Chapter Twelve
“DELIA? WHAT’S WRONG? I’m sorry.” The words spilled from Max’s mouth as he searched for an answer. He’d been so patient, so careful, and he’d still scared her away.
“Don’t be, please.” She still held his hand, her other hand pressed against her heart as if she was trying to slow it down. “I just need a little more time. That’s all.”
Her smile diminished his doubts. Delia was unlike most women he’d known, he reminded himself. If she needed time, he’d give it to her.
“Would you like me to post that letter for you?” he asked, feeling the sudden need to walk to slow the feelings coursing through him.
She nodded. “I sent Anna out to her favorite shop to purchase a dessert for supper. As soon as she returns, we can eat.”
“All right,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I won’t be long.”
Outside, the bustle of the main road and the warm breeze were exactly what he needed. Max strode quickly toward the depot, which also served as Crest Stone’s post office, Delia’s letter in his hand. He nodded at a few folks he knew and stopped to talk for a moment with Roman Carlisle, who owned the livery. He felt he owed the man after Anna had been caught taking apples from the stable several weeks ago, and so he went out of his way to be friendly.
The depot was empty except for Lawrence Thomason, who worked as the railroad clerk, postmaster, and telegraph operator. Max greeted the older man and handed him Delia’s letter.
“I’m glad you came by,” Mr. Thomason said as Max handed him the coins to post the letter. “I have some correspondence here for you. Give me just a moment to find it.”
Max waited, curious to know who could be writing him. He didn’t have much in the way of family left, and he hoped his mother hadn’t fallen ill. Mr. Thomason returned after a moment and handed him a slim envelope.
“Thank you,” Max said before turning to leave.
Outside, he paused on the platform and opened the envelope. There was nothing on the outside to indicate who it was from, although the postmark indicated it had been sent from Denver. The envelope was battered and dirty, and Max wondered how many stops it had made before finding him in Crest Stone. He took out a sheet of paper and unfolded it to read a hurried scrawl.
Maxwell,
I was in Central City when I learned of my daughter’s passing. A woman who knew her said you took Anna with you. I’ll be in Crest Stone soon to bring her back to Denver to live with me and my wife.
Thank you for looking after her.
Cordially,
Samuel Snyder
Max blinked at the page before reading it again. His mouth went dry as he examined Snyder’s signature. Anna hadn’t ever mentioned her grandfather, and the neighbor woman said Vivian’s father had tossed her out. From the way Vivian was living, Max had assumed the man had cut his daughter and granddaughter out of his life entirely.
And now he wanted back in.
The paper crumpled in Max’s hand as he grew more incensed. What man could let his own child and grandchild live in that hovel? Vivian had always been strong-willed and—Max could admit now that he was older—wilder than was good for her. But he doubted she would have chosen to live in those dilapidated rooms. When she’d turned down his marriage proposal, he knew she assumed she would always have a home with her father. Max didn’t truly know if the reason Anna wasn’t cared for properly was because of neglect and selfishness, or because Vivian worked night and day to keep them alive through whatever work she could find.
He didn’t know the answer and he likely never would, but he knew that Snyder could have prevented all of it by allowing them to live with him. And now the man planned to come here and take his daughter from him?
Max shoved the letter and the envelope into his pocket, not wanting to see it again.
He’d send Snyder a letter of his own, telling him in no uncertain terms that Anna was staying here in Crest Stone with him. He was no longer a boy of nineteen, easily run off by an angry man with a pistol.
He was a father, and nothing would ever stand in the way of his relationship with Anna ever again.
“YOU DON’T SUPPOSE HE’Salready on his way?” Delia asked later that evening when Max finished writing a return letter to Mr. Snyder.
“I hope not.” He addressed the envelope carefully, praying his words were true. “I’d think he’d wait for a reply.”
Max had told Snyder in no uncertain words that while he appreciated the man’s concern for Anna, he intended to keepher with him in Crest Stone. Surely Snyder would see reason and abandon his plans. He’d hesitated at the end of the letter, thinking it would be generous to offer to host Snyder for a visit with Anna. But he decided against it, at least for now. If Snyder replied, understanding the situation, Max would consider inviting him then.
“I’ll bring it to the depot in the morning,” Max said as he stood.
“Delia?” Anna’s voice sounded from behind them, and they turned to find her standing there with a hairbrush and a ribbon. “Will you braid my hair?”
