by Jillian Hart
“But you said—”
“None of this makes sense to me either, but I know how I feel. Maybe we can keep to our original plans. I’m willing to try again, Elizabeth, if you still want to.”
“You’ll give me another chance? At what?”
“To find out if we’re compatible.”
She set the package on top of a straw bale. “Don’t we know that already?”
Sadness crept into his eyes.
“I saw what losing my mother did to my father. It destroyed him. He was never the same man again. He never married, he never kept family ties. The last time I saw him, I was four. I can take care of myself, Jacob. I don’t want you to worry.”
“I know you can take care of yourself, Elizabeth.” Jacob’s gaze fell to the package. “You’ve proven that by working hard, without complaint. That isn’t the issue.”
“No, but the baby is.” She laid her hand on the crest of her stomach.
“The baby...” His big hands fisted. He had to try. If she’d had children of her own already born, that would be a different issue. But women died in childbirth. “I can’t go through that again.”
“I’m not asking you to. Jacob, I don’t want this baby to grow up the way I did, out of place, resented.”
“I don’t resent—”
“You don’t accept it, either.” Her eyes glistened with understanding.
Why didn’t she get angry at him? Why didn’t she hate him? Jacob pressed his hand to his forehead. Lord, he couldn’t let her go. He’d asked her to stay, yet she still looked set on leaving.
“I’ll write you and Emma when I’m settled.” She reached up to kiss his cheek.
So much sweetness. He needed her. he needed to absorb her the way a drought-stricken land needs water. How to tell her?
“Goodbye, Jacob. Take care of yourself.” She walked away before he could summon up the words to stop her.
His gaze fell to the carefully sewn shirt she’d made him. Tears filled his eyes. He didn’t want to care for her, but he couldn’t seem to stop the flood of affection in his heart.
It hurt to watch her walk away. It hurt damn bad
The rain had turned to snow. Libby walked carefully down the wet boardwalk and waded through mud as she crossed the street. Her heart felt shattered.
She didn’t expect Jacob to stop her from leaving. She didn’t expect him to beg her to stay. Life had taught her to be a realist. But saying goodbye...it seemed so final.
How long had it been since she had real ties? Her heart ached to spend time with Jacob, to see what could happen between them. But she didn’t fool herself. Jacob was not ready to love her. She understood how ties could bind a heart—and shatter it when they ended.
She felt like that. Shattered, grief-stricken at having to leave Jacob. But she could not stay in this town. She would not stand by waiting, hoping he would be able to end his grieving, hoping for marriage.
Her aunt was waiting for her, had said she could come. It would be a difficult situation living with the cold woman, but Libby felt determined to make the best of it.
Gathering every last bit of her courage, Libby knocked on Mrs. Holt’s door. Within seconds, the tight-lipped woman appeared, her eyes pinching with recognition.
“What do you want?”
Libby drew her coat tightly over her rounding stomach. “I’d like to see Emma, please. Jacob said it was okay.”
“Jacob, is it?” Those judgmental eyes of the very proper Mrs. Holt raked her with condemnation. No doubt she suspected the baby was Jacob’s, as many people did. “I’ll get the girl, but you’ll have to speak with her outside.”
Libby nodded, flushing. The falling snow cooled her, and she let it cling to her shoulders and hair. When she was very small, before Mother became ill, she remembered playing in the winter snows.
“Miss Hodges!” Emma burst through the door breathless without a coat or hat. “Are you done with my dress?”
“Yes, I just left it with your pa. You can try it on tonight.”
“That’s good. It’s supposed to be a winter dress and look, it’s snowing really hard.”
“Yes. I finished it just in time. And guess what? I have something for you.”
“You do?”
She tugged out the carefully wrapped packages, one from each coat pocket. “I made these for a gift.”
Emma’s small fingers, red from the chilly morning, tore at the brown paper. “Oh, more clothes for Beth.”
“I made her a winter dress, too, out of the scraps from your dress. And a good warm winter coat, a hat and gloves. To keep her warm this winter.”
Eyes sad, Emma looked up. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“I heard Mrs. Holt talking.” The small girl bowed her chin. “I don’t want you to go. You were supposed to marry my pa and be my mother.”
“I know. It makes me sad, too.” More than sad.
“But what about your baby?” Emma reached out her hand.
Libby startled at the touch to her rounding stomach, just noticeable behind the wool bulk of her coat.
“Pa said it wasn’t our baby.” Emma removed her hand.
“No.” Libby managed. How was she going to tell this child goodbye?
But she did it anyway, making sure Emma understood. None of this was her fault.
It was Libby’s. From the moment in the tailor shop when she’d mistaken a man’s interest for love. It was a mistake she would never make again.
As the snow began to accumulate outside and the wind began to howl through the open stable door, Jacob finished his stall work. Sweet straw filled the air, and the horses banged their empty grain buckets against their doors in protest. More, they demanded.
The nameless mare with the star on her forehead reached out and nipped at his shirt, catching hold of his sleeve. She wanted attention. He patted her velvet nose before moving on.
Elizabeth wanted to leave.
Standing alone, right there in the middle of his livery, Jacob felt the darkness descend, like a black blanket folding itself around his heart. Memories of Mary, so pregnant she waddled when she walked, she needed help with her shoes and getting out of chairs, these pictures snapped into his mind. He remembered the lifeless Mary, lying so still after such agony. He thought of Elizabeth, just as vulnerable, lifeless in the same way. Jacob saw himself grieving her, as lost as he’d been when Mary died.
He ached to go after Elizabeth, ask her to stay, provide for her, love her. But could he face such loss again? He cared for Elizabeth. He’d kissed her, shared meals with her, hired her to do Emma’s sewing. But he wasn’t in love with her—yet. He could still let her go and never have to face his fears.
But that was no answer. Jacob grabbed his coat, already thinking ahead. He would find his daughter, he would try to make Elizabeth understand. His hands shook, and he fisted them, wishing he could recapture the blind faith in life he’d once known.
After a morning filled with errands, Libby only had her stage ticket to purchase. She wound up in Leah’s kitchen, staring at a plate of roasted chicken. The good food steamed as she stared out the window, watching the driving snow.
“Have some of this warm bread,” Leah offered, setting a covered basket and a plate of butter by Libby’s elbow.
“You are too good to me,” she protested, but judging by the look on her former boss’s face, she didn’t argue.
“You’ve been a good employee, Libby. I’m mighty sorry to see you go.” Leah tugged out a chair and sat down at the small kitchen table. Now, in the quiet time before the dining room opened, they had a moment to talk. “Are you up to this traveling? I’m worried about you.”
“It’s just stage travel, until I can catch the train. I’ll be fine.”
“I worry about you not eating. And getting too cold. Look at this weather. This could turn into a blizzard by the looks of things. Maybe you should stay and catch the stage next week.”
“It’s time for me to go.” She thought of Jacob. “If I don’t do it now, I may never do it. I can’t stay here.”
“Because of him?”
Libby blushed at those wise eyes. “I don’t belong here. I never did. I have a future, and I best get started on it.”
Leah’s gaze slid downward. “Yes, the best kind of future. I wish you luck. And if there is something I can do—”
“I know, I know. I’ll ask you first.” Smiling, Libby reached to butter a piece of steaming bread.
The wind slammed against the side of the building. She jumped, dropping her knife. The light seemed to eke from the room.
“That wind means business.” Leah stood and crossed to the stove. “You have the right idea leavin’ this country, but I doubt the stage will be running today.”
Libby glanced up. All she could see through the window was blowing snow. “I gave Maude notice.”
“You can stay with me, no charge.” Leah reached down for the coffee grinder. “You’ll be stuck here anyway, if this gets any worse. Won’t hardly be able to cross the street. One day last winter I woke up to find my entire hotel buried. Three stories! Think of it. No one came or left from my place that day.”
“I guess the reverend and his flock won’t be picketing Oleson’s next door,” Libby joked.
A bang rocketed through the hotel.
“Sounds like the front door,” Leah guessed. “I best get this coffee started. People comin’ in are bound to be near to freezing.”
“I might as well help, since I’m stuck here.” Libby stood.
“No, finish your meal. Food is important for a woman in your condition. You eat first, then you help. I’ll go—”
“Miz Leah?” The kitchen door swung open. A young man stood there, snow clinging to his clothes. “I’m looking for Miss Hodges. Are you Miss Hodges?”
“Yes.” Libby jumped, a bolt of alarm jolted her chest. “What’s wrong?” She could see it, smell it.
“Mr. Stone sent me to tell you, he thought you should know. I tried you first over at Miz Baker’s place, but she sent me here.” The lad tugged off his ice-covered hat. “The little girl could be missin’. Seems she left for home and she didn’t make it there.”
Emma. Libby wasted no time. She snatched her wool coat and shawl from the small lean-to behind the kitchen.
“Libby, where are you going?” Leah abandoned her coffee making. “This weather isn’t safe. You aren’t going out in it.”
“I have to.” Her hands shook, making it hard to button her coat. “If Emma is lost, I have to find her.”
“Leave it to the men. They’ve done this kind of searching before. They’ll find her.”
“Leave it to the men.” Libby sighed. “That little girl ran off because of me, because she was upset I was leaving. I’m certain of it. And that makes me responsible for finding her.”
Leah hesitated, measuring. “I don’t agree, but I understand. Here, take my shawl and gloves, they are better than yours. They will keep you warmer. And here’s my hat.”
“Thank you.” Libby headed for the door. The last thing she heard was Leah’s voice promising to head upstairs and rouse her boarders to help with the search.
Cold ice slapped her face, burning like sharp little needles. Libby tucked the edge of Leah’s fine shawl across her nose to protect her face. Only her eyes were exposed to the bitter wind. Bending low, she walked as quickly as the snow-covered boardwalk would allow.
Noises rose on the streets. Through the haze of white, she spotted a knot of men on the street, several on horseback listening to the barked instructions of another man on a big gray. Jacob was not among them.
Her eyes tearing at the cold, she circled around and slipped into the livery. The big stable doors were shut tight against the storm, and several horses were missing. A young boy, bone thin, ambled over to greet her.
“You shouldn’t be out in the storm like this, ma’am,” he advised.
Libby only looked past him. “Is Mr. Stone here?”
“No. He went off to find his girl.”
Of course he would. She looked around. There had to be something she could do to help. But what? She owned no horse to join the search for Emma. She couldn’t just stand here.
“You’d better stay inside ma’am and let the men try to find the girl,” the boy advised.
The hell she would. She marched toward the door, determined, her chin firm.
Two men stepped in from the storm and he hurried to saddle their horses.
Libby strode around them, ignoring their curious gazes. The driving wind cut straight through her layers of wool. She didn’t care about the cold. She cared about nothing but Emma. She watched the men on the street fan out on horseback, the man on the gray still waiting to organize other searchers.
Some were on foot, trudging stoically through the heartless winds.
She could walk, too. She had to. A child could be so easily lost and never found in these conditions. Already the tracks Libby left on the strip of uncovered boardwalk between the livery and the main street hardly showed.
There was no time to waste. She hurried across the street toward the boardinghouse where her bags waited, packed in her old room. She let herself in, stomping the snow from her boots, and tore up the two flights of steps. Once inside her room she layered on every piece of warm clothing she owned. Socks. Two union suits. Two wool petticoats, her oldest flannel dress, her wash-worn sweater, and secured it all with the tight sash of her cloak.
The storm is worsening. Emma doesn’t have much time. As Libby barreled out into the street, she worried how well the girl was bundled against this unexpected weather. Jacob drove Emma home beneath a warm blanket every day; she wasn’t expected to walk any farther than across the street to the livery.
Libby walked north toward the steep slope of the hillside, leaving the town behind. She could hardly see through the heavy snowfall. Men on horseback marched past, not noticing her, others on foot overtook her. Wind drove ice straight through the thick wool of the shawl and froze the shawl to her face.
Hurting from the cold, Libby kept walking. Even when she couldn’t feel her toes. Even when her lungs burned sharp and raw from the wind and she couldn’t draw in enough air. She wouldn’t stop, squinting against the driving snow, watching for any sign that might lead her to Emma.
Men crossed off on the road all around her, shouting to be heard above the roar of the wind. They marched off into the dense undergrowth, looking for the child. As the wind rose, blocking them from her view, Libby feared she would lose sight of the road and become lost.
What had happened to Emma? Had she become confused in the snow and wandered off the road? Had a wild animal found her? A little girl with only a wool coat for warmth wouldn’t last long in this cold.
Emma couldn’t be dead. The thought made Libby stumble. The driving snow blinded her, burning numbing cold straight into her bones. She refused to think she’d never see Emma again.
All around her, the storm thundered into a blizzard. Libby couldn’t see anything, hear anything, saw only colored blurs of men’s coats. Some were heading home.
She didn’t give up, but kept walking. The road split through the steep evergreens, offering some shield from the wind, but it wasn’t enough. Libby crept from one cedar to the next. Her teeth chattered violently, ricocheting through her jaw.
Her body screamed at her to stop. She shook from the inside out, so cold she couldn’t feel herself breathe. She had to go on. Libby refused to stop and took one more determined step, then another.
She would find Emma. She would not leave the child to freeze.
Chapter Ten
Jacob wheeled his mount around in the whirling chaos of snow and ice. He’d ridden the trail twice now, and still he found no sign of his daughter. She wasn’t in town; she wasn’t at home. He feared the worst. That Emma had wandered off the trail and froze to death.
A suffocating sorrow gripped his lungs. He couldn’t
think it. He couldn’t let it be true. He couldn’t bear to lose his precious daughter, the last piece of his heart.
As he started his bay on a third dangerous trip up the trail, he spotted a flash of muted red in the solid wall of white—the flannel coat of one of the merchants who’d helped organize the search. Jacob rode up next to him.
Still, he had to shout to be heard over the roaring wind. “I want to spread out into the forest. She might have taken shelter there.”
“I’m telling the men to go home.” Gatz shouted too.
“The temperature is dropping and the wind is rising. This will be a full-blown blizzard before long. We can’t risk more lives.”
Jacob knew that. He understood it. But as he waved the man on, anger grew with each step of his tired horse.
The search had lasted several hours. No one harbored hope of finding Emma now. She wasn’t dressed for this weather. Had she run off, hurting because of him, because he hadn’t asked Elizabeth to stay, and headed off on her own? Fear gripped him. He couldn’t lose his Emma. She was out here somewhere. He had to find her. He couldn’t give up hope. It was all he had.
Jacob turned his horse toward home. He’d planned to stop Elizabeth from leaving, but he’d waited. He should have made her understand how he felt when he had her alone in his livery. He should have made her stay. Now, he’d failed Emma. She hadn’t come to him with her grief but had run off on her own. It was his own damn fault.
The wind howled with the same desolate determination in his heart. Chunks of ice beat at his face and chest, driving through the layers of wool clothing. Both hands numb, he switched reins, nesting his right hand in his coat pocket.
He could not give up, yet common sense told him he would freeze before long. But how could he stop searching for his Emma, for the tiny drop of sunshine in his lonely life? Feeling lost, he turned the horse toward town for another search down the trail.
His heart broke as he saw other men heading toward town, heading home, moving like defeated shadows in the whirling, beating gray-whiteness. They were giving up. To them, Emma was as good as dead.