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She shook her head. “No.”
“Good. Because I didn’t want them—didn’t want anyone—thinking...”
Why was he so tongue-tied with her?
Her brow suddenly knit in consternation. “You shouldn’t have quit your job. Why did you quit your job?”
He strode toward her, then his arms around her. Willow was such a wee thing, fitting perfectly beneath his chin. She shivered and he pulled her closer to the fire.
“I haven’t done anything that can’t be undone eventually.”
She drew back to eye him askance. “Except marrying me.”
There was that.
Thoughts skittered through his brain like water on a hot skillet, but he was finally able to grasp on to one coherent thread.
“We can always get an annulment. Later. When the pass has melted and we’ve figured out how best to protect the children.” He drew back, bending so that she could meet his gaze. “I promise, Willow. I would never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. If you want, I’ll go out there right now and explain the whole thing. No one will ever blame you. All this was my doing from the very beginning.”
He took a step back, reaching for his hat. Before he could grasp anything but air, she stopped him.
“No, Charles! I’m as much to blame. And...” Her eyes grew huge, so blue and beseeching that he was rooted to the spot. “What happened to Jenny?” she whispered.
He wasn’t sure how much he should tell her. The two women had been friends. If anyone had been privy to Jenny’s fears and emotions, it would have been Willow.
“Sit here,” he said, gesturing to the chair by the fire.
When she would have demurred, he said, “I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but... I could use a cuppa, and I’m sure you could, too. And if I don’t get out of this tie...”
He tugged at the string, but the knot only seemed to tighten.
Willow pushed his hands aside. “Here, let me.”
“I think Gideon Gault did this on purpose,” Charles said. “He’s promised never to marry, himself. Something about being raised with a houseful of older sisters.”
The tie suddenly gave way. Charles felt some of the tension in his body rush out as he was finally able to take his first real breath. He quickly released the top button of his shirt and yanked the boiled collar free, instantly feeling more like himself.
Willow’s smile was shy and quick, and he was relieved to see that she didn’t seem to mind that he found the trappings of polite society confining.
When she reached for the pins holding her veil in place, he quickly offered, “Let me help. You don’t want to snag the lace.”
In reality, he was sure that she could perform the task quite well on her own, but he wanted to offer her the same little kindness that she’d given him. It was important to him that she knew he had no intention of lording over her. Granted, he didn’t have much experience with marriage—or even married folk, for that matter. But he’d seen the way that Jonah and Sumner treated one another, as partners and friends, as well as sweethearts. In Charles’s opinion, that seemed the best way for him to handle things.
One by one, he gently removed the metal hairpins. As he did, his fingers brushed against her hair. The tresses were softer than he’d imagined. He’d thought that such curly hair would have a wiry texture, but the strands were silky. He couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like if her hair was unbound. Free from their braids, would the curls be wavy and thick, or would they spring into riotous ringlets?
Before he could even finish the thought, the task was finished, and Willow stepped away.
For a moment, the air shimmered between them—like the stillness right before a spring lightning storm. Then Willow stepped toward the chair, and the energy shifted back to awkwardness.
“I’ll just...” He pointed in the direction of the teapot on the kitchen table. It was surrounded with the remnants of the impromptu wedding—used cups and saucers, half-eaten cookies, a platter with only a few remaining sweets.
Draping the veil over one of the chairs, Charles quickly found two clean mugs on his shelves. He rued the fact that Willow would have to drink her tea from the no-frills cups. She should have something fancy. Refined. But the pretty things that the women had brought with them from the Dovecote had all been used.
“I don’t see any milk. Do you take sugar?”
“Please.”
Again, he had nothing fancy. Merely the shavings from a sugar loaf. But he gave her what he hoped was the right amount. Then, after hooking his finger through the handle of both mugs, he grabbed one of the chairs from the table and positioned it near the fire, then handed Willow her tea.
She sipped the brew, and he took comfort from the fact that she didn’t grimace. For several moments she stared into the flames—long enough that Charles could take a quick gulp from his own mug.
Then she turned to him, her eyes direct, resolved, and a brilliant crystal blue.
“Tell me about Jenny.”
* * *
Willow feared that Charles would try to shield her from what he’d discovered. She’d seen the behavior of enough of the miners from Batchwell Bottoms. Since the men were denied the presence of females in their community, they invented reasons to interact with the women. In doing so, they tended to put them on a pedestal, insisting that they be pampered and sheltered from the slightest discomfort. The men worried that the women found the wind too cold, the nights too dark, the food too limiting.
Willow had lived in the real world far too long to indulge in such fantasies. She’d known cold and darkness and hunger far worse than any she’d encountered here at Bachelor Bottoms, and she had no desire to abandon those lessons for the false security of half-truths.
So when Charles’s gray eyes met hers, she didn’t look away. Instead, she willed him to give her the information she craved.
Because she wouldn’t rest until she knew the truth.
He exhaled slowly. Then bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his mug held loosely in his hands. For a moment, he stared into his tea.
“She was found in the street near the mining offices. It’s not clear if she stumbled there, looking for help, if she fell, or if she...was left there.”
“Left there?” The whisper pushed from Willow’s lips involuntarily.
Charles looked up.
“She could have had an accident.” His words sounded too forced, as if he wanted to convince himself of their veracity.
“But you don’t think so.”
He reluctantly shook his head.
“It looked to me like she’d been struck.” He lifted a hand to the back of his head. “Here...” his palm shifted to his temple “...and here.” He met Willow’s gaze again before saying, “Her skull was crushed.”
“You’re sure someone did this to her? That it wasn’t an accident?”
Charles’s lips narrowed as he thought things through, and she appreciated the way he appeared to be so deliberate. Clearly, he wasn’t a man prone to jumping to conclusions.
“Maybe I could have given that possibility some credence.” His gaze became intense. “If it weren’t for the note we found on the basket.”
“Who could have done this?” Willow whispered.
“Was there anyone who was bothering her?”
Willow shook her head. “Not that I can recall. The first few weeks we were here, she seemed really...happy. I thought it was a little strange, since the avalanche kept her from reuniting with her husband in California. She didn’t complain about being marooned, like the other ladies.”
“Did she have any trouble with one of the other women?”
“No!” Willow vehemently shook her head. “You can’t possibly think that one of the mail-order brides did this.”
“I’m just trying to gather as many facts as I can.”
“Jenny kept to herself. I think she was self-conscious about her pregnancy. She believed herself to be ungainly and...unattractive. She seemed incredibly preoccupied about the loss of her figure. She remained in her room for the most part. It was only after we all moved to the Dovecote that she perked up. She began taking walks in the mornings and afternoons. But with the guards keeping us near the dormitory, she couldn’t go far. She just circled the meadow around the Dovecote. She was always alone...” Willow’s words petered off. “But I can’t remember her having any disagreements with the other women. If anything, they tried their best to draw her out and help her.”
“Did she have any contact with anyone else?”
Willow scoured her brain, trying to remember the smallest details. “Those first days, when there were so many injured...she was in the same room with a few of those who’d suffered broken bones. That would have been one of the porters from the train, Mr. Beamon, and the conductor, Mr. Niederhauser. The rest of them would have been mail-order brides. I don’t think she ever took a shift in the cook shack, so she wouldn’t have met anyone there. The Pinkertons were in and out of the Hall on a regular basis—Jonah’s assistant, Mr. Creakle, and that nice Mr. Smalls. Once we moved to the Dovecote, the guards tried to keep the miners at arm’s length, but that didn’t prevent someone with a good excuse—a load of firewood, a box of supplies from the storehouse, the offer of a book to read—from getting a word with one of the girls. Even so, I don’t remember anyone seeking out Jenny in particular.”
“You said she was happy at first.”
Willow’s brow creased. “Yes. The fact that she would have to stay here for months didn’t seem to even dawn on her. She was eager for her baby to be born, so I thought that maybe she was hoping she could reunite with her husband looking like the same girl he’d left behind in England, rather than being...in the family way.”
Willow felt a tinge of heat seep into her cheeks at being so frank with someone of the opposite sex, but she forced herself to continue. “But after Christmas, her mood changed. She became weepy and emotional. When I tried to find out what was wrong, she said she was tired—tired of being awkward and unattractive. She wanted her baby to come. Then, just before she disappeared, she seemed uneasy and jumpy—almost fearful. What could have happened?” Willow asked aloud. “Who would have done this to her?” Her gaze fell to the basket. “And why was she so sure that the babies were in danger, as well?”
Charles shook his head. “I don’t know. But judging by everything that’s happened, I don’t think we can brush her warning aside.” His gaze dropped to the basket. “Right now, we’ve got to put our heads together and see to the bairns. Then we’ll focus on other matters.”
Such as what happened to Jenny.
A soft sneeze from the direction of the basket caused Charles’s steeliness to disappear from his gaze.
“You said the babies will need milk. Anything else?”
“I, uh...warm water to bathe them, more blankets, perhaps more flannels. Eventually, I’ll need fabric to make layette gowns. They don’t seem to have a change of clothing.”
“Then let’s focus on what we can do for them tonight.” Charles stood and reached for a pail near the stove, then his coat and hat. “I’ll head to the barn for milk. Why don’t you rustle through the larder and see if you can scrape up something for us to eat besides leftover cookies? Tomorrow, I’ll go to the company store and get whatever else we need.”
“But...your job. You won’t have pay coming in...”
He paused in buttoning his coat, then came back to her. Touching her shoulder, he said, “It’s all right, Willow. I have a great deal of credit with the store that I’ve put aside as part of my wages. It’s about time I used some of it.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
He traced her cheek—and she couldn’t resist the urge to lean into that caress, ever so slightly. “Right now, we’re in this together. These children need us. And Jenny, God rest her soul, has put them in our care. For now, that’s where we’ll put our focus.”
The words roused her fighting spirit, and Willow was instantly flooded with a fierce determination. “Yes. You’re right. I’ll have something for us to eat by the time you return.”
“Thank you, Willow.”
Tugging his hat securely over his brow, he unlatched the door and stepped outside.
* * *
If possible, the night had grown even colder in the last few hours. Charles hunched deeper into his coat, stamping down the stoop and into the darkness. As he was about to turn the corner, he couldn’t help glancing back at the row house. There in the inky blackness and whirling snow, his windows blazed with a warm, welcoming light. Charles could just make out the flickering shadows caused by the fire and the shape of a woman passing into the kitchen.
A woman.
In his home.
A wife.
No. Not truly a wife—even though they’d exchanged vows.
Turning, he trudged through the ever-deepening snow in the direction of the barn. In the space of an hour or two, he’d crashed through quite a few of the commandments—envy, dishonesty, and now he was about to add stealing to his list since, as a former member of the mining community, he had no real claim to any of the animals or their milk.
But the need to ensure the well-being of the babes—who couldn’t be more than a few days old—seemed to have brushed all his principles aside.
Tomorrow, he could talk to Jonah about paying for the use of a goat—or he could make arrangements with the company store or the cook shack. Then again, the fewer folk who knew about the bairns needing milk, the better. He had no doubts that the Bachelor Bottoms gossip mill would be chewing furiously on the news that Charles Wanlass had married in secret, fathered two children, remarried his sweetheart and resigned from his position. He didn’t need anyone puzzling over why the mother couldn’t feed them herself.
He glanced behind him again. By now, he was out of sight of the row house, but he could see the golden radiance easing into the dark night like a beacon.
And in that instant, quite inexplicably, Charles didn’t feel so alone.
“What’s going on, Charles?”
He started, his hands automatically coming up into fists—a reaction he hadn’t had since he was a boy. When he found Jonah Ramsey watching him from the entrance to the infirmary, Charles quickly dropped his hands.
Ramsey closed the door firmly behind him, twisted a key in the lock, then jammed his hands into his coat pockets.
“Where you headed?”
“The livery.”
Ramsey’s brows rose, but he merely said, “I’m headed that way myself. I’ll keep you company.”
They walked in silence, their boots crunching in the snow, and Charles scrambled for something to say to ease the uneasiness that hung between them. Granted, Charles had never been much of a talker—and he hadn’t spent as much time in his off hours with Jonah Ramsey as Gideon had been prone to do. But the two of them shared a comfortable friendship.
“Are you meeting Sumner at the livery?” Charles asked, for wont of anything else to say.
“Nah. As soon as she looked over Jenny’s body, I sent her home with the sleigh. I knew this storm would only get worse and I wanted her heading to safety as soon as possible. That’s why she wasn’t at the wedding.”
Charles felt the man shoot a glance his way, but he refused to look up.
“I’m sure Sumner will be right disappointed to have missed it. She and Willow are pretty close.”
Charles hadn’t thought about that. It would seem strange that Willow had never confided an affection for him all this time.
“In fact, I’m pretty sure that Sumner told me on more than one occasion that Willow was part of the group of mail-order brides destined for California. As I recall, my wife said something about Willow agreeing to marry a bedridden man with a houseful children.”
Charles had forgotten about that, too. He knew that Jonah was waiting for him to comment, but for the life of him, Charles didn’t know what to say.
