The shouts woke Tilly. They were muffled, but distinctly troubled. Flipping off the covers, she swung her feet over the side of the bed. Groggy and not quite alert, she fumbled for the lantern at her bedside and clumsily lit the wick.
She slipped on a shirtwaist and grimaced at the dress she’d tossed over the foot of the bed. The hem was torn and muddied, and she doubted the outfit was salvageable. Her wardrobe was never going to survive Pyrite at this rate.
Her feet bare, she padded past the girls’ room. The sliver of light from her lantern revealed the girls positioned three across in the enormous tester bed. Elizabeth, sucking her thumb, was tucked in the middle. Rain pattered against the roof and the air was heavy and loamy, scented with summer leaves and freshly turned earth.
The stifled mutterings became more insistent, and she cautiously nudged open the door of the third bedroom.
“Mr. West,” she whispered. “Are you all right, Mr. West?”
A thump sounded.
She swung the door wider, and her knees weakened. Nolan was sprawled on the floor, his back to her. Had something happened to him? She frantically searched the empty room. No outlaws sprang from the shadows. She hesitated before stepping across the threshold, but she couldn’t leave him laying there if he’d been hurt.
Taking a cautious step, she stretched out her arm. The mutterings quieted, and she paused. Perhaps he’d simply had a nightmare and tumbled to the floor. She’d done the same as a child. Either way, she couldn’t leave until she was certain he was uninjured.
She nudged his shoulder. “Mr. West.”
In a split second, pandemonium erupted. With a bloodcurdling roar, Nolan surged upright, pitching her backward. Thrown off balance, she tumbled into an ungainly heap just inside the door. The lantern in her hand pitched sideways and died, plunging the room into darkness.
He came alive with the ferocity of a cornered animal, his fists and elbows flailing wildly. She scrambled backward and her hand slipped on a loose rag rug. With a sickening crack, her temple slammed against the door frame.
“Get off me!” Nolan bellowed. “Get off.”
Nausea roiled in her stomach and she pushed away, desperate to escape his fury. He stumbled upright, towering above her in the shadows. Tilly groped for the doorway and her hand met with solid wood. In her confusion, she’d scuttled away from the exit, cornering herself.
Her breath came in shallow gasps and she stilled her lungs, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. The floor groaned ominously beneath his weight. She cringed, bracing for a blow.
“I told you!” he shouted hoarsely. ‘I told you what would happen if you touched me.”
Several flashes of lightning in rapid succession illuminated the room. The stagecoach man’s eyes were wild and unfocused. He was looking at her, but she sensed he wasn’t seeing her.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, huddling deeper into the corner. “P-please.”
She didn’t know what she was begging for, only that she desperately needed to release him from his fugue of rage.
At the sound of her voice, he jolted. “What happened?”
His rage instantly dissipated, leaving his expression wan and confused.
Her whole body sagged. Her voice must have awakened him from whatever sleeping nightmare had taken hold of him.
“I-it’s me, Tilly,” she stuttered.
He stumbled backward and raked his hands through his hair. Something warm and wet trickled against the side of her cheek and she tentatively touched the spot. Gasping, she yanked her hand away, then gently probed the growing lump on the side of her face. She’d have quite a shiner in the morning.
Nolan staggered a few steps and collapsed on the edge of the low mattress. With a groan he hung his head and laced his fingers over his crown, letting his elbows roll forward. For an agonizing moment they sat in silence.
She cocked her head, listening for the girls, then heaved a sigh of relief. They hadn’t woken. Although how anyone could sleep through Nolan’s awful shout, she’d never know. A cold shiver rippled through her. She’d never heard such terror. Such desperation.
Keeping her gaze fixed on Nolan, she warily fumbled for the lantern in the darkness and righted it. Thankfully, the splashing oil had doused the wick before anything had caught fire.
He lifted his gaze, his eyes bleak. “Why are you here? Did something happen?”
Another streak of light from the storm revealed his disorientation, and he fumbled for the candle at his bedside.
“No.” Tilly brushed at her skirts, shaking herself from her stunned inaction. “I heard something. I came to check on you.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I couldn’t very well ignore you.”
A scratch and a hiss sounded. Keeping her face averted, Tilly scrambled upright. She felt her way along the wall, her movements stiff and awkward.
“Why were you on the floor?” he asked, his voice shaky.
She sensed by his voice he was coming out of his stupor, shrugging off the sleep and trying to piece together what had happened.
“Did I push you?”
“It was nothing.” She cringed at the hitch in her voice. “I slipped.”
Though she desperately wanted to mitigate the circumstances, there’d be no hiding the bruise in the morning. Judging by the moisture trickling down her neck, the wound needed tending.
His candle threw her misshapen shadow against the wall, and her pulse quickened. She mustn’t let him see her face. Right now she wanted to hide back to her room, and forget any of this ever happened. Quickly. Before he saw the damage.
She might have made her escape, but she was too unsteady on her feet, her balance reeling from the blow. The moment she stumbled, he was at her side.
There was no hiding.
She turned her face. “It’s nothing.”
She watched in growing dismay as the awareness of what had happened struck him. His face crumbled and he tentatively reached out one hand, then stilled, as though he couldn’t bring himself to touch her.
Nolan remained silent for a heartbreaking moment, his expression stricken. When he spoke, his voice was no more than a whisper.
“What have I done?”
* * *
“Nothing,” Tilly replied. “You did nothing. I told you, I slipped.”
Nolan couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.
Blood trickled down her face from a growing bruise. Was she lying? Had he struck her? He was still half-asleep, his thoughts sluggish. He glanced at his hands, at his knuckles, nearly collapsing in relief to find them uninjured. The next instant despair took hold once more.
Whether or not he’d touched her, he was at fault for her injury. As he’d feared, his nightmares had returned.
She touched his sleeve, her eyes full of pity. “You should sit.”
Her kindness woke him from his torpor. “I’m not the one who needs tending.”
The next hour passed in a haze. Someone lit lanterns. It might have been him. He couldn’t remember. He retrieved bandages and alcohol from a box he kept beneath the sink.
Tilly remained still beneath his ministrations. He dabbed at the blood oozing from the wound. She winced and hissed a breath.
“I’m sorry,” Nolan murmured.
“It’s all right,” she whispered in obvious deference to the sleeping girls. “It was an accident.”
He’d meant that he was sorry for the pain of the alcohol, but this was as good a time as any to apologize.
“Truly. I’m sorry.”
“What happened? What were you dreaming about?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember, or you won’t tell me?”
“It doesn’t matter why,” he said. “Nothing will change what happened.”
“You’re Southern, aren’t you? You fought for the South.”
He paused, then heaved a sigh. “Yes. I fought for the Confederacy. How did you know?”
“You still have the barest hint of an accent.”
“I didn’t realize.”
“I doubt most folks would notice.”
“You did,” he said. “You noticed.”
“I have an ear for that sort of thing.” She touched the spot on her head and winced. “Where did you serve?”
Guilt twisted his gut. He wanted to leave. He wanted to retreat deeper into the wilderness, but he couldn’t. He had to stay. He had to protect Tilly and the girls. He had to protect them from the outlaws and from himself.
“I didn’t kill your cousin,” he said. “If that’s what you’re worried about. I served in two battles before my unit was captured. I spent the rest of the war in the Rock Island prisoner camp.”
“There was so much death and loss, what’s the point of blame? We’re all to blame.” She caught his gaze. “I’ve never heard of Rock Island. Where was that?”
“Far from here. Prisoner camps rarely make the news when battles are being fought.”
“Is that what you were dreaming about? Were you dreaming about the camp?”
“Yes.”
“What was it like? I’ve read about—about Andersonville.”
Nolan snorted. “We didn’t have conditions nearly as bad as what those boys faced. I’m ashamed of my fellow Southerners for the atrocities.”
“Still, being held prisoner must have been awful. Suffocating.”
Suffocating. Even as he rolled the word around in his mind, the walls seemed to close in on him. The camp had been a confinement, but he’d never realized, until she said the word, how stifling his time had been.
She touched his sleeve and he jerked away.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe if you talked with someone about what happened, the nightmares would fade.”
He stared at the cut marring the side of her face, along with the red splotch, which would soon purple and bruise. What was the point of talking?
“I don’t need your pity.”
Her gaze dropped, and she stared at her clenched fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said, instantly remorseful. “No one else should have to know what happened. Especially not someone like you.”
“A stranger?” she asked, clearly hurt.
“Someone who still has hope in the future. You shouldn’t have to know what happened to us.”
She clutched his fingers, looking down. “What happened to you? I want to know. You need to tell someone.”
He almost didn’t hear the noise, a slight sniffle. It was faint, so faint he might have mistaken it for something else, until he saw the single tear splash against her wrist.
Something inside his chest seemed to fracture. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I’ll sleep in the livery from now on. I can’t risk hurting you again, or one of the girls.”
“It’s not that,” she said, her voice watery. “I’m not worried about you hurting one of us. What happened was an accident. I know better than to disturb you when you’re sleeping now. I’m sad because I feel guilty. There were times when I didn’t want the war to end. I was helping with my father’s law practice. I knew once peace was declared, and the men came home, that I’d have to quit. I wanted that job even though I knew people were suffering and dying, people like you, but I couldn’t stop those thoughts. I enjoyed the work. I was good at what I did.”
He brushed the hair from her forehead. “No one ever lost God’s love for having a selfish thought. You didn’t want anyone to suffer and die, you wanted to continue the work you enjoyed. There’s nothing wrong with that. A person can have those two thoughts in their head at once. You could want the war to end, and still want to keep doing the work.”
She sniffled. “I never realized how much guilt I’ve been carrying. Working for the widows and orphans society was the perfect solution. I could be helpful, and I could atone for the guilt.”
“We’ll survive this, and you’ll be stronger. You’ll live in New York, and you’ll help all the widows and orphans you can find.”
“Will we? Will we survive this?”
“You have to believe. Sometimes, the only thing we have left is hope.”
The door to the girls’ bedroom swung open. Knuckling her eyes, Elizabeth padded into the room in her nightgown.
“Thirsty,” she declared.
Tilly held out her hand. “Come along. Let’s fetch you a drink of water.”
Elizabeth tilted her head and pointed at Tilly’s forehead. “Ouch. You have an ouch.”
Nolan’s hands quaked. He’d done that. He might not have laid a hand on her, but her injury was his fault.
“Yes,” Tilly replied easily. “I have an ouch. Now let’s fetch that water.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms and vigorously shook her head. “No-wan help.”
Tilly rolled her eyes. “You’ve obviously become her favorite.”
“Here.” Nolan extended his arm and she grasped his index finger. “I’ll fetch you some water.”
The child’s unwavering trust in him was humbling. She’d been born after the war. She’d only lived in a time a peace. Would that all children could know only settled times.
Tilly glanced down the corridor to the front door. “They really aren’t worried about us escaping, are they? They haven’t even bothered to stay awake during their watch.”
“They keep a tight hold on the horses. That’s all they need to do.”
“Shh.” She held a finger before her lips. “I think there’s someone outside.”
Anxiety thrummed along his nerves. “Which one is it? Snyder?”
She crept toward the door. He handed Elizabeth her cup of water and followed Tilly, then pushed her back and out of sight. He didn’t trust anyone at this point.
“It’s not one of the outlaws,” she said. “It’s too dark to see, but I think it’s one of the cavalry men.”
The outlaws always set a watch, though they often dozed through their duties. The purple fingers of dawn crept along the horizon. Nolan caught a glimpse of a familiar animal. While it was too dark to make out the man, he recognized the horse.
A jolt of pure relief flooded through him.
The horse belonged to Lieutenant Perry—the one man he trusted.
They were saved.