Margaret Brownley (30 page)

“I know, but Leonard wants to open an office. It’s not something he ever wanted to do, but he says times are changing. Having patients travel to him rather than the other way around will save an enormous amount of time.”

“Patients going to a doctor?” Ma exclaimed. She momentarily stopped pouring. “Bless my weary bones, now I’ve heard everythin’.”

“Leonard says that with all the new medical knowledge, he can better care for patients in his office than in their homes,” Monica explained. “He told me they’ve even discovered the bacteria that causes consumption and this could lead to a vaccination. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“It is wonderful,” Lucy agreed. Both Monica’s parents had died of consumption, which was probably why the doctor took extra precautions after she inhaled all that smoke. “But why doesn’t he just open an office here?”

“You know that won’t work. People here are too set in their ways.” Monica indicated Ma with a roll of her eyes. “Some people won’t even ride the train.”

Ma made a sound of disgust. “If the good Lord wanted us to travel that fast, I reckon he would have given us wheels instead of feet,” she muttered. “And don’t get me started on those gas balloons Redd is always talking about. Flying, indeed!” She shuddered. “I’ll tell you another thing. It’s not right for sick people to have to drag themselves out of bed to see a doctor.”

Ma’s indignant response made Monica giggle, but Lucy was in no mood to appreciate the humor. Frowning, she asked, “What about his patients here? What about your students? If he leaves, Rocky Creek will be without a doctor
and
a teacher.”

“We’re not planning to leave for a while. We certainly won’t leave until the town finds another doctor and teacher. Maybe by then Caleb will be ready to take over the practice.”

Lucy smiled at the thought. Dear Caleb. Wouldn’t he love that? If only she could figure out a way to pay for his medical training.

“Maybe you can come, too, and open up your own studio,” Monica said. “You can stay with us until you got settled.”

It was a tempting idea, but Lucy doubted she would ever have the means to afford her own photography studio.

Monica changed the subject. “I plan to ask Mrs. Taylor to make my wedding dress. She did such a good job with Jenny’s.” She rattled on about what she planned to wear at her wedding and how she would style her hair. “I do hope you’ll take lots of photographs. Please say you will.”

“Oh, Monica, you know I’ll do anything for you.”

Monica smiled. “Ma agreed to let us get married in the garden.”

Ma set the pitcher of lemonade on the tray. “It’s going to be a beautiful wedding.” A dreamy expression crossed her face, making her appear years younger. “Why, we haven’t had a wedding since the three Higgins sisters got married last summer.” She handed Lucy a glass.

“Thank you.” The lemonade was cool and sweet.

“Will you be available the middle of July?” Monica asked. “Sarah is certain that Pastor Wells’s schedule is clear.”

Spilling her drink all over herself, Lucy jumped to her feet. Ma immediately rushed to her side, mopping her skirt and waistcoat.

Lucy quickly apologized to Ma for her clumsiness, but never took her eyes off Monica. “That’s only a couple of weeks away.”

Monica wiped a small wet spot off the sofa with a linen napkin, a broad smile on her face. “Just think, this time next month, I shall be Mrs.
Dr
. Myers.” Then realizing her gaffe, she laughed.

Ma Taylor laughed too, and neither noticed that Lucy didn’t join in their mirth. Knowing that Monica’s happiness might not last long near broke Lucy’s heart.

Cutting her visit short, Lucy headed for home. She impatiently snapped the reins against Tripod’s rump. Dear God, how would she ever find the words to tell Monica that her fiancé wasn’t the man she thought he was? Knowing what he did to David was bad enough, but what if he was involved in the disappearance of Barnes?
Please, God, don’t let it be so.

Arriving home she quickly pulled pen and paper from the drawer of her writing desk and set to work listing Rocky Creek residents who had been in their teens twenty years earlier. Some men were too young or too old or had moved to Rocky Creek in recent years and these she left off the list. She circled the names she wasn’t sure about. She was certain Timber Joe didn’t move to Rocky Creek until after the war. He looked old enough but men who fought in the war tended to age faster than normal. Marshal Armstrong, Barrel, Redd, and Pastor Wells had moved to town within the last couple of years. Old Man Appleby was too old.

She spent the rest of the day and most of the night listing names or crossing them out. It was hard to remember every family that lived in and around Rocky Creek, harder still to know when they may have moved into town, but it was a start.

She copied the names of the men she knew for certain had lived locally at least twenty years, and who were the right age. She then wrote a one or two word description by each of their names. Folding the paper, she slipped it into her pocket.

She planned to question her father over dinner. He would know when various families had moved to Rocky Creek.

That evening her father walked in the door early. “Something smells good,” he said.

He pecked her on the cheek and sat in his favorite chair. She hurried to fetch his slippers, as was her usual custom. Slippers in hand, she stood watching him as he tamped down his pipe.

How much did he know about that long-ago night on the river? Had Barnes or Myers confided in him? Was that what broke up their friendship? Was that why he was so against Caleb working for the doctor? As much as she wanted to ask him outright, she bit back the urge. He would only want to know how she knew, and then she would have to tell him about David.

She sat on the footstool in front of his chair and proceeded to pull off his boots. “Any news about Mr. Barnes?”

“I talked to the marshal today,” he said. “Nothing is missing from Barnes’s cabin and his bank account has not been touched.”

“That’s odd,” she said, setting a boot on the floor.

“It’s only odd if he’s alive.”

She looked up. “And you think he’s not?”

“The marshal suspects he may not be. He’s issued a warrant for the last known man to see him alive.”

Trying not to appear overly curious, she struggled to keep her voice even. “Anyone we know?” Was it Doc Myers?
Dear God, please don’t let it be so
. It would break Monica’s heart.

“It was that Wolf fellow you photographed for the
Gazette
,” he said. “The wild man.”

She froze, her hand on his boot. “How . . . how do they know it’s him?”

“Crankshaw saw him outside the newspaper office the night Barnes disappeared and was able to describe him. There aren’t too many men walking around in buckskin.”

At mention of Crankshaw’s name, her blood ran cold. She was almost certain he knew of Wolf’s presence in the woods on Sunday.

Forgetting caution, she blurted out, “David Wolf didn’t do it!”

Her father’s eyebrows shot up. “How would you know that?”

“I . . . I . . .”

“Speak up, girl. What do you know about this?”

“I t-talked to him,” she stammered. “I wrote an article and he’s the one who saved me from the stagecoach robbers—”

He rubbed his forehead. “Lucy, Lucy, Lucy.” He sighed and dropped his hand to his lap. “This man could have done you great harm.”

“No!” She jumped to her feet. “I don’t care what Marshal Armstrong says, David didn’t kill Barnes! Besides, we don’t even know he’s dead.”

Just then the door flew open and Caleb walked in, lugging his ever-present medical books. Seeming oblivious to the tension in the room, he asked, “What is the only muscle not attached at both ends?”

Lucy tossed her father’s boot on the floor and ran from the room.

Later that night, after her father had retired, Lucy donned her cape and quietly let herself outside.

She was in the barn saddling Tripod when Caleb found her.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his face grim in the yellow light of the lantern.

“I’m going to warn David that the marshal is looking for him,” she said.

His eyes widened. “Lucy, don’t. It could be dangerous.”

“He didn’t do what they said he did.” She had been wrong about Myers, wrong about Barnes.
Dear God, don’t let me be wrong about David
.

“Take the wagon,” he said. “And I’ll go with you.”

His offer touched her deeply and she felt guilty for forcing him to help her care for David, but she didn’t know who else to trust.

“No,” she whispered. “I have to do this alone.” She didn’t want to get her brother involved any more than he already was.

He frowned. The lines of worry didn’t belong on a sixteen-year-old face. Sometimes it seemed that Caleb carried the world on his shoulders.

Myers and Barnes hadn’t been much older than Caleb when they put David in that boat. At first she tried blaming their actions on youth, but age alone could not explain the things David accused them of doing. She couldn’t imagine Caleb doing anything so cruel.

“If anything happens to you . . .” Caleb began. His unspoken words exploded in her head.
Like Mama
.

She shuddered at the memory of her mother taking off one night on horseback, never to return. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” she assured him.

“Please, let me go with you.”

“I’ll be all right,” she said. She moved to hug him but he pulled away. “I give up. What muscle isn’t attached on both ends?” she asked, hoping to humor him out of his worry. She was certain it was the tongue, but she didn’t want to spoil his fun.

“Your stubborn fool brain,” he said angrily and stormed away.

Twenty-three

A man can fool a woman but never a camera. A woman can fool
both, but only if she puts her mind to it.

– M
ISS
G
ERTRUDE
H
ASSLEBRINK, 1878

W
ith only the faint light of a gibbous moon lighting the way, she rode out of town and followed the road that ran along the river’s edge. It was the same road the runaway stagecoach had taken, and her stomach clenched at the memory, as it tended to do every time she rode this way.

Determined to warn David that the marshal was looking for him, she swallowed her fear. A shadow flew past, barely missing her, and she cried out in alarm. Hearing the comforting cry of an owl, she pressed a hand on her chest to still her pounding heart. Tripod nickered but stayed the course, head bopping up and down in a slow but steady rhythm.

She took the fork that led to the mission. Even in the soft glow of moonlight, the building looked eerie and forbidding. Dismounting, she tethered her horse to a splintered hitching post. There was no sign of Shadow, but that didn’t necessarily mean David wasn’t around.

She walked to the open side door, its gaping mouth frozen in mid-yawn. She took one step inside. “David?” Her voice echoed through the long hall, followed by dead silence.

Nervously she backed out of the building, grabbed the reins of her horse, and froze. What was that sound? Tripod pricked his ears and whinnied, telling her he’d heard it too. It was the sound of a running horse.