“I’m sure you can.” But the man strode onward without putting Mother on her feet.
Addie hurried after him. Mother was so weak. Was it her age? The effects of travel? Or something more insidious? Surely, once they reached Golden Valley and got settled, she’d rally especially if Addie convinced her to eat better and rest more.
She paused to catch her breath and tried to shake mud from her feet. Mr. Zacharius bumped into her, and she moved onward. How far did they have to struggle through the rain and mud?
“Here we are.” Nash’s announcement drew her attention to the low building before them, its shape barely visible in the curtain of rain. No doubt it would be as unwelcoming as the previous way stations they’d encountered, offering little in the way of comfort. But at least they’d be out of the weather.
Nash’s boots thudded on the wooden step. He pushed open the door.
Addie followed. If she got Mother comfortable and something warm into her stomach?—
“Howdy!” Nash’s call echoed in the stillness of the shadowed room. “Anyone here?”
No one answered.
Mr. Bertrand edged past Addie. “This is unacceptable.”
Did he mean the surroundings? The weather? Or life in general?
“We’re out of the rain.” Nash’s patient answer might have carried a touch of annoyance. He crossed to a chair by the stove and deposited Mother. “I’ll get the fire going.” Obviously, he spoke to Mother.
“You’re very kind.” Mother patted Nash’s hand.
“My mother raised me to think of others.”
Addie knew from experience that Mother’s sweet smile would feel like a blessing. The older woman had a way of reading people, seeing the good things about them, and encouraging them to be better people all without speaking a word.
As Nash rattled the stove lid and started a fire, Addie shed her dripping coat. This must be one of the places where the coach stopped only long enough to change horses, and the passengers could expect nothing more than a trip to the outhouse and a drink of water. Meager, to say the least. A narrow table with narrow benches beside it crowded in one corner. A cot strewn with tangled blankets stood close to it. The other furnishings were a tall cupboard and two chairs. She wrinkled her nose at the odor coming from the slop bucket.
Mr. Zacharius dropped to the bench by the table while Mr. Bertrand stood, arms akimbo, staring at thesmudged window with water drooling down the outside of the glass.
At Mother’s moan, Addie hurried to her side. “You’re shivering.” A needless observation. They were all wet, cold, and miserable.
Mr. Bertrand faced the room. “Where is our host? I need a hot drink and some hospitality. Is that too much to ask?”
Silently, Addie echoed Mr. Bertrand’s complaint, although worded differently. Mother needed a warm drink and some nourishment. They needed to get to Golden Valley, where Mother could rest. And where Addie could assist Father in his work caring for the ill, the injured, and the less fortunate in the mining town. He counted on their help, even as Addie found comfort in the hope of ministering to others. Her insides tightened. Only by reaching out a hand of mercy would she ease that tension.
If his horsehadn’t started favoring one leg, Nash would be back at his ranch by now. But he’d had to arrange for Star to be cared for by the nearby woodsman and then hiked back to the trail in time to flag down the stagecoach. Wanting to make sure he didn’t miss the ride, he’d left in a rush, taking only his saddlebags that now hung by the door beside the satchels the others had dropped at their entrance. In hindsight, he wished he’d grabbed his slicker. Now, a further delay, though he wouldn’t grouse about it like Mr. Bertrand did. After all, if you complain about the weather, it seems a tad too close to murmuring at God. And that wasn’t a trail he meant to venture down.
But no need to fret. He’d be back in time to meet theherd of horses being delivered to the ranch. A smile drew his lips upward, and satisfaction filled his heart. He’d worked hard to save the money to buy that breeding stock. Honest work, honest gain. Those words might even be the motto of his life.
Mr. Bertrand cleared his throat. No doubt, meaning to let everyone know his opinion about the delay, the rain, the present company, and life in general. Didn’t the man realize dissatisfaction made one miserable and often led to seeking ways that they thought would make life better? Even bending or downright breaking laws if they thought it would benefit them.
Nash shook his head. He didn’t need to judge the man in such a fashion. He studied his fellow travelers. Unexpected company on his journey home. The unhappy Mr. Bertrand. Zeke Zacharius looked like a good wind would carry him away and it sounded like a wind had tried. Mrs. Stone, shaking with cold. And the younger Miss Stone. Addie. Her brown eyes held mystery and watchfulness. Blonde hair hung in damp lengths. Even wearing a plain gray shirtwaist and a dripping wet black skirt, she brought to mind warmth and sweetness. Why was a pretty young woman like her heading for the goldfields?
“Mother, let me take your wet shawl.” She eased it from the woman’s shoulders and hung it from a nail by the door. She eyed the blankets on the bed. Then, she squared her shoulders, plucked up one, and wrapped it around her mother. “At least it’s dry.”
About the best one could say for it. A layer of dust covered the window ledge. Ripe odor rose from the slop bucket. The smell of wet wool wafted from the two men.
The chair legs scraped across the floor as Nash drew it next to Mrs. Stone and nodded toward Miss Stone to sit.
“Thank you.”
He’d filled the kettle from the water bucket when he started the fire. Now, it steamed. In the cupboard, he found tea leaves and a teapot. Good. He’d give Mrs. Stone a hot drink. All of them would benefit from the comfort of such. He poured the water over the leaves, gave the tea a few minutes to steep, and then handed Mrs. Stone a cupful. “This will warm your insides.”
“Thank you, young man.” Her voice was whispery. Her skin was pale. Was it more than cold and exhaustion?
A quiet snort eased past his teeth. That was more than enough to explain Mrs. Stone’s weakness.
