“No. What?” A man’s voice cut through from behind her. “That’s enough, Esther.”
Margaret turned. He was tall. Taller than Daniel had been. Broad shoulders, dark hair with silver at the temples, a face that looked like it had been carved from the same stone as the mountains behind him. A scar traced his jaw, thin and white. But it was his eyes that stopped her cold. Gray-blue like winter sky, and haunted, deeply, terribly haunted.
“Mrs. Sullivan. Mr. Callahan. Nathaniel. Most folks call me Nate.” He removed his hat. “You brought all nine.”
“Was I supposed to leave some behind?”
Something flickered in his eyes. Pain maybe, or guilt. “No, ma’am. I just… The advertisement didn’t mention—”
“Would it have mattered?”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then, “No, it wouldn’t have.”
“Mama.” Rosie’s voice was thin with fear. “Mama, everyone’s staring at us.”
Margaret looked around. The woman named Esther wasn’t the only one watching. A dozen faces had gathered on the boardwalk, peering through frost-covered windows, clustering in doorways. None of them looked welcoming. One man spat in the snow. Another shook his head slowly like he was watching a funeral procession.
“Why are they looking at us like that?” Tommy’s hand moved to his belt where Daniel’s old hunting knife hung hidden under his coat. “What we do?”
“Nothing.” Nate’s voice was flat. “They’re looking at me.”
“Why?”
“Because some of them think I killed my wife.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Margaret’s arms tightened around Bridget. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to grab her children and disappear into the snow and never look back. But run where? She had 11 cents, nine children, a baby with fever. There was nowhere to go.
“Did you?” She heard herself ask.
Nate met her eyes. No flinching. No looking away. “No, ma’am. I did not.”
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
