The wagon lurched over a rut, and Jones dissolved into another fit of the awful-sounding coughing. Ashleen stiffened, willing him to stop, willing him to breathe. After a moment he did so, air wheezing between gritted teeth. His eyes found hers, but it was as if he didn't see her, as if they were glazed with some nightmare vision he alone could see.
"Sorry, Tom," the man almost sobbed. "Jesus, God, I'm sorry. If I had known... what... happen... would never..."
"Hush, Mr. Jones, hush," Ashleen soothed him, her tone soft as if he had been one of the children. But she could feel the emotions racking the man's big frame, anguish deeper than the pain in his body. She groped for the words to bring him peace. "Whatever happened, whatever is troubling you, I know your friend MacQuade understood."
The laugh that breached Kennisaw's lips was filled with a self-loathing that made Ash draw back, her own breath catching in her throat.
"Understood?" Jones blazed with astonishing strength, as if confronting the fates that tormented him. "Wife... murdered. Little Beth... Tom... dead. All dead. Because of me. And Garret... worse than dead. Heard it all... saw..."
Ash caught her lip between her teeth. Even the vague images Jones was revealing filled her with stark pity, for the man Kennisaw, for the child Garret, who had seen his family die. She recoiled at the picture of a boy facing such evil, helpless, while it consumed those he loved.
And yet loyalty to Kennisaw stirred within her heart, and she knew instinctively that this man was incapable of cruelty, incapable of betraying his best friend. Love, grief, guilt filled Jones's garbled words until Ash couldn't bear it.
"It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done."
"It was my doing! All of it!" Jones grasped at her skirts, his eyes twin pits of hell. "I put the gold on their land—brought the Garveys down on 'em. I didn't even warn Tom it was there... but I thought I could make it back in time. Bring help. I swear to God I did."
"Hush, now, Mr. Jones. It was all a long time ago," Ash murmured, trying to soothe him.
But it was as if the man were possessed by the demons that had tortured him so long. She listened as Kennisaw brought the MacQuade family to life with his words, the loving frontier family so real to her she could hear their laughter, taste their tears. But the simple beauty of Stormy Ridge, the farm they had carved from the midst of Texas wilderness, had transformed into a hell more chilling than any Ashleen had ever known.
Bile rose in her throat, her hands shaking with the intensity of Jones's words as he spun out a tale of violence.
She could see the Garveys' savage faces, feel the stark panic of the little girl, the hopelessness and terror of the child's parents. And most devastating of all, she could feel the agony of the boy, Garret, caught up in that maelstrom of horror.
What scars had been left on that child's spirit that long-ago day? How had he ever survived? This little boy Kennisaw Jones's words had etched forever in Ashleen's heart—a child who had painted sunrises for his little sister with dyes made from roots and berries. A son who had fashioned a pendant in the shape of a wooden dove for the mother who so cherished him.
"Never... forgive myself." Kennisaw's voice was weak, so weak. "Never forgive..."
What little strength he possessed spent, Kennisaw drifted again into troubled sleep. But now Ashleen knew the visions that would give him no rest.
She wept for him.
And for the little boy who had lost everything on a blazing Texas day.
Chapter Four
Dusk trailed ribbons of purple and rose across the Missouri sky, the first tiny stars sprinkled like spangles on a dance-hall girl's gown. Ashleen peered with gritty eyes through the front opening in the canvas wagon top, past Renny's slumped shoulders to the distant splotch of gray-brown marring the horizon.
West Port.
She blinked back tears as she caught her first glimpse of the bustling town Kennisaw Jones had so hungered to see.
Ash choked out a sob, her fingers tightening their grasp upon Kennisaw's limp hand. She could feel the life ebbing out of him, feel him slipping away as inexorably as the setting sun.
"Hold on, Kennisaw, just a little longer. We're almost there."
She wanted desperately for him to reach the streets of West Port; she wanted the Garret who had lost so much at least to have the comfort of bidding Kennisaw goodbye. But it seemed as if even that faint solace was to be denied.
For Kennisaw Jones's eyes were glazing with death, the stubborn beat of his heart failing at last.
Behind her Ash heard Shevonne and Liam murmuring the rosary in their sweet, sad voices, felt Meggie's solemn, silent regard. They had all seen death before, in the misty Irish hills. Ash had hoped they would not witness it again so soon in this new land.
Her vision blurred, tears brimming over her lashes. She had only known Kennisaw Jones a few days, and yet the red-haired giant had tunneled his way into her heart with his devotion to his boy, Garret MacQuade.
She could almost picture the sensitive, solemn young man Kennisaw's description had conjured in her imagination. Garret had lost so much already. He would be desolate, Kennisaw's death stealing away what little joy the serious youth had managed to wrench from life's tightfisted grasp.
And she would be the one to bring him the grim tidings. She would be the one to deliver Garret another brutal blow.
