Chapter 15
“What, exactly, are we doing?” Hattie grunted as she helped him lift the wheel into the back of the wagon.
“Changing out the wheels for sleigh runners.” Ben reached into the wagon and pulled out the long runner, a metal piece that resembled a ski attached to two short poles. “The wheels aren’t working in the snow. I suppose you might’ve noticed it during the ride.”
“Are you still mad about that?” She grabbed one end of the runner and helped him carry it to the side of the wagon.
“Trust me, you hitching a ride in the wagon is the least of what you’ve done lately.” He set the pole into the axle and began tightening it down.
“Just what’s that supposed to mean?” Hattie held the other end steady.
“There was a pair of missing boots that caused a weeklong argument between a couple of the girls,” Ben explained. “I can see exactly where they went. That sweater, too, was quite the discussion on laundry day.”
“You wouldn’t want me to be cold, would you?” Hattie had a blanket wrapped around her like a shawl instead of a proper coat, and she sank down into it a little.
“No, but we’d have given you any of that if you’d just have stuck around.” Ben traded places with her and secured the other half of the runner. He pushed his shoulder against the wagon. “Take this post out when it comes loose.”
Hattie wrapped her hands around the post, yanking it out as soon as it was relieved of the wagon’s weight. She went around to the other side of the vehicle. “That’s very generous, and I’m sure it’s true. I had no way of knowing whether any of you would hand me over to Cutter, though.”
Working together they braced the other side of the wagon on top of the post so that Ben could remove the wheels. “He said you’re Bo’s daughter.”
Hattie snorted. “Not even close, although that’s a pretty good lie. Just imagine. A young girl shows up, wounded and dirty. Then a man says he’s just looking for his daughter. Most people would give her right up, wouldn’t they? Without a question?”
Ben pressed his lips together as he loosened the bolts. “We didn’t,” he pointed out.
“But don’t you think plenty of people would?” Hattie pressed. She held the wheel still while he removed the bolts, and then they carried it together to the back of the wagon.
“I suppose so.” He was too mad at Hattie to want to admit she was right. “We had a feeling about him, though.”
“Yes, and you lied for me. I hope that doesn’t stop you from becoming a priest.”
He didn’t have the breath to respond as they hefted the wheel into the bed. “I’m not going to be a priest.”
“You’re not?”
“No. Why would you think that?” Ben went to work on the last wheel, glad that they were almost done.
“I mean, you’re too old to be one of the orphans. I just assumed anyone else who lived and worked there was part of the church,” Hattie explained. “Plus you seem so…”
“What?”
“Innocent.” Hattie’s lips twisted up in a wry smile. “You did stand up to some truly terrible men, so I have to give you credit for that. You just don’t seem like the type.”
“I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment, but I suppose I’ll take it either way if it means I’m not like Cutter.” With the last wheel off, they grabbed the second runner.
“No, I’d say not.”
They lapsed into silence for a moment as they hefted the runner into place. Ben secured it as quickly as he could. The land was slightly more sloped under this side, making the work harder.
The demands of the trip hurried Ben along. He had to get to Antelope Springs and back as quickly as possible. He had to do it safely, without running into Natives or outlaws.
Now he had to get Hattie through the journey safely, as well. The only saving grace was that an extra pair of hands made the work of putting on the runners a bit easier than it would’ve been otherwise.
It was no compensation for the loss she’d caused at the orphanage, though. Hattie hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger on Father Tillman, but she still carried some of the burden in Ben’s eyes.
“So what are you doing there?” Hattie asked as she removed the post.
Ben lowered the wagon, so it rested on both runners. “At the orphanage?”
“Yes.”
He chewed his lip as he put the toolbox in the back of the wagon.
It was a question that’d run through his own mind daily, but he’d never found the answer.
Sister Matthews and Father Tillman hadn’t questioned it at all.
They’d simply made a place for him, enjoying his company and taking each day as it came.
“I’m just helping out for a while,” he finally answered. Ben had no idea what his future held for him.
Hattie hopped up into the wagon. She grabbed the tarp and pulled it back down over the crates and the wagon wheels so that they could secure it. “Well, that’s nice of you. You don’t have any other place to be?”
“St. Thomas is where I need to be. For the moment,” Ben added quickly. He wasn’t going to stay forever. He couldn’t. He’d grown up there, but many children had. If they all stayed, then St. Thomas would be a village that took up the whole valley.
“You do a lot for them,” Hattie noted.
They were walking alongside the wagon, heading over to get the horses, when Ben turned and looked at her.
Her statement reminded him that she’d been hiding under the orphanage for a whole month.
It was beyond bizarre. Nobody would do that unless they had a truly good reason. “Why are they looking for you, anyway?”
Hattie stuck out her lower lip and scuffed her boot in the snow. “Let’s just say there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding.”
Ben flinched back as something flew in front of his eyes and thunked into the side of the wagon right between them. It shivered in place, the feathers bright against the dreary day.
An arrow.
They were no longer alone.
“Get the horses!” he cried, reaching under his coat for his revolver as he raced to the front of the wagon.
He plastered himself against it and then peered around in the direction the arrow had come from. Something dark crept toward them through the trees. Covered in deer hides and bear pelts, it looked like a strange creature at first. As it drew closer, Ben was sure.
Apache.
He leaned out and fired his revolver into the trees over the Native man’s head.
A shower of snow rained down on his enemy, but it didn’t deter him.
The horses cried out at the sound of the shot. Hattie squealed.
“Are you all right?” Ben didn’t dare take his eyes off the approaching Native. He brought the revolver up in front of him, catching the Native in his sights. His finger quivered on the trigger.
“They’re scared!” she called back. “But they’re untied. What do I do with them?”
“Bring them here!” he yelled impatiently. Wasn’t it obvious that they had to get out of there as fast as possible?
Ben moved around to the far side of the wagon while Hattie brought the horses to the front. He ducked low and then came out behind it, ready to shoot for real this time.
There were now two Natives. Their bows were drawn and their arrows nocked. They moved with fluid grace through the snow.
Ben’s ears rang. He aimed straight at the second Native man’s chest. All the killing he’d seen in the war had been pointless. Father Tillman’s death didn’t have to happen. He didn’t want to take a life, but they were leaving him no choice. He fired.
The man’s arms flew into the air. His arrow arced over the trail, overshooting his target and falling somewhere into the woods. He fell into the snow.
“Ben! I don’t know how to do this!” Hattie sounded truly frantic.
A third figure was coming up from behind the first two.
They were going to die.
Ben bolted to the front of the wagon. He grabbed Father Tillman’s rifle from under the seat and thrust it at Hattie. “Do you know how to use this?”
“Only a little.” She eyed the gun uncertainly.
“Then just do what you can.” With great trepidation, Ben tucked his revolver in its holster and took the horses from her.
They reared back, their hooves kicking up a shower of snow. Ben’s hands shook as he buckled them into the harnesses. It wasn’t going to be enough. The Native men were coming quickly. Ben could practically feel their arrows piercing his hide already.
The rifle went off, a sharp crack. It was followed by a grunt and a thud.
An arrow arced over his head, nearly taking off his hat.
“More coming from behind us!” Hattie shrieked. She was in the wagon bed, standing on top of the lumpy tarp.
By some miracle, Ben secured the first horse. He guided the second one into the harness, operating off of years of experience that made his body do what was needed. “Easy, easy,” he said, trying to calm the horse as his own nerves jumped and jangled.
Another bang of the rifle.
Something grabbed Ben’s elbow, and a knife was at his throat.
Ben clawed at the strong arms as they pulled him back, away from the horse. The Apache had clamped his gun hand against his side, making it impossible for him to grab his revolver. White sparks danced in front of his eyes, brighter and faster than the snow.
“Hey!” Hattie yelled.
The Native looked up.
Ben elbowed him hard in the gut. He grabbed Father Tillman’s knife, and it sang as he freed it from its sheath. The blade slid hard and fast across the other man’s throat, creating an arc of brilliant red blood.
“Let’s go!” Hattie said, clambering down onto the wagon seat.
Ben secured the last buckle. He leapt up next to her and slapped the reins. The terrified horses surged to life, blazing down the path. The metal runners floated over the wet snow that’d bogged down the wheels.
An arrow thudded against the side of the wagon. Another one grazed the rump of a horse and then fell away beneath them, leaving a gash in the beast’s hide.
“Keep low!” Ben cautioned. He ducked down as far as he could while still keeping control over the wagon.
They flew up the hill. The wagon lifted into the air for a moment as they crested the hill, coming back down hard on the other side and leaving Ben’s stomach somewhere behind them.
“Did we lose them?” Ben shouted over the wind in his ears. Any hoofbeats coming behind them would be muffled by the snow.
Hattie clung to the side of the wagon as she leaned over and looked back. “I think so!”
“Hang on!”
The trail curved sharply. The horses ran hard and fast, blazing through the turn. The wagon skidded on its skis, sliding dangerously to the left as the trail went right. Ben clung to the seat with one hand and the reins with the other as the trees loomed up before him.
Hattie slid into his side. She flung her arms around him and held on tight.
The wagon bucked underneath them as though it, too, was a scared animal. It jerked as the horses made it around the turn, launching once again into the air before straightening out. They raced away into the snow.