what to do. But there was none. No heralding by angels, no golden light, no voice echoing from above. Only darkness. The urge to shake her fist at the sky was overpowering, but to do so might risk a thunderbolt.
Instead, she made a vow to fight. “Fine, I’ll find my own way,” she whispered. “I’ll not be stopped. I’m capable of making my own way, even if I have to do so alone. I will have justice for my brother.”
She sat, staring out the window yet seeing nothing. Her mind numb, she waited, not knowing for what. Her only companion was the constant thump of her heart. Minutes turned to hours. As the last rays of sunlight faded into the night sky, she heard a knock at her door.
“Come in,” she replied with defeat.
“Mary Rose,” the widow’s soft voice called from the small opening.
“Come in, Mrs. Hatfield.”
The crack widened and the widow peeked in. “Sitting in the dark, child?”
Mary Rose took note of the gentle voice. Good manners dictated she should apologize for her abrupt behavior. Instead, she kept silent.
“I suppose you do have a lot on your young mind.” It was as close to an apology as she was going to get for the smothering the woman had done.
“Just a bit,” she answered, reluctant to give up more.
Daniel’s voice whispered in her ear. Bend your foolish pride, Mary Rose, for tomorrow will be a long, hard day.
“I’m leaving. I thought if you wanted help getting ready for bed?” The widow left the invitation open.
Swallowing hard, Mary Rose gave in. “Please. I would like that.” The widow’s face relaxed as she softly closed the door and bent to light the lamp.
****
The darkness of the night came and went. Mary Rose slept fitfully, due to the dull pain of her shoulder and the knowledge of what the day would bring. Now, as the afternoon arrived, the dreaded hour was at hand.
“Are you ready?”
She turned. Doc Martin stood in the middle of the room, dressed in his good dark suit, his face scrubbed to shining. She shook her head, for it would do no good to lie. Rising from the chair, Mary Rose used her good hand to press against her middle. She hoped the action against the dark calico of her dress would quell the rising butterflies churning in her stomach.
“You look very nice,” he pronounced, stepping forward to press something into her hand. “I know a few things about women. A good woman needs a handkerchief twice in her life, one for a funeral, and the other for her wedding.” He sighed. “I wish to heaven it were the second.”
She blinked and folded the cloth between her fingers, her throat too thick to reply.
“I know you won’t admit you need it, but stick it inside the sling.” He paused. “In case.”
A blush crept up her neck. “Thank you,” she murmured.
He took her hand and pulled it beneath his arm, releasing it as he opened the new door the marshal had installed that morning. Mary Rose stepped onto the porch and blinked at the bright sunshine.
A scrape of boots against the boards of the porch turned her attention to the left, and her mouth opened in surprise, as Trace Castillo stood waiting. The tan of his skin contrasted sharply with the white shirt he wore beneath the dark Spanish jacket, and her fingers yearned to touch his chin.
She hoped her small smile let him know how glad she was to see him. He stepped closer, so that she had to look up to gaze into his eyes. A slight breeze stirred, and she picked up the scent of hotel soap and bay rum from the barbershop.
“I hope you don’t think it forward that I’ve come to walk with you—” His mouth twisted bitterly on the next words—“to the cemetery.”
“Of course not,” she replied.
He crossed to her side. Lifting her free hand, he pressed his lips to her knuckles before tucking her arm beneath his. Her fingers brushed the starch in the fabric and felt the warmth of the muscles below. In the distance, the mournful sound of the church bell began to toll, prodding them to move. “Watch your step,” he cautioned and held her steady until she planted her feet firmly on the ground. She glanced behind to Doc Martin as Trace slipped his wide-brimmed hat on his head.
“You two walk on. I see the Widow Hatfield coming.”
Mary Rose stepped forward with the marshal by her side. Taking a quick