Chapter Thirty-Three
Grace had finally fallen asleep, her fingers still curled around her father’s limp hand. Emily was curled up by Grace’s side, her face still red with lingering tear tracks. Richard was still and quiet, his stomach bandaged.
The quiet seemed unreal after the chaos of the last several hours. Ethan stepped out of the wagon and closed his eyes, trying to focus on the whistling of the wind and the damp scent of coming rain.
Instead, he saw Grace’s face twisted in a mask of terror.
The usually composed woman had been red-faced and teary-eyed, her body quaking as she looked at her wounded father.
Her screams still echoed faintly in Ethan’s mind, and then the little hitching sobs that had come as she had watched Benjamin Holloway remove the bullet.
“You don’t need to be here, Grace,” he’d said.
She’d shaken her head and clung to her father’s arm, refusing to leave his side for even a minute.
Ethan rubbed his face, his thoughts racing. He needed to sleep. He knew that only because little black shadows kept teasing the edge of his vision, just out of sight.
But someone had tried to kill Richard Hawthorne.
Someone might have killed Richard Hawthorne.
Benjamin had said the man’s state was ‘uncertain,’ and that had been before he’d even really looked at the wound, before he’d tried to pull out the bullet.
And it didn’t take a genius to realize that a bullet in a man’s guts was a very, very bad thing.
Ethan looked around. It was late, probably approaching midnight. His eyes drifted to the fire and the lone figure sitting there. Who was supposed to be on watch?
Ethan spotted the man as he walked over to the fire. Amos.
Ethan’s shoulders slumped as he sank to the ground beside the older man. Amos gave a curt nod, acknowledging Ethan’s presence, then continued whittling away at a piece of wood. Small shavings of wood were caught on the air and flew about, vanishing into the flames.
“How’s Richard?” Amos asked. “I’m guessing you just came from his wagon.”
“I don’t know. He’s badly injured,” Ethan said.
Amos nodded like he’d already known. Maybe he had known, and had only asked as a courtesy. “Doc said he might not pull through.”
“I know.”
“It’ll be real hard on his daughter if he doesn’t,” Amos added. “It’s a crying shame.”
Ethan nodded, his gaze fixed on the fire as if he might find answers inside the flames. “Did anyone see who shot him?”
Amos shook his head. “Nope. Ain’t that somethin’? Shot right in camp, yet no one saw a thing.”
Ethan frowned. He couldn’t tell if Amos was in genuine disbelief that someone hadn’t seen anything, or if he suspected that some folks in the camp were lying to him.
Ethan brought his knees to his chest and draped his arms over them.
He had a fleeting wish that he could close his eyes and wake safe in Oregon.
Over the past few hours, Ethan had found himself somehow too exhausted to think straight, yet too awake to rest for even a moment.
“How do we go about finding the man who shot him?” Ethan asked. “You must’ve dealt with something like this before, as many times as you’ve come up the trail.”
“Murder? Sure,” Amos said, shrugging. “But only twice. And in both cases, we had a pretty clear idea who the killer was. I ain’t got no idea who’s responsible for this.”
Ethan grimaced. “Someone in camp has to know something.”
Amos snorted. “Sure. The man who shot him probably knows a lot.”
That remark was uncalled for, but Ethan said nothing. Amos was clearly frustrated, if the ferocity with which he was whittling that chunk of wood down to nothing was any indication.
“I’ve been doin’ some asking around,” continued Amos. “Tryin’ to figure out who might know anything, even the tiniest clue. All I’ve got so far is that some folks saw a couple of figures hanging around Richard’s wagon last night.”
“Did anyone see who they were?”
Amos shrugged and tossed the chunk of wood into the fire. “Apparently not, so your guess is as good as mine. No one seems to know.”
If Ethan’s ma hadn’t raised him so well, he might’ve started swearing. Frustration bubbled up inside him, threatening to boil over. “That’s not much to go off.”
“No, it’s not,” Amos agreed. “But it’s all we have at the moment. Unless someone comes forward with some kind of proof, we don’t know much of anything about who did it or why.”
“We can’t let whoever it was get away with this!”
“I know,” Amos said grimly. “But right now we’ve got nothing.”
***
Time crept by slowly. After four days, Richard still showed no improvement. Ethan had gone to check on the man every day as the wagon train continued forward at a crawl. As promised, he drove Grace’s wagon, though she no longer rode beside him.
Instead she remained inside the wagon, lying beside her father.
Ethan didn’t think she’d left her father’s side once since he was injured.
He wasn’t sure if she was even eating. Hannah had been bringing food for Grace and Emily, and Ethan had seen Emily eat, but Grace never touched any of her meal, at least not when Ethan was watching.
Sometimes Grace spoke softly to her daughter and father.
Sometimes she prayed. Regardless, she was a shell of the fiery woman who’d stolen Ethan’s heart.
Every time he looked at her, he wanted to hold her in his arms and reassure her that everything would be fine.
He wanted to tell her that her father would recover, and that they’d find the monster who’d hurt him.
But those were empty promises. Richard was clinging to life by a thread, and they had made no progress in learning who might have shot Grace’s pa.
Even now, no one had admitted to seeing the shooter.
Richard might have been able to tell them something, but he hadn’t been fully lucid since the incident, and recently his condition had deteriorated.
He’d developed a fever and now murmured deliriously.
Ethan had finished the chores for the day and resolved to spend the rest of the evening convincing Grace to eat, for Emily’s sake if not her own. As he approached the wagon, Benjamin waved to him.
“Doc,” Ethan greeted the man.
Benjamin tucked his hands into his pockets and gave Ethan a weak smile. “Going to see Grace?”
Ethan nodded. “How’s Richard?”
Benjamin sighed. “Poorly. If he manages to survive the infection, he might recover with time. This isn’t something a man just gets up and walks away from, and he was already recovering from those broken ribs.”
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the wagon. He knew what he would find once he reached it: poor Grace would be lying on the floor, staring listlessly at her father.
“Have you learned anything about who might’ve shot him?” Benjamin asked, lowering his voice.
Ethan hadn’t discussed the shooting with anyone except Amos, but he seriously doubted Benjamin was involved. He certainly hadn’t been the man to attack Richard, given that he’d been with Grace at the time.
“No,” Ethan murmured. “A couple of men were seen hanging around Richard’s wagon a few nights before he was shot, but no one recognized them.”
“And you don’t even know if those men are connected to the shooter,” Benjamin murmured. “It could be coincidental.”
“Right,” Ethan said.
“I wonder if it was…” Benjamin trailed off. “I mean, I’m wondering what Richard saw to make someone shoot him.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Shooting a man in the middle of camp during broad daylight was sure to draw attention,” Benjamin pointed out. “Why would anyone do that? If you were planning to kill a man and get away with it, you’d do it at night. That tells me that something must have gone wrong.”
Ethan crossed his arms, considering the possibility. “Richard was shot near his wagon,” Ethan said slowly. “Are you thinking that he stumbled upon someone…up to no good?”
Benjamin shrugged. “Could be. I don’t know what that something might be, but—”
“Stealing something,” Ethan interrupted. “Maybe.”
He was thinking of all the items around camp that had gone missing.
What if Richard had stumbled upon one of the thieves trying to hide their stolen goods, and that was why he’d been shot?
It was a plausible explanation, but Ethan knew what Amos would say: they had no proof.
Just thieves and would-be murderers with no evidence of who those people might be.
It was infuriating, and poor Grace was stuck in the middle of it all.
***
Fabric rustled, and Grace raised her head. Her limp hair was plastered to the side of her face, and her eyes were heavy and unfocused with sleep. As she looked about, Ethan waited patiently for her to gain her bearings.
“Where is Emily?” she asked, her voice heavy.
“With Hannah,” Ethan said. “Hannah wanted to pick some flowers, and I thought it might do Emily good to—to gather a few.”
Grace’s face looked hollow and gaunt. She turned her attention to her pa and stroked a few locks of his hair, smoothing them back from his forehead.
“That’s good,” Grace said quietly. “Emily doesn’t need to be in here all alone.”
“Neither do you,” Ethan said. “Doc is concerned you aren’t eating enough.”
“I haven’t felt like eating.”
“Your pa would want you to take care of yourself,” Ethan pressed, keeping his voice gentle.
Grace sighed, her eyes downcast, and clasped her hands in her lap. “I know, but this is all I can manage right now. I’m trying to be strong for Emily, but I just don’t…have the energy for much else.”
Ethan reached across the space between them and squeezed her hand.
He ached to do more than that. If she’d only say that she wanted it, he’d pull her into his arms and hold her.
He would kiss her and stroke her hair, whispering soft reassurances in her ear.
But Grace hadn’t indicated that she wanted any of those things, and he didn’t want to push her, not in such dire circumstances, when she needed support above all else.
“Tell me if there’s anything I can do, Grace.”
“Just this,” she replied.
“If I bring you something to eat, will you try?” asked Ethan.
Grace bit her lip. “I don’t really want to eat anything, Ethan.”
He frowned. “Will you at least drink some tea for me?”
She hesitated, and Ethan feared she might refuse even that. He was thinking that tea would be good for her, and he could stir honey into it. That wasn’t as good as food, but it would be infinitely better than Grace having nothing at all.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised.
Grace’s smile was brittle. Ethan shifted backwards and crawled out from inside the wagon. Maybe he ought to bring some bread back with him. Once she’d drunk her tea, maybe he’d be able to persuade her into eating just a little something.
Ethan headed to the fire. He found Derek sitting there alone, a half-empty bottle in his hand.
Ethan inhaled sharply and tried to push down the instinctive knot of disdain that rose inside him.
He hadn’t seen Derek drinking in a while, but just because he was now didn’t necessarily mean he’d fallen back into old habits.
Derek looked up and sniffled. Ethan could only stare as Derek broke down crying when he saw Ethan, great heaving sobs that filled the air.
“What’s the matter?” Ethan asked, concerned despite himself.
“I—I’ve done something…” Derek trailed off and shook his head.
Ethan crossed his arms and frowned. “Something?” he prompted.
“Something bad,” Derek said miserably, taking a swig of whiskey.
A shiver traced down Ethan’s spine as a sense of foreboding swept over him. “What have you done, Derek?”
Derek sniffed and took another swig from the bottle. “I—I can’t…”
Ethan stalked forward, and Derek gazed up at him with wide, teary eyes. “What have you done?” Ethan repeated, his voice growing louder with every word. “Well?”
Derek winced. “I—I didn’t know. I’ve—I’ve just been spending time with them-”
“With who?” Ethan demanded, seizing Derek by the front of his shirt.
Derek swallowed another mouthful of whiskey, and Ethan fought the impulse to seize the bottle and throw it as far as he could.
“…with the newcomers. Bill and his men.”
Ethan’s muscles tensed. “And?”
“A few nights ago, I was talking with them,” Derek blurted out. “I—I mentioned that Grace was p-paying you to drive them to Oregon, and I mentioned that she was rich. And that the money was with her.”
Ethan thought about that stack of money in the Hawthornes’ wagon and his blood ran cold. “What were you thinking?” he snapped. “Why would you tell anyone that?”
“I was drunk!” Derek exclaimed. “I didn’t think anything of it until—until Richard was shot, and then…I thought maybe they w-were trying to find the money and he found them trying to rob him, so they shot him.”
Ethan ran a hand through his hair, anxiety shooting through his body.
“And if they didn’t find the money, there’s a chance they’ll try again,” Ethan told Derek heatedly.
“Have you considered that? That you’ve gotten Richard hurt and put Grace at risk?
You know how much I care about her! And to do something so—”
“I didn’t mean to! I-I’m trying to—I care about Grace, too,” Derek stammered between teary hitches of air. “I—I can help!”
“No, you can’t! You can’t fix this!” Ethan snapped. “I can’t believe I thought you might be changing for the better! I should’ve known you’d ruin everything, just like always!”
Derek looked devastated, as though Ethan had just torn his heart out.
Ethan turned away in disgust. His gaze fixed on Grace’s wagon, and his pulse lurched. If Derek was right-if someone was willing to kill for Grace’s money-she could be in terrible danger. He had to keep her safe, whatever it took.