The Legacy by Katherine Webb Page A

gathered her things and stood up so quickly that her head spun and she had to sit back down again, breathing deeply. Corin , was all she could think. To see him again, after so many days! She peered eagerly out at the station as the train squealed to a halt, desperate to catch a glimpse of him. Catching her reflection in the glass, she hastily patted her hair into shape, bit her lips to redden them and pinched some color into her cheeks. She could not keep calm, could not keep herself from shaking.
    She climbed stiffly from the train, her skirts clinging to her legs, feet swollen and hot in her boots. She looked up and down the wooden platform, her heart in her mouth, but could not see Corin among the handful of people quitting the carriages or waiting at the station. The train exhaled with a weary sound and crept toward a siding where a water tower bulked against the sky. A warm wind greeted her, singing softly in her ears, and sand on the platform ground beneath her feet. Caroline looked around again and felt suddenly empty, suddenly unbound, as if the next rush of wind might carry her off. She straightened her hat nervously, but kept her smile ready, her eyes searching. Woodward looked small and slow. The street leading into town from the rail track was wide and unmade, and the wind had carved tiny waves into the sand all along it. She could smell the tar on the station building, hot from the sun, and the pervading stink of livestock. She looked down, sketching a line in the grit with her toe.
    As the locomotive moved away a new kind of quiet settled, behind the rattle of a passing buggy and the creak of the trolley as the station man pit his back against the weight of her luggage. Where was Corin? Doubts and fears bubbled up inside her—that he regretted his choice, that she was abandoned, would have to take the next train back to New York. She turned in a circle, desperate to see him. The station porter had paused with her luggage and was trying to catch her eye, to ask, no doubt, where he should take it. But if Corin was not here, Caroline had no idea. No idea where to go, where to stay, what to do. She felt the blood run out of her face and a rush of light-headedness spun her thoughts. For a terrifying moment, she thought she might faint, or burst into tears, or both. She took a deep, trembling breath and tried desperately to think what to do, what to say to the porter to conceal her confusion.
    “Mrs. Massey?” Caroline did not at first register this as her name, spoken with a slow drawl. She ignored the man with his hat in his hands who had come to stand to one side of her, his body curved into a relaxed slouch. He looked to be about thirty, but the weather was wearing his face as it was fading the blue from his flannel shirt. His scruffy hair was shot through with strands of red and brown. “Mrs. Massey?” he asked again, taking a step toward her.
    “Oh! Yes, I am,” she exclaimed, startled.
    “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Massey. I’m Derek Hutchinson, but everybody around here calls me Hutch and I’d be happy if you would too,” he introduced himself, tucking his hat beneath his arm and holding out a hand, which Caroline shook tentatively, just with her fingertips.
    “Where is Mr. Massey?” she asked.
    “Corin was due back in time to come and get you, ma’am, and I know he sorely wanted to, but there’s been some trouble with cattle thieves and he was called upon to ride out and see to it . . . He’ll be back by the time we are, I’m sure of that,” Hutch said, seeing Caroline’s face fall. Tears of disappointment blurred her vision and she gripped her bottom lip in her teeth to halt them. Hutch hesitated, unnerved by her reaction.
    “I see,” she gasped, swaying slightly, suddenly longing to sit down. Corin hadn’t come to meet her. In sudden terror, she began to guess at reasons he might have to avoid her.
    Hutch cleared his throat diffidently and shifted his feet in an awkward manner. “I .