by Lisa Bingham
A raw sound of distress burst from Willow’s throat. “I’ve got to go back! I can’t let anything happen to Charles’s home!”
“Nonsense. This is a job for the men. It’s about time they did more than lollygag around here watching a bunch of women who can take care of themselves.”
In the distance, Willow saw a pair of men easing out of the pine trees just as Myra and Miriam approached. Within seconds, they were running toward town.
“See?” Lydia said. “It’s all settled. Now, let’s get you warmed up inside. You’re going to catch your death out here.”
* * *
Charles whistled under his breath as he approached the row house. Nothing on earth could compare to a job well done. This morning, they’d managed to lay the rest of the charges that he’d planned, and then complete a controlled blast. The rock face had come down, just as he’d hoped it would, revealing a thick seam of silver. He’d wager that the seam would continue on another hundred or so feet beneath the mountain, maybe more. Even now, crews of miners were clearing up the debris, sorting the ore from worthless rock. As they worked, another team erected support beams and braces to ensure the safety of the corridor.
Normally, Charles would remain in the thick of it. There wasn’t a job in the mine that he hadn’t done before—nor did he feel that any job was beneath him. But this afternoon, he wanted to eat his midday meal at home.
Home.
The word had the power to sizzle in his chest like primer cord. For the first time in his life, he actually knew what it meant. Home wasn’t a place or a structure. It was a feeling. A sense of belonging.
And that, more than anything else, drew him away from the mine, away from the secret seams of ore the blasting had revealed, away from friends and coworkers.
So that he could go home.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he hunched into the collar of his coat. He suspected a storm was brewing, even though he could see patches of blue showing through the clouds. True to form, January in the Uintas alternated between frigid temperatures and blizzards, and cold, clear days that tempted a person to think about spring, even though the warmer weather was months away.
At least Charles hoped that a real spring was months away. He wasn’t sure what he would do once the pass cleared. It wasn’t a decision he could make on his own anymore. He and Willow needed to talk. More than anything, he was hoping to convince her to abandon her earlier plans and remain with him.
But not today.
He glanced up, wondering if he could catch a peek of Willow’s shadow behind the curtains, then stumbled to a stop.
The door hung open on its hinges.
The chill that raced through his body had nothing to do with the cold. He burst into a run, taking the steps two at a time.
“Willow!”
The cry bounced hollowly off the walls, but there was no answer.
“Willow!”
He pounded upstairs, slammed open the door to her room, then searched in his own.
Nothing.
His heart began pounding in his throat and he checked the rooms again, not knowing why he did so. There was no place to hide in the row house. Not for a grown woman and...
The twins.
“Sweet Heavenly Father,” he whispered under his breath. “Please, please let them be safe. Let them all be safe.”
He rushed downstairs again, growing conscious of the cold. How long had the door been open?
At the same moment, he noted the sharp scent of smoke, and his gut tightened.
No, no, no! He should have arranged for Creakle and Smalls to stay with her.
But he’d needed all his men with him.
And he’d known that Lydia and Iona would be dropping by after breakfast, as well as several other women. He’d thought that Willow would be safe enough until afternoon.
He heard a thump on the stoop and rushed to the door. When he discovered Willow pulling the sledge, and the babies nestled safe in the box, he couldn’t control the words that burst free.
“What on earth have you been doing? You need to stay home, in the house, like you’ve been told to do. Don’t you ever do that again!”
The moment the words crossed his tongue, he knew they were a mistake. They’d been uttered harshly, accusingly, laden with the temper that he’d fought for years to contain. In a flash, he’d become the bully that he’d fought to leave behind him since he’d been an adolescent in Aberdeen.
He saw the effect of his harshness in the shattered expression that crossed Willow’s features. In an instant, her confidence fled and she became the shy, fearful woman that she’d been when she’d first entered Bachelor Bottoms.
* * *
Willow didn’t know where she was going. She merely turned and ran.
Despite the cold, her cheeks burned with heat. She’d been a fool. After playing the part of Charles’s wife, she’d begun to believe that it could be real. She’d forgotten that he had other goals, other priorities. He’d been allowed to return to work, and in doing so, his world had opened up for him again.
But hers was oh, so small. It had always been small.
The mill.
The charity school.
And now...
Charles’s house.
His children.
Him.
How had she allowed this to happen? How had she allowed him to become the center of her small universe? How had she let herself think, even for a moment, that someone like Charles—a man who was strong and handsome and smart—would ever consider someone like her a suitable companion? A woman who hadn’t learned to read until she was nearly thirteen, who still struggled to form her letters in a legible manner. If she hadn’t forced herself into his home, he could have found someone else to help him. Someone clever, like Lydia or Marie.
The street ahead of her shifted and seemed to slip sideways. Too late, she realized that she was weeping openly, her sobs punctuating the air she gulped into her lungs. She blindly sought somewhere—anywhere—she could go to lick her wounds. A place she could be alone, so that she could draw the tattered remains of her self-worth together, enough to at least pretend that she was like the other girls.
She wasn’t sure how she found her way, but suddenly looked up to see the back of the Meeting House before her. Tucking the sledge against the wall, she scooped up the twins and prayed that the doors weren’t locked during the day.
Her chin trembled when the knob of the rear door turned easily in her hand. Slipping inside, she tiptoed through the private office to the large meeting area beyond.
She’d never come into the building from this direction. It seemed odd and slightly sacrilegious to use the same entry as the pastor. She crept past the raised dais and the tufted chairs reserved for Batchwell and Bottoms, then past the lectern to the center aisle. Automatically, she sank onto one of the benches where the women sat during Devotional. To her relief, there was a lingering warmth to the building, especially here, near one of the many potbellied stoves that were used to warm the chapel.
Hugging the children to her chest, she tried to remind herself what was really important. Her feelings didn’t matter a hill of beans next to keeping the twins safe. And she’d done that. Despite what Charles had said, they couldn’t have stayed in the house. Not with all that smoke. Things could have been different if she’d been able to find help faster but...
No.
She’d done her best.
A scraping sound caused her to pivot on her seat, to find a huge figure silhouetted in the doorway. Too late, she realized that she and the children were alone, unarmed and completely unprotected, when the man stepped inside and the door snapped shut behind him.
Instantly, she recognized one of the miners who’d been at the funeral. The tall, imposing fellow with the muttonchop whiskers who had stared at her so i
ntently.
Theo Caruso.
One of the men on their suspect list.
She vainly tried to think.
Was this the person she’d seen watching the house? She’d caught only a glimpse of him from behind. But it had to be the same man.
Didn’t it?
She saw his hands ball into fists and release, ball into fists and release.
“I’ve been tryin’ t’ get you alone.”
His voice was deep, raspy, more growl than spoken words.
“I’d like t’ see the children.”
Willow’s arms tightened around the twins. Her heart was beating so fast that she could hear the blood roaring in her ears.
“Stay where you are!”
She jumped to her feet, but the heel of her boot tangled in the hem of her skirts. For a moment, she swayed, fought for balance.
The man lunged toward her just as the outer door opened.
Once again, she saw little more than a silhouette in the doorway. But she knew each plane and angle of that figure as intimately as she knew her own reflection in a mirror.
Charles.
She instinctively ran toward him, rushing past the miner so quickly that he didn’t have time to react.
“Take me home!” she said frantically. “Now!”
Chapter Seventeen
With every step they took back to the row house, Charles prayed that he could find the words to make up for the way he’d treated her so harshly. How could he reassure Willow that he would never want to offend her, that it was his cursed temper that had landed him in trouble again?
But then, he’d never been honest enough with Willow to confess his troubles from the past. He’d had the perfect opportunity when she’d told him of her own upbringing—and he knew, deep in his soul, that she would never fault him for his uncertain parentage or his years in a foundling home. Even so, he’d balked at that final piece to his nature, the temper that had caused him to pummel a boy for calling him names.
He’d hesitated in telling her everything, because he hadn’t wanted her to become afraid of him.
But she was afraid of him now.
Since he’d taken the job of pulling the sleigh with the twins, she purposely stood apart from him, walking with her head down, her eyes on the road—and that fact crushed his heart even more. Over the past few days, he’d seen her blossom from a shy little rabbit to a warrior.
Then he’d crushed her spirit with a few careless words.
He’d thought it would be best to wait until they were safely home before he spoke to her, but he couldn’t bear her silence anymore.
“I’m so sorry, Willow.”
She didn’t respond. The only sound was the crunch of their footsteps in the snow.
“When I returned home to find the door open, the twins gone... I can’t explain the fear I felt.”
“In the future, I’ll be sure to leave a note so you know where to find Adam and Eva.”
Her voice was flat and his heart twisted even more.
“And you, Willow. I was so worried about you.”
When she looked at him, her eyes were filled with shadows. “But I’ll only be here until the pass melts.”
The words struck him to the core. From the beginning, he’d tried to remind himself that the time would come when Willow would want to continue on her journey. She’d had plans for her future before meeting him. But with each day that passed, he’d begun to believe that their arrangement could become permanent. That somehow they could be a real family.
A real couple.
Charles knew that he could do no better than having Willow Granger as a wife. She was generous and loyal and fiercely protective. She would be a wonderful helpmate to any man.
If only she weren’t committed to another.
“Is that what you want?”
The words escaped from his mouth before he could stop them. But even though he regretted his awful timing, he had no desire to recall them.
Willow grew still, her breath hanging in front of her like a gossamer cloud as she peered at him. She seemed to be warring with her thoughts, and Charles prayed that she would remember the good times and not his anger.
If she would only give him a chance.
“Charles! Willow!”
The mood shattered as Gideon Gault loped toward them. For the first time that Charles could remember, he wished his friend would go away, if only for a few minutes.
“I’m glad I caught you.” Gideon lifted his hat in Willow’s direction. “Ma’am.”
“Mr. Gault.”
“That was pretty smart thinking on your part, Willow, getting out of the house as quickly as you could.”
Charles didn’t miss the pointed look that Willow shot in his direction.
“And I’m glad you came to my men for help rather than anyone else.”
If Gideon didn’t stop talking, Charles was afraid he’d never have a chance to make things right with Willow.
Gideon shifted even closer, his voice dropping. “Did you have any problems with your fireplace last night?”
Charles thought of the huge blaze he’d fed as he and Willow had read Jenny’s diary. “No, why?”
Rather than answering, Gideon asked another question. “What time did you leave for the mine?”
“About four.”
“Did you set a fire?”
“Of course. The house had grown cold through the night and I wanted to warm things up for Willow and the twins.”
“When I woke, the fires he laid hadn’t started,” Willow interjected.
“It’s a good thing they didn’t.”
Gideon swept his hat from his head and plunged his fingers through his hair. “After my men arrived and put out the fires, we had a look around the place. We found some tracks in the snow round the back of your house, as well as an old ladder from the livery. Someone climbed onto your roof and shoved blankets down your chimney and stovepipe. If those fires you laid had kept burning... Willow and the children could have smothered from the smoke before they ever woke up.”
A giant fist seemed to close around Charles’s chest. He watched as the color drained out of Willow’s face.
The burst of anger that he’d felt merely an hour ago was nothing more than a spark compared to the rush of fury that stormed through his body—a good portion of it directed at himself.
Someone had tried to kill his family. Had very nearly succeeded. If it hadn’t been for the hand of Providence extinguishing the early fires and Willow’s quick thinking, he would have returned home to something far worse than an empty house.
“Gideon, can you accompany Willow and the twins home and stay with them until I get back?”
His friend nodded, settling his hat back on his head. “Sure. What is it you need to do?”
“I’m going to speak to Smalls and borrow a sleigh from the livery.” Charles turned to Willow. “I want you to empty out the trunk at the bottom of my bed. Fill it with a few changes of clothing for both of us and whatever the babies will need. Gather up the chart and the journal—”
“Journal?” Gideon asked.
“We’ll explain later.” He returned his attention to Willow. “I’ll be back as soon as I hitch up the sleigh. I’m moving you and the twins to the Dovecote. It’ll be safer there. You’ll have the women to help you and the Pinkerton guards to make sure that no one gets in or out of the dormitory without going through them first.”
He looked toward Gideon for confirmation and his friend nodded.
“I think that’s a good idea. What with blasting the new tunnel and guarding the ore coming out of the mine, my men are spread pretty thin. I’ve tried to have someone keep an eye on your place, but the help has been spotty at best. This way, you’ll have round-the-clock protection—and after what’s occurred
, I don’t think any of the brides will squawk about the added protection around the Dovecote.”
With each word, Willow’s eyes had grown wider, and she’d unconsciously moved closer to the twins.
“Whoever is doing this seems to be growing more desperate,” Charles said. “Maybe it’s time we flushed him out.”
“But how?” she whispered.
“You said Jenny’s things were searched.”
“Y-yes. Things on her dresser were merely rearranged, but her trunk was a shambles.”
“Did the culprit take anything?”
“Only the rattle.”
“So they weren’t just looking for valuables?”
“I don’t think so. If that were the case, they would have taken the silver comb and mirror on her dresser, or the gold earbobs and coins she’d hidden in her trunk.”
“Do you think they were looking for the diary?”
Willow nodded. “They would have found the rattle quite easily, but the condition of the belongings in her trunk seemed to indicate they’d kept looking.”
“What diary?” Gideon asked again.
Charles held up a hand. A part of his brain worked to figure things out as he spoke.
“I think we can assume that whoever is responsible for Jenny’s murder would have known quite a lot about her movements. They would have known what room she had at the Dovecote and that Willow shared the space with her.”
“So when they couldn’t find the diary...” Willow whispered.
“They assumed you had it.” Charles grimaced. “It might explain why someone was watching the house. Maybe they hoped you’d leave it empty at some point.”
“But I did leave. The day the girls brought the sledge, I went to the Dovecote.”
“And who’s to say our own things weren’t searched as well, while you were gone?”
Willow’s eyes widened. “I—I did feel like something was...out of sorts when I came back, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Even so, they wouldn’t have found anything. I didn’t bring the journal back until that afternoon.”
“So maybe the blocked chimneys were a second attempt to flush you out of the house.”
