by Austin, Lori
Ruth patted Noah’s arm, and he jerked away. No one ever touched him gently. No one ever touched him at all unless it was to grab him or tie him or put him where he didn’t want to be.
She wasn’t offended by his desire not to be touched. Instead, she put her little fingers back on the knot and plucked. The sight of her hand, so tiny and white, only made Noah remember how his fingers, hulking and dark, had fumbled with the knot and gotten nowhere.
“Quit fooling with that,” he snapped.
“Oops,” she whispered, and her wide, watchful gaze lifted from the free length of rope in her lap to his face.
Quietly, she handed him the tether, laying her hand in his along with it. Noah stared in horror at her tiny fingers resting in his huge paw. One wrong move and he’d snap her like a twig. How on earth had the frailest girl in the car end up sitting with the biggest brute on the train?
Noah turned her hand in his and found bloody scrapes becoming scabs along her palm. Protectiveness rushed through him—alien but strong—and his fingers clenched hers. Ruth made a soft sound of pain, and Noah pulled away.
He hurt her without even trying. She should be terrified of him. Instead, she patted his rough cheek with her tiny, injured hand. The expression in her eyes made him feel strange. No one had ever looked at him as if he were strong and smart, admirable and cherished.
With a gentle sigh, Ruth curled against his side. “G’night, Noah.”
Amazed when she went right to sleep, he listened to her soft, steady breathing and tried to figure out what had just happened.
With a single pat on his cheek and one mysterious glance, Ruth had made him feel whole in a place that had always gaped empty and sore.
She had given Noah more than a rope; Ruth had given him her trust. Something no one else ever had. Something he didn’t deserve and would no doubt break.
***
A horrified gasp awoke Ruth. Miss Burton stood in the aisle, staring at her as if she had done something exceptionally awful. Since she’d been sleeping more peacefully and deeply than she’d slept in years, it was hard to wake up, to remember where she was and why.
Then her pillow moved, and everything rushed back, even before Mr. Drake appeared, looking as if he’d swallowed a rotten egg.
“Just what in blazes is going on here, Walker?” he demanded.
Noah sat up and tried to push Ruth away, but she clung. After a halfhearted attempt to retrieve his arm, he let her stay.
“She was scared of the dark,” he said in his flippant I dare you voice.
Mr. Drake’s small black eyes narrowed to slits. “Why on earth would she come to you if she was scared?”
Noah tensed. Ruth squeezed his arm and hugged him tighter. It would do neither of them any good for Noah to react to the insult. She had come to him. They knew why. That was all that mattered.
Miss Burton’s cry of distress made everyone look her way. “What happened to your chin, Ruth?”
Ruth put her fingers to her face and encountered a scab as big as a ten-dollar gold piece.
“And your hands?” Miss Burton exclaimed.
Ruth glanced at them. More scabs. Silence descended on the rail car.
“We’re waiting, young lady.”
“I-I—” Ruth glanced at the horrible boy. His scowl was a threat with no need of words. Ruth had been the victim of bullies often enough to know that even though they picked on you, you did not pick back.
She returned her attention to Mr. Drake, who was staring at Noah with suspicion. But Miss Burton watched Ruth, and she poked Mr. Drake, then nodded at the horrible boy.
“I tripped!” Ruth blurted. There were certain rules of being the weakest, and one of them was that if you snitched, you were in for a whole lot worse than what you’d snitched about.
The adults’ gaze swung back to Ruth. “When?” Mr. Drake demanded.
“Yesterday when you were getting our bread.”
“Hmm.” He looked up the aisle again, then back at Ruth. “Maybe you should go back to your seat, Ruth.”
Ruth’s lip trembled. She didn’t want to be anywhere but with Noah. If she had to go back to her seat, that horrible boy would find some way to hurt her again just because he could. She glanced at Noah and his mouth tightened.
“She stays with me,” he said, though he didn’t sound happy about it.
“What was that?” Mr. Drake murmured.
Noah met his eyes. “If she sits in that seat, she’ll end up tripping a lot. If she stays with me, I’ll make sure there’s no tripping going on.”
Mr. Drake lifted the rope that was no longer tied to the wall or to Noah. He raised his eyebrows. “No tripping or any other kind of accidental movements for either of you, am I right, Mr. Walker?”
Noah dipped his head, managing to appear in charge even when he wasn’t. Or maybe he was; Mr. Drake just didn’t know it yet.
After another long moment, Mr. Drake pulled the rope from their seat and looped it over his arm. Without another word, he and Miss Burton went to get more bread for breakfast.
Ruth smiled at Noah, but he didn’t smile back. She didn’t mind. As long as she could be near him, she was happy.
She spent the rest of the trip with Noah. She learned he’d been alone all of his life, just like her. He’d never known his parents just like her. He’d even been in an orphanage until he’d bravely walked away at the age of ten. He had no idea where he’d been born, where his grandparents had come from, or why no one loved him enough to keep him close.
By the time they neared the border between Missouri and Kansas, Ruth loved Noah enough to stay with him forever.
His surly silences didn’t bother her. His fearsome glowers made her smile. His size protected her. His warmth enveloped her. There was nothing about Noah that Ruth did not adore. Though he’d never admit it, he needed her, and she planned to be there for him always, as he’d been there for her when she hadn’t even asked.
She tried not to think about what would occur when they reached Kansas and went to separate and equally uncertain futures.
But not thinking about it didn’t keep the inevitable from happening.
The train pulled into Kelly Creek, west of Kansas City, as snow began to fall on Christmas Eve.
“Look, children,” Miss Burton called, her voice full of false cheer. “We’ve a Christmas snow to welcome you.”
The snowflakes patted the windows, a gentle scritch-scratch. Ruth couldn’t take her eyes from them. “They’re so big,” she murmured. “So perfectly white.”
In New York there’d been snow, but by the time the tiny pinpricks of ice reached the ground, they’d gone gray. Once they’d been on the ground more than a minute, the snowflakes turned to black icy slush. Not very welcoming and certainly not Christmasy at all.
“Big flakes make big snowstorms, I hear. You can die in them, Ruth. So have a care.”
She tore her gaze from the lacy flakes of snow and fastened it on Noah. In his voice she heard goodbye, and she was not ready.
“Come along, children,” Mr. Drake announced. “Everyone meets their new family here, then you’ll travel on together. Bring your things.”
As the others hurried outside, Ruth hung back. Once she stepped foot in Kansas, her time with Noah was done.
Noah picked up her small bag. He had none of his own. When he moved into the aisle and bumped into Ruth hovering there, his gaze went from his feet to her face.
His eyes softened. “Scared?”
She nodded. Scared wasn’t the word. More like terrified. She wanted to stay with him. With Noah she would always be safe.
Awkwardly, he placed his hand on her shoulder. In only a few days she’d figured out that Noah had touched as rarely as he’d been touched, just like her. And just like her he needed to be touched; he needed to be loved. He needed someone, and so did she.
His hand was so big, and his fingers trailed halfway down her back, so heavy that she nearly staggered beneath the weight. But the war
mth of him seeped through her thin coat and gave her strength. That they were alone in the rail car, with no one paying them any mind, gave Ruth an idea.
She put her tiny hand on top of Noah’s. “Let’s run,” she whispered.
Confusion flickered in his blue eyes. “Run?”
“Away. You and me. We don’t need anyone else. You can take care of me, and I’ll take care of you.”
“You’re only ten. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know that I love you.”
He blinked. Obviously, no one had ever said those words to him before. Just as no one had ever said them to her.
“I can’t take care of you. I can’t even take care of me. Maybe if we were in New York, maybe. But out here …” He shook his head and stared out the window at the snow, which had begun to stick to the gray-brown grassy ground. “I don’t know what’s out there, but I do know I’m not ready to risk you in it.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.” He turned his back on her and headed for the door.
Ruth’s eyes burned, but she wasn’t going to give up. Noah was her hero, and she refused to believe that this was the last time she’d ever see him.
“Every year on the night before Christmas I’ll be right here. On this platform, in this town. Meet me, Noah.”
He stopped, turned, and stared at her as if she were mad. “You have no idea where you’ll be next year, Ruth, and neither do I.”
“That’s why it has to be here, don’t you see?”
“You two come on out now.” Mr. Drake’s voice made them both start, and Noah turned away again.
Ruth hurried after, grabbing his elbow before he disappeared outside. “Promise me!” she insisted.
This time he didn’t even look at her, just tugged his arm free and stepped out the door. Ruth had no choice but to follow.
Her first impression of Kansas was of a land so flat, so cold, and so gray, it could not be real. Frosty air touched her cheeks as the pretty snowflakes scraped her nose. The only warmth in her world was being led away by Mr. Drake.
She willed Noah to look at her one more time. Instead, the crowd swallowed him, and try as she might, she couldn’t catch sight of Noah again. The wind blew in Ruth’s eyes so hard, icy tears ran down her cheeks.
“There you are!” Miss Burton tugged her from the steps and in the opposite direction from Noah, depositing her in front of an older couple. The man was distinguished and gray, with sharp black eyes and a worried mouth. The woman was frail, pale, and gray as well. Ruth was beginning to think Kansas was just gray all around.
“These are your new parents, Ruth. Mr. and Mrs. Robert Kelly.”
“K-Kelly. Like Kelly Creek?”
“That’s right.” Miss Burton beamed as if she’d said the cleverest thing. “Isn’t she smart? Mr. Kelly founded this town, and he owns the bank, among other things. You’re very lucky, Ruth. Goodbye.” And with that Miss Burton left to attend to her other charges.
Silence stretched between Ruth and the Kellys. Ruth glanced around some more for Noah. She wanted him, not them.
“Ahem, well.” Ruth returned her attention to the Kellys. Mr. Kelly looked Ruth over from the tip of her bright red hair to the toes of her patched shoes. It didn’t take long. “We’d better get in the wagon before your mother catches another cold.”
Ruth glanced at her “mother.” The woman’s lips appeared blue in her pale gray face. She was so thin, she swayed in the icy wind. The ghost of a smile she turned on Ruth appeared to exhaust her, and she slumped, allowing her husband to lead her to the waiting wagon.
Ruth had wondered why the Kellys had taken an almost grown girl and not a baby. One sight of her new mother and Ruth understood. Many of the girls placed out in truth became servants. Mrs. Kelly needed a nurse, not a daughter. Ruth should have known that no one would truly want her. Not even in Kansas.
She followed the Kellys, then stood on the top step of the wagon, casting one final, desperate look about for Noah. If she saw him, she would swallow her pride and run to him. She would ignore her fear and follow him.
His size should have made him easy to spot. Though she saw every other orphan, she found not a trace of Noah. It was as if he’d disappeared—from Kelly Creek, from Kansas, from the earth itself.
Where had he gone? Who had taken him home? Would they love him as much as she did? As much as he needed to be loved?
The wind howled out of the west. Snow iced Ruth’s hair. She shivered and climbed inside the wagon.
For a few days she’d known warmth and safety; then suddenly it was gone. Maybe she’d find it again with her new parents. But she’d never find what she’d had with him.
Noah hadn’t promised to come back, but he hadn’t said he wouldn’t, either. Someday she’d be a woman; even sooner Noah would be a man. They would no longer be at the mercy of adults. They could live their own lives, choose their own course.
As the wagon lurched away from Kelly Creek, Ruth made a promise to herself. Next Christmas Eve, she’d be waiting right here. She’d sit on that bench against the train-station wall. Every year she’d be taller, older, prettier. One day Noah would look at her and love her, too.
Ruth settled into her new life, doing everything she could to make her new parents love her. But the Kellys had adopted Ruth to replace the ten-year-old daughter they’d lost to cholera before the war. And nothing, no one, could replace a person loved that deeply. Something Ruth learned the hard way.
She spent Christmas Eve of 1868 in another snowstorm at the Kelly Creek station.
Christmas Eve, 1869, brought no snow and no Noah.
In 1870 it rained.
In 1871 the grass was still green.
But in 1872 the drifts were so high, Ruth barely made it to town. Barely.
Every year she came. Every year she went home alone. But never once did Ruth give up hope.
Because on Christmas Eve hope was forever reborn.
Chapter One
“Why do you sit here every Christmas Eve?” Sheriff Leon Harker paced in front of Ruth, who sat on her bench against the outside wall of Kelly Creek station. “You know your father doesn’t like it. I don’t like it. It’s a damned odd thing for a woman of your position to do.”
Calmly, Ruth folded her hands in her lap. She’d forgotten her gloves again. How unladylike. But her dress was the latest style, annoying bustle and all, as was her camel’s-hair coat trimmed with blue fox fur.
Her hair was perfectly coiffed, but she’d left the silly feathered hat that matched her coat at home. The thing would have been halfway to Chicago by now on a winter wind.
Even though her hair was curled into appropriate ringlets and pinned up and away from her face, it was still an outrageous red, or so her father said. But there was little to be done about the color of her hair. Or her frame, still tiny and frail, though she was stronger than she looked. As her insistence on keeping a promise to come here every year—despite her father’s increasingly vocal objections—showed.
Ruth did not make trouble. She had done her best to fit in with her new life, new family, and new town. But when it came to Christmas Eve, she was at the station come snow, rain, or wind.
She’d never told anyone why she came. That was between her and Noah. But after ten years, she was beginning to fear that Noah was dead. Nevertheless, she doubted she’d ever be able to stop waiting.
Leon paused in front of her. Silvery light bounced off his shiny tin star. No snow tonight, not even a cloud to hide the moon. He should be able to find his bad men with little trouble at all.
“Who are you off to catch this time?” Ruth asked.
Leon’s sigh was long-suffering. She hadn’t answered his question. But then she didn’t plan to.
“A bank near Kansas City was robbed yesterday. In a little town called Danville. The sheriff asked all the neighboring towns to combine forces and search for the thieves. He said it was the Kansas Gang.”
“W
hat’s that?”
“Outlaws. Led by a man named Billy Jo Kansas. They’ve been robbing banks, trains, and stages, mostly in Missouri. But they must have robbed all those bushwhackers dry because they’ve started to hit on this side of the border. One thing about Kansas, though, he knows his job. Very few casualties.”
“He doesn’t shoot people?”
“I didn’t say that. From what I hear, he’s big, intimidating, and he knows his business. When Kansas robs someone, folks hand over the money plain and simple. And he’s cautious. No one’s seen his face—or the faces of his men—and lived to tell about it, anyway.”
“How do they manage that?”
“Bandanna.” Leon covered the lower half of his face with his hand to illustrate. “Smart. He could walk into any town and even folks who’ve been robbed by him might think he looked familiar, but they wouldn’t know why.”
Ruth tilted her head, hearing something in Leon’s voice that interested her. “Sounds to me like you admire him.”
“Not admire.” He paused, thinking. “No. But I’ve seen enough bloodbaths to appreciate the opposite. You weren’t around during the war, but it wasn’t pretty here, Ruth. Quantrill did whatever he wanted to. When he sacked Lawrence, the place burned for days. Even when he was dead and the war was done, those damned James boys and the Youngers tore up everything they touched.”
Ruth nodded. She’d heard enough tales of “bleeding” Kansas to be grateful she’d spent the war years in New York, however hard those years had been.
“I guess I’ll find out what Kansas looks like when we catch up to them,” Leon said.
“I guess you will,” Ruth murmured, not really listening but thinking of other days, other nights.
“Is this a pilgrimage?” Leon suddenly demanded.
Ruth peered all the way up his tall, lean body and frowned into his handsome face. With his light brown hair streaked blond from the sun and the skin about his brown eyes lined from the wind and the cold, Leon was a child of Kansas.
Born and raised near the border, he’d thrived beneath the brutal summer sun and the harsh winter winds. When he and his family had been burned out during the border skirmishes that continued for over a decade after the war ended, the Harkers had moved to Kelly Creek.