by Lynn Donovan
Sister Mary Margaret had assisted him throughout the operation. It seemed that as hard-willed as she’d like everyone to think she was, she had a soft spot for the dog. Roland’s strength waned, but he didn’t want to leave Prince’s side. He turned beseeching eyes to the deputy. “Could you bring my bed in here? Please.”
Deputy DeMott turned his eyes to the nun for approval. She nodded in agreement. The deputy pursed his lips but left the room. Soon, he returned with Roland’s bed, holding it upright, like a plank of wood, and set it beside the table where the dog still slept under the influence of the chloroform. Roland staggered to it, holding a hand over his painful side, and eased down on his side opposite the sore ribs. He winced as his body met mattress, but the minute his head sunk into the feather pillow, he fell into exhausted sleep.
Somewhere deep in Roland’s slumber, Prince gagged. The sound woke Roland instantly. He lifted his groggy head to see Prince retch a clear liquid. The effects of the chloroform were wearing off, but left the dog violently ill. Roland forced his body to rise from the bed and stepped over to Prince’s side. Roland’s back felt tight and pulled painfully with every movement he made.
He spoke softly to the miserable dog. Prince gagged again, but no fluids came out of his mouth. Roland gently pinched Prince’s skin and pulled upward. The flesh stayed up for a moment, then slowly eased back to its normal flat position over his ribcage. “He’s dehydrated.”
Sister Mary Margaret entered the room, frowned at the deputy perched in his chair, leaning back on two legs against the wall, and rushed to Roland’s side. “If we give him water, he’ll just throw it back up.”
Roland looked around the room. “I’ve got an idea.” He made his way to the supply cupboard and lifted a jar, some rubber tubing and a syringe. He found a pad and pencil, and frantically wrote down a formula he had learned in college. “Sister, can you mix this for me.”
She ran her eyes over the recipe. “Of course.”
Soon she returned with a large mason jar filled with a clear liquid. Roland poured it into the jar and sealed the lid. The rubber tube was attached to the lid and ended at the needle where it had been slid over the tube of the syringe. He inverted the jar and handed it to the nun. “If you please.”
She took it without a word and watched as he slipped the needle into a blood vessel on Prince’s left leg, then wrapped a bandage firmly over the syringe. “Hopefully, this will rehydrate him without causing more vomiting.”
Sister Mary Margaret nodded, obviously impressed with Roland’s ingenuity. As a nurse, she had heard of intravenous hydration but she’d never seen it done. “Praise God! You’re a miracle worker. Thanks be to Saint Roch.”
“Saint Roch?” Roland lifted a confused brow to the sister.
“Yes, he’s the patron saint to dogs, of course. He must be watching over you both.” Her smile was sweet and warm. Roland nodded as if he understood. “Yes, much thanks.”
She patted his arm. “Now can a humble nun coax the great doctor back into bed to rest. I promise to watch over Prince and you, while the two of you sleep.”
Roland sighed. He was exhausted to his bones. Every part of his body ached. He glanced at the deputy who snored softly against the wall. Prince was out of immediate danger, as long as the fever didn’t overtake him. Sister Mary Margaret seemed to be genuinely concerned enough to keep a close eye on Prince while Roland rested. He conceded and lay down. Once again, he was asleep the minute his head touched the soft pillow.
What seemed like only a second or two, angry voices echoed from the hall, along with a hissing sound that could only be Sister Mary Margaret shushing the angry men.
“I don’t care what has been going on, I told you he was to be placed in cuffs the minute he was conscious enough to understand he was being arrested.”
“Sure, boss, but I’ve been here the whole time. He’s in bad shape, honest. He’s not going anywhere.”
“If he’s conscious, he’s going to jail, deputy DeMott. That’s final. I’m not having a conscious murderer left in an unsecure building. I don’t care how mean the nun’s can be --no offense-- get that man in cuffs and move him to a jail cell.”
“Now, see here!” Sister Mary Margaret interrupted. “I will not have my patient mistreated. He is under my care and there isn’t any place more secure that a nunnery hospital. You won’t lose your prisoner, Sheriff. I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles.” She puffed with anger.
Roland would have snickered if he wasn’t so afraid the sheriff would win out and haul him to some fifty jail cell where he’d succumb to the fever for sure.
Prince’s loud panting drew Roland’s attention. He turned his head to see his companion sitting up, albeit awkwardly and painfully. “Hey, Prince.”
The dog lifted his head, his tongue lolled over the side of his long snout. He smacked his mouth several times, and then panted heavily but happily. He tried to stand, but Roland had rushed to be next to him, rubbing his hand down his side. “You’re going to be alright, boy. Now lie still my good fellow. You still have to heal.”
The sheriff took hold of Roland’s shoulder and spun him around. “You’re under arrest, Dr. Malone.”
Roland staggered under the sheriff’s rough hand. “I-I don’t understand. The deputy said I killed my-my partner! That’s impossible! I’m in this condition because my partner attacked me. He did this to my dog!” He gestured a hand toward Prince. “There has to be some mistake!”
“See here!” Sister Mary Margaret screeched. “Unhand that man. He is not well enough to go to a filthy jail cell --no offense, Sheriff-- but you will kill him if you take him now.”
The sheriff hesitated. His eyes darted from Roland, to the deputy, to the nun. He sighed heavily. “Fine. But I’m keeping my deputy here until we can take him to the jail.”
“Do what you must, Sheriff. Just let him heal at the hospital before you enforce your judgement on him.”
Sheriff Grayson drew to his full height. “Sister! I’m not passing judgement on this man. The evidence will speak for itself, and the judge will determine his guilt… or innocence. I’m just here to be sure he doesn’t escape before we can have a trial.”
Sister Mary Margaret squinted her eyes nearly closed and peered deep into the sheriff’s confident face. “I should hope you will look at all the evidence as keenly as you have pursued moving this man into an secured cell.”
“What are you insinuating, sister?”
She crossed her arms over her abundant bosom and leaned away from the lawman. “I’ve had a chance to ascertain this man’s character. I’ve helped him save this innocent creature’s life. I believe I have an idea of his heart for goodness. All I’m saying is, I don’t believe Dr. Malone would or could commit cold blooded murder. If he took a life, it was in self-defense. Just look at your evidence very carefully, Sheriff. This man came in here unconscious and pretty badly beaten… within an inch of his own life, dare I say.”
Grayson glared at the nun. “Not to worry, Sister. We will be very thorough in our investigation.” He slid his glare to Roland. “If Dr. Payne’s death was in self-defense, we’ll figure that out, too.”
Roland’s heart pounded in his chest. “How was Payne killed?”
Grayson cocked his head to one side, as if he were determining if Roland didn’t already know. “Shot clean through the heart, Dr. Malone.”
Roland’s eyes rounded. “I don’t even own a gun, Sheriff. But before I passed out, I heard a gunshot! I have no idea who fired it. I didn’t see--”
Roland looked all around, thinking. What happened? The horse had reared up, Payne had hollered out, Prince had lunged in the air, but then fell with a whimper. A gun had gone off. Next thing Roland knew, he was here. “I don’t know what happened, Sheriff. I was unconscious!”
Sheriff Grayson pursed his lips. “I’ll bear that in mind, Malone.”
Sister Mary Margaret stepped up close to the lawman. “See that you do, Sheriff.”
FOUR
“Dr. Malone.” Sister Mary Margaret whispered barely more than a breath. Deputy DeMott snored without mercy, and yet it allowed her to wake the doctor and fulfill her plan. She couldn’t stand seeing such a kind and obviously innocent man be convicted of murder. The way she saw it, Dr. Payne had been the villain and Dr. Malone the victim. Problem was, the sheriff’s father-in-law had been in cahoots with Dr. Payne’s schemes and profiteering. Of course he’d want the man who stood up to his cruelties locked up for life. Keep his blood-lust profits from being discovered. It was obscene.
The sister had spent all night praying to the patron Saint Martin de Porres for justice and she felt a strong calling to help Dr. Malone escape. She would gladly face the consequences knowing he could never get true justice in this town.
She guided him into the stone hallway and made a kissing sound. Prince limped to her side. She patted his head and shushed him. Roland scratched his ear. “Good boy,” he whispered.
She led the two down a flight of circular stairs, through a solid wood and pin door. They scurried past the collection of sacred wine and across an open sewage trench. Roland gagged on the ghastly smell as if he would retch, but Sister Mary Margaret continued on her mission to free an innocent soul. Well, two innocent souls. Weaving through an underground tunnel, she came to a rotten looking ladder.
“There. Climb this and you’ll find yourself in a secret cobbled stone passage. I can’t go with you, but take this.” She lifted from her neck a St. Christopher medallion on a silver chain. “Our blessed Saint Christopher will protect you.”
She closed his hand over the necklace and pursed her lips.
“And this.” She shoved a large tin full of healing salve into his other hand. Tears pooled in her eyes.
“But Sister, what about you? You’ll get in trouble for this.”
“Peshaw, don’t worry about me. I’ve got a saint or two protecting me, also.” She winked and scurried back down the way they had come. Roland stood still watching the nun bustle away. Prince huffed, and jumped slightly, to paw at Roland’s pant leg with his one front paw. Roland turned his attention on his friend. “Come here, boy.”
He patted his chest and Prince jumped, best he could into Roland’s arms. He winced, but held the dog with one arm and climbed the ladder. Praying if St. Christopher truly watched over those who carried his medallion, he would watch over them on this rickety old ladder and get them to safety.
Roland and Prince came to a sleepy livery stable. He picked out a good horse and saddle. Soon he was riding out of town under the cover of a new moon. Prince lay across his lap and slept as they quickly trotted as far from Charleston as he could get before daybreak. Would this add horse thief to his charges of murder? He swallowed hard against that thought and lowered his head.
Distance.
They needed distance and a little luck.
A strange voice emanated from the barnyard. Hope looked up from her morning dishwashing. Nick spoke to the man, but Hope’s heart took a nose dive to her knees.
“And so it begins.” She sighed. Jaxon ran past her skirts and darted out the door. “Jaxon!”
“Aw, momma. I want to go see the cowboys.” He turned to face her with his most polished imploring expression.
She planted her fists on her hips and frowned. “Don’t give me that look. I don’t know these men from Adam, or Lucifer. You wait until Nick gets them settled and sorted, then he’ll let us know who you can meet and who you need to stay clear of.”
Jaxon dropped his head low between his shoulders and slunk back into the house, dragging the toes of his boots as he walked. Hope pressed her lips together, trying not to smile, and turned to look at the cowboy standing next to a fine-looking piebald stallion. Anyone riding such a fit animal couldn’t be too bad of a character. Two more men rode up to Nick and dismounted. Nick gestured to the bunkhouse and took the reins of the horses.
The cowboys shook their heads and retrieved their horse’s reins. Nick talked some more, shrugging his shoulders and finally gestured with an open palm to the horse barn and followed the men inside.
Hope allowed a slight smile to curl on her lips. She hadn’t had much cause to smile since Jude was buried, but this gesture impressed her. The cowboys insisted on putting their own horses away, another mark of a good horseman and character. She nodded to herself and lifted her eyes to the road leading from town to her ranch. A dust cloud indicated more were on their way.
She sighed heavily and turned from the window. This was going to be a long few weeks, until this event was over and these cowboys either moved to a permanent home nearby or on with their quest for fortune or fame in California or Oregon. Hardly any prosperous-minded men wanted to settle in Texas anymore. The fortunes were lying in the mines and in the forests on the west coast. Wide-open grasslands for horse and cattle ranches were no longer considered the wealth-building opportunities they had been before the War.
That damn war! It changed everything: lives, relationships, families, and attitudes. Nothing was the same, especially for Hope. She wasn’t the same. Her name was an irony for the way she felt in her heart. Her children were her only joy, but even then she always felt a subtle darkness, hopelessness, back in the recesses of her mind. Her bones ached from the sadness that lingered in every thought, every activity, every waking moment.
Sleep was her only escape, but even then, sometimes her dreams turned into nightmares where she stood all alone on an empty plane. Everyone and everything had been taken from her, even her faith. She was utterly alone. She’d wake gasping for air and crying for Jude. But her bed was empty just like her heart. The only glimmer of light she could sense was Jaxon and Jewell. Thank God she had them… and Nick and Sonya, of course.
Something drew her eyes to the barn. A shadow slipped around the corner and disappeared to the east. Why would anyone be slinking around the barn, rather than entering from the large double doors that Nick had standing wide open? Hope watched to see if the man had lost his way and would come back out of the shadows. Her watchful eyes darted toward Nick, who continued to greet and direct the cowboys to the barn and then the bunkhouse. Had he sent a man around the barn? But why would he do that? What could possibly be around there that Nick wouldn’t go get himself?
Hope tossed her tea towel on the wash tub and angrily stepped out into the yard. She ignored the sudden stares and marched around the east side of the barn. A man leaned against the end of the barn, peeking around the back side.
“You looking for something?”
The man leapt as if being called to attention. She’d seen Jude do the same just before they all marched out with General John B. Hood. It was one of her more prouder moments in life. A tear sprang into her eye. She cleared her throat. “You were in the War?”
“Yes ma’am.” The man turned but wouldn’t meet her eyes. His face was flushed with embarrassment, or was it the heat? “I noticed the cowboys were all headed to this ranch, and I figured this was where I was needed. I’m a veterinarian, ma’am. An animal doctor.” Just then a three legged dog with one good eye hopped up to stand at the man’s side. He panted so hard his tongue spilled over the side of his mostly white teeth.
“This animal yours?”
The man looked behind his leg. “Oh, yes ma’am. This is Prince. He saved my life, once. That’s how he lost his leg… and eye.”
“Was that in the War?”
“In a way.”
Hope wrinkled her brow. “You were supposed to come in through town. Did you speak to the sheriff and the reverend?”
“Uh, no ma’am. I reckon I missed that part of the instructions. Besides, I’m not competing, I’m just here to make sure the animals are treated… well I want to be sure they aren’t hurt just for good sport. These entertainments can get outta hand.”
“I’m sure you’re right. And I appreciate your interest in the animals wellbeing. My pa was the same way, so was my… husband.” Hope gulped down the grief. “They-they’re both gone
now. Our hand, Nick Garcia, runs the ranch, but I oversee the horses’ good health. My pa taught me a lot about… everything I need to know to keep my horses safe and healthy. So, you’re just here for the competition? As a veterinarian?”
He glanced across the meadow. “I-uh, I follow the competitors to their next event, yes ma’am.”
His answers were so vague, yet she felt satisfied with his response, for now. “Well, alright. You need to go talk to Nick, over there.” She gestured in his direction. “And soon as you can, you need to let Sheriff Muldoon know you’re here, too. Our Sheriff doesn’t like strangers wandering around these parts without knowing who they are.”
“Yes ma’am. Prince and I will make our way into town, soon as we examine all these horses being brought in here and get settled in. Mind if we bunk in the hayloft? I prefer to be near the horses in case anything happens. I can be Johnny-on-the-spot to take care of any problems.”
She held her hand over her brow to shield her eyes from the climbing sunlight. “Johnny-on-the-- is that your name? Johnny?”
“Uh,” his eyes dropped to the ground. “Sure. That’s my name, Johnny--” He looked across the meadow. “Meadows.” He swallowed. “Dr. Johnny Meadows.”
Her eyes dropped to the dog at his side. “Just… one other thing, Dr. Meadows. I’d appreciate you keeping your dog close to you. I wouldn’t want my Bella having any mongrel pups.”
Roland looked down at Prince. “Yes ma’am.”
Roland hated lying to the rancher’s widow. He didn’t often lie to anybody, let alone a woman. Let alone a woman as pretty as this one. This one made him even more guilt-ridden for fibbing than normal. Why? He didn’t know her. He didn’t even know her name. She’d told him her hand’s name, Nick, and the sheriff was --he had to think-- Sheriff Muldoon. Reverend Lantern, same as the town, must be a founder. But what was her name?
He needed to know. It had to be something in her tender green eyes or her porcelain skin that made him want to stand between her and all those cowboys. He knew how rough wranglers could be and it sickened him to think what could happen, especially since she had no husband.
