She returned within a short time with bandages, salve, scissors, knife, a needle and thread, and a bowl of hot water. She had sewn Frank up a couple of times when his wound burst. She hated doing it, but it had given him a couple of extra years with them. It wasn’t fair. Why did good men have to die?
“Put this stick in his mouth Will, and hold him down. I have to get the bullet out.”
Once she undid the rough, blood soaked bandage she had applied in the canyon and removed his shirt, she could see where the bullet had gone in. She cleaned the wound with a whiskey soaked cloth. It was still bleeding, but not so bad. “Hold him down now, Will, I’m going to try and get the bullet out. Addy, you go out the back and play with Dougie. He’s probably frightened with everything that’s happened.” She couldn’t let the child see what she had to do. It would give him nightmares.
Luckily the bullet hadn’t penetrated too deep, having lodged in one of his ribs. Perspiration poured off her as she tried to dig it out. Fortunately, her patient had lapsed into unconsciousness or fainted. It didn’t matter which, better for him this way. Finally, she dug the bullet out far enough so her fingers could grasp it and pull it the rest of the way out.”
He’s lucky,” Will said. “The bullet hit his rib and lodged there, and you’ve had nursing experience. He’d be dead otherwise.”
“I know.” She shuddered.
Chapter Five
Adam had never experienced such pain. Even to breathe was agony. His eyelids felt weighted down with lead. Maybe he was dead. He felt the caress of an angel’s wing on his forehead, smelled her scent. If it wasn’t an angel who was it? He didn’t deserve to go to heaven; his sins were just too great.
He had lost count of the men he had outdrawn, somewhere between fifteen or twenty. How many had died at his hand during the war he had no idea, could be none or could be dozens. His only regret was that he hadn’t found sweet little Emmie. He hadn’t known her surname so it would have been impossible to track her down. She wouldn’t have known his surname, either. That was just the way it had been. Their childish love had been doomed even before it started.
That damn wishing well and the Beaver moon. It hadn’t done him any good. He would never find Emmie now. Unless she was dead like him. No, he didn’t want her to be dead.
“Emmie, Emmie,” he cried out. The words coming out of his mouth didn’t sound like his voice, they were low and guttural.
“Shush, Adam. You must stay still or your wound will open up. You’re safe,” said a soothing, soft voice. His angel was speaking to him, touching him.
Maybe he wasn’t dead. He wouldn’t be able to speak if he was, or hear a woman’s soft melodious voice. If he wasn’t in heaven or hell, where was he? Who was the angel with the gentle touch and voice?”
“Don’t die, Adam,” a child’s voice pleaded. “I don’t want you to die.”
Did he have a child? He didn’t think he did, but everything was so mixed up in his mind. Maybe it was Emmie’s brother Billy? He was the only kid he could remember having anything much to do with, except for the little boy Addy, whose mother was going to be driven off her ranch.
He had to warn them. Struggling to get up, he was held down by a male hand. He didn’t know how he knew it was a man’s hand.
“Let me up. I have to warn the widow lady.”
“It’s all right,” his angel said. “She knows.”
His struggles subsided. “Rest. You need to rest so you can get well again.”
When Adam next woke up his whole body ached and his mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. He tried to lift his head off the pillow it was resting on. He was in bed. His eyes creaked open. The room was unfamiliar. There was a small table with a lamp on it, a closet and nothing else, except for an armchair at the side of the bed.
“Water,” he croaked.
“I’ll get you some,” a woman’s voice answered him. It was gentle, soothing as it floated over his pain racked body.
“Where am I?”
“You’re safe. Don’t try to talk. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He closed his eyes and somehow he knew when she left the room, also sensed her presence when she returned.
“Here.” She raised his head and he groaned. “Just a few sips, then you have to sleep. I don’t have anything to give you for the pain. We’ve used up all the laudanum we did have.”
The water was cool, smooth as silk as it slid down his throat. He wanted to drink a bucket full to quench his raging thirst. After a few mouthfuls the mug was taken away. It revived him enough to open his eyes. The woman tending him was Emily Jamieson. She was the angel with the gentle hands and soft voice.
“Is he better? Is he better?” He heard the child’s voice even before the boy dashed into the room.
“I think so. You must be quiet, though. Mr. Petrie is badly wounded and needs to rest. While I do a few chores, you can sit here and watch him if you like.”
After Emily left the room Addy dragged a chair up so close to the bed Adam could reach out and touch him. “Don’t worry about me. I’m as tough as boot leather. I’ll be fine in a day or so.”
“I don’t want you to die.” Tears poured down the boy’s face and it touched him. No-one had cared for years whether he lived or died.
“Who’s Emmie?”
“A little girl I used to know. I need to sleep now. We can talk some more later.”
“Ma will make you better. She’s good with sick people.”
“I’m sure she is.” Sighing, he closed his eyes and thought of Emmie. He couldn’t understand why, after all this time, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. She would have been about the same age as Addy the last time they were together. She had been in tears, his own eyes had been moist, although he tried to hide it. Boys didn’t cry. Reno would have beat him if he’d seen him crying, nothing was surer.
Emmie, with pesky little Billy glued to her side, had stood near the wishing well, waving as he was driven off in the gypsy wagon. He had waved until she was a mere speck in the distance.
Emily was preparing soup for supper, chopping up vegetables from their root cellar and using some of the smoked beef she had stored down there. She would strain some of the liquid off and use it as a broth for Adam, so he could regain his strength. Then what? He would leave, and for a second time they would be parted.
It didn’t take much to fit the pieces of the jigsaw together. His name was Adam. He had dark hair and piercing blue eyes, an unusual combination, and she had once answered to the name of Emmie. He was her childhood friend. More than a friend if she was brutally honest. She had loved him then as fervently as a child was capable of. Had even named her son after him, although she never called him Adam, it was always Addy. Dare she tell Adam she was his Emmie? Or was it better to leave sleeping dogs lie. Nurse him back to health then let him ride off.
Adam was a gunslinger, a drifter who obviously didn’t want a permanent home or woman in his life. A handsome man like him could easily have found himself a woman and settled down if he had wanted to. She could accept nothing less with Addy and Will to consider. Frank had been a good husband, a caring man and she had been fond of him. His loss had been tragic as he was taken years before the allotted span as quoted in the bible - four score years and ten. He had only been thirty-one.
Will limped in. “How is our patient going?”
“He’s much improved. The man must have the constitution of an ox. Addy’s with him at the moment. Do you remember Adam, the boy we used to play with at the wishing well?”
“Vaguely. Why?” He sat down in his armchair. “He didn’t like me much as I recall.” He grinned. “Wanted to have you all to himself and I was always hanging around.”
“The man in Addy’s bed is Adam.”
“Are you sure?” He rubbed his hand across his forehead.
“I used to be called Emmie. The boy Adam had dark hair and piecing blue eyes. It has to be him.”
“If you say so, but it’s been
years. You could be mistaken.” He took the coffee she handed him with a nod of thanks.
“I don’t think I am.”
“So, are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know.” She twisted the corner of her apron. “Do you think I should?”
He thought for a moment. “I guess it’s up to you. I always suspected you didn’t really love Frank, and that there was someone else.”
Her hands flew to her face in shock. He was so close to the truth a shiver shot through her body. Had Frank known? He had never said anything. She had loved him in her own way, but there had been a barrier between her feelings for him. It was Adam Petrie. Had she secretly hoped they would one day meet again when they had grown up? And that’s why she had waited years to marry when all hope of finding him was gone?
She didn’t love Frank as a wife should her husband, but was fond of him, and he had needed her. They had been happy, especially after Addy was born and they moved here with high hopes for their future. With Frank dying and Will only able to do light work around the place, it didn’t take long for the ranch to struggle. Because they owned the place outright and were mainly self-sufficient, they were able to survive, even though it was hard.
Unless Will told him, Frank wouldn’t have known she had spent a few months of her childhood in Hopeful. She often wondered why she hadn’t mentioned it herself.
“I better go and relieve Addy,” she said. “Just keep an eye on the soup. I’ll drain some of the broth off for Adam when it’s cooked.”
Emily stepped over to the bedroom and hesitated before entering. Stepping inside, she almost skidded to a halt. Addy was half lying on the bed, his head resting on Adam’s right shoulder with Adam’s arm around him. On the left side where he had sustained the wound, his arm lay across his chest.
She stood watching for a moment or two. “Don’t get too fond of him Addy,” she whispered. “Once he recovers he’ll be off to greener pastures.” As sure as God made little green apples.
She didn’t know what to do. Should she try and move Addy to her bed or let them both sleep? Debating with herself she watched them. Adam’s jaw and cheeks were covered with black stubble, a swathe of hair flopped across his forehead and she itched to touch it. What was wrong with her? She was acting like some desperate, lovelorn spinster.
His well-shaped lips were slightly pursed. She fancied she could remember the kiss they had shared. Crazy, because it wasn’t a proper kiss and they were only children at the time. He probably hadn’t given her a second thought once he left Hopeful. Why did he call out for Emmie in his darkest hour, pleading with God for her not to be dead like him?
It was dangerous thinking like this. She took one last look at the two of them, and quietly left the room. If Adam needed anything he would call out. When Addy woke up he would come out asking for something to eat.
“Well?” her brother said.
“Well, what?”
“I thought you were going to relieve Addy.”
“I was, but they were both asleep, I didn’t want to wake them.”
“Don’t let Addy get too fond of Petrie, sis, he’ll be devastated when the man goes. I’ve seen the way the boy has gazed at him right from the very start.”
Emily wrung her hands. “I know, I’ve seen it too, but I don’t know what to do. We can’t let Adam leave until he’s well enough. Whoever shot him might come searching for him.”
“Yeah, might come here too. Have you thought of that?”
“Oh, Will, I didn’t. Do you think it’s likely?”
“I don’t know, we just need to be vigilant.”
Chapter Six
Adam woke up and tried to focus his eyes. Where was he? Then remembrance dawned. Emily Jamieson had taken him into her home after he had been ambushed and shot. He couldn’t remember much else. Except the pain. He had never felt anything so excruciating than when she had tried to dig the bullet out. Thankfully he had lost consciousness.
This was Addy’s room. The little boy had fallen asleep with his head resting against my shoulder. He couldn’t believe how good it had felt. The child was nowhere to be seen now.
He groaned as he tried to sit up. It hurt to breathe and he realized his ribs were probably cracked. The bullet must have hit them instead of his heart. After two attempts he managed to sit up and swing his legs on to the floor. How long had he been here? A day, two, three even? He didn’t have any idea.
Brightly colored paper chains decorated the room. Christmas, he suddenly remembered. Was it today?
Gripping the iron bedhead he managed to get to his feet. Bent over he stumbled to the door.
“What are you doing, Petrie?” William asked him. As Adam’s knees crumpled under him, Emily’s brother stepped forward, grabbed him and held him up. “Emily,” he yelled. “Are you loco?”
“I wanted to relieve myself and thought I could make it outside.”
Emily dashed in. “What are you doing out of bed?” She grabbed hold of his good arm and held him up, taking most of his weight from her brother. “Do you want to break your stitches?”
“No, I needed to relieve myself.”
“There’s a chamber pot under the bed.”
“I’m not using that, and I wasn’t about to stay in bed and wet myself, either.”
“If we help him out to the back porch, he could go behind the bushes,” William said.
“Oh, all right. He’d never make it to the outhouse. Why are men always so stubborn?”
The pain nearly killed him, and Adam gritted his teeth so as not to groan out loud and let her know. Emily was a frail looking woman yet she had a quiet strength, which he admired. He admired a lot of things about Emily Jamieson even though he shouldn’t.
They helped him out on to the back porch and he was able to stumble behind a clump of bushes. If he lived to be a hundred he didn’t how he was able to do it. He certainly wasn’t having Emily Jamieson bringing him a chamber pot or worse still, have her standing behind the bush with him. Hopefully it was William who had stripped him down to his drawers when they first brought him to the cabin.
Taking a deep breath caused a knife-like pain to stab into his chest.
“Are you all right?” she called out, concern edging her voice.
“Yes.” He staggered out from behind the bushes and grabbed at one of the posts holding up the porch.
She was at his side within seconds. “Lean on me.”
“Thanks. I’m not as strong as I thought I was.”
“You were inches away from death five days ago, how did you think you were going to feel?”
It bemused him the way she scolded him, not in an angry voice, more like a teasing reprimand. It showed she cared. I haven’t had much of that over the years, he thought.
Once they got inside the house, William stepped up to help him.
“Let him sit in the chair for a few minutes, Will, so I can change the linen on his bed.
Addy skipped in with the dog by his side. “Leave Dougie on the porch,” William said. “You know your mother doesn’t like him in the house.”
“He’s nearly like a human.”
“Well, your Ma doesn’t like him being inside.”
“Dougie saved your life, Adam that makes him nearly human.”
“I guess so, but your Ma is the boss.”
“Skat.” William said, and with a doleful whine and his tail between his legs, the dog slunk off.
“It will be Christmas in a few days, Adam. We’re going to have roast chicken for lunch and roasted vegetables and plum pudding. We always have a trad….trad….”
“Traditional English Christmas lunch,” William finished off. “It’s a legacy from our English mother. She handed all her recipes on to Emily, one of the few traditions we follow as a family.”
“Well, I’ve never followed any Christmas tradition as a child or an adult.”
Emily entered the room. “That’s sad,” she said.
“It’s just the way it i
s.”
“Is Adam spending Christmas with us?” Addy asked.
“Well, I doubt he’ll be well enough to travel for at least two weeks, probably more.”
More than two weeks, Adam stifled a groan. He couldn’t stay here that long, not living in such close contact with a pretty woman like Emily. He had feelings and wasn’t made of stone. What was he thinking?
For the first time he noticed a small, brightly decorated Christmas tree in the corner of the room, with a pretty blonde angel in a white dress attached to the top. A few colorfully wrapped presents rested beneath it. A small nativity scene stood next to it. He wasn’t so ignorant he didn’t know what Christmas meant. He had just never celebrated it.
“I’m starting to feel light-headed.”
“You’re as white as a sheet,” Emily said. “Time you were back in bed. You don’t want to overdo it.”
It was awful feeling weak and dependent. And if he ever found out who shot him, they’d get a bullet between the eyes. It had to be one of Dodd’s men, no-one else would have known he was coming out this way.
Emily helped him out of the chair. Groaning with pain and hunched over, he shuffled back to bed. It galled him having to let her help him into bed. “I washed your clothes yesterday. I’m trying to dry them by the fire. None of Will or Frank’s clothes will fit you.”
“Was Frank your husband?”
“Yes, he died when Addy was small.”
“I’m sorry.” It was inadequate yet what else was there to say? “Is Addy his given name, or is it short for something else?”
“It’s short for something else.” Her cheeks turned red and she nervously twisted her apron and stared at the ceiling.
Why was he pressing Emily for the boy’s name? It shouldn’t matter to him, but for some strange reason it did.
“It’s Adam.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, yet he heard.
There was a roaring in his ears. He didn’t know what he had expected, but not this.
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