Sixteen Brides (20 page)

“I heard . . . something,” he said as he stood up and put the knife away. They were coming from the direction of the livery. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is just dandy,” Sally replied. She ignored the gun, and for some reason Matthew felt compelled to follow her example.

“Can I . . . walk you somewhere?”

“Well, now, that’d be just dandy. Wouldn’t it, Caroline? We’re headed back to the Immigrant House.” Without waiting for an answer, Sally took his arm. Caroline took the other. She said nothing.

Matthew could feel Caroline trembling as they walked along. He had the ridiculous idea that the hand hidden in the folds of her dress held another gun.

“I like me a clear night after it’s been rainin’,” Sally said, inhaling deeply. “This is just dandy.”

Matthew could almost sense the demons gathering to laugh. This wasn’t going to work. Martha had put the note saying he was waiting downstairs just outside Linney’s bedroom door and then let him in the back door of the mercantile just before dawn. It felt as if he’d been sitting here in the dark for half the night. In fact, the sun was up now.

He probably wouldn’t get three words into his apology. He’d hunkered in that dugout too long. He’d lost her. One well-planted right fist into Luke’s jaw and everything imploded. He’d never forget the horror in Linney’s eyes at the sight of it. She’d want an explanation, too. And he couldn’t give it.

If only Luke had stayed away. Leave it to him to follow the prettiest girl in town like some tail-wagging pup. Not that Matthew could blame him for that. Caroline Jamison was a beautiful woman. Hers was a more exotic beauty than Katie’s had ever been, but still . . . a beautiful woman. No, Matthew didn’t suppose he could blame Luke for being attracted to Caroline. He couldn’t even blame Luke for talking to Linney. After all, what did Matthew expect him to do? Pretend she didn’t exist? She did, and she was a living, breathing monument to the best thing that had ever happened to either one of them.

She chose you.
That’s what Martha had said. More than once. And it was finally sinking in. A little glimmer of hope had begun to shine through the shadows of the past few years. Now, if he could just get Linney to listen.
Please, God. Make her listen.

He had so much to make up for. So much darkness to conquer. He still wasn’t sure he could do it. But if he didn’t, he was going to lose the best part of life once and for all. He had to get past the mile-high stack of regrets and do something right for a change.

He heard footsteps above. Looking up, he followed them across the ceiling to the second-story door. Down the outside steps. He stood to face the door. And there she was, her blue eyes looking so sorrowful Matthew thought his heart just might shatter and fall into pieces on the floor between them.

“Will you . . . will you hear me out, sweetheart?” His voice cracked.

She put her hands behind her. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Matthew nodded. Suddenly the speech just vanished from his mind. He looked at his daughter and the pain in her eyes, and knowing he was the reason it was there brought tears and he couldn’t hold them back. He didn’t even want to. He took a deep, wavering breath. “Those nightmares,” he began. “They aren’t about the war. They’re about the day your ma died.” He paused. Could he really do this?
I have to.

“Lucas Gray is my cousin. He was the cadet your ma was dancing with when I first saw her. And even though she chose me and married me, I was always jealous of Luke. There wasn’t any reason for it. But I chose to see it another way. I picked a fight with your ma that day and then I lost control of myself and the team. And your ma died. That’s why I don’t drive wagons anymore. It’s why I have nightmares. It’s why . . . everything.” He swallowed. “I’ve been running from the truth for so long that I don’t really know how to stop. Except I know that if I don’t, I’m going to miss out on my last chance to be a real father. So I decided I’d sell the homestead and maybe that would help. It didn’t stop the nightmares, but it did get me moved to town. And then, in the middle of all of it, I saw Luke smiling at you and—”

Linney held up her hand. “Wait.”

Matthew stopped midsentence.

“You said . . . just now you said . . . moving . . . to town.”

Matthew nodded. “Barney’s in the corral over at the livery. He packed in everything I need from the dugout just last night. I’m all set up in that back room at Lux’s. He’s already got me promised to build three wagons and cut shingles for the ladies out at the cottonwood spring. Will seems to think a good carpenter—”

“—you . . . moved. Already. Into town.”

Matthew nodded again. “Just last evening. And I want to take you out to the homestead tomorrow. I want you to get to know Jeb Cooper and see what he’s done. He’s a good man, Linney. You should see the fence—”

He never finished the sentence. He couldn’t because his arms were full of a redheaded little gal clutching his neck and crying. “Oh, Pa,” she said, her words muffled against his shoulder. “I love you, Pa. I love you
so much
.”

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

But thou, O Lord, art a God full of compassion, and gracious,
longsuffering, and plenteous in mercy and truth.

PSALM 86:15

I
t was nearly over for Hettie. She’d stood here four times a day for the last three weeks watching people get off that train, but tomorrow that would end. The others might decide to come back into Plum Grove to stay until the house was finished, but Hettie would not. She’d camp on the land and be happy to never hear another train whistle. At least until she had things figured out. For now, she needed distance from the past. A blank canvas for a future. And time. Four Corners would give her all those things, and the only cost was a narrow cot, perhaps in a tent for a week or so, and then in the loft of a soddy. To Hettie’s mind, that wasn’t a trial. It was a blessing. The word came without warning and when she pondered it, it made her smile a bit.
Blessing.

She’d used religious words so easily for years and years. But they’d slipped away, one by one, until here she stood beside the front door of a hastily constructed building in a fledgling town she’d never heard of only weeks ago. The religious words had started filtering back lately, mostly, Hettie knew, because of Zita Romano. The way she slipped in little phrases just as naturally as can be. The way she prayed over every meal. And, oddly enough, the way the older woman could laugh at things—as if she and the Creator of the universe had a special relationship that allowed Zita to observe human frailty from a place of knowledge and hope that Hettie had lost. If she ever had it.

God was a thorny topic these days—for each of the six women in different ways. Perhaps, Hettie thought, God was a thorny topic for everyone when life didn’t give what they’d come to expect from love. The other day Caroline had said something about people in the West having different meanings for some words. Maybe that was it, Hettie thought. Maybe God had different meanings for words.

At least for now, Hettie liked the idea of God staying where he was, which seemed to be along the fringes of things that pertained to her. She hoped he refrained from stepping into her personal life, at least until she was safe at Four Corners.
Safe.
Now, there was a word. Would she ever feel safe again? She’d ponder that another time.

For the moment, the last passenger on this evening’s westbound train was limping his way to the new hotel that had just opened a couple of days ago. The limp had caused a few heart palpitations for Hettie until she realized the owner of the limp was a stranger. She could breathe again. But now—what?

Two riders came tearing across the prairie from the north. Hettie went to the door and stepped outside just as they parted north of the railroad tracks. One continued to the east while the other charged toward the Immigrant House and, bringing his horse to a skidding stop when he saw Hettie, hollered, “Need the doc! The lady doc. Fast!”

Hettie pressed her open palm to her chest. “I . . . I . . . there’s no . . .” She swallowed. “I keep telling people I am
not
a doctor!”

“You’re the closest thing we got and we need you.” The cowboy pointed east toward the other rider, who had already nearly disappeared into the distance. “Johnny’s headed to the fort to bring their doc if we can get him, but that’ll take hours longer. You’ve got to come, ma’am. The boss is hurt. Real bad.”

Ruth Dow came out to join her. “What is it? What’s happened?”

The rider repeated his desperate plea.

“Who’s your boss?”

“Lucas Gray,” the man said, gasping for breath and motioning at Hettie. “He said to bring you.” He gulped. “That new stallion tore loose and nearly killed him. Don’t know what all is wrong, but he’s busted up bad. Please, ma’am.”

Hettie took a step back as she shook her head. “I told you I’m not—”

“You knew what to do for Frank Darby’s wife. She said you treated some gal’s ankle, too. Anyway, the boss heard about it. He said to bring you. I can’t go back there without you, ma’am. Please. Anything you can do is gonna be better than what the rest of us know.” He glanced at Ruth and back to Hettie. “Your friend can come, too, if you’re worried about—if you think it won’t look right. Just please, could we not wait any longer. It’ll take us till nearly dawn as it is.”

Hettie pushed her spectacles up on her nose with a trembling hand.

“You know more than any of the rest of us,” the man repeated.

“A-all right,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

“His horse—”

“I heard that. What exactly did the horse
do
?”

“Reared up and fell back on him. And then pounded on him while he was down.”

Hettie’s stomach began to churn. “Is he conscious?”

“In and out.”

“Is he bleeding?”

“Not really. Except his leg. Some. Not bad, though. The boys were wrapping it when Johnny and I left.”

“Bleeding how? From where?”

The wrangler shrugged. “It’s broke, I think. Maybe some bone poking through? There wasn’t really all that much blood—”

Dear God in heaven. A compound fracture?
Hettie ran her hand over her hair. She glanced at Ruth. “W-will you come?”

“Of course. Just let me see to Jackson.”

The wrangler nodded. “I’ll get the livery to hitch up a light rig.” He hesitated. “You can drive?”

“I can,” Ruth said briskly.

Hettie closed her eyes, trying to think. “We’ll need carbolic acid, soap, bandages, alcohol—whiskey if we can’t get alcohol.” She looked at the wrangler. “Did they splint the leg before they moved him?”

He frowned. “I don’t know, ma’am. Johnny and me were in the saddle on our way to get you before they had it so much as wrapped up.”

“All right. Ruth and I will meet you at the livery in a few minutes.” Summoned by the commotion, Ella and Zita, and Caroline and Sally had all come outside. Now they waited by the door, ready to help.

“You need anything else you can think of?” Ruth asked, ticking off the list Hettie had already given her.

“Camphor. And mustard for a poultice in case there’s—” she gestured toward her lungs—“in case there’s complications. If his leg’s broken, he’s going to have to be in bed for a while. Pneumonia will be a threat.”

Zita spoke up. “I’ll get you some of my remedy.”

“Put my cough right to bed the other night,” Sally said, nodding.

“What’s in it?”

Zita shrugged. “Old Italian secrets.”

“I had pneumonia when I was little,” Ella explained. “Mama got this remedy from someone in the village. She’s always believed it saved my life.”

Hettie glanced Zita’s way. “Th-thank you.” As Zita went after her remedy, Hettie gave orders, calming a bit as the ladies scattered to do her bidding. At least Forrest had been good for that. He’d taught her well. She shivered momentarily. He may have taught her too well. She’d helped him do amputations, and if Lucas Gray had a compound fracture, it was going to take a miracle to keep him from needing one.

“Young man,” Ruth said to Gray’s wrangler as Hettie settled the last box of provisions into the carriage, “my husband was General George Washington Jackson Dow. We posted in some fairly remote areas, and I once drove a carriage back to the fort with a war party of Apache a few minutes behind me, so stop worrying and mount up.” As the wrangler obeyed, she hugged Jackson and told him to mind the ladies, then for some reason felt compelled to reach out to Zita. “I’ll be trusting you to pray for us.”

Zita’s eyes sparkled with love as she grasped Ruth’s hands in hers, lifted her face to the sky, and said aloud, “Courage. Safety. Healed bodies. Healed hearts. Mighty faith. Please, Father. Amen.”

The minute Ruth and Hettie scrambled into the carriage seat, the wrangler took off at a brisk canter. Ruth chirruped to the little roan mare Ermisch said was his best carriage horse. Settling the mare into a lope, Ruth sat back, alert but relaxed. She glanced at Hettie, who was telegraphing tension both in the way she leaned forward in the seat and in the tightness of her grip on the lap robe they shared. “Try to relax,” she said. “According to that wrangler we have a long night ahead of us. It won’t do to have your back cramping up halfway to the ranch.”

“Y-you really do know what you’re doing,” Hettie finally said.

Ruth only nodded, although the surprise in Hettie’s voice made her smile.

“I . . . I didn’t mean to sound so s-surprised.”

“It’s all right.” Ruth took a deep breath. “Thank you for asking me to come. For trusting that I could be useful.” And she could be useful. Somehow, she was finding herself again. Finding the capable woman who’d been lost all those years ago when the General’s sudden death swept everything away. For several months it had taken all her energy merely to climb out of bed every morning and feed Jackson.

She’d moved through the days like a woman clawing her way through a thick fog. And she’d been so grateful for Margaret’s willingness to make decisions for her. So grateful for the invitation to move in with Margaret and Theo.
A lifesaver,
Ruth had called it. And for a time it was.
Until Cecil Grissom.

Perhaps that was the beginning of her awakening. Certainly Margaret’s insistence had been a jolt. How had that happened, anyway? How could she have allowed Margaret to think she could not only tell Ruth to marry, but also select the groom? Thinking back on it now, Ruth realized that for most of Jackson’s childhood, she’d been disconnected. Margaret’s willingness to help had only enabled Ruth to lose even more of herself. It was as if she had folded the part of herself George loved away. He never would have wanted that to happen. He would
not
have been pleased with a weak woman longing so much for the past that she simply allowed things to happen instead of taking the reins and—

Ruth looked down at the reins in her hands.
Taking the reins.
That’s what she was doing, wasn’t it? She was driving a carriage across the prairie toward the unknown. And she wasn’t afraid.
She wasn’t afraid.
George would be so much more pleased with this Ruth Dow. He would be proud of her
.
Proud of the way she’d said yes to Hettie without hesitation. Proud of the way she’d taken the reins in hand and told that cowboy not to worry. And proud of the way she was driving. Carefully, lest a carriage wheel begin a slide down one of these sand ridges, but with a strong hand that told the little mare there would be no nonsense tonight.

The wrangler they were following slowed his mount. Ruth drove alongside. “There’s a watering hole ahead,” he said. “We can give the horses a breather. You ladies can just stay seated—” he hesitated—“if you can keep the horse from overdoing it with the water. Otherwise—”

“I can handle the horse,” Ruth said, and grabbed the buggy whip from its stanchion. “Lead on.” Yes. Ruth Dow was definitely finding her way back.

Late Sunday night, Caroline stood alone in the pool of pale moonlight shining into the Immigrant House through the tall double windows on either side of the front doors. How long, she wondered, would the bad dreams last? How long would it be before she could sleep without smelling Lowell Day’s peppermint-laced breath, without hearing his voice? She shivered and turned her thoughts toward the northwest and Lucas Gray’s ranch, wishing she’d been nicer to him. Hoping the messenger was somehow wrong about the seriousness of Gray’s injury. Images of the men in Basil’s hospital rose up even as wolves—or maybe it was just coyotes—howled in the distance. The lonely sound sent another wave of sadness through her. Jackson slipped up beside her.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Caroline chided. “We promised your mother we’d watch over you. She wouldn’t want you up half the night.”

“I don’t need watching over,” Jackson groused. “And anyway, I can’t sleep, either.” He was quiet for a few minutes. “At least it’s a clear night. The moonlight will help Mother drive safely—won’t it?”

“I’m sure it will. She seemed confident about her driving.”