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Why? Why did she leave her husband and child? It couldn't have been the lure of the West that had enticed her mother, although Prudence could understand its strange attraction. There was a sense of freedom out here for a woman that was hard to find back east. So what was Lenore Winthrop's motive? Everyone Prudence had spoken to had commented on what a wonderful woman she was. Why would a woman whom so many thought so highly of walk out on her family?
By the time Prudence returned to the cabin she was depressed. She deposited her packages on the bureau and sunk down into the rocking chair before the empty hearth. Lenore Winthrop never stayed long enough in one place. Was she afraid of being discovered? Was she frightened that someone was following her? Or did she want to make certain her family never found her?
It was just plain luck she had spoken to Old Bill and discovered her mother had been here. She had no idea where to go now. Lenore just kept disappearing. Each time Prudence felt her in her grasp, she'd slip away again. Perhaps this journey was unwise. Perhaps it would have been better if she had gone on thinking her mother dead. At least then she would still believe her mother loved her, cared for her, and was taken away through no will of her own.
Dreaming again. She'd been doing a lot of that lately. And it usually only brought her more hurt, more pain, and more regret. Better to live in the real world, to face its problems and complexities, instead of dreaming of what could be, what might be.
A tear fell from her eye while shadows darkened the room. Dusk had settled over the area, bringing with it the calm and quiet of early evening. A time for families to gather and share the evening meal, as well as the news of the day's events.
She was alone. Far from home and the one person who loved her, her father… the only sure love in her life. The tears continued to roll down her cheeks and splatter onto her beige blouse, staining the delicate silk. She had never been given to tears lightly. She was always in control of herself and her feelings. That was why it was so hard for her to contain this unwarranted show of emotion.
The shadows further bathed the cabin in darkness and Prudence continued to sit alone, crying and rocking.
Zac approached the cabin and worried that Prudence hadn't returned yet, since no light flickered from the lone window. It had taken a bit longer than he had intended to make the necessary arrangements for them to leave day after tomorrow. Then he had remembered they had no food and had stopped at the fort's cookhouse to see if Curly had something to spare. The large, jovial man gave him more than he needed, but he accepted it graciously upon Curly's insistence.
He pushed the door open with his elbow, since his hands were full, and walked in. He was surprised to see Prudence rocking in the dark and more surprised to hear her sobs.
He placed the packages on the table and approached her with trepidation.
"Pru?" he summoned her softly. She didn't respond but continued to rock. He walked up alongside her and tried again. "Pru," he said more strongly. Still no answer.
He stepped in front of her and bent down before her. "Pru, honey," he said gently, and placed his hand on her thigh. He was taken aback by her flood of tears and by the condition of her tear-stained blouse. It appeared she had been crying steadily for some time. Her eyes were proof enough. They were red and puffy, and her lashes resembled thick, wet spikes. His heart nearly broke considering the pain she suffered, and a gut-wrenching anger tore at him and toward the person who had been the cause of her hurt.
"Honey," he said, cupping the side of her face. "What happened?"
Prudence looked at him and the distress that registered in her eyes filled him with grief. "M — my mother di—didn't love me."
Zac wanted to strangle Lenore Winthrop with his own bare hands. He half hoped Pru was wrong and she was dead; then at least Pru would know her mother had loved her. The other half of him wanted her alive so he could tell her exactly what he thought of her.
He pushed his own anger aside to comfort her. "You don't know that," he said, wiping her tears with his finger only to have others follow.
She nodded and sighed heavily. "Yes, I do. She hated me. She was ashamed of me. She—"
"You don't know any of that. You're just assuming it all. When we find her then you'll find the truth just like your grandmother told you."
