Voices from the crowd chanted, “Reinhart, Reinhart.”
Karl sat upright. “That’s the blacksmith. He must outweigh those boxers by fifty or sixty pounds.”
Incomprehension at the anticipatory gleam in her uncle’s eyes muddled her thoughts. Odette scooted to the farthest edge of the bench. Her stomach rolled and pitched.
Reinhart received a pair of boxing gloves and designated Viktor as his opponent.
After the first jab landed against Viktor’s gut, she dropped her head and stared into her lap. How could she get close to the ring to warn him? She hadn’t considered how wide open the prairie was. The wagon rocked from the boys cheering and jumping. Once or twice, her uncle pantomimed punches in the air.
Groans sounded.
She popped up her head to see the blacksmith down on one knee. Relief sagged her posture, and she sucked in a deep breath. Only a momentary reprieve. Her stomach pinched tighter. What if ten men from the crowd stepped forward? Would he have to face them all?
For the next half hour, she could barely breathe. Four more men challenged the fighters on the bill with two wanting to face off against O’Leary. After hearing Fyodor’s announcement of the New England champ Jim Carroll taking on both boxers in separate two round sessions, she couldn’t sit still any longer. Coming here had done nothing to help Viktor. “Uncle, I need to walk. I won’t be far.”
Karl searched her expression then nodded before turning toward the ring. Ronan and Doyle scrambled over the seat where she’d been.
The movement of pacing at the back of the wagon helped eased her tension. She focused on the sway of the prairie grass in the breeze. In the far distance, a herd of deer grazed. Her exposed skin was cool, but the temperature hadn’t yet dropped to be uncomfortable. The change of scenery settled her mind, although she couldn’t ignore the whooping and hollering of the crowd.
Then a collective groan filled the air.
“Odette, Viktor is injured.”
No! Gasping, she whirled and rushed to the front of the wagon.
Shaking his head, Viktor struggled to stand, his right glove wiping at his eye.
Heedless of her uncle’s command to stay put, Odette wormed her way through the crowd, apologies forgotten after the first half dozen. “Move please, sir. I must get through.”
Men glared and stood firm, eyebrows raised.
Drawing her hands into fists, she tilted up her chin. “I’m a nurse. Make a path here.” The bellow strained her voice, but it produced the desired result. Like twin waves, men stepped apart from the back to the front, and she dashed through to the first row of the crowd.
The fight continued, and she glued her gaze to Viktor, straining to see any swelling or bleeding on his face. The skin of his torso displayed reddish patches in several spots. With each thud, she grimaced but was too worried to look away. Watching was pure torture. She saw all the actions as if they happened at once—his left foot dragged, making him stumble; he shook his head; swiped a glove at his eye—and Carroll snuck in an undercut to jerk back Viktor’s head. By the time Viktor fell flat on his back, Odette was scrambling between the two ropes.
“Miss, get out of there.” Fyodor ran around from the back of the ring, waving his hands.
She straightened and pointed between the manager and the boxer who bobbed on his feet nearby. “Don’t anyone touch him.” Dropping to her knees near his head, she gave his face a quick study. Right eye puffy and swelling, bloodshot sclera, jaw bruised. “Oh, Viktor, what have you done?” Her throat clogged, and she fought to assume her professional manner. But she failed. All she could do was suck in a breath to keep the tears at bay.
“Zolotse, you came.”
His voice sounded wrong, not steady like usual. She leaned over and grabbed both padded gloves. “Squeeze my hands.” Through the thickness, she couldn’t gauge his response. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Uncle Karl was too far away to offer assistance. “Can I get help here? Someone, please remove his gloves.”
A blond-haired man knelt at her side and pulled at the leather laces. “How is he, miss?”
She looked up into eyes the same color as Viktor’s and jerked back. “I don’t know yet. Who are you?”
“Nicolai, his cousin.” An eyebrow quirked. “And you?”
“Odette, his…friend.”
“She’s my guardian angel and my zolotse.” He pointed at her face and at the air next to her head.
Her cheeks heated, but she couldn’t worry about what this man thought of Viktor’s endearment. With the gloves off, she grabbed Viktor’s hands. “Squeeze.” His responses were close to the same from each hand. But the double-vision was a concern. “You need to be examined by a doctor.”
Viktor entwined his fingers with hers. “You don’t have to do this. Fyodor will get me to an eye specialist.”
“Ha.” She leaned over him, shaking her head. “I’m not trusting that man anywhere near you, Viktor Andrusha. Uncle Karl’s wagon is here. Now to get you over there.”
A second man stepped close. “Miss, we have a wagon that’s more comfortable for traveling.”
She twisted her body to look up at the tall, shaggy-haired man. With the same blue eyes. “Another cousin?”
He grinned. “Da.”
“Lead the way, Mister Andrusha.” She scooched around Viktor’s body until she could brace her hands at the sides of his neck.
The cousins recruited help from the audience, and within minutes, the group moved out of the ring.
She did her best to support his head, walking with her arms extended downward and her fingers laced like a sling. The thought arose that the six men were positioned around his body like pallbearers, but she shoved it away. Doctor Cameron would have a solution.
Doyle ran up and kept pace. “Dad wants to know if he should follow.”
Odette shook her head. “Stay for the rest of the exhibition. I’ll be at the doctor’s office or at home. Tell him thanks.” Five minutes later, she was on a bed in the strangest wagon she’d ever seen. The length of one side contained cupboard doors of various sizes. Along the other side were a sink with a short counter and a half-size settee with more cupboards beneath. A panel near her head had been slid open, and she could see the shoulders of the cousins she’d learned were named Nicolai and Valerik. The wagon rolled across the bumpy prairie with a smoother ride than the farm wagon. For that she was very grateful. The less movement Viktor sustained, the better. Pillows were folded double and rested against his head. “How is your vision? Still seeing double?”
“But that’s a good thing. Two of you are just twice the pretty.”
Goofy, but he was making statements that followed logic. “All right. Maybe you should just close your eyes and rest until we get to town.” She brushed a hand over his forehead. “Trust me to get you the help you need.”
“That’s Fyodor’s job.”
“Not today.” Or ever, if she had an opinion in the matter.
“You don’t know what he’s done for me.” His body tensed.
“Shh, relax.” She laid a hand on his shoulder to keep him flat. Even though she was no match for his strength if he chose not to listen. The skin under her palm was damp and solid. I will act as a nurse. “Then tell me. Because I don’t understand this blind loyalty to a man who doesn’t show a speck of concern for your physical condition. All he cares about is how using your ability will earn him money.”
A long breath huffed out. “An opponent died a couple years ago after a fight in Madison Square Garden. Fyodor said the officials were hot on my trail. I’m the reason that man’s dead.” His hands clenched the quilt tight. “That’s why we’ve come west. To hide my shame at being the cause of Macklin’s death.”
At his revelation, she stiffened then sifted through the details of what he’d said. “Wait. Who? Mickey Macklin from Hoboken, New Jersey?”
“That’s him. Did you read about the incident?”
“No, but Father and I treated him for almost
a week in the clinic before sending him home to recuperate fully.” The fact she’d been right about Viktor’s no-good, back-stabbing manager didn’t give her any pleasure. “My brother, Eugen, watched him in a bout upstate several months ago.”
“What?” His brows drew into a scowl, and his chest rose.
Leaning forward, she increased the pressure on his shoulder. “Don’t move your head.” Was this mistaken belief the reason behind the darkness in his poetry? She glanced at Viktor, but his eyes were closed—effectively shutting her out.
“The town’s in sight.” Valerik’s head appeared in the opening. “We’ll be at the doc’s front door in five minutes.”
“Thank you.” Odette offered a smile. She hadn’t given a thought to how these relatives who Viktor never mentioned had been present at the match. Instead, she was grateful for the happy coincidence. For a moment, she leaned against the wall of the jostling wagon and closed her eyes. Tension still gripped her muscles, and she consciously forced them to relax, one by one. What would the doctor find? Other than the double vision, Viktor hadn’t spoken about his eyesight being affected. She’d been too afraid of the answer to again pose a direct question.
Upon their arrival at Doctor Cameron’s, Odette hopped out and dashed inside. “Doctor, a man is hurt and needs your help.”
“What’s the injury, Miss Hildebrand?” The auburn-haired doctor stood from behind a desk.
“Bruising to his face mostly. But I suspect damage to his vision.”
“Just a moment.” He disappeared through a doorway then came out carrying a litter consisting of fabric slung between two dowels. After a brief examination of Viktor, he supervised Valerik and Nicolai as they moved the patient to an examination room. Then he closed the door for several minutes.
Knots in her stomach, Odette leaned against the wall and sprang forward at the sound of the door opening.
With a wave of his hand, Doctor Cameron ushered her inside and left the door ajar. “I advise total bed rest but warn ye that might not be the best solution. A specialist in a big city like Denver can offer a more specific treatment.”
“Then that’s where we’re headed on the next train. I’m going along as his nurse.”
Doctor Cameron cleared his throat. “Not likely, lassie. Nurse or no, ye must realize the impropriety.”
The cousins shuffled their feet and looked at one another.
“I can’t leave my pregnant wife.” Nicolai scratched his chin.
Valerik spread his hands in front of his body. “Dorrie can’t handle the chores with the cattle by herself.”
“Then someone better get Reverend Norton over here and remedy this situation.” She waved a hand at the men standing just inside the doorway. “Your cousins can act as witnesses.”
“Is that a marriage proposal, zolotse?” Viktor grinned then winced and raised a hand to his jaw.
Warmth filled her as she looked down at his bruised face. The hardened features hid a poet’s passion—the gentle, lonely soul she’d loved since reading his first poem. “It is, my rugged gladiator. I love you.”
He pulled her hand close and brushed a kiss over the ridge of knuckles. “I’ve loved you since our first meeting in the meadow. From the moment you eased the pain of a stranger with your herbs.” His brows wrinkled. “But we shouldn’t get married without knowing how bad my injuries are.”
“Are you rejecting me?” She leaned over and softly kissed him, lingering a bit too long for being in the company of three other men, then whispered, “Because I know exactly what I want, and I aim to have you as my husband.”
Pressing his lips tight, Viktor winked.
She read the emotion in his gaze and had to stand upright. With her hand clasped in his, she glanced at the others. “Someone needs to tell my aunt. She’ll never forgive me if she misses this event.”
Nicolai grinned and nudged his brother in the ribs. “Won’t Cinnia and Dorrie be upset they didn’t come along? They love weddings.”
In the end, the cousins convinced her to deliver the news in person. They promised to get Viktor settled in his train car and pack up Fyodor’s and O’Leary’s belongings, setting the luggage to the side of the train tracks.
Thirty minutes later, five Rowyns and two Andrushas squeezed into the small bedroom as best they could. Reverend Norton stood next to the single armoire.
Viktor lay in a bottom bunk attached to a wall. A string tie decorated the collar of his nightshirt. Odette wore a goldenrod blouse and a black skirt with her hair flowing loose down her back—just the way Viktor liked. She perched on the edge of the bed, wanting to be as close to her betrothed as she could.
The scent of coffee permeated the air from the bags of roasted beans stabilizing either side of his head.
“Folks…” Reverend Norton stepped to the end of the bunk, his Bible open between his hands. “We’re gathered together in this quite unusual setting to share in a most gratifying ceremony—the joining of two people in the holy communion of marriage.”
Following that introduction, Odette focused on the love shining from Viktor’s clear blue eyes and the strength of his hand holding hers tight. Words heard many times at the weddings of others resounded in her heart with the pledges and promises of fidelity and honor and cleaving to one another. She had faith enough for both of them that they could face and find a solution to any troubles, as long as they supported one another and they loved with their whole hearts.
February, 1888
Epilogue
Odette Hildebrand Andrusha looked out from the carriage parked at the curb, gazing up at the four-story Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania building. A thick layer of snow covered the edges of the walkways. In her lap sat a leather satchel containing a new copy of Gray’s Anatomy, eleventh edition—both wedding presents from her beloved Viktor.
“Why are you hesitating, zolotse? Do we need to return home for something you forgot?”
The endearment warmed her every time Viktor spoke of her as his little piece of gold. She shook her head. “I didn’t forget anything. Well, maybe I need to find my gumption.” She turned and gazed into her husband’s face, still amazed at the good fortune they’d been granted.
For weeks, they’d worried the blow to his right eye had stolen his sight. The expertise of the ophthalmologists at Denver General Hospital was essential for working out the cure. Between a surgery to aspirate the excess blood and keeping Viktor in traction to let the body reabsorb the fluid, he regained eighty percent of his vision. Enough to serve as the boxing instructor of the Philadelphia Athletic Club. Living close to his mother and two sisters eased his mind over their welfare. “I just can hardly believe this is happening. My first day of medical college.”
“You’re ready for the training. Remember what I say to my students.”
“I know.” Nodding, she grinned, and they spoke in unison. “Get fit, stay strong, win big.”
“You’re already fit and strong. This experience will be your big win.” He slid an arm over her shoulders. “I’m in your corner.”
“Just like I’m in yours, my sweet.” She leaned forward to press her lips against his, creating a shiver to skitter through her insides. Then she nestled her head against his muscled shoulder. “But I know in my heart that loving you is the biggest win I could ever achieve.”
DEAR READER,
When I was offered the opportunity to participate in Debra Holland’s Montana Sky Kindle World, I was flattered and excited. I’ve been a part of this special fictional world, behind the scenes as an editor, since 2012. I’ve grown to love these characters as if they are my own family members.
So, I wanted to find a story that would bring new characters into the world that hopefully readers wanted to meet and would come to care for. I also wanted to have Debra’s beloved characters cross paths with mine in interesting situations. That was a given.
In my first story, Laced By Love, I created sisters who had to rely on one another after they were orpha
ned as young teens. That story features the younger sister, Cinnia, and her search for a home and love.
The second story, An Unlikely Marriage, featured the older sister, Nola York, who is on a quest that she hopes will lead her one step closer to her dream. After all these years of relying on one another, the sisters made choices that will put them at opposite ends of Montana Territory.
For the third story, Dance Toward the Light, I starred the third member of the set of vaudeville troupe friends, Dorrie Sullivan, and put her on a path to determine what came next in her life. Because vaudeville has filled her life for many years, she capitalizes on those skills.
In the fourth story, Baling Wire Promises, I set the last Andrusha brother, bounty hunter Pete, traveling to reconnect with his brother, Nicolai. All does not go as planned, and Pete finds himself in a situation he could never have predicted.
For the fifth story, Hearts in Rhythm, I featured an injured ballet dancer who has to find a new profession. She receives help from an unexpected ally in horse trainer Estefan del Vado.
When planning this story, In His Corner, I explored other types of popular entertainment of the time plus I wanted the hero to be the entertainer. I discovered a great book titled A History of Leadville Theater and learned about a winter boxing match featuring several champions of the times all in one venue in Leadville, Colorado. The event occurred in December, 1886, which fit perfectly into my timeline. The names of real-life boxers and fight promoters used in the story are as follows:
Jim Carroll (don’t know if I’m related)
Mike Goldsmith
Jake Kilrain
George La Blanche
John Mahan
Duncan McDonald
John Morrissey
John L. Sullivan
Steve Taylor
John Tudor
Also, gymnasiums built by German athletic clubs were popular throughout America after the start of the turner (gymnastic) movement in the early 19th century and were often named Turner Hall. (German name is turnverein) George Brosius was a long-standing coach at the Milwaukee Turnverein and led a seven-member gymnastic team to an international competition in Frankfurt, Germany in 1880. Members of the team won 2nd, 3rd, 5th, 13th and 21st places.
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