Bowing to Betsy (The Matchmaker's Ball Book 11)

by Amelia C. Adams

  At last, she reached the edge of the water, arriving just as Bradley surfaced with his son in his arms. Joey was limp, and he had a bleeding gash on his forehead. Bradley carefully laid him on the bank, then pulled himself out of the water and lay there for just a moment, panting. Then he rose, staggering a little. “We’ve got to get him to the doctor.”

  As he picked Joey back up, Betsy wrapped the boy in the jacket she’d picked up, and they hurried back to the buggy as fast as they could go. The whole way, she kept saying the same silent prayer over and over. Please, let him be all right. Please, God—let him be all right.

  ***

  Bradley laid Joey on the buggy seat, then gave Betsy a quick hand up before hurrying around to the driver’s side. He climbed up, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “Keep this pressed to his forehead,” he said as he handed it to Betsy.

  She took it, then pulled Joey onto her lap so she could keep his head elevated as they drove. Her lips were pressed in a tight line, and her face was pale. “Go as fast as you can. I’ll hold him tight,” she said.

  Bradley nodded, then flicked the reins. The buggy began to move, but not fast enough. He flicked them again, giving a “Hiya!” as he did, and finally, they gained some speed. He didn’t know where the doctor was likely to be—he’d try the house first, and if JT wasn’t there, his wife would know where he was.

  Agonizing minutes later, they pulled up to the Thomas house, and Bradley leaped out and ran to the door. He pounded on it six or seven times before Mrs. Thomas opened it, holding a dish towel in one hand.

  “Yes? What’s the matter, Mr. Larson?”

  “I need JT. It’s Joey—he fell in the river, and he’s not waking up.”

  “Oh, my. Actually, JT’s at the Bar S right now.”

  “The Bar S?” Bradley was confused.

  “Yes. He was concerned when he didn’t see Mrs. Stratton in church today, so he decided to ride out and pay her a visit.”

  “Thank you!” Bradley said, already heading back toward the buggy.

  JT was already at the Bar S . . . Bradley whispered a prayer of thanks as he flicked the reins again. It would have been better if he’d found JT at home, getting Joey treated sooner, but this was the next-best thing.

  “How’s he doing?” he called out over the noise of the wheels on the road.

  “Still not awake, but he’s breathing fine,” Betsy replied.

  “And the bleeding?”

  “Quite a lot of it.”

  Bradley glanced over. The handkerchief was soaked, but he didn’t have another. His son looked ashen. No. That couldn’t be. He flicked the reins again. They had to get home.

  All the way, he watched for JT’s horse or buggy to pass them, not wanting them to miss each other in their hurry. The only other buggy they encountered held an elderly couple who waved as they passed. Pleasant people, but Bradley didn’t have time for pleasantries.

  When they reached the Bar S, he pulled the buggy to a stop next to the doctor’s horse and leaped out, then raced around and took Joey from Betsy’s arms. Then he turned and ran up the steps to the house, throwing the door open without bothering to knock.

  “JT?” he called out as soon as he was inside. “JT? I need you!”

  JT appeared at the top of the stairs. “Yes, Bradley? Oh, my. What’s going on?”

  Bradley managed to blurt out an explanation as JT descended the stairs. Then he asked, “Mrs. Stratton’s all right, isn’t she?” He needed help for his son, but perhaps JT was being pulled in too many directions at once.

  “She’ll be fine. Nothing some rest won’t cure. Now, let’s see to this young man.”

  James descended the stairs halfway. “What’s going on?”

  “An accident. Joey’s been hurt,” Bradley responded.

  “Put him in the guest room there off the parlor,” James directed, and Bradley obeyed.

  When he stepped into the room, he saw that the bed was covered with a nice spread, and Joey was soaking wet. He hesitated, not wanting to ruin Mrs. Stratton’s nice things, but also wanting Joey to be examined as soon as possible. Before he could reason out what to do, Betsy was at his side, pulling the fancy bedding off and putting it in the corner. Bradley laid Joey on the sheet, then stepped back so the doctor could do his work.

  “Thank you for thinking of that,” he murmured to Betsy as they tried to stay out of the way in the corner of the room. “Mrs. Stratton wouldn’t care if we ruined her blanket, but for some reason, it seemed important.” Most likely because his brain was in such turmoil, he didn’t know which way was up or what he should be doing exactly.

  JT lifted the handkerchief from Joey’s head to examine the wound. “How did this happen?”

  “I don’t know,” Bradley replied. “But there are rocks on the bottom of the stream—I’m guessing that when he fell in, he went deep enough to strike one of them.”

  “It must have been a sharp one. This looks like a slicing cut rather than a blow.” JT dabbed at it, then looked over his shoulder. “I need a basin of water.”

  “I’ll get it,” Betsy said, slipping out of the room.

  Bradley steadied himself on the footboard of the bed as he watched JT listen to Joey’s heart. “It all happened so fast,” he said, feeling as though he needed to explain. “And it’s not like Joey to be careless . . . or for me not to watch him . . . I can’t believe I let this happen.”

  The doctor looked over his shoulder. “You’ve got to stop that,” he said. “Fact is, this was an accident, and it could have happened to anyone. Placing blame or taking blame won’t solve anything, and it’s not right.”

  His voice was sharp, and Bradley nodded. The man was right. Self-recrimination wouldn’t fix anything, and he’d let Joey play some distance away plenty of times. Joey knew how to be careful—this was an accident, and it had to be accepted as such.

  Betsy came back in the room with a basin and set it on the small table next to the bed. She’d hardly spoken since Joey fell in the water, and Bradley wondered what she was thinking and feeling. Was she of the same mind as the doctor, believing this was no one’s fault? Or was she mentally chastising him for being a neglectful father?

  James reappeared in the bedroom doorway. “My mother says the boy is to receive the very best of care, no expense spared.”

  “I never do cut corners when it comes to my patients, Mr. Stratton,” JT replied.

  “I know that. I mean . . .” James passed a hand down his face. “I mean, you’ll be paid for your services today. I know you sometimes accept chickens or other goods as payment, but we’ll pay cash.”

  “I’m not concerned about that. What I need now is for someone to fetch this boy some dry clothing.”

  Bradley took a step toward the door, but Betsy held up her hand. “I’ll go get it, Bradley. You don’t need to leave his side.”

  “Thank you,” he told her again. “It’s the small bureau under the window in the bedroom.”

  She nodded, then left the room. He heard the front door close after her.

  “We need to get him undressed,” JT said. “Come give me a hand.”

  Bradley held Joey up while the doctor tugged off his shirt, then the doctor helped roll him over so Bradley could remove his trousers and underclothing. They covered him with a sheet until Betsy could return, and JT put a bandage on Joey’s forehead. He looked so tiny.

  “Now, what about you?” JT asked, turning to Bradley.

  “Me? What about me?”

  The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You’re just as wet as the boy, and you’ve got some cuts on your hands. Let me take a look, please.”

  Bradley looked down at himself. He hadn’t even realized his hands were bleeding, and he hadn’t felt the cold of his drenched clothing until it was pointed out to him. Suddenly, he started to shiver, and JT guided him to a wooden chair near the window.

  “You’ll need some bandages of your own,” JT said as he examined Bradley’s hands. “What did you scra
pe these on?”

  “I’m not sure. Some branches or bushes or something.”

  “Well, sit tight and let’s get this taken care of.”

  Bradley hardly felt a thing as the doctor poured water all over his hands and washed them, then applied the bandages. All he could think about was Joey. He’d lost Selina—he couldn’t lose their son.

  “Is he going to be all right? You haven’t said a thing about that yet, Doc.”

  JT glanced over at the bed, then back. “He’s breathing fine—it’s his head I’m worried about. I think if he hit a rock at the bottom of the stream, the water would have slowed his fall enough to cushion the impact somewhat, and that’s what we’re hoping for.”

  “You mean, you’re worried that he might not wake up,” Bradley said flatly.

  “That’s a concern with any head injury. The fact that his forehead isn’t very bruised is a good sign, though.”

  Bradley nodded. He’d cling to that hope for as long as he could.

  Chapter Nine

  Betsy entered Bradley’s cabin, feeling a bit like a trespasser even though she was there upon request. She paused in the doorway for a moment to let her eyes adjust after the bright light outside, then looked around to orient herself. The kitchen was to her left, and the sitting area was to her right—it was one large room, but with different sides of it dedicated to different purposes. There was a doorway in the sitting area near the fireplace—that must lead to the bedroom.

  She crossed the floor quickly and entered, spotting the dresser under the window instantly. She rummaged through the drawers until she had everything she felt Joey would need—underclothes, a nightshirt, and a set of day clothes for when he was ready to leave Mrs. Stratton’s house.

  Then she looked until she found everything she thought Bradley would need. He hadn’t asked her to bring anything for him, but he’d been soaked through as well, and she was sure he’d feel at least somewhat better in dry clothing. It was hard not to blush while gathering up his underclothing, but this was no time for embarrassment.

  She folded everything into a bundle, then walked back through the sitting area to reach the front door. She paused, looking over at the kitchen and taking in the dimensions of the place. It was small, but she didn’t need much. Another bedroom would be nice, but she wanted to hear Bradley’s plans before she made too many of her own. Then again, maybe Bradley wasn’t making plans anymore. Maybe he was so upset with her for everything that had just happened, he’d decided to call off the courtship.

  She’d learn all that later. Right now, she needed to get these things up to the big house so everyone who had done river diving could get dry.

  As she approached the house, she saw James out front unhitching the buggy. “Thank you for doing that,” she called out. “I know Bradley would have taken care of it, but . . .”

  James nodded. “It’s the least I can do. He shouldn’t have to worry about chores at a time like this.” He bent down and picked up a basket that had been set on the ground near the buggy wheel. “I found this in the backseat. A picnic, I take it.”

  “Yes. Joey made the bread.” As she spoke, all the emotions she’d been pushing down so consistently burst through, and she gave a sob. “He made bread so we could eat lunch on our drive today. Has he woken up yet?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’ve been out here for several minutes.”

  Betsy nodded. “Are you praying?”

  “Every minute.”

  She gave another nod, then went into the house, stepping through to the guest room. Bradley was seated near the window, his hands bandaged. He looked up when she came in.

  “I brought Joey’s clothes, and some for you as well. You need to change.” She hoped that would act as an olive branch to smooth things between them.

  He looked up at her and blinked. “How are you always so thoughtful?”

  His words caught her by surprise. “What?”

  “You. You’re always thinking of others and seeing to their needs. How do you do that?” He didn’t sound angry with her at all. He sounded grateful.

  “I . . . don’t know. Here—please change before you take chills.” She set the clothes on the chest at the foot of the bed and made her escape.

  It was her fault Joey had fallen into the water. She had distracted Bradley from watching him—she’d told him her secret at the worst possible time. She should have waited until Joey was playing somewhere safer. And yet, Bradley didn’t seem to be upset with her. She couldn’t understand it. Of course, he was likely in shock, as they all were. Later, when his feelings had settled, he’d remember, and he’d realize she wasn’t so thoughtful after all.

  She stepped into the hallway just as James was coming inside. “I wonder if you’d mind me nosing around in the kitchen. I thought I’d make some broth for Joey and Bradley—help them warm up. And something for the rest of us as well.”

  James gave her a smile. “That would really be helpful, Betsy. My mother enjoys cooking and does as much as she can herself, but today while she’s feeling poorly, please, feel free.”

  “How is your mother? May I go up and see her later?”

  “She’d enjoy that, I’m sure. She’ll be all right, but she needs to rest more.”

  Betsy entered the kitchen and began to familiarize herself with the place. She found a pot and placed it on the stove. The temperature didn’t seem quite high enough for soup, so she added a few sticks of wood to the fire beneath the stovetop, then located the ingredients she wanted to use. She found a nice assortment of vegetables, but no meat, so she began dicing carrots and potatoes to make a vegetable stew, and she got some dough rising while she was at it. She was full of nervous energy, and this was a much better way to expend it than wandering around wringing her hands and feeling sorry for herself.

  A few minutes later, JT entered the kitchen. “May I have a word, Miss Walters?”

  “Of course.” Betsy grabbed a dish towel and wiped her hands. “I’d offer you some coffee, but there doesn’t seem to be any made.”

  He waved that off. “Joey is out of danger, as far as I can tell. His heartbeat is strong, his breathing is clear, and the wound on his forehead isn’t bleeding as freely. Once he wakes up, I’ll be able to access the condition of his brain—whether he sustained any damage there. I feel he’ll be all right—his forehead still isn’t bruising, which makes me think the water softened his fall sufficiently to keep him from getting a concussion. All in all, this is very good news.”

  Betsy leaned against the counter as relief washed over her. “Oh, thank goodness. Is there anything we can be doing while we wait for him to wake up?”

  “Just be patient and keep your spirits up.” He nodded toward the table where Betsy was working. “And keeping everyone fed. You know, I do think I’ll take some coffee, but I’ll make it myself if you happen to know where the coffee pot is kept.”

  “Yes, I found it while I was looking for a soup pot. It’s in that cupboard to the left of the stove.”

  The doctor took down the coffee pot, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. Then he rummaged around for the coffee. Betsy resumed her chopping, moving on to the celery. “And how are Bradley’s hands?” she asked.

  “They’ll heal fairly soon—all the abrasions are minor. I’m mostly worried about his outlook. He seems to blame himself for what happened.”

  “Himself?” Once again, Betsy was surprised. “I thought for sure he blamed me.”

  “Why would he do that?” JT asked.

  “I distracted him from keeping an eye on Joey.”

  He shook his head. “What is it about human beings that makes them want to either place blame or take blame whenever something bad happens? I’ll tell you the same thing I told him, and you’d best take it to heart or you’ll never break free of the cycle of doubt—sometimes things just happen. They’re called accidents because no one caused them or permitted them—they just are.”

  “You sound like you’ve given t
hat speech many times,” Betsy said.

  “I have, and sometimes, over and over again to the same people. Believing you’re responsible for something terrible is a horrible way to live. Tell me, Miss Walters—did you sneak up behind Joey and push him into the river?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then you didn’t cause him to fall, and you’re not to be blamed or to feel guilty.” He sighed and took a seat at the kitchen table. “Banish those thoughts from your mind altogether or you’ll never be free of them.”

  She nodded. “I’ll certainly try.”

  “I know that it’s easier said than done, but for your sanity and Bradley’s, make that your priority. That child needs to be surrounded by love and support, not by guilt and remorse.”

  “I agree.” Betsy thought about it while she chopped a few tomatoes. How many other unnecessary emotions was she carrying around with her? Shame was the first to enter her mind, and she mulled that over. She, of herself, had nothing to be ashamed about. She had done nothing wrong—she’d had no say in the circumstances of her birth. Should her parents be ashamed? Well, that wasn’t her judgment to make. That’s something they would have had to work out in their own minds and hearts completely independent of her.

  Independent of her . . . the thought struck her particularly hard, and she paused, her knife in mid-chop.

  “Miss Walters?”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry. Yes, JT?”

  “I was just asking if you’d like some coffee.”

  “Oh. No, I’m all right, thank you. I was just lost in my thoughts.”

  “They must have been pretty important thoughts. You were somewhere else entirely.”

  She set her knife down. “Have you ever had a moment when you realize something you thought you already knew, but all of a sudden, now you really know it? And you feel foolish for not realizing it before, but you also feel free?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, I just did, and I have to say, it feels pretty good.”

  He smiled. “And are you going to share this epiphany?”