Chapter Twenty-Five
Ethan was not a trusting man. He had acknowledged this flaw in himself long ago. Even so, there was just something about the newcomers that he didn’t trust. Maybe it was his instinctive distrust of anyone besides Hannah, or maybe it was something more.
Wryly, he thought that the week had otherwise been rather nice. He had spent the past six days teaching Grace how to handle the wagon, and while he doubted she’d be able to manage on her own for several more weeks, she’d made admirable progress.
He told himself, quite carefully, that he had only noticed the progress she’d made. Ethan’s mouth went dry when he thought about all the gentle touches they’d shared, her fingertips and knee and shoulder brushing against his own every so often.
The point was, it had been an enjoyable week, so it was a pity that Sunday night found him standing by the fire with narrowed eyes, watching as Bill and another one of the trail men, Ian, regaled Derek with one of their tall tales.
To hear them talk, Bill and his men had been everywhere and done everything.
With a deep sigh, Ethan forced himself to join the others at the fire. Derek cheerfully moved over to make room for Ethan to sit beside him. Sometimes, Derek reminded Ethan of a puppy—always running about, desperate for attention.
“Bill was just telling us about a run-in he had with a huge black bear,” Derek told him.
“Out in Colorado,” Bill said.
Ethan grunted. “It attack you?”
Bill nodded. “I only had one shot left in my rifle. Thankfully, it was a good shot.”
Some of the other men roared with laughter, though Ethan couldn’t find anything funny in being ill-prepared. “Good for you,” he said as mildly as he could.
Bill grinned. “I know.”
“Where did you come from originally?” Ethan asked. “I can’t place your accent.”
“I guarantee you ain’t ever heard of it,” Bill said. “ ‘S a place out in Kansas called Willowbrook.”
Ethan indeed hadn’t ever heard of it. He didn’t know much about Kansas to begin with. Certainly not enough to know if the man was telling the truth.
And why shouldn’t he be?
There wasn’t any rational reason for Ethan to be so suspicious of Bill and the men traveling with him.
The most likely explanation was that they really were just traveling along the Bozeman Trail, the same thing as Ethan and the others.
There was just something about them that raised Ethan’s hackles.
Maybe it was because their arrival seemed too convenient, too good to be true. They hadn’t noticed any other party nearby on all their scouting trips, yet out of the blue, a group of friendly, able-bodied men emerged from the wilderness, all of them eager to help.
“What brings you out to these parts?” Ethan asked.
Bill shrugged. “A new start, the same as everyone else.”
“What was wrong with Kansas?” Ethan pressed.
“There was nothing there for him,” replied Derek, his voice heavy with sympathy.
Bill nodded. “I lost my wife in a fire, and there were just too many memories in that town. I didn’t feel like I could stay there, so I came out west to start anew. I hoped I’d strike it rich, truth be told, but as you can see, that ain’t happened yet.”
Bill grinned in what he probably thought was an endearing way, but all Ethan could think about was how the man’s explanation sounded almost rehearsed.
There was certainly something odd about the man’s tone.
He talked about his wife’s death like he was describing the weather, and without a hint of despair.
Ethan glanced around the fire, hoping to find someone else who’d picked up on that, but no one seemed to have noticed anything amiss.
Ethan didn’t expect Ian to react much at all; he’d joined them with Bill, and if there was anything shady about the men, Ian was probably in on it.
Derek, meanwhile, looked at Bill like he was the most fascinating person he’d ever met.
Even Zachariah gave Bill a sympathetic look, clearly buying into the story.
“Anyway,” Bill said, standing and slapping his palms against his legs. “I want to check the wagons again before we set off in the morning.”
“I’ll help,” said Ian.
After the men were out of earshot, Ethan glanced at Derek. “Be careful.”
Derek laughed, twirling a stick he’d found lying on the ground. “I know, I know. I’m capable of checking a wagon, believe it or not.”
Ethan hissed out a breath between his teeth. “I don’t mean the wagon. I mean those newcomers.”
Derek snorted. “You keep saying that, but nothing has happened yet.”
Ethan scowled. “That doesn’t mean nothing will.”
“Sure, but have you considered that maybe you just always expect the worst? And sometimes for no reason at all,” said Derek. “I remember that when we were children, any time someone from town was nice to you, you assumed something nefarious was going on.”
Why had he even bothered to try and warn Derek? He should’ve known that Derek would dismiss anything Ethan tried to caution him about, just like always.
“I am not suspicious of everyone,” Ethan said from between gritted teeth. “I just find their arrival to be too convenient.”
“Sometimes good things just happen.”
“He’s just trying to keep you safe,” Zachariah spoke up. “That’s what brothers do.”
Ethan’s jaw hurt from clenching his teeth together so tightly. He wanted to argue that Zachariah had no idea what he was talking about, but if he did that, he’d have to tell the other man far more about himself than Ethan wanted.
Meanwhile, Derek’s expression brightened. “I suppose it is.”
Ethan silently prayed that Derek hadn’t actually taken what Zachariah had said to heart. He didn’t have some brotherly desire to protect Derek—no, not at all—but rather a practical desire to make sure the whole wagon train was safe. That’s all there was to it.
***
It had been two weeks since Richard’s injury, and the man was finally moving around the camp, if rather slowly and painfully.
Ethan made sure to always watch the man carefully when he was up and about.
Richard Hawthorne was proud, and he seemed like the type of man who’d try to work even though his body wasn’t healed enough to do anything of the sort.
Thus far, he’d only tried gathering meager amounts of firewood, but the trips clearly drained him.
As sunset approached, Ethan placed his wood atop the few bits of brush that Richard had gathered.
The man’s gasps for air were loud and rough.
Ethan swore he could hear the man’s ribs rattling in his chest with every gasp.
He knelt and rearranged the wood, pretending not to notice so the man could regain his breath with some dignity.
“If you want to get the fire started, I can get some more wood to keep us going through the night,” Ethan said. “That way it’ll have time to heat up for Hannah and Grace.”
Starting the fire before they’d gathered enough wood for it was a waste of kindling, but wood was the one thing they had in ample supply since the wagon train had decided to stop near a forest. And tending a fire wouldn’t be nearly as hard on a man with broken ribs as gathering wood.
Ethan waited a little longer, fussing with the perfectly arranged wood for a moment longer. It seemed to take an eternity before Richard’s ragged breaths evened out.
“I—I’ll do that,” Richard said as his breathing began to return to normal.
“Good. I’ll go get the rest of that wood.”
Ethan contemplated adding something like ‘that will be a great help’ or ‘I appreciate it,’ but he worried that Richard might then understand the gesture for what it was: a dignified way to get the man to stop trying to help so his fractured ribs wouldn’t be aggravated further.
Ethan climbed to his feet and glanced over at the man, whose face was red with exertion.
“You’ve been a big help,” Richard told him.
Ethan shrugged. “I like to pull my weight.”
Richard shook his head. “No, I mean…to—to Grace and Emily. And to me.” Richard sounded like it hurt him to speak, but he seemed determined to go on anyway. “I—I appreciate you for that.”
“There’s no need.” Ethan glanced around to ensure that no one was nearby and potentially listening in. “I’m Grace’s friend. I want to help her and her family.”
Ethan assumed that Grace’s insistence on keeping their arrangement a secret from others didn’t include her own father, but Ethan knew that Richard was a proud man. It would surely pain him to know that Ethan was being paid to do what he could not manage himself.
“It’s not just that. Even an…an old man like me can see that.”
Ethan inhaled sharply, but shrugged again, at a bit of a loss.
He had never been great at accepting praise.
Ethan’s first instinct was always to brush it off and insist he was just doing what any man would do, but Richard was right.
Some of the things Ethan was doing went beyond what any “decent man” would do.
Some of what he felt for Grace went beyond what a decent man would feel, too. Ethan remembered his knuckles brushing against hers as he taught her how to handle the wagon, and it sent his blood roaring in his ears.
Richard cleared his throat. “I am a proud man.”
Everyone in camp knew that, and if Richard’s expression wasn’t already some mixture of pained and determined, Ethan might have said as much. It was clear that Grace’s father was determined to get something off his chest, though, so Ethan only nodded.
“It pains me to admit when I’m wrong,” continued Richard.
“But…I was wrong. About you and the kind of man you are. I want to apologize for how I treated you when we first met and…for doubting your ability to lead us. It’s—" He had to pause for breath, but forged ahead. “It’s clear that you’re a good man.
Wise beyond your years, too. I’m sorry I didn’t… didn’t see that sooner.”
Ethan forced down the lump that rose in his throat.
When he was a boy, his pa had apologized only once, and Ethan couldn’t even remember what for.
It had been before Pa had left, though. He’d looked at Ethan with a solemn expression and apologized for some wrong that would doubtlessly seem miniscule to Ethan now.
As a child, Ethan had been unsettled by it.
Adults weren’t supposed to apologize, because that meant they had been wrong.
Parents weren’t ever supposed to be wrong.
Ethan felt something similar as Richard apologized to him.
A great burst of air escaped Ethan’s lungs. “I’ll accept the apology,” he said, “because it means a lot to you. But know that you don’t need to apologize to me. You’re just trying to take care of your girls. That’s all you’ve been doing.”
Richard nodded, his eyes getting a little misty as he looked out across the camp. Ethan didn’t follow the man’s gaze, but guessed that he was seeking out his elder daughter.
“She’s everything to me,” the older man said. “Since her mother died, Grace…”
Ethan wondered if Grace’s ma had died giving birth to Emily. Had Grace been like Ethan, cast into the roles of both mother and sister to care for Emily?
Richard sighed and winced, reaching for his chest. “I just want the best for her. That’s all any parent should want for their children.”
“You’re right.”
Richard smiled thinly. “That’s all I wanted to say. I appreciate it. When we get to Oregon, don’t be a stranger. Grace and Emily could benefit from someone like you in their lives. I could too.”
Ethan frowned, unsure how to respond. Did Richard really want someone like Ethan in his life?
In his daughters’ lives? Or was the suggestion merely one made out of courtesy?
Ethan hadn’t considered that he would want to become involved in the lives of those who he met on the trail, but the possibility that he might get to continue seeing Grace and Emily caused a pleasant warmth to spread through his chest.
“I’ll try not to be.”
Before silence could fall between them and turn the atmosphere more awkward, Ethan turned on his heel and trudged back towards the forest. If he managed to put aside how uncomfortable the conversation had made him feel, he could admit that it had maybe felt nice that Richard had acknowledged that Ethan was helpful, and a good man.
More than a little nice, truth be told.
But was Ethan good enough for a woman like Grace? For a moment, Ethan dared to imagine it. He thought of himself going to Richard and asking for permission to marry Grace, assuring the man that he would care for his daughter, that he’d give her a good life.
But appreciating a man was one thing; agreeing to give that man one’s daughter was another thing entirely.