Page 65 of Mail-Order Bride Runaway
From the look that passed between Mrs. Bennet and Alfred, Della guessed that they were surprised at Andy’s plans. It was her fault. Except for her, he’d likely have gone to start moving the cows as she’d heard him discussing with his brothers. But she wasn’t about to ask him to change his mind. With him and his brothers nearby she could almost relax, knowing Mr. Hartman couldn’t possibly slip past them.
He left as soon as the meal ended. Della helped clean the kitchen then she and Mrs. Bennet, with Alfred’s help, filled the big wash tubs on low stands outside and began the laundry. It was a task she was very familiar with and enjoyed. There was something satisfying about seeing the clothes flapping in the wind.
Toward noon, the breeze turned cold, and Mrs. Bennet said they needed to get the laundry in. “Looks like rain a’coming. And welcome it is.”
Almost everything was dry, and they folded articles to put away or rolled items to iron later. Only the heavier things such as trousers needed to be hung in the kitchen to finish drying.
“It’s been a joy to have someone to help with the work,” Mrs. Bennet said.
Della was well aware that Alfred had been at her side since his arrival a few months ago. He’d left after breakfast saying something about needing to clean the buggy.
Shortly after Andy and Alfred came for dinner the wind carried in a slashing rain. Throughout the afternoon, the welcome rain continued. Alfred had remained at the house after the meal, helping Mrs. Bennet with things.
Andy returned for supper, his clothes soaked. He changed into dry things before the meal. As they ate, the rain turned to snow—fluffy flakes that soon obscured everything beyond the glass of the window.
“There’ll be no going out ’til this ends,” Mrs. Bennet announced grimly.
Della settled back with the book of poems in her lap. But there was one thing that necessitated venturing out in the snow. “Mother nature calls.” She got to her feet. At least the snow would force Mr. Hartman to seek shelter, leaving her safe from his threat.
“Put on a coat,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You’re welcome to any of those hanging in the entryway.”
A brown coat hung among others. She touched the collar. Edged closer to breathe in the scent. Knowing it was Andy’s, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled it closed across her chest. She hesitated, filling her lungs for the dash across the open and then stepped out into the white world. Keeping her head down, she followed the snow-covered trail to the outhouse where she shook moisture from her hair and brushed snowflakes from her coat before she tended to her business. She buried her nose in the collar, inhaling the outdoorsy scent that was uniquely Andy’s but still the odor inside discouraged her from lingering.
Pulling the lapels together, she stepped outside into the snow. A dark shape loomed in front of her and stopped her in her tracks. A frightened scream barely made it from her mouth.
“Thought ya could get away, didcha? Seems yer ‘bliged to do as ya ’greed in yer letter.”
“Mr. Hartman. What a surprise to see you here. Aren’t you afraid of getting lost in the snow?” The words tumbled from her as she edged backward. But the outhouse blocked her. She inched sideways hoping for escape.Dear God, make me invisible. Make this man unable to catch me.
Mr. Hartman reached for her, his arm a black threat against the purity of the snow.
“That’s as far as you go.” Andy’s voice carried enough warning that Mr. Hartman should have jerked his hands overhead.
Della gasped as instead, the man whipped sideways, and she glimpsed a pistol in his hand. “Andy, he’s got a gun.” She shouted the words but didn’t know if he heard her and it didn’t matter as a gunshot rang out, blasting into the silence. Della ducked out of sight, clinging to the side of the outhouse, not caring how badly it smelled. She peeked around the corner to watch. If Mr. Hartman came after her, she would run to Riley’s house.
Mr. Hartman backed away, his gun still leveled toward Andy.
Della squinted into the falling snow, searching for Andy. Her heart clambered up her throat and stayed there when she saw a black shape laying on the path and knew it to be him. “Andy,” she whispered, clutching to the corner of the building to keep from rushing to him.God, let him be all right. Please. Please.
Her gaze darted to Mr. Hartman. Would he come after her? Or go after Andy? How could she stop him?
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Mr. Hartman edging toward Andy, the steel of his gun visible in the whiteness around him.
“Andy,” she whispered again. She needed a weapon. Some way to divert Mr. Hartman’s attention. She scanned the ground around her. A branch had blown down in the wind. She scooped it up but before she could heave it, Riley’s voice shattered the heavy silence.
“Drop your gun.”
The sound of gunshots rang in her ears. Mr. Hartman crumpled to the ground.
The branch fell from her hands. She pressed her fingers to her chest, felt the cold of the buttons of the coat she wore. Not caring how risky it was to be in the open, she dashed to Andy, fell on her knees beside him, and pressed her hands to him.
“Andy! Andy!” She ran her fingers over his chest and along his arms. Something warm and sticky clung to her hand. The cold of the weather rushed inside to the depths of her heart, leaving her shaking. A metallic taste flooded her mouth. “Please don’t be dead.”
Was he breathing?
Her prayers continuing unabated, she lowered her ear to his chest. Inhaled the scent of leather and grass. Clung to the warmth beneath her cheek. But her heart thudded so insistently she couldn’t tell if his chest rose and fell. With cold fingers hungry for warmth, she pressed her hand to either side of his face.
The air of an escaping groan brushed her cheek. Weakness robbed her knees of strength, and she was barely able to prevent herself from falling forward. “You’re alive.” She warmed his face with several kisses.
