Chapter Eleven

"Esther. Wake up, Esther."

Esther's eyes fluttered open to see a blurry figure leaning over her. She squinted, trying to focus, and reached out her hand to brush away the person who was gently shaking her shoulder.

"Leave me alone," she murmured as she closed her eyes and snuggled back next to Whit.

She awoke with a jolt, her heart racing as she realized she wasn't in the familiar confines of the tent. She sat up abruptly, sending a bowl of water flying from Annamae's hands and splattering onto the floor.

"Oh, my goodness. I am so sorry, Annamae." Esther's feet touched the floor as she sat up on the bed. She stood and felt the warmth of the water seeping through her stockings. "I must have fallen asleep, and you scared me."

Annamae put the empty bowl on the table and dropped the linens on the floor, moving them around to soak up the extra water. "It's all right, Esther. I wanted to let you know the doc is on his way here, and you probably wanted to get dressed before he arrived."

Esther looked down at her dress. "I have nothing else. Sarah gave me this dress because mine was covered in blood."

Annamae dumped the wet rags into a basin and straightened up, her gaze flicking between Esther and Whit. "You are about the same size as Tilly. She has a dress you can borrow," she said, gesturing toward the bedroom door. "I had Rex fill a tub in the room down the hall so you can bathe and change."

Esther felt Annamae's hand on her arm, comforting and understanding. "I know it wouldn't be proper for us to stay in here together," she explained. "Whit protected me during my time with the gang. He told them we were married so no one would touch me. I'm afraid..."

"You don't have to explain anything. Alice was kidnapped before she married my brother Chat," Annamae offered softly, giving her a sympathetic smile and nodding her head in understanding. "She's terrified of the dark, so he lets her sleep with a lantern now. I understand not wanting to be scared."

As they spoke, they could hear approaching hooves outside. Annamae turned her head toward the window. "I think Doc is coming up the road," she said. "Let me show you to your room before I get some fresh water."

Before leaving, Esther leaned over and pressed a kiss to Whit's swollen forehead, whispering words of reassurance and love. Then she picked up her boots and followed Annamae out of the room, grateful for the kindness and compassion she showed her in a time of need.

Annamae led Esther into a cramped room, barely larger than a closet. The smell of musty wood greeted them, signifying the room hadn't seen an occupant for a while. A narrow bed, with a thin quilt neatly folded at its foot, stood against the far wall. On the opposite side sat a sturdy wooden desk, illuminated by an oil lamp and adorned with a well-worn Bible. In the corner, a small washstand held a basin and pitcher. Pegs hung on one wall with worn and clean overalls and several shirts.

In the middle of the floor was a large, galvanized washtub filled with steaming water. Several buckets sat next to it with additional water for rinsing.

"This was Frank's room," Annamae explained. "He was our brother, but he died."

"I'm sorry," Esther murmured.

"Ma still hasn't gotten over it. I placed a clean sheet and soap on the bed. There is the dress from Tilly, along with a few other items. When you are done, just come back to the kitchen. I have biscuits and fried ham if you are hungry."

Esther's stomach growled in anticipation of the meal, and she blushed, putting a hand to her stomach. "Thank you, I am. I'll be right out." She closed the door behind Annamae. Saying a quick prayer of thanks before getting undressed, she grabbed the bar of soap and stepped into the hot water.

Esther slid into the steaming tub, letting the hot water envelop her aching body. When the water had cooled down, she dunked her head and wet the soap. She took the bar of lye soap and began scrubbing away the dirt and grime from her skin, wincing as the coarse soap irritated the cuts and scrapes left when the outlaws tied her up. Then she washed her hair, rinsing it with one of the clean buckets of water.

As she washed, her mind wandered back to the long days and nights spent at the mercy of the Richards gang. She thought back to the terror she felt when the men dragged her into their camp, leering at her with cruel intentions.

If not for Whit's daring intervention, posing as her husband to protect her virtue, she shuddered to think about what would have become of her. A wave of gratitude washed over her for this man who had risked his life for her. She recalled the feeling of security she had as she slept nestled against him through the nights, his steady breathing her only comfort.

If not for Whit's protection, she knew her fate would have been far worse. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she realized how much she owed the man who had risked his life for her without hesitation.

Esther quickly finished her bath, eager to return to Whit's bedside. She stepped out of the tub and dried off with a frayed towel, then slipped on a simple calico dress and a knitted shawl, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders.

Her stockings were ruined, so she discarded them and pulled on her worn leather boots. Moving over to the wash basin, she noticed a silver comb resting underneath. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she patiently worked out the knots in her long hair with her fingers before running the comb through it. With nothing to tie her hair back, she resigned herself to letting it dry hanging down her back and shoulders.

As Esther made her way back toward Whit's room, she could hear the murmur of voices.

She stood in the doorway, peeking around the corner at Whit, lying shirtless in bed. Even though his skin was swollen and a checkerboard of red and purple, she felt a blush rise in her cheeks at the sight of his muscular, bare chest and arms. Though improper, she couldn't tear her gaze away, taking in the defined ridges of his stomach and the light smattering of hair across his skin.

Her initial thought was she was witnessing the results from Brodies' brutal beating. As Doc rolled him over, she gasped at the sight of several severe burns in the shape of the outlaw's knife blade on Whit's torso, neck, and even on his swollen face.

Rex's eyes snapped around when he heard her, and he closed the door, leaving Esther alone in the hallway.

Esther stepped back from the door, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. Whit's injuries were far worse than she realized. The sight of the vicious burns covering his body made her stomach churn.

She lowered herself to the floor, sitting with her back against the wall. A wave of anguish washed over her. Whit had suffered immensely to protect her virtue, and she felt responsible for his pain. Esther closed her eyes, clasping her hands together.

"Dear Lord," she prayed under her breath. "Please give Whit the strength to heal from these wounds. Take away his pain and bring him comfort."

She stayed there praying until the door opened and Doc stepped out. Esther scrambled to her feet.

"How is he?" she asked anxiously.

Doc gave her a grim smile. "He's resting now. I cleaned and dressed the wounds as best I could. He's strong and healthy otherwise, which will help him heal."

One by one, the Hartmans filed out of the room.

"May I see him?" Esther asked, trying to look over their shoulders. Annamae shook her head as she closed the door behind her and walked toward the kitchen.

"I gave him some morphine. He'll sleep for a bit. His body needs to heal," Doc explained. "Why don't you come have a cup of coffee with me and then we'll head back to town?"

Esther looked at him and then at the two brothers standing in the hallway. "Town? I'm not going back to town. My place is here, with Whit, and you can't make me leave."

Esther stayed by Whit's side during the day. She tended to his wounds or read the Bible to him while holding his hand. She remained by his side until the doctor came to check on him or when she needed to take a break for meals, to use the privy, or to rest in Frank's bedroom.

Now and then, one of Whit's siblings would sit in an overstuffed chair they dragged into the room and spend time with him. Through getting to know the Hartman family better, Esther gained a deeper understanding of Whit's kindness, compassion, and protective nature. It only strengthened her love for him.

She discovered there wasn't much new to the story of how Whit became a Hartman. His pa, Randall, was a man who always seized opportunities, whether it involved women, whiskey, or money. He had a history with the notorious Richards gang, and when they came demanding payment for old debts, he offered his oldest daughter instead, despite her engagement to the rancher next door.

The thought of a father sacrificing his own daughter filled Esther with disgust. Meanwhile, Annamae firmly believed the widowed Sarah Brown was her long-lost sister Evangeline.

During the evenings, Rex would sit on the faded chair in the corner of Whit's room, pretending to read a book while monitoring Esther and Whit. He watched as Esther leaned down to kiss Whit goodnight, her soft lips barely grazing his cheek. Once the house was silent, Esther would tiptoe back to the room down the hall and lay on top of the covers, her head next to Whit's shoulder and her hand wrapped around his.

When morning came, someone had placed a light coverlet over her body, and they had left the bedroom door ajar as if to invite her out. No one would confront her about curling up next to Whit.

After five long days at the Hartman's house, she finally fell into a deep sleep. A loud commotion coming from the front door interrupted her rest. She struggled to untangle her hand from Whit's tight grip, causing him to stir in his sleep.

She took a moment to study his face, noticing the swelling and bruises were fading, but his burns still looked raw and painful. As she tried to slip out of bed, he grabbed onto her hand with surprising strength.

Turning to face him, she saw his thin eyes peeking through the swollen tissue. Even with such a small opening, she could see the piercing gaze of the icy blue which saw right to her heart. His cracked lips moved as he struggled to speak, his dry tongue flicking out to moisten them before he croaked out a single word.

"Stay."

"Whit!" she exclaimed. "You're awake!"

She leaned in close, hovering over him, and reached out to touch his forehead. He didn't have a fever, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Gingerly holding his hand, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted it to her lips. She pressed a tender kiss against his palm, hoping it would offer some comfort.

"I am so happy you are alive," she whispered as her tears fell on his skin. She saw him wince as she brushed the salty tears away. "I'm so sorry, my love."

The door swung wide, the wood slamming against the wall with a loud thud as a voice exclaimed, "What in the world is happening?"

Esther released Whit's hand and scrambled from the bed. "Papa! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Esther."

Her father filled the doorway, a formidable sight in his dark coat and pants with the white collar. Annamae tried to push her way around the reverend but couldn't.

"We tried to keep him outside," she offered with an apologetic shrug.

Whit tried to lift his head but dropped it down to the pillow with a groan.

"He's awake, Annamae. I need to get a glass of water. His throat is dry," Esther said over her father's shoulder. Annamae left, and Esther looked at her father. "How did you find me?"

"The marshal finally said something. He's outside as well. How's the boy doing?"

Esther lowered her gaze to the floor, her mind racing for the right words. The creases and folds in her clothing seemed to taunt her, as she knew well her father had already assumed the worst about her and Whit.

"He's not a boy, Papa." Esther raised her eyes to meet her father's gaze. "He protected me from those horrible men."

Looking over her shoulder at Whit, his eyes were closed, but she was sure he was listening to every word she was saying. "Brodie Richards tortured Whit for what he did. For saving you, Ma and the girls. They tortured him when he protected a little boy. I pray his mind heals as well as his body."

"Esther, let's go outside and talk." The reverend held open his arm for her to follow him.

"I've got him," Annamae said, returning with a cup of water and a spoon. "You go with your father."

"I'll be right back, Whit," Esther assured him, before heading out to the sitting room.

Briggs was sitting in a chair, his ankle resting on his knee, talking to Baxter and Rex when Esther and her father entered the room. The marshal stood, walking over to where Esther was and grabbed her hands.

"How are you doing? How's Whit?"

"I'm just tired. Whit just woke up. They badly beat him, and he has burns over most of his body. No broken bones, and Doc said the knife wounds were strategic. It was as if they didn't want him to die."

"Come sit with me, Esther." The marshal led her to the small settee and sat next to her. "When Bass and I found him, he was barely alive. They had abandoned him there in the camp. I honestly think they would have killed him, but someone interrupted them. What do you remember about that morning in camp? Any little detail might help."

"I woke up, and Brodie was yelling for Whit. Saying he couldn't find him. I went out, and he asked if I had seen him, which I hadn't. Brodie thought I was pregnant..."

Reverend Billings gasped and said, "Heavens, please don't let it be true. Your mother will be heartbroken."

"Papa, I'm not. The day they kidnapped me, Whit told them we were married so the men would leave me alone. He made sure no one touched me." Turning back to Marshal Briggs, she took a deep breath. "Brodie thought I was pregnant, and he was saying something about Ma Richards. He didn't finish because Big Joe and Digger dragged Whit into the camp and started beating him."

"What else did Brodie say?"

"He mentioned he knew Papa and Ma were still alive. Whit told me they were supposed to be killed once they found a boy. Then Brodie said the boy was no longer at the Chapmans. Whit told me to run, so I ran to the place he had showed me." She shuddered at the memories of the day. "Do you know why they were after the boy, Marshal?"

"Yes. The boy is about seven years old. His name is Hart, and he lives with the Chapmans. Caleb and Lydia Chapman adopted him." The marshal leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. "Hart was the child of Evangeline Hartman and Duke Richards. He's Ma Richards' grandchild."

Esther brought her fingers to her mouth and paused, a look of realization crossing her face. "Oh. It makes sense Big Joe called her..." She quickly lowered her hand and shook her head. "Never mind."

A frown quickly appeared on the marshal's face as he turned to look at her. "If you know something, you need to tell me."

"I don't know if I should say anything." It was apparent Sarah Brown didn't want to be found, and Esther could still hear the squealing hogs. It was a sound which would never leave her.

"Esther, we were at the Chapmans the night you brought Whit back here. A fight broke out in the field, resulting in several Chapman ranch hands being wounded. We captured or killed several of the gang, but Brodie and Ma got away."

"What about Libby? Was she there?"

"Libby?" The marshal shook his head. "I don't know who Libby is."

Esther's delicate fingers reached up to her furrowed brow, her palm gently pressing against her forehead as she rubbed in slow circles.

"When Ma came to the camp, she brought a young woman named Libby. Maybe a little older than I am. Dark hair, almost the color of a crow. They said she was Ma's daughter." Esther noticed her father, and the marshal exchanged glances. "What is it?"

Reverend Billings rubbed his eyes. "I didn't want to tell you, but I don't have a choice now. When we were in Texas, I recall a young couple who took in a little girl. She was about two. Long dark hair, with the biggest eyes you've ever seen. Sweet as a sugar stick. Her ma gave her up because her husband was rustling cattle from Mexico up to Colorado. It was a family business. She didn't want her daughter involved in a thieving kind of life."

"How do you know this, Papa?"

Her father moved closer to her, gently reaching out to grasp her hand. "Please know we only wanted to protect you, my dearest Esther."

"Protect me from what?" Esther stared at her father, her heart pounding in her chest as she awaited his response. The reverend sighed deeply; his eyes filled with regret.

"The same woman reappeared at the church three years later. She had another daughter. A precious little girl with a cherubic face. The Lord hadn't blessed us with children and this little girl needed a family. We thought God wanted us to protect her from the outlaw gang and raise her as our own."

"Papa, what are you saying?"

"The second little girl was you, Esther." He released her hand and held his face in his palms. "Your mother and I…we aren't your birth parents."

Esther's jaw dropped as she took in the revelation before her. Her trembling fingers clutched at her cheeks, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "This can't be happening," she gasped, tears stinging her eyes. Memories of her childhood flashed through her mind, now tainted because everything she had known was a lie.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Esther's voice trembled as she looked at the person who had deceived her all this time. The weight of betrayal crushed down on her as she realized the true motives behind her kidnapping. "I'm a Richards? Now Ma Richards thinks I'm going to carry on the family line?" Shock turned to anger as she struggled to make sense of it all. "What have I done?" She jumped from the settee. "I need to get out of here. We need to move Whit. They won't stop until they know he's dead."

"Esther, please." Baxter gently pushed her back down on the settee before squatting in front of her. "Listen to me. You are safe here. Ma and Brodie Richards don't know where you are. If they want to get to you, they are going to have to go through a lot of Hartmans to do it."

"I second that," Rex said. "Stay here as long as you want."

"Esther," her father began, his voice cracking. "I know you have questions, but I think you should return to town."

"Questions?" Esther interrupted, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. "You kept the truth about my parentage from me, Papa. All these years, and you never thought to tell me? Now, the Richards gang is here, and they haven't hesitated to hurt people to get what they want."

Reverend Billings hesitated briefly, his hands tightly clasped. "It's not always simple, my child."

"Isn't it?" she shot back, her eyes blazing with indignation. "I deserved to know who I am! I deserved to know if there would be a group of lunatics coming after me."

"Esther, please understand." Her father took a step toward her, his expression softening. "I did what I thought was best for you."

"By lying to me?" she challenged, her composure crumbling under the strain of her emotions. "By letting me believe I was your daughter, when all along, I wasn't?"

"Blood doesn't make a family, Esther," Reverend Billings replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Love does. I have always loved you, because God gave you to me."

"Then why?" Tears welled in her eyes as she demanded answers. "Why keep the truth from me? What else are you hiding?"

Reverend Billings looked away, unable to meet her gaze. "There are things... things too difficult to explain," he murmured, his words heavy with unspoken pain. "Whatever you may think of me now, know everything I've done, I've done out of love for you."

"Love?" Esther repeated the word like a curse, her chest tightening with each breath. "How can I trust your love when it's built on lies?"

"Esther, please," her father pleaded, his eyes filled with tears as he reached for her hand.

She turned away from him, her heart aching with betrayal and anger.

"Please, Papa," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I think you should go home. Give my love to Ma, Ruth and Naomi. I need time to think."

Reverend Billings stood for a minute; his hand still extended toward her. At last, he nodded, dropping his hand to his side. "I'll be outside, Marshal," he said, the weight of his guilt dragging him down as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

The marshal stood and put his hat on. "I'll do some more investigating and stop by in a few days, Miss Billings."

"Thank you. Are you going to let Mrs. Brown know about Brodie and Ma?"

"I will. If Big Joe found her, I'm sure he's pig food by now."

Esther's eyes flew open wide as the marshal gave her a wink and headed out the door.

"What was that all about?" Baxter asked.

"I'll explain later," Esther said. "I think I need to lie down."

Returning to Whit's room, she noticed he was alone. The rhythmic sound of his steady breaths filled the quiet space. She climbed onto the bed, pulling the soft coverlet up to her waist and snuggling close to him.

"I wish I could talk to you," she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. "I miss you so much." The scent of antiseptic, grease, and fresh linens surrounded her. Closing her eyes, she felt his fingers slowly curl around hers, giving her a sense of comfort and connection words couldn't provide.