Tom nodded. “I believe it. I still remember the very first time I tasted your apple pie. How long’s it been now. Twelve years? Thirteen?” He glanced at James, as though for confirmation.
James forced a polite tone. “We moved here fifteen years ago.”
“That’s right. You boys all came with your mother and your hired help. There was a family who lived with you…what were their names? Mother and daughter, I think.”
The coffee turned bitter on James’s tongue. Here it was—the real reason for their visit wrapped up in neighborly concern and reminiscences. He forced his expression to remain neutral. “The Prescotts. Margaret was my mother’s lady’s maid.”
“That’s it—the Prescotts.” Tom leaned forward with the air of a man settling into a good story. “Nice woman, Mrs. Prescott. Always so polite when she came to town with your mother. And that little red-haired daughter of hers—what was her name?”
The room closed in around him. Each word from Tom’s mouth was another nail in Rose’s coffin, another step toward discovery that could destroy everything.
“Rose.” Her name scraped against his throat like broken glass.
Rufus Clark looked up from his pie, his face creasing with interest. “That’s right. Quiet little thing, always trailing after you boys. What ever happened to them after your mother passed?”
James lifted his coffee cup again, buying himself a few seconds to think. The bitter liquid did nothing to wash away the taste of fear coating his tongue.
“Mrs. Prescott remarried.” Each word felt like a step across thin ice. “A man from back east, I believe. They moved away to start a new life.” Would that be enough detail to satisfy these vultures? He wouldn’t divulge any more of Rose’s story.
Tom nodded, but something in his eyes remained sharp and calculating. “Ah, that makes sense. Fresh start and all.” He took another bite of pie, chewing thoughtfully. “Funny thing though—that missing person notice that came through the telegraph office last week made me think of the girl. Red hair, green eyes, about nineteen years old. That matches her, doesn’t it? Do you know where they moved to?”
His chest constricted as if someone had wrapped iron bands around his ribs. “I couldn’t say.” He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to remain steady. “We lost touch after they moved away.”
He had to get rid of these men. Now.
He pushed his coffee cup and the barely touched plate of pie away from him, then focused on Rufus. “Sawmill closed for the winter?”
The man swallowed a hefty bite as he nodded. “The river’s not frozen yet, but business is slow.”
James forced himself to nod, though his throat felt tight as a noose. How much more small talk would they have to endure before these men left? Would Rose get too cold in the barn, staying hidden and still?
Thankfully, Mandie carried much of the conversation, asking about people around town. Though she’d only lived here a few months, her genteel upbringing showed through in the polite questions she offered now.
At long last, Tom pushed his empty mug toward the center of the table. “I reckon we’d better be heading back before the weather gets cold again.”
Relief flooded through James so strong he had to grip the edge of the table to keep from sagging. He pushed himself upright with his walking sticks, his injured leg screaming in protest after sitting still for so long. The pain was nothing compared to the desperate need to see these men gone, to get back to the barn and make sure Rose was safe.
Mandie walked them to the door, chattering about the weather and extending invitations for their wives to visit when the roads improved. Her gracious manner gave James time to position himself near the window where he could watch their departure.
The two men mounted their horses with the unhurried movements of people who had nowhere urgent to be. Tom Holbrook looked back toward the house once, his gaze lingering on the windows as though he could see through them to whatever secrets lay inside.
James forced himself to remain at the window until the riders disappeared around the bend in the trail, their dark figures swallowed by the snow-laden pines. Only then did he allow the careful mask to slip from his features.
He hobbled toward the door as fast as he could maneuver. He had to get to Rose. Would she be scared?
CHAPTER 20
James’s walking sticks slipped twice on his way across the yard, but he didn’t slow down. The barn door stood exactly as he’d left it—slightly ajar, revealing only darkness beyond. Had she found somewhere warm enough to wait? The temperature had dropped while those vultures sat in his dining room asking their pointed questions.
“Rose?” He called her name softly as he stepped inside, his voice echoing in the hay-scented dimness.
No answer.
His pulse quickened as he scanned the interior, searching the shadows between the stalls. “Rose, they’re gone. You can come out.”
A rustling came from the hayloft above, followed by the creak of ladder rungs. Relief flooded through him so powerfully, his knees nearly buckled. She appeared at the top of the ladder, hay clinging to her auburn hair and skirt.
“I heard them leave.” She climbed down, her movements stiff from however long she’d been crammed into her hiding place.
