Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) (26 page)

Simon's face was drawn and pinched. Elizabeth carefully probed his ribs. He grunted quietly when she touched a few tender spots, but nothing too bad.

“I don't think anything's broken,” she said. “Can you lie down?”

“I'm not an invalid,” he said with his customary crankiness.

It was good to hear, but despite his protests, he moved slowly and painfully as he sat down on the bed. She piled up pillows against the headboard and urged him to lean back.

She'd just pulled off his boots when Catherine returned with the whisky, basin and a glass. “Anything else I can do?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Just bring up the doctor when he arrives.”

Catherine nodded and hurried back downstairs. Elizabeth closed their bedroom door and noticed how filthy her hands were. They were covered with Simon's blood and dirt. She quickly washed her hands and wiped her face before she opened their trunk. She rummaged around inside until she found the small pillbox at the bottom. Inside were several baby blue-colored pills, doxycycline. She removed one and hid the pillbox back in their trunk.

“I'm glad you thought to bring these,” Elizabeth said as she poured him a small glass of water. “God only knows what was on that knife.”

Simon grunted in agreement and took the antibiotic. He'd insisted they take Malaria pills before they left and bring these just in case. Thank God he had.

Elizabeth took the empty glass from his hand and poured in some whisky.

“I probably shouldn't,” he said. “Not with the antibiotics.”

Elizabeth nodded and then looked at the half-full glass. She shrugged and downed the glass in one swig. It burned as it went down and she fought a cough and squinted in discomfort.

Simon grimaced and held his side. “Don't make me laugh.”

Dr. Parish arrived a few minutes later. He was what a country doctor should be. He was tall, slightly stooped over, but kind and gentle. He unwrapped Simon's arm and said reassuring things as he did. Simon hardly cared, but Elizabeth was grateful.

The cut was long, about four inches, and deep, but the bleeding had almost stopped so that meant no artery had been cut. Simon had lost a fair amount of blood, but not enough to be worrying.

The doctor dug into his medical bag and took out a suture kit. The kit was little more than a few large and slightly curved needles and some thick silk thread.

Elizabeth cast a sympathetic look at Simon. “About that drink?”

He looked at the whisky bottle and back to the large needles. “Maybe just one.”

Elizabeth poured him a shot and he threw it back.

The doctor started to thread one of his needles when Elizabeth stopped him. “I know this will sound silly,” she said, “but would you mind soaking those in the whisky for a few minutes?”

She poured half the bottle of whisky into the empty basin Catherine had brought.

“What on earth for?”

“It's good for the insides and for the outside,” she said, holding out the basin. The doctor frowned. “Please?”

He clearly thought she was insane, but saw no harm in humoring her. Of course, he knew nothing about germs or the importance of disinfecting. Louis Pasteur's discoveries were still a decade away. And it would be another twenty before doctors would even begin to sterilize their instruments. How on earth anyone had survived to see the other side of the century was a miracle.

Elizabeth doused Simon's arm again with more alcohol, ignoring the doctor's arched eyebrows. Simon remained ridiculously stoic, although she knew it must have hurt like the devil.

How Simon managed not to cry out when the doctor stitched up his arm, Elizabeth would never know. He'd turned down the offer of laudanum and just gritted his teeth as the huge hooked needle pierced his skin over and over as the doctor sewed his arm closed.

Elizabeth watched it all with horror. Finally, the doctor tied off the thread and was finished. Despite the bulky thread, he'd actually done a fine job of closing the wound. There would no doubt be a scar, but they'd learned to live with those.

Just as the doctor was wrapping the wound, the Colonel returned. “How's our patient?”

“He should be fine,” the doctor said. “Keep the dressing clean and come see me in a few days, sooner if you have increased pain or swelling.”

“Thank you,” Simon said.

Catherine offered to show the doctor out, as the Colonel lingered in the doorway. “I went to the police station.” He noticed Elizabeth's questioning expression. “You are guests in my city, in my house. This is unacceptable.”

His scowl deepened. “Dr. Walker was there, like a bad penny that man. But competent enough, I suppose for their needs. Those two men, they've…let's just say this is not their first brush with the law.” He cleared his throat. “You can be assured they will not bother you again.”

Elizabeth wasn't quite sure what he'd done, but she couldn't argue with the outcome. 'Thank you.”

“If you think you'll be up to it, I'll send Cassie up with food later,” he said.

“That would be very kind,” Elizabeth said.

He nodded curtly before closing the door behind him.

Elizabeth turned to Simon, one eyebrow raised. “The Colonel does have a heart after all.”

Simon grunted. “I'm not sure I'll have any appetite.”

“I will.”

Simon smiled and took her hand. “You were magnificent. But how did you escape? I didn't see.”

Elizabeth let out a breath and shook her head. She didn't have the energy to tell him all the dirty details just now. Besides, it would just upset him and he needed rest more than anything else right now. “I'll tell you later.”

Simon nodded and closed his eyes.

“Why don't you try to get some rest?”

He opened his eyes and nodded again. She started to stand, but he tugged her hand. “Stay with me.”

She nodded and moved some of the pillows so he could slide down the bed and lie down fully. Once he was settled, she lay down next to him. His uninjured arm curled around her shoulders and pulled her against his side.

He turned his head and kissed her temple. “Your hair smells like fish,” he said drowsily.

Elizabeth laughed tiredly, and then rested her head on his shoulder, putting her hand on his chest. “Later,” she said.

It was only minutes before his breathing slowed and sleep took him. Elizabeth was not far behind.

A few hours later, Simon groaned. Elizabeth awoke instantly and sat up.

Simon's eyes opened and he blinked against the light. He saw the concern in her eyes. “I'm fine,” he said. “Just bumped my arm.”

He held it out for her to see. The bandage was still clean, no blood. He flexed his fingers. “It's all right, just sore.”

Elizabeth let out a breath. “Good.”

She noticed that a tray of food had been left on the table by the door. “Are you hungry? Do you think you can eat something?”

“A little.”

Elizabeth rearranged the pillows. Simon sat up and then leaned back against the headboard. The tray had bread and cheese and some cold meat. A small tureen of soup had gone cold, but it was better than nothing. She ladled a cup of soup and handed it to him.

Simon took a sip and then another. His color was good. In some places, bilious even.

“You're going to have a heck of a bruise there,” she said touching his jaw.

“All things considered…” he said, as he put down his cup of soup.

“Ain't that the truth,” Elizabeth said.

Simon shifted his position and groaned. “I think that fight filled my quota for this trip.” He settled back down and narrowed his eyes at her. “You're not hurt, are you? Being brave and pretending you aren't for my sake?”

Elizabeth laughed. “No. Really.” She held out her arms to show him. “See?”

Simon appeared appeased and took a bite of cheese. He chewed slowly, his jaw clearly already sore. “There's something I'm not clear about. How did you get the gun?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “The man holding me became…distracted, and I just used it to my advantage.” It wasn't an outright lie and she hoped he was too tired to delve too deeply into the details.

Simon frowned; obviously not ready to let her off the hook so easily. “Distracted?”

She knew he would wind himself up over it if she told him the whole truth of it. “I'm fine. No scars, emotional or otherwise. Heck, I'd do a lot worse to save our bacon if I had to.”

Simon tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. She probably shouldn't have said that.

She took his hand. “I'm fine; you're mostly fine. I'd say, Simon and Elizabeth for the win!”

Simon hmm'd and she knew that was the best she was going to get under the circumstances. She let go of his hand and he picked up his cup again.

“At least we won't have to worry about those two anymore. I've had enough of fish face for a lifetime.” Simon looked at her questioningly. “He was the man at the racetrack who sent the first warning.”

Simon put down his cup and closed his eyes as the pieces seemed to fall into place. “Of course! I knew I'd seen his face before.”

“You saw him there?”

“Talking with Dr. Walker.”

“That's something I don't quite get,” Elizabeth said. “Walker seems to be involved, but why?”

Simon sighed thoughtfully. “Blackmail?” he suggested. “Perhaps he knew about James or Eli's affair and child, and has been covering it up for a price?”

Elizabeth nodded and remembered what the Colonel had said about the doctor's penchant for losing high stakes wagers. “Pay off his gambling debts. That makes sense, but I feel like there's something else.”

Simon had stopped picking at the tray of food. “Finished?”

He nodded and she put the tray back on the side table and began to undress. “There was something I was thinking about at the party,” she said, “before we were kicked out.”

Simon snorted.

Elizabeth stepped out of her dress and unhooked her corset. “Eight years ago, there were two children born on the same day. Or close to it at least. One to a rich family, and the other to a poor one.”

“Very
Prince and the Pauper
.”

Elizabeth took off her petticoats and then climbed back onto the bed. She sat Indian-style facing Simon.

“Exactly. But they're not twins. No one would confuse one for the other.”

Simon frowned. “No.”

“What if,” Elizabeth said, leaning forward. Something was starting to gel. “Rose said that everyone feared Louisa would be born too sickly to live, but by some miracle she was healthy. Perfect.”

“But Mary was sickly, wasn't she?” Simon said.

“Yes. What if it wasn't a miracle at all? What if someone switched them? Biologically, we think Mary's a Harper, and that Louisa isn't.”

Simon shook his head. “Why? Why would someone send their own child away and take in another?”

Elizabeth frowned. There was something floating in her mind just beyond her reach. “I don't know, but the doctor was there for both births, and I wouldn't put anything past him.”

Simon agreed and rested his head back against the pillows. Clearly, he was exhausted, too exhausted for this.

“Let's talk more about it tomorrow,” she said. “We could both use a good night's sleep.”

“Agreed.”

Elizabeth got off the bed and walked over to the nightstand with a fresh basin of water.

“Are you going to sleep over there?” he asked, straining his neck to watch her.

She picked up a washcloth. “Just going to clean up a bit first. I smell like fish.” Simon's eyebrows drew together in genuine confusion and concern. “I could give you a sponge bath,” she added.

He smiled, but just barely. “Tomorrow. I'd like to have enough energy to enjoy it properly.”

Elizabeth laughed and helped him settle into bed. By the time she'd finished cleaning up he was fast asleep. She watched him for a few minutes before rolling onto her back and staring up into the night. Somewhere in it, there was an answer. If only she could see in the dark.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The last thing on earth Simon wanted to do was attend the Veterans' Spring Gala, and yet, here he was, forcing a smile to his face and making small talk with Mrs. Goode and Mrs. Cobb. His head hurt, his jaw ached and his arm throbbed. But he had little choice. This might well be their last chance to talk to the Harpers, if they even decided to arrive. He and Elizabeth had to convince them to do the right thing. He would not fail Mary.

“It's a wonderful cause,” Elizabeth said, pulling Simon back to the present. “Isn't it, Simon?”

“Yes,” he said, unsure of just what she was talking about.

Mrs. Goode stared at him expectantly. He looked back confused until he noticed the ream of raffle tickets in her hands.

Simon reached for his wallet, but winced.

Elizabeth laughed and patted his chest. “Ah!” She reached inside his jacket and took out his wallet.

Mrs. Goode's eyebrows arched in surprise and with no small measure of pleasure at the size of the bills Elizabeth pulled out.

“One of a wife's many pleasures,” Elizabeth said as she put his wallet back. “Spending her husband's money.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Goode said. “Here you are.” She held out a fan of raffle tickets.

Elizabeth took them and carelessly stuffed them into her small purse.

Mrs. Goode smiled and then stepped forward conspiratorially. “I heard what happened yesterday. Attacked by Indians!”

“I'm sorry?” Elizabeth said.

“What have you to be sorry for,” the woman said and she shuddered. “Good heavens, I can't imagine. I would have fainted dead away.”

“I heard they were Sioux,” Mrs. Cobb added.

“Six of them!” Mrs. Goode said.

“Six Sioux?” Elizabeth said, barely fighting her smile.

“And a herd of buffalo,” Catherine said, appearing at their side and winking at Elizabeth. “I think my father was looking for the two of you,” she added with a rather wide-eyed and obvious
get out of here while you can
look.

“Of course. You'll excuse us,” Elizabeth said, and without waiting for an answer, looped her arm through Simon's left arm and started around the perimeter of the room.

The large town hall had been turned into a ballroom for the gala. Small tables and chairs lined the walls leaving the center free for dancing. A small orchestra filled the stage and played painfully jaunty quadrilles and more elegant waltzes.