“They are unharmed.”
“You?”
“Unharmed.” He had so many questions. Too many questions. He had not the courage to ask any of them.
“Hold me, Simon.” Threadbare voice. Her hand grasped his dripping coat. “Hurry.”
Hurry.As if they hadn’t much time. As if it was almost over, but it wasn’t. Ruth was strong. The strongest woman he’d ever known.Dear God, please.The prayer surged. With arms that ached, he reached beneath her, pressed her limp form against him, and settled atop the bed with her on his lap.
Only then did he see the pillow.
Blood.
Her blood.
Please.He pulled her closer to his face. “Ruth.” Into her hair, against her throbbing temple. “Ruth, forgive me.”
“Not your fault, Simon.”
“I should have been here.”
“No.”
“I should have realized before—”
“You could not have known.” Warm, faint, her breath faltered against his neck. “Give me…your hand.”
He stroked it across her cheek, but she grasped it, pulled it to her chest, where his fingers memorized each painful rise and fall. Tears blurred her face. The plain, soft-looking features. The bark-colored hair. The determined chin. The work-worn brow.Don’t take her from me, God. I need her. Please.
“These.” She squeezed his hand, the trace of a smile in her voice. “Made for pretty things…Simon. Promise?”
He tried to follow. “What?”
“Pictures…promise me you will use them for pictures…not…” Her mouth gaped. Each breath left harsher and lower. “Not hurting…because of…today…Simon…” Her head lolled away from him. Her lips stilled. The hand clasping his went cold and slack.
“Ruth, no.” He jarred her body, seized her chin. “Ruth!” Bile rose in waves he tried to swallow. A wretched noise broke from deep in his throat.God, no. Please no.
But the prayer was too late to make any difference.
His wife was dead.
CHAPTER 2
Crisp morning air entered through the broken window. The cabin reeked of coppery blood, dry soil, and the nauseating aroma of cornmeal pudding.
His children sat at the squat wooden table. John leaned over his earthenware bowl, brown hair damp from where he’d splashed water on his face and scrubbed behind his ears. How many times had Ruth scolded the boy for forgetting the simple task?
Strange, that he should remember now.
When it hardly mattered.
When she was not here to inspect, nod her approval, pat his cheek with a satisfied smile.
“Papa?” For the hundredth time this morning, Mercy glanced about the cabin. Her eyes landed on him, wide, confused, this time with a gleam of tears. “Me go find her.”
Simon swabbed deer tallow down the bore of his gun. He had cleaned it yesterday morning before he left for the settlement. No reason to clean it again, but he did anyway. Mayhap so he would not have to look at their faces.
“Papa, me—”
