Nathan eyed the overcast sky. It was getting on toward noontime and Abigail and Lizzie still hadn’t returned home. They had apparently decided to stay and have lunch with the aunts.
Jerking the corral gate closed, he looped the rope latch over a fence post and headed toward the livery. The idea shouldn’t anger him so, but it did, and so did the knowledge that despite what she’d originally thought about her relatives back East, Abigail had taken a liking to her mother’s sisters.
His heart thumped. She’d be leaving soon—and taking a part of him with her.
“Mr. Hawk, hello.”
Abigail’s two aunts stood framed in the entrance to the livery. Like before, the taller one was draped all in black and the shorter in brown, but a hint of creamy lace peeked from the latter’s neck and sleeves. Abigail and Lizzie were nowhere in sight.
He cleared his throat and tried to sound polite. “Morning, ladies.”
The taller one, Hester Jane, crossed the yard toward him. A plain black parasol dangled from her arm, but it’d be of little use if the clouds opened up and poured out all the rain they were threatening. He motioned toward the lean-to. “Would you ladies like to come inside?”
“Actually, we were looking for our niece. Is she—home?” The lines around Hester Jane’s mouth turned white on the last word, as though it cost her something to say it.
Nathan crossed his arms. What were they playing at? Abigail hadn’t been home all day. “Isn’t she with you? This morning she said she intended on going by the Chens’ house with a few supplies, but after that, she was going by the Calico Hotel. I assumed she was there.”
Her head cocked to one side, Vivian spoke and tugged on her sister’s sleeve. “Perhaps we missed her, Hester. It could be she’s at the hotel now, waiting for us.”
Hester Jane jerked a bony finger toward the Asian side of town. “Isn’t that where those Orientals live?”
Nathan nodded. “It is.”
“Then there’s no way we could have missed her, not if she was headed straight over to the hotel afterward.”
And so, what did she think? That he was lying? Nathan’s patience stretched thinner. “I’m sorry, ladies, I don’t know where Abigail could have gotten to, but I’ll sure enough send her your way once she gets back. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have chores to finish.”
Hester Jane called to him as he turned. “Mr. Hawk.”
She said it in a conversational way, not at all like she was irritated or condescending. It stopped Nathan in his tracks. He glanced over his shoulder at her.
“I know you’re a busy man, but I wonder if we might have a word with you. Until Abigail returns, that is. Do you mind?”
Mind? You bet he minded, especially since she more than likely wanted to talk to him about letting Abigail go back to Virginia with them. He took his time wiping his hands on an old feed sack before joining the ladies at the entrance and motioning for them to precede him to the lean-to.
Inside, Hester Jane managed to look regal, seated in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Though she tried to emulate her sister’s rigid posture, Vivian only managed to look uncomfortable.
Nathan sat opposite them both, his arms crossed and a glower fixed to his face. Abigail probably would have offered them something to drink. Charlotte, too, when she was alive. Nathan, however, clenched his jaw and waited.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been married to our niece?” Hester Jane asked.
Nathan grunted. He knew what they’d make of his answer. A part of him wished it had been longer. “Just nigh unto two weeks.”
“And you were acquainted with one another before Anson died?”
“Yes, since I moved to Calico.”
“How long was that?”
“Almost seven months ago.”
One corner of Hester Jane’s mouth twitched. “Not long.”
Long enough considering he’d fallen in love with her during that time. Placing both hands on the table, he leaned forward and stared directly into Hester Jane’s eyes. “What is it you want to know?”
To his surprise, Hester Jane copied the motion, her chin squared as she met his gaze. “I want to know that our niece is cared for. I want to know that she’s safe, and happy, and most of all, loved. Can you tell me that, Mr. Hawk? Is our niece loved?”
Next to Hester Jane, Vivian fairly quivered as she waited for his answer—but taken aback by the unexpected turn, Nathan fell silent.
Hester Jane’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”
He shook his head. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, you don’t see, ma’am. Not at all.”
Rising, Nathan made his way to the window and looked out past the dry rocks and sand of the Mojave, to a stand of scrub bushes that dotted the hills. He nodded toward the bushes. “Before I met Abigail, I was like those bushes out there, struggling for something to cling to and soaking up just enough living to keep me alive. If it hadn’t been for Lizzie—”
“Your daughter.” Hester Jane’s eyebrow quirked.
“From my first marriage. My wife died of consumption before we arrived in Calico.”
“How long ago was that?”
Sixteen months, twenty-eight days. Nathan returned his gaze to the window. “Over a year.”
“But I thought you came to Calico seven months ago,” Vivian said.
Nathan clenched his fists and jammed them into his pockets as he thought back to those dark weeks and months he and Lizzie had spent in Oklahoma, where Charlotte was buried. Leaving that place felt like he was abandoning Charlotte, and he’d struggled for days to gather up the courage to leave her remains behind.
He swallowed hard. “Let’s just say it took me awhile to get over losing my wife.”
It was quiet for a moment, and then Hester Jane spoke. “Then you understand what it was like for us after Olivia died.”
Confused, he turned from the window. Hester Jane still sat at the table, her shoulders rigid and her hands clasped, but her eyes no longer looked so hard. In fact, he thought he saw a faint shimmer there.
“My sister was the youngest of the three of us,” Hester Jane began, “and we treated her as such, always babying her along, granting her anything she wanted.”
Vivian nodded. “You would have thought all that attention spoiled her, but the opposite was true. She was the sweetest, most generous of us all.”
“I never could understand how she managed to see the good in everyone,” Hester Jane said. “It shouldn’t have surprised us when Anson Watts came along and Olivia fell head over heels. He was so much like her—kind, generous. Unfortunately, he was also poor.”
Shame written on her face, Vivian dipped her head. “We didn’t trust Anson. His nose was always in a book. We thought he was lazy and using Olivia to get at her money.”
Lips tight, Hester Jane said, “We were wrong.”
“Only—only—we were too proud to admit it.”
There was a catch in Vivian’s voice, as though she fought tears. In spite of himself, Nathan felt sorry for her. “And so you stayed away.”
Their heads bobbed in unison.
“But when we heard that Anson had died and Abigail was alone,” Hester Jane said, “well, we boarded the fastest train west.”
“Where you found me.”
They hesitated, their faces stricken.
Walking slowly back to the table, Nathan sat and stared at his hands. “You asked me if I love Abigail. I reckon that’s a fair question seeing as how you’ve come all this way just to check on her.”
Lifting his gaze, he stared first at Hester Jane and then at Vivian.
“The answer is yes, ladies. I do love Abigail. I love her with all my heart.”
Abigail woke to sniffling.
Though she tried with all her might, her eyes wouldn’t focus, refusing to see past the thick blackness clinging to her like a shroud. A chill crept up her arms and over her shoulders and made the hair on her neck stand on end.
Where was she?
The sniffling grew louder, followed by a hiccup.
“Lizzie, is that you?”
“Lizzie, is that you? you? you?”
Abigail froze as her words echoed—not the ringing cry one cast over a deep valley, but the hollow, muted sound found in…
The mine.
Rolling onto her hands and knees, Abigail felt fine, dusty silt beneath her fingers, mingled with sharp, pointed rocks, and the iron tracks that the ore cars ran on. Fear clutched at her belly.
“Lizzie!”
“Abigail?”
More hiccups followed the first, but at least she sounded close. Abigail tried to calm the terror building in her chest but was still horrified when she stuck out her hands and saw nothing—not even her fingers, when she held them inches from her face.
“Where are you, sweetheart?”
“Here. I’m here. Abigail, I’m scared.”
So was she, and her head throbbed. The memory rushed back, bringing sharp pain to her temple where Gavin had hit her. She pressed her hand to her head, trying to ease the ache enough to think. “All right, sweetheart, you just keep talking. I’m going to come to you, all right?”
Her voice small, Lizzie said, “All right.”
“We’ll make it a game.” Sweat dampened her palms. Abigail rubbed them on her skirt before easing to her feet. She had room to stand. In fact, if she stretched her fingers straight up, she barely grazed the stone ceiling. She drew a deep breath. “All right, Lizzie. Let’s start with a few questions. What’s your favorite color?”
“Red.”
Well, that hardly worked. Her answer was too short to get a clear sense of her direction.
“So tell me something about the color red. Why do you like it so much?”
“We–ell,” Lizzie said, drawing out the word, “it reminds me of Christmas.”
She was somewhere to the left. Her hands outstretched, Abigail turned that way. “Really? Why?”
“Pa says Santa Claus wears a red suit and rides a red sleigh.”
“Of course. What else do you like about red?”
“It’s pretty. Like roses. You like those, don’t you, Abigail? You have rose water.”
Though the mountain twisted Lizzie’s words, making each sound strange, Abigail could tell she was getting closer. Without sight, however, she cringed, as though she would smash her head on the stone walls. She lowered herself to her knees, crept forward along the iron track, stuck her hand out to feel for Lizzie, and then crept forward some more.
“Yes, sweetheart. I like roses. What other kind of flowers do you like?”
“Hmm—daisies are my favorite.”
Thankfully, much of the fear had gone from Lizzie’s voice. She talked as normally as if she and Abigail had sat down for tea.
“My momma taught me a game with daisies. You pull off the petals one by one. Do you know it?” Lizzie asked.
“I don’t think so. You’ll have to teach it to me.”
“Maybe after Pa comes.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice shook. “Abigail, why did that man hit you on the head? Why did he put us in here? Is he mad?”
Just as she finished speaking, Abigail felt something soft and warm beneath her fingers, and then she heard a gasp.
“Lizzie?”
“Abigail!”
Two arms flew around Abigail’s neck, nearly choking the breath from her. On her cheeks, Lizzie’s tears mingled with her own. She gathered the child close, hugging her tightly until her shoulders ached.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m right here. It’s going to be all right.”
Finally Lizzie’s trembling subsided, though she refused to let go of Abigail completely. “I don’t like it here. Can we go now?”
Go where? She had no idea where in the mine they were. It had, in fact, taken several minutes just to find her way to Lizzie. Who knew what other dangers awaited them in the dark?
“Soon, sweetheart. First, I need you to tell me how long I was asleep. Was it a long time?”
Lizzie buried her face in Abigail’s neck. “Yes. I cried and cried after the man left, but you didn’t wake up. I thought you were dead, like Momma.”
She couldn’t imagine the terror Lizzie had felt, alone in the dark, with what she thought was a body. Abigail shuddered then forced a light laugh to cover her fear.
“Nonsense. I was just taking a nap. See? I’m fine now.”
Lizzie’s downy hair tickled Abigail’s face as she nodded.
More than anything, Abigail wanted to sit quietly and think, but for Lizzie’s sake, she kept talking—talking and talking until her voice was hoarse and thirst made her tongue thick. Until all she could find to say were silly nursery rhymes she’d learned as a child. Countless minutes ticked away, and finally Lizzie’s body relaxed in slumber.
Her back against the cold wall of the mine, Abigail prepared herself to wait—and pray.