The Accidental Lawman (24 page)

“I was fourteen when I started. I grew up fast. Wounds from a Minié ball are terribly ugly. They smash and crush bone, tear away intestines.”

“There’s nothing you haven’t seen, I’ll bet.” Laura sounded sympathetic.

“Pyemia is the worst. Pus in the blood. Thousands died from surgical fever after treatment.”

“How long were you a war nurse?”

“Almost four years. We moved all over the South, came through Tennessee, Kentucky, Arkansas.”

Laura shook her head in disbelief. “What was your father thinking, dragging his children around during the war? Exposing you to that kind of carnage?”

Amelia swabbed the wound again and pondered the question. What
had
her father been thinking? It was one thing to act selflessly to help others, but had it been wise to haul his children around from battlefield to battlefield
like camp followers? Would Evan have grown up differently if he hadn’t been raised in the shadow of battlefields and temporary hospital wards full of suffering and death?

“He felt it was his duty.”

“How could you stand it?”

Amelia looked up at Laura again. “I put my faith in God back then.”

“You don’t now?”

Amelia paused. “Not anymore.” She’d never seen Laura at church. Never seen the woman at any of the church socials, except for the masquerade party. “Do you?”

A thoughtful expression crossed Laura’s face. “No.”

Amelia closed her eyes, probed Hank’s wound with the tip of her finger, quickly came in contact with the bullet. He moaned. She remained steady. He didn’t move or awaken. She glanced up at Laura.

“Pass me those long-handled tweezers, please.”

Laura moved quickly and efficiently, handed the tweezers to Amelia then pressed down on Hank’s shoulders again.

Amelia wiped her brow on her shoulder. This was another moment when she would have prayed. Instead, she forged on without it. Within a second or two, she slowly extracted the bullet from Hank’s flesh.

“Excellent work,” Laura said as Amelia laid the bullet aside. “He’s sure lost a lot of blood. You think he’ll make it?”

Amelia was afraid to be too optimistic. “Now the worries will be tetanus, fever, at the worst, gangrene.” Hank could die in countless painful ways.

The truth hit her hard. Amelia’s head began to swim.

“Are you all right?” Laura grabbed her by the elbow.

Amelia shook off the momentary wave of panic and reminded herself she felt nothing anymore. She reminded herself she didn’t care. Especially about Hank.

Amelia ripped his pant leg open and inspected his leg wound. The bullet hadn’t broken the bone and was easily removed. As she stitched him up, Laura volunteered to make a pot of tea.

“He’s a mess,” Laura commented once Amelia was through and washing her hands and arms of his blood. “Let’s cut off his clothes and I’ll bathe him.”

Amelia’s face caught fire. “I…could you?”

Laura shrugged. “It won’t bother me in the least, but I reckon it would be hard on you. You’re sweet on him.”

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s no secret he kissed you right in the middle of Main Street.”

“That was before he killed my brother.”

Laura was pouring water into two coffee mugs. Her hands stilled, the kettle suspended over the second cup. “Sometimes we do things we don’t want to do, things we know aren’t right but we have to do them.”

“Not all of us do.”

“You telling me you never had to make a choice and wound up doing something that went against everything you believed in?” Laura set down the kettle and waited for Amelia to answer.

Amelia began washing off her instruments and placing them back in the case. There was no way she could tell Laura Foster that, yes, she’d finally done something that went against everything she ever believed in—she’d turned her back on God.

The unanswered question hung between them. Thankfully, Laura didn’t press the issue. Amelia was glad the
woman respected her silence. Soon they stood over Hank again. Together they cut off his ruined shirt. While Amelia put her equipment away, Laura swabbed the blood off Hank’s upper body.

“You realize folks are still waiting for word out on your front porch?”

“What?” Amelia blinked, looked around the kitchen as if coming to herself.

“People are camped out on your front porch, waiting for word. Go get some of the men to help move him to the bedroom.”

“What?”

“You still speak English, don’t you?” Laura planted her hands on her hips. “You plan on leaving this man right here in the middle of your kitchen table? Or will you be moving him to the bedroom?”

“I can’t…he can’t stay
here.
”

“He’s unconscious, Amelia. I think your chastity is perfectly safe for the time being.”

“It’s not that—”

“What is it then?”

“It’s simply impossible.”

“I’ll stay the night. I’ll go back to the boardinghouse and gather a few things for myself then stay until you find someone else. Is there anyone who could help out and stay with you while he’s bedridden?”

The first and only name that came to mind was Hattie Ellenberg.

“I suppose Hattie wouldn’t mind.”

“Fine. You want to go out and tell everyone the sheriff is all right for now, or should I?”

Amelia walked back over to the table and pressed the palm of her hand to Hank’s forehead. Despite everything
that had gone between them, despite what he’d done, she was loath to leave his side. At least not now.

“I’ll stay here. You let them know how he’s doing and then ask Harrison, Mick and a couple others to help us move him. I…I have a spare room.”

Evan’s room.

The bedding was clean and aired. She’d polished the windows, buffed the floor. As if she were preparing the place for a welcome guest.

Little had she known the man responsible for Evan’s death would be sleeping in her brother’s bed tonight.

Laura and Harrison had managed to get Hank into one of Harrison’s nightshirts and the men carried him to bed. Exhausted, Amelia spent the night dozing in a chair beside the bed.

Hank never stirred. It hadn’t worried her at first, but the longer he remained unconscious, the more her concern grew. She continually felt his forehead for signs of fever. She checked his head for bumps and bruises, thinking he may have suffered a blow, too, but found nothing.

Sometime before dawn, she slipped into a deep sleep and when Laura finally woke her and handed her a welcome cup of fresh coffee, Amelia had a crick in her neck. She rubbed the back of her neck, rolled her head around.

Laura reached down and smoothed the covers over Hank’s chest.

“He’s still alive, at least,” she said.

Amelia sipped the coffee and looked down at Hank. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully. “He’s never gained consciousness, though. That has me worried.”

“He’s healing,” Laura told her. “Let him sleep.”

Amelia felt every joint creak as she got to her feet and
thanked Laura for her help. “You’d better get back to your guests,” she told the other woman. “I can’t thank you enough for your help.”

Laura nodded. “Glad to be of service. I have a feeling you wouldn’t yell for help even if you were on fire in the middle of Main Street.”

Amelia smiled for the first time in a long time. “Probably not.”

“You’re as stubborn as I am. I spotted that in you the first time we met.”

They walked through the house. Laura paused by the front door, glanced in the mirror and tucked one stray curl into place. Somehow she’d managed to sleep all night without disturbing her intricate hairstyle. Amelia was amazed.

“I’m going to send Ricardo over with some food so you won’t have to cook. You need to put a little meat back on your bones.”

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary, really.” Amelia couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.

“I know it. I’m sending it anyway. I’ll make certain someone goes to the Rocking e to fetch your friend Hattie.”

“You know the Ellenbergs?” Amelia wondered.

“I do. I was there when Joe proposed to Rebekah, but that’s a story for another time. You take care, Amelia. I’ll be back to check on you in a couple of days.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you,” Amelia said.

As Laura stepped out the front door and crossed the porch, Amelia realized that for the first time in a long while, she was looking forward to tomorrow.

H
attie arrived without fuss or fanfare and moved in to help spell Amelia.

Between them, they were able to give Hank Larson round-the-clock care. Amelia wasn’t certain she would be up to the task of nursing Hank back to health alone any more than she was willing to have him in her house without someone else present. The Hawthorne name had been sullied enough.

She was thankful for Hattie’s speedy arrival, and her willingness to help with everything.

“I can stay as long as you need me,” Hattie told her.

“My father always said that good nursing was as necessary as doctoring for the patient’s recovery. I thank you kindly, Hattie, for helping.”

When the woman took off her bonnet and hung it on the hall tree, Amelia saw the angry scar above Hattie’s forehead. It was a visible reminder of how close Hattie had come to losing her life. Most of the time, Amelia completely forgot it was there. Today she also noticed that Hattie had not only brought along her quiet determination, but her Bible.

Amelia fell silent as Hattie carried the Bible into the sickroom and set it on Hank’s bedside table.

Hours slipped into days and still Hank failed to regain consciousness. Sometime during the second night, he grew feverish. While Hattie took over giving him fever baths with cold water and brisk rubs, Amelia administered a mixture of snakeroot and valerian, which she tried to spoon into him every couple of hours.

He fought the spoon, fought her hands, but thankfully he was too weak to struggle very hard. She managed to get some of the liquid down. Soon she and Hattie settled into a routine.

Hattie spent nights on a pallet on the floor in Hank’s room while Amelia tossed and turned in her own bed. She nursed Hank during the day and left the house long enough to feed and water Sweet Pickle. Hattie took care of laundering the linens. True to her word, Laura sent over enough food to feed an army so they didn’t have to worry about cooking or going after supplies.

Harrison called for a report to the community. Amelia had to tell him there was no news. Hank was alive, but his condition hadn’t changed. He was battling fever and was still unconscious.

She bade Harrison goodbye after his latest visit and walked into Hank’s room only to find Hattie deep in prayer. She was on her knees at Hank’s bedside, her hands folded, her head bowed.

“…watch over him, dear Lord, give him the strength to survive to serve You again. Heal his wounds, strengthen his resolve. He has turned his life over to You, O Lord. Now give him back his health so that he may spread word of Your loving blessings and—” Hattie paused, looked up. “Come in, Amelia. Come
pray with me.” She raised her hand, invited Amelia to the bedside.

Amelia couldn’t move. “I can’t,” she whispered.

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Hattie got slowly to her feet and crossed the room. After a glance at Hank, she ushered Amelia into the kitchen and left the bedroom door cracked open so that they could hear if he made the slightest sound.

“Would you like some tea or coffee?” Amelia asked her. “Or how about lemonade? Laura sent some over—” She paused when she saw the way Hattie was looking at her and raised her hand. “Whatever it is you are about to say, Hattie, please don’t.”

“I don’t need anything right now, thank you.” Hattie sat down heavily at the table. “I see all the hurt and pain inside you. It doesn’t have to be, Amelia.”

Amelia went completely still. “What are you saying?”

Hattie shook her head. “I saw it in Joe, when he was in his teenage years…and after the Comanche raid when his pa and Mellie were killed. He turned hard, indifferent. I see that same loss, that same anger in your eyes, Amelia. I saw it when you looked at my Bible and I saw it a minute ago when I asked you to pray with me.”

“Hattie—”

“Don’t turn away from God when you need Him most.”

“God turned His back on me. On Evan. I don’t need Him any more than He needs me.”

Hattie covered her cheeks with her hands and stared at Amelia over her fingertips.

“Oh, dear,” Hattie whispered.

“Yes. Oh, dear.”

“A trial of our faith builds strength, Amelia. You are being tested, that’s all. Don’t give in.”

“It’s too late, Hattie.”

“James said, ‘Let him ask in faith, nothing wavering. He that wavererth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.’”

Amelia argued. “I believed all my life. I was certain God was there, that He was watching over us, that my spirit was nurtured by knowing and serving Him. I never asked for anything other than help in healing those who came to me in need. I asked Him to help my brother turn away from a path of destruction. He refused.”

Hattie sighed. For her it was all so clear. So simple.

“God works for the good of those who love Him, those who have been called according to His purpose, Amelia.
His
purpose. Not ours. We can’t even guess what He has in store for us. Everything that comes to us through Him—the riches, the sorrows, the joy, the difficulties, the loss, He gives us for our greater good. For our
spiritual
good.”

“Are you saying He took Evan for
my own good?
” Amelia laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. Only bitterness.

“He took my Orson. He took my only daughter when she was still a child, an innocent who’d never done anything but brighten our lives and warm our hearts. He brought our enemies down upon us when we were vulnerable against them and He left me alive to live the rest of my life scarred in body and heart.”

“Yet you don’t hate Him.”

“Because I believe, Amelia. I have faith that He is teaching me, guiding me, loving me enough to mold me and make me worthy of Him with each and every passing day. Think about it, Amelia. Had the Lord not taken Orson and Mellie, Joe would have most likely left the ranch the way Evan left. He’d have gone out seeking a
new life on his own and wound up in terrible straits. Instead, his guilt kept him here, seeing to me. If he hadn’t been around, he’d have never met Rebekah. If I’d never suffered at the hands of the Comanche, I would have never been asked to take Rebekah in. The army came to me, knowing I was the only one who might be able to help her. Think of what Joe’s and my life would be like without Rebekah and the children. Think what Joe would be now if God hadn’t brought them together.”

Hattie brushed her skirt over her knees. “We have been called according to His purpose,” she repeated. “I’m not asking you to believe when you can’t. I’m just asking you to think about what faith really means. Yours has been tested in a terrible way. You have suffered a great loss, but this is the time to embrace God, to take comfort in His holy word. To go to Him in prayer. This is no time to turn away.”

With that said, Hattie stood up, got herself a glass of water. Amelia remained silent, thoughtful. And ashamed.

Hattie had survived unspeakable acts committed on her person. She’d endured losses she never usually spoke of—and yet her faith remained unwavering.

“I’m going out to tend to your garden,” Hattie told her. “It’s been sorely neglected. It’s about gone, but with some watering and a little care, it might just be saved to thrive again. I’m thinking maybe you need some time alone to think. Just give a holler if you need me.”

Amelia sank into an empty chair and watched Hattie walk out the back door.

Hank was trapped in a world of heat and cold and searing pain.

He fought to open his eyes, to swim to the surface of consciousness, to break through the fog that imprisoned
him. Sights and sounds beyond his ability to reason haunted him while he existed in a netherworld. He thought on occasion he heard Amelia’s voice, knew that was impossible. She hated him now. He’d handed her his heart on a platter and she’d sent him away. She would never, ever forgive him for killing Evan.

Images whirled through his mind like bits and pieces of a shattered dream. He was outside Harroway House, his gun drawn and trained on the front door when it flew open. Sophronia Harroway screamed a moment before she was shoved outside. A bead of sweat trickled from beneath Hank’s hatband, stung his right eye. He swiped it with the back of his wrist. Aimed again.

A tall, thin young man had one arm wrapped around Sophronia’s throat and was shoving her ahead of him as they exited the house.

“Shoot and I’ll kill her,” he shouted.

Sophronia kicked and spit and screamed like a banshee. Beside Hank, the Tonkawa scout moved, crouched down, aimed his carbine rifle.

“Hold your fire,” Hank said.

At the very same moment, the scout pulled the trigger.

Evan shot back. Sophronia screamed. Evan turned the gun on her, held it against her temple.

“Stop!”
Hank reacted without hesitation and watched in disbelief as the young man fell. Spattered with her captor’s blood, Sophronia ran screaming into the yard, hair flying, her torn clothing flapping around her.

Now Hank was on fire. Surely he was burning in hell for what he’d done.

Amelia’s brother.

Memory came to him in fragments of thought. The man he’d killed was Amelia’s brother.

He tried to call for help, but his dry tongue felt too big for his mouth. He couldn’t wrap it around words. His chest ached. His leg throbbed ceaselessly.

Let me die, he thought. Let me go.

Suddenly Tricia was there. He saw her holding a babe in her arms. A babe that looked like Little Orson Ellenberg. She was smiling, waving to him. He tried to reach her, but his feet were leaden. He tried to call her name, but his tongue got in the way again. She turned around without hearing him. Turned and walked away.

Amelia was still sitting in the kitchen when she heard Hank moan. She jumped up, pushed the door open and found him thrashing around in a state of delirium.

Hattie had left clean towels and a basin of water on the floor beside the bed. Amelia soaked a towel and wrung it out, then swabbed Hank’s forehead, his cheeks, his neck.

Over the past few days she’d memorized every line on his face, the laugh lines that bracketed his mouth, the squint lines at the corners of his eyes. She’d shaved his beard stubble when it grew out overnight, kept his skin smooth shaven the way he did. She was still amazed by his lashes.

He whispered something that sounded like
fish. Fish?
Then Amelia realized he was saying Tricia. His wife’s name. She took hold of both his hands, turned them over, pressed the wet compress against his wrists. For the first time in forever, raw emotion coursed through her. Fear.

Hank was dying.

She’d seen it all too often. Sometimes folks cried the name of those gone before them just before they passed on.

“Tricia.” The sound was not even a whisper, barely a hush of breath.

Amelia squeezed his hands, refused to let him go. “Hank,” she said too harshly, but it didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered but saving him. “Hank, if you can hear me, open your eyes.”

He didn’t move. Again, the hushed sound escaped him. “Tricia.”

Amelia steeled herself for him to draw his last breath, to shudder, to leave her. He began to thrash, tried to avoid her touch with more strength than she thought he could muster. She tried to calm him, shushed him even, but he continued to moan and toss and turn. His head shifted from side to side on his pillow.

Suddenly, he was no longer burning up.

Though his eyes were still closed, he unerringly found Amelia’s wrist when she laid her hand on his forehead again. He clung to her, held on tight. His eyes opened and he stared into hers, but she knew he was out of his head when he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of your brother, Amelia. I promise.”

Spent, he closed his eyes without ever really seeing her.

Shaking, she reached for the blankets at the foot of the bed and drew them over him with her free hand. Then, because he wouldn’t let go, she lowered herself to the chair at his bedside and let him cling to her hand.

Not until he fell into a peaceful slumber was she able to tuck her fear away.

Unfortunately, there was nothing inside her to take its place.

The next afternoon, Reverend McCormick and Charity showed up at the door. Hattie welcomed them inside and Amelia found them all congregated in the front room.

“Look who has come to pay a call.” Hattie acted as if conditions had not been strained between the reverend and Amelia since Evan’s burial.

Amelia nodded in greeting, but she hung back in the doorway.

“We’ve come to see how Hank is fairing.” Brand’s concern was evident. “We’ve been in Austin for a meeting of ministers from the surrounding counties.”

Amelia couldn’t help but notice Brand was watching her closely. “Reverend?” she said.

“I hoped we could visit with Hank. Just for a while.”

“He’s…he’s never regained consciousness,” Amelia admitted. “He’s had a raging fever, but it has tapered off.”

“With your permission, I’d still like to sit with him a while. To pray. Charity, too.”

“May I join you?” Hattie asked.

“Of course.” Brand nodded. “I know better than to try to keep you away. Besides, when many pray together, miracles often happen.” He turned to Amelia. “Will you be joining us?”

There was such a look of hope, of expectation in his eyes, that Amelia turned away. If they were waiting for a miracle in this house, it would be a long wait.

“I think not. I’ll fix you all some lemonade instead.” She headed for the kitchen.

Brand immediately handed his Bible to Charity. “I’d like to speak with you alone if I may,” he said to Amelia.

“I thought you were—”

“Hank’s not going anywhere, obviously. Let’s talk.” His tone was firm and insistent.

Amelia refused to meet Hattie’s eyes. Had the woman put Brand up to this? she wondered. He followed her into the kitchen where she turned away from his thoughtful
stare. She began to take glasses out of the cupboard and set them on the dry sink.

“Amelia, please,” he said softly. “Sit down.”

She sighed, turned and pulled out a chair at the table. He sat across from her and leaned back. He was silent for so long she found herself fidgeting nervously. She smoothed her hands over the worn fabric of the tablecloth.