She looked over at her friend. “Abandoned your husband?”
“You didn’t abandon him.”
“Well, he’s in one place, and I’m in another, so it sure feels like one of us abandoned the other.” She shook her head and wiped her cheek with her palm. “I thought I was doing what the Bible said. I thought I was letting God build our house. But how can God build anything with Thomas gone? Somehow we’re back to building our own separate houses instead of a single house together.”
She closed her eyes and drew in a long, deep breath. But frustration and a sense of loss rose up to choke her anew. How could she hope for a restored relationship when her husband was headed halfway across the country without her? And how could she blame anyone but herself for the state of their relationship when she’d held him at arm’s length for so long?
Chapter Twenty-Four
The horse’s hooves pounded against the packed snow, each clomp taking Thomas farther from the family he loved.
His hands tightened on the reins of the horse he’d rented from the livery, and he forced himself to stare at the scenery drifting past. A cluster of pines laden with snow so heavy their boughs sagged beneath the weight, a stand of maples with their bare, spindly branches twisting up toward the sky, a thicket where a rabbit emerged for a moment, only to catch sight of the horse and dash back to safety.
It all seemed startlingly perfect, even the brightness of the afternoon sun which caused the snow to sparkle like the crystal goblets at his hotel in Deadwood.
But his heart was anything but perfect.
Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.That’s what he was trying to do, let God build his house this time around. If he and Jess tried building it themselves, they’d only fail again.
But how could God build their house if he and his wife were in two separate states?
Temporarily. It wasn’t as though he’d left her forever.
But it felt like forever. How long would this business with his hotel take? He wanted to be back in Deadwood overseeing things, true, but not more than he wanted to be with his family.
His ownership of the property shouldn’t even be contestable. He had the deed sitting in his safety deposit box in Deadwood. If proof of ownership was the only thing needed to clear up this dispute, then couldn’t he just wire Bernard and tell him where to find the deed?
Unless Bernard was up to something unsavory and creating some sort of ruse so he could get the deed. Thomas huffed out a breath, which puffed white against the air. He’d been focused on Jessalyn and the girls for so long, he didn’t even have an inkling what was happening with his hotel.
He supposed he could wire Sheriff Haynes and see if he’d heard anything about a land dispute. If something was going on, surely Deadwood’s sheriff would know. Which he probably would have thought of before he’d left Eagle Harbor, if he hadn’t been in such a rush to start his trip yesterday. He rubbed a hand over his chin. Looked like there’d been something to Jessalyn’s idea about staying the night and leaving today.
Just like there’d been something to her fear over leaving their daughters. True, he’d seen nothing but blue skies and sparkling snow thus far, but that could change in a blink. He rubbed his forehead and glanced out over the layers of white. Was he making the right choice in taking this trip?
He had to be. They couldn’t afford to lose his hotel in Deadwood, especially not with Jessalyn’s seamstress shop gone.
But then why did his heart feel so heavy? Why could he only scowl at the passing scenery rather than smile? He’d worked so hard to gain Jessalyn’s trust again, but this trip was already straining their relationship.
Even if he did lose his hotel, wasn’t Jessalyn worth the sacrifice? Wasn’t his family more important than a building?
A building that earned him five hundred dollars a month in revenue.
He drew in a breath of air so frigid it stung his lungs before dissipating. His family was more valuable, yes, but going to Deadwood didn’t mean he was placing his hotel above them. He’d left Jessalyn with a place to live and money aplenty for any needs she or the girls would have in his absence. It wasn’t as though he’d just up and abandoned them.
So why did each clomp of the horse’s hooves against the snow make him feel like a traitor?
Jessalyn ducked her head against the wind and hurried down the dirt path toward North Street. Behind her the lighthouse tower was dark, its lantern unlit during the winter months when the harbor iced over. But lights shone brightly through the kitchen and parlor windows, where her daughters were playing with the Oakton children.
The girls had been planning to spend the night at the Oaktons since before Christmas, and she couldn’t tell them no. Never mind she hadn’t known Thomas would leave two days ago.
As if facing her second night without Thomas wasn’t hard enough, she would now be alone once she got back to the apartment. But first she had to drop off dinner for Isaac. With her own belly full of Tressa’s pasties, cornbread, and pie, she could hardly begrudge the stop. Hopefully he wouldn’t ask her how she was doing—she’d had a hard enough time keeping a smile on her face for the girls through dinner. She tucked theblanket tighter around the basket on her arm and quickened her pace. If she didn’t hurry, Isaac’s dinner would be cold before she reached the sheriff’s office.
Her feet left the little path and found the snow-packed road of North Street, and a chill traveled down her spine. But not from the wind, no. She looked over her shoulder. Was someone watching her? Someone following?
How silly. Who would follow her? But the sense of foreboding persisted. What if Thomas was in trouble? Was he sick somewhere, or hurt? Had he gotten caught in a blizzard on the road to Calumet?
She gripped the handle of the basket tighter. Maybe he needed her help, but what could she possibly do without knowing for certain something was wrong? It would be ten sides of foolish to rush after Thomas, alone and in the cold, all because of a feeling.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise.
