A Woman on a Mission

The wagon train ride from Missouri to Kansas territory is rife with perils. But there are bigger obstacles for Dr. Victoria Fenway than cholera or creek floods. Years ago, she and wagon-train captain Joseph Rickard were deeply in love. Now, Victoria is tracking the man who killed her late husband, and she is determined to continue his work rescuing slaves. She can’t allow herself to fall for Joseph again—not when he abandoned her once before.

Joseph told Victoria he’d love her forever, and he’s been as good as his word. Misunderstanding led to her marrying another man. But with dangerous slavers on their trail, he’ll do anything to keep her safe until they reach a new home—and a second chance.

“Things don’t always turn out the way we want them to, do they?” Victoria asked softly.

Something in Joseph’s gaze caught and held Victoria breathless. She looked away quickly, but for an instant ten years vanished and they were back on the deck of the riverboat on the Mississippi River, with the water splashing against the shore while she memorized every inch of his face.

“This isn’t the end,” he’d whispered. “It can’t be. I’ll never stop loving you.”

Then the whistle blew and the deck beneath them moved, and the years stacked atop each other once more. She blinked and shook the memory away, but not before she relived the heartbreak of loss. Not again. Never again. She couldn’t bear to feel that kind of pain for a second time.

HANNAH ALEXANDER

is the pseudonym of husband-and-wife writing team Cheryl and Mel Hodde (pronounced “Hoddee”). When they first met, Mel had just begun his new job as an E.R. doctor in Cheryl’s hometown, and Cheryl was working on a novel. Cheryl’s matchmaking pastor set them up on an unexpected blind date at a local restaurant. Surprised by the sneak attack, Cheryl blurted the first thing that occurred to her, “You’re a doctor? Could you help me paralyze someone?” Mel was shocked. “Only temporarily, of course,” she explained when she saw his expression. “And only fictitiously. I’m writing a novel.”

They began brainstorming immediately. Eighteen months later they were married, and the novels they set in fictitious Ozark towns began to sell. The first novel in the Hideaway series won the prestigious Christy award for Best Romance in 2004.

Keeping Faith

Hannah Alexander

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord,

the Lord himself, is the Rock eternal.

—Isaiah 26:4

This story is written in loving memory of Lorene B. Cook, Sept. 13, 1925, to Feb. 25, 2012, whose inner strength will live on in my characters as long as the stories exist.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

Dr. Victoria Fenway sat beside her young assistant in the opening of her host’s covered wagon, grinding herbs with mortar and pestle as she studied the tree-shrouded wilderness for a shadow, a shape or movement that might tell her their camp was being watched by a monster.

Broderick Thames, her husband’s murderer, was indeed a monster, and he was here in the south of Missouri. She had no doubt of that. For the past few days, after discovering the first unique track of the killer’s fire-red horse, she’d lived on the razor edge of fear. He’d come this way for a reason, but why?

A screech of youthful male terror reached her from a distance. She jerked, startled, spilling powdered chamomile everywhere.

Her fourteen-year-old helper, Heidi Ladue, dropped her empty teabags and caught Victoria by the arm. “Dr. Fenway, that sounds like Claude. Did you hear a splash?”

Victoria turned and tried to peer through the trees toward the roar of the flooded creek that had halted their journey today. “In that torrent? How could anyone hear a single splash?”

Another cry reached them from the direction of the creek. “The rope,” came a familiar voice. “Help me, please! Get the rope.”

Heidi scrambled from her perch on the wagon’s edge, long strands of her flax-pale hair dangling over her shoulders and the calico ruffles of her sleeves. “That is Claude. He’s in trouble!”

Victoria shoved her work aside and leaped from beneath the canvas of the Ladue wagon. “We don’t have the ropes. Your mother tied the horses with them.” They’d been unable to form a corral with the wagons on this narrow strip of land between cliffs and overflowing creek.

She ran toward the trees in an effort to catch sight of Claude but all she could see was muddy, churning water between giant trunks of oak and broadleaf evergreens. Heidi’s younger brother was not a clumsy boy. Could Thames be nearby? Could that wicked man have pushed him?

Heidi clutched Victoria’s arm and tugged. “He was with the Johnston boys earlier. Please come, Dr. Fenway. They had a rope. They were trying to make a pulley out of it to get the wagon across the water.”

Victoria allowed herself to be pulled forward. “They told you this?”

“No, ma’am, I could see it with my own eyes.” Heidi released her grip and turned toward the creek. “I heard them talking. I told the captain and he got on ’em, but they didn’t listen. They’ve been up to something, and I don’t see Claude, but right there’s the Johnston boys.”

She pointed toward Claude’s constant companions, blond-haired Buster and Gray Johnston. They stood across a narrow clearing beside a huge oak tree that shaded a section of the raging water. They were struggling mightily to straighten a tangled mess of rope that connected their wagon to the tree.

Despite stern reprimands, the boys appeared determined to float their wagon to the other bank before the floodwaters died down, like children taking a dare to prove they were men. They were proving just the opposite with their careless disregard for safety.

“Buster?” Victoria called out, clutching her funereal-black skirts and hurrying through treacherous mud toward the boys, Heidi at her side. “Didn’t you two hear your friend? He’s in trouble.”

“I know, but this here’s what he needs.” Buster held up an end of the rope in his hand. “It’s too knotted.”

Claude cried out again and Heidi turned to run toward the sound of her brother’s voice. “It’s the creek, Doctor. I know he fell into the creek!”

Buster tugged with more force on the rope, his face dripping with sweat. “I’m tryin’, ma’am, doin’ all I can, but he’s got to have this to get out!”

“Heidi, be careful!” Victoria turned back to the Johnston brothers. “Boys, please hurry. What is Claude doing in the water?”

“Hangin’ on for life right now,” Gray said.

Victoria could imagine all sorts of awful endings to this and it made her dizzy. “To what?”

“Old stump.”

“That isn’t good enough. We need your help right now.” Victoria wanted to stamp her foot. Did these young men have difficulty grasping the plain truth? She still couldn’t see the thirteen-year-old boy. “Find something else, a plank of wood, a branch. Something!”

“Gotta get this thing unwound to reach him.” Buster’s fingers slid on the muddy knots. “He’s way out there.”

Victoria wanted to thump their heads together as she watched the detritus being shoved along at a mighty pace down the widened creek. Couldn’t they get a little more excited about the threat to their friend’s life? “No stump’s going to protect him from being knocked to pieces if he’s in that creek. You need to try something besides the rope and do it quickly.”

As if he hadn’t heard her, Buster gave the snarl another tug, which made it cling more tightly to the tree.

Victoria nearly growled aloud. “Buster, now!” She could hear only Claude’s cries for help over the flood-stage roar of Flat Creek—which was anything but flat at the moment. It sounded as if an invisible giant rampaged through this southern Missouri valley, tearing trees from their roots to thrust them out of the racing, muddy water. And now Heidi, too, ran dangerously close to the edge of the steep bank.

Victoria turned, slid and nearly fell in the thick mud. “Heidi Ladue, you get away from the water! Help me find something long enough to reach him.”

Heidi came rushing back, her dainty, even features tight with fear, pale hair flying out behind her in the breeze. “He’s too far out, Doctor. We can’t reach him.” She grabbed Victoria’s arm. “I’m scared,” she said, her voice catching.

“Round up help from the camp. Now, my dear.” Victoria gave her a quick hug and urged her up the hill, but as she looked over the girl’s shoulder she finally caught sight of Claude. He was being flung back and forth in the water, choking and spitting, his head barely above the surface as he grasped the stump. “Get the adults quickly!”

As Heidi ran up the muddy track, Victoria raced along the side of the creek. “Hold on, Claude, we’ll get you out!” She searched for a thick limb or a length of vine she might use to reach the boy, but the limb she picked up immediately broke. The vine fell apart. Everything was too soaked to hold up under Claude’s weight.

She glanced over her shoulder to see if the Johnston boys were having any luck with the rope, but Buster and Gray were now in some argument she couldn’t make out.

“Boys, grow up and get to work!” she called, but they didn’t seem to hear her. With the sound of the water, she could barely hear herself.

She closed her eyes and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Gentlemen! Help!” Those young men should never have been allowed to leave home without their father. Instead of eighteen and sixteen, they behaved like eight and six. Why had Joseph chosen them to help build his town in Kansas?

She turned and ran toward Claude again. “We need more men on this trip,” she muttered to herself. How would this group cross the state border safely into Kansas Territory if the Johnston boys kept pulling stunts like this?

With a glance uphill, she searched for the one man who claimed to always be there for help and protection, though she couldn’t see proof that he practiced his assurances. “Captain Rickard?” she called at the top of her voice. “Trouble! Help us, please.”

But Joseph was nowhere in sight. According to Heidi, he was helping collect wood for the fire, a job Claude and his friends were supposed to be doing. Instead of helping, Claude had hovered near the creek with Gray Johnston, both of them in apparent awe of Buster Johnston’s glowing presence.

Victoria scowled at the thought, but she realized that, deep down, she’d been as hopeful as Buster that there would be a way past the flooding so they could cross, though they each had widely divergent motivations. She knew Buster wanted a fresh start as far from home as he could get, and he was in a hurry to get there. He’d suffered deeply after knocking over a lantern where he worked and burning down the general store in their town. A man had died because of Buster’s clumsiness. Anyone his age would go in search of a new life after that. What she feared was that the clumsy bear cub would leave a path of destruction behind him.

She, on the other hand, wanted to scout ahead of the others and scour the fresh mud for familiar tracks. For the first couple of weeks she’d been able to put aside her thirst for revenge as she’d settled in with the friendly people of the wagon train, especially the Ladues. Last week, however, she’d seen evidence that the killer, Thames, had been through the town where the Johnston boys had joined them. She’d seen the unique hoofprint three times along the trail they now followed—a horseshoe that had an inch of length broken off on the right front hoof of Thames’s crimson-colored horse.

She owed Matthew so much; finding his killer was the least she could do to honor his memory. She knew Joseph had wanted her to come with them as their physician—though she felt herself to be a poor substitute for her late husband—but she had her own reasons for coming, and the murdering slaver was never far from her thoughts. He terrified her and he enraged her, and she couldn’t tell which emotion controlled her at any given time. What she knew, however, was that she could not rely on her emotions. They could betray her as ruthlessly as Joseph had done a decade ago.

But Joseph didn’t belong in the same league as Broderick Thames. A man who killed for the simple pleasure of beating his political opponent was a monster, indeed. What would he do if he knew this wagon train was filled with abolitionists set on building a slave-free community in Kansas Territory? He would find a way to destroy them all, and he had the connections to do it.

“Someone, please!” Heidi’s high-pitched voice echoed down to Victoria as she searched around the camp. “Dr. Fenway, look!” The girl’s voice spiraled upward in terror, echoing against the cliffs that halfway surrounded the wagon train on the eastern side of the flooded creek.

Victoria saw Heidi pointing and turned to find that Claude no longer held on to the stump. Only a lone hand stuck out of the water. It grasped upward, much farther downstream than expected. The stump floated away, roots pointing toward the sky as if they were hands grasping for a firm foundation. The water was carrying Claude.

Before she could catch up with his progress, he shoved away from the tumbling log and lunged toward the bank, at least fifty yards from where the Johnston boys continued to wrangle with their rope.

She raced toward him, stumbling over vines that had been washed ashore. The Ladue family had already lost their father. What a nightmare if Luella and Heidi were to lose Claude, as well.

Even as she ran, however, she heard solid footsteps coming up behind her. She could imagine she felt the shaking of the ground when she heard the rush of heavy breathing. She looked to find one of the older men, Mr. Reich, racing by her, slipping and catching himself on the wet grass and mud, paunch hanging past his belt. The wagon train’s scout, long-legged, raw-boned McDonald, ran barely a stride’s length behind Reich. Victoria tripped over another vine and finally lost her balance for good to land in a patch of muddy grass. Others rushed to her to help her up, but she urged them to follow Reich and McDonald.

There was a sudden throng of rescuers, including Luella Ladue with her daughter. Luella surpassed all but the two first men, her light brown hair flying. She jumped into the creek with her grip on a thick vine connected to a gnarled oak tree.

Victoria sat where she was for a few seconds, glad for the rescuers but still anxious. No one should be in the water. True, it wasn’t stagnant, but who knew how many stagnant pools and contaminated ponds now mingled with the running water? She’d seen too many cholera victims in her ten years of medical practice.

Mrs. Ladue locked her free arm around her son’s middle. Luella was a strong woman, as she’d had to be since her husband’s death last year, but Victoria feared she might not be strong enough to fight the water and the tossing logs and trees...even worse, the contamination that could lurk in the water.

“Luella, you’ve both got to get out of there now!” Victoria pulled herself to her feet. Despite her warning, others followed Luella’s lead and jumped in to help push Claude up. “Please, stay out of the water. It could be poison!” And yet, she saw no other way for them to haul the weakened boy from the fierce rush of the creek.

Mr. Reich and Mr. McDonald had flopped onto their bellies at the edge of mud, ready with arms outstretched to pull the others to shore. Typically the first person to help out when needed, Mr. Reich had a heft about him that suggested more padding than muscle, but he was as strong as a warhorse. Mr. McDonald, wiry and tall, matched his friend’s strength.

The men and women of their group stood along the bank or knelt over the side to help, and several made use of the same vine Luella had used to lower herself into the dirty creek water. It appeared to the onlookers, of course, that Claude was safe for now as his mother grasped him and their rescuers formed a chain to aid his rise from the flood.

Knowing Luella, Victoria knew Claude was in for the scolding of his life, after his mother had smothered him with kisses.

“Victoria?”

She heard the voice and turned to see the man who had, to her shame, held her heart captive for ten years. He came running through the camp with a load of wood in his arms, his strength making the load look insignificant. Captain Joseph Rickard was a title she’d never become accustomed to these past four weeks of tedious travel through unmarked hills and over rocky terrain. After the first few days of attempting to use the formal address, she’d felt so awkward she’d reverted to calling him Joseph, despite a few raised eyebrows. After all, had he not abandoned her in St. Louis with Matthew, they would be married. It was his decision, his rejection, that had helped her keep her distance from him...most of the time.

By now everyone who traveled with them knew that she and Joseph had been friends long ago. Few knew about the depth of that friendship. She was, after all, still in mourning, and women of society didn’t feel it seemly for a widow of seven months to spend her available hours with an unmarried man—not that she’d ever been particularly concerned about the women of society. A female physician would always be sneered at by those women, so why waste her time?

The last time she’d seen Joseph before he left for his father’s plantation in the South, she’d been sobbing in his arms, begging him not to leave, all dignity replaced by abject pain at the thought of losing him.

“I heard the shouts.” He tossed the wood beside the Ladue wagon and rushed to Victoria, his attention drawn to the mud on her dress. “What happened? Are you all right?” He brushed at some of the heaviest clumps from the black cotton.

“Never mind me. I slipped while trying to get to Claude.” She pointed toward the crowd, where everyone hovered around the boy, slapping his back as he choked up dirty water.

“He fell in?” He took her arm and started in the direction of the crowd.

She went with him. “I haven’t decided yet. Nobody seems to know what happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“At this point, considering his choice of companions and their determination to prove to the grown-ups they could cross that water—”

“The Johnston brothers. Again.” Joseph looked up the creek toward the blond-haired boys, who had just managed to untangle the mess of knots in their rope and untie it from the tree. He frowned at the brothers, his dark eyes narrowing. “Claude wouldn’t just fall in for no reason.”

“That’s my concern.”

Joseph turned to her. “What concern?”

She pressed her lips together, sorry she’d been so quick to speak her mind. “Only that he could have been pushed.”

Joseph’s thick, black eyebrows rose. “You can’t think Buster or Gray could have pushed him.”

“Of course not, Joseph. Give me credit for a little common sense. Believe it or not, those boys are the least of our troubles if my suspicions are correct.” She shivered and glanced around them through the shadows of the forest once again.

“Victoria?”

There wasn’t time to get into that conversation at the moment. Soon, though. “Please disregard my chatter. I’m simply overwhelmed at the moment. Those boys were supposed to be helping gather wood for a fire to dry things out, and instead they’re doing what you told them not to. They need a firmer hand, Joseph, or they need to return to their father.”

Joseph crossed his sun-browned arms over his chest and shook his head. “All of us were supposed to pitch in, Doctor, and I’m not their nanny.”

She took umbrage at his defensive posture. “Not their nanny, but certainly their captain, and from what I understand, their father convinced you to bring them along. I thought you had nearly ten years of experience with captaining a wagon train.”

She pressed her lips shut at the brusqueness of her own voice and glanced toward the rescuers, who were having success in getting everyone out of the water. She needed to check on her patients soon and let go of this petty little ten-year resentment that had been doomed to cause friction between the two of them.

“I’m sorry, Victoria.” Joseph sighed, and the familiar deep voice that once whispered words of love in her ear held a note of sadness.

“Sorry?” Eyebrows raised, she turned back to him and was captured by the depth of those dark brown eyes, as she always had been. But she’d learned the hard way to look past a man’s words and mesmerizing eyes to the character beneath. His behavior had taught her to beware of other men, though that lesson had come too late for her to avoid his impact on her life.

“We seem to be at odds on this trip when we’re not avoiding one another,” he said. “It wasn’t what I’d hoped for.” Gone was the typical display of golden sunlight in eyes that were often touched with humor. She missed that.

She also missed the man she’d once thought Joseph to be. “Don’t lecture me about avoidance. I wasn’t the one who stayed away for ten years like a sulking child. You knew where Matthew and I were anytime you came to St. Louis.”

“That’s right.” He said the words with an emphasis that implied he’d explained it all, when in truth he hadn’t explained a thing.

“Don’t doubt my gratefulness, I do appreciate your arrival at the perfect time for me to escape an ugly situation, but I don’t understand why you asked me to join you on this trip.”

“I wanted you out of St. Louis. I worried about you all winter after word reached me about Matthew’s death.”

“Then where were you all winter?” She’d wondered that several times over the long, hard winter months, when neighbors became unfriendly and the sheriff tried more than once to convince himself that she had been the culprit in Matthew’s death.

“I was in Kansas Territory,” Joseph said, “bound in by snow.”

“Of course. My apologies. I heard the snows hit the Territory hard this past winter.” She couldn’t miss the fact that Joseph was studying her every expression with deep interest.

“I had hoped we could put old disagreements behind us,” he said, his voice softening. “I know you’re angry with me for some reason. You’re brooding.”

She wouldn’t try to deny that. “I apologize for making you uncomfortable.” She couldn’t tell him the truth—that guilt combined with old resentments made her awkward around him. While she grieved for her husband, the truth was Matthew had always known she didn’t love him the way a woman should love her man. Not the way he loved her. Not the way she’d loved Joseph....

“Matthew made me a top priority in his life,” she said. “You did not.” That was, indeed, a great deal of her problem, but it certainly didn’t explain why she’d been unable to dismiss Joseph the way he’d obviously dismissed her. “Indeed, you became engaged to another woman.” That, above all other things, still angered her when she allowed herself to think about it, and this was not the time to allow her temper to flare.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what made you think that, but—”

“Perhaps we could save this discussion for another time,” she said. “I have patients to see.” Without waiting for a reply, she strode away from him toward the crowd of wet and upset travelers. Why had she come on this trip? Now Joseph must think she would always be willing to simply drop everything and do whatever he wished.

How on earth could this situation get worse?

Chapter Two

Joseph stood staring after Victoria’s enchanting, black-clad figure, and considered, as he had dozens of times in these past weeks, that this journey could be his chance to correct past blunders. Yes, she had misunderstood his actions at the worst possible times, believed some wild tales about him that were completely untrue, and yet if he was picking up on the right signals, her heart was trapped in the same position as his. After all these years. It amazed and humbled him.

In spite of all the past tensions between the two of them, his father’s machinations to marry him off to another woman and whatever Matthew had convinced Victoria to believe, Joseph suspected, with growing excitement, that something within her wanted to block out all the efforts made by others to keep them apart.

Not that he would want his old friend—and perhaps foe, at least in romance—to die in order for Victoria to see the truth about their enduring love. Joseph was no romantic. Most folks married for the sake of necessity, and they had good, strong marriages. But for Joseph, there had always only been Victoria.

It mystified him still. Some people were meant to be together; he and Victoria were two of those people. He’d known it since their first kiss, his first desire to marry her and take her out of St. Louis and carry her home to meet his family.

If anyone should feel slighted about that time, it should be him. He’d merely wanted to introduce his soon-to-be fiancée to his family and friends at home, take her with him as he cared for family, being the oldest son.

Yet Victoria would have nothing to do with that; she detested slavery, and his father owned slaves in Georgia. Yet would she be gracious and allow him to prove his convictions to her? No. She merely rejected him. He had determined on his way back to St. Louis from Kansas Territory that he wouldn’t be so easily kowtowed this time.

Ahead of him, the woman who occupied his thoughts nearly slid to the ground. He caught up with her and reclaimed her arm, because if she fell again she could end up as a patient instead of the much-needed doctor. He resisted the impulse to remark on what she’d just said. She was right; this wasn’t the time to debate old hurts.

Right now they had people to see to, when what he wanted to do was gather some strands of her disabused hair and tuck it away. He loved the color of that hair, which matched a golden Missouri sunset. Though he also loved the shimmering blue of her eyes, he was glad they were walking side by side, because he didn’t want to meet her gaze.

This was not the time to explain why he’d avoided her and Matthew when they were married or admit the chink in his armor when it came to her. That would require a much longer conversation. Later.

As they strolled toward the others, he saw that McDonald and Reich had things well in hand.

“I apologize for not responding to the news of the death of your intended.” Victoria’s voice could bite with such gentleness that he barely felt it until the meaning struck him across the face. “I didn’t know about her for months.”

He cut her a glance. “I wrote to you.”

“I received nothing.”

“You should have.”

“And yet, somehow, I didn’t.” She snapped the words, as if she didn’t believe him.

“Now I’m a liar?”

She cut him a look of confusion. “I don’t know what to believe, Joseph, and I haven’t for a very long time. I only know you’re not the man I thought you were.”

“Of course I’m not. Then I was barely more than a rank youngster. People do grow, you know.”

She cast a glance toward the Johnston boys. “Let’s hope that’s true.”

He wasn’t going to let her take her jabs and then change the subject that easily. “I didn’t get engaged.” He thought about his dear childhood friend, Sara Jane. Despite Father’s wishes, Joseph and Sara Jane would never have married. He’d loved her like a sister, a trusted playmate from years before, who had grown into a fine woman and who was secretly betrothed to a man from Atlanta. She’d told Joseph all about it and he’d been happy for her. Though heartbroken at her death, losing her wasn’t the reason he’d turned his back on plantation life.

“That catastrophe was the result of my dying father’s desire to build an empire for his oldest son using a legal bond between a neighbor’s daughter and me.” Joseph kept his voice low. “Neither Sara Jane nor I were complicit in that arrangement, only our fathers. We were determined to break the supposed engagement together, but she sickened and passed away before any formal announcement could be made.”

There was a long silence before Victoria spoke. “I see.”

“I’m not sure you do. How did you hear of my father’s plans?” he asked.

Her arm stiffened in his grasp, but he held on and tried to catch a glimpse of her expression, see what she was thinking. He’d been able to do that once upon a time, but she held her own counsel as her attention focused on the crowd.

“Victoria?”

“Matthew told me of a letter you wrote to him.”

“He received my letters and you did not? Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“Why would I think it odd? From my perspective, you had forgotten about me and found someone else.”

Joseph gritted his teeth. How this woman could drive him to distraction with her stubbornness. “You didn’t at least read Matthew’s letter for yourself?”

“Mine and Matthew’s was a business partnership. I didn’t read his personal mail, nor he mine.”

Joseph took a moment for those last words to sink in. As they did, he continued to doubt his own perception. “Business partnership? You and Matthew?”

She tugged her arm from his grasp, and he realized he’d stopped walking. He caught up and fell into step beside her again.

“It was a socially acceptable way to form a partnership and spend all our time together as he taught me medicine,” she said. “You must have some grasp about how much there is to learn.”

“Dr. Fenway?” called Audy Reich from Mrs. Ladue’s side. “Hon, I think we need you over here.”

After a final look at Joseph, Victoria gathered her skirts and hurried toward the group huddled beside the raging creek. Joseph watched her for a moment, stymied. The Victoria Foster he had known and loved before she’d married Matthew Fenway would never have lied. But Matthew had always been an honorable man. If Victoria didn’t receive those letters, then who did?

* * *

Claude was still gagging and coughing up creek water when Victoria reached him. Luella sat on the ground beside her son. Although Victoria gave her an assuring nod, she felt ill equipped to give her friend any kind of assurance.

“Boy’s swallowed lots of water.” McDonald’s voice was gruff as if from years of disuse in his solitary search for trails. “Luella did, too.”

“No, see to Claude,” Luella said. “I’ll be okay.”

Victoria tugged Claude onto his side as the creek continued to pour from his mouth. “We’ll take care of all of you. Mr. McDonald, would you brace him for me?”

She saw Joseph watching from a distance, waiting for a signal. She nodded, and he returned it. Time to get the treatments started.

Heidi wrapped her arms around her mother, sobbing. Luella’s hair was drenched with mud that covered her clothing and face. Victoria took both mother and daughter into her arms.

“This is horrible.” Luella’s whispered words came out staccato from her shivering body. She twisted her work-worn hands in her lap.

Victoria grabbed the blanket a man offered then wrapped it around Luella’s shoulders. “I know. Take deep breaths—try to relax.”

“I just lost Barnabas last year.” She looked at Victoria with frightened eyes. “To think that I might’ve lost my Claude....” Luella’s sobs came in silence, as if from long practice, and Victoria held her more tightly. “Captain Rickard and the men are gathering logs. This won’t be comfortable, but we’ll do what we can to keep you well.”

Luella nodded, sniffing. “I’m sorry. I know you lost your Matthew last year. You know how it feels.”

Victoria felt like an imposter.

Mr. Reich knelt beside them, jerking his head toward the water. “Think we’re far enough from the danger, Doc?”

Victoria glanced at the creek, which, if anything, carried more refuse than before. “I believe we should find our way farther up into the forest for safety.” She helped Claude and Luella onto their feet, dreading the consequences of this awful day.

* * *

McDonald walked over to Joseph. “I’ll go get more logs, Captain, unless you’d rather I go knock those Johnston boys’ heads together.”

Joseph thought about it a moment, then shook his head. “I’ll deal with them. But I think we have enough logs for now. Just don’t go trying to cross the creek before morning.”

McDonald nodded and turned to help the others move closer to the wagons. Joseph made his way toward the Johnston boys as they stretched out their rope and leaned crazily over the floodwaters to wash off the mud.

Buster, eighteen and full of vinegar, had a longish face and sharp features that made him look serious and much wiser than his years. Much wiser than he actually was, for sure.

“That clumsy oaf got the rope all tangled and then dropped one end into the water,” Buster said. “We barely caught it before a log could get tangled in it. Then the mud just fell out from under him and we couldn’t get him out.”

“He isn’t clumsy.” Gray glared at his brother in an unspoken reprimand. “We tried to grab him.” The younger brother was by far the smarter of the two, but Buster controlled him like a pet dog. “I almost had him, but then he caught that old stump. I told him to hold on and I’d get the rope.”

“And you didn’t think to pull him out?” Joseph demanded.

“What was he supposed to do?” Buster asked. “We needed the rope for that. Couldn’t reach him any other way. He was too far out.”

“His mother didn’t have any trouble getting to him,” Joseph said.

“He’d floated farther down by then.” Buster’s voice rose with youthful outrage. “I was trying to get the rope untangled so I could throw it out for him to catch.”

Joseph reached for the rope in question. “I’ll take that if you don’t mind.”

Buster refused to release it. “Hey, you can’t take my dad’s rope away from us! We’re going to need it.”

“You mind telling me why you felt it was so important to stand over here and plot to cross the creek when you’d been ordered not to?”

“We would’ve waited for the right time.” Buster’s contrary attitude had begun to irritate Joseph from the first day the boys joined them. Buster also knew how to egg on the younger boys. He was a natural leader—a dangerous quality in one so pigheaded.

Joseph stepped forward and loomed over Buster until the boy released the other end of his prized rope. “You need to think past the end of your nose, Johnston, before you get someone killed.”

Buster grimaced and looked away. “Claude’s fine, isn’t he?”

Joseph glanced over his shoulder, where Victoria had moved up the hillside with her patients. “No thanks to you, he’s safe for now, but if he or any of the others get sick from swallowing contaminated water, I’m holding you boys responsible. You could have kept half the camp from risking their lives if you’d followed my orders in the first place.” He turned and walked uphill toward the rescue team.

“We’re going to need that rope to get across the creek,” Buster called after him.

Joseph looped the item in question over his arm, ignoring Buster’s protest. Instead of waiting at his brother’s side, sixteen-year-old Gray followed Joseph—a habit he’d begun to develop soon after joining the wagon train three weeks ago. Joseph suspected it was one reason Buster acted out so often.

“You should help your brother move that wagon away from the water,” Joseph told the boy. “You never know about flash floods.”

Gray snorted. “He won’t move it.”

“You don’t think it’s in a dangerous place?”

“You think my opinion matters to him? I’m his stupid little brother.”

“I need you to help me with the patients, then.”

The boy looked up at Joseph, eyes brightening.

“If I find out what Dr. Fenway needs, will you gather the items and help with treatments?”

Gray ducked his head. “Sure thing.”

“Don’t stare at the patients while they’re being treated.”

“No, sir.”

“Go check on Claude.”

Without a word, Gray did as he was told.

Joseph watched Victoria. She moved quickly between her charges, but she had a comforting voice that obviously soothed everyone who heard it. Her eyes softened as she assured Luella she would do her best to protect everyone from any contamination, and then examined a cut on Luella’s arm. She gave Heidi orders to run back to the wagon for supplies.

She finally looked over her shoulder to find Joseph watching her. He beckoned for her to join him for a quick word. She hesitated, then excused herself from the others.

“Yes, Joseph?” She looked at his hair, which he knew hung over his forehead in untidy black strands. Once upon a time she would have reached up and straightened it for him; he couldn’t help hoping she would at least attempt to brush the sawdust from it.

But her hands remained at her sides as she waited for him to speak.

He cleared his throat. “What’s your complete plan of action, Doctor?”

“According to a Dr. Snow I spoke with in England last year, cholera is definitely caused by bad drinking water, hence my concern, of course. As I’ve stressed, we have no idea how much contamination that creek is carrying with it or how far north it started. Everyone who was in the water could be in danger if they swallowed anything, and that cut on Luella’s arm worries me.”

“Is there no treatment to prevent them from developing the illness?”

“I wish there was. We can try to force as much water from them as possible.”

“More than rolling them over the logs?”

“Yes. I wish I’d brought ipecac,” she said. “But I had an order that didn’t come in before we left. I’ve sent Heidi for some salt and pure water. If we can give them salt water to drink and then dilute what’s left with clean water, it’s logical we could ward off some contagion,” she said. “Thank you for gathering the logs for us. I know it’s a long shot, but we’ll take what we can right now.”

“I’ll help with that.”

As he turned to leave, Victoria touched his arm. “Wait, Joseph. They don’t listen to me as they do to you. Some of the people are still hovering too closely to the water for my liking. That bank could collapse with them at any second. We need to move them into the forest.”

He took her hand, which was still soft despite her habit of taking turns at the reins of the mules pulling the Ladue wagon these past four weeks. “Except for Buster Johnston, I think the rest are willing to listen. I’ll do all I can.”

“I appreciate it.” She returned to her patients.

Victoria had once told him his touch gave her strength she didn’t know she had. He missed her touch. He’d lain awake too many nights out on the trail during the years after his father passed, and he’d recalled her gentle touch, the feel of her lips against his, the sparkle of her tears when he’d left her for the plantation with the belief that it was his responsibility to take over the running of it as the oldest son.

Victoria hated slavery. They’d disagreed about it often, but he hadn’t changed his mind until he’d arrived at the plantation. He’d felt a kick of knowledge in his gut for the first time. He’d seen slavery from her eyes, heard her voice in his head and knew he would not be able to stay. He planned to return to St. Louis and walk back into Victoria’s arms a changed man. That had never happened.

Oh, he’d changed, all right. He’d been ravaged by bitterness upon arriving back in St. Louis and finding that Matthew had for sure taken care of Victoria. He’d married her.

And Joseph became a man who led others across country, and saved his money and brooded about the treachery of the friend he’d once trusted and the woman he still loved.

* * *

“My friends, it’s time to start treatment.” Victoria leaned over Luella and nodded to Joseph, Mr. Reich and Mr. McDonald, who held others over the logs, facedown. “This won’t be comfortable, but we need to try to prevent contagion if we can.” She raised her eyebrows at Joseph and they got started.

Despite all, she couldn’t prevent a lingering look at Joseph. He appeared to have everything in hand, up to and including a threat that if the Johnston boys didn’t move their wagon they might well lose it. Buster didn’t listen.

Despite Joseph’s deep, calm voice and manner, the anxiety in Victoria’s belly tightened like a snake she and Matthew had once seen wrapped around a man’s arm when they journeyed overseas. The man eventually lost his arm. What was this wagon train going to lose as a result of this catastrophe?

The clouds lifted as she worked with Luella, but the sunbeams didn’t lighten her spirits. Too much could go wrong, and she felt the burden of responsibility for these people. Would Matthew have done this? Would he have had other options? When working with him, she’d felt confident in her abilities, but after losing her mentor she’d lost that confidence, despite the obvious approval Matthew had always shown for her skills.

Luella gagged on the cup of salted water.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Victoria said, holding her friend as the poor woman lost the water she’d swallowed.

Luella nodded and took another sip.

Victoria watched Joseph repeat the same actions with Claude and one of the younger men. He worked with such gentleness. What a good doctor he would have made. If she’d known ahead of time the heartbreak that would ensue after she refused to accompany Joseph to his parents’ Georgia plantation, would she have gone? What a mystery about the fiancée, Sara Jane. She’d never forgotten that name, and she needed to know more. What would their lives have been like now if she’d given in to his pleas to go with him? They would never know.

She studied Joseph’s firm-set chin, his narrowed eyes. Then she allowed her gaze to wander across the expanse of his shoulders, the corded muscles down his neck. When he’d first walked into the clinic last month, she’d nearly rushed into his arms, all dignity abandoned. It was a good thing she’d learned better self-control in her profession. Memories of her husband’s murder seven months ago, however, had returned in a tempest. Seeing Joseph had made her feel safe for the first time since her widowhood, despite old resentments from their past.

And yet, was she safe? Were any of them safe? She could still close her eyes and see that telltale hoofprint of the horse Thames had ridden the day he’d killed Matthew. She’d seen them on this very trail a couple of days ago, that distinctive print packed into mud and left to harden.

After her first sighting, she’d tried to tell herself the horse would have been reshod by now, but what if the horseshoe was shaped to the hoof? If that were so, then it would be easy to track him across the state. She just needed to make sure he didn’t track them.

She would tell Joseph about the whole thing as soon as she knew for sure. Maybe she could find more tracks once they crossed the creek. Fresh tracks in the mud, perhaps?

She was just finishing with Luella and checking the others when a whoop and a loud cry reached them from the wagon camp.

“Oh, Lord, have mercy!” Audy Reich called out from her perch beside the fire where she’d been soaking beans to cook. She jumped up and ran through the trees toward them. “I hear some mighty cracklin’ from up north. Captain, better get that young man away from there. Something big’s coming down that creek!”

Chapter Three

Loud pops resounded through the forest like shots from a rifle. Hundreds of rifles in excruciating succession. But Victoria knew that sound. She’d heard the same several times when caught in an ice storm and the ice grew so thick on the branches that they broke. Limbs were breaking.

The creek had claimed another tree, and this one was a giant. She glanced downhill at the creek and saw a huge shadow being thrust forward by the water—for sure a giant tree uprooted. Its limbs grasped out toward everything near the swollen creek, and from the vantage point of the hill on which she stood, she saw the tree wrenching with it other trees, rocks and mud, creating a dam that blocked the motion of the water.

The creek spread and splashed far above its banks. The dam would break at any second. She could hear the creaking of wood and rumble of water under pressure. The forest blocked her sight of the place where Joseph had left Buster moping beside his wagon near the creek.

“Buster!” Gray’s shout of horror bled into the roar of the water. He shot through the trees and down the hill toward his brother with the speed of a wildcat.

Joseph and Reich leaped forward and raced down the hillside behind him. Heidi started to cry, and her mother put an arm around her.

Mr. Reich’s voice rang out through the valley. “Get away from the creek!”

The man’s voice boomed with authority, but Victoria knew how little regard Buster had for that. She left the others and followed the men, sliding through the waterlogged forest, bracing against the trees until she reached a ledge where she could see directly down the hill. What she saw terrified her.

* * *

Joseph caught up with Reich, bracing for a wall of water to come crashing down on them at any moment. He couldn’t forget his friend Johnston who’d scouted for Joseph a couple of years and once risked his own life to save Joseph from a rampaging brown bear. It would destroy Johnston if his sons never made it out of Missouri.

Gray reached Buster seconds before Joseph and Reich. He grabbed his brother’s arm and gestured wildly toward the impending dam break.

Buster turned and looked up Flat Creek. “No! We have to get the wagon first. Gray, help me!”

“You can’t save it now, Buster,” Joseph called. “It’s too late. Get out of there or you’ll be killed.”

Buster broke free of Gray’s hold and lunged for the wagon hitch. “It’s all we’ve got.”

“You still have your life,” Reich said. The big man reached for Buster’s arm and dragged him from the hitch. “Now, boy. You’ve got to come now! Gray, get back up that hill. Go on!”

Gray hesitated. “Buster, they’re risking their lives for you. Don’t let more men die for you!” His expression held fury and horror as he obeyed Reich and ran.

Joseph heard another series of deafening cracks and looked up to see the water pour past the dam of debris. The fountain of water became a flood, and then the natural dam gave way with the sound of thunder. Joseph joined Reich to jerk Buster from the oncoming tempest of an evergreen with limbs the size of horses, which reached past the farthest edges of the flooded creek bank.

“My gun!” Buster shouted. “Gotta get my gun.” He turned back toward the wagon.

Joseph nodded to Reich, and together they lifted the brazen young man between them and ran.

The wall of trees, uprooted shrubs, mud and rocks tumbled forward in a crash of violence. A foot-thick limb grabbed Joseph and knocked him into Buster. Water deluged them. They scrambled to keep their footing, but another limb knocked them into the mud, dragged them sideways and back toward the creek.

The water retreated, but the tree held firmly and pulled them with increasing speed toward the racing stream. Joseph dug his heels into the mud and held on to Buster. “Don’t let go!” he shouted at the others. “Don’t stand up.” If they did, another branch would have more leverage against them. That tree was a monster they couldn’t control.

“Captain! Reich, grab on!” came a voice from behind them. McDonald. Joseph looked up past the barrier of the limb and saw his scout throwing out a loop of thick rope. It was the one Joseph had taken from Buster.

“Grab it,” he told the other two. “Look up and grab it, now!”

The loop came down over the limb and Joseph reached for it. Before he could grasp it, another limb tumbled over the first with another wave of water, thrusting them closer to the creek.

“Captain, hurry, try again!” McDonald tossed the rope atop them this time and Joseph caught it. He saw Reich’s strong hand grip it and they jerked to a stop.

The limb scraped along Joseph’s side, digging into his ribs with agonizing sharpness until the tree withdrew as suddenly as it had hit them.

They lay panting in the grip of terror for a long moment, then looked up to find a crowd of rescuers holding the other end of the rope.

Despite a bloody nose and scratches on his face, Buster scrambled to his feet and ran hollering after his wagon. With a practiced stretch of the leg, Reich tripped the demented man, then rolled forward and grabbed him by the arm.

Joseph grasped the other arm and turned to watch as the pine tree hauled off the wagon in the clutch of its green arms and strong limbs. Chunks of wood and wagon flew through the air. A loud creak and groan echoed from the cliffs behind the camp as Buster’s angry cry rose to the sky.

“I could have gotten it!” Buster’s face flushed with fury as he rounded on Joseph.

“No, you would have died and left your brother alone.” Joseph released the scoundrel and nodded to Reich. “Let him go. If he’s crazy enough to go running after it after all this, he deserves whatever he gets.”

Buster fell to his knees and gave a wordless groan of frustration as the axles and wheels sank permanently into the muddy maelstrom.

“Oh, I don’t believe this.” Mrs. Reich came marching toward them through the mud. “You men oughta be ashamed of yourselves.” She leaned over Buster. “Don’t you worry, son. You’re not alone here.” She shot a glare over her shoulder at her husband and Joseph. “Can’t you see the boy’s just lost everything he owns? How would you feel if it’d happened to you?”

“Aw, woman, it wouldn’t’ve happened to Joseph or me because we’d’ve never tempted the creek like that.” Reich put his fists on his hips. “This boy needs to listen. At least he’s still got the horses.”

Audy Reich shook her head. “Don’t you think you oughta have a little mercy? Why, I’d be ashamed. Come along with me, Buster, my boy,” she cooed as she took Buster by the arm. “The doctor will want to get those cuts cleaned and bandaged. Can you walk okay?”

A low grumble reached Joseph, and he turned to see Mr. Reich glaring after his wife and the wayward Buster. “That woman would take any cur in off the street and treat him like a child instead of the man he needs to be.”

Joseph grinned and reached a mud-caked hand out. “And her husband would risk his life to save that cur in the first place.” He patted Reich on his muscular shoulder. “He’d be dead today if not for you, my friend.”

“And you. See what we get ourselves into when we go meddling into the affairs of others?” He chuckled.

“Okay, you two.” Victoria came down the hill toward them with her treatment bag slung over her arm. The sun had burned away the remaining clouds and touched her hair with a red-gold glow. “Heidi can see to Buster, but I reserve the right to treat our heroes first.” She pulled a bottle of medicinal whiskey from her bag and held up a clean cloth. “Did either of you swallow the water?”

Joseph glanced up the hill toward the spot where they had just been treating poor Claude and his rescuers. “No ma’am, not me. I knew better than to open my mouth.”

“Same here, Dr. Fenway,” Reich said immediately. “Kept my jaws locked, not a drop of water passed these lips. You don’t need to go rolling me around on one of those logs and forcing salt water down my gullet.”

Victoria narrowed her eyes at them. “You do realize how dangerous it could be if you did.”

“Sure do, ma’am.” Reich rubbed some of the mud from his hands onto his muddier clothing. “And look at this, not a scratch on me. You oughta see to the captain, though. That tree walloped him good.”

Before she could reply, the big man scrambled through the mud and up the hill after his wife. Joseph watched the traitor escape, then met Victoria’s gaze, wincing inwardly as he anticipated the sting of her medicinal whiskey on his grazed skin.

Victoria nodded toward a fallen log farther up the hill. “We can sit up there. I need to get you cleaned up.”

“Give me the medicine and I’ll do it myself.”

She drew the bottle close to her side. “You’ll do no such thing. I’m the doctor. I’ll also take a look at your ribs.” With a nod toward the place where the limbs had ripped his shirt, she raised her eyebrows. “I need to see if anything’s broken.”

“It’s not.”

“Are you having any trouble breathing?”

He took a deep breath and let it out to show her he was fine, and was relieved to find that at least breathing didn’t hurt. “Just a scratch.” But he followed her when she turned and walked up the hill.

“Have you considered sending the Johnstons back home now?” she asked.

“I’ve considered it every day.”

“We’d be ever so much safer without them. You can see that, can’t you? At least the horses weren’t hitched to the wagon,” she said with a glance over her shoulder toward the creek. “Those boys are a hindrance out here, and now you’re injured because of them. They can ride a lot faster by horseback than wagon.”

“I’m not even sure they’d make it back home alive, and I can’t spare a man to lead them.”

She seemed ready to argue, but instead fell silent. Ten years ago she’d have gnawed on the subject like a dog with a bone. Instead, she led him deeper into the woods to the fallen log, where trees screened them from sight of the others.

When she turned back to him, there was a teasing smile in her eyes. “We can’t have the people losing faith in their captain if you start crying like a baby.”

He checked the log, kicked it and when nothing slithered or skittered out of it, he sat down. “Try me.”

She unfolded her pure-white cloth, pressed the open bottle of whiskey into the material until it was soaked. “This may burn.” A quick but gentle touch of the medicated cloth met the cuts and scratches on his face and the exposed skin of his hands and arms and neck. It stung a little.

“I don’t recall you saying this would be such a dangerous trip.” She dabbed at the dirt around the cuts. “Or such a long one.”

“Difficult. I said it would be difficult. That implies danger, don’t you think? It was why I wanted a doctor to join us this time. We need one in the new town that’s waiting for us.”

“So you’ve told me. Have you traveled with a doctor before?”

“One or two came with my wagon trains to California, but people went their separate ways at the end of the trail back then. This time it’s different.”

She set the bottle down on the log and continued to clean the rest of his face until the white disappeared beneath a coating of mud. “You have quite a bruise on your forehead. Do you recall losing consciousness?”

“I stayed awake for the whole thing.”

“Why is this trip different?”

He couldn’t tell her it was because it was the only way he believed he could convince her to leave St. Louis. “Why are you surprised by the hardships? You told me you and Matthew traveled.”

“We never went by wagon train over rough terrain with barely a trail to follow.”

“I believe I warned you we would have to take the road less followed by others for the safety of our mission. We’ll encounter the wrong people on the main trails. I’m expecting more trouble the closer we come to the border of Kansas Territory.”

Her whole body stiffened for an instant and he saw fear plainly in her eyes.

“Victoria? I’m sorry. I thought you understood. I didn’t mean to frighten you. My plans are to take the southern route into Indian Territory, then head north once we’re well past the border. I’m hoping to have less trouble with border ruffians on that route.”

“You’re right, of course. I knew it would be a difficult journey.” She sank onto the fallen log beside him, her dress already so covered with mud that the black material appeared brown.

Something disturbed him about her posture—erect, stiff. “You were planning to make this a permanent move, weren’t you?” he asked.

She nodded. “I feel safer here in the wilderness with these companions than I have felt since Matthew’s...death.”

A slight change in her demeanor caught his attention. “Why is that?”

“I was determined to keep the clinic open by myself, but many didn’t appreciate my caring for the wounded slaves. I had my windows broken three times, someone tried to burn down the clinic and my wagon was burned.”

“Then I was right to worry. I prayed for your safety all winter, but as I said, the snows made it impossible to get back.”

She took a deep breath and her shoulders slumped. She met his gaze. “Thank you for caring.”

He suppressed a smile. That was putting it mildly. But mild seemed to be all she could handle with him right now. Or maybe ever. Ten years was a long time to harbor the love he’d held for her. He was an oddity, he knew. How could he expect her to still care for him after all the changes in their lives? And there had been plenty. Because of her, he’d never moved on with his life, never married, had lived the life of a loner.

“You definitely had a change of heart since you left for Georgia,” she said.

Yes, he’d changed, but not about her, as she seemed to think. “It took me several months, but your words struck me forcefully when I reached my father’s plantation.”

“And now you’re leading abolitionists into Kansas Territory.”

“Remember those arguments we used to have?” he asked. “As you told me, power corrupts most men. When one human being has total power over another—”

“It’s too easy to become corrupt, to see the slave as nothing more than a piece of furniture or farm equipment.” Victoria nodded. “You really did listen.”

“Now the famous John Brown, outspoken abolitionist, is my greatest hero. Do you know of him?”

She chuckled softly. “I most certainly do. Tell me, what changed your mind?”

“My closest friend on the plantation had long ago been the son of a tribal leader in Africa. Then he was captured by men from his own continent and sold in America. My father named him Daniel. A few years ago, Daniel described the conditions of his journey.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about them. Horrible.”

“Nearly half the passengers on Daniel’s ship died before they reached harbor. I always hated the thought of that, but I knew my father was different. I believed most of our neighbors were, too. I never saw brutality of the type I saw when I was in St. Louis. No one bought or sold slaves in any market near us. My father and our neighbors always traveled to purchase their slaves.”

“What happened to Daniel?”

“When I returned home ten years ago, he was gone.”

She caught her breath. “He’d been sold.”

“You must understand,” Joseph said, “my father was well respected in Georgia by a majority of the slave population because he treated his workers more kindly than most, gave them plenty of food, never broke up families—”

“But he sold Daniel.”

“Another plantation owner wanted him for a young woman who was healthy.”

She scowled. “Brood stock.”

“That was when it hit home for me. You won the argument, Victoria.”

“I never set out to win anything.”

He knew that. He always had, though during their worst arguments about slavery he’d accused her of gloating whenever she proved him wrong on a point. “You were the more mature one. For me, life was a competition.”

She smiled, but it was a sad expression. “Was? Isn’t it still?”

“The stakes have been raised, and I’ve changed sides.”

“Then if ours was a competition, I’m glad I won. Still, I think our conflicts had less to do with maturity and more to do with our differences.” She leaned toward him slightly, enough to raise his hopes. Then she straightened. “I was passionate about slavery, and not much else at that time, if I remember correctly.”

“I do believe you were passionate about one other thing.”

She raised her eyebrows, held his gaze until it dawned on her. “Oh.” A pretty flush stained her cheeks. “Of course, I was young and considered myself to be in love.”

“Considered?”

“I’m afraid I behaved badly when I realized it was not to be.”

He closed his eyes. Why did she have to say that? “It was my fault.”

“Not entirely. Your father blamed you for purchasing your own ranch in a free state instead of carrying on the family tradition on the plantation with slaves.”

“I should have left it at that, but I couldn’t bear the thought of my father dying while holding such a grudge against me. I had to ride to the rescue of my family, as if they couldn’t possibly make it on the plantation without my honored presence.”

“Did your return heal old wounds?” she asked.

“No, it only caused new rifts with those I loved.” He tried to catch her gaze, but she made it obvious that she didn’t want to return to their former subject.

“Did all of your family reject you?” she asked.

He appreciated the compassion in her voice, but he would have enjoyed more. “Only my father. I have a sister and several cousins who moved north. I was so angry about Daniel that my father finally realized I would never stay and run the plantation. He left it to my younger brother.” The sadness of that final break with his father lingered with Joseph all these years later.

“And then you returned to St. Louis to find that Matthew and I had married.” There was a catch in Victoria’s voice, and Joseph saw the sorrow in her eyes. “Things don’t always turn out the way we want them to, do they?” she asked softly.

Joseph’s fingers tingled with the urge to reach up and touch her cheek. He could already feel the softness of it, but he squeezed his hand into a fist. She’d made it obvious she wouldn’t appreciate anything so personal. Oh, Victoria...

* * *

Something in Joseph’s gaze caught and held Victoria breathless. She looked away quickly, but for an instant ten years vanished and they were back on the deck of the riverboat on the Mississippi River, with the water splashing against the shore while she memorized every inch of his face.

“This isn’t the end,” he’d whispered. “It can’t be. I’ll never stop loving you.”

Then the whistle blew and the deck beneath them moved, and the years stacked atop each other once more. She blinked and shook the memory away, but not before she relived the heartbreak of loss. Not again. Never again. She couldn’t bear to feel that kind of pain for a second time.

“You mentioned your admiration of John Brown and his sons.” She forced a grin. “Matthew and I became acquainted with him about five years ago.”

Joseph’s eyebrows rose. “The John Brown? Freer of slaves?”

“See what you missed when you hid out on the Oregon Trail, leading folks to gold and prosperity in California and Oregon, hiding from your friends in St. Louis?” She held on to her teasing lilt, friendly and nothing more, hiding behind it as if it were a cloak. “You could have visited from time to time. Look who you may have become friends with.”

“Did you know he once moved to a town established by Africans so he could learn their ways and help them better integrate into society?”

Victoria enjoyed Joseph’s admiration of the man. “He became a dear friend of Matthew’s and mine. He and his sons lodged with us twice during their travels through St. Louis. We’ve heard many stories of their escapades.”

Some of the excitement left Joseph’s expression. “You’re still in contact with the man, himself?”

“I received word of their condolences when Matthew died. They dared little more contact than that, considering the circumstances. Our plans to leave St. Louis were under way when Matthew was...killed.”

Silence reigned for several long seconds as Joseph’s frown deepened. “You can’t know how shocked and saddened I was when I heard the news of Matthew’s death.”

“I’m still recovering.”

He was silent for a moment, then said softly, “You two became quite close, didn’t you?”

She looked up at him. If Joseph was implying what she thought, he was being completely inappropriate. “We were married.”

“You implied a marriage of convenience.”

“I beg your pardon? Please tell me you aren’t outright accusing me of loving my husband, as if that’s a sin.” What was he doing? Was he actually...jealous?

And yet, hadn’t he always been? Hadn’t she known that was why he’d stayed away? If Joseph had accepted her marriage to Matthew, he would have visited with them the many times she’d heard he was in St. Louis.

“Joseph, ours was a marriage of kindness and goodwill.” He couldn’t possibly expect an apology from her for having tender feelings toward her own husband.

“Goodwill.” Joseph’s voice sharpened. “You cared for him as your employer when you and I were together, but he felt more than goodwill toward you. I know he loved you. Was he satisfied with your simple human kindness?”

She stared down at her hands, feeling the sting of guilt that had haunted her for many years, yet also stinging with offense. “It wasn’t Matthew I loved ten years ago.” The words, and the accusatory tone, were out before she could withdraw them.

“No, but it certainly was Matthew you married, wasn’t it?” He caught his breath audibly, as if he, too, had spoken without thought. “Victoria, I’m... I had no right.”

“No, you didn’t.” She cleared her throat, swallowed, took a deep breath to fight back the hurtful words she wanted to speak. “Forgive me, Joseph, but every woman needs to feel she’s the most important person in her man’s life. I acknowledge that isn’t often the case, but I was young enough to want that for myself. You obviously couldn’t give me that.” He was a different man now, however, an adult who had been tested in fire, seasoned and strong. Why should he continue to suffer for one horribly wrong decision that had ousted her from his life and shattered her heart? “As for Matthew, I was led to believe he wanted a partner for his practice. It was the way he proposed marriage. Businesslike and logical.” So unlike the way she and Joseph had been together, slowly falling in love over the course of a year, unable to stay away from each other, a constant challenge for those who chaperoned them.

She’d dreamed of becoming a rancher’s wife, especially after Joseph built a new room onto his ranch house and started teasing her about becoming “Mrs. Joseph Rickard.”

“I knew he loved you by the way his gaze followed you wherever you went,” Joseph said. “By the way his eyes lit up when he talked about you.”

“So it appears I got what I wanted, after all.”

“I don’t think so. Matthew had priorities that took precedence over your welfare, it seems, or he wouldn’t have drawn you into your present dangerous position.”

“Don’t speak ill of the dead.”

He leaned closer to her and she caught the scent of the watercress he liked to pick along the streams, and the earth and water that had nearly killed him. He sighed and brushed at some drying mud on his sleeve. “Listen to us arguing again.”

“Not everything has changed,” she said.

“I didn’t expect him to marry you after I left. Keep you in his employ, yes, but...you’re right, I was stunned when I found out about your marriage.”

She turned away, barely hearing the voices of the others near camp. “I believe you expected that I would wait for you no matter what, even after I heard of your engagement.”

Joseph was silent for a long moment. She looked over her shoulder at him and saw him staring toward the flooded creek, and she recognized the lines of self-recrimination in the square frame of his face.

“Shouldering the blame can’t repair the past,” she said, gentling her voice. How hard she’d been on him these past weeks, avoiding him when possible. He’d been a perfect gentleman, treating her with respect and kindness while she’d remained reserved.

“I thought my father needed me.”

“Your father sold your closest friend. I’m sorry you had to endure so much.”

Joseph reached for her hand, and to her surprise, she allowed him to raise it to brush his lips against her knuckles. “Leaving you in St. Louis was the most painful decision I’ve ever made.”

“Good. I wanted you to feel the same pain I did.”

“But maybe it was right for you at the time. Had we stayed together, you wouldn’t be a doctor now, and Matthew would never have had the wonderful experience of being your husband for those ten short years.”

Victoria reminded herself to breathe. The intimate touch of Joseph’s hand affected her more than any touch she had received from Matthew, and the guilt of that discovery caused her to withdraw again. Joseph released her without a word.

“Brown is planning to move later this year into Kansas Territory.” She hoped he didn’t hear the race of her heartbeat in her voice.

“He’ll have my support. It could determine the balance of power in the whole nation.”

She allowed the warm breeze from the south to dry the perspiration from her face, and she felt the warmth from Joseph’s nearness when he stepped up behind her.

“No matter how many measures you took to get out of St. Louis discreetly, someone could have followed you. Someone who knew you were friends with Brown.” His deep voice, laced with concern, made her shiver.

A crow cawed deeper in the woods and she gasped, jerking so hard she nearly toppled the bottle still open on the log.

Joseph frowned. “Are you ready to tell me what’s had you so frightened these past days?”

How tempting to place her faith in this man, to allow him control over her life so she wouldn’t have to stand on her own, but that wasn’t what she needed to do right now. She had left her parents in Pennsylvania, her husband in the ground by the Mississippi River. She was an independent woman now, and she didn’t need another man to bolster her. Joseph meant well, but despite the time they had spent together he didn’t know her intentions enough to direct her path.

She turned to look up into his carved-granite face and intent regard. He didn’t know her most important secret, and that was something he especially needed to be aware of in order to protect his wagon train.

Steeling herself against his discomfiting attention, she took a deep breath of rain-cleansed air, closed her eyes briefly and made the decision she knew would change everything. “Matthew...” The words caught in her throat. She swallowed and looked back at Joseph. “He was murdered.”

Chapter Four

Joseph might have been a copy of the wood carving outside the trading post door at the last town, where the wagon train had stopped to purchase supplies. Silence seemed to hum with the power of a beehive. The chatter of the others merged into a low echo in the distance. The wagon train had struggled through deep mud, broken wheels, lost wagons, illness and loss of livestock. Few things had disconcerted Captain Joseph Rickard these past weeks on the trail, but this definitely affected him.

She wished it hadn’t been necessary to tell him, and yet he needed to know how dangerous it would be to follow the killer’s trail.

“Who murdered him?” he asked at last. Was that a tremor she heard in his voice?

She hesitated, bracing herself against the pain as she relived that day. “A slaver by the name of Broderick Thames.”

“How do you know?”

“I heard the shots on my way home from town, where I was purchasing medicines. I was out of sight.”

“Or your life would most likely have been snuffed out, as well.” Joseph glared at the ground, his jaw muscles flexing with an obvious attempt to quell the effects of his fury.

“Likely.”

“Thames,” he said. “I don’t know the name, and I’ve been making an effort to learn more about our enemies.”

“Oh, Joseph, believe me when I tell you that this man is an enemy.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t a robber?”

“He didn’t rob us of goods, only of a good man with a heart of pure kindness.”

“Was there laudanum missing? I’ve heard of doctors being attacked for their supplies.” Joseph’s tone was clipped with anger. She knew his ire was not directed toward her, and she was touched deeply by his outrage.

“No.” Tears stung her eyes. “Matthew was a specific target. His killer rode away before I could get my rifle sights on him, or I’d have put him on the ground instead of grazing the side of his neck and staining his silvery hair.”

“You’re the one who did that?”

For a moment she couldn’t take a deep enough breath. Joseph knew of that wound? “What do you mean? What do you know about Thames?”

“Only what I overheard at one of the trading posts.” Joseph nodded as if her confession seemed to have made some puzzle pieces fall into place. “A dour man with a long, silver braid and a deep red scar along his neck and jaw was asking questions about abolitionists in the area.”

“The red scar was from my weapon.”

“Good. You do, however, seem to shoot squirrels better than you do retreating murderers.”

“Joseph, I’ve seen evidence of him on this trail. He rides a red horse shod uniquely, as if part of the right front hoof is missing.”

“You’ve tracked him?”

“Of course. What would you expect? I know where he’s headed. That much I was able to discern from Matthew’s final words.” How she grieved those moments. Though she’d never been able to love her husband the way she knew a woman should, Matthew Fenway’s heart had been that of a true healer, kind and strong. She’d always honored him as her husband, and he’d honored her on a pedestal of his own making.

Joseph gently touched her arm. “Where did Matthew say this Silver Braid was going?”

“Kansas Territory, and if he’s going the same direction we are, that might mean he’s caught wind of our movements, possibly of the town you’re building. You’ve been through here several times, and I don’t care how cautious you are, people talk.”

“Then we’ll have to change our route. I’ll talk to McDonald, but I still worry that Thames will know what you look like, Victoria.”

“He couldn’t have seen my face that day. I was wearing a kerchief over my nose and mouth because the road was dusty. My hair was braided behind me and I wore a hat.”

“But wouldn’t he have known who you were, especially if Matthew was a target already? He may well have observed you when you weren’t aware. He likely discovered your connection with John Brown.”

Victoria nodded. “Matthew and Thames went head-to-head in public debate about slavery versus abolition a few days before Matthew was killed. You know how well-spoken Matthew was. He managed to enrage Thames, and he received much applause from crowds who’d crossed the river from Illinois.”

The muscles of Joseph’s jaw flexed as his eyes darkened. “Then you can count on Thames knowing everything there is to know about you, Victoria. Did your husband not give a thought to his wife when he did such a thing?”

She looked down at her hands. “You knew Matthew had a calling that, to him, was more vital than any other.”

“What about caring for his wife, as a man is supposed to do? I thought he gave you a place of highest honor.”

“Would you choose one woman’s safety over the lives and freedom of millions?”

“Had he felt that way, he should never have married.” The gruffness of Joseph’s voice somehow warmed her.

She blinked up at him and was touched more deeply than she would have expected. “I willingly joined Matthew in his quest. I felt as he did. Be honest, Joseph, you feel the same. Your whole life right now is focused on helping millions of captives.”

“Not at the cost of your life.”

“I’m with you now, in the middle of dangerous territory.”

He reached up and touched the back of his fingers against her chin. She nearly gasped at the instinctive caress.

He straightened and dropped his hand. “Forgive me. It isn’t my wish to speak ill of the dead, but I believe a man should protect his wife above all else.”

“Which is why you remain single.”

He swallowed and took a long, slow breath. “Perhaps it’s why I’ve remained single to this point. I’d had no cause to give it thought until...” He looked into her eyes and for a moment she barely allowed herself to breathe. “Please,” he said at last, “tell me more about Matthew’s killer.”

Why she felt such a strange mixture of elation and disappointment she refused to consider. “Thames is a member of a newly formed group of men from Louisville, Kentucky, who call themselves the Knights of the Golden Circle.”

“I’ve heard of them. Their goal is to expand slavery into nearby southern nations. I’m talking about whole countries, Victoria,” Joseph said. “I believe if men of good conscience allow that to happen, we may see anarchy rule the world.”

She met his gaze, and she couldn’t look away for a moment. Some things about him had definitely changed, and she liked those changes. “John Brown believes there’s a connection between the knights and the border ruffians of Missouri.”

“Of course there is.”

And of course, throughout this journey, he’d known more than he’d let on to her. “My presence could be a danger to this wagon train if you’re right about Thames knowing me.” Why hadn’t she considered this? And Sadie, her mare...Matthew’s mare...why hadn’t she traded in St. Louis?

“I believe this is where you need to be.”

The gentleness of his words and the affection in his eyes settled something that had nagged at her since his first arrival in St. Louis this spring. She could relax a little. Not completely, of course. What would he do if he knew she continued to carry some dangerous secrets?

* * *

Joseph was in trouble and he knew it—had known it since first arriving in St. Louis. How was he supposed to think straight when his thoughts and attention automatically sent him looking for Victoria first thing every morning, when he had to force himself several times a day not to ride past the wagon she often reined or the horse she rode?

He needed his wits about him, for sure, now that she had confirmed for him that the most dangerous men in the country might be focusing on his little group of trusting, good-hearted people.

“John sent word to us about a conspiracy,” Victoria said. “This was only a few days before Matthew was killed.”

Though the lilt of her Pennsylvania accent and the soft, musical quality of her voice could draw him to her through the most threatening of battlefields, her words were like a splash of ice water in his face. “How did he send word?”

“Through a mutual friend. He needed our medical aid in Kansas Territory.” She placed the muddy cloth on the log and pulled another from her bag. She dampened it with a splash of whiskey and dabbed at his chin again. “He told Matthew that the Missouri slave owners traveled en masse to Kansas to vote illegally to make Kansas a slave state.”

“There’s going to be a deadly battle over that territory as voting time draws near.” Joseph took a moment to digest the reality that Victoria’s safety could well lie in his hands. “Do you think that’s why Matthew was killed? Could your contact have been followed?” He reached up and stilled her hand for a moment, relishing the feel of her skin.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it? Men risked their lives to infiltrate the coalition of slavers and to pass this information on to Washington, D.C. Many died.” Gently but firmly, she pulled away.

“I wish I’d known about your precarious situation sooner, Victoria, though I suppose I should have guessed.” Joseph would have hacked his way through head-high drifts of snow to reach her and protect her.

“John also sent some friends of ours, Francine and Buck Frasier, to the Village of Jollification.” Victoria reached up as if to sweep the hair from his forehead, but she stopped herself. “Have you been there?”

“Often. Locals call it Jolly Mill. It’s on a main road from Springfield to Kansas and Indian Territories.”

“Francine and Buck traveled there last autumn with their so-called slaves, John’s adoptive son and daughter-in-law.”

Joseph looked at her in surprise. “I heard he’d adopted a freed slave.”

“Yes. He’s fully invested in helping the slaves in every way. I hear we’ll be passing by Jolly Mill in a few days.”

“No,” Joseph said. “Not after what you’ve told me. It’s sure to be overrun by border ruffians.”

Victoria gave a soft sigh. “Yes, I know, but someone needs to help them get past the border.”

“Tell me Matthew didn’t drag you into the middle of that situation, as well.”

Victoria didn’t meet Joseph’s gaze. “Matthew and I were planning to travel this way.”

“Do you think Thames knows about the Frasiers and their charges?”

She picked up the whiskey again and soaked the cloth more thoroughly. “Word is that he is leading a group tasked to kill off the influential Brown family one by one, and that would especially include the adopted son.”

Joseph knew by the darkening of her eyes and her fidgeting hands that there was more she wasn’t saying. “Victoria, you realize we must lie low.”

She nodded. “I won’t do anything to endanger these people.”

“Or yourself.”

She didn’t reply.

He hated this. “I’ve seen you ride ahead of the rest several times until you were out of sight.”

“It does no harm to have an extra scout.” She reached for his hand and pulled it toward her, then began to dab at more scrapes on his forearm.

“I saw you once when we came riding around a stand of trees. You had dismounted from Sadie and were studying something on the trail. I had supposed you were hunting for mushrooms.”

She looked down at the cloth in her hands, dabbed at another spot on his neck then discarded this cloth, as well. “Tracks. I need to see your ribs.”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“Your ribs. Pull up your shirt so I can check your ribs. You’ll need to have medicine on them, too.”

“So you did see tracks that day?”

“Not what I was looking for. Not Thames. Now, shirt, please?”

He sighed and glanced toward camp. “This might be misconstrued.”

“Then so be it. I’m a doctor. Right now you’re my patient. If you’d rather I call Heidi to come—”

“No.” He tugged out the left side of his formerly blue plaid shirt, which was now thick with drying mud. He could already feel his face flushing.

Victoria busied herself soaking another cloth, then visibly winced at the sight of Joseph’s bruised and scraped ribs. She pressed the cloth against them. “They must hurt a great deal.”

He gritted his teeth against the sting of the whiskey. “To be honest, I haven’t had time to think about it.” Until now. He’d been too distracted by Victoria’s bracing presence and the shock of her news.

“I gathered some wild onions yesterday,” she said. “I know it isn’t the science I’ve learned under Matthew’s tutelage, but I learned a lot from a tribe of Cherokee who lived near us when I was growing up. If you would allow me to make a poultice—”

“I would be grateful.”

“Good. It’ll take the soreness out much more quickly.” She dabbed again at his ribs until the mud that had leaked through his shirt had been cleaned away. She had the most gentle touch, and a caring spirit with a strong thread of heroism that he admired.

“I’m frustrated by the hard rains,” she said as she wrapped a long cloth around his rib cage and fastened it to itself with a knot, deftly woven. “It would have removed any tracks we might have used to warn us.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t track this man.” He knew she probably wouldn’t listen. “You can tell McDonald what to look for. And Reich. In fact, I’d prefer anyone else in the wagon train be on the lookout for the tracks, just not you.”

She tugged his shirt back down. “Come with me and we can get the onions. I can pound them and then slide them beneath the cloth. It’s true we’d best not start tongues wagging. If we stay closer to camp everyone will realize I’m simply treating a wound.”

He suspected she was using his wound and the onion poultice as a ruse to prevent him from pressing her further about her tracking plans.

She turned and gathered up her bag and supplies. “Speaking of camp, Joseph, despite all we’ve tried to do, some of our people may have contracted cholera. I wish to play it safe and separate those who were in the water from the rest of the travelers for a couple of days.”

“That means you and Heidi will have to remain separate from her mother and brother,” he said. “She won’t like that.”

“She’ll do as I ask,” Victoria said. “She can ride her mule and camp with the Reichs until we know for sure our friends are out of danger. I will stay behind the train with the patients and keep watch over them.”

“Placing yourself in harm’s way.” He fell into step beside her.

“Believe me, Joseph, I know how to avoid illness. I’ve done well for ten years. This may be all for nothing, but the moment I see signs of illness I’ll be able to start treatment immediately. We have seven who were in the water.” She stopped and turned, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You were telling me the truth earlier about not swallowing the water? You didn’t inhale any, obviously, or you’d have choked.”

“I was telling you the truth. I’d like for you to make a drawing for me of the track you’ve been searching for. I want to show the adults so all can be on the lookout for it, just in case.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You don’t think you’ll start a panic?”

“These people know how dangerous this trip could be. They don’t panic easily.”

“True.” She continued ahead of him and stepped from the shadows of the forest into the churned mud of the trail. The dried mud had begun to cake and fall in clods from her dress. Her hair had all but fallen from its binding, and he could do nothing but stare at her; to him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and always would be.

“I need to have Heidi collect some rabbit-ear leaves to go with the onion compress,” she said as she crossed the trail. “I’ll use some of the tea bags we just filled to make a batch of comfrey and chamomile tea for everyone, including you.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You’re going to be sore if we don’t get those ribs taken care of, and that won’t help when you’re on horseback.”

He caught up with her to steady her in case she slipped. “I’ll do whatever you say, Doc. You obviously know what you’re doing.”

Her steps slowed and she looked up at him, her blue eyes glowing with gentle appraisal. “Why, thank you, Captain Rickard.”

Welcoming the warmth in her voice and eyes, he took her arm. “I don’t recall Matthew using the plants you’ve been utilizing on this trip.”

She shook her head. “As I said, I learned a lot from the Cherokee back East.”

“Did that ever cause discord between you and Matthew?” As soon as he asked, Joseph knew he was being too intrusive. Still, he couldn’t help wondering if Victoria’s natural skill and unique intelligence had ever caused her difficulty in her marriage. Most men were too proud to walk in the shadow of a wife with superior talents, and Joseph had to admit to himself that he had a selfish reason for the question.

Joseph’s old friend had never seemed to hold grudges or experience the typical human emotions others grappled with—such as the jealousy Joseph had fought within himself for ten years.

“At first,” Victoria said. “He even tried to order me not to use them on the women who came to me.”

Joseph chuckled. “I’m sure he learned his lesson quickly enough.”

“He did.” She cast him a mischievous grin. “I eventually managed to teach Matthew a few herbal treatments, and once he realized I knew what I was doing, he swallowed his pride and learned all he could from me.”

“And now you’re teaching Heidi.”

“She seems eager to learn.” Victoria slipped on a muddy rock.

Joseph held her firmly. “You’re good with her and the other children.” He paused, judging to see if his next remark might generate an uncomfortable answer. But he needed to know. “I always thought you would make a wonderful mother.”

She tightened her grip on his arm as she continued to walk toward camp. “I would have loved children.”

They reached camp as Joseph suffered shame for pressing her. “I’m sorry, Victoria.”

She released her grip from his and looked up at him. “You’ve done nothing for which to be sorry, and as for children, I wouldn’t have wanted them to endure what I have, to be in danger. Maybe someday....”

“Captain?” Mrs. Reich called to him from a bonfire the men had built. “You think we’re safe here? Maybe we oughta move farther away from the water.”

“We’ll make camp where we are,” Joseph announced for everyone to hear. “If we don’t have any more rain tonight, the water should be low enough for us to make a safe crossing at dawn, but if we do have rain, we’re high enough up that nothing should touch us.” He looked over his shoulder toward Buster and Gray, where some of the ladies were already sharing blankets and utensils, food and clothing with the Johnstons. At least the young men would be mothered on this trip. Not that being mothered would help them grow up and meet the hardships of life head-on.

Victoria glanced up at him over her shoulder. “You don’t expect more rain?”

He shook his head, and for a moment held her gaze and tried to study the thoughts taking place behind those deep blue eyes. After a few seconds her eyelids fluttered and the shadow of dread lined her face. His stomach grew taut with tension.

He’d seen it twice before—ten years ago, when he received the missive from his family to return to the plantation where his father struggled for his life. He’d also seen that look a month ago in St. Louis when he stepped into Victoria’s office for the first time since he’d left—perhaps as if refining their former relationship might bring still more heartbreak if she were to allow it.

“And now,” she said, “time to prepare that plaster for your ribs.”

Four people met him with questions, and as he answered them, he watched her work. He marveled that the two of them were together in this place after all this time. He made a promise to himself and to God that he would do all he could to keep her safe, no matter what it took, but would that be enough? Would the rogue searching this trail for abolitionists find her? Had he already?

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