“We need to be strong for him, Ida,” Dinah whispered. “If he sees us falling to pieces, imagine what that will do to him. We have to speak words of hope and give him the best possible care.”
Ida nodded and did her best to swallow the lump in her throat. “You are right, of course. And I will do whatever you need me to do.”
“Go back to my place and get some sleep. You’re going to need your strength over the next few days. I have a feeling we’re going to have our hands plenty full trying to care for a patient and run the mercantile.”
Ida nodded, though she wanted to stay put and sit at Mick’s bedside until he awoke. She went into the room again and gently placed her hand on his shoulder, offering up a silent prayer.
Lord, I beg You, spare this man’s life. Give him another chance, Father.
Give me another chance.
No sooner had she sent the prayer heavenward than Mick’s eyes began to open.
“Doc Klein!” she called out. “I think he’s waking up.”
If I should die before I wake…
Mick fought the blinding pain in his leg and attempted to cry out, but words wouldn’t come. He groped about with his right hand, ignoring the throb in his midsection as he aimed for his leg. Dear God, please let it still be there. He found the answer to his prayer as his hand lit upon a gaping wound.
He worked to open his eyes. Have I been drugged? What in the world had happened to cause such pain?
A familiar face appeared in a haze above him. Ida.
Mick tried to sit up, tried to make sense of things, but his rib cage wouldn’t allow it. At that moment, the doctor appeared at his side. “Take it easy, young fellow. You’re just waking up from surgery, but you’re not well enough to sit up just yet.”
“Wh-what—”
“Don’t talk. Just lie still. I’m going to give you more morphine to ease the pain. Just let me examine you first.”
The man leaned down and touched a stethoscope to Mick’s chest.
“You had some major injuries, son,” the doctor explained as he pulled away a sheet to reveal a bloody array of bandages. “We operated on you a couple of hours ago. Your lungs are both fine, but you came awfully close to losing your right leg. If not for the grace of God…”
The grace of God? What kind of a God would allow something like this to happen?
Mick’s head throbbed and he closed his eyes once more. Just as he felt a wave of agony break over him, a small, cool hand grasped his and calmed his racing heart.
“You’ll be all right, Mick. You’ll be all right,” Ida said.
He wished he could open his eyes to see her lovely face, but sleep claimed him once again, the feel of her hand sending him into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Chapter Twenty
Ida raced through her morning chores at the house and fed her father’s work crew their hastily prepared breakfast while still in a groggy state. In the three days since Mick was attacked, she’d had scarcely more than a few moments of sleep, and it was starting to show—both in her actions and in her appearance. But someone had to keep up with the daily routine. And with Dinah so preoccupied now that Mick had been moved to a room above the mercantile, she felt compelled to do all she could.
“These eggs are runny, Ida,” one of the lumber-mill workers complained as she slapped them down onto his plate.
“If you want ’em any stiffer, cook ’em yourself.”
He shifted his gaze to the plate and took a big bite, not saying another word.
Ida went on dishing out food until all had been served. Perhaps she needed to apologize for her sharp tongue, but with so much festering in her heart and mind she could barely separate one task from another. Exhaustion now gripped Ida, and she struggled not to give herself over to it.
Still, just about every time she started to feel sorry for herself, Ida thought of poor Mick Bradley. She hadn’t been able to get him off her mind. His eyes, filled with pain, lingered in her mind, though she tried to force the image away. What was it about the man that captivated her so?
She headed to the kitchen to respond to the whistling teakettle, whispering a prayer for him, asking for the Lord’s intervention. Surely Mick needed intervention. He’d hardly spoken a word since Doc Klein operated. She had never seen a man in such a state of brokenness. Daily, she pleaded with the Almighty not only to spare his life, but to touch his hardened heart, as well.
As she started on the dishes, Papa entered the kitchen, interrupting her thoughts. “Daughter, I’d like to speak with you.”
Ida looked into her father’s soft blue eyes. “About what, Papa?” She reached up with the inside of her elbow to wipe the perspiration from her brow.
He gestured for her to sit, something he rarely did in the middle of her workday.
“If I stop now, I’ll never make it to the shop by two o’clock,” she said.
“Dinah will do just fine without you for a few minutes, I feel sure.”
Ida wiped her hands on a dish towel and approached the table, wondering what her father might want to say.
“There are so many things I love about this town,” he began.
“The way it used to be, you mean?” She sat, intrigued by the direction of the conversation.
He shook his head. “No. I mean the way it is now. I love the pine trees, tall and sturdy, and the creek, loaded with catfish. I love the rumble of the trains in the night as they shake the back wall of my bedroom, and the way you can count on them to come and go at just the right time.” He smiled. “And I love the way the boys banter back and forth over every little thing.”
Ida bit her tongue so as not to speak her mind. He liked the sound of the trains coming and going? How could he? And the bickering of the men? To her way of thinking, the lumber-mill workers took advantage of her father’s good nature by conversing too much as they worked.
“You know, Ida,” her father continued, “my parents came to Texas because they wanted to be in a place where they would have an opportunity to purchase land at a fair price, raise a family, start a farm. It wasn’t until they settled in Spring Creek and saw these beautiful East Texas pine trees that my father considered lumber-mill work. His craftsmanship with pine drew a lot of praise from the locals.”
“Really?” Ida marveled at this new insight.
“Your grandfather, God rest his soul, was a man who genuinely loved people,” Papa explained. “And I’ve always tried to be the same way.” He paused and looked at her intently. “It is important to always let the love of God show, even under the hardest of circumstances.”
“Of course.” She shifted a bit in her chair and wondered at the sudden uneasiness that gripped her heart as he spoke.
Papa’s brow wrinkled a bit as he continued. “Just this morning I read one of my favorite scriptures from the book of Timothy. Would you mind if I shared it with you?”
She looked toward the sink full of dishes. “Of course not, Papa.”
“Paul wrote this to young Timothy as a reminder,” Papa started. “‘Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief.’” He gave her an inquisitive stare. “Do you understand why I’m sharing this with you, Ida?” She shook her head.
He reached out to squeeze her hand. “You are, without question, one of the strongest women I have ever known,” he said. “But I’m afraid sometimes that your strength works against you.” He drew in a deep breath and continued on. “You are so much like your mother, it hurts.”
These were new words from her father and they rushed at Ida with a force completely unexpected. “I am?”
“Yes,” he responded. “She was always one to fix everything, make everything right again. You have most assuredly inherited that tendency from her. Now me,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “I’m more likely to overlook a few of the flaws in a man’s life in order to seek out his heart. Give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“I’ve been guilty of judging people harshly, Papa,” she ad
mitted. “I know that, and I’m working to change it. Every day I pray about it—now more than ever.”
“Of course you do.” He continued to hold her hand. “And I’m not saying you’re judgmental. More likely, I’d say you so desperately long for all to be well that you feel compelled to make it so.”
Tears welled up and she brushed them away.
“I’m not scolding, Ida.” Papa patted her hand. “From what Dinah has told me, you have been harder on yourself than I could ever be. I just want to remind you of one little thing. Jesus cannot abide the sin, but He continues to love the sinner.”
Ida’s gaze shifted to the floor. “I…I know that.”
“Of course you do.” He slipped an arm around her shoulder. “But we could all use a reminder now and again. That’s all.” He stood rather abruptly and reached for his hat. “And speaking of loving sinners, I do believe the Lord would have me spend a little time ministering His love to Carl Walken this afternoon. I understand he ran into a bit of trouble in town last night at one of the saloons, and might require a bit of godly counsel.”
Her father headed out the back door, all smiles and good nature. Ida went to the sink to finish the dishes, unable to think of anything but her father’s words. She was embarrassed that he’d felt the need to speak with her. But he was right, as always.
Love the sinner. It was so simple and yet she’d been so determined to follow in Esther’s footsteps that she’d completely lost her way.
It was time to make amends.
Chapter Twenty-One
As Ida made the walk to the mercantile, no hecklers called out. No jokesters offered marriage proposals. On the contrary, the men in town seemed to avoid her, their eyes shifting away as she walked by. Was it possible that some of these fellows had participated in the attack against Mick Bradley? A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of it.
Ida entered the mercantile, pulled on an apron and took to straightening the shelves. “I have a suspicion you’ve not rested at all, Dinah. Am I right?” she said by way of greeting.
Dinah sighed, but did not answer.
“Am I right?”
“Nellie DeVries has been by to help on occasion.”
Even though Nellie had helped save Dinah and Carter, Ida still could not accept that the young woman carried on every night over at The Golden Spike, doing whatever it was that saloon girls did.
Love the sinner, she reminded herself.
She sighed as conviction settled in. Hadn’t she already committed to reserving her harsh judgments? How many catastrophes did she have to go through before she finally caught on? God loved everyone in the town of Spring Creek. Men, women, children—everyone.
And Ida would do her best to love them, too.
Dinah continued. “I tried to prop my feet up for a while around noontime, but with my new boarder to feed…”
“Just as I suspected.”
“When I put Carter down for his nap, I struggled with the temptation to join him.” Dinah yawned. “But I knew better.”
“And now I know better.” Ida flashed what she hoped would be perceived as a motherly smile. “And I’m telling you to take a nap. You need it, Dinah. You’ll not be able to go on if you don’t get some rest.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
Ida took the broom from her aunt’s hands. “You can, and you will. Now don’t argue with me. You know how irritable I can be when I’m crossed.” She gave a mock scowl and Dinah smiled.
“Yes, I know all too well.”
“Then up to bed with you. If your houseguest needs anything, I’ll be here.”
But before Dinah made it to the staircase, the door opened and Johnsey Fischer came in, hat in hand. Dinah’s smile at the sight of him nearly lit up the room.
“How are you today, Dinah?” he asked.
“Fine,” she replied.
“She’s worn to a frazzle, actually,” Ida added. “I’m trying to send her up for a nap.”
“If anyone deserves it, Dinah does. I don’t know how you keep going, to be quite honest,” he said to Dinah, causing her cheeks to redden.
“Have you heard any scuttlebutt about who might’ve done this? Was it Brewster and his men?” Dinah asked, clearly changing the subject.
“I can’t rightly say.” Johnsey shrugged. “I’m so new in town that most of these folks are unfamiliar to me, though it makes perfect sense that Brewster would have instigated the attack. Still, everyone’s pretty tight-lipped, and I hear the sheriff’s having a hard time getting anyone to share any information at all.”
“No doubt Brewster’s got them all tongue-tied,” Ida said. There was a slightly awkward pause as Johnsey looked at Dinah, Dinah looked at the floor and Ida struggled to keep from giggling over what she was witnessing.
Ida cleared her throat as a mischievous idea came into her head. Perhaps she could get some information about Johnsey on behalf of her smitten aunt. Was meddling a sin?
“Until recently, I thought all railroad men were wicked to the core,” Ida said with a smile.
Johnsey laughed. “Well, I dare say, many of them are—at least, when they’re cooped up between runs. That’s when you’ll find ’em bored and liquored up. Rest assured, I’m not like that. And besides, my visit to Spring Creek has nothing to do with the railroad,” Johnsey explained.
“Oh?” Dinah said.
“My father currently lives in Centerville, but he recently purchased a farm in the area. It’s on the north end of town.”
“The Salyer place?”
“Yes, that’s it.” Johnsey smiled. “My father has always wanted to move back here. And, of course, I plan to live here with him.”
Ida noticed Dinah blushing again. How lovely it was to see her aunt like this—enamored, perhaps falling in love. It changed her. She looked like a teenager, full of hope and possibility. Ida hadn’t seen her like this in years.
“How wonderful,” Dinah said. “Your father will be so happy.”
With a hint of a smile in his eyes, he added, “My father will be happy as long as he settles near the creek and can spend his days with a fishing pole in his hand. You should see the look that comes over him when he talks about this place. His memories of Spring Creek are chiseled deep, to be sure.”
Ida marveled as she watched the two of them talking. Dinah was getting a second chance and it couldn’t happen to a more deserving person. Finally—some joy in the midst of turmoil.
Ida headed to the staircase quietly, not wishing to disturb the small miracle that was taking place in the mercantile.
“How are you feeling today, Mr. Bradley?”
Mick opened his eyes to see Ida in the doorway. He mumbled a halfhearted response and turned his gaze to the window, not wanting her to see him in such a downhearted state.
“Doc Klein says you’re on the mend.” Her cheerful demeanor was affected—he could sense it in her voice. Mick knew she blamed herself for his injuries. He’d heard all about the meeting at the church, and how Ida felt she’d riled up Brewster’s men.
But he didn’t blame her. He had continued building the gambling hall after the trouble started when he should’ve known better. Now he had absolutely nothing to show for his time here in Spring Creek.
On the other hand, many a townsperson had paid him a visit over the past few days, starting with the good reverend. And Myrtle Mae, with an amazing plate of chicken and dumplings. Her food very nearly rivaled Ida’s. He’d certainly been spoiled by these women and their tasty fare.
Maybe these Texans weren’t as standoffish, now that he didn’t pose a threat. If only his investors would be half as gracious. They’d be looking for their money, plain and simple. And he’d have to figure out a way to get it to them.
“I hate to be a bother,” Ida said, “but Doc Klein says I have to tend to your wounds while you’re here. I hope you understand.” She began to unwrap his dressings.
Mick grunted once again—not an altogether cooperative patient—and leaned
back against the pillows as she went to work pouring alcohol in his wounds until they stung.
“You’re not much of a talker these days.”
For a second, he contemplated opening up and telling her about his life back in Illinois. Losing his parents at a young age. Getting swept up in the world of heavy-handed gambling-hall owners. Giving in to the temptation to join that world.
Could he tell her about the tightness that took hold of his chest every time he thought about his investors? How they’d come looking for him if he didn’t produce enough income to pay then back—and then some—within a few months?
Likely not.
Mick clenched his fists to avoid showing the pain on his face as Ida worked. In such close proximity, he could see that her determination matched her beauty. No point in avoiding the fact; the woman was quite lovely to look upon. Hadn’t she captured his eye that very first day? Seemed like years ago, not weeks.
Ida explained her actions as she worked on him. “I’m so sorry to have to do this, Mr. Bradley, but we don’t want infection to set in.”
“I understand. And please call me Mick. If I remember correctly, I asked you to do that some time ago.”
She smiled. “And please call me Ida.”
Mick nodded, pleased. “I would like the doc to bring me some crutches. I want to get up and start moving. No sense in lying here all day and night.”
Ida’s eyes widened. “You can’t get up on that leg. Not yet. Maybe not…”
She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. He understood her well enough, and her words angered him. Deeply.
“Don’t talk like that. I’m going to walk again. Doc Klein says I should try to put a little weight on it soon.”
“Not this soon. He said in six or eight weeks, and even then you’ll have to move slowly.”
Mick shook his head in disbelief. This woman was downright impossible at times. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.” He regretted the words almost as quickly as they were spoken.
Her eyes filled with tears, and she stood and turned toward the door. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
Spring Creek Bride Page 11
