With the men lying behind her, Pam thought back on Angus’s words of warning. She gripped the leather reins tighter. If only she had listened. Quinton would be alive. And Mac and Urias would be safe. Even Jasper and his men wouldn’t have been tempted by the contents of their wagon. If only …
Bile rose in the pit of her stomach. She should have been stronger. She should have convinced Quinton it was wrong to chase their parents’ dream. Who cares about wide-open spaces, a profitable store? Most would care to make a profit, but accruing wealth didn’t matter if it meant losing everyone. She should sell the contents of the wagon in Barbourville, then send a letter to Elijah and Elzy Creel and let them know the misfortunes that had fallen on her family. Perhaps she’d ask if he’d resell the land and business for her. She couldn’t run a business, at least not one her heart wasn’t in. But what would she do in Barbourville after that?
If truth be told, Jasper didn’t know the half of the contents in the wagon. In one trunk the entire family fortune in cash and gold lay safely hidden. If she were wise, she wouldn’t have to work. But what would she do? She couldn’t stay around an empty house all day. A boardinghouse, on the other hand, might keep her busy. Pam nibbled her lower lip.
Of course, there would be the increased work of doing the linens for her visitors. Pamela looked down at her hands. Additional laundry held no appeal either.
I could teach, she reasoned. But Pamela knew she wouldn’t have the patience with half a dozen youngsters clamoring for attention. No, teaching wasn’t a real option.
You could marry. She grinned. The only man in whom she had been the least bit interested lay on the wagon behind her with a bullet embedded in his buttocks, and he didn’t want her help. Marriage didn’t seem like an option, either. Time. That was the problem. She needed time.
It hadn’t been that long since Quinton died. Was she even done grieving the loss of her brother? She doubted it. There hadn’t been time for anything except moving forward, avoiding the enemy—and still Jasper had almost won.
“We’re nearly there,” Mac murmured. She nearly jumped hearing his voice.
“How much farther?”
“A mile and a half. You’ll find Dr. France’s office….” He rattled off the directions. Thirty minutes later, she found herself pulling the wagon up to a house. A real house. One with milled wood and glass windows. “These people are civilized,” she squealed with excitement.
Mac grumbled to himself. Humiliation burned deeper than the wound on his backside. If he’d only been shot in a more appropriate place—if there were an appropriate place to be wounded. Dr. France teased him, but then quietly acknowledged that of all the places one could have been shot, this one did the least damage. The muscles would heal. Mac wouldn’t sit down properly for a week, but he would recover.
Urias, on the other hand, had to be watched. His head still ached, but he was holding down his food—a good sign. Mac hadn’t seen Pamela for hours. She’d dropped them off and left. He’d hoped …. What had he hoped? That she’d be there when he came out of the doctor’s office? Must be the whiskey, Lord. He leaned against the wall as the room blurred. He closed his eyes and opened them slowly, trying to focus.
He blinked and realized he was lying face down on … on a bed with clean white sheets. “Ah, glad to see you’re back with us.” Dr. France grinned. “You’ll need to stay down for a while and drink plenty of fluids. Apparently you lost more blood than I was aware of. Your female companion returned and said she’d rented a room at a boardinghouse. I let her know that you and the boy will be spending the night here.”
Mac raised his chest off the bed.
Dr. France placed a hand on his back and pushed him down. “Stay down and rest, give your body a chance to heal. Oh, the sheriff came by as well. You can visit with him in the morning. Something about giving testimony against a couple of bandits.”
“Fine.” Mac rolled over to his back. “Ouch!” He promptly rolled over and lay on his stomach.
Dr. France chuckled. “You’ll be sleeping on your front or side for a while.”
He pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. “What caused those scars on your back?”
Mac clenched his jaw.
“Am I correct in assuming it’s a bear? I’m guessing his paw spanned eight, maybe ten inches.”
“Yeah, a brown bear. It killed my wife.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Ain’t no one’s fault but my own,” Mac mumbled.
Dr. France rose from the chair. “Can it ever be anyone’s fault when a wild animal attacks?”
Mac punched his pillow and buried his face. Why did everyone always feel they had the answers to your personal issues? God knows and I know I’m at fault. I should have listened to Tilly. I should have taken her back. I should have …
Should have and did were two different things. How many times would he continue to go down this path of blame? When would he feel the freedom of grace and peace again? When would he be whole?
“Mac,” Urias whispered.
Mac turned his head to the left. “Yeah, Urias?”
“Doc has a point about your wife.”
“Don’t start with me, boy.”
“Sorry.” Urias rolled to his side and faced the wall.
“Urias, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bark at you.”
“Ain’t nothin’.” Urias didn’t roll back over.
“Come on, speak your piece. You’ve got something to say, spit it out. I’m a man, I can take it.” Most of the time, he reminded himself.
Urias rolled back over. “I’m just guessin’, but did your wife go out when ya told her not to or to a place ya told her not to?”
Mac raised his eyebrows. “How’d you know?”
“Fits. I mean, women, they don’t listen.”
Mac chuckled. “And how do you know this?”
“My ma. She wouldn’t listen to anythin’ Pa and I would say to her. Not when it came to her drinkin’. Anyway, I seen it other times, too. Men tell the women to do one thing, and they go and do another.”
Not all women. At least Mac felt pretty certain they weren’t all like that. “Can’t judge all the women by one. Look at Mrs. Danner, she listens.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
Mac rolled to his left side. His arm hurt, but it was bearable. “She’s done a fair job following my instructions. Tilly, that’s the name of my wife, she didn’t want to live in the wilderness. We had an argument about it, and I left to go hunting for a while. I found out she really didn’t love me. She loved my parents’ farm. And since I’m the oldest son, she figured I’d inherit the farm. Which I will one day, but I’m not ready to settle down there yet.”
“She married you for your parents’ land?”
“’Fraid so. Hurts a man’s pride, ya know. Anyway, Tilly decided she’d had enough and set out on foot to return home. She never made it. I heard her screams, but I was too late. I was so angry, I fought the bear and killed it.”
“But she’d still be alive if she’d listened to ya and stayed by the house.”
“Possibly. Hard to say.”
“Seems to me, a man who believes the Bible like you do ought to have forgiven himself. Ain’t much a man can do with a strong-headed woman. I know. Pa tried. Me, I’ve decided to keep women at a distance. Admire their looks some and their cooking but keep them as far away from my house as possible.”
Mac laughed. “Son, when love hits, there ain’t a man alive who can stand up against it.”
“Ain’t gonna happen. I’ll live in the mountains like you. I should be able to avoid most of them that way.” Urias nodded for emphasis. “Ouch.”
Mac snickered. Then it occurred to him. He’d secluded himself in the mountains for the very same reason. He didn’t want to be affected by women again. And what happened? God put a woman on his doorstep. He flopped back to his stomach. Images of the beautiful widow played in his mind. She’s untouchable, Lord. Remove these thoughts f
rom me.
Chapter 12
Pamela eased out of her feather bed and stretched in the sunlit room. She’d loved every minute of the past three nights she had spent in Barbourville. The townspeople, she found, were very friendly. Mac’s and Urias’s injuries were minor, and a few days of rest were the doctor’s orders. Many hours she’d spent alone, thinking and praying for direction. Last night, as she pored over the facts and figures in her father and brother’s ledger, she’d decided to try to sell the merchandise to the Croleys’ store. Today she’d take the wagon from the stable and drive it there.
She’d taken inventory at the store yesterday and decided which items would be the most marketable. These were the items she’d pitch first. The second list contained fancier items, less practical, but still useful. The third list—she wondered why they’d even brought such useless niceties along. These she would continue to use on the road as thank-you gifts to those who helped them. Something to make a woman feel special or to give the house a touch of beauty. She found wilderness women enjoyed fancy things just as much as women in the cities back East. Here, however, the women were more pragmatic. If you don’t need it, don’t waste the money on it. It seemed just about every item in the kitchen served more than one purpose.
Dressing for a day of business, she folded the ledger shut and made her way to the dining area.
“Good morning, Pamela, did you sleep well?” Elizabeth Engle asked, her gray hair perfectly in place. It was hard to believe the woman was seventy-five years old.
“Wonderfully, thank you, Mrs. Engle.”
“Breakfast is ready. You’ll have to serve yourself this morning. I’m off to the market for some fresh winter squashes. I heard the Pitzers brought some in yesterday.”
Pamela smiled. She knew the older woman had her own garden but probably couldn’t keep up with the amount of food her boarders consumed. Elizabeth Engle was the perfect hostess and a wonderful cook. Pamela had felt at home minutes after she first arrived.
Mac and Urias had stayed one night at the boardinghouse, then decided to take a room closer to the stables. Fancy linens, curtains, and such scared them, which Pamela found incredibly funny in comparison to the no-fear attitude they held toward Jasper and his men.
The circuit judge had come and gone. Mac had given his testimony; Jasper had denied it. Urias had given his testimony, and once again Jasper denied it. She’d been prepared to give testimony as well, but the lawyer decided “to spare a woman the harsh realities of the courtroom.” She’d held back her laughter on that one. Hadn’t she already lived through the actual threats associated with Jasper? Could the courtroom even compare? The prosecuting attorney also had the statement from Johnny Fortney. When Jasper’s partner decided to testify against him for fear of going to hell, the judge found no reason to continue the trial. Jasper was sentenced to die by hanging on Saturday.
Resolved not to watch the man hang, Pamela needed to finish marketing her wares this day or she would not be able to avoid the center square tomorrow, hanging day. If the sales went well, there would be room to put a bed in the wagon on Saturday and continue their travels, although it would mean they’d have to leave on Sunday. Mac’s inability to sit for long periods of time and the constant banging from the bench seat convinced her she needed to lighten the load. She also had decided to have the wagon framed and covered. The storm they’d traveled through a few days earlier proved there needed to be more shelter in the wagon.
The stable was more than happy to do the modifications. Mac protested but finally conceded it was her wagon and ultimately her decision. Pamela knew enough about men to understand that more than his backside had been injured. His pride had taken a substantial blow as well.
She walked down the street toward the stable. Mac walked with a slight limp toward her. “Good morning, Mac. Did you sleep well?”
“Fine.”
What has him all upset this morning? she wondered.
“Look, I ain’t goin’ to beat a dead horse here, but are you certain you want to do this?”
“Yes, it’s practical.”
“But …”
She held up a hand to stop his protest. “Mac, I’ve gone over the figures. I’ll still make a profit.”
His eyebrows rose.
So, he doesn’t believe a woman can handle simple mathematics. She untied the leather folder. “Here, look at these figures.” She pointed to the column marked “purchase.”
“Compare them to …” She slid her finger across the page. “These.” She paused a minute to let him absorb the figures. “As you can see, I will still make a profit. Granted, it won’t be as high as it would be if I sold the items individually, but then I would have to add in time on the shelves. Is the profit truly greater?”
“Uh …” He fumbled for his words. “Your husband did this before he died?”
“No.” Her voice rose an octave. “I did this last night.” She unfolded another piece of paper that listed the items in the three columns. “Here in column one you can see what is more likely to sell, and column two lists what might sell. The third column is hardly worth mentioning to Mr. Croley. It isn’t likely he’d be interested in those items. I reckon most folks won’t either. They’re dust collectors on a store shelf. They look pretty, but they aren’t practical for wilderness living. If a man has some extra money, he might buy a gift for his wife. But that doesn’t seem all that likely to happen. I imagine I’ll have most of these items five years from now still gathering dust on my shelves.”
Pamela knew she’d have very little stock in the store when she arrived, but the orders Quinton had placed before they left should arrive about the time she reached Creelsboro. Her stomach tightened. Why does this happen every time I think of this place, Lord?
Mac removed his coonskin cap and scratched his head. “I’d say you’ve got a head for business.”
“Probably not. I’ve decided to give the items in column three away to individuals as thank-you gifts along the trail.”
“I need to speak with you about the trip.”
“All right. Can we speak after my negotiations with Mr. Croley?”
“That will be fine. Meet me at the hillside near the ferry.”
She knew he liked that view. You could see down the Cumberland River and look at the mountains toward the gap. “Fine. Where’s Urias?”
“Looking for work. I must say, the boy has a good sense of needing to provide for himself.”
“I think he’s been doing that for a while.” She leaned in closer to Mac. “I’ve purchased a set of clothes and a pair of boots for him. I just haven’t figured out how to give them to him. Maybe you could ask him to do some things for me, and I could give them to him as payment.”
Mac smiled. “I’ll see what I can do. You think I’m doing the right thing, having the kid live with me?”
Pamela fought the desire to wrap herself in his arms and hug him. “I think you’ll be a very good influence on him.” One of the things she’d been thinking over the past couple of days was her growing attraction to Mac. She trusted him, but she still feared telling him the truth. Her fear had changed from her original concern for her safety to his uncompromising sense of right and wrong. He’d feel lied to. No, she couldn’t tell him the truth, at least not yet.
Pamela Danner continued to surprise Mac. Not only had she endured the hard travel without one word of complaint, now he wondered if his original concerns regarding her ability to run a business were ill founded. She obviously can work with numbers, he acknowledged.
Mac squatted by the river and watched the current play. A small eddy formed every now and again, traveling downstream and popping back up again. Staying still and recovering, as Dr. France put it, was driving him crazy. He had to get back to doing something, anything. Inactivity would lead him to become stagnant like a lifeless river. Mac felt a bond between himself and the Cumberland. He needed the freedom to move about, to keep moving. He stood, relieving the pressure on his wound.
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“Mac!” Pamela waved as she headed toward him with a bounce to her step.
“The sale went well?”
“Very. Mr. Croley purchased just about the entire stock.”
“He keeps that much cash on hand?” How much money passes through a store in the course of a couple days? he wondered.
“Of course not. We bartered some, and he’ll be making some payments.”
“Payments? To where?”
She looped her arm around his. “I set up a special fund.”
“Here? Are you planning on staying around?”
Pamela sighed and removed her hand. “No, but one bank is as good as another. And for the time being, this will work just fine.”
“Forgive me for telling you your business, but how are you going to be aware of whether or not he makes his payments?”
“The bank will post me a message.”
“And what will you do should he not pay?”
She scrunched up her nose and placed her hands on her hips. “I seem to be not understanding your logic, Mac. First you tell me the wagon is too full, and now that I’ve taken care of that problem and added some accommodations in the wagon, you’re telling me I’m messing up again.”
Mac squeezed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know if you realize it, but that’s a lot of money you’ve put into a bank that you’ll never be by again.”
“Mr. MacKenneth, you can be the most stubborn of men that I’ve ever laid eyes on. And just so you understand I know more than you think I do, I realize exactly how much money is involved here. And I–I—” She clamped her mouth shut. “I’ve taken the appropriate steps to make certain my interests are protected.”
Mac raised his hands in surrender. “I ain’t goin’ to argue with a woman about money. Just wouldn’t seem fair.”
Her face reddened. “I suppose you know exactly how much money you have in your savings, in your pocket, and in investments.”
“More or less,” he defended. Truth was, he wasn’t certain how much money he had. He didn’t count it all that often. He had some in his parents’ house, in his cabin, and in the bank. In his pocket he kept some, but not much, and what he did have was nearly gone.
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