Chapter Four
“Right this way,” Daniel said, holding a hand out to Edith to guide her, but she lurched back slightly.
The wind whipped sharply against Daniel’s face as he led Edith around the side of the saloon.
The narrow alley between the building and the stables was dark, the only light coming from the lanterns that flickered weakly in the wind.
The faint sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed from the saloon, but here, it was quiet.
She was small, almost fragile, her thin frame barely supported by legs that seemed ready to give out at any moment.
Her hair, a dull chestnut color in the dim light, was tangled and messy, and her dress and boots looked nearly threadbare.
Her face, pale and drawn from exhaustion, still bore the traces of fear she had tried to hide, and her eyes—large and dark—flicked nervously around.
Her father had said she was eighteen today, but she looked much older.
Her pace had slowed significantly, her breaths coming in short, uneven bursts.
Daniel’s brow furrowed in concern as he noticed her staggering slightly.
She didn’t complain, didn’t ask for help, but it was clear she was struggling.
She had been holding on, barely, since they left the saloon, but her body was giving up.
He could see it in the way her shoulders slumped, in the way her legs trembled with every step.
The narrow staircase that led to the small living quarters above the saloon loomed ahead of them.
Samuel and Mary Greene lived up there, and it was where Daniel stayed whenever he came to town to resupply.
He had known them for years, and they were good people—kind, generous, and always willing to lend a hand when needed.
The thought of bringing Edith into their warm, safe home filled him with a sense of relief.
She needed a place to rest, and here, she wouldn’t be judged or mistreated.
But as they reached the base of the stairs, Edith faltered. Her chest was heaving, her breathing shallow and ragged. She gripped the railing tightly, her knuckles white, and Daniel could see the strain on her face.
“You all right?” he asked, his voice soft but firm.
Edith nodded, though she didn’t look at him. “I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice was weak, barely more than a rasp.
Daniel could see that she was far from fine.
Her body was trembling, her face pale and slick with sweat despite the cold.
He took a step toward her, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady her, but the moment he moved closer, she tensed.
Her grip on the railing tightened, and her shoulders stiffened.
“I can manage,” she muttered, with only the slightest discernable edge.
Daniel hesitated, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before he withdrew it.
He wasn’t going to push her. He had seen people like this before—people who had been hurt so much, they couldn’t bear to accept help, even when they needed it most. It wasn’t pride that kept them from asking. It was survival.
“All right,” he said, stepping back to give her space. “But take it slow.”
Edith nodded again, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she took another shaky step up the stairs. Daniel watched her closely, his muscles tensed, ready to move if she needed him. She managed two steps before her knees buckled beneath her, her body swaying dangerously.
“Edith—” Daniel moved forward just as she collapsed.
She crumpled, limp and unresponsive, but before she could hit the ground, Daniel caught her.
His arms wrapped around her small frame, cradling her against his chest. Her breathing was shallow, her face pale and slack as she lay unconscious in his arms. Daniel’s heart raced, panicking. She was so light, so fragile.
“Edith?” he called softly, his voice steady despite the rush of panic that surged through him.
There was no response. Her eyes remained closed, her face pale in the dim light.
For a moment, Daniel simply stood there, holding her, unsure of what to do.
He could feel her heartbeat, faint but present, beneath his hands.
She was still alive, but she was weak—far weaker than he had realized.
Something serious seemed to be wrong with her, more than shock and cold.
With a grunt of effort, Daniel shifted her in his arms, holding her more securely against his chest as he turned toward the stairs.
He climbed them quickly, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden steps, crunching snow underneath.
Edith’s head lolled against his shoulder, her hair brushing against the stubble on his chin.
Her face was so peaceful in sleep—so different from the tension and fear that had been etched into her features earlier.
As he carried her, something stirred inside him, a strange sensation that he couldn’t quite place.
He looked down at her face, her pale skin almost translucent in the moonlight.
There was a delicate beauty to her, a fragility that made his chest tighten.
The soft curve of her lips, the flush in her cheeks, made him wonder what she would look like healthy and well-kept.
She looked like a porcelain doll, fragile and breakable, and the thought of her being in her father’s hands—being sold like an object—filled him with a quiet, simmering rage. He shook himself.
When he reached the top of the stairs, Daniel nudged the door open with his shoulder.
The small room inside was warm, the fire in the hearth casting a soft glow over the space.
Mary Greene was seated at the table by the fire, her knitting needles clicking softly as she worked on a scarf.
The older woman looked up as Daniel entered, her eyes widening in surprise as she took in the sight of Edith in his arms.
“Good heavens!” Mary exclaimed, setting her knitting aside and rising quickly to her feet. “What happened, Daniel?”
“She fainted,” Daniel said, his voice steady as he carried Edith to the small bed in the corner of the room. He laid her down gently, his hands careful as he adjusted the blanket to cover her shivering form. “She was trying to climb the stairs, but she didn’t have the strength.”
“Who is she?” Mary asked, perplexed, even as she hurried over. Her brow furrowed with concern as she leaned over the bed to get a better look at Edith.
“Edith Carter, William Carter’s daughter,” Daniel explained impatiently, using a few foul words to describe the man.
“Poor girl,” she muttered, lightly brushing Edith’s forehead. “She’s burning up.”
Daniel watched Mary assess Edith’s frail body. Her clothes were damp from sweat and grime, sticking to her thin frame, and her shoes—worn and caked with mud—were far too tattered to offer any comfort.
“We need to get her out of these clothes,” Mary murmured to Daniel, her voice filled with urgency.
Carefully, Mary unlaced Edith’s ragged shoes and slipped them off with the holey socks, noticing how red and blistered her feet were. She grabbed a soft, clean blanket from the nearby chest and draped it over Edith.
“Turn around,” Mary urged, and Daniel obliged as she gently worked to remove the damp, soiled dress underneath.
“Poor thing,” Mary muttered as she replaced Edith’s clothes with one of her own worn but dry nightgowns, something simple to keep her warm. She bundled the girl carefully, her movements quick but gentle, then tucked another thick quilt around Edith’s shivering body.
“You can turn back around,” Mary told him, and he did, finding himself anxious to assure himself of Edith’s well-being.
Mary went to the kitchen and returned to place a cool cloth on Edith’s forehead. Daniel’s jaw clenched, wondering what kind of father would bring his daughter out in this condition. Anger flared inside him again, a slow, burning fury he hadn’t felt in years.
“I don’t think she’s eaten. She looks exhausted,” Daniel said quietly, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “Her father was trying to sell her to the highest bidder. I couldn’t just leave her there.”
Seeming confident she had done all she could do, Mary sat down with Daniel by the bedside. Listening to Daniel, Mary’s eyes widened in shock. “Sell her? Her own father?”
Daniel nodded, glowering at the older man. “For ten dollars. I paid him to take her permanently. She’s weak. I don’t know how long she’s been like this.”
Mary shook her head, her face a mix of disbelief and sorrow. “Lord have mercy,” she whispered, glancing down at Edith’s pale face. “What kind of man would do that to anyone?”
“The kind who doesn’t care,” Daniel replied, his voice tight. “The kind who only sees his children as burdens.”
Mary sighed heavily, shaking her head as she gently stroked Edith’s hair. “She’s lucky you found her, Daniel,” she said softly. “Who knows what would’ve happened to her if you hadn’t stepped in.”
Daniel didn’t respond. He didn’t feel like a hero.
He didn’t feel like someone who had done anything extraordinary.
He had simply acted. Something about Edith—her desperation, her vulnerability—had struck him in a way he hadn’t expected.
He couldn’t have walked away. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he had.
“Maybe this is part of God’s plan,” Mary said after a long moment of silence, her voice thoughtful. “Sometimes we’re put in situations we don’t understand, but they lead to something better.”
Daniel frowned slightly, unsure how to respond. “God’s plan,” he repeated, the words foreign on his tongue. He hadn’t thought much about God in years—not since life had taken so many turns he couldn’t make sense of.
Mary glanced at him, her eyes warm with a quiet, steady faith that Daniel couldn’t quite grasp.
“Yes, His plan,” she said gently. “We don’t always see it at first, but there’s purpose in everything, even in hardship.
Maybe He brought you to that saloon for a reason, Daniel. Maybe you were meant to find Edith.”