Page 145 of In These Hills

“No, I can walk.”

“Oh Josephine!” Calla gasped. “Your palm!”

Miss Mary looked down, grimacing.

“Yes, I . . . I burned it inside the stillhouse.”

“Josephine, that’s not just a burn. What on earth—”

“Miss Mary!” Dodge looked toward town. “Would you please lead the way? Mrs. Dunham has been through a great deal tonight and needs to rest.”

Miss Mary, obviously not accustomed to Dodge interrupting her, much less being so terse, nodded. Josephine thanked him with a look.

They hadn’t yet reached the town square when she felt the night starting to swirl around her. “Dodge, I don’t think I—”

He lifted her in his arms and held her close against his chest, the solid beat of his heart matching the ever-present tick tick tick inside her.

56

DODGE LOWERED HER TO THE BED, and Josephine sank down onto it, the pain in her palm excruciating. But knowing that Clay Darden was somewhere near her, alive—and that God had allowed it—caused a different and somehow even more excruciating pain. If the Almighty did still know the details of her life, so much for him caring enough to step into them.

Dodge picked up the stool by the hearth and placed it by her bedside. “Josephine . . .” He glanced behind him to the open cabin door through which Miss Mary and Calla had just left, Miss Mary’s parting glance saying they still wanted details. “This is not at all how I’d planned on saying this to you, but—” He took her left hand, his gaze filled with emotion. “You have captured my heart, and I love you. Every morning when I open my eyes, I’m already thinking of you, and I can’t imagine that day without you in it. And I never want to.”

The room swayed slightly. Despite his words resonating, blisters now covered her palm, and it felt like it was on fire. “Dodge, I—”

“Please, let me finish. While I don’t have what I once did to offer you, the sale of the land in Wyoming will still go a long way in providing for a home and a good life. We could leave tomorrow. I’ve already thought it through. You, me, and Bethie, we leave in the morning and go someplace where—”

“Dodge . . .” She looked at him through tears, her strength near gone. “I cannot outrun this. There is nowhere I can go to escape it. It will find me, I see that now.”

“No . . . You’re still thinking in terms of I, Josephine. Not us. We could do this.”

She touched his face, his stubbled jawline, then traced the curve of his mouth. “If I could choose the course for my life, I would choose you,” she whispered. “Again and again. But that’s not a choice I can make. Not anymore.”

“But it is . . .” He kissed her hand and brought it to his chest. “Say the word, and we’ll leave at sunup. We—”

Faint footsteps sounded in the breezeway outside Calla’s cabin. Josephine didn’t even try to pull her hand away, and she sensed he wouldn’t have let go, if she had.

“We’re back,” Miss Mary said softly, her attention on the pitcher of water and basin in her hand, and Calla’s on the cup and saucer she carried. Then they looked up.

Calla gave a small gasp.

But Miss Mary stared with her appraising gaze, a hint of pleasure showing. “I knew it. Last Saturday night when I stepped onto the porch to say good night, I sensed something between you two. And you still being married, Josephine.” Understanding softened her features. “But you’re perfect for each other. True North, yet still a little lost,” she said, looking at Dodge. Her gaze shifted to Josephine. “And knowing where you want to go, but still trying to find your way.”

The room tilted hard, and Josephine swayed.

Calla quickly sat and slipped an arm around her waist. “Here, drink some of this. It’s tea steeped with slippery elm bark. It’ll help clear your throat of all that smoke.”

Josephine took a long sip. The brew had a mild, slightly sweet taste and felt soothing going down, at least at first.

“Speaking of . . .” Miss Mary dragged Calla’s rocker over, her intent clear. But Josephine didn’t have the strength. She looked at Dodge.

“The man you both saw, the one on the ground who’d been badly burned . . . That was Clay Darden.”

“No.” Miss Mary looked between them. “The man from Atlanta? From the newspaper?”

“But how did he know you were here?” Calla asked, looking at Josephine.

“It was clear he didn’t,” Dodge continued. “Josephine said he looked as surprised as she was when she first saw him. And although we don’t know how, yet, we figure he was somehow part of the group who came for the distillery visit this weekend.” Dodge briefly bowed his head. “But it all happened when Josephine was leaving the party . . .”