The Blizzard Bride

by Susanne Dietze

  “Bye, Stuart.” Patty waved. Abby lowered her to the floor.

  Dash pretended to drop Willodean before “catching” her, something his father had done with him. She squealed, so he did it again, three more times before putting her on her feet.

  “My turn.” Patty reached up.

  He hoisted her up, then feigned dropping her. “Oops! Oh, oops again, Patty, my apologies, oh no, I’ve dropped you again.”

  She giggled in his ear.

  Abby smiled at the display. “All right, ladies. Clean up the parlor, and I’ll have supper on for you in a few minutes. Care for a bowl of soup, Dash?”

  “No, I’d better get back to town before full dark, but I’ll help you first, if you like.”

  “Sure.” She led the way into the kitchen. “Do you mind getting the corn bread out?”

  “Not at all.” He took the thick towel she offered and removed the bread, setting it atop the stove.

  As Abby reached for bowls, her skirts swished about her slender ankles—stop looking at that, Dash. He kept his gaze fixed on her face as she took the lid off the soup pot. “What a day. I was alone with Hildie and the girls when Hildie started having pains. I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life as I was when Mrs. Sweet came. Except for when Geraldine Story arrived with Micah to give me an apron and some muffins—don’t tell, but she’ll be baking some treats for you and Burt Crabtree too, for keeping Micah safe in the blizzard.”

  “Unnecessary, but I’ll enjoy the goodies.”

  “I was hoping Mrs. Story would stay with Hildie while I left to look for the doctor.” She ladled spoonfuls into two bowls. “I asked her to stay and lend aid, but she said she didn’t remember anything about Micah’s birth and left. I was shocked and so disappointed, truth be told.”

  Huh. “Maybe she didn’t want Micah here.”

  “Still seems like she could’ve offered me a morsel of advice, though. But not one word, Dash. Not even to get towels or tell Hildie to walk around instead of going to bed. It was like she didn’t know any more about birthing a baby than I do, and she’s a—”

  Abby stared at a blank spot on the wall.

  “A what, Abby?”

  “A mother.” She turned around. “Isn’t she?”

  “What sort of question is that? Of course she is.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. She’s Micah’s mother, yes. But what if Geraldine doesn’t remember Micah’s birth because she wasn’t present for it?”

  “You mean he’s adopted?”

  Her face didn’t change. “By his aunt. I think Geraldine is Katherine Hoover. Micah is the son of Fletcher Pitch.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Abby’s pulse thrummed in her ears as she set the bowls on the table. “I’ll feed the girls and then we can go. We’ve got to talk to Geraldine and ask her for that tintype before Pitch comes to town.”

  She didn’t bother calling him our friend instead of his name. The baby started squalling upstairs and it was a wonder Dash could hear her, but she could tell he did, because his eyes narrowed, his expression the same as when he focused on each individual letter during their reading lesson.

  “It’s a compelling notion, I grant you.”

  “Of course it’s compelling.”

  “I wish we had something more substantial, though. There’s still Mrs. Queen.”

  Pfft. “How substantial are some of your leads when you’re investigating subjects? I imagine you rely on your instinct, and my instinct is telling me Geraldine is Katherine.”

  “All right, but we need to wait until tomorrow. It’s getting dark.”

  “Well, you’re going home now, and you live in town. You go see her.” Disappointment pinched her stomach. “I wish I could go with you, though.”

  “You’ve reminded me about propriety, and I don’t know how suitable it’d be for me to call on her in the evening. Might give folks the wrong impression, especially Isaac, and I’m not ready to tell him everything yet. There’s no harm in waiting until tomorrow when you can come with me. If you’re, er, not needed here.” He glanced at the ceiling.

  Poor Stuart must be getting a bath or a change or something else intolerable, to make him scream like that. “I’ve promised to help, but I can get away for a short time.”

  “Good. I can come for you with one of Yates’s horses at, say, nine?”

  That gave her ample time to cook, serve and clean up breakfast, and set lunch on the stove. “Perfect.”

  “See you then, Abby.” Dash’s grin set her heart hooping through her rib cage.

  Oh dear. That particular response to his smile hadn’t happened to her in over six years. Maybe she was just happy about finally figuring out who Fletcher Pitch’s boy was—poor little Micah, such a sweet lamb. He didn’t deserve this.

  But her thoughts returned to Dash like a persistent moth dancing around a lit candlewick.

  She’d best be careful, or she’d be burned again. And this time she knew better.

  After seeing to his chores Tuesday morning, Dash saddled Yates’s two riding mares and called for Abby at the Elmores’. She was waiting for him on the porch, bundled from her crown to her toes against the cold. He hopped off his mount. “The Elmores don’t mind you leaving?”

  She shook her head. “I think they’ll be glad for a few hours of family time. Hildie also asked me to stop by the general store, if you don’t mind.”

  “We’ll see to that errand on our way back.” He held out a hand. “Ready?”

  “Yes, although it’s been awhile since I’ve ridden.” She planted her hand on his palm, set her boot in the stirrup, and climbed into the saddle.

  “Sorry I don’t have a sidesaddle to offer you. Yates didn’t own any. Not much call for that around here, I guess.” He mounted his horse again and clicked with his tongue. Abby followed suit and they were on their way. The road was still icy in spots, requiring his concentration, but Dash had a hard time focusing with Abby beside him.

  She stifled a yawn. “Pardon me. I was up all night.”

  “Baby keep you awake?”

  “Not really. I only heard him cry once. He’s a darling, Dash. But you know that, because you saw him.”

  Dash grinned. “I saw his face and part of his fingers, but yeah, I guess he was nice.”

  “You’re a horrible tease.” She sighed. “But anyway, I was thinking of Micah. He’s the dearest child. Poor little boy, to have Pitch as a father. What will become of him?”

  “I don’t know. A case can be made that Geraldine kidnapped him. But, you could also argue that she was the guardian chosen by Micah’s mother. He doesn’t have any other relatives that I know of. I don’t know who’ll care for him when this is over.”

  Silence fell as she sorted out the information. “That’s sad,” she said after a while.

  “It is, but my job has taught me to keep moving forward. I have to trust God to sort out the details.”

  “I haven’t done much of that, as you know.”

  “Every day’s a good day to start.” They shared a grin.

  “So who am I riding?” Abby patted the bay mare’s neck. “She’s pretty.”

  “Number Five.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Yates didn’t keep a record of their names. They’re all in numbered stalls, and that’s how he referred to them in his ledger, so that’s what I’ve been calling them. This one’s Number Six.”

  “How unoriginal of you, Dash.” Abby laughed.

  “Maybe those are their names. She responds to it, don’t you, Six? I’d hate to confuse the horses by changing their names now.”

  She bent down toward her mount’s head. “He’s always been stubborn like this, Five. I’m sorry.”

  “Four’s a little ornery, but he’s a pretty one. Three’s the strongest, I think, but I’d have to hitch him to something to be sure. Yates had a good eye for horseflesh.”

  “Are they to be sold?”

  “I’m not sure. The mayor’s tal
king to some lawyers. That’s not all. He approached me and said he could tell I was more than a hostler. I thought he’d found out about the Secret Service somehow, but he’d decided I seem like I’d rather be my own boss and asked me if I wanted to take over the livery.”

  “Really? What a compliment. But of course, you can’t. You have a job.”

  “I couldn’t tell him that, though, so I told him I’d think while lawyers ensured Yates doesn’t have any kin. But waiting on news reminds me. Word came in this morning. A young woman in Holt County was discovered Sunday night, hiding from the storm in a haystack, too weak to move.”

  Her mouth gaped. “Three days after the blizzard? That poor woman.”

  “She’s the schoolteacher, Abby.”

  Her head bowed. “Will she live, do you think?”

  “I don’t know.” Dash faced forward, eyes on the horizon. “But I do know, it could’ve been you caught out in the storm.”

  “It could’ve been you too.”

  Her catching voice made him turn to look at her. “But it wasn’t.”

  She fixed her gaze on her hands. “We have much to be thankful for.”

  “We do.”

  They turned west on the road toward town, past Burt Crabtree’s quiet property. The school beside it, however, was abuzz with activity. Several horses were hitched to the rail on the west side, and a wagon of supplies stood out front. Men bustled around the school’s perimeter while others sat atop the roof. He grinned at Abby. “Surprise.”

  “They’re fixing the roof today? Land sakes, that’s wonderful.” She waved her arm. “Thank you,” she called.

  A few men, like Mayor Carpenter, looked up from their tasks and returned her wave. And was that wave from Burt Crabtree? Hard to tell from this distance, but the fellow had a beard.

  “We’re hoping school can resume next Monday. I told the others I’ll help later today.”

  “May we stop? I’d love to see their progress so far.”

  He chuckled. “I doubt they’ve done much more than lay tar paper, but I’m glad you’re excited. However, we’ve got an important errand first. Geraldine, remember?”

  “Oh yes.” She sobered. “I forgot for a moment. Maybe on the way back?”

  “It’d be my pleasure to return you to your schoolhouse, Abby.”

  “My schoolhouse.” She looked wistful. “I shall miss it at the end of the term. Miss the students. Oh, there’s one now. Hello, Kyle.”

  The boy was almost unrecognizable in his multiple layers of outerwear. He lifted his arm to wave but couldn’t quite reach shoulder height, for all of the clothes he wore. “Hello.” His voice was muffled behind his scarf.

  Abby pulled her horse to a stop. “What are you doing out here alone?”

  “Micah and I went to look at the work on the school.”

  “Where is Micah now?” Dash circled Six around the lad.

  “I dunno. He saw a friend.”

  “One of the boys from school?”

  Kyle’s attempt at a shrug through his many layers was almost comical. “It was a man. Might’ve been the postmaster. He didn’t invite me, which Mama says is a rude thing to do to your friends.”

  “She’s right, and it was also dangerous. I don’t like you boys being out where there are so many snowdrifts, without a friend,” Abby said. “You could get hurt.”

  Maybe Isaac was planning something special, some way to get closer to Geraldine, and wanted to involve her son. But Dash would have to have a word with his friend tonight about taking a boy from his friend. “I tell you what, Kyle. Let us see you home.”

  He reached down and told Kyle how to position his arm so Dash could pull him up behind him on Six’s back. “Put your hands around my middle. Good. Ready? Let’s go.” He clucked his tongue and Six started off at a slow, steady gait.

  Abby kept up an animated conversation with Kyle, her voice so light that Dash was surprised to glance at her and see a worried crease between her eyes. Perhaps she was concerned about Micah discarding Kyle, but she didn’t show any other signs of distress until they’d deposited Kyle at the café.

  “Let’s go to the dressmaker’s,” Dash said.

  “Wait.” Abby’s eyes narrowed and the crease between them deepened. “Micah separating from Kyle doesn’t sit well with me. It got me thinking. What if Micah isn’t with a friend? What if he’s been … well, been taken?”

  “By who? You think Pitch managed to get to Wells in the past few days despite the blizzard?” Because that didn’t sound plausible. The trains had been stuck, hadn’t they? And no one had arrived in Wells on horseback, on foot, or in a carriage. If Pitch had just now arrived and come for Micah, wouldn’t one of the men working on the schoolhouse have noticed something suspicious, like Micah crying out for help or resisting a strange man? Dash shook his head. “If he was kidnapped, it couldn’t have been by Pitch, because I don’t see how anyone new could’ve come into town since Thursday, Abby.”

  “No. I think … oh Dash, what if Fletcher Pitch isn’t coming to Wells? What if he’s already here? What if he’s been here all along?”

  Dash’s thoughts scattered like spilled marbles, and he scrambled to capture them back. “That’s not possible, Abby. Pitch didn’t know about Wells until a day before the informant told me, right before I came here for you, and he said outright he couldn’t leave just yet.”

  “Are you sure? Could the informant have lied? Or been lied to? Fletcher Pitch is a clever man. It could have been a ruse.”

  Dash thought back. In mid-November, he was about to move here and take some job, any job, as cover while he investigated which eight-year-old boy in town was Pitch’s son. The schoolteacher’s health-related departure gave his superiors the idea to bring a teacher into the investigation. Sensing no immediate hurry, they waited until the start of the new term to bring Abby down. It wasn’t until the first of January that Dash’s informant told him Pitch had just found the town where his son was and would be going to find him. The informant received the news via telegram, in response to a letter he’d sent weeks before.

  It could have been sent from anywhere, of course. Even Nebraska, perhaps from a town near Wells where Pitch might periodically go to receive forwarded correspondence. Dash rubbed his forehead. What precisely had Pitch said? The informant had wanted something from him, and Pitch had replied: Not available. Traveling to my son once I finish business here. When I saw the name of the town where he abides, I knew.

  Dash repeated it in his mind. Not available. Maybe Pitch wasn’t finishing business, as he’d said, but was using it as an excuse to explain his absence. Maybe he’d moved his operation to Nebraska weeks, months earlier without telling the informant. Or he’d traveled back and forth between Nebraska and Kansas City for a time.

  “I hope you’re wrong, Abby, but yes, now that you mention it, it’s possible Pitch is here.”

  “More than possible. He’s selling postage and probably committing mail fraud to ship out his counterfeit currency.”

  “Isaac Flowers.” His roommate. His friend.

  “Pitch’s latest false name.” Her eyes sparked like flint. “It has to be him. He gave you that bad dollar, remember? One of his own making? He’s new to town too. Arrived in the early fall. He’s had months to study the boys to determine which is his. And he sure seems to have taken an interest in Geraldine and Micah.”

  Dash’s stomach soured. There had to be another explanation for Isaac’s actions. “Micah likes stamp collecting.” Dash dropped from Six’s back and tethered her and Five’s reins to the post outside the seamstress shop. “And he’s enamored of Geraldine.”

  “Perhaps his affections are a pretense so he can get closer to Micah.”

  “I don’t think it’s a pretense.” Dash reached for her. She released the reins and slid off the saddle into the circle of his arms. “He gets a moony look on his face when he talks about her.”

  “Maybe he’s a good actor.” She craned her neck to look up at him.r />
  Not that good. “What about the tintype, though? She’d recognize him, surely.”

  She frowned. “I forgot about that. Maybe she lost it and doesn’t remember what he looks like. Maybe he doesn’t look the same anymore because of that mustache he grew.”

  “Or maybe Isaac isn’t Pitch.” He hadn’t let go of her. He really should, but she fit just right in the circle of his hands. Staring down at her clouded his thinking, though, so he let go and stepped back. His thoughts cleared up at once. “He did say he was left by a woman around ten years ago. He never got over it.”

  “Just like Pitch.”

  “Isaac could’ve brought him home on his horse while Kyle’s back was turned, watching the men work on the schoolhouse. Let’s go inside and check.”

  “All right. But I still say he’s Pitch.”

  Isaac was his friend, though. He didn’t want to believe Isaac was Pitch. But Isaac had given him that dollar, and there was more of Pitch’s money circulating through town. He’d received two more of those dollars at the general store. Pitch could be shoving his own money, little by little, in Wells.

  And then there was the matter of Isaac’s prosperity. He was wealthy, with fine clothes and secretive habits.

  Dash’s stomach sank to his boot heels.

  The dressmaker’s shop smelled like those perfumey sachets his mother had liked, and fringe dripped from everything, from the curtains to the frocks for sale. Geraldine stood behind the counter shuffling papers. “What a surprise. We haven’t had any customers since the storm.”

  “I’m afraid we’re not here to shop, Mrs. Story.” Dash removed his hat. “Do you have a few minutes to speak in private?”

  Her face paled. “Mrs. Leary’s taking a late breakfast at the café. Micah’s off with Kyle, watching the men work on the schoolhouse.”

  “Actually, Kyle is at the café. Micah went off with Isaac, according to Kyle.”

  “Oh.” Her frame relaxed. “Thank you for telling me, but I thought something like that would be happening. Isaac wants Micah’s permission to court me. Isn’t that thoughtful?”