The Parson's Christmas Gift (17 page)

M
iss Rose rested under a mound of quilts, her breath so shallow they didn’t stir. Journey threw another log onto the fire, where it crackled and popped. The sound of a fast-moving buggy drew her to the sitting room. How long had Zane been gone?

The men brushed snow from their pant legs and dusted it from their hats as they stepped through the door.

“Where is she?” Doc Ferris asked.

She led him to Miss Rose’s room, off the sitting room in the front part of the house. “I’m sorry to call you out so late, Doc. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did right, sending for me. I’ll take a check on her. Wait here with Zane.”

“Can’t I help?”

He patted her arm and smiled. “Could I bother you for some coffee? I surely could use a cup.”

She nodded but didn’t move until he went in to Miss Rose’s room and slid the door partially closed. She put the kettle of coffee on in the kitchen and then returned to pace the floor in front of the couch. Zane sat, almost swallowed in the cushions, eyes partially closed.

“Sit down, Journey,” he said. “You must be exhausted. I had no idea she was so ill.”

“What took you so long?” She stopped in the middle of the braided rug, hugging her waist.

“Doc was out at the Andersons’. I told him about Miss Rose and he came right away. Said it sounds like the same thing Mr. Anderson has, and Mrs. Hamler, and the Wilsons’ son, Jimmy. Influenza.”

She sank to the end of the couch, opposite Zane, and rocked forward, unable to hold back any more tears. She was too tired to try.

He shifted and she heard his muffled gasp. “Zane?”

She wiped her face, noticing his. “What happened to you?” she asked, thumbing the bruise near his eye. How had she missed it when she’d first seen him standing in the barn?

“We have to talk.”

She drew her hand back. His gray eyes held her focus. He knew. She slid from the cushion and backed away. “Please, don’t—”

“I have to, Journey. I have questions and there’s too much at stake. It’s not just about you or me.” Slowly he stood, his bound arm pressed tightly against his side. He drew a page from his coat pocket with his free hand, unfolded it and held it out to her. Waiting.

She peered at the wrinkled paper, afraid to touch it. Hank’s sketchy face stared back. The likeness was rather good, though he wore his hair much longer now. She choked. “The law did know about him in Savannah. If I had only realized.”

Doc Ferris stepped out from the bedroom, cutting off all but thoughts of Miss Rose. Journey pulled the poster from Zane’s fingers and slid it behind her. “How is she?”

Doc shrugged into his coat before answering. “It looks like influenza. Tricky thing. I’m thinking of pulling everyone who’s come down with it into one place, so I can treat them all at the same time. It’s too hard to keep up with everyone spread out as they are.”

“How many are there?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“Maybe ten. Mostly children and older folks, but it’ll spread. We’ll need someone to take word out to some of the outlying farms, tell them what to look for, and what to do if they come down with it. We’ll need blankets and buckets, food and water, cots and mats.” He adjusted his glasses.

“I’ll talk to Abby. Where should we tell folks to go?” she asked.

“How about the church?” Zane offered.

The doctor gripped his chin in his hand and nodded. “It
is
the largest place. We’ll need wood for a fire out back and someone to tend it. We’ll need hot water.”

“I’ll ride out and check on the families farther out, then Sam and I can get a fire going,” Zane said. “I don’t know medicine, Doc, but I’ll help any way I can.”

“I’d be obliged,” Doc Ferris said. “I’ll go back to town, start getting supplies together. Let Miss Rose rest a few hours, then bundle her up and bring her to town at dawn. Rest as much as you can until then, and I’ll send some telegrams, see where we can find more quinine should we need it. It’s going to be a long few weeks before this runs its course, I’m afraid. We’ll need all the help the Almighty can give us.”

He clamped his hat tighter and tapped the brim toward her. “It was good you sent for me, miss. You both take care, now. And, Zane, take it easy on those ribs. Once people start coming into town, we’ll need all the able hands we can find.”

Journey closed the door behind him. Thick flakes of snow fell, the lazy kind of shower that signaled a break in the storm.

Zane grabbed her shoulder as she passed him, moving toward Miss Rose’s room. She ducked with a gasp, her heart pounding.

He released her as if she’d burned him. She focused on the fire glowing in the hearth, embarrassed by her snap reaction.

“I’d never hurt you. Never.” He stepped back. “But we need to sort this all out before we get to town. How do you know Baines? And why is he here?”

She whipped her coat from the peg, punching her arms through the sleeves and tugging her hair out from the collar. She grabbed her saddle pack, which was leaning against the wall near the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving before I cause more trouble. I should’ve gone a long time ago,” she said, clamping her hat down on her head.

He stepped in front of her before she could reach the door latch. “Don’t you think you owe us an explanation?” A handful of bills waved before her eyes, swirling in time with her thoughts. “You’re going to leave now, like this, after all Miss Rose has done for you?”

She looked away and swiped back her tears. “I would have paid it back. I swear it. I’ve brought nothing but problems for this town, and I need to get away before things get worse. Look at you. You never answered my question. What happened to you in Virginia City? How do you explain that welt by your eye? The sore ribs?”

Zane stood back, his lips drawn into a tight line.

“Never mind. I already know. Hank came by. You’re lucky you got off so easily. He could have killed you. I thought…”

“Thought what?”

“I thought he had.” She palmed the rough warmth of the fireplace stones behind her. “I thought he killed you and left you lying out on the trail.” Each word squeezed from her throat. “But you’re safe. We prayed—that is, Miss Rose prayed—and here you are. I can’t take a chance of you getting hurt again.”

“How will your leaving make everything right?” He made no move toward her, but she moved another pace away from him.

“Hank won’t have any hold over me if he doesn’t know where I am.”

“What hold does he have on you, Journey?” His voice softened and he stepped toward her. She felt his hand on her shoulder, drawing her to him. She felt safe in his arms, holding her strong and warm.

“Tell me about that poster.” His jaw rubbed her head as he spoke.

She looked up at him. This would be easier if he were angry. Hank had trained her to face that. Instead, his gaze held, firm but compassionate. His eyes crinkled at the edges, eyebrows furrowed.

She looked away and pulled from his hold. “I can’t.”

He moved away a moment, and she fumbled with the lashings on her pack. She looked at him again when he blocked the light from the lantern in the window.

“Then maybe you can explain this one.”

Her own likeness greeted her. Not a very flattering one, but hers nonetheless, staring from the wrinkled parchment.

She closed her eyes and fought to draw a breath. “It’s not how it looks. Please, let me leave.”

“So it is you,” he said. “I figured, but I’ve been wrong before. Hoped this was one of those times.”

She opened her eyes to see his outstretched arm. Glancing toward the door, she allowed him to guide her to a chair by the fireplace. She knew she owed him an explanation.

He wasn’t demanding that she leave. He hadn’t hauled the law in to come and take her away. Was he really giving her the benefit of the doubt?

She sat down, picking at the brim of her hat. “How much do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Tell him,
a silent voice pleaded.
Tell him why you have to run.

“Hank’s my husband.”

Zane would think everything had been arranged from the start, that she had tricked them all, but it was better that way. It would be easier to go if he hated her.

Zane sat in the chair beside her and smoothed out another paper. He stared at it a moment. “If Hank Baines is your husband, that makes you a widow according to this.”

He laid the page on her lap as he stood. She read without touching it. “You don’t know how I wish that were true.”

“So tell me what is true. Let me help you sort this out.”

“Does Reed know?”

“Where do you think I got the posters?”

“Are you taking me to the sheriff?” Her breath came fast and short. A year of looking over her shoulder—ended. The thought almost brought relief.

“Not unless I have to.” She cried in earnest when he fingered the curls draped down her back. “I convinced Reed you deserved a chance to explain your side of things. Won’t you tell me, Journey? If you leave now, there’s no way I can keep you safe.”

She folded over in the seat, burying her face in her skirt. “I can’t be safe. Not here. Not anywhere Hank is.”

“What are you saying?”

She lifted her head enough so her words weren’t muffled. “I’m saying that you should call Reed and have him lock me up. Maybe jail is the only place where Hank won’t be able to hurt me anymore.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple. Is it true, what the poster says? Did you kill a man by burning down a hotel? Are you Maura Baines?”

“I am Maura Baines, but I never burned a building. And I never killed a man, but it doesn’t mean I never tried. That’s enough for God to punish me, I suppose.”

“Tell me how you got here, Journey—Maura—whoever you are.” He sounded as confused as she felt. “At least let me try to help.” Zane’s tone didn’t plead. It sounded firm and comforting, like his arms had been moments before.

“My mother’s maiden name was Sojourner. I borrowed from that when I needed to get away. And Smith could be anyone. Miss Smith would never attract attention. Being away from Hank was all that mattered.”

“You didn’t know they declared him dead?”

She stood and walked away, arms crossed. “I knew because I was the one who’d killed him, or at least tried to kill him.”

She whirled on Zane, trying to judge his thoughts. What did it matter now? He’d have to notify the law. Bars that kept Hank away would be better than living like this, always waiting for the day he’d find her. It was too hard, and she was too tired to fight anymore.

“You must’ve had a reason. The judge could take that into account. Besides, if he’s not really dead—”

“He’s not, but apparently someone died that night. Do you think a judge will care what happened? ‘Certainly, Your Honor, I’m innocent. I never intended to kill the man who died. I believed I had killed someone else.’ Not only thought it, was glad of it.”

She moved to the window, staring out into the blackness. Miss Rose hadn’t stirred. Thank goodness she wasn’t awake enough to hear this.

Zane stood beside her, looking straight ahead through the window and she tensed. “How’d it happen?”

He didn’t deny her involvement, she noted. But he still tried to wrap his mind around it, still tried to understand. She touched his shoulder, ashamed that he should care.

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “I made bad choices after my mama died. She was a…a saloon girl. I was fifteen when she died.” It seemed so long ago.

“Fifteen?”

“I was scared and Hank offered me more than the life my mother had. At least it was only him.” She didn’t go into details.

She remembered her mama’s smile. “She seemed different, those last days. She made me promise not to go the way she did. I don’t think I could’ve anyway, but then, look at where I am now.” Her laugh sounded hollow, even to her.

She turned to Zane, sensing his gaze. The compassion she saw was more than she could bear. Her resolve faded.

“I met Hank when I was so young,” she continued with a heavy breath. “But he wasn’t always mean like he is now. He always had that drive for more, the fierceness to make things happen. He treated me as well as Hank knows how. I don’t expect he grew up much better than me, but he never spoke of it. Then plan after plan to make things good fell through, and he started drinking more. He grew angrier at life. I was in the way, I suppose. The fierceness I thought would protect me turned against me.”

“He hit you.” Zane didn’t ask, he knew.

She nodded. “Quite often. I stood it for three years, waiting for him to turn into the man I wanted him to be. But it only got worse. I thought he was going to kill me many times those last few months. Maybe it would’ve been better that way. Easier for him.”

“No.”

She pulled back at the anger in his voice. His hand fisted against the windowpane.

“No one deserves that.”

“Most women live with being hit. My mama lived through worse and for longer than me. She was stronger.”