The Prairie Doctor's Bride

by Kathryn Albright

  Her arms ached. The rope rubbed her palms and fingers raw. The wind and water whipped and tossed the small raft like a toy. They were almost there—only two feet from the bank—when a young, uprooted sapling rushed toward them. She yelled at Tommy, “Hold on!”

  The impact jarred the raft, yanking the rope from her hands. At the same time, the goat pulled from Tommy’s arms. “Penny!” He started after her.

  “No!” Sylvia screamed and scrambled toward him. Just as she grabbed him, the raft heaved up violently and spilled them into the water. She fought to keep Tommy’s head above the water while fighting the current. It wanted to suck her and her son back toward the center of the river. Finally, her feet scraped against the bottom. She grabbed the wet weeds that grew along the bank and pushed Tommy up toward the higher ground. He struggled up the steep slope and turned, waiting for her.

  Her arms were so tired and the coat she wore had filled with water and tugged at her. She slipped her arms from the sleeves and let the water carry it away, only to realize too late that her money was in the pocket. She gripped the grass along the bank and tried once more to pull herself up. Her feet kept sliding backward and getting mired in the mud.

  “Ma!” She heard Tommy cry out. “Ma!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The spring rains hammered Oak Grove. At first, Wally Brown, and even the mayor, had downplayed the amount of rain, explaining that farmers and ranchers could use a soaking now and then. The crops would be better for it come planting time in a few weeks.

  Nelson was concerned for Sylvia and Tommy until someone told him the DuBois farm was on the highest land in that area. He remembered Sylvia talking about the family there. She might not leave her homestead for her own sake, but he had no doubt she would go there if there was any doubt of Tommy’s safety.

  Things between him and his mother had settled into a stiff formality. He needed to talk to her, but he kept putting it off. For someone who prided himself in facing things head-on, this was one area where he hesitated.

  On the afternoon of the fifth cold day of constant rain, he returned to his office after checking on Mrs. Blackwell and her new baby. He met Miss Pratt at his door. She followed him up the steps to the porch, and once she was under the overhang, she shook out her umbrella, in her zeal, forcing the droplets all over him.

  “You said you would visit. I’ve come to question your absence.”

  Her usual blunt manner once again. “I’ve been busy. You probably heard that my mother is visiting.”

  “I thought that might have something to do with it.” She sighed. “Well, I had to get away from the hotel for a spell. Mr. Austin has given his empty rooms—the last four in the hotel—to families who could not return to their homes because of the flooding. The entire hotel is rank with the odor of wet, dirty clothes.”

  That bothered him. He should go out to Sylvia’s place and check on her and Tommy. He needed to know they were all right.

  He opened the door for Miss Pratt as it seemed she was determined to visit. Hopefully, his mother would awaken from her nap upstairs and curtail any length of stay longer than thirty minutes. He shrugged from his coat and hung it and his hat on the wall peg. A shiver coursed through him. “I could use a cup of tea. I’ll make us both one.”

  A rumbling cough sounded from the direction of his exam room. The office had been empty when he’d left for the Blackwell’s home.

  “Excuse me. I need to see who is here.”

  He left her, not caring that he’d been abrupt. Actually, he was happy for the interruption. He heard the front door close with a decided click as he headed into the other room. Josiah sat in a chair by the wall.

  “What can I do for you, Mayor?”

  “This cough has kept me up for the past two nights.”

  “A common occurrence this time of year.” He examined the mayor. When he went to get a bottle of tonic for the man, he realized he had run out of stock. He searched his inventory for a substitute, sliding bottles and jars aside, and then spied the honey from Sylvia. He measured a few ingredients into a portion of the honey, then put the pot on the stove.

  After a few minutes, the mayor walked into the kitchen. “You and Miss Pratt? She didn’t sound happy with you as she left. I believe that was just short of slamming the door.”

  “After a few conversations, I’ve decided that Miss Pratt and I do not complement each other well.”

  “Then I’m afraid you better work fast, Nelson. Since you’ve discounted Miss Simcock, the only woman left is Miss Weber and she has a swarm of admirers. The one thing on your side is that she is so busy helping at the hotel with the influx of people that she hasn’t had a chance to narrow down her choice of suitor.”

  Why did the thought of another round of questioning and getting to know one more “bride” sound so unappealing? Miss Weber might make a great helpmeet, but after three unsuccessful attempts, he wearied of finding the right woman to fit into his life.

  “I’ll let the tonic cool. Then I’ll bottle it for you,” he said. He moved the pan of medicinal syrup off the stove. “Miss Pratt said the hotel is filling with people whose farms are flooded.”

  Josiah coughed. “It’s bad. Worst I’ve seen since moving here. I may have to open up the new town hall as a shelter if more families come in from their land.”

  “Where are their farms?”

  “On the south side of the river.”

  His chest tightened. He should have listened to what his gut told him and checked on Sylvia and Tommy two days ago. Instead, he’d let the words of others lull him into inaction.

  He bottled the tonic for Josiah and sent him on his way. Then he took the stairs two at a time and knocked on his mother’s door.

  She answered, holding a ball of yarn and knitting needles. “Has Mayor Melbourne gone? I wasn’t sure if I should sit with him when you aren’t here.”

  “Yes. He’s gone.” He glanced beyond her at the rumpled bedcovers. She wasn’t sleeping well. “I’m sorry if it was awkward for you. I don’t expect you to manage my medical business. You are still getting over the loss of your husband.”

  “We still haven’t discussed that. We need to.”

  “Not now. I’m heading out.”

  She glanced out the window. “But it will be dark soon!”

  “Suddenly worried for me, Mother?” He couldn’t resist the barb.

  Her eyes filled with pain and then shuttered down.

  Remorse pinched him. “People are hurting from all this rain and the river is up. There’s someone I need to check on.” He turned from her and headed down the stairs.

  In the livery, he saddled his gelding, mounted and urged the horse into a gallop toward the river. The rain had let up in the past hour, which made the going easier, although the ground was still soft. At the river, he slowed. Across the expanse of water, one hundred yards away, the opposite bank had disappeared and vast fingers of water stretched across the land.

  He rounded the bend that sheltered the ferry landing.

  It was completely gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nelson woke at first light. Restless dreams had plagued him through the night. He’d returned to town after finding the ferry landing gone and alerted Sheriff Baniff and the mayor. He’d also let Jackson Miller know. The carpenter would want to get started on another landing as soon as possible. Once the water receded, the farmers and ranchers staying at the hotel would want to get back to their land to see what had become of it and their livestock.

  He parted his bedroom curtains. Bright sunlight streamed through the window. The clouds were gone.

  He dressed and descended the stairs. A group of men planned to ride out this morning and check the damage. He would go with them. Sylvia was uppermost on his mind. He hoped she was safe and warm at the DuBois place.

  His mother came down
the stairs. It was unusual for her to be up this early. In Boston, she usually had tea and toast in bed before she started her day. Her long, dark hair, streaked with a small amount of silver at her temples, fell down her back in a loose braid and she still wore her robe. She filled the teakettle with water and set it on the stove. “You’re up early.”

  “Couldn’t sleep. I...have a patient, a young boy. Guess I’m worried about him and his mother.”

  “Surely his father saw them to safety, dear.”

  He met her gaze. “No father. No husband. Tommy’s fatherless.”

  Like me.

  He didn’t say the words, but the accusation hung between them with the same force as if he had. His mother clamped her mouth shut and turned away from him. Her hands shook as she readjusted the kettle over the burner plate. A moment later she walked from the kitchen.

  He blew out a breath. He was taking his anger out on her, when he didn’t know the whole story. He hadn’t let her explain past that first horrible day when she’d first arrived. He followed after her. “Mother—”

  She took hold of the front doorknob.

  She wasn’t going to run out into the road in her robe, was she? “Mother! Stop!”

  She did stop. Fast. She nearly tripped over a body lying on the porch.

  Nelson grabbed her arm to steady her. He peered over her shoulder at the boy sprawled across the three steps to his porch. It was Tommy and he was deathly pale.

  Nelson’s gut clenched. “Get a blanket, Mother. Please.”

  He crouched down. “Tommy! What happened? Where’s your mother?”

  Tommy moaned.

  Nelson gathered him in his arms. Tommy shivered violently and curled into him. Nelson had to get him warmed up.

  “Here,” his mother said. She hadn’t left to get a blanket. Instead, she had removed her robe and now pushed it around the boy.

  He was shocked. And gratified. “Get inside, Mother. I don’t want you sick too.”

  He started for the exam room and then thought a bed made better sense. Carrying Tommy upstairs, he laid him down in his own bed. The boy had lost one boot. Nelson removed the other one and then removed the boy’s damp shirt and pants. He piled the blankets on top, tucking them in all around.

  Tommy moaned and slowly opened his eyes.

  “Where is your mother?” Nelson asked.

  Big tears gathered in Tommy’s eyes. “I couldn’t get her to move.”

  Nelson took him by his small shoulders. “Tell me where she is. Where did you leave her?” She would never leave her son on his own like this if she had one ounce of strength left in her. He was sure of it. His heart pounded. She could be hurt. Or worse. “Talk to me, Tommy. I’ll go get her. I’ll get your mother.”

  Tommy’s chin trembled. “The river.”

  Please let it be this side. “I’ll go.”

  Tommy’s expression calmed. He turned into the pillow, grasping it with his small hand.

  Nelson’s mother entered the room. She had taken a moment to dress.

  “This is my mother. She’ll look after you. Stay here! Do you understand?”

  Tommy gave a slight nod.

  “Please be careful, son,” his mother said quietly.

  Nelson raced down the stairs, grabbed his coat and hat, and rushed out the door, heading for the livery.

  A dun-colored horse stood tied to the railing outside—saddle and all. He undid the tether and mounted.

  “Wait, Doc!” Wally ran out from inside the stable. “You can’t take that one. That horse is for Mr. White.”

  “I can’t wait. Miss Marks is missing. I found her son on my steps just now.” With that, he reined toward the river. “Teddy can use my horse.” He kicked the horse into a gallop.

  He kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Sylvia along the trail. The soggy ground and mashed-over prairie grass would surely offer up a sign of her. She might be at the river, but she could have moved. Not knowing frustrated him beyond rational thought. He had to find her! Tommy needed her! He...he needed her!

  The thought settled inside. He needed her. He couldn’t analyze his thoughts now. He couldn’t think. All he could do was answer the pounding need inside to find her.

  At the river, the water rushed by, but telltale signs told him it was now receding. Mud and brush from farther upstream lodged against small stubborn outcroppings of the bank that had refused to wash away in the deluge.

  He let out a shaky breath. Tommy’s ankle wasn’t completely healed. How had the boy managed to cross the river and make it into town? That miracle was Nelson’s only hope that another had happened too—that he’d find Sylvia alive.

  He turned the horse downstream. They passed the ferry landing and traveled farther, continuing to search. Sylvia might be difficult to see if she was covered with mud. If she wore that drab brown skirt of hers—and it hadn’t pulled her under the water—she’d be doubly hard to spot. He vowed to himself that when he found her, he would burn that skirt and get her one that was as bright as her spirit—something yellow or pink. And he wouldn’t let her talk her way out of accepting it.

  He heard a high-pitched cry. Inhuman, yet vaguely familiar. It sounded again. This time he recognized it. The bleat of a sheep or a goat.

  He dismounted and rushed to the bank’s edge. There, half submerged in the water, was Sylvia. She lay on a sandbar with her goat lying against her side, its tether rope tangled around her arm and upper body.

  He scrambled down to her and dropped to his knees. “Sylvia!” He shook her shoulder. There was no response. He put his ear to her chest and heard the steady, slow beat of her heart. He felt the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

  Her skin was ice-cold except for the side that the goat had snuggled up against—a miracle in itself. The goat’s warmth had probably protected her from further exposure to cold.

  He untangled the rope from around her, deeply aware of how pale she was. Her skin had a blue cast around her fingertips and mouth. “You stubborn, stubborn woman!” He wanted to berate her for waiting until the last minute to leave her land, for scaring him nearly to death, for any number of things. Instead, he gathered her to him and held her tight. Thank God he’d found her. She was numbed with exposure, but alive.

  He buried his face in the crook of her cold neck and breathed, wanting his warmth to transfer to her. He marveled in the steady pulse he felt against his lips.

  She tensed and then shuddered.

  He drew back.

  She stared at him, unfocused and bewildered. “Nelson?”

  The pounding in his chest settled to a slower rhythm. “Yes.”

  “You sure are a fine dream,” she said on a sigh. Her eyes closed again and she relaxed into his arms.

  “Just like a woman to faint when I want her help,” he said, his voice gruff. He meant it as a joke, remembering for a moment Miss Vandersohn. Sylvia was so very different. Sylvia wouldn’t allow herself to faint—not until she was sure Tommy was safe, not until Miss Blackwell’s baby was delivered and both mother and baby were safe, and not until Wally Brown was looked after. And here the woman had fainted. In his arms.

  Staring down at her, he didn’t care what she did, only that she was alive. He hugged her to him once more.

  Then he gathered her to him once again, trying to breathe his warmth, his strength into her. “Oh, Sylvia. What am I going to do with you?”

  The goat, freed now, ran up the bank and bleated in answer.

  Nelson shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around Sylvia, then scooped her up into his arms. He settled her onto his horse and then mounted, pulling her back against him. She relaxed, her head resting against his chest as she exhaled—a sound that was at once contented and trusting.

  He’d never heard anything so beautiful.

  * * *

  Surprisingly, the go
at followed them all the way back to town.

  “Catch the goat,” he said as Wally came running out of the livery to grab the horse. Nelson dismounted and carried Sylvia to his house, surprised to see Miss Pratt open the door for him and Miss Weber standing in the parlor.

  “Miss Pratt? If you would be so kind as to turn down the covers in the room upstairs—”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “Surely—”

  “Sylvia is getting heavier by the moment,” he said, interrupting her.

  Miss Pratt bustled up the stairs.

  He followed, depositing Sylvia on the bed.

  “Really, Dr. Graham. You must realize how inappropriate this is.” Miss Pratt pursed her lips.

  “I don’t see a problem. My mother is here. The hotel beds are all occupied and, considering the height of the river, they will be for some time. This is the most logical place for Miss Marks to stay. She needs to have her wet things removed immediately. Warming her is of the utmost importance.”

  Miss Pratt’s mouth fell open. “Surely you aren’t suggesting that I participate in this? It would be tantamount to saying that I approve she stay here!”

  “Then I thank you for your help.” He unwrapped his coat from Sylvia’s shoulders.

  “I saw her eyes open. She’s listening. Surely she can remove her own clothes.”

  He straightened and turned to the woman. “She’s exhausted. She held on, all night as far as I can figure, to a piece of timber and a goat, in order not to be washed away downriver. Her energy is spent. She deserves our help, not a lecture!” His voice grew louder with each word from his mouth.

  As he moved to the end of the bed to remove her shoes, Miss Weber came to the doorway with a tray. “I have a hot cup of tea for her, Doctor. And there is one on the stove for you as well.”

  “You can set it there,” he grumbled, with a tilt of his chin indicating a bedside table. He turned back to Sylvia and removed one of her stockings that had fallen around her ankle.

  Miss Pratt huffed.

  “You can either help or leave, Miss Pratt. I won’t have you standing there making noises as I work. This woman needs to get warm.”