“Go easy on him, Mac. You don’t know what the man’s been through, or why he left Jessalyn in the first place.”
Mac turned to Isaac, eyebrows raised, which was probably about how Thomas looked at the moment. Had Isaac Cummings just defended him?
Mac settled into his chair and took a gulp of coffee. “I got time to hear the story.”
“But Pa!” The larger of the two girls pulled on her father’s arm, never mind she was causing more coffee to slosh onto the table. “You said we could build a snowman when our friends get here.”
“And we will.” Mac patted the small hand still gripping his shirt sleeve. “But they’re not here yet, and Pa needs to visit.”
“Actually, I don’t intend to stay long, I want to visit your father this morning.” If everyone in town was going to be this nosy about him and Jessalyn, he needed advice about what to say—along with advice about convincing Jessalyn to come to Deadwood. If anyone in town had wisdom to offer, it was Hiram Cummings. “Will he be at his cabin?”
Silence fell, as cold and bitter as the wind whipping at the window.
Had he said something wrong? The Hiram Cummings he remembered wouldn’t mind?—
“My father’s dead.” The muscles in Isaac’s jaw pulsed, then he turned and yanked open a kitchen drawer, only to slam it a moment later.
Mac studied Isaac for a moment, his look dark, before he turned back to Thomas. “His boat capsized during a storm three years ago. Hiram didn’t make it.”
Hiram had drowned? The man had been a skilled sailor who could man a boat through the wildest winds. He could swim like a fish too. It seemed nearly impossible Hiram would drown.
But then, it had seemed nearly impossible a large man like himself with experience working underground would almost die in a rockfall. His shoulder throbbed with the memory, and he pressed his hand to the injury. What was that Bible verse about the length of a person’s life? Something about how it was a vapor that appeared for a little while and then vanished.
Which was all the more reason he needed to convince Jessalyn to come to South Dakota. Life was too short for a man to turn his back on the gifts God gave him, like a wife and daughters.
But as for Hiram Cummings’s death… He turned to Isaac, slamming about the kitchen with tight, jerky movements as he poured oatmeal into a pot. “Elijah couldn’t rescue your pa? He sure seems like he knows what he’s doing out there in those storms.”
“Elijah wasn’t here.” Isaac’s words were sharp and caustic, filled with a sharpness he’d never thought to hear from one of Hiram Cummings’s boys.
“Elijah left town to sail the Atlantic shortly after you,” Mac answered. “He started his life-saving team after Hiram died. Doesn’t want anyone else losing a pa if he can help it.”
Thomas could almost feel the cold spray of Lake Superior as he clung to the mast of the ship yesterday while waves washed over the deck. Yet another time his life had been spared. Except Hiram’s life had probably been more worthy of sparing than his own. He had so very much to be thankful for.
Thudding sounded from the bottom of the stairway, then girlish voices and giggles floated up the stairs. A moment later three girls with silver-blonde hair and bright blue eyes appeared. His daughters looked so much like Jessalyn a person would never be able to guess who fathered them. The ache that had welled in his chest when he’d first seen them yesterday returned.
“Claire!” The oldest of Mac’s two girls rushed up. “Do you want to build a snowman with us?”
The children erupted into a fit of shrieks and giggles while Mac stood and donned his winter coat. “Jane, best put your coat and mittens on.”
His daughters were the girls Mac’s children wanted to play with? He’d not had a clue. What other friends did his girls have? Ruby Spritzer was sure to have children Olivia and Claire’s age, if the family was still in town. Did they play together?
He scratched the back of his head. There was so very much he didn’t know about his children. He’d wanted to play with them yesterday, but as he stood in this strange apartment, watching their smiling faces and listening to their young voices, he may as well be trapped in a cage of glass. Able to watch, but not able to speak or play.
Could he offer to build a snowman with them? Would they want his help?
Did they even remember him?
Olivia stepped away from the others and came toward him, a scarf tied around her head to cover her sore ear. “You were at Dr. Harrington’s yesterday. Are you… are you really my pa?”
The younger children quieted and turned their direction. Isaac’s gaze bored into his back from behind, and Mac made no pretense of looking elsewhere as he helped his younger daughter push her arms through her coat.
“I really am, yes.” Thomas swallowed. “Though I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long.”
She tilted her head to the side. Did she always do such a thing when she was thinking? Or only when she had an earache? Jessalyn would know, and possibly even Mac and Isaac. Yet another thing he needed to learn about his family.
“You used to sing.” Her voice was soft as she spoke. “In thunderstorms. You sang a song about the thunder, and it would help me sleep.”
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, Thy power throughout the universe displayed.The words and melody came back to him, as did the feel of his oldest daughter’s slender body curled against him while she trembled during a summer storm.
