Burt didn’t answer but disappeared. Dash carried Abby into the parlor off the foyer to the coal stove, where he and Burt had huddled moments before. He snatched a lap rug from a chair and laid the heavy wool over Abby’s torso. “I’ll be back, Abby. Don’t you slip away on me now. Wake up and yell at me.”
He hated to leave her, but the children needed help too. Some of the older ones walked unassisted, but he had to carry a few of the little ones to the parlor. So did Burt, who’d dropped blankets and towels on the floor to lend a hand. Dash arranged the children around the coal stove in a crescent, and not a one said anything. Not a complaint, cry, or groan. It was far more disturbing than tears. Their silence meant they were shocked to their cores.
“Come on, everyone. Snuggle up. Here’s a blanket.” He passed out the odd assortment of Burt’s rugs, blankets, and towels.
Burt stroked his beard. “Crowded in here. Should we put some in the kitchen?”
“Not unless there’s room for all in the kitchen. We need to stay together.”
“I guess that’s right. Conserve body heat.” Burt paused. “Glad you’re here. You know more about this sort of thing than I do.”
Dash didn’t know much, though. He’d never felt so ill-equipped for anything in his life.
None of his skills—riding and tending horses, shooting game, chasing counterfeiters and boodle carriers—was of any use in a blizzard.
The pulsing thrum of wood on wood sounded from the foyer. Dash clambered over the children to the front door. Slender snakes of snow slithered in from the crevices around the door, which vibrated on the latch. The sound was almost scarier than the moan of the wind.
“Can we stop it?” Burt pushed at the door, as if willing it to stillness.
“It’ll stop when it freezes shut.” Dash shuddered from the cold here in the small foyer. “Too bad the parlor doesn’t have a door. We’re going to have a hard time keeping it warm.”
“I figured you and I can haul the mattress from upstairs down here to block off the entrance. It’s not the best solution, but it’s all I can think of.”
“It’s better than nothing.” Dash clapped Burt on the shoulder. “First let’s get what we need from the kitchen. We could all use some liquid, I’d guess.”
“Hot water, for starters.”
“Make it warm instead. We need to thaw them out slowly. Like you do with frostbite.” At the word, something twanged up Dash’s leg, and he winced. Maybe not frostbite, but his nerves were coming back to life.
Burt didn’t own enough mugs for everyone, but no one complained about sharing when he and Dash served six mugs full of lukewarm water. Everyone had recovered enough to sit up and sip except for Abby, who was still on the floor.
Burt led the way upstairs, and they made quick work of stripping the bed and hauling the bedclothes and mattress downstairs, blocking the parlor entry with it. They’d just finished when Abby groaned.
“Berthanne, Almos?”
He rushed to her side, caressing her cold cheek. “They’re here, Abby. All your students are here at Burt Crabtree’s, safe and sound.”
“No we’re not.” Micah Story spoke through trembling lips. “They got sent home early.”
“On account of the skunk.” The biggest boy rubbed his forehead.
“Where are they?” Abby pushed up to her elbows. She didn’t seem awake yet, like she was still in the throes of a nightmare. He hadn’t noticed until now that her forehead sported a burgeoning goose egg. She’d hit her head?
Dash found her icy hands. “They’re probably at home, snug by their fires.” He hoped so, anyway.
“Oh.” Her eyes lost the crazed look, and her chin started to tremble along with the rest of her. She must be coming back to her senses. “It’s my fault.”
A little girl wearing a too-large bonnet shuffled on her bottom toward Abby. “No it’s not. You warned Almos what would happen if he brought Stripey to school again.”
“Thank you, Oneida. But I didn’t expect this storm.”
Dash tucked the lap rug tighter about her. “Is that why you don’t have a coat on?”
“She gave her coat to me.” A taller girl started to shrug out of her blanket and work at buttons at her throat. “She can have it back now.”
“Nonsense.” Abby made a show of snuggling within the lap rug. “I’m fine like this.”
Of course Abby gave up her coat. The girl offered a small smile and refastened the buttons.
At least the children were talking now.
Her gaze swept over the children, as if she counted them. “I’m so glad to see you all.” She staggered to her feet and embraced each child. Every one of them hugged her back.
When she’d finished, Abby glanced around the sparsely furnished room, with its threadbare chairs and the eggshell-colored drapes, which looked to have been fashioned by Burt tacking unsewn rectangles over the windows. “So we’re at Mr. Crabtree’s? I don’t remember getting here.”
“You fell against the house. The wall behind you, in fact. We heard the thump over the wind. Burt and I went out and there you all were.”
Her eyes closed. “Thank God.”
“Amen to that.” Dash offered her a sip of lukewarm water. “It’s not hot. Trying to warm you by degrees. Anyway, why’d you leave the school?”
“The roof.”
“It fell in,” Kyle Queen said, his hands gesticulating beneath the blanket wrapped around him. “The snow was comin’ in.”
“That sounds scary.” Burt swigged some water.
“It was.” Kyle’s head swiveled to meet Burt’s gaze. “But it got scarier when we went outside.”
Micah shuddered. “My mama doesn’t know where I am. I’m not supposed to go anywhere without telling her first. No stranger’s houses.”
“I’m certain she won’t mind today.” Abby dropped to the floor again. “I wrote our destination on the blackboard. If anyone comes to the school, they’ll know we came here.”
A girl frowned. “Unless the school fills with snow.”
“It probably won’t get as high as the blackboard, Zaida.” Abby’s gaze drew his. “What are you doing here at Mr. Crabtree’s, Dash?”
“I was—”
“Owwww.” Kyle clutched his foot.
Dash and Burt went to the boy. “What hurts?”
“My feet.”
“Let me see.” Dash gently unlaced the boy’s boots. He wore no socks beneath.
Abby’s hand went to her mouth. “He wore them as gloves.”
The foot was cold as stone and whitish yellow on the bottom, but not ashen. “I think it’s superficial. The cold numbed it and it’s waking up.”
Burt took the boy’s feet in his hands and rubbed briskly. “Your ma’s the baker, isn’t she?”
“Yes sir.”
Burt caught the boy’s gaze. “How old are you?” It was kind of Burt to help distract the lad.
“Eight, sir.”
“I’m eight too,” a round-cheeked boy added. “So’s Micah. My name’s Bud.”
The rest of the children offered their ages, but Dash focused on the boys Abby investigated. Which one was Fletcher Pitch’s son? Thankfully, they need not figure it out right now. The one blessing in this storm was that Pitch wouldn’t be arriving in Wells for a few days. Dash doubted there’d be any way in or out of town until Saturday at least. He and Abby could relax on that front.
Well, relax wasn’t the right word. His nerves were tighter than a violin’s strings, and his toes felt like he was stepping on a dozen straight pins. “Does anyone else have tingling or pain?”
“I do.” One of the bigger boys lifted his head. Josiah? The girl with the too-large bonnet raised a finger.
“What hurts?”
“My whole body,” the boy said.
“How about you?” he asked the girl.
“My feet.”
“I’ll start with you, ma’am.” She could have frostbite, which was more urgent than awakening nerv
es or strained muscles. “What’s your name?”
“Oneida. Are you a doctor?”
“He ain’t,” the Knapp boy said before Dash could answer. “He’s a hostler at the inn.”
“That’s right.” Dash smiled as he examined Oneida’s ice-cold toes. “I’m not even an animal doctor, but you all are about the same size as goats and ponies, so I’m pretty comfortable offering you aid.”
Some of them laughed. Good. It was still far too quiet in here, considering there were sixteen children in close quarters.
Thankfully, her toes didn’t look as if they required a snow rub, and upon examination, it was clear Josiah’s aches were not from any injury. “Wiggle your fingers and toes, everyone, and every few minutes stretch your legs out.”
“Why?” The biggest boy looked at him like he was eccentric.
“Keeps your blood moving.” He added coal to the fire. “You can let Kyle’s feet go now, Burt. I think they’ll be fine.”
“Oh. Sure.” Burt’s hands fell away. “Say, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but I’ve got more socks upstairs. I’ll fetch those.”
“That’d be a help, thanks. We should probably think of some victuals since we’re moving the mattress. I’d hate to let our heat out more than once.”
“I’ll help.” Abby pushed off her rug.
Dash pointed a finger. “You’ll stay put.”
“Listen to the goat doctor, Miss Bracey,” Willodean insisted.
Abby rolled her eyes, and the children giggled again.
There were few moments of levity after that, though. After dispensing his thick wool socks to the children in need, Burt warmed several cans of beans. They all took turns eating off the shared plates, but no one took more than a few bites, not even the bigger boys.
No one was hungry. Not even Dash. The howling wind robbed their appetites.
Abby asked if Burt had any books she could read aloud, but Burt apparently wasn’t much of a reader, for he didn’t have so much as a farmer’s almanac. Darkness fell, and before long, the children fell asleep, as only children can do, oblivious to noise. Maybe some played possum, like Burt, who made himself comfortable in an old rocking chair with a ratty blanket over him, but Willodean’s breathing was even and deep as she snuggled against Abby.
Dash would probably get yelled at for the impropriety of it, but he didn’t care. He tiptoed across the crescent of children to drop beside Abby. “Are you asleep?”
“No.” Her whisper was just loud enough for him to hear. “It’s too loud and … cold.”
He touched her forehead. “You’re warmer than you were.”
“Everything hurts, Dash. Burns.”
“You weren’t wearing much protection, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway in a storm like this. We need to warm up, is all.”
“Why did you tell us to wiggle our fingers and toes?”
“I’ve heard tales of folks surviving severe cold, curled into themselves to stay warm, but then once the storm passes and they stand, it’s like their hearts give out. None of us were still for that long, though, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Nevertheless, I want to be careful.”
With gentle slowness, she scooted away from Willodean and sat up, facing him. Her eyes looked black in the low light of the kerosene lamp they’d left burning. “Why are you here? Were you visiting Burt?”
“Not quite. I was in town, aiming for the school, following the fence line, but turns out I walked right past it and came here instead. Burt convinced me to take shelter here, much as I didn’t want to. I thought I’d thaw out a few minutes and then go to the school.”
Her swollen eyes blinked. “Why were you going to the school?”
She really didn’t know? His hand traced the curve of her cheek down to her chin. “For you, Abby. I had to find you before it was too late.”
Abby’s brain had thawed enough for her to follow conversation and subtract sixty minus nine, but she didn’t understand what Dash was talking about. “Too late for what?”
“Too late to stop you from going out in the storm. I couldn’t bear the thought of you out in this.” He swallowed hard. “Especially not with everything that happened between us. I had to tell you how sorry I am for what I said.”
He came out in this, to apologize? “Dash, no. I’m the sorry one. I said horrible things. You never should have gone out in the snow for that. If something had happened to you, I wouldn’t have been able to bear it.”
At the quiver in her voice, Dash pulled her into his arms. He wasn’t warm, but his arms were strong, and she didn’t fight the comfort she found nestled against his chest.
His fingers traced the edge of the scarf she’d wrapped over her ears and neck, tracing where its edges met her skin. “It’s all right now.”
“It’s not, not with Berthanne and Almos out there—”
“Maybe. You got here. It’s likely they made it home too.”
Lord, make it so. But that didn’t mean everyone she cared about was safe. “Hildie and Patty did laundry today. And Bynum was outside too. What if they’re—you know.”
“I’m sure they’re well, Abby.”
“I’ve never felt like this. Like there’s a sense of loss looming over me, heavy and mean as those clouds.”
His dry lips pressed her temple. “Your body is in shock. Focus on the moment, where God has you in His hand. Everything is in His hands, whether you believe it or not.”
She shifted, and he loosened his hold as if he expected her to pull away. But she didn’t lean back. Not yet. His arms were safe, although it was different than the last time she’d been in his embrace. Back then, he smelled of soap and starch, and he’d have stolen a dozen kisses by now.
But a lot had changed in six years.
“I left my Bible in Chicago. On purpose.”
“I thought so.”
“I’ve been angry for so long. At God, and Father, and you. Last night I prayed, though. You were right, what you said about me. I’m a bitter shell.”
She pulled back then. She’d given in to temptation for long enough, curling into his arms. But who knew if Burt Crabtree or any of the children were awake?
Dash let her go, tracing his hands down her arms. When he didn’t speak, she licked her lips. “Maybe God brought us together again to write a better ending to our story. One where we can walk away as friends, or at least do our jobs without arguing every moment. Do you think we can, Dash?”
His gaze held hers, his pupils dark and shiny as wet ink. “I do.”
It almost sounded like a vow.
“We should get some sleep. It will be a long night.”
The wind answered, thunderous and long, before quieting enough for Dash to speak. “Good night, Abby.”
He returned to the other side of the half circle formed around Burt’s coal stove, leaving her to curl up to Willodean and listen to the wind howl. None of her students stirred, but she could see the lamplight reflected in Dash’s eyes as he sat up to tend the stove. Knowing he watched over them, she lay down again, listening to the wind.
CHAPTER 13
None of them slept well except for Willodean. Abby was up several times helping her students with cups of water, finding the slop bucket, and attempting to make them more comfortable on the hard, cold floor. Occasionally, either Burt or Dash tended to the stove. Wind still lashed the dark house when Burt tossed his blanket aside and said something to Dash about breakfast.
Abby disentangled herself from Willodean and, tucking the child back under her blanket, slunk after Burt. Dash, his lean cheeks thick with stubble, rose and followed after. She’d never seen him with a night’s worth of beard before, and the sight of it did strange things to her stomach.
Foolishness. She must be hungry, that was all. Without speaking, the three adults shifted the mattress out of the way and entered the ice-cold foyer. The stark whitewashed kitchen wasn’t any warmer, but there were children to feed.
“I hate inconveniencing yo
u like this, Mr. Crabtree.” Abby’s whisper didn’t quite convey how sorry she was. “I’ll make sure you’re repaid to replenish your supplies.”
And rather meager supplies they were too. Tins and crocks formed short stacks on the shelves by the dry sink, enough for one man for a week, but the house was full of growing children, including ravenous adolescent boys. Unless he had additional stores in the cellar, there wasn’t much to eat.
He didn’t meet her gaze, shy man that he was. “It’s all right. And I think under these circumstances, you can call me Burt.” He blocked her view to light the stove. “I’ve got cornmeal, but it occurs to me we’re low on water.”
Dash’s gaze scanned the room. “Got a bucket? I can go out for some snow.”
The wind’s howl curled the hair at Abby’s nape. “You’re not going out in that.”
“Just my arm. I’ll stick it out the window.” He pointed at the window above a tiny table for two.
Burt rubbed his unkempt hair. “Bucket is, um, in the cellar.”
“I’ll go.” Dash stepped for the narrow door off the kitchen.
“Allow me. Stay here where … it’s warmer.” Burt hurried through the small door.
As the sound of his footsteps descending the stairs grew fainter, Dash tilted his head. “You get the feeling Burt was a city fellow before deciding to try his hand at ranching?”
“What makes you say that?”
“He doesn’t seem well versed in country life. Not a lot of provisions stocked in case of bad weather. Not to mention his house is plain.”
“It’s austere, but he is a bachelor.”
“So am I, but I keep a tintype of my parents propped on my nightstand. His bedroom’s as bare as the rest of the place.”
“He must not have parents. Or he’s starting fresh in the brisk Nebraska air.”
Dash laughed. “Brisk is right.” He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “Oh, I forgot. This is yours. Handy little knife.”
He handed her the blade she kept tied to her stocking. “Pray tell, how did you come to be in its possession?”
He opened the cornmeal tin, avoiding her gaze. “You weren’t awake yet, but I needed a knife to cut the twine. I—I’m sorry, Abby. I knew you kept it just above your boot.”
The Blizzard Bride Page 15