Texas Twilight (11 page)

“You know, I just have a feeling. A niggle
deep down in my gut,” the smithy said. “Seems like I’ve seen a few
strange faces these past two days. More than I should.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not the usual newcomers arriving on the
stage like you and Miss Anthony. I’m talking about the kind of man
you don’t want to run into in an alley at night.” Cradle got up and
went over to the hay he kept in the corner, giving each expectant
horse a handful. He stopped at the last stall and ran his hand down
the animal’s neck.

“You’ve met Lily Anthony and her aunt,
then?”

“No. No, I haven’t. But news travels fast
when a young, single woman comes to town. Especially one as pretty
as she’s reported to be.”

John pushed away from the wall and went and
looked out at the corrals where a few horses dozed. He turned back.
“How’d you come by the name Cradle anyway? Don’t think I’ve ever
heard it before.”

Even in the moonlight John could see Cradle’s
face take on a wistful expression. “I guess my pa had a sense of
humor. I was a big baby when I was born. Gave my ma a horrible
time, almost killed her. Right from the get go I was bigger than
the cradle my pa had built. He started calling me that over the
protests of my ma and it just stuck. Real name is Herman.”

“Cradle,” a man said, walking into the
barn.

“Sheriff.”

John swung around to see a tall man walking
his way. So this was the sheriff, Dexter Dane. John had stopped at
the sheriff’s office today as it was right across the alley from
his back door. He’d met the deputy, Pete Miller, but the sheriff
had been out. John stepped forward. “I’m Dr. John McCutcheon,
sheriff. “ He put out his hand.

Sheriff Dane took it into his own. “I heard
of your arrival but haven’t had a chance to drop in. I went out to
the Wells Fargo swing station today to get a statement from Chester
about the three passengers and two employees who were killed. I’ll
want to get your statement too, in the next day or two.”

The sheriff was an older man, probably his
father’s age. He was tall and thin with a pitted face. He must have
been in a fight sometime in the past because several of his front
teeth were missing.

“Well,” John said. “I need to get back to my
patient. You know where to find me.”

T
he smell of
coffee drew John out of his sleep. He stretched, relieving all the
tensions that had been building in his body for the past week, then
laid back, staring at the ceiling of his new, tiny room. After a
moment, he found a match and lit the lantern by his bed. Checking
his pocket watch, he found it was almost five o’clock.

He pulled on his pants and a shirt and
descended the stairs to find Tucker in the kitchen, reading the
paper with a hot cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

“Morning.” John ran his fingers through his
hair as he looked around the quiet kitchen. “You’re an early
riser.”

“Reckon so.”

John motioned to the examination room with a
nod and asked, “They awake yet?”

“Haven’t heard a peep.”

John glanced around the kitchen.

“Bottom shelf of the cupboard.”

John went to the back of the kitchen and
retrieved a cup. He filled it with dark, fragrant liquid. The first
sip burned all the way down, just the way he liked it. At the table
he pushed some of the clutter to the side and sat down. “You like
doctoring?”

Tucker looked up. He nodded and reached for
his cup. “Yup. I do.”

The row of books in the other room caught
John’s eye. “Read any of Bixby’s medical books?”

The boy straightened, as if surprised John
was interested in him. “As a matter of fact, I have.”

John sipped his coffee then asked, “Really.
Which ones?”

“Robley Dunglison’s Practice of
Medicine.”

“Mmm, that one is good.”

“Elements of Surgery, by Robert Liston and
Samuel Gross. Really liked that. It has a lot of good
illustrations.”

John was impressed. Those two books were hard
reading and took attention and determination to get through. Only
someone who really loved the subject would be able to complete
them. “Any others?”

Tucker’s cheeks deepened in color. Then, as
if he’d decided to trust John, added, “Midwifery Book, by Thomas
Ewell.”

“
I’m
very
impressed,
Tucker. Good for you.” Should he encourage the boy toward medical
school or would that road only lead to frustration? He didn’t know.
His handicap was somewhat limiting, but sometimes a determined
spirit could find ways of getting around almost anything. “I have
some others I brought with me. Remind me later to show them to
you.”

The morning flew by as the two doctors and
Tucker prepared the patient to go home. A buckboard for transport
was rented and Martha was all smiles with the quick recovery her
daughter was making. Dr. Bixby insisted on going and taking Tucker
along with him, to help get the child settled in.

The moment the buckboard rolled out of sight,
John headed to the telegraph office. It took twenty frustrating
minutes to learn that the lines had been down for a few days and
the only way to communicate was with a letter.

John realized in his present frame of mind he
should probably eat before he went looking for the banker. It might
improve his mood. Although he doubted it. The bank was just across
the street and he’d like to resolve Lily and Harriett’s problem as
soon as possible.

The
teller that he’d talked to yesterday stepped out on the boardwalk
and lit a cigarette, taking a long draw. Their eyes met over the
smoke as he exhaled.
So much for having breakfast first.

Stepping off the wooden planks, John made his
way across the dusty street. The temperature was rising and a
trickle of sweat slipped down the side of his face. The teller must
have known by the look on John’s face that his break was over
because he dabbed the top of the cigarette on the post, and put the
rest into his shirt pocket.

“Is Mr. Shellston in? I’d like a word with
him.”

“Yes he is. Let me go check if he will see
you.”

Who in the hell did this banker think he was?
Grover Cleveland? No one should take themselves so seriously.

In a moment the teller was back. “I’m sorry.
He’s quite busy. Would you like to make an appointment?”

Though John was the youngest male McCutcheon,
he was known by all in Y Knot as the one with the hottest temper.
Growing up, he’d gotten into trouble more times than he’d like to
remember because of it, and he’d been marched out to the woodshed
by his father, each and every time.

“Absolutely,” he said in a pleasant tone.
“I’d like to make an appointment for…” He flipped open his pocket
watch to see the time was now eleven twenty-five. “Eleven
twenty-six.”

The teller backed off a step, peering at John
to see if he was joking. “But…that’s in one minute?”

“Exactly.”

A
fter the big
night they had had the night before, it was no wonder Tante slept
soundly past seven o’clock without any signs of waking. Lily snuck
from the nice warm covers and peeked out into the hallway until one
of the chamber maids came by. She requested some hot water and a
tub sent up. In no rush to go out, Lily enjoyed bathing and washing
her hair. The hotel even availed her at no extra charge a tiny bit
of rose water for rinsing.

Today she
needed to “make opportunities” happen. That’s what her mother
always said. People who sat around waiting for good fortune to find
them never achieved anything of value. Something of worth was never
gotten easily. If you depend on yourself, then you only have
yourself to blame. She could go on and on remembering all the
sayings. Her mother and father had been extremely hard workers,
never wasting a moment of time or energy.
She
would be like that. She would make her
opportunities happen.

When Lily came around the screen fully
dressed, she was shocked. She went to the side of the bed and gazed
at Harriett. Stirrings of fear began in her mind. She bent close to
her aunt’s face, checking to see if she was still breathing.

“Tante,” she whispered, lowering herself to
one knee so she could get closer. “Are you awake?” She rubbed her
aunt’s shoulder, then gave it a soft shake. “Tante Harriett?”

This had happened three other times since
Lily had come to live with her aunt in Boston. Fear gripped her as
she shook the small frame of her aunt with more force with no
result.

Falling to her knees, she reached for her
aunt’s satchel under the bed. She rummaged around, looking for the
cylinder of smelling salts that her aunt usually had nearby for
emergencies. Not finding it, she rifled deeper into the clutter,
carefully setting aside the tiny derringer her aunt always carried,
and the knitting needles that she had yet to use since departing
Boston. As Lily was about to close the bag up, something new caught
her eye. It was a little black lacquered box etched with flowers
and a tiny pink butterfly. Lily opened it carefully, finding
several little packs of paper containing a small amount of white
powder. Confused, she slowly closed the lid and put it back where
she’d found it next to a pair of black knitted stockings. As she
pushed them to the side, she noticed that something appeared to be
stuffed inside one.

Lily sat back on her heels for a moment,
thinking furiously. Slowly, she took the sock and reached inside.
Her fingers closed around a wad of soft fabric. Instantly her heart
quailed in trepidation. When she withdrew her hand and unwrapped
the mysterious lavender cloth, a glimmering blue stone lay in the
palm of her hand. It was the size of a buffalo nickel and had a
little gold loop so it could be put on a chain. It looked
incredibly expensive.

Quickly, she re-wrapped it and stuck it back
in the sock and replaced it in her aunt’s bag. She backed away from
the bed, still staring at her aunt. She’d heard hushed stories
about opium and laudanum before, but no one in her family’s history
had ever suffered from any kind of dependence. Was the white powder
medicinal? And where had the gem come from? Was it stolen? Was that
the reason for their hasty departure?

***

“I don’t take kindly to anyone barging into
my office, Dr. McCutcheon, no matter who they think they are.” The
shocked look on Mr. Shellston’s face was worth the regret John
would feel later over his temper-fueled actions. “I’m a busy man
and can’t abide being sidetracked every other minute of the
day.”

“What I have to say will only take a minute.
I’m sure we can come to an understanding. Rio Wells isn’t so big
that you don’t have a moment for me. Or Miss Anthony, for that
matter.”

Mr. Shellston’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, you’ve
come about her. There isn’t anything more I have to say on the
subject. If her aunt was careless enough not to check references
before wiring such a large amount of money across the country, then
she deserves what she gets.”

“She’s an eighty-five-year-old woman, for
God’s sake. Have some compassion. This bank can easily make their
bad situation better if you choose to.”

Both men stood glaring at each other with the
massive desk between them. The tick of the lobby clock and their
breathing was all that was heard in the small office.

Mr. Shellston features softened. “If I’d have
received those funds from Mr. Bartlett, then of course, I’d be apt
to rethink my decision. But, am I just supposed to give them use of
a building for a whole year free?”

“With the many places I see vacant that they
could use, and I know must be owned by this bank, yes. Your bank
could easily afford it.”

“Even if I saw fit to agree, the board of
trustees would never concur. Besides, as a result every person
would come in here looking for charity. This bank does not give
away free handouts. My answer remains as it did yesterday, Dr.
McCutcheon.”

John left the bank as frustrated as when he
had entered. He strode down the walk on his way back to his office,
his mind racing over every possibility he could think of. He could
lease a building for them himself, and he would if it came down to
it, although he knew Lily and her aunt wouldn’t like feeling
beholden to him.

He could ask his uncle to talk to the mayor
and city council. Surely Uncle Winston had some pull in this town.
His ranch was the largest spread around these parts and was one of
the major reasons this town was prospering. If either of those
ideas didn’t pan out, he might be able to help Lily find a job.
That would be a shame, though, given her skills as a seamstress.
John lightly fingered the stitches on his face. They pulled when he
drew his mouth up into a fake smile to feel the tautness of his
wound. The tiny, well placed knots were a testament to her fine
needlework. He wasn’t going to just roll over and give up.

He rounded the corner and stopped, facing the
doctor’s office. As he waited for a wagon to pass he stared at the
dilapidated place, then his gaze moved across the small alley on
the left side of the building to the structure next door. Was it a
storeroom? Striding behind the wagon, he hurried the rest of the
way and tried the doorknob, finding it locked.

Bixby and Tucker were back from taking Martha
and Candy Brown home, and startled when he let the door slam behind
him.

“They get settled okay?” John asked
abruptly.

The old doctor eyed him for a long minute.
“They did. I’m happy, too, with that little gal’s progress.”

John only grunted. He hitched his head to the
side. “What’s the building next door?”