Betrayal

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “I … uh … I’ll drip all over your floors. And my boots are muddy.”

  She glanced toward the door, a look of surprise in her eyes. Then she released a wry laugh — or so it seemed to Hugh. “You won’t track in anything the floors haven’t seen before. But I’ll get you a towel so you can dry off a bit. No point you catching cold from the damp.”

  “Thanks, ma’am.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Julia,” he corrected.

  After she left the kitchen, Hugh leaned against the doorjamb and removed his boots, stepping into the parlor in his stocking feet. The right sock had a hole over his big toe. He thought to tug at the sock to try to hide its pitiful state, but Julia returned before he could.

  As she handed him the towel, she said, “That sock could use mending before you get a blister from your boot.”

  “‘Fraid I don’t have a needle.” He shrugged, embarrassed. Ashamed to admit he hadn’t had the money to replace something so inexpensive. “Lost it along the trail.”

  But it wasn’t judgment he saw in her eyes. It was compassion. “I have needles and lots of thread. If you’ll bring me what needs mending, I’ll see to it.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do my sewing for me. But I’d borrow that needle and use some of your thread.”

  There was that flicker of surprise in her eyes again. And just as quick as the last time, it disappeared, only this time she didn’t laugh or smile. “As you wish.” She turned from him. “Now you’d better sit down and eat. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

  A restless energy swirled inside of Julia as she ate her breakfast. She kept her eyes averted from the man on the opposite side of the table. Hugh’s mere presence seemed to make her say and do foolish things. Darn his socks! Why ever would she volunteer to do such a thing? Of course she would let him borrow a needle. In fact, she would give him one — and some thread to go with it — but it wasn’t her place to take on his mending. She was his employer, not his wife.

  Wife? The word caused a shudder to run through her, turning the food in her stomach to stone. Her appetite lost, she set down her fork and turned her gaze toward the nearest window. The rain still fell in torrents beyond the glass.

  “Good thing you weren’t planning a trip into town for church,” Hugh said.

  “Indeed.”

  “Do you usually attend services?”

  She shook her head. “No.” She pressed her lips together, trying to bite back the remainder of her response, but the desire for honesty won over the desire for discretion. “My husband wasn’t a believer … and he didn’t approve of me making that long ride into Pine Creek without him. So I learned to keep the Lord’s Day in my own way here on the ranch.”

  “That’s how it’s been for me.”

  She looked at him.

  “You know. Traveling west, being on the trail, not staying in towns most of the time. I see in the Bible that we’re to gather with other believers, but that’s not always possible, is it?”

  “No,” she said softly, “it isn’t.”

  “Do you think we might have church together, you and me, here in the kitchen?” He leaned forward on his chair, an expression of eagerness in his eyes. “ ‘Where two or more are gathered.’ Isn’t that what it says?”

  It was ridiculous, the way her heart leapt at Hugh’s suggestion. She was used to worshiping God alone. She liked worshiping Him alone. It was a sacred time, not meant to be shared with a stranger.

  Only … Hugh Brennan didn’t seem a stranger. She’d known him just a few days, but something about him — something in his dark brown eyes, his voice, his manner — made it feel as if they’d known each other much longer. Strangely, she was comfortable in his company, and that very comfortableness made her uncomfortable. She didn’t like feeling that way about him. It could be a mistake. A big mistake.

  And yet —

  “It would mean a lot to me,” he added softly.

  “All right. After I’ve washed the breakfast dishes.”

  He grinned. “I can wash them if you’d like.”

  Hanging laundry? Avoiding tracking mud into house? Mending socks? Washing dishes? Hugh Brennan was unlike any man she’d ever known. “Thank you, but I’ll do them.”

  “How about you wash and I’ll dry? It’ll go faster.”

  To continue to refuse would be rude, she decided, and so she gave him a nod.

  By the time Hugh and Julia sat down at the kitchen table a second time — the dishes washed, dried, and put away — the thunder and lightning had moved to the other side of the mountain range to the east. It still rained, but the storm was gentler now, the droplets playing a softer melody as they spattered the rooftop and windows.

  Hugh was the one who’d suggested this worship service for two, but he hadn’t expected to feel such a sense of holiness as he listened to Julia read aloud from her Bible. Light from the lamp she’d placed in the center of the table cast a warm glow upon her face and hair.

  Entertaining angels unaware. Where had he heard that expression? He wasn’t sure, but it seemed to describe her. She was like an angel, giving him shelter and work, treating him with kindness and goodness, despite the caution he saw in her eyes every now and then.

  Julia stopped reading and glanced up. “Would you like to read for a spell?”

  “Mind if I just listen? The words sound better coming from you.”

  “I doubt that.” She tilted her head slightly to one side, giving it a slight shake. “I’ve never known another man, outside of a couple of pastors maybe, who’d want to sit down and listen to me read the Bible aloud. This is … nice.”

  Although she smiled slightly at the end, Hugh suspected there was pain hidden in her words. A sorrow that went deep and was intensely private. He found himself wishing he knew the cause so that he could then attempt to wipe it away. Foolish, he supposed, knowing the secret pain in his own heart that he expected would be with him forever.

  SIX

  Come Monday morning, there wasn’t a cloud left in the sky, although the proof of the previous day’s storm was evident in the lingering puddles in the barnyard.

  Shortly after breakfast — when Julia had informed Hugh the two of them would be going into Pine Creek to get supplies — they led the two work horses out of the paddock and harnessed them to the wagon. Bandit circled the vehicle, people, and horses several times, almost as if making sure they completed the task correctly. Satisfied, the spaniel jumped into the wagon bed.

  Julia laughed. “How often are you left behind, fella?”

  Bandit wagged his tale.

  With a boot on the wheel hub, Julia stepped up to the wagon seat and took the reins in hand. Hugh joined her a moment later. She slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps, and the wagon jerked into motion. They rode in comfortable silence; the horses followed a winding trail for a mile or so before they came to the main road. Then she turned the team north. Tree-covered mountains rose in the distance ahead of them and on both east and west sides.

  “That’s my nearest neighbor’s place,” Julia said, pointing toward a house and barn a short distance back from the road. “The Collins’ family. They’ve got ten children. All girls.”

  “Ten daughters?”

  “Yes. The oldest is seventeen. Youngest is a couple of months old. Jemima Ruth is the baby’s name.” A mixture of joy and sorrow filled her chest. “I helped deliver little Jem.”

  Even as the words came out of Julia’s mouth, she wished she could take them back. They revealed too much. They told this man, this stranger seated beside her, that she longed for a baby of her own. Did he wonder why she was childless after eleven years of marriage? No. How could he? She hadn’t told him how long she’d been married to Angus. For all Hugh Brennan knew, they’d been married no time at all. Not even long enough for her to become pregnant.

  Which, of course, was not true.

  Tears stung her eyes, and her throat constricted. Perhaps if she hadn’t —
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  She cut off the thought before it could completely materialize. The past was the past. She couldn’t change it. She couldn’t wish it away. Angus was gone, and she was childless. That was how she would remain. She would live alone on Sage-hen for the rest of her life. She would grow old alone and die alone.

  “What’s the name of the town where we’re headed?” Hugh asked, intruding on her thoughts. “You told me but I forgot.”

  Bless him. He’d seen her distress and taken pity. “Pine Creek,” she answered — and was thankful that her voice sounded normal.

  “I’d started to believe Wyoming was mostly sagebrush, jackrabbits, and antelope. But those mountains …” He let his words drift off, then gave an expressive whistle.

  “The Rocky Mountains,” she said. “They go all the way up into Canada and all the way down to New Mexico. I read somewhere that the range is about three thousand miles long. Magnificent, aren’t they?”

  “Nothing like them between here and Illinois, that’s for sure. There’s hills and valleys, but nothing like the Rockies. A lot of the land’s flatter than a pancake where I hail from.”

  “I’ve lived in or near the mountains my whole life. Don’t think I’d care to stay where I couldn’t see them.”

  “Always lived in Wyoming?”

  She slapped the reins, encouraging a faster walk from the horses. “No. I was born in Idaho. Up in Grand Coeur. It’s an old gold town, although by the time I came along, the rush was pretty much over. Still lots of mining and miners, but not quite as lawless as the camps were in the beginning.” She wouldn’t bother to tell him that her mother had worked in one of the saloons — and still did, as far as she knew — or that she had never known her father. She wasn’t sure her mother knew who he was. If Angus Grace hadn’t come along when Julia was seventeen, she might have found herself forced to work in a saloon too.

  Would that life have been worse than marriage to Angus?

  Perhaps. Perhaps not. But she supposed that’s why the Lord told her she had to trust Him. Because only He had answers to the “what ifs” in life.

  Rejoice evermore, the Bible said. She had a long way to go in that regard. She hadn’t yet learned to rejoice in every circumstance. She tried, and she was better now than she used to be. But then, Angus was dead, so maybe it was simply easier now.

  Peter Collins leaned his forearms on the top rail of the corral fence. A frown creased his brow as he stared toward the road. Julia Grace had passed by in her wagon a short while before — a man beside her on the seat — and seeing her had brought back his wife’s concerns about Charlie Prescott. Sure, Peter had told Rose she didn’t have to worry. That didn’t stop him from doing some worrying of his own.

  If Charlie Prescott was ever able to get his hands on the Grace property — through scrupulous or unscrupulous means — Peter feared he might cut off the water supply to this farm so fast it would make Peter’s head spin. Charlie wouldn’t have to offer to buy the land again. He’d be able to wait for the Collins family to go broke.

  He gave his head a firm shake and practiced taking every thought captive, especially those bad ones.

  Peter never failed to acknowledge that the good Lord had blessed him in more ways than he could count. But he could count some of them: He was married to a woman he loved to distraction and who loved him in return. His children were healthy, good-natured, and for the most part, obedient. They weren’t a wealthy family and never would be, but they had everything they needed and a few things they wanted. He and Rose both believed in and trusted the Almighty and were raising their children to do the same. And there was the beauty of God’s world to be seen whenever they stepped outside their front door.

  He gave his head another slow shake as he pushed off the fence. No, he couldn’t count all the ways God had blessed him. Weren’t enough hours in the day. So he might as well go inside the house and kiss a few of those blessings — his wife and new baby daughter included.

  What was it about Julia Grace that made Hugh want to leap to her defense? No one else was around, and yet he had the desire to protect and shelter her. Was it the delicacy of her appearance, a fragile beauty unlike any he remembered seeing before? That she should be seated next to a man like him seemed all wrong.

  Silence stretched between them again, the only sound the clopping of hooves, the creak of the wagon, and the jangle of harness. While Hugh had plenty more questions he could have asked his employer, he chose to refrain. Because the more questions he asked of her, the more permission he gave for her to ask questions of her own. Questions he might not want to answer. Answers that might make her tell him to leave, and he didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

  He turned to look toward the rugged mountains rising on his right, a mass of granite covered in wild flowers and pine trees. A landscape of gray and purple and green. It seemed to him that God had done some of His best work in western Wyoming.

  Which by his strength setteth fast the mountains.

  How had God decided where to put mountains and where to put oceans and where to put deserts? Had the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost debated such matters before the world was spoken into existence or had the Trinity been in complete agreement from the beginning of time?

  He gave his head a slow shake. Were such thoughts proper? He hoped the Lord was amused rather than angered by them. Sometimes in the night, when he was unable to sleep, he liked to imagine himself walking beside Jesus near the Sea of Galilee. Hugh could envision the Lord laughing when he posed such questions to Him, but He would answer. He wouldn’t think Hugh stupid for not knowing.

  There was comfort in that belief.

  Bandit began barking, drawing Hugh’s attention to the wagon bed. The spaniel had his front legs up on the sideboards.

  “No, Bandit,” Julia said. “Stay.”

  The dog stopped barking, but his body twitched with excitement.

  “No, Bandit.”

  Hugh tried to follow the line of the dog’s gaze but saw nothing amiss.

  “A wolf,” Julia said, as if reading his thoughts.

  “Where?”

  “There.” She pointed. “Near that dead tree. He’s running toward the base of the mountain. Probably the one Charlie warned me about.”

  It took Hugh awhile, but he found the gray shadow before it disappeared into a draw.

  “This past winter was milder than most. I didn’t have any trouble with wolves. Guess they had plenty of easy pickings among the deer and elk up higher in the mountains. It isn’t always like that. When the snows get really deep and hunting is scarce, the wolves and other predators can ruin a herd.”

  Hugh pictured Julia taking aim and firing — and imagined her flying backward, knocked off her feet by the kick of the weapon. She was gutsy. He’d say that for her.

  “I’d rather have to run off the wolves than a grizzly.”

  “Grizzly?” He turned toward her again.

  “Grizzly bears. Cantankerous, enormous creatures. Sometimes they kill for sport more than food. Least, that’s what Angus used to say. They tend to stay further north of here, up in the Yellowstone, but there’ve been a couple who’ve come down this far since I’ve been at Sage-hen.” She gave a slight shudder. “I saw one from a distance once. I’ll never forget it. Gives me nightmares.”

  “I get the feeling not much scares you, Julia.”

  “Plenty of things scare me. I just try not to let my fears get the upper hand.”

  “ ‘For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.’ ”

  “Second Timothy 1:7. You know your Scriptures.”

  “I’m doing my best to know them.” He shrugged. “Traveling alone, a man’s got time to do plenty of reading.”

  A puzzled frown furrowed her brow. “I’m not quite sure what to make of you, Hugh.” Her gaze returned to the road ahead, and she slapped the reins. “Get up there, boys.” After a moment’s silence, she added, “We’ll be to Pine Creek in another hour.”r />
  SEVEN

  Julia supposed Pine Creek was like a thousand other small towns west of the Mississippi. It had its Main Street and its First Street. It had a doctor and pharmacy, two churches, a general mercantile, a feed store, and a sheriff’s office and jail. It had its one-room schoolhouse, the pride of the town council. It had its lawyer and its blacksmith and its livery and its saloons; two of the latter — plenty enough for a town of its size. Two too many, Julia would have said. She’d never seen anything but heartache come out of drinking establishments.

  As the wagon pulled past Lucky Luke’s and the tinkle of piano keys spilled from the saloon, she felt a sting in her chest, a sudden longing for her mother. It still hurt, five years after she’d written her mother a letter filled with hateful words. She’d tried to apologize, of course. She’d written a number of letters after that one, asking for her mother’s forgiveness. But Madeline Crane had returned Julia’s letters unopened, and finally Julia had ceased to write. She supposed she couldn’t blame her mother. If only —

  If only … if only … if only … Thinking those horrid little words changed nothing. She couldn’t undo the past. She couldn’t go back and refuse to marry Angus and stay in Grand Coeur. She couldn’t bring her babies back from heaven. She couldn’t —

  She pushed away the memories as the wagon arrived at the mercantile. “We’ll pick up supplies here first, then go to the feed store,” she said to Hugh, wrapping the reins around the brake handle.

  “All right.” He hopped to the ground.

  She did the same from her side of the wagon. “Bandit, you wait here.” The spaniel lay down, head on paws, giving her a doleful look, and Julia reached over the side of the bed to give him a pat on the head. “I know, but I won’t be long.”

  Hugh observed her and Bandit from the boardwalk, the hint of a smile once more in the corners of his mouth. Something pleasurable curled in her belly. An unexpected sensation. One she didn’t welcome.

  Flipping strands of hair behind her shoulder with one hand, she moved toward him, studiously avoiding his gaze. “Come along, Mr. Brennan.” She stepped onto the boardwalk and lowered her voice. “I reckon it would be better not to use our given names when we’re in town.”