by Anna Schmidt
“It’s the law, Nick,” Cody said softly, almost apologetically. “The circuit judge will determine whether or not she’s to be bound over for trial, in which case she’ll be transferred to Santa Fe, and it will be out of my hands.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Grace said. “I know you’re doing your best to try and keep me out of jail. However, I do need to go to Missouri. I promise I’ll be back in time for a trial if that’s what needs to happen, but my father—”
“Mrs. Hopkins, there is only so much I can do for you. Allowing you to leave town is not one of those things. I am genuinely sorry.”
“I’ll go,” Nick said, turning back to her. “I’ll take the afternoon train.”
“But you don’t even know my family, and they don’t know we’re married and especially about the baby.”
Nick smiled and cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand. “Then I’ll hopefully be bringing news with me that might make things there seem a little brighter. Grace, let me do this. Let me go there and find out what’s going on while you stay here and regain your strength.”
“But your job, the ranch… You told me this is coming onto the busiest time, and with your new responsibilities—”
“The Lombards understand.”
“And if they can’t afford to be without you?”
Nick shrugged. “Then they will find another way. Come on, Grace. It’s not the best solution, but it gets us closer to one.”
She glanced around the room and saw by their expressions that Emma, Lily, and Aidan all agreed with Nick’s plan. She was outnumbered. “Help me over to the chair there and bring me some stationery and a pen,” she said. “At least I can send you there with a letter of introduction.”
Nick looked to Aidan, who went off to get the paper and pen. Emma pulled the chair closer to the table. Grace pushed back the covers and reached for her robe, but when Nick seemed prepared to carry her to the chair, she shook her head. “I can walk.” With Nick at her side, she made her way to the chair and sat down.
Aidan returned and placed the writing materials on the table. “Anything else, Grace?”
“No, thank you.” She looked at each person. “Perhaps if I could have some time? I need to compose my thoughts.”
Emma, Lily, and Aidan followed Sheriff Daniels from the room. Emma closed the door behind them. Grace looked at Nick.
“I’m staying,” he said, taking the straight chair from next to the bed and setting it down across from her.
“Good,” she said softly and began to write the letter that she hoped would explain everything.
* * *
Almost before the train pulled out of the station, Nick had leaned his head against the window and fallen asleep. He’d been up all night watching over the herd, and the day had been filled with a whole bunch of upsetting news followed by hurried arrangements for the trip. He’d had to get word to the Lombards and stop by the mercantile for a new shirt, which he’d only put on once he’d washed up and gotten a haircut and shave, at Grace’s insistence.
“I can’t have my folks thinking I married some bum,” she said. “It would only go to prove their worst fears when I took this job.”
After getting Aidan’s promise to wire him immediately should anything change concerning Grace’s physical or legal condition, Nick stopped by her room to get the letter he would carry to her parents—and a kiss passionate enough to sustain him on the journey.
“I’ll be back by the end of the week,” he promised.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Tell Papa that…”
“Tell him yourself. We’ll go back for a proper visit once this is all finished,” he told her.
Emma and Lily had promised to make sure she didn’t overdo things, and Aidan assured him that Grace could stay right where she was as long as necessary.
Because Nick was traveling on his own nickel, he did not ride first class. Instead, he spent the night sitting up and was stiff and sore when the train stopped for breakfast early the next morning. He followed the other passengers to the eating house where he drank three cups of black coffee and downed eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes along with four biscuits that he smothered in butter and honey—all served to him by a Harvey Girl whose smile only reminded him of Grace. Back on board, he stared out the window as the train continued on to Kansas City. The farther north they traveled, the more the scenery changed. Having been raised in the desert, only traveling this route for business in late summer or early fall, Nick found the change mesmerizing. So many trees—whole forests of them—with black leafless branches stretching above rows of evergreens like arms reaching up to heaven. Frozen creeks followed along the railway tracks, winding through snow, seemingly mountains of the stuff. The cold seeped through the train window, and he heard the whistle of the wind. The train passed through a bunch of small towns where people hurried along, their bodies bent against the chill, their faces covered with heavy woolen scarves.
Finally, late that afternoon, they arrived at Union Station in Kansas City. It was snowing when he stepped off the train, intent on finding the connection he would take to Galax, Missouri, the town nearest the Rogerses’ farm. There, he would rent a horse and rig and head for Grace’s parents’ home. He patted his chest, checking for the fat envelope with Grace’s letter that he’d put in his inside pocket.
“Nick Hopkins?”
For a minute, Nick thought someone he’d met in his business dealings in Kansas City had recognized him. He turned with a smile, prepared to greet the man and then explain he had to move on. But the man standing behind him was a stranger.
“Are you Nick Hopkins?” The man was wearing a battered and misshapen felt hat and a heavy coat with a frayed collar.
“I am,” Nick replied cautiously.
“Bill Ferris,” the man said with a huff of relief and a grin. The name was familiar at least—Grace had described him as her family’s neighbor. “Figured that might be you. Grace sent word, describing you as tall and wearing a black hat and fancy stitching on your boots. You got any luggage?” He glanced around.
“No. Not planning on staying long. Just came to check on Grace’s folks. She’s a little under the weather.”
Bill nodded and started walking toward the exit. “Got a sled wagon waiting. If we get going, we can make it to the farm later tonight.”
Nick followed the farmer out the door.
“How’s Mr. Rogers doing?” he asked once they were on their way. He had to shout to be heard over the wind.
“It’s his chest. Took sick with the pneumonia not long before Christmas and just never seemed able to get past it. Weak as a newborn calf, he is.” Bill shook his head and concentrated on driving the wagon.
Further conversation seemed like too much effort, so Nick hunkered down and let Bill handle the team. When they finally passed through the town of Galax, Nick saw that it was really more of a village. There was a store, a livery stable, a Wells Fargo office, and not much else. After that, they traveled past fields lying fallow, dried cornstalks poking through the snow as the night surrounded them. Once Bill turned onto a narrow, rutted lane, Nick saw a small house, smoke rising from the chimney. There was a barn and a chicken coop. “Whoa,” Bill shouted as he pulled hard on the reins.
Nick saw a white lace curtain move, and a moment later, an older woman stepped outside, clutching a shawl tight around her shoulders. She focused her attention on Nick, so he jumped down from the wagon and crossed the yard. “Mrs. Rogers? I’m Nick Hopkins—Grace’s husband.” A strong north wind made it necessary to shout, but Nick tried to soften that with a smile.
Grace’s mother eyed him with skepticism. “So you say.”
Nick was aware he was being observed from several locations. A girl of about thirteen was peering out from the doorway to the small farmhouse. An older boy stood at the entrance to the barn, and two more children, a boy a
nd a girl, stood just behind their sister. He stepped forward, pulling the letter Grace had written from his pocket and handing it to Mrs. Rogers. “I appreciate that you don’t know me, ma’am. Grace asked me to come in her stead. It’s all explained in this letter.”
Bill Ferris stepped closer to Mrs. Rogers. The wind threatened to rip the pages from her bare fingers as she pulled the letter from the envelope. “Mary? Maybe it’d be best to get back inside. You’ve no gloves and that shawl…”
Mary Rogers glanced at Nick, then turned on her heel and marched back to the house. “Get inside, all of you,” she instructed the children. “And shut that door.”
If Bill hadn’t motioned him forward, Nick would have figured he was being left—literally out in the cold.
Once inside, he took a moment to look around while he removed his gloves and hat and opened his sheepskin-lined jacket. The house was neat as a pin despite being so small for accommodating such a large family. They stood in the front room where two chairs faced the fireplace, a braided rug under them covering a floor made of wide planks and polished to a high sheen. In one corner next to the fireplace, he noticed a small bookcase crammed with books. There was also a child-sized table and chairs and two other adult chairs, one of them a rocker. The furniture looked handmade, and Nick wondered if Grace’s father was a carpenter in addition to being a farmer.
“How is Mr. Rogers?” he asked, his voice seeming to fill the small room.
Grace’s mother held up a finger to silence him as she perched on the edge of a chair and read Grace’s letter. Twice, she glanced up at him and then returned to her reading. Her first words were to her neighbor. “Have you read this?”
“No. Just the telegram she sent asking me to meet Nick. Grace said he would explain everything.”
From a room down a dark hallway came the sound of a man coughing. The girl who’d been standing at the door hurried toward the sound, the two smaller children right behind her. Nick heard a door open, magnifying the racking cough, and then close again. He turned his attention back to Mrs. Rogers.
“Grace is expecting a child?” she said.
Nick fought a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Your child?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you get her in the family way before marrying her?”
Suddenly, Nick wished he’d read the letter. What on earth might Grace have said to give her mother that impression? “No, ma’am. Grace and I love each other, and it was because of that that we decided to marry.”
She grunted and looked back at the letter. “She says she was prevented from coming herself and that’s why you’re here. Is it the baby? Grace herself has a strong constitution, but…”
From the way she kept focusing on the pregnancy, Nick guessed that Grace had not written anything about her ordeal with Perkins or the fire or the fact that she was currently under house arrest. “May I?” he asked, indicating the chair opposite hers.
Mrs. Rogers nodded, and Bill Ferris took up a position just behind her chair. The two of them stared at him as if expecting the worst. Nick was glad the neighbor had stayed. As he told them the story—Perkins stalking Grace for weeks and then tricking her into meeting him, the gun and threats, the fire, the rescue, the sheriff trying to help, the staff at the hotel caring for Grace—he made no effort to sugarcoat what had happened even when tears trickled down Mrs. Rogers’s cheeks. But then he decided she’d heard enough. He wouldn’t tell her the worst: that Grace could be tried for murder.
“The doctor felt it would be dangerous for her health—and the baby’s—for Grace to travel, so she sent me in her place.”
To his surprise, Grace’s mother reached across the space that separated the two chairs and took hold of his hand, turning it over as she examined it. “You have burns,” she murmured, and he knew her gesture had been one of seeking confirmation that the wild tale he’d just relayed was fact.
“They’ll heal,” he said, then closed his fingers around hers. “The important thing to remember is Grace is going to be fine.” She did not pull her hand away, just sat there crying softly, her tears spotting the ink of Grace’s letter. “Mrs. Rogers, Grace is worried about you—and her father.”
Mrs. Rogers snorted back her tears. “That’s Grace. Always trying to do for others. You’ll learn that soon enough, young man, if you haven’t already.” She pulled her hand free of his and clutched the letter. “The way she speaks of you, I can tell she loves you. I just hope you can live up to what she needs from you.”
“I plan on spending the rest of my days doing just that, ma’am.”
She stood. “You should eat something. It’s been a long, hard day for you. Bill, you’ll stay for some supper before going on?” And not waiting for her neighbor’s reply, she left the room, still offering Nick no information about her husband’s condition.
Bill Ferris sat in the chair she’d just vacated. “Jim is bad off,” he said, studying the knuckles of his hands. “Doctor says he might not make it through the winter. The one thing he wants is to see Grace. She’s always been his favorite. And once he knows there’s a grandbaby on the way…”
“Grace and I can come once—”
But Bill wasn’t listening.
“Can’t seem to catch his breath,” he muttered as if trying to make sense of things. He looked up at Nick. “Doctor says this weather is not helping—the cold and the damp. Goes right through him.”
“And there’s nothing to be done?”
Bill shrugged. “Hope he makes it to spring. The warmer weather would give him a chance to rebuild some strength. ’Course spring is still damp in this part of the country. We get more than our fair share of rain most years.”
Nick quickly compared the weather he was experiencing and Bill was describing to the drier, warmer weather of New Mexico. And from there, it was an easy leap to an idea that just might solve everything—at least as far as Grace’s father was concerned. He’d heard stories of people coming to New Mexico for their health. Maybe… “Does the doctor stop by often?”
Again, Bill gave him a noncommittal lift of his shoulders. “Not much call for him to come over unless Jim takes a turn for the worse. I expect he’s due though—the doc, that is. He usually comes by whenever he’s got a call out this way, and word has it the Turner girl two farms over is having her baby.” He eyed Nick with suspicion. “Why do you ask?”
Nick wasn’t ready to share his idea with anybody until he’d had a chance to discuss it with the doctor. No sense raising false hopes. So this time, he was the one to shrug. “Just thought it might give Grace some peace to know I spoke to the doctor directly.”
The older girl edged her way into the front room. “Pa wants to meet you,” she said, glancing at Nick and then back down at the floor.
“Sure,” Nick said, instinctively running his hands through his hair and straightening his shirt collar. “Lead the way, Angie.” She whirled around with a wide-eyed stare when he used her name, and he smiled. “Grace talks about you and the others—Reuben out there in the barn, the twins Darla and Douglas, and there’s one more—another boy.” He counted them off on his fingers, murmuring the names.
“Walt,” Angie said. “You forgot Walt. He’s between me and Reuben. You’ll meet them at supper.”
“Walt,” Nick repeated. “Are you sure your father is up to me stopping in, Angie?”
“He says he wants to meet you, and we don’t like to upset him. That sets him to coughing and choking. Grace is his favorite,” she added. The statement came out of the blue and sounded more like a warning than information.
“Well, we’ve got that in common,” Nick said as he followed her to a partially open door. “She’s my favorite too,” he added as he slipped past Angie and approached the high bed that dominated the small room.
Chapter 16
Grace’s father rested against a
stack of pillows in a half-sitting position. He turned his head toward the door, beckoned Nick closer, and stuck out his hand. “Jim Rogers,” he managed, his voice a raspy whisper.
“Nick Hopkins,” Nick replied, accepting the man’s handshake.
“Sit.” Jim pointed to a small wooden side chair, waited for Nick to do as he asked, and then said, “You married my girl?”
“I did. I love her.”
“Are you worthy of her?”
The question was unexpected. Nick stumbled for an answer. “Probably not,” he admitted. “But I’ve got a good job, a secure future. I can provide for her.”
“And the baby?”
“All the babies,” Nick said, trying to temper the hint of defiance he felt at the man’s probing.
A hint of a smile tugged at the older man’s chapped lips. “Tell me about yourself, son. You do the talkin’, and I’ll do the listenin’, if that suits.”
Nick could see that every word the man uttered came with a price, so he was more than ready to agree. He told Jim how he and Grace had met on the train, making Jim smile at her refusal to accept the invitation to have supper with him. He told him about the Lombards and how, with his own parents passed on, they were more like family than employers. He told him about how he and Grace had decided to secretly marry and how the news of her pregnancy had caught them both by surprise.
“But we’re real excited and looking forward to being a true family,” he assured the man.
“No doubt,” Jim Rogers muttered. He cleared his throat and pushed himself a little higher on the pillows. Nick’s father-in-law was tall and lanky and far too thin. “Now tell me about this business with the sheriff,” he said, pinning Nick with clear blue eyes that dared him to sugarcoat the details.
So Nick told him—about Jasper Perkins, a powerful man in Juniper who had pursued Grace for weeks, even though she had rebuffed him over and over again. He told him about the night the girls had gone to the Perkins house and how he and Aidan and Jake had gone to walk them home. He told him what he’d seen that night through the kitchen window.