“What is it?” he prompted.
It was better not to drag it out, Hannah supposed. “Do you remember that letter I received?”
He nodded. “The one from your friend in New York?”
“It wasn’t from a friend.”
Rafe sat down on the bed in the place Natalie had earlier, dropping his hat and gun belt onto the quilt.
“Who was it from?” he asked.
Hannah twisted her hands together as she tried to figure out the best way to describe Mr. Donahue. Rafe reached out and rested his hand on hers, stilling them. He watched her with his warm brown eyes, and she felt safer than she ever had in her life.
“A man named Jack Donahue.”
Chapter Thirteen
Somethingaboutthenameset Rafe on edge. But he tried to show no reaction as he held Hannah’s hand and said, “Go on.”
She looked down at their hands, as if she was too nervous to meet his gaze. “His father owns a clothing factory not far from the orphanage. Last fall, he began to linger outside our home during times he knew we would leave. Before services on Sundays, mornings when we would walk the younger ones to school, . . .” She trailed off as if lost in thought, and then shuddered. “It was almost as if he was looking us over to decide which one appealed to him the most.”
“He chose you?” Rafe guessed.
Hannah nodded, looking more miserable than he’d ever seen her. A spike of anger lodged in his gut, similar to each time he had to see a grave injustice wrought upon someone. But this was even worse, because it was Hannah. He didn’t even know what had happened yet, and he was ready to jump on his horse and ride clear to New York to find this Donahue character.
“I didn’t understand at first. I thought he was just being friendly when he joined us walking to the school each morning. But I figured it out when he tried to take my hand. When I shied away and Natalie told him I wasn’t interested, he didn’t relent. And it got worse.” Hannah swallowed, and Rafe tried to wait patiently for her to continue.
“He told me he’d set aside a job for me at his father’s factory, and then got angry when I declined. The girls and I spotted him lingering outside at all hours. He spoke with Mrs. Talbott, the lady in charge of the orphanage, and told her he wished to marry me. He began to find me outside alone . . .” She pressed her lips together against what was clearly a painful memory.
“Did he hurt you?” Rafe had to grind the words out through his teeth. What he wouldn’t give to meet this excuse for a man face to face.
She paused, almost as if she had to think about it. “No, but he scared me. There was one time, in the little garden we kept behind the orphanage—it was hidden from the alley by a high wall—he found me. It was late, and no one was around. He grabbed me and he wouldn’t let go.” Hannah squeezed her eyes shut a moment before opening them again. “I’m sorry about what happened at our wedding. It was because of that night. I’m forever grateful to one of the young boys for deciding at that moment to come outside to find me because he couldn’t sleep.”
She gave a shaky smile, and Rafe reached up with his free hand to gently touch her face. “You’re safe here,” he said. “I promise you that.”
Hannah closed her eyes, and it seemed her entire body relaxed at his words. “Thank you,” she said.
He cupped her cheek, realizing how much trust she’d shown him. Especially after the way Donahue had acted. Rafe silently vowed never to break that trust. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted to kiss her, he would wait until she was ready.
He withdrew his hand and dropped it to clasp both of her hands in his. “Thank you for telling me about him. What did he say in the letter?”
“You may read it. I wanted to burn it, but I suppose I knew that I ought to show it to you. It’s in the reticule you bought for me, in the top drawer.” She nodded toward the chest of drawers.
Rafe squeezed both her hands before getting up. He read the letter in silence, quickly one time through, and then two more times until he had the feel of its author through his words. It took all his strength not to tear the thing into little pieces. Instead, he refolded it and placed it on top of the chest of drawers.
“Let’s hope this is the last of Mr. Donahue,” he said, forcing a brightness into his words. “I know you’d likely prefer to burn the letter, but let’s keep it for now.”
Hannah’s brow knitted, as if she wished to ask why, but decided against it. “I’d like some of that chicken now, I think.”
“I’ll make you a heaping plate full of it.” Rafe pressed another kiss to her forehead.
And he hoped they’d never need to speak the name Jack Donahue in their house again.
Rafe was just about ready to call it a night a couple of weeks later, when Miss Danforth burst into the sheriff’s office, angrier than a bee caught in a jar.
“Good evening, Miss Danforth.” Jackson greeted her with his usual good humor. He generally filled in several nights a week when Hawk needed time at home, mostly at Lina’s insistence.
“It ain’t a good evening at all, Bart.” The laundress called nearly everyone she met by their Christian names, whether she knew them well or not. The woman didn’t have a shred of formality or manners in her.
