Chapter 14
Ben leaned over the edge of the wagon and checked how high the snow was coming up the wheels. So far, at least, it’d stayed dry and powdery. It crunched easily enough under the wheels, and it wasn’t balling up on the bottoms of the horses’ feet.
He would take whatever miracles he could get, but as he tipped his head up toward the sky he knew he wouldn’t be getting them for very long. The clouds had turned a dark and ominous gray, signaling even worse weather to come.
His stomach swirled like the snowflakes in front of him as the mountain wind whipped through the trees.
The trail was steadily getting steeper as he neared the pass.
Everyone at the orphanage was counting on him.
Ben had volunteered to go, but he felt the burden like a heavy weight on his shoulders.
There was nothing to do but press on, and his mind continually wandered back to the last moments at the orphanage. Sister Andrews had given him an extensive list of what they needed, apologizing several times as she went over it. “But don’t get it if it’s too much,” she kept saying.
Emmitt and Shane had volunteered to go along with him.
“To keep you safe,” Emmitt clarified. “We’ve already done the trip.”
It broke Ben’s heart to have to tell them no when they clearly wanted to redeem themselves. “You need to stay here and make sure the sisters are safe,” Ben had told them. “They need you the most right now.”
Shane had given him a solemn nod. “We’ll take care of ‘em.”
When the wagon was loaded down with crates and boxes for him to stock with supplies and the horses were hitched, Ben had gone back inside to say his final goodbyes.
“Do be safe, Ben.” Sister Matthews had thrown her thin arms around him. “We’ll be waiting here for you.”
“What are you going to do about the grave?” Ben had asked quietly. He wanted to stay until they could see Father Tillman properly buried, but he worried they’d all be needing a spot in the ground if he did.
“That, at least, is something I don’t mind asking some of our neighbors for help with.” Sister Matthews had swiped a tear from the corner of her eye, but Ben didn’t know if it was for him or for Father Tillman. “They’ve got the tools and the men. They’ll come, and it won’t put them out much.”
When he’d gone back to the barn to begin his journey, Ben jumped when he heard a noise. He’d shined his lantern around the inside of the barn. His muscles bunched, expecting one of Cutter’s men to come springing out from behind a pile of hay.
The horses looked calm in their stalls. The goats had been brought into their indoor pen along one side of the barn, and even they didn’t seem disturbed.
Ben had laughed at himself for being so jumpy.
Cutter and his men were long gone. The orphanage had paid the price for dealing with them, and it was over.
Now he just had to make up for it.
Ben pulled his crucifix out from his collar. He’d shined it up since arriving back at orphanage, wiping away all the tarnish that’d accumulated during his time in the army and while traveling with Elliot. The silver was warm from his flesh. He kissed it and tucked it away.
The clouds scudded low over the trees. The air warmed slightly, and the flakes melted as soon as they touched his coat. Ben frowned. Wet snow was bad, and it was even worse when it fell on top of dry snow.
He urged the horses onward. The pine boughs, normally so fluffy and green, were beginning to sag with the weight of the slushy snow that accumulated on their branches. The birds had all retreated to whatever shelter they could find, leaving no noise but the wind.
The horses’ hooves crunched through the icy layer that froze when it landed on the earlier blanket of snow and then fell through. They picked up their legs, stepping gingerly over the uncertain terrain.
The wagons’ pace slowed to a crawl. Ben slapped the reins and clucked at the horses, but their speed continued to dwindle.
Ben ground his teeth as he checked the wheels again. The packed slush was building up on the wheels with each turn.
“Just a little farther,” he urged.
A prickling across his shoulders made him study more than just the path ahead. This was Apache territory. He hadn’t heard any news about raids or attacks since he’d come back to St. Thomas, but that wasn’t enough to make him feel safe.
Ben checked his revolver on his hip. Father Tillman’s knife was on his other hip, a large blade with a fine edge. He pushed his boot back until it touched the rifle tucked under the seat, loaded and ready in case he should need it.
Did the Natives spend the winters this far in the mountains?
Or had they retreated to easier lands during the hard months?
Ben couldn’t remember, though he was sure it’d been discussed every once in a while when he was young.
He and the other boys would go out into the hills that surrounded the valley and pretend to fight off anyone who threatened St. Thomas.
The threat was far more real now.
The left front corner of the wagon rose up underneath him and then fell down. The vehicle itself was limping through the snow, trying to get over the uneven terrain. One of the horses cried out as it strained against the harness. The wheel slipped, spinning uselessly in the wet snow.
“Shit,” Ben mumbled. “Come on.”
He slapped the reins. The wheel found purchase and broke free, but it only carried them a few more feet before the right front wheel spun in place. The horses were stumbling, their hooves sliding uselessly in the slick slush.
He couldn’t go any farther in that fashion.
Ben eased the horses to a halt, which didn’t take much urging.
He hopped down from the seat, sinking several inches into the snow.
Looking around, he found a small clearing between a couple of trees.
None of the land was level, which was going to make his job difficult, but he’d just have to make it work.
Ben unhitched the horses and tied them to a sturdy tree. They seemed relieved to have a break from their difficult work.
“Don’t worry,” he said, patting one of them on the neck. “I’m about to make this much easier on all of us. I’d have done it earlier, but it wouldn’t have made sense in the drier snow.”
He moved around to the back of the wagon and pulled at the ropes that held a tarp down over the top of it.
His fingers fumbled with the knots. He was losing time by stopping, but he’d never get anywhere if he continued on the way he was.
He’d be stuck in the mountains until spring unless he swapped the wheels out for runners.
Worse than the issue of time was his vulnerability. He couldn’t make a quick escape with the horses tied up and the wagon taken apart. His revolver was within reach, but he couldn’t carry the rifle with him while he worked. Worry hammered inside his heart as he flung back the tarp.
“Aah!” he cried, taking a hasty step back and nearly falling in the slippery snow.
“Aah!” The woman in the wagon screamed back at him, pressing her hand to her chest. “Don’t do that! You scared me!”
It was Hattie. Her hair was a bit dirty and matted. She wore boots instead of bandages on her feet. It’d been a month since he’d seen her, but there was no mistaking her bright green eyes, slim nose, and angular jawline.
“I scared you?” Ben pointed at her. His finger was shaking, so he put his hand back down. “What about me?”
“Well, what about you?” Hattie demanded with a pout as she wiggled her way to the tailgate of the wagon and swung her feet down. “You’ve been able to sit up and breathe fresh air this whole time, while I’ve been stuck under there!”
“I’m sorry, I—wait.” He was so flustered that he was actually listening to her. “What are you doing in there? How did you get in there? I thought you were long gone. Where have you been?”
“One question at a time, please, and I have a question first.” Hattie looked around, observing the state of the wagon. “Why are we stopped?”
“I think that’s far less important than knowing what the hell you’re doing there!” Ben grabbed the toolbox that he’d left near the back of the wagon and marched around to the wheels. He needed something to do besides stand around and talk.
“You’re not even going to help a girl down?” she asked, swinging her legs in the air.
“I think you can manage,” he grunted. Ben began removing the wheels on the right side of the wagon while his brain fired off a hundred more questions.
“Such a gentleman.” But Hattie leaped down off the wagon with ease.
“Yeah, well, I’ve got enough problems on my hands without a stowaway,” he retorted.
Ben swept some of the snow out from under the edge of the wagon with his boot.
Then he leaned his shoulder against the wagon and pushed, lifting it an inch or so off the ground and sliding in a thick wooden post he’d brought along for precisely this reason.
The snow made it difficult to tell if the wheels were off the ground or not, but they spun freely in his hand. He grabbed his wrench.
“I suppose I’m not a stowaway anymore, now that you know about me,” she reasoned.
Ben glanced at the disheveled woman. If his fingers weren’t so cold and if his work didn’t require so much muscle, he’d think he was dreaming. “I think you owe me an explanation.”
“I don’t owe anybody anything.” Hattie folded her arms and lifted her chin.
Furious, Ben strode over to her, shaking the wrench as he spoke. “You’re the reason Cutter showed up at St. Thomas, both times. He was looking for you. We took you in and tried to help you, but you only brought trouble. Father Tillman died because of you!”’
The fire went out of her eyes and the defiance sunk out of her shoulders. “I never meant to cause any harm. I truly didn’t. None of this was supposed to happen. I can’t tell you how sorry I am or how bad I feel. I wish I could change it. I wish I could change a lot of things.”
His eyes swept down her body. He recognized the dress she wore as the one Sister Matthews had given her the day she arrived, but the rest of her clothing was familiar, as well. “You’ve been stealing from us.”
Hattie’s face flared to life again. “I only did what I had to do to survive! You’ve dealt with Cutter! You’ve seen what an awful man he is! As I recall, you were the one who didn’t want to even tell him I was there!”
“That’s right, but—” Ben cut himself off and narrowed his eyes at her. “How could you know that? I haven’t spoken to you since that night you arrived, and we couldn’t find you the next morning.”
“That’s only because you didn’t look hard enough,” she said bitterly. “I was in the crawlspace.”
“What?” Ben flung his hands up to his head, stopping himself just in time so that he didn’t hurt himself with his own wrench. “The crawlspace? Surely not this whole time!”
“Well, yes.” She looked slightly uncomfortable, her shoulders hunched and her mouth pinched. “Like I said, I was just trying to survive. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
“More than you’d think.” Ben went back to the wagon wheels. He slid the wrench over the bolt and pushed hard, staggering when it finally gave way. “Where are you trying to go, anyway?”
“Where are you headed?”
“I asked you first.”
“You might as well tell me, because it looks like I’m headed wherever you are.” She lifted her hands toward the snowy trees. “Unless you’d rather leave me out here, which I suppose is your prerogative.”
Ben cracked the next bolt and slid the wheel off the axle. He was angry and confused, so he took a deep breath and tried to let himself think. “As long as you’re here, you might as well help me.”