Blowing on Dandelions (12 page)

Leah jabbed at the quilt square as though she had a personal grudge against it. “What is it about our parents, that they can’t let us live our own lives without interference?” Her head snapped up, and she gave a sly grin. “Maybe we need to do a little matchmaking and find a husband for your mother.”

Several of the women chuckled, but Katherine shook her head. The comment had done much to lighten the mood. She was grateful the attention had drifted away from her response and attitude toward her mother, but she wasn’t comfortable delving too deep into that subject at the moment and was happy to tread a different path.

A sudden thought sent a twinge through Katherine’s heart. She’d forgotten all about her two new boarders—Beth and her obnoxious aunt. All she could do at this point was hope and pray they’d decided to find another place to stay by the time she returned home. And what in the world were people like them doing in Baker City, anyway?

The women tidied up the room and said their good-byes, promising to stay in touch and meet again in two weeks. On the walk home Katherine decided it didn’t matter what Mrs. Roberts expected or decided. If the woman didn’t behave herself and agree to abide by the rules of the house, especially as it pertained to common courtesy, she wouldn’t be given a choice—as much as Katherine hated to do so, she would ask them to leave.

Chapter Seventeen

Micah would not be stuck in this room another second if he could help it. He rocked back on the bed and tucked his shirt into his waistband. He rolled forward, grabbed the crutches the doctor had left propped beside the bed, and gripped the handles situated in the middle of the wood contraptions. Why hadn’t he allowed the doctor to demonstrate how to use these tomfool things?

Pride. Pure and simple. He shook his head. No time to moan about what might have been. He needed to get out of this bed and start tending to business.

Now what had the man said? Place the top with the curved wood under his arms and grip the handles. Didn’t sound too hard, even with a bum leg and sore shoulder. Micah scowled at the offending appendage, willing the throbbing to subside. According to Doc, the burn would heal but might leave a scar. Like Micah cared about something so foolish. At least he hadn’t broken any bones, and the doctor said he could hobble around a bit today as long as he didn’t overdo it.

Where is that boy of mine when I need him?

“Stop it, Micah.” He grated out the words, hoping the sound of his own voice would snap him out of his doldrums. Katherine had told him when she’d brought breakfast that Lucy and Zachary were doing chores while she attended a meeting at the church.

At least his son was pulling his weight—more than he could say for himself since they’d arrived. Well, that would end right now.

Micah grasped the crutches so firmly his fingers protested, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t let these sticks get the best of him. By the time Katherine Galloway got home, he’d be swinging around this house, and he’d show everyone he could take care of himself.

Hoisting himself off the bed, he balanced precariously, his good foot on the ground, his injured leg raised. Doc told him he couldn’t put any weight on it yet, as the deep cut, as well as the burn, troubled him. He had to admit it looked ugly, but a little pain and soreness weren’t going to keep him abed.

Gritting his teeth, he planted the crutches ahead of him, resting his weight on his armpits and his good foot. He grinned.
Nothin’ to this.
Keeping a tight grip on one crutch, he gingerly reached for the doorknob.
Simple. Can’t understand why I worried.

Swinging confidently through the door, he set his left foot on the floor and swiveled to grasp the handle and close the door behind him. But as he twisted, the crutch under his right arm tottered. Too late he realized it wasn’t braced far enough away from his body. The doorknob bounced out of his fingers and he waved his arm in the air, trying to gather himself and regain his balance. No good. He pitched to the side and the floor rose up to meet him.

Landing on his injured leg was going to hurt like fire.

Lucy and Zachary entered the house and headed for the linen closet, Lucy leading the way. “Ma’s going to be happy we got the clean bedding off the clothesline.” She tossed a smile to the boy beside her. “Looks like a thunderstorm might be rolling in. Thanks for helping.”

Zachary shrugged. “I didn’t have anything else to do, with Pa laid up in bed. Guess I should go see how he’s doing after we put these away.”

A crash, followed by a loud groan, emanated from somewhere up the hallway. Lucy jumped, dropping her pile of sheets. She stared at the clean linens scattered on the floor. “I’m in trouble now.… What was that noise?”

Zachary tossed his blankets aside and took off running down the hallway. “I think that’s Pa!”

Lucy scooped up the sheets and deposited them on top of the blankets. Zachary was already turning the corner, so she dashed behind him. Was Mr. Jacobs hurt? She picked up her pace and scurried around the corner, then skidded to a halt.

Zachary was on his knees over his father, who lay sprawled across the floor, one crutch under his body, the other lying a couple of yards away. “Pa? You all right? What happened?”

Another groan was the only response. Zachary looked up, eyes wide. “What should we do?”

Lucy gripped her hands together. “I’ll find Grandma or Mr. Tucker. You stay with your pa.”

Zachary nodded but didn’t reply, just hovered over his father.

Lucy raced along the hallway. She and Zachary could probably lift Mr. Jacobs, but they didn’t know what was wrong. Grandma wouldn’t be able to lift Mr. Jacobs. But Mr. Tucker could, and he’d surely know how to wake him. She flew up two flights of stairs and skidded to a stop in front of his door, rapping on it sharply. “Mr. Tucker, are you there? We need your help.” She waited a minute, but nothing happened. Raising her fist she pounded, desperation making her hit the wood harder than she’d planned. It rattled under her knuckles but still didn’t open.

Giving up, she ran down to the second floor, praying someone else would be home. Steps sounded, and a door flew open. A woman Lucy presumed to be Mrs. Roberts stuck her head out of her room and scowled. “What is the meaning of that racket?”

Lucy’s heart rate calmed a bit at the sight of an adult, even one as grumpy as Mrs. Roberts. “We need help. Zachary’s father has fallen.”

The woman moved out into the hall, smoothing the lace collar at her throat. “I don’t know what you’re going on about. Your mother promised you children wouldn’t cause trouble, and here you are banging on doors first thing in the morning. Believe me, I’ll let her know about your rude behavior as soon as I see her.”

Lucy wanted to scream, and she would have if she thought it would help. Instead, she stomped over and peered directly into the woman’s face. “I
said
Mr. Jacobs is hurt, and we need help. It is
not
early in the morning; it’s half-past ten. Mother has gone to the church, and Mr. Tucker isn’t home. You have to come help me. Right now.” She engaged the fiercest look she could muster.

Mrs. Roberts drew back. “Well, I never!”

“Ma’am, I am not trying to be disrespectful, but Zachary and I need help.” Lucy softened her tone a bit. “Please.”

“Doing what? And who is this Zachary you keep referring to?”

It was all Lucy could do not to roll her eyes, but she worked to keep her voice even. “He’s my friend who’s staying here with his father, Mr. Jacobs. Their business and home burned down, and Mr. Jacobs was injured. He must have tried to get up just now, but he fell in the hall. Would you come?”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Mrs. Roberts leaned back inside her room. “Beth, I’ll be back as soon as I can. You go to your room and stay put, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” a muffled voice answered from somewhere inside.

Mrs. Roberts grasped a handful of her dark blue skirt in each hand and lifted it off the floor, revealing stocking feet with no shoes. “Lead the way, young woman, and hurry it up.”

Lucy darted toward the stairway, relief flooding her heart. Right now all she wanted was her mother back home to see to the problem, but grumpy old Mrs. Roberts would have to do.

Frances struggled to finish dressing and groaned. She’d skipped breakfast this morning due to another flare-up of gout and a pounding headache. Katherine had been kind enough to bring her tea and toast before she’d left for her meeting. After nibbling at the food, she’d set it aside and relaxed into her bed. She’d fallen into a pleasant doze when a loud banging from the second floor woke her and scared ten years off her life. And she could ill afford to lose a decade. Rubbing the ache in her temple, she hobbled to the door and swung it open, ready to lambaste the inconsiderate idiot making the confounded racket. She almost fell flat on her face before she made it two yards down the hall.

“What in the world?” She tried to focus her bleary vision to see what she’d tripped over. A large stick lay across the floor as though placed to bring about someone’s downfall. Her own, no doubt. Was that young-man friend of Lucy’s playing a prank?

A deep moan made her stiffen, and she moved her gaze to the prostrate form several yards beyond. “Mr. Jacobs?”

The man’s son, who’d been hunkered beside him, leapt to his feet. “Oh, Mrs. Cooper! My pa’s hurt bad. Lucy went upstairs to find Mr. Tucker, but she’s not back yet, and I’m not sure what to do.”

Frances took in the scene in a glance. The fallen man lay with his eyes closed and sweat drenching his forehead. It looked as though Mr. Jacobs must have taken a nasty fall and hit his head. She stepped forward and leaned over, placing her fingertips on his shoulder. “Mr. Jacobs. Can you hear me?”

His eyelids twitched, then slowly opened. “Mrs. Cooper?”

Before she could reply, thundering feet pounded down the stairs and Lucy came bounding up the hall with a rather large woman following her.

Frances eyed the woman as she lumbered at a much slower pace in Lucy’s wake. Who was this person, and why in the world would she wear dark blue velvet on a morning that promised nothing but a steady increase of heat? The matron appeared to be younger than Frances was, though a liberal sprinkling of gray hair displaced what had once been a drab brown. And … mercy! The creature wasn’t wearing shoes! Her rather large feet were clad only in stockings.

Frances looked the woman up and down. “And who, might I ask, are you?” She stared at the stocking feet peeking out from under the skirt. “I would think you might be a bit more careful about how you dress in public.”

Lucy halted next to Zachary. “Grandma, Mr. Jacobs is hurt. This is no time to worry about how someone is dressed.”

Frances tossed one last glance at the newcomer, then turned her attention to Lucy. “Yes, of course. We are forgetting Mr. Jacobs.” She bent over the fallen man again. “Mr. Jacobs, can you hear me? Wake up, now.”

The man rolled his head and blinked but didn’t respond.

“Is he going to be all right, Grandma?” Lucy nervously bounced from foot to foot.

“He does not appear badly hurt. I think he got the wind knocked out of him when he fell.”

Zachary patted his father’s cheek. “Pa, can you hear me?”

Micah licked his lips. “Yes. Give me a minute.”

Frances nodded. “You see, just like I told you.” She pivoted toward Lucy. “Now who is this woman?”

Lucy glanced from one to the other. “Grandma, Mrs. Roberts and her niece arrived last night. They’re staying in two of the rooms upstairs.”

“Two?” Frances frowned. “Would it not be more appropriate for your niece to stay in your room, so you can act as her chaperone?”

“Well, I never.” Mrs. Roberts huffed and crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “If I have the money, then I don’t see it’s any business of yours.”

“Of course,
if
you have the money.” Frances surveyed her up and down. This individual certainly didn’t
look
like someone who had money to throw around. Frances wasn’t up on the latest fashions, but she’d swear that dress hadn’t been in vogue for at least five years. “Did you pay my daughter in advance?”

“Grandma!” Lucy planted her hands on her hips.

Mrs. Roberts snorted. “I can see I’m not needed here. I’ll get out of your way and return to my room.”

Frances straightened and mustered a smile. “As you wish. I certainly do
not
care to keep you from anything important.”

“No!” Lucy practically shouted the word. “We need help. Zac and I don’t know if his pa will be all right, and all you two want to do is bicker.”

Frances jumped, and the pounding in her head doubled. “What is wrong with you, child? Please quit shouting. I have been nursing a sick headache all morning. Besides, Mr. Jacobs is not dead; he opened his eyes, moved his head, and spoke. He has an injured leg, and that is certainly not fatal.”

Lucy gritted her teeth. “We need to get him up and back to bed, but since you haven’t been well, I don’t think you should help lift him.”

Gratefulness spread through Frances. What a thoughtful granddaughter she’d helped raise. “That is very considerate of you, dear.”

Mrs. Roberts swiveled, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Are you asking for my help, Mrs. Cooper?”

Frances lifted her chin with a jerk. “Certainly not. I am sure we can manage.”

Zachary touched his father’s arm. “Pa?”

The injured man slowly moved his head back and forth. “What happened?”