His bitterness grew into blazing anger, and he blurted out the truth. “My father was Morton Sturm.”
Surprise in her eyes gave way to a horror that twisted her face into shock.
“I can see you understand who I am. The son of a murderer.” His eyes closed, he swallowed back bitternessand regret. “My mother fled town with me long before the murders. We changed our names and started a new life. I grew up away from the dark shadow of my father. Or so I thought. Seems the past is catching up to me.” Now numb inside, he shifted to watch Addie, not surprised her shoulders were rigid, her expression frozen.
“Addie, I might be the son of a murderer, but I am not like him in any way. He wanted to live a life of luxury without working for it. I will not take anything without earning it myself.”
She still did not move. A breath shuddered in.
“I don’t know what to say.” She pushed to her feet, moving as if her limbs lacked strength.
When he rose and started to follow her, she waved him away.
“I need time.”
Fifteen
Addie didn’t recall returning to the cabin nor preparing for bed, but she had done both, for she lay beside Mother, staring at the dark ceiling.
His father murdered her parents.
It was the only thought she could summon.
His father murdered her parents.
What did it mean? Why had God allowed their paths to cross? Allowed those painful memories to flood to the forefront?
His father murdered her parents.
Did Nash have any inkling how it had felt for an eleven-year-old to return home to discover the bleeding bodies of her parents? Did he even know a child had been left orphaned?
His father murdered her parents.
What would he say if he knew?
How would he react if he knew she was that child?
The questions roared in her brain throughout the night. She welcomed the lamplight filtering into the roomand pots clanging on the stove, signaling morning. Boots scuffed, and waking people yawned. Morning had arrived. Time to get up. To resume their journey. Today, they would reach Golden Valley. All of it no longer mattered. In her heart, she’d returned to the days following the deaths of her parents, lost in sorrow and confusion.
Mother dressed, then turned to Addie. “You were restless last night. Is something bothering you?”
His father murdered her parents.
“No. Yes. Maybe.”
“What is it?”
“I—” She shrugged. “It’s nothing. You know how I sometimes feel sad. That’s all it is.”
“Did something trigger your memories?”
His father murdered her parents.
Telling Mother would only give the woman something else to worry about. Besides, wasn’t she supposed to be past this overwhelming grief? And anger, although she didn’t like to admit to that emotion. “Perhaps it’s just the idea of starting over again.”
“Child, you don’t have to follow us. If you find a place where you want to make a home of your own, you are free to do so. In fact, I would be happy for you because then I’d know you’d left behind the past and were ready to enjoy the present and embrace the future.”
“I know, and I am.” Though, she wasn’t sure what she agreed to. How astute of Mother to know Addie longed for permanency. Maybe Mother understood the need even more than Addie did.
