Page 45 of Follow the Lonesome Trail
She pointed to a scar along her temple. “This happened. Was told I took a tumble off a stagecoach. Not that it’s any of your business.”
My heart sank as I gazed into the faded blue eyes, so cold, so uninterested. I wanted so badly for her to sweep me into her arms and call me her little mouse again. But she only stared at me as if I was a complete stranger.
I tried pleading with her, stepping closer, as if proximity would bring back memories. “Please let me in. I’ve come so far to see you.” I had traveled for days, surviving rough terrain, wild animals, and a worrisome guide; and now, on her very doorstep, I was facing failure.
“You’re Edith Cole,” I insisted, daring to lower my hands a fraction.
Her face twitched, and for a moment my heart lifted in hope, only to drop again when she finally said, “EdithCole? It’s true I go by Edith, but I don’t have any recollection of my last name being Cole. I don’t have no recollection of nothing other than staying in my cabin up here and minding my own business, so why don’t you just clear on out?”
My insides twisted. How could she not remember her own name? She didn’t remember that she was Edith Cole, the best stagecoach driver in the territory. She didn’t remember that she had been my hero, even though she left when I was five.
She had thought her life was an improper environment in which to raise a young girl. That’s what a distant relative hadtold her—a cousin who didn’t care for me, but only wished to mold me into her ladylike pattern. And so Edith Cole had disappeared from my life, but not from my memories. Even though it had been ten years since I had last seen her, I still yearned for her presence in my life as desperately as little Rachel had. My cousin had passed away a few months ago, and I was finally free to choose my own life and to be with the only person who had ever truly loved me. And so I had traveled all this way and, against all odds, tracked her down.
I wouldn’t give up now.
I took another step towards Edith and reached for her, desperate. “Please let me in. I’llhelpyou remember.”
She leapt back from me as if I was a rattlesnake, her finger tight on the trigger of her shotgun. “Leave me alone!”
The door shut in my face and I stared at it, misery sweeping over me.
My guide, a man named Whip, stepped out of the tree line. He had hung back when I first approached the cabin, giving me privacy till now, but he must have been watching.
Back in Booneville, when I had been looking for someone to conduct me safely into the hills, Whip had volunteered. I didn’t like him—his mangled face and cold gaze unnerved me—but no one else had offered to come, so I had accepted.
“That her?” he asked, as he strolled towards the cabin, looking up at me where I stood, shaking, on the broken-down step.
“Yes, but. . . .” I blinked. “She . . . she doesn’t remember me.”
Whip scratched his chin, a strange expression crossing his face. “Well, maybeIcan help her remember.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about—?”
He grabbed me by the arm and jerked me off the step.
“Let go!” I cried, my voice breaking off in a squeak as he spun me around and slammed me against his chest, pinning me so tightly I could barely move.
Then he pressed a cold blade against my throat.
“Edith Cole!” Whip yelled in my ear. “You’d better come out if you want this girl to live! If you don’t show your face, I’ll kill her!”
“What are youdoing?” I was too scared and stunned to move: even speaking was nearly impossible and I had to force the words out.
“Shut your mouth!” Whip growled.
The door creaked open, revealing the muzzle of a shotgun again and Edith’s cautious face.
“Drop your weapon,” said Whip, “and she won’t get hurt.”
Edith glared at him. “How many times do I have to tell you people I lost my memory? I don’t know who either of you are, so why should I care what you do to each other?”
Whip sneered. “Me and my friends held up your stage four years ago. You pulled out your gun and let us have it. See this face? I was the lucky one.”
She sniffed and shrugged one shoulder. “Still don’t know you, but if you were robbing a stage, it sounds like you deserved what you got.”
“You’re going to pay for what you did.” Whip stroked the flat of his blade across my cheek. “This has been my lucky week. We finally found the perfect bait to get the grizzly to leave her den and come along quietly.” He laughed. “The others should be along shortly.”
I finally found the breath to speak. “Others?” Had we really been followed and I hadn’t realized it all this time?
