I feel like I have to know. Like it’s important somehow.
These journals have also been a great way to distract me from what’s going on with my body. I may still have the others to read, but I want to know what happened with Betsy, William, and Mary.
“If something did happen to her, there might be a way to find out.”
“How?” I ask, my brows jumping to my hairline.
“You’ve got her and William’s name, where they lived, and the dates of the time period. The benefits of living in the twenty-first century, baby, is we have the world wide web.” He finishes with a cocky grin.
Elation has my heart jumping for joy. I want to smack my forehead for not thinking about it myself. Instead, I walk to him, throw my arms around his neck, and plant a kiss against his lips.
“You’re seriously my hero right now, Mr. Bradshaw,” I say against his lips.
His chuckle fans across my lips as he grips my hips and tugs me closer. “I thought I was always your hero.”
I grin. “You are.”
“Come on.” He lets me go and grabs my hand. “Let’s go see if we can find something out on Betsy.”
Thirty minutes later, Lincoln and I are both sitting at my desk, staring at the computer screen. My stomach drops, and tears prick the back of my eyes as I finish reading one of the articles we managed to find about Betsy Young.
“I can’t believe this,” I say, my voice cracking as tears drop from my eyes and slide down my cheeks. “I don’t want to believe this.”
There’s a pain in my chest that has me gasping for air. Lincoln wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer. I want to bury my face in his chest, but I keep my eyes on the screen, hoping by some miracle the words will change. But they don’t. They stay the same with their devastating meaning.
We found out why Betsy’s journals suddenly stopped. According to the article, two days after her last entry, the bounty jumpers who were pillaging and attacking random farms hit hers and William’s. She died fighting off her attackers, and even managed to kill one of the three in the process. The neighbor, who I guess is the one who William asked to check on her and Mary, was coming up their drive when he heard Betsy scream. Unfortunately, he made it to the house too late. He found Betsy with her arm wrapped protectively around Mary, already dead, a pool of blood on the floor beneath them both. She was stabbed seven times. Thankfully, having been scared off by the neighbor’s approach, the jumpers ran off before they could hurt the baby.
“She died protecting her,” I choke out. “That was her only thought. Keeping her baby safe.”
“She did, baby,” Lincoln says soothingly, rubbing my back with his big palm.
“Poor William. I can’t imagine the pain he must have gone through.”
“I’m sure it was hard on him, but he had to be strong for his baby.”
I get up from my chair, and Lincoln swivels his so I can sit on his lap. He wraps his arms around me, offering the comfort I so desperately need right now. Lying my head on his shoulder, I start playing with the buttons on his shirt.
“I hope he found those guys, and I hope he decimated them,” I mutter darkly. I’m not a violent person, but at the moment, I feel bloodthirsty. Those men deserve to die in the most horrific way possible.
“I bet they got exactly what they deserved,” Lincoln remarks. “Things were different back then, especially during the war. Crime was handled differently. Even if William didn’t find them himself, I’m sure they came across the wrong people who took them down.”
“I hope so.”
Using his knuckles, he tips my head back by my chin. “You okay?” he asks, wiping away the tears on my cheeks.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I feel like I lost something after reading that. Like a part of me died with Betsy.” I press my lips to Lincoln’s when he opens his mouth to speak. “I’ll be okay. As odd as it sounds, I think I just need to grieve the loss of her.”
He nods and pushes back some of my hair from my face. “I understand. Do whatever you need to do, and I’ll be here if you need me.”
I gently run my fingers through his beard, marveling at how soft it is. “You’re