“Wait!” Dusty said. “He don’t have anything on under there.”
Sarah’s hand recoiled as if she had been burned. “You just placed him in there like that?”
“Like the day he was born,” Dell said, putting a fresh bowl of water on the nightstand.
“Well then one of you will have to wash him.”
Dusty took his hat off and scrunched it in his hand. “I need to get back and check on that cow. I’ll be in the barn if you need me.” He turned tail and ran from the room.
“Are you okay to do this, Dell?”
“T’ain’t nothing. I’ll stitch him up if you want me to. Done it plenty of times for the boys. Won’t be as pretty as your stitching, but it should work.”
“Let me go find that liniment that Father had. I saw some bruising on his shoulder. I’m sure there is more over the rest of him.”
“He looks about the same size as Jacob. See if you can find a pair of his britches while you are rooting around.”
Sarah left to find the items Dell needed.
She hadn’t gone into her parent’s room since the accident. The pain was too fresh. She pushed open the door and peeked inside. The girls weren’t allowed in the bedroom, so it was as if Sarah was committing some terrible sin.
She pushed open the door and took in the dark furnishings of the stained wood furniture. The bed had four posts and a canopy on top. It sat several feet off the ground. She could see the steps Momma had next to the bed where she would climb on to the mattress.
There were two dressers and an armoire. She walked over to her father’s dresser and traced her finger over the top. Dust swirled into the air. Her mother would be beside herself. This room was always pristine and in a few short weeks everything had the lightest coating of dust on it.
The dresser was covered with her father’s personal belongings. Mementos of when she and Lacey were children. A rock they found at the creek. A tin type photograph which was darkening with age. A lock of Momma’s beautiful blonde hair in a frame. His comb. Some loose coins and a few receipts.
She lit a match and held it against the oil lamp. The wick crackled to life. She picked up the receipts and flipped through them. They were receipts for seeds. She placed them back on the dresser. She picked up her father’s comb. There was a lone hair wrapped between the teeth. She pulled it out and looked at it before releasing it to float into the dust.
She pulled open the drawers and rifled through the contents. She found a pair of socks and a clean pair of long breeches. She could give those to Dell for the unconscious man.
She looked through a few more drawers and found the bottle of liniment. Adding that to the growing pile, she took one more look around. There wasn’t anything of significance in the room. Just plenty of memories.
Sarah picked up the drawers, socks and liniment and headed back down to Lacey’s room. Dell was leaning over the man stitching his wound.
“I found these,” she said, placing the items on the bottom of the bed. “How is he?”
“He’s alive,” Dell said drawing the needle through the torn skin. “Looks like he fell into the creek and hit his head on a rock.”
“What was he doing by the creek?”
“You can ask him when he wakes up.”
“Coffee?”
Dell looked at her. “That would be nice.”
Sarah went back to her father’s study to get the tea tray. As she lifted the tray, she noticed that the papers that Mr. Mathews gave to her that morning were tucked underneath. How?
She patted her pocket, already knowing the papers weren’t there. Mrs. Pennyworth!
Angel or not, Mrs. Pennyworth had no business snooping through her private papers. She put the tray back down on the desk and pulled the papers from underneath it.
The pages were out of order. Sarah gave a silent groan and started scanning the pages to reorder them.
One point three. Seven point 6. Nine point zero.
Section nine. Didn’t Mr. Mathews say something about section nine? Her eyes quickly darted along the words pressed onto the page. Most of it was legal speak and Sarah didn’t understand what it meant.
Then her eyes fell upon Section 9.4. Didn’t Mr. Mathews tell her to have the attorney pay specific attention to that section? She started reading aloud.
“If it comes to take place that the payor is deceased, then the heir apparent will be responsible for such taxes. If the living beneficiary to the property is a woman, then it will go to the closest male relative, unless the only living heir is married. Then it will unto her husband to be responsible for deciding to settle accounts and keep the property. In as such, the husband will become the heir and the property will revert to the husband’s name. If the taxes are not settled by April 30, 1894, then the property will default to the state and be sold for recompence.”
What did that mean? That if she had a husband, then he could decide to repay the taxes? It sounded like that is what it meant. Perhaps he could even file for additional time on her behalf.
All she needed to do was to find someone to marry her so he could handle it. Sarah scoffed. No one would do that. No matter the price. Yes, she heard of marriages of convenience, but usually they were to benefit both parties. She really didn’t have anything to offer.
Sarah slid the papers back in her pocket. She would need to talk to Mr. Rodgers. As soon as the roads became passable again, she would make a point of going into town.
She picked up the tray and headed back to the kitchen to make Dell a cup of coffee. She had just finished washing the cups and placing them back in the cupboard when Dell walked in. “Coffee’s on the table.”
Dell grunted and took a seat at the small wooden table. Sarah sat down with the teapot. She took the strainer from the tray and placed a square of linen in the sifter. She placed it over a bowl and started to pour the tea through the linen.
Dell sipped his coffee and watched her. “What are you doing?”
“I wasted these tea leaves today. So, I’m going to dry them out and reuse them. The linen is to catch the leaves as the tea flows through the strainer.”
“Why don’t ya buy some more? I can’t imagine reusing tea leaves would be good. I know if you reuse coffee grounds the coffee is undrinkable.”
Sarah finished straining the tea and then put the strainer in the resting cup. “I don’t know how much money I’m going to have so I probably can’t afford tea.”
“You need to find your father’s money.”
“I wish I could. I just don’t know where he buried it. Or if he buried it.” Sarah wrapped up the linen and squeezed all the excess tea from the leaves before laying it to dry on the table.
“Your father took meticulous notes. He probably kept a record of it somewhere.”
“I’m still going through everything.”
“It will take a while.”
“It may take too long if I can’t come up with the money to pay the taxes.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Unless you have fifty dollars or can find me a husband, probably not.”
Dell let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Might as well be five hundred. I think I have about ten dollars to my name.”
“You mentioned a husband.”
Sarah pulled out the papers and handed it to Dell. He looked at the words on the page. “I can’t read this.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Dell. Let me read it to you.” She repeated the words she had recited earlier.
When she was done, Dell looked at her thoughtfully. “How about Dusty?”
“How about Dusty, what?”
“What about marrying Dusty?”
Sarah thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“Why not? He’s an honest man. Heck, he didn’t want me to bring that man in here on account of your reputation.” Dell finished his coffee. “’sides, he ain’t half bad to look at.”
Sarah laughed. She got u
p and kissed Dell’s cheek. “Dell, I’d sooner marry you, than some handsome cowboy who has sweethearts from here to San Francisco.”
Dell touched his cheek. “Might be able to arrange that too,” he laughed.
Sarah quickly washed the teapot and set it to dry. “What should I do about him?” She tilted her head towards the room.
“I’ll get my bedroll and I can sleep here. Just in case something happens.”
“Thank you, Dell.” She didn’t expect anything to happen, but she also didn’t want any whispers to be heard around town. News traveled fast in Creede. Even though it was a large town, a rumor such as an unattached woman tending to a man could ruin her reputation.
Dell nodded. “I’ll be right back. When I return, we might want to dry out the stuff in his knapsack.”
“I didn’t think about that, but it sounds good.”
“Might want to make another pot of coffee too.” He took one last look at Sarah. “What’s on your mind, miss?”
“I was just thinking how I could get to town. The last time the road was swept away it took us three days before we could get into town.”
“I’ll have Dusty go out and look tomorrow. How long you plan on keeping him here?”
“Just until I am sure he is healing.”
Dell nodded and Sarah shut the door behind him.
Unsure what to do, she went back to her father’s study and started looking through his journals.
Soon she thought her eyes might roll into the back of her head. There was nothing in any of them that would give her an indication where her father hid his money.
She heard Dell come back into the house. He popped his head in the office. “You need to go to bed, miss.”
“Let’s quickly go through that knapsack and dry out anything that needs to be dry.” Dell agreed and they went to the room where the man was sleeping.
Dell picked up the sack. A water stain already appeared on the wood floor where the bag rested. He dumped the contents out on the small area rug in the room.
“Looks like a bunch of nothin’,” Dell said.
There was an extra pair of pants, two shirts, a small notebook, an apple, a worn blanket, and a tin. Sarah picked up the notebook first. She flipped it over and a name was scrawled on the front in bold strokes.
“Ian Poole,” she read. Most of the pages had been ruined by the water. The ink had smeared into the pages and not a word was legible.
She looked at the man asleep on the bed. “Well, Ian Poole, let’s see what else you have here.” Sarah put the notebook aside. She didn’t know if the pages would be salvageable unless she tore them from the binding and dried each one individually.
The clothes were drenched. She would hang those up in the kitchen and they should be dry by morning. Dell had picked up the tin and was turning it in his hands. It was the size of one of the cigar boxes she had seen at the mercantile.
“I don’t know if we should open that, Dell,” Sarah said.
“Might be something in there that can help us figure out who to contact about him.”
Reluctantly, Sarah nodded, giving Dell the go ahead to pry open the tin.
“Side got smashed when he hit that rock.” Dell grunted as he pulled the tin apart. He gave one last grunt and the top separated from the bottom causing papers and coins to fly everywhere.
“Oh my,” Sarah said, picking up the papers and paper money that had fallen to the floor. “These are bank notes.” She quickly collected them. They were from various banks around the country.
“What do those mean?”
Sarah sorted the cash and bank notes into different piles. “It means that when he gets to wherever he is going he can take these to the bank, and they are good as cash. The money will be transferred to him.”
“How much is there?”
Sarah quickly counted the pile in front of her. “Over ninety-dollars in cash and three hundred dollars in bank notes.”
Dell gave a low whistle. “What would a young’un like him have with that much money?”
“I don’t know.”
“Looksee here,” Dell said handing Sarah a folded piece of paper. “These look like the symbols on the side of the barn.”
Sarah took the paper and smoothed it with her fingers. There were various drawings along with words under each.
Nice lady.
Hot meal.
Law lives here.
Not a safe place.
Easy pickings.
Doctor. Won’t charge.
Clean water.
Catch train here.
“You think he’s a bank robber?”
“No. He’s no bank robber.” She looked at Dell. “Mr. Poole is a train jumper.”
Chapter 5
Ian’s eyes fluttered open. The light was so bright he lifted his hand to shield his eyes from it. It took a few minutes for everything to come into focus.
He could see he wasn’t in the train car, nor was he back home in his own bed. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his head forced him to lay back down. He felt nauseated. Letting the wave of dizziness subside, he opened his eyes once more and looked around the room.
It wasn’t like any doctor’s office or hotel he had been in either. The room was decorated in blue, pink and yellow. There was lace everywhere. Lace curtains, lace doilies on the table and dresser and he could even see lace on the edges of the pillowcases.
This was a room that belonged to a young girl. He tried to sit up once more, this time holding his head. His fingers grazed over some type of wrapping on his head. He felt it gingerly, as with every touch he felt as though he might pass out.
It appeared that the wrap was holding some sort of patch in place. His fingers felt in the middle and Ian saw stars appear behind his eyes. He must have hit himself on something. But what?
His last memories were jumping off the train. He couldn’t remember anything prior to that. Where was he going? Where had he come from?
He managed to get himself into a sitting position without passing out.
Perhaps he was dead?
He closed his eyes to rest for a moment then he heard the door open.
“Sarah!” a man’s voice called. The man came in and stood at the foot of the bed. “’bout time you came around, son,” he said.
The man looked as old as Ian’s grandfather. He had hair that was once dark, but now was mixed with white and gray. There was stubble as if he hadn’t shaved in a few days, but not enough to call it a beard. His clothes were stained by dirt and mud. He didn’t think people in heaven would be wearing dirty clothes.
“What is it, Dell?” a softer voice asked. A woman came to the doorway and paused once she saw him. “You’re awake.”
If Ian had died, then she must be an angel. She stepped into the room and stood next to the man she called Dell.
He wouldn’t call her beautiful by any means, but there was something about her. Her hair was pulled so tightly in a bun that her eyes and cheeks were pulled back. She had rich dark hair the color of coffee. Ian could see some red strands reflecting from where the sun came through the window.
She wore a dress which was the ugliest color of brown he had ever seen. It wasn’t even a brown brown. It appeared to be a cross between a brown and red. Her eyes were deep brown, framed by long lashes and her skin was deepened by the sun.
Ian gazed on her full lips the color of strawberries in the summer. Her lips were the only splash of color he could see. He estimated her to be in her early twenties, but she looked older as she was frowning at him in that brown dress. Ian wondered what it would take to make her laugh.
“Dell,” she said. “We probably need to send for the doctor.” The man stood there with a cup in his hand. She took the cup from him and gently placed her hand on his arm. “Dell, now.”
“Oh! Right. I’ll get Dusty on it right away.” The man left and the woman came over to the side of the bed, blocking the sunlight so he could see her clearly.
Ian realiz
ed that yes, she wasn’t beautiful; instead, she was breathtaking. She put the cup on the table next to him. With gentle fingers the woman touched the bandage on his head. She pulled her fingers away so quickly, Ian thought he imagined the gentleness of her touch.
She pulled up a chair closer to the bed and looked at him with kind eyes. “How are you feeling? Do you remember anything?”
Ian tried to speak but instead of words, a guttural sound came from his mouth. He licked his lips and could tell that they were dry and cracked.
“Oh, I apologize. I’m not much of a hostess, am I? Let me get you something to drink. Stay there.” She quickly left the room. Stay there? As if he had anywhere else to go.
It only took a moment for her to return with a jar of water. She put her hand against Ian’s neck and held the jar against his lips. His skin burned where she touched him.
“Don’t drink it too quickly. You might choke.” Ian didn’t care. He was so thirsty. She finally pulled the jar away and put it back on the table. “You can have some more in a bit.” She settled back down on the chair, adjusting the skirt of the ugly brown dress and then leaning forward on her elbows. “How are you feeling, Mr. Poole?”
Mr. Poole? Why was she calling him that?
“Who’s Mr. Poole?”
She pushed back from her elbows and sat straight in the chair. “Isn’t that you? Mr. Ian Poole?”
Ian felt the bandage on his head again. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? That’s the name on your notebook.”
“I honestly don’t know.” Ian looked at the woman again. “Who are you?”
“My name is Sarah Abrahams and you are at my family… I mean, you are at my farm. My farm hands found you in the creek during a storm and brought you here. Why would you be in the creek, Mr. Poole?”
“I don’t know. How long have I been here?”
“Four nights. I don’t know how long were you unconscious before Dusty found you.”
“Dusty? Is that your husband?”
The woman gave a light laugh and her face completely changed. Her eyes appeared brighter and her face instantly relaxed. “No. Dusty isn’t my husband. He is one of the farm hands. What is the last thing you remember?”
Married by Midnight Page 4
