Regret for not having a mother figure in her own life stabbed at her chest again.
How long had she waited for her mother to return when she was a child? Too many days to count. Her father had never remarried, and now Maxey wondered why. Could he have longed for his wayward wife as Maxey had longed for her mother?
Life wasn’t fair. How could her mother have been so thoughtless? From what Maxey had seen so far, her mother did still love her. Why else would Nora try to protect her daughter and Nash?
“I do not think Mrs. Jackson will remember me,” he said.
Nash’s voice brought her out of dark and confusing thoughts. She glanced at him. His smile had disappeared.
“It has been many years since we have seen each other,” he finished.
Maxey patted his arm. “We shall make her remember. Do you resemble your uncle?”
“My father always told me I did. Perhaps that is why we argued so much while I was growing up.”
“Then I’m quite certain the housekeeper will remember.”
His jaw hardened. “I pray my uncle has not found her first. If he knew…” He took a deep breath. “She may be dead.”
Maxey prayed for the housekeeper’s safety. “How much farther?”
“We are nearly there. I think perhaps another ten minutes at the most.” He glanced down at her feet. “Why? Are you tired of walking?”
“Don’t be silly. I shall be fine as long as I’m by your side.”
He grinned and winked. “You still think I am your protector?”
“No, I don’t think. Iknow.”
*
Seeing Mrs. Jacksonwas within minutes, unless she’d moved since Nash last saw her. The town where he’d lived during the stay with his uncle hadn’t changed much. The church stood erect, but definitely needed a good painting. The houses appeared as rickety as he remembered—perhaps even more now. And the tavern was still packed.
Many people watched him and Maxey as they walked down the street, but nobody acknowledged with a wave or nod of greeting. This was their way. They had always kept to themselves. Besides, he didn’t want to draw any undue attention.
Nash turned down a side street, Maxey following close beside him. Although he wanted to hold her hand to openly proclaim his love, everybody needed to see them as servants to keep suspicion away.
From up the road, a small adobe house grabbed his attention. The familiar fence, the same shutters, and the crooked windows made his chest swell.
On those occasions when Nash had needed someone to talk to about his family situation, and Uncle Matthew didn’t care to listen, Mrs. Jackson would bring Nash to this part of town while she shopped for items needed at the manor. A few times she had brought him to the house where her family lived, as well.
Several children played a game in the yard, laughing as they ran after each other. Sweet memories tugged at him. During the times with Mrs. Jackson, he had felt content. She treated him like a son, and he pretended she was his mother.
When Nash reached the gate, the children stopped. He smiled. “Does Mrs. Jackson still live here?” he asked.
A few of the children exchanged glances, then met his eyes again.
“There are two women here with that name,” the oldest one said.
“Lucinda.”
The child nodded. “She is here.”
Nash breathed a deep sigh.Thank God. “May I speak with her?”
Another boy stepped forward. “Who are you?”
“I am her friend from long ago. She used to work for my uncle.”
