by Amanda Cabot
Abigail closed her eyes for a second, and Ethan wondered whether she was praying. When she opened them, they reflected an emotion he could not identify. “Oh, Ethan, you’re wrong on so many counts. I’m just as much a sinner as you or anyone else, but I know that God loves me. He loves me so much that he sent his Son into the world to die so that I wouldn’t have to pay the price for my sins. I didn’t do anything to deserve that. There’s nothing I could do that would make me worthy of a gift like that. Don’t you see, Ethan? God offers love, forgiveness, and eternal life. Those are his gifts to me and to you. All you have to do is open your heart and welcome God into it.”
The flicker of warmth that Abigail’s caring had ignited grew, and Ethan could feel the ice that encased his heart begin to melt. Was it true? Was love a gift, not something to be earned? Was it possible that all he had to do was accept that gift? “You make it sound easy. I know it’s not.”
A sweet smile crossed Abigail’s face, and her eyes lightened. “It’s the easiest and the most difficult thing you’ll ever do. If you choose to accept God’s gifts, your life will change in ways you never imagined possible. If you don’t, life will continue the way it has. It’s your choice, Ethan. No one can make it for you.”
“You really believe this, don’t you?”
“I do. But don’t take my word for it. Read God’s Word. The answers are there.”
Ethan looked away, unwilling to face her penetrating gaze any longer. It was as if she could see inside him, and that was unnerving, for he didn’t want anyone to know of the emptiness, least of all this woman. The vacuum deep inside was his private nightmare, something he did not want to reveal to anyone. He had believed it was a permanent part of him, but Abigail disagreed. She believed the void could be filled. Was she right? Was it God’s love that Ethan lacked? Would God fill the empty spaces? He had to know.
“Where do I start?”
Abigail touched the windowsill before she pivoted on her heel and walked back to the door. Back and forth, back and forth. She’d been pacing the room for what felt like hours, hoping that the mindless exercise would exhaust her enough that she would be able to sleep. So far, it had not worked, for she kept remembering Ethan and the pain she had seen in his eyes. There had been a flicker of hope when she had spoken of God’s love, but it had been quickly replaced by despair. Oh, Lord, only you can help him. Fill his heart with love. Abigail continued the silent prayer as she paced. Though she wanted desperately to help Ethan, she knew there was nothing more she could do. Ethan’s future was between him and God, and so, unable to do anything else, Abigail paced and prayed.
She was at the windowsill when she heard the soft knock on the door.
“What’s wrong?” Charlotte asked as she entered the chamber, her hand moving protectively to touch the baby she carried within her womb.
“I’m sorry I disturbed you,” Abigail said. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Moonlight spilled into the room, revealing Charlotte’s rueful smile. “It wasn’t you. The baby woke me. I can’t prove it, but it seems that just when I get to sleep, he thinks it’s time to play.” She touched her abdomen again, her smile broadening.
“Playing, huh?”
“That’s better than believing he’s deliberately kicking me.” Charlotte reached for Abigail’s hand and pressed it to her stomach. “Feel this.”
As if on cue, the baby kicked. “He seems strong.” Though Abigail continued to remind Charlotte that the child might be a girl, she had adopted her sister and Jeffrey’s habit of referring to it as “he.”
“I can tell the difference week by week. He becomes more active. Even though it interferes with my sleep, I’m thankful that he’s healthy.” Charlotte let Abigail’s hand drop. “You haven’t answered my question. What’s keeping you awake?”
There was no reason to lie to her sister. “Ethan.”
Charlotte nodded. “I thought something must be wrong when he didn’t come for supper. Obviously, you’ve learned what happened.”
“His grandfather died.” Abigail would not reveal the rest of their conversation or the fervent prayers she had offered on Ethan’s behalf, but Charlotte deserved to know this much.
“I understand he was old and in ill health. It may have been a blessing.”
Not to Ethan. His grandfather’s death had triggered reactions Abigail could not have anticipated. Still, perhaps it was all part of God’s plan. Perhaps he would use Curtis Wilson’s death to bring Ethan to him.
Charlotte sank onto the chair next to Abigail’s dressing table, clasping her hands over her stomach as she said, “This means Ethan is probably a very wealthy man now. Jeffrey said his grandfather was a millionaire several times over and that there are no other heirs. I wonder if he’ll resign his commission to run the family’s railroad.”
Was that part of Ethan’s dilemma? Though she thought it unlikely, Abigail was not certain. Ethan had claimed the reason he joined the Army was to have a different life from his grandfather’s. Was he reconsidering now that his grandfather was dead? “He didn’t say anything, but if I had to guess, I’d say that he wouldn’t leave. The Army is Ethan’s life.”
Charlotte tipped her head to one side. “I believed the same thing about Jeffrey at one time, but he’s started talking about resigning.”
This was the first Abigail had heard that. “Would that please you?”
“Oh yes.” The enthusiasm in Charlotte’s voice left no doubt. “I try not to say anything to Jeffrey, but I long for a permanent home, especially with the baby coming.” Charlotte frowned. “I’m sorry. I was digressing. Even if it was expected, news of his grandfather’s death must have been a blow for Ethan.”
“Yes.” Although not in the way Charlotte believed. “His grandfather was his only living relative. Please pray for him. He needs to find peace.”
Charlotte nodded. “Of course.” Then she rose, moving to stand next to Abigail. For a long moment she said nothing, simply looked at Abigail. When she spoke, her voice was low, as if she did not want to be overheard. “I should have realized it before. You love him. That’s why you care so much.”
Abigail would not deny that she had strong feelings for Ethan. “I do care for him,” she admitted. “But love? I don’t know. Some days I’m not even sure I know what love is. What I do know is that I don’t feel the same way about Ethan as I do about Woodrow.”
When she thought of Woodrow, Abigail felt surrounded by comfort and predictability. There would be no surprises in a life with Woodrow, for he had everything planned. Ethan was different. Thoughts of him were accompanied by excitement and the challenge of the unknown. There would be nothing ordinary or predictable about a life with Ethan. Instead, it would be like the summers of her childhood, filled with promise. Abigail bit the inside of her mouth. It was foolish to even think of that, for Woodrow was waiting for her. He was a good man who cared for her, and yet . . .
“How do you know if you love someone?” she asked Charlotte.
Her sister shrugged. “You just do. In your deepest heart you know this is the man you want to share the rest of your life with.”
Ethan stared out the window, watching the moon rise. Not for the first time he wished Oliver were here. The man’s cheerful patter, even if it was about the beauteous Melissa Westland, would have distracted him, but Oliver was in Cheyenne, sicker than the proverbial dog, or so the telegram claimed. Though there were few details, one thing was clear: Oliver would not be taking the stagecoach back to the fort for at least two more days, and that left Ethan with little to do but think.
This was the third night since he’d learned of his grandfather’s death and the third night that he’d been unable to sleep. Perhaps he’d been wrong, refusing Captain Westland’s offer of compassionate leave to attend the funeral, but Ethan would not be a hypocrite, pretending a grief he did not feel. Undoubtedly the funeral would be well attended, with Grandfather’s business associates filling the pews. The mourners had no need of Ethan.
There was no reason for him to be in New York, and indeed it was not thoughts of Grandfather that kept him from sleeping but rather Abigail’s words. “It’s the easiest and the most difficult thing you’ll ever do,” she had said. Abigail hadn’t exaggerated. Ethan had read the Bible verses she’d suggested. The promises she’d extolled were there in black and white for everyone to read. If a man believed them, they would provide comfort. Ethan did not doubt that. The problem was, he wasn’t convinced they were anything more than words. Perhaps they meant nothing more than the Brothers Grimm stories he’d read as a child. Perhaps they were fiction, designed for entertainment, nothing more. It was true that they spoke of love, but love was a word that held no meaning for him.
And so he remained awake, letting the words circle through his mind, wishing he could believe as Abigail did, but knowing that was not possible. He was not a man of faith. Instead, he required proof, and there was no proof that God existed, any more than there was proof that God loved him.
Ethan sighed, wishing it were otherwise. He closed his eyes for a moment, seeking the peace he’d seen on Abigail’s face, but all he found were more questions. How? Why? Why not? When he opened his eyes, he frowned at the sight of a man trudging into the fort, a bag slung over his shoulder, his stooped posture betraying exhaustion. Who was returning so late, and why hadn’t the sentries seen him?
Thankful that he was still dressed, Ethan rushed outside, planning to confront the latecomer. Though it was possible the soldier was innocent, thoughts of the missing weapons and the stagecoach robberies were never far from Ethan’s mind. “Halt!” Ethan ordered as he approached the man.
The soldier stopped, dropping his bag and saluting. “Yes, sir.”
Ethan knew that accent. This was the man who needed extra money to bring his sweetheart to Wyoming. Once again his actions set Ethan’s antennae to buzzing. “Corporal Keller, what are you doing outside, and what is in your sack?” Dietrich Keller looked down at the bag. “I vas hunting. I shot a grouse, but ven I vent to retrieve it, my horse ran away.” He shook his head in disgust. “Such a Dummkopf. I must not have hobbled him properly. I hope he came back.”
It appeared the corporal was innocent, for his story rang true, and the dead bird inside the bag seemed to corroborate it. There was one more thing to verify. “Let’s go to the stable and see about the horse.” When they arrived, the old gelding that the enlisted men rode when on day passes was there, chomping oats as if he’d done nothing wrong by abandoning his rider. Corporal Keller was guilty of nothing more than bad luck.
Ethan clapped him on the shoulder. “Next time, be more careful.”
“I vill.”
“Bowles, you need to hear this.” The angry tone of Captain Westland’s voice left no doubt that the news was not good. “There’s been another stagecoach robbery. Yesterday evening,” he announced when Ethan closed the door to his office. “The passengers are at the Rustic,” he said, referring to the hotel that served as the local coach stop. “See what you can learn.”
What Ethan learned was not encouraging. Although the passengers’ descriptions confirmed that Privates Schiller and Forge had been involved, unlike the earlier holdups, there had been three bandits on horseback this time. That was not good news. Even worse was the fact that the gang appeared to consist of at least four, for the men on horseback had been assisted by a woman passenger, who’d held a gun on the others inside the coach, then escaped with them.
“I don’t like it, sir,” Ethan said as he reported to the captain. “The outlaws are changing their methods. This time the robbery was later in the day, and it was closer to Cheyenne than ever before. It will be harder to guess where they’ll strike next.”
The captain nodded. “What I want to know is how they knew Seton wasn’t going to be on the coach. This is the one time in weeks that we haven’t had a guard, and they picked it. That can’t be a coincidence.”
Ethan agreed. As much as he disliked the thought, once again the evidence pointed to someone from the fort being involved, for only people at the fort knew of Oliver’s sudden illness.
“The road agents are smarter than I had hoped,” Ethan admitted at dinner, when he’d finished telling Abigail and the Crowleys about the holdup. Charlotte blanched; Jeffrey’s face reddened with anger; only Abigail seemed calm. She buttered a slice of bread and appeared to be considering his story.
“Do you suppose the woman who was kidnapped the last time was part of the gang?” she asked. “Maybe it was only a pretend kidnapping. Maybe she’s the same woman who was on this coach.”
It was an interesting thought and one that had not occurred to Ethan. “That would explain why we never found her.” He took a bite of meat, chewing thoroughly as the possibilities whirled through his mind. Abigail’s suggestion made sense. The only problem was that the gun-toting woman on yesterday’s coach did not resemble the elderly woman who had been kidnapped.
Though the conversation turned to more pleasant topics, Ethan was unable to dismiss the thought of the robbery from his mind. When the meal was over and he and Jeffrey headed back to the parade ground, he turned to his fellow officer. “I still think someone from the fort is involved. I have no proof, of course, but my instincts tell me there’s a connection.”
“Just because Schiller and Forge were deserters doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know. The problem is, I caught a soldier coming in after tattoo last night. His story sounded plausible, but now I wonder, especially since there were three men this time. What if he was the third?”
Jeffrey pursed his lips, as if considering the question. “Who was he?”
“Dietrich Keller.”
Jeffrey’s face darkened. “You’d better keep an eye on that one. I never did trust him.”
20
Sally needed exercise, and Abigail needed a chance to think. This morning Charlotte was uncharacteristically out of sorts because Puddles had run away again, and even though Ethan had brought him back before breakfast, Jeffrey had grumbled about the puppy’s behavior, declaring that if Charlotte could not control him, he would have to go. Predictably, Charlotte had burst into tears. Now she was in the backyard, attempting to train the dog and staunchly refusing Abigail’s offers of assistance.
“Jeffrey’s right. He’s my dog, and I’m responsible.” The look in Charlotte’s eyes left no doubt that she was determined to do this alone, and so Abigail had donned her riding habit, as determined as her sister to be useful. At least there would be no disputing who should exercise Sally, for Charlotte could no longer mount a horse.
The dissention between Charlotte and Jeffrey was not the only thing concerning Abigail. The continuing stagecoach robberies haunted her. Perhaps it was because she had come so close to being a victim herself. Perhaps it was because she knew the puzzle plagued Ethan. Abigail wasn’t certain of the cause. All she knew was that she wished she could help Ethan learn who was responsible.
Both of those concerns paled when compared to her worries about Ethan himself. Though he had said nothing, she knew that he still struggled with the idea that God loved him, for his eyes remained filled with pain. Each day Abigail gave him a folded piece of paper with a Bible verse she hoped would comfort him. Each day Ethan accepted it, but he never told her whether he read the verses or whether they helped.
“Going for a ride?” As Abigail passed the BOQ, Ethan called out to her. When she nodded, he descended the two steps from the porch and raised an eyebrow. “Do you have your pistol?”
“Even though we both know I couldn’t hit anything I aimed at, yes, I do.” Abigail touched her pocket. It still felt strange having the weight of the Colt there, but she did not doubt the wisdom of carrying it.
“May I join you?”
Abigail nodded, hoping Ethan didn’t notice that a flush of pleasure colored her cheeks. Mama had insisted that a woman should never be the first to reveal her feelings. “I wasn’t going anyplace special,” she told Ethan. “I j
ust want to exercise Sally.”
“Samson will be glad to get out too.”
When the horses were saddled, instead of heading east toward the bridge, Ethan turned Samson west. “It’s probably silly,” he said as they passed the Rustic, “but I thought that maybe if I retraced the stagecoach’s route, I might learn something.”
It was as Abigail had feared. Ethan was so consumed with thoughts of the robberies that he could think of little else, including the state of his soul.
“I keep thinking about the robberies too,” she admitted. “I wish we knew who the woman was and where she lives.”
Ethan’s eyes scanned the horizon before returning to Abigail. “You sound as if you’re convinced there’s only one, but the passengers’ descriptions are different. One woman had white hair and was elderly. The other was a blonde.”
A month ago Abigail would not have given it a second thought, but that was before she had seen Leah in the dark wig. “It could be one woman with a wig,” she said, telling Ethan about her encounter with Leah. “If I hadn’t heard her voice, I wouldn’t have recognized her.”
“You might be right,” Ethan admitted, “but that doesn’t help us find her. She could be anywhere. Whoever she is, she’s well hidden, just like the outlaws.”
“At least you know who two of them are.”
“And that’s part of the problem.” Ethan frowned. “Deserters usually try to get as far away from a fort as possible. Schiller and Forge seem to be staying close to our garrison. The only reason I can imagine is that their leader is here.”
“At the fort?”
Nodding, Ethan outlined his reasons. “The way I see it, someone from the fort has to be involved, because only someone from the fort would know when guards were scheduled to be on the coaches. I don’t think it was coincidence that the robbery attempts stopped when we put guards on all the stagecoaches.”
