COLD.
The first thought to emerge in Noah's mind.
A chill crept over every fiber of his clothes to his skin, slowing his mind. He shivered. Where was he? What had happened?
He pried his eyes open, blinking against the sudden onslaught of snow in his vision. Snow? What was he doing out in the middle of the snow? Thoughts swirled with the same ferocity as the wind, slow to catch. His attention landed on the overturned carriage nearby.
The horseman!
His eyes shot wide as blurry memories cleared into recognition.
Marty!
Noah moved to sit, and pain coiled up his left leg, nearly crippling him. He paused, allowing a swell of nausea to pass, before adjusting his body to a more upright position. A sharp pain in his shoulder objected to the movement, but he pushed through. His thoughts cleared even more, the ache in his leg shifting from acute to manageable. A sprain, perhaps?
The light dusting of white on his clothes suggested he'd not been unconscious long. A few minutes at most. Maybe less. But he needed to get up and find Marty.
He reached for the nearest part of the carriage, one of the giant wheels, and brought himself up to an even straighter sitting position. At the top of the embankment, his mares stomped nervously, still hitched to the overturned carriage but appearing more annoyed than hurt. Though it was a miracle they stayed upright too.
A sigh shuddered out of Noah's mouth, crystallizing in the air.
Thank God the girls hadn't been with him. His attention shifted back to the overturned carriage with one side crushed in. No woman should be out in this weather. He shrugged his good shoulder. No man, either. Except the crazy ones, it seemed.
And then his gaze caught on a dark mass in the snow on the other side of the carriage, unmoving. His body tensed.
Marty.
He secured his hold on the wagon wheel and attempted to stand, but his first attempt proved futile against the slanted hillside. He barely caught himself before tipping into the snow.
“Marty!” The howl of the wind caught his cry and flung it back to him.
Noah shifted again, leaning his hip against the wheel, almost upright now. He had to get to the man. Pull him out of the snow, at the very least, and under the protection of the carriage.
“Hello!”
Noah jerked his head toward the sound.
Had he even heard it? A woman's voice. He shook his head. It had to be a trick of the wind's howl?
“Are you hurt?”
The voice came again, decidedly feminine.
Maybe he'd hit his head harder than he thought. He searched the direction of the call.
Out of the snowy swirls, a figure emerged, clad in a red cloak.
Noah squinted through the falling snow as the figure grew closer.
It was a woman! She stood at the top of the embankment, and before he could gather his wits, she began a careful slide down the small hill.
He blinked a few times, yet she only grew nearer.
“I was just behind you, using your lantern light as my guide, and saw what happened.” She closed in, her dark, damp hair tumbling loose from her bonnet all around her shoulders. Was she a snow spirit? A ghost? Because those large indigo eyes and her pale face looked much too otherworldly to be from this sphere.
She nearly lost her footing as she reached the bottom of the embankment, and he reflexively reached out an arm to steady her. The wool of her cape brushed against his glove.
Well, she felt real.
She looked down at his hand on her arm and then shot him a smile. “Well, here I am, trying to come to your aid, and you end up assisting me.”
Noah could only stare. Words completely failed him. And then, from inside the folds of her cape peeked a small set of wide eyes. A baby? The woman stopped in the middle of a snowstorm to help him, and she was carrying a baby?
Words skidded even farther away from him.
“Thank the good Lord you're upright.” She gestured with her head toward the road. “Your horses too. With a turn like that one, I'm surprised someone didn't get hurt real bad.”
And then Marty flew to mind again.
“Marty.” The name puffed out on a breath. Noah spun around, searching for the young man. “One of my men. He's—”
“I see him,” she broke in, taking off in that direction.
Noah blinked a few more times and then, with his hand on the carriage for support, made a much slower approach.
“He's breathin’,” the woman said, kneeling in the snow beside Marty. “His leg's turned in an awful direction, though, so I reckon it's broke. I can't tell about his head or neck, so I'm scared to move him.”
Noah rounded the side of the carriage. “We can't stay here. He'll freeze to death.”
Those indigo eyes rose back to his, and she dipped her delicate chin in agreement. “Then we'll have to take the chance there ain't nothin’ too hurt in his spine or neck.” Her gaze fell to his limp. “You can't make it up that bank without help neither.”
He attempted to stand taller to prove his ability, but his wince contradicted his intentions.
She dipped her chin and straightened her shoulders as if readying for the task. “But I don't think I can get him up to my buggy on my own.”
If at all. Noah stiffened against a surge of panic and searched the area. His attention landed on a blanket half spilled from the open carriage door. “Let's drag him.”
Her gaze followed his, and a smile brightened her whole face, pausing his thoughts all over again. “That's a good start, but you think you're able?”
He forced his brain into motion. “I will be.”
She held his gaze as if measuring his determination, and he refused to look away. He'd have to work through the pain in his leg. There was no other option.
“All right.” With a nod, she marched over to the blanket and pulled it from the door. Noah released his hold on the carriage and limped forward, biting back the pain in both his leg and his shoulder as he helped her shift Marty's limp body onto the blanket.
“Are you sure you're able to help?” He flitted his attention down to the baby's wide blue eyes, so similar to the woman's. “I can try on my own.”
Her grin tipped a little. “Charlie's used to me working with him strapped in. If it gets too tough for me, I'll settle him in the buggy, but he's getting so wiggly, I'm afraid he won't stay.”
“You need to promise that you won't put either of you in harm's way. If it gets to be too much for you, stop. I'll make do as best I can.”
Her dark brows rose. “Mister …”
“Lewis, Noah Lewis.”
“Mr. Lewis, it's impossible to live without being in harm's way sometimes, and I think helpin’ out a neighbor in need is one of the best reasons for risk, don't you?” And with that, she turned and started tugging the blanket with Marty up the hill.
Who was this woman? Maybe she truly was a snow spirit … or an angel? And as soon as he reached his home, she'd disappear with the wind.
Noah hobbled to her side, taking the other corner of the blanket. After a few slips and stumbles, they made it to the road.
“I reckon we'll all have to bunch up on the buggy seat together, but at least the buggy's covered, so we'll keep Marty from getting more snow on him.” The woman's breaths pulsed into the air, her chest rising and falling with her deep breaths from the effort to get Marty this far. She stretched out her back, dropping the corner of the blanket into the snow at her feet and then opened her suit jacket beneath her cape to check on the babe. The little one's attention fastened on Noah again. “He's trying to figure you out too, Mr. Lewis. With the snow covering about every inch of you, he ain't never seen a snowman before.”
Humor? At a time like this?
And yet, if he guessed right, she'd paused long enough to not only catch her breath but give him a moment to catch his too.
“He'll lose all interest once I'm thawed, I suppose.”
Her quick smile unfurled again, and she looked back at the carriage. “Is there any way to unhook one of those lanterns to help us get the rest of the way into town?”
“I can try.” He moved in that direction, grateful the front of the carriage still rested partially on flat ground. “We're only a mile from my home.”
Another rush of wind pushed them both back a step and set them into motion. The woman took hold of the corner of the blanket again. Noah helped, and they finally got Marty beneath the shelter of the buggy while they sorted out what to do next.
“How about if I hitch my mares to the buggy along with yours. That'll help us move through the storm faster.”
“As long as they'll all play nice together. The last thing we need is a bunch of fussy ladies when we already got a wounded man and …” Her attention settled on him. “A limping one.”
His laugh almost burst out despite himself and the situation. “I'll have a good talk with them before we commence to make sure they play nice.”
“Well, womenfolk can be testy sometimes, I hear.” Her smile flared.
With another puff of a laugh, he helped her navigate the tedious transition of an unconscious Marty to the buggy seat. The woman slid in next to Marty, guiding his head to rest against the side of the buggy before dismounting to take the blanket and tuck it in around him, as much to keep him warm as to secure his head position.
Then she hopped down to help Noah with the horses.
In just a few minutes they were seated in the buggy and finally in motion. The wind had quieted a little, enough for them to see farther ahead, but snow fell at such a rate that Noah wondered if, even with the three mares’ strength, the buggy could push through the drifts. Already, at least five inches had fallen in some places, if not more.
Any attempt to increase speed led to the buggy slipping on the ice layer beneath the new snow, and all they needed was another ten minutes. Then he could get everyone into the house, phone the doctor, and have his mother get Marty settled. Even if the doctor couldn't make it to Noah's house, perhaps he could offer some advice on how to help Marty.
The woman pressed against his side, the three of them wedged in the small seat made for two. Something about her red cape and those blue eyes carried an almost haunting combination, like a veritable Red Riding Hood emerging from outrunning the wolf, though, with her fortitude, she may have killed the wolf before setting out on her snowy drive.
“I don't mean to be rude, but what were you doing out in the storm alone?”
She pulled her gaze from tucking the now-sleeping babe more safely within the folds of her cape. “The snow started when we were about four miles outside of town. At least that's what the sign said.” She shrugged a shoulder. “There wasn't much else to do except move on at that point, since I didn't see no other place to stop.”
He kept his face forward but nodded. The storm had come on all of a sudden, and there was no other town within a ten-to-fifteen-mile radius of The Hollows.
“It's a good thing I kept moving forward for your sake.” She shot him a grin. “Now I know exactly why we got caught in the storm.”
His attention shot back to her. “What?”
“Well, when the snow started falling so hard I started getting worried. But I kept reminding myself that God's got me and Charlie right where He wants us, so He's bound to use even the storm for His good.” She waved toward him. “And look at what good He's done. I've only ever rescued my little brother Isom from drowning, and once, a trapped rabbit from a gum.” She wrinkled her nose with her frown. “I just couldn't abide trapping those little rabbits, even if it brought in good money.” Her gaze flew back to him. “What a better story to rescue two grown men.”
Noah's jaw slacked, his pride prickling just a little at the notion of being rescued by her, and then his laugh burst out. “Who are you?”
Her eyes grew wide. “Who am I?”
“Surely you know. I'm the one who hit my head, not you.”
Her grin brightened, lighting those eyes.
“If you don't tell me who you are, I'll be forced to call you Red Riding Hood.” He gestured toward her cape with his chin. “Or an angel?”
“Angel?” At this, she laughed, a light and dulcet sound. “I ain't no angel, Mr. Lewis. Though, with the Lord's help, I'm a heap of a lot better than I was.” She snickered again and shifted in the seat a little to face him. “My name is Miss Kizzie McAdams.” She raised her cape a little to showcase the sleeping babe. “And this here's Charlie McAdams.”
“Well, I'd hate to think you were put in danger in order to rescue me and Marty, but I am grateful for your timing.” Almost as if his declaration held power, the buggy's movement grew more sluggish. The horses pulled against the growing weight of the snow.
“We may have to walk after all.” Miss McAdams steadied herself with a hand to his arm.
“See that roofline up ahead, through the snow?” He pointed. “We only need to make it there. It's home.”
A frown puckered her brow. “You mean, you don't live in the town proper?”
“I live outside the town a mile to be nearer the mill my brother and I run.”
“So I'm not too far from town then. That's good.” She nodded as if taking in the information. “ ’Cause I don't think me, Daisy, and this buggy are going to make it much farther tonight.”
The glow of the gaslight both inside and outside the house pierced through the growing dark and wild flurries. “Miss McAdams, you won't make it to town tonight unless you try by foot.”
Her eyes rounded, and for the first time since meeting her, the glow in those uncommonly blue eyes dimmed. “Well then. I'll just have to go by foot. Charlie can't be out in this storm for much longer, and I sure don't have plans to cuddle up in the buggy for the night.”
“Of course not.” He laughed. “No. The only course for you right now is to stay with us.”
“Stay with you?” Air crystallized around her from the force in the words. “Mr. Lewis, I can't stay at your house … you and me being … I can assure you, I don't live like that no more, and I ain't keen to sully a perfectly fine gentleman's reputation.”
Well, there was a lot to unpack from that statement.
“My mother lives there as well, so you have nothing to worry about as far as reputation, Miss McAdams. And …” He tightened his hold on the reins as the buggy slid again and the horses nearly crawled to a stop. “There is no way I or my mother will allow you to walk to town tonight. So prepare yourself to be our houseguest.”
How had she run right from one sticky situation into another?
Staying at an unmarried man's house? No matter the weather, she'd just chosen to walk away from such a life and now … here she was?
“My mother lives there as well, so you have nothing to worry about as far as reputation.”
At least God provided a chaperone to prove Kizzie's reputation had changed, should someone drum up her past and attempt to hurt not only her but good Mr. Lewis. She sent him another look from her periphery.
He had kind eyes.
And he didn't seem to be a scoundrel, so hopefully he told the truth about his mama. At any rate, they had to get poor Mr. Marty somewhere to check on his wounds, because bouncing around in a buggy wasn't the best idea.
She drew in a breath, reminding herself of what she'd prayed only a little while before when the storm hit. God had her and Charlie right where He wanted them. All she needed to do was keep choosing Him and His ways.
She looked out into the blurry evening, barely able to see anything except snow and more snow. Despite her reservations, the safest course for her and Charlie was to stay at Mr. Lewis’.
Up ahead, light glimmered into the snowy veil, taking shape as they neared.
Kizzie squinted into the snow.
The building kept growing taller and wider and broader with each horse's step.
Was that a house? Or a hotel?
She'd never been to a big town, and the one closest to her home growing up only had a little hotel, no larger than the general store. But this? This brick, three-story building rose into the snowy sky with a large porch almost completely around the whole front and a … Was that a tower rising up on one side?
Where on earth had God brought her?
She'd thought the Morgan house a grand place, but this … “Law, is this your house?”
Mr. Lewis shrugged. “Well, it's my mother's, but my father had it built ten years ago when we first came to The Hollows.”
“It's beautiful,” she whispered, placing her palm over the place where Charlie's head rested beneath her cape. “I ain't never seen nothing like it before in all my livin’ days.”
“Mr. Noah.” A call came from the front of the house as two men ran, or attempted to run, toward them through the snow, but the snow's depth slowed them. “Thank God.”
The horses seemed to recognize their nearness to shelter. They jolted into a faster pace, meeting the men on the front drive of the massive house.
“The carriage overturned a mile back,” Mr. Lewis announced as the men reached the buggy and kept pace alongside. “Marty's injured. We need to get him inside.”
The younger of the two men, who had dark curls like Marty, shot a look to the unconscious man. “We need the doctor?”
“The doctor won't make it here,” Mr. Lewis responded, drawing the buggy to a stop. “And we can't make it there. Case, follow me to the stables.”
The younger man nodded.
“Taylor, take Miss McAdams inside and let Mother know we'll be carrying Marty in.” He gestured toward Kizzie. “And ask Mrs. North to prepare a room for Miss McAdams. I'll explain everything when we settle Marty inside.”
The older of the two men, probably more like Kizzie's daddy's age, glanced at Kizzie before turning to Mr. Lewis. “Yes, sir.” The curl of his accent gave off a similar sound as Mr. Angus from the mountain. Was he from across the pond?
“I'll have your trunks brought to you, Miss McAdams.” Mr. Lewis’ attention raised to the man he'd called Taylor. “And Taylor, I'll need some assistance getting from the stables to the house on account of my own minor injury.”
“Yes, sir,” Taylor responded with a nod.
“Allow me to help you down, Miss McAdams.” Mr. Lewis turned to Kizzie and offered her his hand.
She stared at his outstretched gloved hand, the simple movement hinging in her mind like the courtly gesture she'd sung about in old ballads back home. Her gaze raised to his, the man's pale hazel eyes holding hers with the same patience as his outstretched hand. With the slightest hesitation, she slid her fingers over his, and he assisted her to a stand.
“Taylor?”
Kizzie turned at Mr. Lewis’ word to find Taylor ready to help her to the ground.
The snow reached to the top of her boots as her feet landed on the ground. She glanced back up at Mr. Lewis before turning toward Taylor, her palm rising to the place where Charlie's head rested. Her little bundle began to wiggle beneath her touch, warning of his coming need for food. Mr. Taylor led the way as Mr. Lewis and her buggy disappeared around the side of the house, presumably to find the stables.
Stables.
Even the Morgans, in their relative wealth, didn't have stables.
Their few horses went into a barn like most everyone else's.
Her gaze trailed back up the length of the house. But, she supposed, folks who lived in houses the size of hillsides could afford stables.
Mr. Taylor held the door for her to pass, his posture stick straight and his expression, well if an expression could be stick straight, his was.
A small entryway, with stained glass windows on either side, led through double doors into a large room with a grand spiral staircase of dark wood that twisted up and out of sight. Her attention caught on a chandelier dangling from two stories up, three times bigger than the one in the foyer of the Morgans’ house.
“Please wait here, miss.”
Kizzie looked over to find Mr. Taylor gesturing her through an arched threshold into one of the prettiest parlors she had ever seen. Lush green furnishings, thick ornate rugs, and a fireplace big enough to fit a horse greeted her from the first room, with another arched separation opening into another elegant room to the left. Another sitting room? Even larger?
Kizzie glanced behind her, where a doorway led to a hallway, hinting at more rooms.
“May I take your cape, miss?”
Kizzie stared at the man as if he spoke some foreign language. She understood the words, but somehow, they didn't fit the position she'd held her whole life: mountain girl and servant girl. Maybe it was his accent that caused the trouble.
She pushed up a smile and unfastened the clip at her throat. “Thank you kindly.”
He took the cloak and was in the process of dipping his head when his attention fell to Kizzie's chest. She followed the shocked man's attention and found Charlie peering back at Mr. Taylor with a similar wide-eyed expression.
“This here's Charlie, Mr. Taylor.”
And, as if on cue, Charlie unrolled one of his biggest smiles for the man.
Mr. Taylor's brows shot even higher.
“Well, he must know you're a good sort, because he's only started smiling over the past week or so, and he cut you a nice one on first look.”
Mr. Taylor's mouth jerked around like his lips and his brains wanted two different things, and then, with another dip of his chin, he backed toward the foyer.
Kizzie drew Charlie from his place within her day suit jacket, the warmth of his body leaving a sweat stain, or she hoped it was a sweat stain, on her blouse beneath. The house fell quiet, and the room seemed to grow in size at the silence.
She sat on the nearest little settee and discreetly fed Charlie while noises happened around her, but no one entered the room. She'd just finished caring for Charlie when a woman, near her mama's age, walked in. She wore a purple gown as exquisite as the one Nella made for Kizzie, and her soft brown gaze moved from Kizzie to Charlie as Kizzie stood.
“Miss McAdams.” Her accent lilted with that otherworldly sound too.
“Yes, ma'am.” Kizzie stepped forward. “Are you Mrs. Lewis?”
“I am.” The woman folded her hands in front of her and nodded. “And I am particularly grateful for the kindness and courage you showed to my son and our servant Martin.”
“I'm just glad I happened to be going by.”
Her lips flickered with the faintest smile. “And this is your child?”
“Yes, ma'am.” Kizzie shifted Charlie so that Mrs. Lewis could get a better view of him. “How is Marty?”
“He's still unconscious, so it is difficult to ascertain his injuries, and there's no way the doctor will make it here tonight with the storm still in full force.”
“Is there something I can do?”
Again, the press of the woman's lips softened. “That is very kind of you, but I believe you've helped a great deal already this evening, and I'm certain you are tired.” She waved toward the stairs. “I've had Mrs. North prepare a room for you and Charlie. She'll also bring some supper to your room.” She gestured for Kizzie to follow.
“Thank you kindly.” Kizzie followed the woman up the grand stairs. “I'm sorry to be such trouble.”
Mrs. Lewis paused on the landing and turned. “Please, you are no trouble at all. I am grateful for you. There is a good chance you not only saved Martin's life, but Noah's as well.”
She resumed her walk.
“My father was a doctor, and I would often assist him when I was younger,” Mrs. Lewis continued, oblivious to the fact that the beautiful surroundings kept pausing Kizzie's attempts to keep up with her. “I'm not certain, but I think Martin's spine is fine. However, to ensure his mental faculties are in order, we have to wait for him to wake.”
A fact Kizzie had learned from witnessing a few falls. Hezzy Clark fell from a tree once and was never the same afterwards, but he'd stayed unconscious four whole days before coming to. Hopefully, Marty would wake up soon.
Very soon.
Because he'd already been unconscious at least an hour.
Mrs. Lewis stopped in front of an open door and gestured to the room. “Will this do for you and Charlie?”
Kizzie peeked into the room of gold and blue. Wallpaper covered the high, wood-trimmed walls, a bed bigger than any she'd ever seen stood in the center of the room, and a marble fireplace sparkled with a healthy fire and blinked light over velvety carpeted floors.
Kizzie felt pretty sure she'd stepped into a fairy story.
“It's the most beautiful room I've ever seen.”
“Good.” One corner of Mrs. Lewis’ lips tipped up, almost transforming into a full smile. “And you can see that your trunks have already been delivered.” She waved across the hall. “The washroom is there.”
“Thank you.” Kizzie barely got the words out, her head spinning with the wonder of it all.
Mrs. Lewis paused in her turn and folded her hands again. “Noah told me that you traveled alone tonight.”
A sudden wariness tightened Kizzie's spine. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Are you alone in the world?”
Kizzie swallowed and nodded. “Except for the Almighty, ma'am. I am.”
Her attention flickered to Charlie and back. “And … is there a Mr. McAdams?”
Kizzie stifled a sigh and offered a smile much brighter than the lump gathering in her throat suggested. “Well, there is, but he's my daddy.”
Her eyes flickered wide for only a second, and if Kizzie hadn't been paying such close attention, she may not have noticed. “So forgive me, but am I right in understanding that you have never had a husband?”
Kizzie drew in a deep breath. How she'd hoped it would take longer than a day for her reputation to come to light in a new place. “Yes ma'am, you are, but God's seen fit to put me on the straight and narrow despite my wrong choices, so I aim to move forward in a way to please Him, if I can.”
The rush of shame flooded from Kizzie's boots all the way to her hairline, as if she stood right back in front of her mama and daddy, hoping love would overcome prejudice. But at that moment, she knew the truth.
“I see.” The woman's gaze held Kizzie's almost as if her eyes delved into Kizzie's soul, trying to dig up something broken. Well, she'd find a whole lot, but hopefully, she'd see a woman trying to do right too.
God would accept her in her brokenness. He already had.
And a few other people who knew forgiveness might accept her too.
But finding a good and decent man with a good and decent family to take her just as she was? Well, that was as likely as finding white wildflowers in a snowstorm.
She closed off the dream and tucked it far back into her heart, where impossible dreams were kept.
Yes, impossible.