Chapter 8

Eight

Alice hauled another quilt to the stream. The material was damp and dirty, a casualty of the flooding rains they'd endured in the night.

She'd lost count of how many muddy bedrolls, articles of clothing, and dishes she'd washed this morning. She was tired from a sleepless night, still felt residual echoes from the fear of near tragedy.

She wasn't the only one feeling unsettled. The women and older children from the company marching like a line of ants, to and from the small pool on the edge of the river that held mostly-clear water, wore shadowed faces. The river had almost taken a little boy. Would've swept him away if it hadn't been for Alice's sister-in-law Rachel and her quick thinking.

She'd overheard her brothers Leo and Owen talking this morning before the sun had come up. If the search parties didn't find Hollis and Abigail today, they had to assume the travelers were dead. That's what Leo had said.

His voice had broken when he'd said it.

Alice's own heart felt like it was breaking. Abigail was her friend. She'd been missing for four days. Was it possible she was still alive somewhere out in the wild?

If anyone could survive out there, it was Hollis. He'd take care of her.

The pool was quiet, its bank empty of other travelers when Alice arrived, and that was a small mercy. She swiped her forehead with the back of one wrist. A hot wind evaporated what rainwater hadn't run off. The ground was nearly dry again—little good the storm had done.

Alice swung the blanket out, letting it unfurl before it floated to land on top of the water before it began to sink under the surface. The motion had pulled a small smile from her, but in the very next moment, the blanket snagged on something below. It jerked in Alice's hands and she fought to keep her footing on the grasses at the bank, still damp in this shady spot.

Her eyes slipped closed as she struggled with the blanket, pulling with all her might.

Was this how Rachel had felt last night, fighting against the raging river to save the young boy she'd rescued?

The memory locked in Alice's head, watching in horror as Rachel and the young boy clung to a tree as the waters threatened to sweep them under. Owen had rescued them both from horseback, just in the nick of time.

She blinked, pushing the memory away. Selfishly grateful that it hadn't been her.

Alice was a horrible person.

An awful person for being insincere when she'd formed a truce with her brother Owen's wife weeks ago. It irked her that her brothers were caught up in their new relationships. Who was going to watch out for Coop while they were domestically distracted?

It was all up to her.

And she wished that it wasn't.

Which made her selfish.

She opened her eyes and gave one more tug on the heavy quilt. A little cry slipped from her lips. The blanket didn't budge and helplessness itched just under her skin. She couldn't afford to lose the covering.

Then a pair of big hands grabbed the blanket just below where she held it. She only caught a glimpse of the side of Braddock's face as he pulled with her.

Finally, something shifted under the eddying water and the blanket came loose. His hands brushed hers as she pulled it in.

"I've got it," she told him, shaken by his sudden appearance.

He stepped back, pushing one hand through his hair—where was his hat?—as he watched her tug the waterlogged blanket to shore.

She didn't want to notice the bruise high on his cheek or the one shading his jaw underneath a scruff of blond whiskers. He was staring at her, watching her take in the evidence of the blows her brother had landed two days ago.

Are you all right? The old Alice, the girl she'd been eight months ago, would've asked the question. But she firmed her lips and purposely returned her focus to the blanket, now on dry ground. She knelt to examine a small rip that now marred the edge.

"I'm fine," he said after a prolonged moment of silence. "Thank you for asking." One corner of his mouth lifted, a sign that he hadn't meant anything unkind by the sarcastic words.

Of course he pushed. Braddock—she couldn't think of him as Robert anymore—always pushed.

"What do you want?" she asked as she wound the quilt between her hands, wringing water from it.

"To talk to you."

"I told you, I never want to see you again." If she blinked, she'd be back in the servant's hallway of his grandfather's expansive mansion, facing him with tear-filled eyes. She shook her head, freeing herself from the memory.

"You also told me you loved me," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, his jaw hard and his arms crossed over his chest. "Both of those things can't be true. One of them must be a lie."

His words battered her for a moment, tugging at her insides the way the quilt had been pulled by the water. She had thought herself in love with him once. But she'd only been fooling herself.

"I love my brother, but I don't love his foolish actions," she said evenly. It was as close to an apology as she could make. She knew the truth now—how he truly felt about her family. About her station.

Water spattered over her skirt as she squeezed the fabric too strongly, her emotions getting the better of her. She could never be with Braddock. It would never work between them. The evidence of it was there in the bruises on his face.

And it wasn't only that Leo, Collin, and Coop hated him.

When she looked up, she got caught in his blue eyes. His expression was stony. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. A muscle jumped in his cheek.

"Whatever affection we used to have for each other is gone," she said firmly. "I don't know what foolish notion brought you to this wagon train, but you should join the next eastbound group and go home to your grandfather."

"It's not gone for me." He strode forward and before she could react took the bottom of the sopping mass of blanket before she dropped it all on the dirty ground. His hands found hers in the process, and she found she couldn't look away from his intent gaze.

"It's not gone for me," he repeated.

The warmth of his hands closing over hers brought back a visceral memory of the first time he'd touched her—during a rousing song at one of the dances attended mostly by workers from the powder mill. They'd been pressed in on all sides by the crowd, and he'd held her hand for a moment too long during the spinning, clapping dance around them. He hadn't looked away, not even when he'd missed a step and nearly stumbled. She'd thought she was something special, to have captured the attention of a man like him.

You're different from your working class brothers!

His shouted words from another conversation—their last real conversation before this one—resounded through her buzzing ears. She stepped away, breaking his hold and tugging the blanket into her midsection, uncaring that she got her dress wet.

"You're the one who said we're too different," she reminded him stiffly. "And that hasn't changed. Leave me alone."

She walked briskly toward camp, blinded by tears. It wasn't enough that her brothers had found love? Why did she have to come face to face with the proof that she'd made a huge mistake?

She'd believed love was bigger than the elements of their lives that separated them. She came from poverty, while he had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Their relationship had been secret for months. And hadn't survived when her brothers had been dismissed from Braddock's powder mill.

The dreams she'd had of being Braddock's wife, of home and love and babies had died. All of them.

She didn't look over her shoulder to the man she left behind.

There was no reason to look back. Nothing left for them to say.

Riding double, it wasn't long before the wagons came into sight. The white covers stood out against the sea of dry prairie grasses, and Abigail's eyes filled with grateful tears.

She had her hands on Hollis's waist. August had given up his horse for them to use while he rode double with Gerry Bones. Owen rode out front. She'd seen the troubled look he wore when Hollis had blurted out that she was his wife.

With her memories back, Abigail remembered the wagon master who'd driven himself to the brink of exhaustion pushing the wagon train west. Who'd hidden the continued pain and weakness from the head injury he'd received when the twister had come through weeks ago.

Hollis hated to show weakness.

When his memories returned, he would be angry with himself for what he'd revealed to the four men who'd made up the search party.

Hollis's posture atop the horse filled with more and more tension as they approached the caravan.

"You all right?" she asked.

She thought she heard him whisper, "Ten lost," but couldn't be sure.

Owen reined in near a group of several horses picketed outside the circle of wagons. Only a few seconds later, he held the bridle as Hollis hooked one arm around Abigail to let her down. She couldn't help one last look at the man who'd kept her safe these past days. Hollis sat tall and strong in the saddle. Capable and handsome.

He'd held her, protected her with his own body. Shared himself with her.

And now all of that was over.

She clutched August's blanket closer around her shoulders. Nearby, the camp bustled with activity and movement. For a moment, she felt separated, out of place.

August appeared at her side. "We've got two other search parties ranging the prairie. They're supposed to check in at the noon hour."

She nodded. No doubt the caravan would need to move on soon.

"Owen wants to grab Leo for a captains' meeting. To figure out what to do next."

When she glanced at August, his eyes were on Owen and Hollis, feet away and, from the looks of it, having a serious conversation.

She and August had only met after the company left Independence. They had been acquaintances for weeks, until they'd bonded over worry for their wagon master, who'd been found with a head injury after the twister.

"He'll need a friend by his side, once his memories return." She murmured the words as she hugged the blanket tighter around her. "It could happen at any moment."

August's mouth pulled in a frown. "It's a shame it couldn't have happened before we found you."

She knew he meant before Hollis had told everyone what he had.

August's gaze held compassion. "Folks'll want to see the two of you. Everyone's been worried. I'd keep to yourself for as long as you can."

So Hollis can't spread more untruths . She heard the words he didn't say. It was sound advice.

Hollis and Owen walked ahead, while August stayed to speak to the cowpoke and care for their horses. Abigail trailed the two men.

As they passed through the wagons, Owen spoke to a woman—Felicity.

She abandoned the bucket and scrub brush and jumped to her feet to meet Abigail.

"You're alive!"

Abigail gave in to her friend's embrace, new tears stinging her eyes as Felicity's arms wrapped around her.

"I'm a muddy mess," Abigail tried to warn her.

But Felicity kept one arm around her. "We all are. Those storms last night nearly flooded our camp—we almost lost a little boy who'd wondered off."

Terror filled Abigail as she relived those moments of being pulled underwater by the current. A flash of Hollis's strong arm clasping her waist, dragging her to the surface?—

She pushed the memory away. Focused instead on the woman nearby who had removed every item from her wagon and was standing inside it, beneath the empty slats, no cover, sweeping water out. Their canvas must've leaked.

Another family worked to dig out their wagon wheels from the soft, muddy ground.

"Is my wagon all right?" Abigail asked.

Felicity nodded. "Your oxen must've dragged it across the river. After you disappeared, some of the men found it on the banks, the oxen just waiting in their traces."

Abigail's stomach chose that moment to growl and Felicity's eyes went wide. "Oh my goodness. You must be so hungry. Let me?—"

But Alice was already striding toward them, a tin plate in her hand. "I just saw Owen. He sent me over here."

She hugged Abigail's shoulders with one arm before handing her the plate. "I was so worried about you. What happened?"

It was a relief to give herself into the care of her friends. To sit on a crate they pushed her to, and let them warm up pails of water for her to get cleaned up.

She was embarrassed at how she ate. Head down, stuffing her mouth like some kind of animal, all to appease her roaring stomach.

Had someone made sure Hollis was eating?

She held the question inside, August's warning echoing in her mind.

Felicity and Alice listened wide-eyed as she told the story of the past few days in between bites. But she kept the tender moments with Hollis to herself.

"Abigail!" The cry, somewhere between a shriek and a wail, preceded a bundle of energy in the form of Ben flying in.

Abigail's blanket fell away as she braced and then caught the nine-year-old girl in her arms. Ben had come to the wagon train a few weeks ago, after her own company had been attacked by bandits and her family killed. Felicity and August had taken her in, but the girl had formed a special bond with Abigail.

Abigail hadn't realized how deeply she'd missed the girl and blinked back tears.

Ben drew back with a wrinkled nose. "You stink."

"Ben!" Felicity gasped. "Manners."

Abigail stifled a teary laugh. "I'm certain I do. I'm in terrible need of a bath."

Alice hefted one of the pails from the now-roaring fire. "We've got a washtub fixed up. Strung blankets between our two wagons for privacy."

There was a relief in allowing herself to lean on her friends. These past days, it had been Abigail and Hollis alone. No supplies, no food, no idea where they should go.

"How did you survive with only a grumpy Gus for company?" Felicity teased.

"We managed together," Abigail murmured.

The stark fear she'd carried since she'd woken up without her memory had started to bleed away the moment August had ridden up to them out on the prairie. Even so, she was conscious of the words trapped behind her sternum. She wanted to tell Felicity everything. But the secrets of what she'd been through, what she and Hollis had shared, were hers alone.

Hunger sated, she allowed herself to be led to her bath. Alice continued talking, but the words faded behind the blankets as Abigail hesitated. Hollis sat near a low-burning fire, surrounded by his captains. And… Evangeline?

Evangeline had several guidebooks packed in her supplies, Abigail remembered. August had commented about how frivolous it had seemed that she, the daughter of a wealthy lumber magnate, had brought an entire library along in her wagon. But surely the guidebooks would be helpful now, with Hollis's memory impaired.

Hollis's shoulders were set and tense. She could see it from here, though his back was to her. Everyone would be depending on him, now that he'd returned. The responsibility was a big one when in his right state. But without his memories, was he feeling uncertain? Angry?

"Abby?" The nickname slipped from Alice's lips as she drew back the blanket. Behind her, a washtub was steaming. She'd laid a clean towel over the edge and now she offered Abigail a bar of sweet-smelling soap. "You okay?"

Abigail forced a smile, though it felt like it wasn't quite the right shape on her lips. "Fine. Just woolgathering."

Alice's gaze went past her. Abigail feared she'd see the men and guess at her seesawing emotions. She quickly ducked past her friend. "Thank you for the bath."

Alice murmured a response and left her there.

Abigail didn't want the hot water her friends had labored over to go to waste, so she quickly slipped into the tub. The warm water was a balm to her skin. The scent of the soap familiar and welcome. But thoughts of Hollis plagued her.

His strong arm coming around her when he'd dove into the raging river to rescue her.

The warmth of sharing his coat next to the fire.

The way he'd held her and comforted her.

His kiss, the way it'd claimed her.

What had been a friendship—and barely that—before they'd been separated from the company had become something more.

For her, at least.

She had no doubt that when Hollis's memory returned, any moment now, he'd hate the closeness they'd shared. He'd worked hard to keep everyone around him at arms' length. She doubted he'd told anyone else about the tragedies from his childhood. She knew more about him than anyone else. And he wouldn't like that. It wouldn't matter that she would never tell a soul.

Frustration rolled over her like a wave in the river, and she let herself slide down until her knees were sticking up out of the tub but her head was underwater.

With her eyes tightly closed and everything around her muted, she could pretend, if only for one moment, that things could be the same as they had before her memory had returned.

She'd liked belonging to Hollis.

It was growing dark by the time Hollis had a minute to wash up.

"You haven't had a moment to yourself."

August.

Hollis had repeated the man's name over and over in his mind so he would remember it.

The man—his friend?—approached where Hollis stood between two wagons looking out at the last sliver of the setting sun.

"What can I do for you?" Hollis asked.

August shook his head. He'd stuck close all day, covering for Hollis when the blanks in his memory might've troubled the other travelers. It hadn't been until midday that Hollis realized he hadn't told Owen or Beaumont or Gerry Bones that his memories were gone.

August had something in his hands and held it out now, offering it to Hollis.

Clothes, he realized. A rough towel, a bar of soap. August extended his other hand. A straight razor. A flicker of some recognition fluttered inside Hollis as he took it.

"Most of the men bathe down by the river, though the water isn't very clean after the storms." A gentle suggestion in the words.

Hollis thanked him with a nod.

August hesitated. "You doing all right? With everything?"

"Fine."

"I'm sure things'll be easier after a good night's rest," August offered.

Hollis looked down at the things in his hands. He felt bone tired—more so than when he'd walked all day and slept on the bare ground. Everyone wanted something from him.

Two families had asked him to mediate a dispute about whether or not the faulty piece of canvas one family had loaned the other could be blamed for the leak in their wagon.

His captains had wanted to discuss the upcoming route for what seemed like hours. One of the men—Hollis couldn't remember his name now—had asked Hollis outright why he hadn't pulled out his logbook. Their arguing and debating had stirred up something in Hollis, something just out of reach.

The one silver lining was that one of the other search parties had found his horse. He'd gone out to greet the animal and recognized the gelding straightaway. His mount had been half-wild, spirits high and still wearing his saddle, with many of Hollis's supplies intact and his rifle still in the scabbard. Hollis had seen to his care, those few minutes spent in familiar tasks his only respite, until now.

"Where's Spar—Abigail?" He wasn't sure he would get used to calling her by her Christian name, not when Sparrow had become so familiar in his mind. "In our tent?"

A look crossed August's features, one that Hollis couldn't read. "She's bedded down with Felicity—my wife—and young Ben. Probably already asleep."

A visceral need inside him made him say, "I need to see her. Make sure she's all right."

August stayed him with a hand at his chest when Hollis would've pushed past the man. "I'm... not sure she wants that."

Hollis shook his head, not comprehending the other man's words.

"Hollis, sir." August was two inches shorter, but Hollis had to give it to him, he didn't back down.

"I've a right to check on my wife."

August was married. Surely he understood that.

Some shadow crossed the man's expression in the last of the light.

"What?" Hollis demanded.

"She's not your wife."

The words didn't register. Not until August followed them with, "You and Abigail aren't married."

Of course we are . The argument pressed against his breastbone, but didn't reach his mouth.

Was this why Abigail hadn't come to him today?

He didn't believe it.

"Why don't you go wash up?" August suggested firmly. "Making a ruckus this time of night isn't a good idea. I'll come find you by the creek and let you know how she is."

Hollis wanted to argue, but he became aware of others passing nearby, men on watch. Listening ears.

He trudged out into the darkness, finding his way to the water's edge by sound. It took a minute to find a place where the water was calm enough that he could scoop some into his hands.

He shucked his mud-encrusted shirt. Set aside the razor. It was too dark tonight to shave. He'd save that for the morning.

Abigail isn't your wife.

His heart was pounding against his sternum, almost like fighting the man who'd attacked him out there in the wild.

He'd been sure. Felt the certainty. But she'd been quiet since her memories had returned. Had she known? And kept it from him? What about the memories of his bride?—?

He had his hands cupped around a bit of water when the first of the memories swarmed him, overtaking his vision with scenes from the past. He lost his grip on the water and his hands splashed into the edge of the water, then gripped the ground at his knees, gaining purchase on one solid thing as his mind swam.

His pa and ma, looking proud from the back of the crowd as he'd recited words in a spelling bee. He must've been around ten.

Running through the night, belly empty, when he was even smaller. They'd left behind a life of slavery in the south. A wash of memories of Hollis's pa, the shadows in his eyes that time and distance had never truly erased.

Hollis's own wedding day.

But it wasn't Abigail who turned to face him in that pretty dress. It was Dinah, her warm brown skin and dark brown eyes serious as she took his hand in front of the preacher.

His heart twisted strongly inside him and he gasped for breath, the memories pressing against the inside of his skull.

Dinah making dinner in their tiny kitchen. Bringing him a lunch pail at the livery. Growing big with their child.

Dinah's screams.

Hollis's helplessness as the doctor tried to save her and the baby.

Tried and failed.

Grief overwhelmed him, the memories new again, as if they were happening right now, not five years ago. He'd loved Dinah with all his heart, loved their unborn baby.

And God had taken both of them in one fell swoop.

Hollis groaned. It came from the depths of his soul, but it didn't lessen the pain, only heightened it.

A twig snapped beneath someone's boot and he pushed himself to stand on shaky legs. Forced himself to turn, though his stomach pitched.

August picked his way through the brush with a lantern in his hand. And he wasn't alone. Abigail was just behind him.

Hollis rubbed one hand down his face. "Go away." His voice was rough with tears and pain, and it shamed him that they heard.

Abigail stopped short, but August took two more steps.

Abigail's face was a pale smudge in the flickering lantern light, but Hollis could see her eyes, wide and hurt and full of compassion.

"You knew," he accused her, the words bubbling out of his mouth before they'd fully formed in his mind.

"Only since this morning," she whispered.

"How could you let me pretend?" Let me kiss you? He knew it wasn't her fault, somewhere in the back of his brain, but in this moment logic had no place.

He saw the tremble before she hid her hands in the folds of her skirt.

A visceral memory hit him, a recent one. Holding onto her in the dark. Because she felt precious to him. Some part of him ached to hold her now. He hated himself for it.

"Hollis," August started.

He pointed a shaking finger at her. "You aren't my wife." His voice shook. "My wife and our baby are dead."

She looked stricken. Her lip trembled. "Oh, Hollis."

He didn't know where his self control had gone. Surely he hadn't meant to tell her about Dinah. His family back home knew, but no one in the caravan.

"Hollis, let us help you through this."

He batted away August's hand when the man came near enough to touch him.

He couldn't stop staring at Abigail. She'd seen him weak. Vulnerable. Heard his darkest secrets.

"We did what we had to in order to survive," he told her. "But you tell no one what happened out there. No one."

She turned her face, giving him her profile. In the dim lantern light, he saw the glint of tears in her eyes.

"Let's go back to the company," August said. "Get some rest. We'll regroup in the morning."

Hollis's head pounded as he reached down to gather his things from the bank. He hadn't bathed, but maybe that didn't matter anymore.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Tell no one .

His traitorous brain was quick to remind him of the statement he'd made when they'd been rescued. He'd claimed Abigail was his wife in front of August, Owen, Beaumont and Bones.

He'd created a problem. One that had no solution.