So many emotions played across Rose’s face—hope warring with years of learned caution. Her hands had unclenched in her lap, though she still held herself with that brittle tension he’d come to recognize as her armor against the world.
“Good.” Robert’s expression grew more confident, the analytical mind James had always admired clearly working through the legal implications. “From what you’ve described, Rose, this contract should be easily proven invalid. We just need a copy of it.”
Rose’s face went ashen, and his gut clenched. That fragile hope that had been building in her eyes flickered and died like a candle in a sudden wind.
“I don’t have a copy.” Her voice turned quiet again. “Vincent insisted on keeping my copy with all the other papers associated with my work. He said they belonged in ‘our’ office at Murphy’s—that’s the saloon where I performed. He said it was more professional that way, more secure.”
The silence that followed felt suffocating. Rose shrank back into herself, her shoulders curving inward as though she were trying to disappear entirely. Every line of her body spoke of defeat, a woman who’d allowed herself to hope for a moment only to have that hope crushed again.
“Of course he kept them,” Thomas muttered. “Can’t have his property knowing exactly what rights she might have.”
Robert pinched his lips together as he thought. “We’ll see what we can do without it then.” He looked to Enoch. “Think we should telegraph Father for a list of solicitors and judges to speak with?”
Enoch nodded. “Someone can ride to town to send it as soon as we finish the haying.” He glanced toward James, almost like he was looking for approval of the plan.
As much as James hated to wait the three or four days that would take, he couldn’t deny the desperate need to get the hay in before the snow came. It could mean life or death for their herds through the winter. And hopefully, a few days’ delay in their efforts to free Rose wouldn’t matter, since she would be safe and protected here on the ranch.
So he gave his brother a small nod, then glanced at Rose to make sure she understood the reason for the delay.
She looked hesitant, as though she didn’t quite follow what they were thinking.
He dropped his voice lower, just for her. “If we don’t get the hay cut and stored before the first snow, we’ll lose it. But the moment that’s done, I’ll take the telegram to town. You’re safe here with us though. Vincent won’t be able to find you here.”
She searched his gaze, and he let her see his certainty. Even if the man did somehow search out her location, he and his brothers would die before letting her go back to that slavery.
At last, she nodded. “Thank you.” She moved her gaze around the table to each person sitting there. “Thank you all.”
Mrs. Wang reached across the wooden surface. “You are home now, child. We take care of you.”
CHAPTER 10
The first snowflakes fell like whispered warnings against the kitchen window as Rose placed a cloth over the soaking beans. The men were pushing so hard to get the hay stored before this very event.
From what Enoch said that morning, they still had at least two more days’ work after today. Maybe this would only be a few flakes. Not enough to stick.
For their sakes, God, maybe You could make it hold off. God hadn’t answered her prayers in so many years, but perhaps for the Balfours, He’d listen.
“Rose, child.” Mrs. Wang—Bea—appeared at her elbow, drying her hands on her apron. “Mandie’s gone up for her nap, poor thing. This baby’s wearing her out.” She glanced toward the window where the snow continued its gentle assault. “Snow comes when it comes.” Her mouth curved into a soft smile. “God sends it, so we take what He sends and make warm food.” She winked as if it were the simplest arithmetic.
She could barely fathom faith like that. No bargaining. Just a peace that what God sent would be exactly what they needed. No fear that one misstep might turn His face away.
Bea motioned for her. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you while we have a quiet moment.”
Rose followed her through the house and up the wooden stairs, their footsteps muffled by the thick runner. They passed the room where Rose was staying, as well as those of the three younger brothers. At the end of the hallway, Bea opened a narrow door that led to another set of stairs, steeper and more cramped than the main staircase.
“Mind your head.” Bea pointed to the low rafters as they climbed into the attic.
The space was dim and dusty, filled with the scents of old wood and dust. Weak light filtered through a small window at the far end, illuminating cobwebs dancing in the drafts. She had to duck a little as she followed Bea, her skirts brushing against wooden crates and cloth-covered furniture.
“Here we are.” Bea stopped beside a medium-sized wooden crate, its surface gray with dust. She brushed the top clean with her hand, revealing faded initials carved into the wood: M.P. “This belonged to your mama, child. And to you.”
Rose’s breath caught in her throat. Margaret Prescott. Her mother’s maiden name, before Vincent, before everything had changed.
“These are all the things I found when we cleaned out your room after you and your mama left so sudden-like.” Bea rested her hands on the crate’s lid. “I kept them here in case you ever came back.”
Rose’s chest clenched, and she dropped to her knees beside the box. Bea moved aside to allow her access.
She brushed a hand over the carved initials. Eleven years. These things had waited here gathering dust while she’d been trapped in Virginia City.
