the past months.
Hold on to hope….
Those words had come hard but insistent from Paul as he lay gulping in pain.
Aaron slapped the reins and whistled to the team, praying that Paul would take a turn for the better by the time he returned. Would God hear his plea this time? The past ten months had played out as one senseless tragedy after another, and Aaron had been hard-pressed to find God in the midst of it all. In the grand scheme of things, he had to wonder if there was still hope to be found.
He just didn’t know anymore. The day his newborn boy and his wife had died ten months ago had been the day a part of him had died, too.
Tugging his hat tighter over his forehead, Aaron kept his head low, avoiding the stares of several townsfolk. He rarely made an appearance outside work and church. He’d thrown himself into his job building fine pieces of furniture with his brother Joseph, and like so many of the buildings erected here in Boulder, he’d put on a respectable false front, keeping mostly to himself to avoid folks’ pitying remarks. Life was just easier that way.
He’d started doubting that the pain of his loss would ever fade. The ache was always with him. Deep down, he blamed himself. And he blamed God. He longed for relief from the crushing weight of it all yet felt helpless to help himself.
Just as he’d been powerless to help Paul.
Pulling on the reins, he slowed the team of horses, drawing them up to the hitching post at the Union Pacific Railroad Depot as he pushed his silent struggle aside. He set the brake and glanced at his pocket watch. He’d made good time but was still twenty minutes late to meet the five-forty. From the ghostly trail of coal smoke lingering in the late afternoon sky, the train had already departed.
Aaron tethered the team and strode up to the platform, glancing around. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. A package? A delivery of some sort? Maybe some distant relative come for a visit. Paul hadn’t been specific, and with the way he’d labored to get out the few words he had, Aaron hadn’t wanted to tax him for more information.
He jammed his hands into his pockets as images of the accident flashed through his mind. Clamping his jaw tight against the cavernous feeling of desperation, he dragged in a steadying breath and scanned the platform.
“Goodness gracious, what are you doing here, Aaron Drake?” a voice called with grating familiarity.
It was Mrs. Beatrice Duncan—self-imposed town matron, bearer of any and all information and general busy-body. She could irritate a man till he clamored to sit atop the nearest roof, but she could also warm a person’s heart with her genuine demonstrations of concern. Right now, though, she was the last person he wanted to see.
He dragged up some good manners, then tipped his hat with a halfhearted nod. “Mrs. Duncan.”
She beelined toward him, grabbed his upper arm and tugged him toward a small gathering of folks on the platform. “If this isn’t perfect timing, I don’t know what is. There’s a special someone that I want you to meet.”
“I’m kind of in a hurry.” Aaron would’ve dug the heels of his worn boots into the thick wood, but he didn’t want to put the woman off balance. “Maybe another time.”
“No time like the present. That’s what I’m always saying.” She waved her hand in clear dismissal. “Say, I don’t believe I mentioned it to you last time you were in the mercantile, but I arranged for my niece from up around Longmont to have herself a nice little visit. Thought it’d be nice for the two of you to meet. And wouldn’t you know…she just came in on the train.” The woman stopped cold in her tracks. The way she peered at him, as though she’d just snared a rabbit for dinner, made his gut clench with dread. “And then here you are, too,” she added, her hinting words dropping like bread crumbs down a dark, dreary trail.
He wasn’t hungry and didn’t feel lost, either.
She perched a hand at her thick waistline and smiled like some well-fed house cat.
He could see what was coming just as clear as the errant wisps of bright orange hair framing Mrs. Duncan’s round face. Folks had been trying to nudge him toward remarrying, and Mrs. Duncan had been leading the pack, but it’d take an act of God to get him to love again. He couldn’t—not after losing his beloved Ellie. It would feel too much like betrayal.
Ignoring her not-so-subtle manipulation, he did a quick scan of the platform. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet her right now. There’s been an accident out at Paul’s place and—”
“I heard all about that,” Mrs. Duncan put in, as though referring to some trivial tidbit of information. “Poor soul.”
Aaron set his back teeth in frustration. On the way into town he’d stopped and informed Sheriff Goodwin about Paul’s accident, and apparently word had already spread. He could only imagine to what degree the story had been distorted by now.
He balled his fists against the trembling that still shook him deep as he recalled the desperate look on Paul’s face as he’d pleaded for help. Aaron and his brothers had worked frantically to free him. Finally, with the aid of Paul’s workhorses, they were able to lever the log off enough to pull him from beneath the overbearing weight.
Maybe there was a chance—
The grim expression on Ben’s face had said more than any words memorized from his medical textbooks.
Once they’d gotten Paul back to the house, Aaron would’ve done anything if it meant relieving his friend’s pain—even a little. Paul had weakly pleaded, “Hold on to hope. Promise me you’ll hold on to hope.”
Aaron promised, gently squeezing his friend’s hand to seal the vow.
“I heard that the sheriff sent for the minister. If you ask me…that does not bear well for Paul.” She gave her head a dismal shake. “Not at all. Folks only do that when they’re taking their last bow before knocking on death’s door.”
“Mrs. Duncan, I’m sorry, but—”
“Good thing you and your brothers were there. What was it that happened, anyways?” she prodded, angling her head his way. “Dora Trumm…she heard tell—”
“Really, I can’t go into it this minute.” Or any other minute. The situation was gruesome, and folks didn’t need to hear every last detail of Paul’s accident.
“Bea. Come on, we’re heading out,” Horace Duncan called as he gave Aaron an understanding kind of nod. “Gotta get this girl home before she collapses from her journey.”
Mrs. Duncan narrowed her gaze on Aaron. “You’ll have to stop over and have dinner with us so that you can meet my niece,” she whispered, sliding her proud gaze to the lanky young woman with mouse-brown hair, a long face and even longer teeth. “I figure you’re getting ready to start looking for a new wife. It’s been what…two years since Ellie passed?”
Aaron swallowed hard, realizing once again that his pain was his alone. No one really understood the way he suffered. “Ten months.”
Her squinty eyes sprang open. “Land sakes, that just flew by.”
In truth, the time had crept by, scraping nearly every bit of hope from
