Chapter 24
A gunshot startled Eliza awake. Where was she? Blinking against the darkness, she made out the ledger under her elbow. Her office. In town. A gunshot.
She held her breath, letting the seconds tick by as she stared at her office door. Nothing except darkness showed under the crack at the bottom. No night sounds. Nobody’s breathing.
She rubbed at her tingling cheek, where the heel of her hand had left an indentation. Slowly, she rose from her chair and tiptoed to the door to listen. The clock read 2:45 in the dim lantern light. She couldn’t walk home this late—especially if she’d indeed heard a gunshot.
Last she remembered, the time was nine o’clock. Her records hadn’t cooperated as she’d searched for every possible way to scrimp enough to buy Will’s property.
Opening the door a crack, she scanned the store for intruders. All seemed quiet.
What should she do? She couldn’t hide in her office knowing someone could be in trouble. Especially if that someone was Will.
But the irons she’d armed herself with last time would be worthless against a rifle.
Finding nothing else in the store worthy of throwing, she grabbed an iron anyway, stuffed a jackknife into her hidden pocket, and quietly pushed the front door open. Seeing no one on the street, she stepped outside.
What direction had the gunshot come from? Down the street, a pool of light spilled out onto the sidewalk from Will’s store. Her heart crammed itself into her throat. Had Will heard the gunshot and turned on his lights? Surely no robber would use that many lamps to ransack a store . . . unless he’d killed the owner and was brash enough to think no one would notice.
The image of Will face-down in a pool of blood flickered in her imagination. She swallowed against the lump in her throat.
No. More likely he’d heard the gunshot too.
Please, God, let that be why his lights are on.
Watching for any movement or disturbances in the shadows, she scurried across the street, then crept along the sidewalk, iron clutched tight in her right fist. Once she reached Will’s store, she flattened herself against the exterior wall until she came to the window’s edge. Slowly, she leaned her head over to peep inside.
Will and Mr. Langston were standing beside a body on the counter.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the wall. At least Will wasn’t the one lying on the counter.
But a shooter—possibly a murderer—lurked somewhere outside Will’s store. She clutched the iron tighter in her hand.
Return to the Five and Dime or go inside the Men’s Emporium? Maybe she could assist Will, and with Mr. Langston there, who’d question her reputation?
Taking a quick breath of night air, she reached for the door handle and plunged inside, setting the door’s bell to ringing.
Will turned. His gaze latched onto hers, his eyes wide as if panicked.
Should she not have come inside? “I heard a gunshot.”
He glanced at the iron in her hand.
She tucked the makeshift weapon behind her. “I was worried.”
“What’s a woman doing wandering around town at three in the morning?” Mr. Langston narrowed his eyes at her.
She tried not to grimace at his blood-covered shirtfront or sneer at him for his absurd suspicion. Surely he didn’t think she was the shooter.
“I fell asleep doing paperwork. I probably shouldn’t have left my store to investigate a gunshot, in case a killer was on the loose, but I didn’t want to leave someone alone and hurt either.”
Jedidiah let go of the man on the table and rubbed his forehead.
Will wiped his perspiring brow with his sleeve. “No killer. An accident.”
“So it wasn’t a robber?” She loosened her grip on the iron.
“Oh, it was definitely a robber.” Will looked down at the body stretched out in front of him.
The man on the counter groaned, his face smashed against an impromptu pillow of a rolled-up bloody shirt. Blond hair . . . Mr. Langston . . .
Axel.
Her whole body trembled at the sight of the blood-soaked blankets and Will’s crimson-stained hands. Jedidiah’s face looked as lifeless as his son’s. Would his son die tonight? Would Will lose another patient?
“So you were right—he came back.” Oh, why had he returned? Axel was nothing but bad news for Will. And lying on a table dying? Even worse. How would Will get over a third death if he couldn’t save Axel either? Especially since they’d been friends since childhood. “Who shot him?”
“I did.” Jedidiah’s groan held more agony than his son’s. “I told him I’d shoot, but in the dark, I saw nothing but shadows. I didn’t know it was him.”
Will stared off into space, a long scissor-like thing seemingly forgotten in his hand.
She crossed over to him and laid her iron down. “What’s wrong?”
“I just put him through a lot of pain, yet failed to find the bullet. I don’t know if I should try again.”
What might help him? “Do you want me to get one of the doctors?”
His shoulders slumped. “That’d probably be for the best. I shouldn’t be attempting this. . . . I can’t do anything worth—”
“Stop it.” She pressed his face between her hands. “If anyone can, it’s you. You’re plenty capable on your own. You hear me?”
Will’s jaw moved under her hands as he swallowed, but he nodded ever so slightly.
All her life, she’d searched for someone to believe in her. And though her father, brother, two fiancés, and her own business partner questioned her, Will believed in her without a doubt. He’d proved his faith by implementing her business suggestions to the letter, and he’d somehow convinced Mr. Raymond to partner with and loan her money—the exact thing she’d failed to do on Will’s behalf only yesterday, despite all her business know-how.
He needed someone who believed in him the way he believed in her. “You’re thoughtful, careful, smart, and resourceful. There’s no better doctor in this county, no matter how many fancy papers hang on Forsythe’s or Benning’s walls.” She rubbed the stubble on his jaw with her thumbs. “I’ve seen your mistakes, as you call them, and I still believe in you.”
Axel groaned. “Ma?”
Jedidiah cleared his throat.
Eliza dropped her hands and felt her face flush. She’d forgotten anyone else was present. Dropping her chin, she took a step back.
“Ma?” Axel called again.
“I think Fannie should be here, in case . . .” Jedidiah’s voice clogged.
Swallowing against the heartbeat in her throat, she took in Axel’s ashen, sweaty face. He might not live much longer. “I’ll get her.”
“Thank you.” Will glanced between her and Axel. “Mrs. Langston’s presence will help if he pulls through.”
She shook her head. “No need to thank me.”
Will selected a different instrument from his box. “You’d best hurry.”
God, no matter the outcome, let him feel he did his best. “I’ll pray for you.”
“I’ll need it.” He licked his lips and swallowed, no longer looking at her, but at his patient—at least he was going to try.
She squeezed his arm and left lest she distract him from what he was meant to do.
Will finished scrubbing his hands the moment the downstairs doorbell jangled. He still needed to change his gory shirt before going down to talk to Mrs. Langston. He’d found the bullet on his second try, but whether he’d done anything useful remained unclear. Yet Axel was still breathing. Perhaps he had a chance.
Throwing on a clean shirt, Will buttoned up as he walked downstairs.
Fannie sat on a stool beside her son, running a fluttery hand across his forehead and down his cheek. “Is he sleeping?”
“He’s passed out, Fannie.” Jedidiah cowered in a shadowy corner.
Will raked a hand through his still bed-mussed hair. Should he tell Axel’s mother that he might never wake again?
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br /> Fannie glared at her husband. “You never did give the boy a chance.”
Eliza stood near the doorway, her arms crossed about her middle. He sighed, thankful she’d returned. Her nearness was the only thing that would make this morning bearable. Especially if he had to endure a marital spat over the unconscious body of his friend.
When he reached the end of the aisle, Fannie pulled her attention off her son and pierced him with teary eyes. “Will he live?”
The very question he’d asked himself every second he’d moved his bullet probe around Axel’s gut. “I don’t know. Depends on the internal damage.” Which he’d likely exacerbated by removing the bullet. But the fact that Axel hadn’t died during surgery was somewhat promising. If he woke up, he had a chance.
Will took a sidelong glance at Eliza, who gave him a reassuring smile. Extracting the bullet was all he could do. Would God let him save anybody this month? Eliza said she believed in him, but what if he never succeeded with anything but intermittent fevers and stomach upset?
What if he had no talent, but only a personality that made people believe in him? Guess that’d keep him dependent upon God—as he should be.
Fannie leaned closer to her son’s ear. “Honey, can you hear me?”
Axel made no move or sound.
She looked around the store. “Can we put him somewhere more comfortable?”
“I’d like him to wake first.” He rubbed his brow. Moving him would be the worst possible thing right now, and comfort wouldn’t change the outcome. “I ought to inform the sheriff he’s here.”
“No!” Fannie stood but then plopped back into her chair. “I mean, of course he should be told, but what if something bad happens? Axel needs you.”
Axel moaned.
“See?”
A moan? Would Axel actually make it? Will walked over and felt his friend’s head. Warm. Could he give him something for a fever, or was he overmedicated already? Maybe he should open the front door to let the night air revive him.
Had he done something medically right?
“I’ll get the sheriff.” Jedidiah rose from his chair. “I’ll have to explain how things happened anyhow. And, well, he’s a wanted man. . . .” He approached his wife, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder, but stopped shy of doing so. “I’m sorry, Fannie.”
She kept her back to him, staring vacantly at her son. “He was a good boy no matter how he was born. He didn’t have to turn out like this.”
Eliza took a step toward Jedidiah. “Since you’re going past my store, I probably should return with you.”
“Stay,” Will blurted, then clamped his teeth onto his tongue and stopped himself from walking over and grabbing her. Maybe she needed sleep. He sure did. “If you can, that is.”
“Please.” Fannie motioned her over with her handkerchief.
Eliza dragged Jedidiah’s seat next to Fannie as Axel’s father left the store. “Why don’t you nap, Will?” Her eyes blinked wearily, but the proud light shining in them made him hope Axel would pull through so he deserved her admiration. “We could wake you if something happens.”
Exhaustion marred Eliza’s brows, and shadows haunted her eyes. How could he sleep while she kept vigil next to the man who’d hurt her? “I’ll be fine.”
“He shouldn’t leave. Axel’s stirring.” Fannie smoothed her son’s hair away from his face and his eyelids twitched. “Darling, wake up. We know you’ve done wrong, but no one wants you to die. Not even your father.”
Axel’s lips curled into a faint sneer. “Pa.” Even in unconsciousness, the animosity between father and son dripped from the single word. How might Axel have turned out if Jedidiah had loved and disciplined him and Fannie hadn’t spoiled him?
But wait, he’d said something! Will opened his medical kit. Was there anything else he could give Axel to help him recover?
“Your pa’s not here right now.” His mother squeezed his hand between hers. “But I am. Why don’t you wake up so I can see those pretty blues?”
Axel’s eyelids fluttered, and Will held his breath. Had he saved someone after all?
His friend blinked several times and smacked his mouth, so Will carefully raised his head, placing a cup of water to his lips.
He swallowed and groaned. “I hurt.”
“Of course you do.” Will shook his head, but the smile on his lips grew. Some in town might wish he’d let Axel bleed to death, but perhaps with correction and prayer Axel might live long enough to turn his life around. “I’ll give you more laudanum.”
“No.” He turned pain-filled eyes toward his mother. “I should’ve helped more.” His voice was feathery soft, making the three of them lean closer to hear. “I tried to get enough.”
She patted his cheek. “You helped me plenty, and Miss Cantrell here is letting me sell my clothing at her store. I’ve already earned more for my clothes there than at the seamstress’s.”
Will shot a curious glance at Eliza, who dropped her gaze to her lap.
If Fannie was making more than she had with the seamstress, Eliza couldn’t be making much.
Business-wise that didn’t make sense.
He smiled.
“More importantly, I own the boardinghouse now, so don’t you worry. Fess up to your sins and take your punishment. No need to gallivant around doing whatever you’ve been doing anymore. You and I’ll make it together.”
Will stepped closer. “Where’s the money you’ve stolen? If you turn that over to the sheriff, the judge might be lenient and you can see your mother again sooner than you think.” Not that Axel could live in this town again, but he’d not bother mentioning that detail.
Axel tried to shake his head. “Lousy gamblers . . . cornered me . . . took everything.”
So the thief got robbed? “Then what about the rest? If you told the judge where—”
“Don’t know. Not mine.” He reached for his mother’s hand. “Behind . . . post office . . . wagon. Supplies.” His head lolled. “Take them.”
He had a wagon parked out back? He’d been leaving? How would that have helped his mother? “What about Nan—” Will glanced at Eliza. “What about my grandmother’s ring?”
“Wagon. Just trying to get enough . . . to leave.” He coughed, then groaned with pain. “Sorry.”
“For the ring?” Will measured a strong dose of medicine. Axel might not want any, but the less pain he felt, the less wriggling he’d do. And right now, he needed him as still as possible—he didn’t look right.
“For being no good. You always believed me better.”
“But you can be good, Axel.” Fannie held out her hand for the laudanum and helped him drink. “You can start over.”
Axel worked hard to swallow. After his mother laid him back down, he peered over at Will with murky eyes. “Not your fault.”
“What’s not my fault?”
“Death.” Axel’s rattling voice set Will’s teeth on edge. Axel closed his eyes and lay quiet.
He jostled him.
Axel’s eyes struggled to lift, slammed shut, then widened again like a drunk’s trying to stay awake.
“You’re not going to die.” Will took in the man’s suddenly stricken face, then noted the blood seeping out on the counter below his torso. “Stop moving around so much.” He grabbed a handful of rags and butted them against the blood-soaked bandaging.
“I’m sorry, Ma.” The words slurred through his fast-graying lips.
“You’re forgiven. You’ll be all right.” She smiled at him and caressed his cheek, but the tears streaming down her cheeks belied her words.
Axel’s eyes stopped blinking. No. He couldn’t just wake up and then die!
Will searched for his pulse and exhaled. “His heartbeat’s weak, but it’s because of the bleeding. I need to stop the bleeding.” He scrambled to the back room and grabbed a jar of ground yarrow. Why hadn’t he packed the wound before wrapping him? He’d used carbolic acid, sure, but he should’ve used everything at his dis
posal. Prevented this from happening.
Returning to the counter, he pulled out a pair of scissors to cut through the strips tied tight around Axel’s torso.
Eliza’s hand gripped his. “Will?”
He tried to extract his hand, but she held on tight. The sad droop of her lips and languid, glistening eyes wouldn’t discourage him. “He’ll be fine.”
“Will.”
He looked at Axel. His eyes vacant. His labored breathing halted.
Fannie had placed her head on Axel’s chest. A wet spot grew across her son’s heart as she whimpered.
He slammed his fist on the counter. “No.” But the loud noise failed to rouse Axel.
And neither did the door bell. Jedidiah rushed in with Dr. Forsythe behind him. “I couldn’t find the sheriff, but I figured the doctor should come.”
Too late. Will sank against the counter. He should have never listened to Axel and Jedidiah—he should have carried him straight to Forsythe or Benning.
The doctor cleared his throat. “There’s nothing for me to do.”
“You could make sure that whatever Will did was—” Jedidiah halted, his eyes glued to his son’s face. A face unmistakably without pain.
“What did you do, son?” Dr. Forsythe’s voice sounded far away.
What had he done? “I killed him.”
“You did not,” Eliza spat. She turned to the doctor. “What would you have done on a bullet wound that—” She turned to Will. “What all did it hit?”
“I don’t know. The bullet lodged somewhere in his intestines I think, but I got—”
“A gutshot with intestinal damage?” Dr. Forsythe shook his head. “Jedidiah, the boy was lost. The fact that Will tried anything is because he’s a saint. You didn’t need me.”
Mrs. Langston’s whimpering grew louder.
How many saints never performed a miracle? “I’m not a saint.”
“That you bothered with him tells me you really ought to be a doctor. But one day you’ll tire of it.” Dr. Forsythe yawned. “If you ever decide to get off your duff and go to school, I’ll write you a recommendation. Maybe get you a good doctor to work under after lectures.”
A Bride in Store Page 30
