She stared. Tears welled into her eyes and flowed down her cheeks. She lifted her hands and wiped them away. “I don’t know. I—I think it was when he taught me how to bathe Howard. He was so strong and sure of himself, so...comfortable and tender with the baby and yet somehow...afraid.” She looked down at her skirt, smoothed out a wrinkle. “There is this little muscle in front of his ear that twitches when he is upset or angry and it was twitching then. I wondered why and—and—”
“You wanted to help him.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Katy.”
She sat up straighter. “Don’t you tell me that I’m too softhearted for my own good, Judith. It’s been five years since Richard disappeared, and no man has...has—” She gave a helpless little wave.
“Made your stomach flutter and your knees go weak? Made you lie awake at night thinking about how it would feel to be in his arms? To have him kiss you?”
All of that and more. “Stop. Please.” She covered the hollow ache in her abdomen with her hands.
Her sister studied her a moment, rose, took her hands and tugged her to her feet. “Time to eat. Come into the kitchen.” She motioned her to the table, ladled soup into two bowls and set one down in front of her. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Katy I know.” Her sister picked up a knife, sliced two pieces of bread then carried the plate and a crock of butter to the table. “I remember when you ran away from home to follow Richard when the Robinsons moved across town.”
“I was eight years old!”
“And ‘German stubborn.’”
“And I suppose you aren’t?”
“Of course I am, but we’re not discussing me.” Judith sat and reached for her hand. They bowed their heads. “Dear Gracious Heavenly Father, I thank You for this food and for every blessing You pour out upon us. Thank You, Father, for leading and guiding us through each day. Please protect Robert and his patrol, I pray. Amen.”
Please, Lord, watch over my baby and Trace. She had little appetite, but she picked up her spoon and tasted the broth, swallowed her tears along with her soup. Her sister had always been a good cook and if she didn’t eat, Judith would probably force-feed her. Like she and Trace had fed Howard the sugar water.
“Why don’t you write your husband a letter?” Judith gave her a measuring look. “There’s no harm in reminding him of what he’s missing.”
Her stomach churned. She regretted eating the soup. “Trace is my husband in name only, Judith. And he’s thankful I’m gone from his life.” She clenched her hands in her lap and forced out the words. “He is a widower. His wife and unborn child died two years ago. He does not want a wife or a child. But Howard is his ward, and I know he loves him—though he would deny it.” She drew a breath and rubbed at a nagging pain in her temples. “But your idea of a letter is a good one. Trace thinks I have come only for a visit and will return when my strength comes back. I will write and tell him the truth.”
* * *
It was a wretched meal. Trace choked down another bite of meat, crossed his knife and fork on his plate and scowled at the empty place at the other end of the table. He knew she was gone, but he kept waiting for Katherine to come and join him, to hear the rustle of her gown as she entered the dining room and the sound of her soft, husky voice and musical laughter. And he kept thinking of things his patrons had said that he wanted to share with her. Most of all, he wanted to know if Katherine was eating well. She would never regain her strength if she didn’t eat.
He lunged to his feet, hobbled to the window and looked out. It had started to snow. If he had known the weather was going to turn so cold so fast, he wouldn’t have agreed to her going to visit her sister. If she didn’t dress warm enough and took a chill, she could have a relapse. Fort Bridger was on the edge of the frontier. Did they even have a doctor? And what of the Indian attacks that had been close to that area?
Don’t you ever wonder who or what may be watching you from the shadows of the trees?
He sucked in a breath, stared out at the night. Was she afraid? Was the fort strong? Was there a safe place for her to go if an attack happened? What if she were injured? He wouldn’t be there to help her. The doctor in him thought of the grim possibilities. His stomach knotted.
He turned from the window and limped through the dining room into the parlor, seeking distraction from the silence, the emptiness and his thoughts. He opened the cover on the piano and drifted his fingers over the keys. “Beautiful Dreamer, awake unto me...”
His voice echoed off the walls and ceiling, faded away. The memory of Katherine coming downstairs to listen to him play held him in its grip. That was the night he’d almost kissed her, the night he’d truly recognized the danger she was to him, and set himself to hold her at a distance—to fight his attraction to her. He glanced at the books in the secretary to rid himself of the memory. He didn’t even know if she liked to read or cared for poetry. He’d never asked her anything personal, beyond what he needed to know to maintain their charade. He should have. Perhaps he would offer to loan her some of his favorites when she returned.
If she returned. The thought he’d been holding at bay surfaced on a tide of fear. His dinner turned to stone, weighted his stomach like a boulder. There’d been something in her eyes when she said goodbye.
He frowned, scrubbed his fingers through his hair but couldn’t dislodge the vision. She’d looked so fragile when she had handed him that letter from the woman in New York, wished him well in his search for her replacement, and told him she was going to her sister’s to get her strength back. He was well aware that her illness had taken its toll. The feisty young woman ready to fight for the baby she held when she arrived had disappeared. Her eyes—eyes that looked like they’d been made from the petals of violets—had dulled. Her “goodbye” had felt more like “farewell.”
He stiffened, blew out a breath. What was he doing? It was good that she was gone. It was what he wanted. Wasn’t it? He didn’t want her here laughing and singing and drinking black coffee out in the cold with him. It would be best if she never returned. And she’d been right. Her illness was the perfect excuse for her to leave. He’d find a way to keep the house and shop without replacing her. He had to. For Howard. His regret was that Katherine had been hurt by having to give up Howard.
I chose to stay to help you keep your home and shop for Howard’s sake. I’m not sorry. I may be hurt by my choice, but I’ll never be sorry.
The memory of her words plunged deep, twisted like a knife. He was a coward. All the time he had been protecting his heart, Katherine had opened hers. She didn’t deserve to suffer for her goodness. But there was nothing he could do. An image of Pastor Karl, standing in his hallway with his hat in his hand, flashed before him.
“God in Heaven, please heal Katherine, strengthen her and give her the desires of her heart.”
The words were out before he could stop them. Not that they mattered. He shook his head, sat on the settee and rested his foot on the cushion beside him to ease the ache in his ankle. It would be good if he could ease the one in his chest as easily. He didn’t believe in prayer. Not anymore. But something—probably guilt—had driven him to whisper this one.
The back door closed. Ah Key was gone for the night. He leaned back, closed his eyes and tried not to remember.
* * *
The wind howled around the building and rattled the panes of snow-covered glass in the window beside her bed. Katherine pulled her mother’s quilt closer around her neck and watched the light from the flames in the fireplace of the main room flicker through her partially open door to dance against the whitewashed logs.
A shadow blacked out the dancing light. There was the crunch of a log being added to the fire followed by a frantic flickering as the flames licked greedily
at the new fuel. Water splashed. Iron scraped quietly against iron.
She slipped out from under her covers, shrugged into her dressing gown and pulled on socks and slippers. Her hems whispered against the Oriental runner that ran from beside her bed to the door. Her sister was spooning dried leaves into a ceramic teapot. The scent of peppermint mingled with the smell of burning wood. She frowned. Judith was worried about Robert. Her sister always drank peppermint tea when she was upset. “Am I invited, or were you going to drink that tea all by yourself?”
Her sister glanced over her shoulder. “Did I wake you? The fire needed to be fed. I tried to be quiet.”
“As a mouse. I wasn’t asleep.” She hastened to correct that admission before Judith figured out the real reason. “It’s a strange place.”
“Umm.”
She moved over to stand by the fire. “Is a snowstorm as fierce as this one common in Wyoming Territory?”
“They happen occasionally.” Her sister moved to a cupboard and took down two cups and saucers.
“I don’t know how soldiers are trained to handle being out in a storm, so I’ve been praying for Robert and the others.”
“Thank you, Katy.”
She nodded, glanced at her sister’s pale face and forced certainty into her voice. “I don’t know those other soldiers, but I know Robert. And he will do the right thing at the right time, training or not. Remember that time when we were walking by the river, and he saved those two young boys by running ahead of them and climbing out on a tree branch to pull them from the water?”
“I do.” Judith gave her a hug. “Thanks for encouraging me. I know Robert will do what’s right. It’s only that the storm came so fast they might not have had time to reach some sort of shelter. And if they can’t see...”
“The Lord will guide them.”
Judith nodded, lifted the cast-iron teapot off the trivet and poured the steaming water into the ceramic pot. The smell of peppermint filled the air. “That sounded like Mother speaking, Katherine. Her faith was so strong.” Her sister rested her hand on her forearm and smiled. “You’re like her.”
It was no time to tell her sister that her faith had shriveled to a tiny thread that was ready to snap. “So are you, Judith.”
Her sister smiled and walked over to stand facing the snow-plastered window. “Tell me about your friend Audrey in Whisper Creek, Katy. Is her baby going to be all right?”
She took a breath at the change of subject. Please don’t start talking about Howard. “I believe so. Trace is taking care of Audrey and he’s a wonderful doctor.”
“And his friend, Audrey’s husband, owns the general store. What other stores are there in the town?”
So Judith wanted distraction...not information. “Trace’s apothecary.”
“Only two stores?”
She poured a cup of tea and carried it to her sister. “At present, yes.” She searched for a way to keep the conversation going. “And, of course, the railroad station and post office. And there is a sawmill owned by Mr. Todd, who does all of the building. And the church. And a hotel that opened on a limited basis, last week.”
“And—”
She poured her tea and went to stand by the fireplace. “And what?”
“Shh. Do you hear that?”
“The wind?”
“No. It’s—”
The door burst open. Snow flew into the room. The wind swirled smoke from the fire. She coughed, watched her sister drop her teacup and throw her arms around the snow-covered figure that slumped to the floor. “Robert! Oh, Robert, I was so frightened for you!”
She hurried around Robert and Judith and pushed with all of her strength to close the door, but couldn’t manage. Judith jumped up and helped her, then leaned down and grabbed her husband’s arm and tugged. “Help me get him by the fire, Katy!”
She grabbed Robert’s other arm. Snow crushed against her dressing gown. She shivered and pulled then snatched the snow-covered scarf from around his neck and face. “I’ll get a blanket. You get him some socks!” She ran for her bedroom and yanked her mother’s quilt off the bed, tossed it on the settee to warm.
Judith draped his socks over a trivet at the side of the fire, sank to her knees, threw back the cape of his overcoat and clawed at the buttons. “They’re frozen closed!”
“The tea!” She grabbed her cup off the table and poured hot tea on the metal buttons and surrounding fabric. The ice crackled and melted and fell away. She grabbed Robert’s right glove and tugged it free, pulled the jacket sleeve off his arm and turned to his boot. Judith worked on his left side. Together they got him out of his snow-and-ice-caked clothes. She dragged the clothes over by the door while Judith covered her husband with the warmed quilt and tugged on his warmed socks. He shook with chills.
What would Trace do? She glanced down at the warm stone hearth. “Judith, if we can get him onto the stone it will help to warm him.”
They knelt side by side and pushed Robert onto the warm stones. She rose and poured more hot tea and handed the cup to her sister. “This should help.” She watched while Judith lifted her husband’s head onto her lap and held the cup to his trembling lips.
“Robert, drink this.” There was no response.
She thought of Trace force-feeding Howard the sugar water and grabbed a spoon, sank to her knees on the cold, wet floor and took the hot tea from Judith. “Hold his head up and I’ll spoon in the tea.” Her hands shook with the cold, but she got most of the hot tea into Robert. It was all she could think of to do.
Weary to her bones, she placed the teapot on the trivet to stay warm, pushed to her feet, walked to Judith’s bedroom and brought back a blanket to drape around her sister’s shoulders.
“Thank you, Katy.”
Her sister’s smile eased the ache in her heart. She nodded and staggered to her bedroom, changed into warm, dry nightclothes and crawled under the covers. She was cold and tired and aching, but she knew now what she would do. She would go back home and become a nurse. She would never have a husband or children of her own, but she could help to take care of others.
Chapter Sixteen
“Have you medicine for a sore throat?”
Trace took a bottle off the shelf on the wall behind him and held it out to the young woman. “This will help. Take one spoonful every four hours and sip water in between the doses to keep your throat moist. I also have Smith Brothers cough drops. Many of my patrons find them soothing.”
She nodded and reached into her purse. “I’ll take a bottle of the elixir and a dozen of the cough drops, thank you.” The woman glanced toward the windows at the front of his shop, tugged the hood of her coat into place and wrapped a scarf more closely around her neck.
He opened a Smith Brothers cough drop envelope, scooped in a dozen of the round drops from the large glass jar and put them in a bag with the bottle. “Here you are, madam.” He handed her the bag and her change. “Be careful walking back to the train. It’s easy to fall on ice.”
“Indeed. With this weather one might as well be back in Chicago.” She put the change in her purse, picked up the bag and left the store.
The bell on the door jingled a merry goodbye. He cast a sour look in that direction. He was getting tired of that bell.
A man at the counter wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “May I help you, sir?”
“I’m in need of some sort of tonic for a headache and sore throat. And my chest hurts.”
“Do you have aches or pains, fatigue?”
The man frowned and nodded. “I’m pretty tired, but I figure it’s the trip.”
“I believe you have the flu, sir. How long have you been ill?”
The man wiped his forehead again. “Three days.”
“Then you should be feeling better soon, if you rest
and drink a lot of water. This tonic will help. And these pills will ease your headache and your aches and pains.” He placed them in a bag.
“What do I owe you?”
“One dollar, twelve cents.” The train whistle blasted its warning of pending exodus. The man handed him the coins and grabbed the bag. “Thank you for your help, sir.”
He nodded, dropped the coins in the cash box and slipped it beneath the counter, grabbed the alcohol and wiped down the counter. He headed for his workroom out back to compound some of his headache and fever pills. His footsteps echoed through the empty store.
He scowled and pulled on his apron. He was getting sick of hearing the sound of his own footsteps at home and here in the shop between trains. But there were too few townspeople—The bell jingled.
“Trace! You here?”
His head jerked toward the door to the store. There was urgency in the hail. “In the back!”
Boots thumped. Garret Stevenson backed into the room supporting a larger man. “Mitch cut his leg. Looks bad.”
“I’m all right.”
He looked from the blood-soaked towel tied around Mitch’s calf to his pale face and grabbed his free arm. “Put him on the table, Garret. Lift him on three. One...two...three!” He took off Mitch’s boots and pants, revealing his long underwear. “Can you lift your legs up onto the table?”
“Sure.”
He watched Mitch’s face, smiled and thumped his shoulder. “You might as well stretch out and rest while you have the chance. How did this happen?”
“One of the men at the mill was chopping off branches. The ax head flew.”
“And you were in the way.” He reached down to the shelf below the table for a pair of scissors.
“That was pretty much the way of it.” Mitch shot him a suspicious look. “What are you going to do with those?”
“Cut the leg off your wool drawers.”
“You going to need me, Trace?”
He looked at Garret and nodded. “You can bring his wagon around to take him home.”
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