“You learned all that from the papers?”
She flushed, hating her wayward tongue. “Actually, I have a few additional sources.”
“Sources?” Uncle Lou’s gaze never wavered, and she had the uneasy feeling she was being interrogated. If her parents found out she’d retained a few contacts from the Woman’s Liberator, she’d be banned from all sorts of social activities.
Even more reason to secure employment and become independent.
Trying to appear nonchalant, she poked more broccoli into her mouth.
Uncle Lou sighed. “Your sources are off, Gracie. Striker is not pursuing Mendez.”
The food lodged in her throat. Uncle Lou had to be wrong. She swallowed hard. “He will. Striker never lets his quarry get away. And I plan to interview him to prove just that. It’s time America understood he’s not a cold-blooded assassin, but a warm, honorable man.”
Uncle Lou shook his head and stood. “You be careful, Gracie. If Mendez is near, I’m starting to think you would’ve been safer in Boston.”
* * *
During the following weeks the threat of Mendez and his men roused constant dinner conversation between Uncle Lou and James. It was a fear that loomed larger than the influenza. Gracie found the topic fascinating and it was a distraction from wondering how Trevor fared on his trip.
Late one evening in the bitter beginnings of October, she sat on the porch, stewing. Uncle Lou had returned from town this morning. Never even asked her to go. It seemed that despite Uncle Lou’s curious quirks, there’d be no convincing him to traipse around Oregon in search of Striker. That plan needed revision. How could she convince him to help her? Perhaps he’d empathize with her need for independence? Her foot tapped against the porch floor.
She was beginning to suspect Uncle Lou’s trips to town were purposefully secretive.
A frigid blast of wind hit her in the face. She wrapped her arms tight against her ribs and shivered. She had to get to Burns again. Surely the entire town wouldn’t be as closemouthed as those women at the store.
The sound of hooves caught her attention. Her breath trembled as a lone horseman galloped up to the porch.
Mendez?
No, he wouldn’t come by himself. The coward.
She stood, trepidation quivering through her. Uncle Lou had sent Trevor to Kansas three weeks ago. If this was a person up to no good, only Uncle Lou was home to defend her and Mary.
As soon as the rider dismounted and began walking to the porch, Gracie recognized the long, lazy stride. Her stiffness melted as she realized how much she’d missed him, and how happy she was that he’d come back. She couldn’t have stopped herself any more than Noah could have stopped the flood. She flung herself off the porch into his surprised arms.
“Trevor!”
“Don’t gotta yell in my ear, Gracie.” His voice sounded gruff but he didn’t let go, just held on as if they never parted in stony silence.
Finally she disengaged herself, straightening her thick wool skirt as if she cared about it being wrinkled.
Uncle Lou walked onto the porch, his shoes heavy on the wood. “Trevor. We worried when we didn’t hear from you. C’mon in, tell us what’s been happening.”
Gracie followed the men, her whole body shaking. She’d hugged Trevor. How completely inappropriate. Yet she wasn’t sorry.
She hung her coat on the rack by the door and floated into the sitting room. Trevor was home. She couldn’t stop smiling. She’d known Trevor for very little time but her interest in him rivaled her obsession with Striker. In a way, he reminded her of the mysterious agent.
Perhaps it was the undercurrent of honor that dogged his every step.
She sank onto the couch opposite him. Uncle Lou sat like a king in his chair. The fire made the room bright and warm. Gracie hoped it hid the blush she was sure still stained her cheeks. Mary came in and set a tray of cookies and milk on the table between the couches.
“Business is well,” Trevor was saying. “But the influenza in Kansas is out of control. I wore a mask the entire time I was there. This epidemic is killing the country.”
Wood crackled in the fireplace. A log fell and Gracie jumped. Trevor’s features turned her way. His face was craggier, his cheekbones more pronounced, his chin covered with shadow.
She felt as if he were slicing her open with his sharp gaze. A nervous smile trembled on her lips.
“You think it’s funny? People are dying. You’ve probably never heard that word in polite conversation, have you?” His hands pushed through his thick hair before he shot off the couch and stalked out of the room.
Gracie’s heart lurched painfully in her chest. Was that what he thought of her?
“I’ll go talk to him,” Mary said.
Gracie shook her head and stood. “Let me.”
Uncle Lou looked at her kindly, for once appearing a benevolent uncle instead of an older brother. “He’s tired. Don’t take it personally.”
Gracie slipped down the hallway. She grabbed two coats from the rack before heading into the starlit chill.
Trevor stood in the front yard, looking at the sky, his back to her. For a second she was struck by the solitary figure and deeply saddened. He was alone and without God.
She went to him and gave him the coat she knew he’d forgotten. Wordlessly he took it and put it on. She wanted to slide her fingers through his but didn’t dare. They stared into the night together.
She wanted him to speak first.
“Didn’t know you could go five minutes without talking,” he said after quiet stargazing.
“I have my moments,” she answered lightly, transfixed by the display above. The night sky stretched endlessly above her, stars flung across as if at whim. She knew better.
“You stop eating while I was gone?”
She felt him watching her, probing, and knew a hot flush was spreading across her cheeks. She wasn’t sure how much weight she’d lost, wasn’t in the habit of looking in the mirror, but Mary had taken in the waists of several garments and her blouses hung looser. The weight loss hadn’t been intentional.
“Every meal,” she joked.
“You looked fine the way you were,” he said brusquely, as if she should stay overweight just to make him happy.
“It so happens that I’ve been helping Mary with chores. And because Uncle Lou carries less chocolate than to what I’m accustomed, I’ve become thinner. I don’t know why you should care. I’m the same person.” She struggled to control her emotions.
“You’ve been working?”
“I’m not a spoiled rich girl.” She hated how her voice trembled. “I care about others…I promise you I do. So I’m learning to do chores and help Mary with whatever I can. Personally, I think I would do better in Uncle Lou’s office. I saw his books and they’re a mess. I know I could straighten them. I’m excellent at math, but he won’t let me near them.”
“Lou’s books are the least of your concerns. Worry instead about Mendez and his men hiding in these hills.” He scanned the horizon, searching, and goose