.
A flicker of memory surfaced.
His mother’s comforting voice, reading Bible stories by lamplight while the world outside settled into darkness. He and Dorothy pressed close, listening—not always understanding, but feeling something significant in the rhythm of it.
He hadn’t thought of that in years.
Henry shifted, dragging a hand down the back of his neck.
I could have said it differently, could’ve …
He pushed off the fence abruptly; there was no use standing out here, obsessing over what he’d done, when he could just go fix it.
He needed to at least try.
Henry mounted Shadow and turned toward home.
The yard seemed oddly quiet when Henry swung down from Shadow, boots hitting the dirt with a dull thud as his gaze swept the house instinctively. He headed toward the back door, removing his hat as he stepped inside.
“Ruth?”
No reply.
Henry moved further into the kitchen, scanning the room—the table, the stove, the chair near the window.
He then headed down the hallway to her room. The door was open, but the room was empty. As he turned to go, his gaze caught on the small table by the wall.
The space where her Bible usually rested was empty.
A cold feeling settled low in his chest.
Without waiting, he turned sharply and headed back outside.
“George!”
A moment later, George emerged from the barn, wiping his hands on a cloth. “What is it?”
“Where’s Ruth?”
George tilted his head to the side. “Went to Church.”
Henry went still. “What?”
“She said you gave her leave,” George replied, frowning. “Took one of the mares—Daisy.”
“I did not give her leave,” Henry snapped, “and she sure as heck don’t know how to ride!” He gritted his teeth. “How long ago did she leave?”
“Not long. Twenty minutes, maybe half an hour?—?”
Henry swore under his breath, grabbing the nearest saddle.
If anything goes wrong …
He didn’t finish the thought, refusing to give it shape.
“Get me a fresh horse,” he said sharply. “Now.”
George didn’t argue as he hurried toward the stables.
Minutes later, Henry swung into the saddle in one smooth motion. He pushed his horse hard down the road, the wind cutting past, the land blurring at the edges of his vision. His jaw locked tight as every worst possibility forced its way forward, uninvited.
A fall. A thrown rider. Clara—
He shut the thought down.
“Come on,” he muttered, urging the horse to go faster.
As the road curved ahead, he saw two shapes on the side of the road. He kicked his heels into the sides of his horse, picking up speed. As he neared, Henry pulled hard on the reins, pulling his horse to a skidding halt.
Ruth sat in the dirt, her skirts twisted and covered in dust, one hand braced against the ground. Her face was pale and tear-streaked. Clara was beside her, unharmed, but clinging close.
Relief washed over Henry, followed quickly by anger.
“What were you thinking?” he snapped as he swung down from the saddle, boots hitting the ground hard.
Ruth flinched. “I—I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice shaking. “The horse—she got spooked, and I couldn’t?—?”
“You couldn’t control her,” Henry finished, his voice rising. “Of course you couldn’t—you’ve never ridden before! How could you be so foolish? You could have broken your neck, or Clara’s!”
“I thought I could?—?”
“Really?” he shot back. “You took a horse out with a child and thought what? That you’d just figure it out?”
A small, frightened whimper sliced through his anger, and he looked down.
Clara’s eyes were wide, her small hands gripping Ruth’s sleeve, her whole body rigid with fear.
Henry exhaled sharply. “All right,” he muttered. “All right.”
He crouched down, his tone shifting as he looked at her. “You’re all right,” he said gently. “No harm done.”
Clara didn’t speak, but her grip loosened slightly.
Henry reached out carefully, lifting her with steady hands. She came easily, small and light, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, then stood, turning to place her carefully on his horse. “Sit tight,” he said, adjusting her position so she was secure.
Only then did he turn back to Ruth and properly see her.
Dust clung to her dress, and her hair had loosened from its pins, strands falling around her face. Her bonnet hung crookedly, one ribbon undone.
She looked disheveled and shaken, yet his chest tightened, because even like this—especially like this—she was …
He cleared his throat. “Can you stand?”
Ruth nodded hesitantly, but when she tried to push herself up, she fell back with a wince.
Henry stepped forward to catch her. “Easy.”
“It’s just my ankle,” she said quickly. “I must have twisted it when I fell.”
Henry’s grip tightened slightly as he steadied her. “Can you put weight on it?”
She tried, and her breath caught sharply.
Henry frowned. “No, doesn’t look like you can.”
“I’ll manage,” she ground out, though her gritted teeth betrayed her.
“No,” he said firmly, “you won’t.”
He guided her carefully toward the horse, his hands steady at her waist as he helped her up. She let out a soft gasp as she settled behind Clara, wrapping her arm around the child.
Henry took the reins before she could reach for them. “Just hold your sister. I’ll walk.”
Ruth nodded weakly. “I’m sorry,” she repeated quietly. “About Daisy.”
Henry glanced up at her.
“She ran off,” she added. “I couldn’t stop her.”
He shook his head gruffly. “Don’t worry about that.”
“But?—?”
“People in town know my stock,” he said. “If she shows up, someone will catch her. I’ll get her back.”
Ruth fell silent as Henry started forward, reins in hand, walking at a steady, controlled pace. The road stretched long ahead of them and for a while, neither of them spoke.
Henry kept his gaze forward, but his thoughts were anything but steady. The image of them on the side of the road flashed behind his eyelids every time he blinked, carving a hollow pit in his stomach.
Anything could have happened to them.
He forced the thought away, but the sharp, cold fear that had gripped him at the sight persisted, refusing to leave him be. That, in itself, was unsettling, because the feeling arose from more than anger or frustration, or even a sense of responsibility.
It came from something deeper, an emotion he hadn’t expected and didn’t particularly care to name.
He exhaled slowly and glanced back at Ruth, who sat behind Clara, her arm wrapped protectively around her sister.
They were all right, and that should have been enough—yet fear and relief still lurked within his chest.
Heavy—and impossible to ignore.