Jace put another log on the fire, drew a kitchen chair close, and sat with his feet propped up on a log.
Her eyes drifted shut. She forced them open. She must not fall asleep. Talk. Talking would help. “How long have you known Chet?”
“Since I was seventeen.” Jace didn’t seem inclined to say more.
“You said he took you in. What did you mean by that?”
The log creaked as Jace adjusted it with his booted feet. He crossed his arms and stared into the flames.
Just when she decided he wasn’t going to answer, he spoke.
“We were headed west. Ma, Pa, and my two sisters—Mary, who was six, and Sarah, who’d just turned eight.” His voice deepened to a throaty growl. “We—mostly Pa and I—had the dream of finding the best place for a small ranch. It would be close to the mountains. We’d build a big house, and everything would be great.” A sigh rumbled his lips before he continued. “I remember how we clapped each other on the back when the mountains were clearly visible with their jagged peaks poking into the sky. Pa grabbed Ma and swung her around. I took Mary’s and Sarah’s hands, and we danced in a circle.”
Although curious to hear what happened to his family, shedidn’t prod him to continue when his words grew fractured. The man was dealing with his emotions.
His boots thudded to the floor, and he leaned over his knees, the chair squeaking a protest. “Our dream was not to be.”
“I’m sorry.”
He gave no acknowledgment that he had heard. “A few days after our happy celebration, the girls grew fevered and weak. We traveled on, wanting to find our dream place. Then Ma got sick too, and Pa said we must stop and take care of them. Let them rest.” With a weary sigh, Jace sat back in the chair and again lifted his feet to the log. “We made the best camp we could. I brought fresh water. Pa bathed Ma in an attempt to lower her fever, and I bathed the little girls.”
Jace jerked his face toward Dianne, blue eyes catching shards of the flickering flames. “Nothing we did helped.”
She couldn’t look away from his desperate, pain-filled gaze.
“Mary died first. A few hours later, Sarah passed. Pa and I wrapped them in quilts Ma had made and buried them by the trail.” His gaze slid to the fire, and Dianne sucked in air.
The logs crackled and sparked. The air filled with the scent of burning wood and something more. She hadn’t realized it before, although she detected the smell moments ago. It was the heavy, damp odor of sorrow emanating from Jace. She longed for a way to ease his pain or, at least, assure him she was sorry for what he endured, but he continued.
“Ma wasn’t getting any better. I didn’t need Pa to tell me that. He said only prayer could help her.” A soft snort escaped him. “Turns out that didn’t do a smidgen of good.” Jace shot her a look. Something dark and dangerous flashed through his eyes. “Now, don’t go judging me for voicing some resentment about that.”
She didn’t move or allow her expression to change. “I wasn’t going to.” Mostly because she, too, had struggled with disappointment and doubts when she faced the death of her loved ones.
“Yeah. Well, Ma died, and we buried her beside the girls.”
The quiver in his voice revealed an emotion Dianne completely understood.
“I thought we would move on. Go start that ranch as we planned. But Pa said he was too tired to continue. Then he succumbed to the fever.” Jace’s fist curled and uncurled, his knuckles popping from the pressure he exerted.
“Four days later, he passed.” Air whooshed from Jace, deflating him, his shoulders sinking forward. He hadn’t answered her question about Chet. He was lost in his past, and she didn’t want to call him back. She adjusted her position and snuggled into the warmth of the blanket. Her eyes drifted closed, and she forced them open.
Talk was necessary to keep her awake. “Was that when you met Chet?”
Jace jerked back in his chair. “Chet found me there. Helped me bury Pa. Helped me hitch the horses to the wagon and drove it to his ranch. I don’t remember anything but sitting on the bench with my elbows on my knees.” He sat up and drew in a gusty breath. “That was six years ago.” The timbre of his voice softened, developed a cautious note of contentment.
“My father said Chet was a good man.” Wanting to offer him a degree of comfort, Dianne kept her voice soft. “He always admired him. I remember his hearty laugh, his mass of wild black hair, and his big chest.” He more than half alarmed her, but she soon learned he was kind and gentle.
Jace’s countenance darkened. No doubt missing the man who had become his family.
“I’m sorry to hear of his passing. What happened?” It was an innocent question. One of concern and sympathy. But when Jace dropped his boots to the ground with a resounding thud and scowled at her, she shrank back.
Jace held back a shout.Squeezed his hands into tight knots. The ax lay beside Dianne’s chair. He should pick it up, take himself outdoors, and chop wood until every muscle hurt and sweat poured from him. It wouldn’t provide forgetfulness, but it might offer distraction.
“What difference do the details make? He’s gone. Isn’t that enough?”
She jolted to an upright position and slid her hand from under the blanket to grasp the ax handle.
He hadn’t meant to frighten her and sat back in to what he hoped appeared to be a more relaxed way.
