Chapter 17
Two days after embarrassing herself in front of Jonas at Amos’s grave, a memory that still had her waking in cold sweat at night, Martha stood in the dining room with three gold candlesticks wrapped in an old flour sack.
She stared at them for a long moment before tying the cloth closed.
They had been the first beautiful things she had bought for the inn.
Not necessary things. Not things she could justify by saying guests needed them or that they would earn their keep.
They had simply been beautiful, and when the inn had finally made enough money for Martha to spend a little on something beyond flour, lamp oil, repairs, and food, she had bought them.
Amos had teased her for it.
She had laughed and told him that a place meant to be welcoming ought to look welcoming.
Now the candlesticks felt like a luxury she could no longer afford.
Martha picked up the bundle and carried it toward the door.
“I'm sorry,” she murmured, though she wasn't sure whether she meant it for the candlesticks or herself.
The mercantile was quiet when she arrived. A few customers stood near the shelves, and the proprietor looked up as she approached the counter.
“I have something to sell.”
His eyes dropped to the flour sack.
“What have you got?”
Martha untied the cloth. The gold caught the light from the front windows.
He lifted one candlestick, turning it slowly in his hand. “These are good.”
“They're gold.”
“I can see that.”
She waited.
He examined the other two before setting them down. Then he named an amount that was about half of what Martha had hoped for, and even that number had been disappointingly low.
She swallowed. “That's all?”
“Gold is worth something,” he said. “But secondhand goods are different.”
Martha looked at the candlesticks.
She could almost see them on the dining room table again, polished until they shone, with fresh candles burning in them on the nights when the inn had been full, and she and Amos had been proud of what they had built.
Then she thought of Horace Beckett's warning.
She thought of the repairs still waiting.
She thought of the west wing and the money it would take to make the place whole again.
“Fine,” she choked out. “Thank you.”
The proprietor counted out the money and Martha tucked it into her purse and wrapped the empty flour sack around nothing before realizing what she was doing.
She left without looking back.
By the time she reached the inn, the cold had reddened her fingers. She pushed open the gate and stopped.
Silas was walking away from the pasture.
He glanced over his shoulder, and their eyes met.
For one strange second, neither of them moved.
Then Silas turned and kept walking, something maliciously gleeful in his face.
Martha instantly looked toward the pasture, where the gate stood hanging open.
Her stomach dropped.
“Silas!”
He didn't turn.
A horse screamed behind her.
Martha spun around.
The first horse burst through the pasture gate, followed by another. Then another.
“Oh, no.”
She dropped her bag and ran.
“Whoa! Whoa!”
The horses thundered toward the road, hooves striking frozen earth. Martha caught the nearest bridle as it passed and was nearly pulled off her feet.
“Easy! Easy!”
She got the animal turned, but two more had already broken away.
Martha ran for the stable as Jonas came through the inn door.
“What happened?” he called out.
“The pasture!”
He looked toward the road and immediately understood.
“Stay here,” he called.
Martha was already reaching for a saddle.
“Jonas, don't—”
He swung himself onto a horse.
Her heart lurched.
His injured leg had barely finished healing. He had been working too hard since the wound began to close, carrying things he should have left alone and spending hours on his feet despite her warnings.
Now he was riding, and not an easy ride down a country lane either.
“Jonas!”
He turned the horse toward the road.
“I'll help.”
Martha grabbed her own reins and mounted.
The cold air bit her face as she rode after him.
The horses had scattered toward the edge of town, but none had gone far. Martha managed to turn one back while Jonas rode after another. He moved carefully, favoring his injured leg despite the urgency.
“Don't push yourself!” she shouted.
“I've got him!” He surged forward.
“You've got a leg that's barely healed!”
Jonas glanced back at her.
“I'll be fine.”
Martha didn't believe him.
Every time his horse shifted beneath him, she imagined the wound opening again. She pictured blood soaking through the bandage. She imagined the fever that had nearly taken him from her before she even knew him.
She couldn't bear the thought of going through that again.
“Jonas!”
A horse bolted between them.
He pulled hard on the reins and brought his mount around.
Martha's pulse jumped.
Then she saw him straighten.
He was fine.
For the moment.
She pushed her horse forward.
“Come on, girl.”
Another horse had reached the edge of the road. Martha angled herself between it and the trees, slowly turning it back.
Behind her, Jonas whistled sharply.
The animal he was chasing slowed.
“Good,” he murmured. “That's it.”
Together, they worked the horses back toward the pasture.
Martha was breathing hard by the time they had the last one through the gate.
Eliza hurried from the inn, skirts gathered in one hand.
“Are you both all right?”
Martha dismounted.
“Yes.”
Jonas swung down from his horse.
Martha immediately looked at his leg.
Eliza noticed and looked as well. “He's fine,” she said.
“He shouldn't be riding.”
“I can hear you,” Jonas called with irritation.
Martha ignored him.
Eliza came closer and rested a hand lightly on Martha's arm. “Everything is going to be fine.”
Martha looked at the open gate, at the horses shifting nervously inside it, and then back at Jonas.
“No,” she said quietly. “It isn't.”
A voice called from the road.
“Jonas?”
Reuben came into view, walking toward them.
He had clearly been on his way to the inn. His eyes moved from the horses to Jonas and then settled on Eliza.
“I saw the horses running,” he said. “Figured you could use another pair of hands.”
Martha nodded.
“We'll take all the help we can get.”
Reuben stepped through the gate, and he and Eliza exchanged small, secretive smiles.
Martha saw it and almost laughed despite herself.
Almost.
The horses were still restless, and there was no time for anything else.
They worked together until every animal was safely secured.
Jonas took the lead of one horse while Reuben guided another. Eliza stood at the gate, keeping the animals from crowding toward the opening, while Martha checked each latch twice.
Only when she was certain the pasture was secure did she step back.
“Where is Silas?”
No one answered.
Martha turned toward the stable.
A boy was standing near the doorway.
“Did you see him?”
The boy nodded. “He left a little while ago.”
“Where did he go?”
“The saloon.”
Martha's jaw tightened and she immediately started toward the road. How could he have done that? With all of the pressure she was under already, the last thing she needed was this too. Her body ached with exhaustion, but anger pulsed a wild energy through her blood.
Jonas followed. “I'm coming with you.”
“You don't need to.”
“I know.”
She stopped and looked back at him. “Then don't.”
“Martha—”
“I can handle Silas,” she snapped, anger she knew was hiding her deep fear. Every interaction Jonas had with Silas was a risk. At any moment, Silas could tell him everything, or even anything at all.
Jonas's expression tightened, but he said nothing.
Martha turned and continued down the street, just wanting to be alone.
She could feel him behind her.
The saloon stood a short distance from the inn, its windows glowing against the gray afternoon. Voices and laughter drifted through the walls before Martha shoved open the door.
The room went quieter as several men turned to look.
Martha didn't care. She found Silas at a table near the back.
He was drinking with two men she recognized from town. “Silas.”
He looked up. A slow smile spread across his face.
“Well, if it isn't Martha.”
She walked straight toward him. “You opened the gate to my stable and let my horses out.”
One of the men glanced between them.
Silas took another drink. “Did I?”
“You know you did.”
He shrugged. “Accidents happen.”
“Not like that.”
Martha stopped beside his table. “You could have gotten someone killed.”
Silas set down his glass. “Seems everyone survived.”
“You let those horses loose.”
“And?”
“And you know exactly what you're doing.”
His smile faded. For a moment, something cold showed beneath it.
He stood.
Jonas took a step forward.
Silas didn't look at him.
Instead, he moved close enough to Martha that no one else could hear.
“You keep pushing me,” he whispered, “and I'll tell everyone what you did.”