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 too good to me.”
“Not good enough,” he grunts.
“You’re the best husband a girl could have.”
He flashes me a grin that has my heart pattering in my chest. “I’ll take that.”
With a light laugh, I look back to the computer screen and the grainy black and white picture displayed.
“She was so beautiful. I hate that she died.” I reach out and trace the edge of Betsy’s face. “She had red hair.” I move my finger to one of her cheeks. The picture doesn’t need to be in color to know she had red hair. Her face carries the same freckled complexion that’s common in redheads. I have them too.
“Just like you.” Lincoln’s voice rumbles quietly.
I smile, proud to have something in common with her. “I bet she was even more beautiful in person.”
I drop my hand back to my lap and look at the man beside her in the image. High, prominent cheekbones and dark hair that reaches the collar of his shirt. Unlike Lincoln, his face is clean-shaven, but in a strange way, some of his features remind me of Lincoln. I can’t tell the color of his eyes, but if I had to guess, I’d say a lighter color. Maybe a bluish gray. He’s tall compared to Betsy, who only comes to his shoulders.
“I wonder if we can find out more information on William. I’d love to know what happened to him and Mary.”
“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?”
With me still in his lap, he reaches around me and starts typing in William’s name and the town he and Betsy last lived in together. Several pages of results pop up, but it’s not until the second page that we find what we are looking for. I recognize him from the previous picture, only he’s older, maybe in mid-thirties. He’s in a handsome suit standing next to a beautiful young woman in a stunning white wedding dress, with her arm tucked around his. They’re both smiling happily. At first, I think it may be his new wife on their wedding day, and the thought sends a shot of sadness through me. It’s not until I read the caption that I realize who the woman is.
William Young hands off his beautiful daughter, Mary Young, to the Senator’s son, Benedict Montgomery, to be married.
“Oh my, God,” I breathe, captivated. “She’s absolutely gorgeous, isn’t she?”
“That she is,” Lincoln agrees.
I can’t take my eyes off the woman. I have no doubt Betsy would be so proud of the way her daughter turned out.
“She looks so happy.”
Lincoln scrolls further down the page and the article goes into detail of how the couple met during a trip across the state on a passenger train. Apparently, some bandits tried robbing the passengers, and Benedict was one of the men who heroically stopped them.
He goes back to the search results. Right before he clicks to the next page, something catches my eye.
“Wait!” I shout. “Click that one!” I point to the last link on the page.”
My heart breaks again when it’s William’s obituary. He was thirty-eight when he died unexpectedly in his sleep. It happened a year after Mary married Benedict.
William Alexander Young was survived by one daughter, Mary Montgomery, and one grandchild, Arabelle Montgomery. William never remarried after his beloved, Betsy Young, tragically passed away nineteen years prior. Services will be held at the Dell-Hall Funeral Home. Details will be given at a later date.
Tears sting the back of my eyes. “That’s so beautifully tragic. He never remarried. It was like he was waiting to give his daughter to someone he knew could take care of her before following Betsy.”
Lincoln’s arms tighten around my waist. “If they loved each other as much as you say they did, I don’t blame him. It must have been hard living his life without her in it. I wouldn’t want to live mine without you.”
I spin in his lap until I’m facing him. Looping my arms around his neck, I look deeply into his eyes.
“I can’t imagine living without you in mine, either.” I grab his cheeks and bring my face closer to his. “Swear to me, if something….” I pause and take a moment when my throat tightens. “If something were to happen to me, swear that you’ll continue to live. Promise me that you’ll remarry and find happiness again.”