Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

M uireall placed her hand on the massive sycamore tree to her left as she followed the bank up the mound of dirt at its base. The only reason she knew the type of tree was because of the mass of roots that stretched into Sinking Creek beside her. Margaret had pointed one out to her on their journey to the fort. Muireall frowned to consider how cold she had been to her sister after their mother's death. After losing both parents in such a short span of time, she had been embroiled in such a state of grief that her behavior had been repulsive. Fear had also had a tight hold on her, especially once they ventured from the safety of the cabin. When she lost her mother, she had lost the one person who could help her navigate her near-sightedness. The one person who could protect her.

But along the way, Margaret had helped her see that God was always there, watching and protecting. Even now, she could feel His hand steadying her as she followed the dip back down on the other side of the sycamore. Muireall walked along the dirt bank beside the creek, thankful for the clear path that had been provided. She watched the ground closely for obstructions, stepping over each potential hazard, whether it be a stick or a shadow. Unable to tell the difference, it was better to be safe than sorry. And with no one around to see, she did not have to concern herself with appearing foolish.

‘Twas a lonely way to travel, though. As wounded and irate as she was when it came to Jude's deception, she had grown accustomed to his gentle, reassuring presence. The sway of Sugar beneath her. In fact, she had become so used to riding that only an hour's worth of walking had her feet hurting with every step she took. But she could not look back, could not consider those she had left behind.

Nay, she could not concern herself with the absence of someone who could so easily allow lies to roll off his tongue. Even if his intentions were honorable. Muireall shook her head and marched faster, ignoring how her feet ached in the ridiculous shoes women had to endure. Perhaps when she found Margaret, Iain could make her a pair of moccasins as he had done for his wife and child. Margaret's had been crafted for her when her feet had become bruised and bloodied after only a day or two of travel. But even once they arrived at the fort where no other woman would be seen in such, her sister had continued to wear them for their comfort. Her confidence had always been inspiring to Muireall.

When the creek bank turned from dirt to stone, she stopped in her tracks. She glanced from the pale stones to her left to the underbrush to her right. Though the stones themselves could pose a tripping hazard, the ferns and other foliage of the underbrush could hide potential dangers. With a lift of her chin, she clattered out onto the rocks. If there were any varmints nearby, mayhap she would scare them away. A frog did startle her when it jumped from in front of her into the water. Ripples drifted outward from where it broke the surface.

Muireall sighed and continued on a bit farther until a dark swirl at the water's edge caught her attention. Her steps slowed as she eyed what was likely an oddly shaped rock. Forcing air in and out of her lungs, she kept her feet moving forward. Suddenly, the rock uncoiled itself and leapt at her. Muireall fell backward with a scream, her left palm slamming into the rocky earth. She attempted to scramble backward, but her shoes caught in her petticoats. Meanwhile, the dark-colored snake coiled for another attack. Lord, please send it away. Please protect me from this danger.

For what seemed several minutes, she remained as still as possible, the prayer repeating over and over in her mind as she stared down her forked-tongued foe. Finally, it slithered away, toward the undergrowth she had avoided.

Muireall released the air from her chest and looked heavenward. Thank Ye, Lord.

Muireall dusted her free hand on her petticoats and untangled her feet before she stood. She still hesitated to move. She glanced all around, but the morning seemed quiet now that the snake had departed. But how was she to know for sure? She could be right up on a dangerous situation before she realized what was happening. A thought struck her. It was unconventional and might not last the entire way to the station, but it was better than nothing.

Kneeling, she held the flap on her bag open with her restricted hand while she used the other to scoop rocks inside. Before she continued on, she tossed a small stone ahead of her. She continued across the rocky bank without incident, then stepped up onto where roots provided natural steps to solid ground. The next stone she threw startled a small bird from its hiding.

A grin stretched her face. Her idea was working. And for once, she was proving herself completely capable in the face of her weakness.

A s Muireall stepped into the clearing where Pitman Station stood, her smile slipped from her face. An eerie silence filled the air. No words carried on the wind, being shared with family members or neighbors. There were no stirrings of farm animals milling about. Not even a crow squawking overhead. Muireall stopped, surveying for signs of life. Yet she found none.

Slowly, she approached the station master's home. William Pitman and his wife, Sallie, had been welcoming when she, Margaret, and Iain had stopped on their way to the fort. What she would not give for a friendly face at this moment. But the building was in a state of disrepair, vines and tall grasses encroaching on all sides of the cabin. Even a maple sapling poked out at her as she approached the door.

Muireall knocked, but there was no answer. Deep within, she knew the reason why. Still, she knocked again, harder. It could not be. "Hello," she called through the thick wood. She turned and glanced around, her heart picking up its pace.

She spun and hammered her fist against the door. "Hello!"

When there was still no answer, Muireall pushed the door. It did not budge. After she shoved her good shoulder into it, it finally creaked open, the hinges having gathered rust. Inside, Muireall's hand dropped to her side, and her shoulders sagged. Empty darkness greeted her. She moved through the interior in a daze, finding only dust and cobwebs.

Nay. Nay, this cannae be happenin'. Muireall squeezed her eyes shut.

The station had been abandoned and quite some time ago, at that. There was no one to aid her in locating her sister, no one to protect her from the danger that lurked on her tail, and no one to offer a comforting word or warm cup of tea when pain throbbed through her arm, reminding her of the injury that would never see physician care on this desolate frontier. Muireall crumpled in a heap on the floor, cradling her broken arm as tears flowed down her face. Great sobs erupted from her chest with no one to hear her cries. "Lord, why?"

She was hopelessly alone, her marriage in ruins. There seemed no way out of the long, dark tunnel that was her circumstances. What was she to do now? She could not attempt to travel on to her sister on her own. With no sense of direction and no way to tell one tree from the next, she would find herself lost in the wilderness. If she stayed in the shelter of the station, she would run out of supplies with no way to replace them. And she could not go back to Jude. Could she?

The thought seemed imprudent. After all, what man would take his wife back after she had walked out on him? But the more she considered it, the more peace seeped into her soul, and her tears slowed. Even if Jude would not have her as his wife after her rash behavior of the morning, perhaps he would at least see to her safety before moving along. As livid and despairing as she had been at the disclosure of his deceit, he had proved trustworthy in every other aspect in the time she had known him. After all, he had only ever had her safety in mind. Perhaps, as he claimed, she could trust in him…if he would have her.

Muireall rose and left the dusty building, returning to the sunshine outside. After taking a deep breath of the fresh air, she set off. She had already made this journey alone once this morning. She could do it again. And if her husband proved to be the man she thought him to be, she would only need to make it as far as Jude. Likely, even if he had been infuriated when he realized her missing, he would have set out in search of her. And she had made it no secret where she was headed.

But as Muireall delved deeper back into the woods, her determination waned. The sun on the trees cast long shadows that stretched out toward her ominously, and she could not shake the sensation of being watched. With every rustle of a bush or chatter of a squirrel, she whipped toward the sound while her feet continued to carry her forward, away from possible threats. Muireall felt in her pocket for the pistol, wrapping her fingers around the smooth wooden handle. Then, straightening her spine, she focused her attention ahead and pushed on. There was no sense in this. She was only on edge because of Jude's revelation about Rollinson and Hodges trailing them.

But it was more than a revelation. It was the truth.

Muireall stopped. She closed her eyes against the shiver that tingled up her spine. What had she gotten herself into? What if she ran into Rollinson and Hodges before she found Jude? Would it be safer for her to go back to the station and wait for Jude there? Her shoulders drooped as she wrestled with indecision. She spun and took a step back in the direction she had come but halted before she could go any farther. Where was the confident Muireall of the morning who had struck off on her own? She could do this.

With God, all was possible. To remind herself, as she walked, she spoke aloud the passage that had helped her face her fears when she journeyed north with her sister. When, for the first time since their parents had passed, she had learned to hand over her cares to the Lord and trust in His protection. "‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.'"

With each step, the tension in her shoulders eased.

Above her, a tree branch creaked. Muireall swallowed but kept her feet moving. Until several more creaks and pops followed. She whirled toward the sounds in time for a scream to tear from her chest.

Rollinson came crashing down upon her from the treetops. She cried out as they slammed into the ground and pain ripped through her arm. While her attacker recovered, so did she, and she used her good arm to scrabble free from his entanglement. Before she could gain her footing, though, he grabbed her legs and pulled her back toward him.

Muireall kicked and struggled with all her might, but her arm had her at a disadvantage. He leaned over her, his fingers pressing into the top of her injured arm as he pushed both her upper arms to the ground. Her petticoats entrapped her legs and kept her blows from reaching her captor. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Aw, the precious little wife is injured." He sneered as he glanced from her arm to her face.

Muireall gritted her teeth and squirmed, reaching with her left hand. Her fingertips grazed the fabric of her skirt. If only she could get to the pistol.

Rollinson smashed his face against hers. His rancid breath filled her senses, and she twisted her head to get away. He moved his hand from her injured arm to her jaw, forcing her face forward. A whimper slipped free. She squeezed both her eyes and her mouth shut. A knee pressed on her free hand, keeping it from her pocket and the gun, and her tears came with new force. Lord, please, save me from this.

" R ollinson!" Jude's voice boomed across the forest before he fired off a warning shot.

A calm, malicious grin spread across the blonde's weathered face as he turned toward Jude. "Look who decided to join us." The man stood, leaving Muireall to crawl away, just as Jude had hoped. But where was Hodges? "Thought you had done let this little filly run away without you. Thought somebody should keep her warm, take care of her." Rollinson's tone told Jude that he would do anything but as he said.

"You touch my wife again and the next bullet will go through you." Jude swallowed. He did not wish to take the man's life, but he would protect his wife.

A shot echoed through the trees nearly the same time as pain ripped through his left arm. The rifle fell from his grasp. Rollinson laughed, and Hodges came walking out of the trees. On his knees, Jude ignored the pain and lifted the rifle, facing off with Hodges. His heartbeat pounded through both his head and his arm.

"We have you, Jude. Now give us our map," Hodges demanded.

Jude kept his rifle trained on the man, but he glanced from Hodges to Rollinson and back. "Map? You want the map back?"

"Yes. Rollinson gave you the wrong one," the redhead grumbled. "It has a key on it to?—"

"Hodges!" Rollinson's voice stopped the man from spilling their secret, and Hodges turned wide eyes upon his comrade.

With a window open, Jude dropped his gun and shoved off the ground with his good foot, launching himself at Hodges's middle. The burly man's own rifle fell to the earth as Jude's body impacted his. Pain seared through Jude's ribs. When they hit the ground, Jude lodged his right forearm over Hodges's windpipe. Anything to gain the advantage and stop the varmint from rising again. A beefy arm flew through the air and slammed into the side of his head, though, causing his body to go limp and blackness to flash before his eyes.

He thought he heard Muireall scream, "no," but even sounds were muffled temporarily as his brain fought to catch up with what was happening. Before he could react, Hodges landed a punch right where his ribs were likely already broken. Jude's body folded in pain. Hodges shoved him to the side and stood, recovering his weapon. A groan escaped as Jude once again found himself staring down the long barrel of the rifle.

"Give us the map."

Jude frowned and reached for his pocket. Perhaps he should have waved the map like a white flag rather than rushing Hodges. But his fingers found no folds of paper where the map usually sat. Jude's heart plummeted as he shoved his hand into the pocket. Still, he found nothing. No, it could not be. Frantically, he searched his body. Ignoring the weapon aimed at him, he glanced all around. Surely, it had been dislodged from its safe hiding spot during the struggle. But there was only green earth surrounding them.

Jude sat up and glanced behind him. "I had it. It was right here. It must have fallen out."

"Sure, it did." Hodges's slow words were dripping with sarcasm.

"It was!" Jude glanced around. His left arm throbbed, but he searched the grass with his right hand. It had to be there somewhere.

"I think you are lying." Beyond Hodges, Rollinson weighed into the discussion. "And I think that this little filly over here can convince you to tell the truth." He had Muireall standing now, her injured arm in his grasp, and he jerked her toward him, a knife held up to her face. A whimper escaped from Muireall as she squeezed her eyes shut and Jude's chest constricted.

"He is tellin' the truth. I put the map back in his pocket this mornin' meself." Her eyes popped open, and her face crumpled in anguish. "Oh, Jude, this is me fault. It fell out 'cause of me."

Jude started to stand, but Hodges pressed the rifle into his shoulder, reminding him that he was still at their mercy. "No, Muireall. The map did fall out this morning. But I put it back." It was an attempt to ease his wife's mind, but in that moment, Jude realized the truth. Once again, the trouble they were in was his fault.

He had hurriedly shoved the map back in place and left camp in a flurry. Likely, it fell out along the way, and he did not notice in his haste to reach Muireall. Jude set his jaw and turned to Rollinson. He would make this right one way or another. "I have looked at the map countless times. Whatever you need, I will do it. I will be your map."

"Nay!" When Muireall took a step toward Jude, Rollinson jerked her back.

"Oh, he is not going anywhere without you, darlin'. We need some insurance that he will not lead us astray."

Jude bristled. "No, you do not. You can trust me."

Rollinson let out a sinister laugh. "Trust you? I do not know what kind of scheme you are a runnin' callin' yourself John, but I would not trust you as far as I could throw you. If it were not for you, we would still have our positions at the docks where we had prime access to whatever loot we wanted. We had it made there, but because you thought yourself high and mighty, we got caught. If you hadn't been arguing with us that day, the dock master never would have taken notice. He never did."

Hodges grunted his agreement from near Jude's shoulder.

"Fine. What do you want?"

"You know where the cross was marked on the map?" Rollinson walked closer, Muireall in tow.

Jude's brows bunched together. The symbol had been located near Pitman Station. "Yes. I thought it was a church."

Another cold laugh from Rollinson. "That is exactly what he wanted you to think."

A sinking feeling wrapped itself around Jude, and cotton seemed to lodge in his throat. "Who?"