Again, no one paid Mr. Bertrand’s grumbling any mind.
“Miss Stone has been kind enough to make soup for us.” Nash’s smile at her brought a flicker of appreciation.
She waved a big spoon toward the simmering pot. “It’s ready. I’ll dish it out.”
Nash hurried to her side, took each bowl as she filled it, and carried it to the table.
“I’ll sit with Mother.” Addie lowered herself to the rug and helped Mrs. Stone sit up.
“I’ll feed Shorty.” Two bowls in hand, Nash perched on the end of the bench closest to the man.
“Would someone ask the blessing?” Addie asked.
Mr. Zacharius wheezed into his handkerchief.
Mr. Bertrand scowled.
Hawk squinted at Nash. “Go on,” he said.
“Very well.” He set the soup to the side and got to his feet. His ma would approve of him doing this. She’d guided him toward faith, sometimes gently and sometimes with a good swift kick in the rear. Mostly figuratively. He bowed his head, sobered by memories. But for her courage and God’s grace, he would be in a much different situation.
“Father in heaven, we thank You for Your manymercies. You have given us shelter from the storm and food for the body, and we are grateful. Amen.”
“Amen,” Mrs. Stone and Addie echoed softly.
For a few minutes, the only sound came from spoons clanking on dishes and slurping of soup.
Nash offered Shorty a mouthful, but the man shook his head. “I will feed myself, thank you.” He reached for the bowl. Nash positioned it on Shorty’s chest, keeping an eye on it. Apart from a bit of slopping, Shorty managed on his own.
As soon as everyone finished, Addie gathered up the dishes and washed them.
Nash lit the lamp. It gave a yellow light to the interior. He put the dishes in the cupboard as Addie dried them. He wanted to say something to restore the camaraderie he thought they’d shared in the storeroom, but nothing came to mind. Except?—
“Addie.” Mrs. Stone’s soft call ended his thought.
“What is it, Mother?” Addie hurried to her side and bent close to listen to her whisper.
“Of course.” She turned to Shorty. “We need to use your”—a loud swallow—“facilities. Can you direct us to them?”
“If you mean the outhouse”—he cleared his throat as if uncomfortable with mentioning the place—“you will find it around the corner toward the back.” He jabbed his thumb in the general direction.
“Thank you.” Addie assisted her mother to her feet. They crossed to the door and hesitated.
Nash would have offered them his slicker, but he’d left it behind. Hawk seemed disinclined to offer his.
“Please feel free to use my oilskin.” Shorty pointed to the wall.
Underneath a long black coat, Addie uncoveredthe waterproof garment. She draped it over both their heads, and they hurried out into the wet.
Silence followed their departure. Rain still slashed down. Nash stared at the door. They’d get wet even with the protection Shorty’s slicker provided.
The minutes slid by in the stillness. Five. Ten. Fifteen. More than enough time for them to make the journey. Had something happened? He envisioned a landslide that pushed them off the path and into?—
Or a tree falling on them as it had on Shorty.
Or a washout they didn’t see in time and fell into.
There might be a bear out there. Or a crazy man. A man who would kidnap them for ransom. Maybe even kill them in the hope of finding money stashed in their pockets. Some people did dreadful things in the desire for gain. They think they deserve it no matter what means they used to get it.
