The Blizzard Bride

by Susanne Dietze

  “That sounds like a slow process, Abby. But let’s try.” He’d take any sort of improvement.

  Her grin was all the reward he needed. It sent a flash of something hot through his bones, skull to toes—

  Uh-oh. He cared for her, didn’t he? Still. Maybe he’d imagined his response. Nope. His arm prickled when her arm brushed his to erase the slate.

  She covered up most of the cow poem with a small piece of paper. “All right, start here.”

  The picture was a clue, but he tried anyway. “The calf ju–jumps.”

  Hildie poked into the kitchen. “Bynum’s back. Coming up the drive.”

  Abby tapped the page. “Let’s finish this before he comes in.”

  Dash’s head ached by the time he read The calf eats grass, but by then Bynum was inside and he and Hildie stood conversing in the entry.

  “I didn’t even know he was missing.” Hildie’s voice carried.

  “No one did.”

  Closing the book, Dash sent up a prayer. His suspicions were confirmed by the look on Bynum’s face.

  They’d found someone. Lost someone.

  Abby went still. “Did you find the cow?”

  Bynum ruffled his hair. “Yep. And Maynard Yates.”

  Abby’s face paled. “Wh–what?”

  “At the cemetery, at his wife’s grave, curled into a ball.” Bynum took a cup of tea from Hildie. “Strangest thing. His coat was off and he’d torn away his collar, like folks do when they’re gasping for air. Maybe it was that snow dust choking him.”

  “Or it could have been delusion.” Dash shrugged. “I’ve heard some people act hot when they’re freezing.”

  Abby’s fist covered her mouth. “Poor Mr. Yates.”

  Bynum’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more delicate sharing the news, even if it’s about someone nobody will miss much.”

  “That’s not it.” Hildie came around Abby and gripped her shaking shoulders. “She says they’re friends.”

  Bynum’s shocked expression surely mirrored Dash’s. She’d danced with Yates, said he had a soft interior, but more went on between them than he’d guessed. He tipped his head at Bynum. “Is anyone seeing to the body?”

  Bynum nodded. “His horses too, but Mayor Carpenter asked if you’d see to them from now until something’s decided.”

  “Of course.” Poor animals. And poor Mr. Yates. Dash returned to the table and dropped to a squat in front of Abby. “I’ll make sure Yates is laid to rest properly, all right?”

  She nodded, hiccuping. “I want to help … clean out his house or plan his service or … something, if I can. I don’t think there will be anyone else to do it.”

  He’d grant her anything he could. “I’ll speak to the pastor. See if he had family anywhere.”

  Hildie met his gaze. “Let me talk to her for a spell. You all go look in on the girls.”

  Dash hated to leave. Wanted to be there for Abby. But Bynum was waiting, and Abby had curled into Hildie’s side.

  He sent up a prayer as he went.

  Abby’s eyes burned. Her throat thickened with a painful lump as tears spattered her blouse. “I thought we had more time.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Hildie’s fingers brushed Abby’s hair in soothing strokes, much like Mother used to do. “I remember you dancing with him. Is that when you first became, er, friends?”

  “No. Not until the night before the storm.” She pulled a hankie from her sleeve and swiped her nose and cheeks. “Before that, well, you know he insinuated I couldn’t cook, so I made him cookies.”

  “Those molasses cookies were for him?” Hildie’s fingers went still. “I thought they were for Dash.”

  “Turns out Dash hates molasses.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I wouldn’t have made Dash cookies anyway. I was still so angry.” Abby’s throat softened. “That’s what Mr. Yates and I had in common. Our anger. Unwillingness to forgive. I recognized it in him the night of the mayor’s birthday.” Abby swiped her eyes. “You see, a few years ago, my father died.”

  Hildie shifted to sit beside Abby. “I figured he’d passed. Him and your ma, since you don’t talk about them.”

  “His death was … sudden. And what was worse was, well, we learned he’d been involved in crime.”

  Hildie gasped. She’d called her friend here in this very kitchen, but she could well change her mind now. Would she judge Abby by her father’s actions? Would she reject her as so many others had done?

  Abby owed it to Hildie and any chance they had of a friendship to continue. If Hildie turned her back on Abby because of it, it would hurt. But Abby had to try anyway.

  She probably shouldn’t get into details, considering she was here to hunt for Fletcher Pitch’s boy. Nor could she divulge anything about Pitch. But the rest, she could share. “We were shocked, hurt, entertaining questions for which there were no answers. And then, all of our friends abandoned us.” She couldn’t include how humiliating it had been when no one welcomed her to sit with them. “When I saw Mr. Yates at the birthday party, the same thing happened to him. No one spoke to him. That’s why I approached him, because I know how it feels to have folks not want to be around you.”

  Hildie’s face darkened. “But in your situation, it wasn’t your fault. Folks were horrible to you on account of your father. Yates, however, brought his isolation on himself by being a grumpy ol’ coot.”

  “That didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. I suspect his pain made him lash out all the more, because that’s what I’ve done. I pushed you away, Hildie. You offered friendship and I was afraid to take it because I didn’t want you to reject me. Confiding in others, well, it hasn’t served me well in the past.”

  Hildie enveloped her in a hug, awkward with the baby between them, but warm and bracing. “I’m glad you’re telling me now. About everything.”

  Not quite everything. Hopefully Hildie would be as generous and understanding when Abby eventually revealed she was here to find the son of a counterfeiter.

  But for today, it felt good to have a friend. Abby held Hildie a little tighter.

  CHAPTER 16

  Once Abby’s tears dried, she and Hildie joined the men in the parlor. Abby explained her final conversation with Mr. Yates. She did not mention specifics about Dash, but she could tell from the way his lips pressed into a thin line that he knew he was the cause of a portion of her grief.

  “So you see,” she continued, “when Mr. Yates and I parted, I told him I’d read the Bible that evening. He said he might do the same. I think he may have, because of where he was found. At his wife’s grave. He told me he’d have to talk to her—he meant he’d speak to her grave, which he’d never done.”

  “What on earth did that woman do to upset him so much? I always thought she was as sweet as bee’s breath,” Hildie mused.

  “Maggie was polite, to be sure,” Bynum agreed. “And Maynard was not. But I never paid any mind as to why.”

  “I’m not condoning his actions, truly.” Abby rubbed her arms. “He was rude to me and, presumably, to everyone else. But I can understand how pain can make a person sourer by the day.”

  “I can too, now.” Dash’s voice was quiet.

  “There were better ways to handle things, though.” Bynum stood.

  Abby’s path to that truth was long and tortuous. She’d have to do better from here on out, looking to God instead of her circumstances.

  Hildie smiled sadly. “Mr. Yates might have become a new man, had he time.”

  “Since he was at his wife’s grave, I think maybe he was a new man. New in Christ.” Dash met Abby’s gaze.

  Bynum clapped Dash’s shoulder. “Hate to say this, but I’m expected back in town. I said I’d dig out some remaining drifts.”

  Dash nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

  “After lunch. Mr. Lassiter said he’d stay.” Hildie rose, then inhaled sharply and bent over.

  Abby’s arm went around her friend’s shoulder
. “Is it the baby?”

  “Yes, but don’t anyone get excited. See, it’s all better now.” Hildie straightened. “Let’s eat.”

  Bynum frowned. “I don’t know, Hildie. Your time is close. I’d better stay home.”

  “And I’d better go.” Dash slipped a finger beneath his collar.

  Hildie rolled her eyes. “It is not my time; it’s hunger pains. This baby must have the appetite of a plow horse, because I might eat your portion too, Bynum, if you want to stand there arguing with me.” She took Abby’s arm and tugged her toward the kitchen. “You two fellas coming or not?”

  “Coming, ma’am.” Bynum chuckled. “Can’t argue with a hungry woman.”

  Abby turned back and grinned. “Sounds wise.”

  Dash held up both hands. “Then you won’t get any arguments from me. About anything.”

  “Oh?” She walked backward so she could look at him. “If that’s the case, let’s talk about that awful scarf of yours.”

  “My scarf isn’t awful.”

  “It’s ratty. I’ll make you a new one.”

  “But I like this one,” he said.

  “Don’t argue, Dash, remember?” Bynum teased.

  “All right, then. A new scarf it is.” Dash’s gaze followed after Abby as she led the way to the kitchen. The past few days, things between them had definitely moved beyond businesslike.

  And he liked it far more than he should.

  Dash spent the rest of Saturday digging out waist-high snowdrifts before tending Maynard Yates’s horses and those at the inn. Despite the work, he didn’t grow warm enough to perspire. The blizzard might be over, but a thick blanket of cold trailed in its wake, progressing southward with tortoise-like slowness.

  So far, the only loss in Wells was Maynard Yates, which was one too many, to Dash, but plenty of folks suffered injuries, from lacerations to frostbite. Word was Mr. Johnstone’s leg had to be amputated below the knee.

  But the stories from outlying areas were worse, one tragedy after another—blocked trains full of shivering passengers desperate for rescue, men and women perishing feet from their front stoops, and worst of all, the schoolchildren who never made it home on Thursday.

  Lord, I don’t understand such loss. The world is full of fear and suffering due to the cruelty of nature…and men.

  Men like Fletcher Pitch. No, Dash mustn’t forget why he was in Nebraska in the first place. The blizzard hadn’t changed that.

  It wouldn’t shake his faith, either. Gathered among fellow believers in church on Sunday morning, Dash was once again reminded that despite the sadness and struggles in the world, it was also a place full of hope and joy. He’d seen neighbors helping neighbors. Compassion and kindness. Reunions among family members. Reconciliations, like his strange one with Abby. He caught her eye across the aisle and they shared a smile. Who’d have thought that would ever happen again?

  After the final hymn, he sidled beside her and greeted the Elmore family. “How are you faring?”

  “Counting our blessings instead of our troubles,” Hildie said. “I’d hoped to see more folks in church, though.”

  “It’s still so cold, I’m sure a lot of people had no choice but to stay home.” Abby glanced over Dash’s shoulder. “Pardon me, but I see Mayor Carpenter. I’d like to ask him about the school repairs.”

  An impromptu meeting broke out in the narthex over repairs to the schoolhouse roof. Mayor Carpenter listened thoughtfully, finger to his cheek. “I’d like to see children resume school next week, if possible. By then, the trains will be running, and life will return to a semblance of normalcy.”

  “Not quite normal,” Abby whispered to Dash as the mayor stepped away, her breath warm on his cheek. “Open roads means our friend can get into town.”

  “We’ll be waiting for him.” He resisted the urge to touch her.

  “Miss Abby, ready?” Bynum interrupted. By the way he kept stealing glances at Hildie, it was obvious he was concerned about her. She looked fine to Dash, except for the finest of lines around her mouth.

  “I am. Good day, Dash.”

  “Good day.”

  Abby smiled as she left. He’d have liked more time to talk to her, ask if this church service was different for her now that she’d turned back to the Lord. Unlike the other women, she didn’t carry a Bible in her arms. He’d have to change that somehow.

  The next day, after seeing to the few horses at the inn, Dash crossed to the livery. What fine horses, healthy and cared-for animals. He whistled to them as he fed them and mucked out their stables. The last stall, number six, belonged to a mare with a broad blaze on her head, white as the moon. How beautiful she was, sleek and strong and—what was the Bible verse? Fearfully and wonderfully made.

  Since Hildie mentioned counting her blessings yesterday, he’d determined to watch for evidence of God’s creative touch, despite the hardships caused by the blizzard around him. Right now Dash could see God’s care in the mare’s thick eyelashes and sweet, gentle snuffing against his shoulder.

  Dash patted her neck. “What’s your name, anyhow? Maybe it’s written down somewhere, not that I could read it if it was, but I’ll look anyway. You finish your oats, now.” He’d added a few extra drops of molasses today. The horses loved it. Maybe that was why he didn’t. Molasses cookies always reminded him of horse food.

  After Dash hauled the manure out back, he searched Yates’s desk for clues about the horses or any extended family. Yates kept a ledger on rentals, but the handwriting was so tiny Dash’s head spun. He tried Abby’s reading trick, covering the majority of the page so he could only see one word at a time, but it was useless. Even Abby would require a magnifying glass.

  The door slid open, admitting weak morning sun and a rush of brisk air.

  “Isaac,” Dash greeted.

  His friend glanced around the space. “I haven’t been in here before. Cleaner than I expected. The way everyone talked about Yates, I expected cobwebs and dust.”

  “He kept a tidy place. So tidy I can’t find any paperwork.”

  “Maybe he didn’t like clutter. Anyway, I just saw Sheriff Grayson. He said you can go ahead and look in the house for anything to indicate any living kin, if you wouldn’t mind. He’d do it, but he’s headed out to help search for some missing girls in the next town over.”

  “Missing girls.” Dash’s chest tightened. The blizzard’s effects were far reaching and cruel, and still not entirely over with. Dash lifted a prayer. “Does the sheriff need help?”

  “A few men went with him. Come on, I’ll help you look through Yates’s house.”

  The house was adjacent, but no door connected the two buildings, so Dash and Isaac went outside and around the corner to the front stoop. A hip-high drift piled against the house; he’d have to dig it out later. Dash let them inside, into an entry hall, cold and silent as a tomb—but far more rich in decor than Dash would have expected, with a polished oak credenza and framed samplers on the forest-papered walls. Likewise, the parlor was well appointed and vibrant with color. The rugs and furnishings weren’t new, by any means, but they were bright, and the drapes had a springlike look to them, with all those pink flowers. They’d clearly been chosen by Yates’s wife.

  “No photographs to guide us to his relations.” Isaac loosened his fine woolen scarf. “I’ll take a look-see at the desk.”

  “I’ll try the kitchen.” Dash found a stone-cold coffeepot by the stove, clean dishes by the dry sink, and a Bible open to Luke on the scarred table. Nothing unusual, except for the Bible, which Abby had said she’d encouraged him to read. He’d clearly done so before he went to the cemetery to visit his wife’s grave.

  Hopefully he’d made his peace with God too. Seemed likely, according to what Abby had said.

  Perhaps the Bible had a genealogy in it. He’d show it to someone who could read better than he could.

  Isaac returned, shrugging. “No correspondence, newspaper clippings, nothing. Didn’t see anything in his bedroo
m either.”

  “Are there any other rooms?”

  “An empty one. Not a stick of furniture in it. It makes being a bachelor look downright depressing.”

  “God calls some people to singleness, you know.”

  “I thought I was one of them.” Isaac fingered the scar on the table.

  “You thought?”

  “I think—well, meeting Geraldine has challenged that assumption. See, I had a gal. About ten years ago. But she left me a note that said she was in love with someone else. That’s why I gave you such a hard time about leaving Miss Bracey, I suppose. I know a fair piece about what that feels like.”

  Isaac hadn’t meant it as a sting, but Dash felt it all the same. “I wronged Abby, and we’ve talked. I can never undo what I did, but I think she might forgive me someday. I’m still trying to forgive myself.”

  They’d said more about their feelings in two minutes than they had in the entirety of their time as flatmates, and Isaac clearly wasn’t comfortable with it. Tightening his scarf, he moved to the door. “Need to get back to the post office, but I’ll treat you to supper at the café tonight.”

  Dash waved goodbye and tucked the Bible under his coat. He gave the place one last look, but Isaac was correct. No old letters, no tintypes, no journals, no evidence of any relations. What would happen to Yates’s horses and livery? Or this house? It was a snug little place, perfect for a small family.

  A frigid gust stung his ears and nose when he strode out to Main Street. He should give the Bible to the mayor before he returned to the inn. Frank and Sy could use his help clearing the drifts against the house.

  Mayor Carpenter exited the café, saving Dash the need to visit his office beside town hall. “Just the man I was hoping to find.”

  “What a happy coincidence. I need to talk to you too. Something about you has come to my attention. You aren’t really a hostler, are you?”