Grace, Unimagined

by Abagail Eldan

  The door opened, and she wished she had taken the time to lock it. It was Gus, and he came to sit on the edge of her bed but did not speak. With his presence intriguing her, her tears soon abated.

  “Did Mother send you?” she asked, after blowing her nose.

  “No, although she is worried about you as am I. I don’t remember ever seeing you cry before.”

  Grace shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything.”

  He smiled, wistfully. “But you are our rock. You can’t crack.”

  Grace could not keep the bitterness from her voice. “Why? Because the crack will become a chasm, and we’ll all fall to our deaths?” She challenged her brother with a look.

  He licked his lips. “Yes, because we know not how to mortar the crack properly.” He looked down and twisted his head to send her a sideways look. “I know I have made promises in the past, promises I have not kept, but the deaths of Mr. Mock, Mr. Taron, and the others, especially seeing the families today who mourn their men...” He inhaled deeply and let his breath out slowly. “Mother and I have been unfair to you, allowing you to shoulder the responsibility for keeping our lives orderly.”

  “Life is unfair,” Grace responded and shrugged her shoulders.

  Gus’s eyes clouded. “Especially for women.” He refocused on her, leaning toward her, his eyes earnest. “Father should have sent you to the university.”

  Grace laughed harshly. “Even if he had, women are not awarded medical degrees, as you well know.”

  His eyes filled with a curious mixture of loss and hope and caused some distant thing to root itself in her, fixed so firmly, it threatened to strangle her as it rose within.

  He shifted his position, leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers linked together. “Even if they did, it’s too late now. I have dried up our funds with my unquenchable thirst.”

  Grace endeavored to keep the bitterness from her words. “And that cannot be undone.”

  She tried to call up some compassion for her brother but failed to do so. He’d said sorry so many times that the word had lost all meaning. She had to see him atone for his past mistakes, and that was unlikely to happen. It was true that he might try once again to find a job, but probably would be fired or quit as always. She refused to have false expectations. She shrugged again. “The past is in the past where it shall stay. There’s no undoing it.”

  “How well I know we cannot undo the past,” Gus said. “But I want to say that you are not alone. We will sort this out together. I promise.”

  She nodded, listlessly and did not respond to his words. Instead, she pushed against his back to prod him to his feet. “I need to go clean the kitchen.”

  He didn’t move, at first, and shook his head. “Mother was already cleaning when I left. I’ll dry the dishes and put them away.” Then he got to his feet and said words he’d never said before. “You’ve done enough.”

  Flabbergasted, she did not respond to his retreating back. If he was sincere, she’d wake to a clean kitchen. If he was not, she could always clean in the morning.

  She got up and lit the oil lamp to prepare for bed. She hung up her dress and draped her work apron, worn during Ward’s procedure, over the chair, only then remembering. She reached into its pocket and brought forth a locket of hair.

  She found her lace-embroidered handkerchief, spread it on the bed, and placed the locket of hair in the center. The coppery golds sparkled in the light of the lamp, and she observed their beauty before she folded her handkerchief and hid the glow.

  After a moment’s consideration, she placed it beneath her pillow. Once she had extinguished her light and climbed into bed, her hand crept toward it.

  She fell asleep with the handkerchief cradled in her hand.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ward opened his eyes slowly and blinked. Someone moved beside him, and he tensed and did not relax when he saw it was Thatcher. The memory of the man advancing on him remained, but why or when had fled.

  The man laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a pat. “The doc said to keep you still. “She had to cut open your head, to relieve the pressure on your brain. She’ll explain the rest.”

  Ward tried to nod in response, and Thatcher stopped him. “Nope. Keep that head still. Wouldn’t want you bleeding out—folks might blame me.”

  Rightly so, Ward thought, although he didn’t exactly know why.

  “Now, stay still, and I’ll fetch the doc. She wanted to be informed the minute you woke up.”

  Thatcher moved out of his line of sight, and Ward did as he’d been told and stayed still. He was groggy and probably couldn’t have moved much if he’d tried.

  In what seemed only a few seconds, Thatcher was back and studied Ward, his face serious. “Before the doc gets here, I want to let you know I’m sorry for hitting you. To tell the truth, I agree with you. It’s my fault for Melly’s condition.” He waved a hand. “I don’t mean about her expecting, which I definitely am to blame for. I’m talking about up here.” He tapped the side of his head. “I don’t know how to help her, but I want you to know I will do anything for that woman, move heaven and earth to see her get better. I hope after the baby is born, she’ll do just that, but the doc doesn’t give much encouragement. Just the opposite, she says, we need to prepare for. Some women often become sadder, for some reason.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t expect you to forgive me; I ain’t forgiven myself.”

  Ward had difficulty fully comprehending Thatcher’s words. It seemed they had spilled out in a muddled mess.

  The man moved away and spoke quietly to someone and then Dr. Rutherford’s face came into view. Relief was evident on her face.

  She gave him a serious look. “I discovered you had a small tumor.” She smiled wryly. “After surviving a serious head trauma and then developing a tumor on your brain, it seems you have all the luck.” She sighed softly. “I can’t guarantee your headaches will decrease and your memory will improve, but it is my hope. That is, if I have done my job correctly. It’s a wait-and-see situation for now. Your color is good, and you seem a perfectly healthy young man, so I do not think my hope is a vain one. My instinct is to keep you sedated as you recover, and we will hope that is the correct decision.”

  He wanted to thank her and tried to speak. She shushed him.

  “I’m going to check for paralysis. Only move when I ask you to.”

  Ward complied, but even the small amount of activity she had him do sent his head throbbing. The doctor finished her examination and gave a nod of satisfaction.

  She patted his arm. “Thank God, no paralysis. Keep resting and be as still as possible. I will have Mrs. Franklin prepare some broth, but I don’t want you to sit up for a couple of days, at least. Someone will help you. And no talking. If the pain becomes too intense, lift your hand. If you understand, blink once.”

  Ward blinked. The pain was bearable for now, and he concentrated on keeping his hands still.

  “Good. Remember to blink once for yes, blink twice for no. Your memory may be affected so please forgive me if I tell you things you already know.”

  He blinked again to let her know he understood.

  “One other thing—my husband’s funeral will be tomorrow, and I will be receiving visitors today. Grace has volunteered to tend to your needs during this time.”

  He blinked, glad his memory of Grace was still intact.

  Dr. Robbie patted his arm. “I think that pleases you. Until Grace arrives, your brothers-in-law will be here if you need anything.”

  Her words sparked the memory that he had sisters. He tried to speak, forgetting she had told him not to do so. He wanted to see them, but his words were slurred. Dr. Robbie quieted him although she guessed his intent.

  “Your sisters have not yet been informed that you are their brother. You do understand it will be a shock to them. Joshua, Tristan, and Thatcher are discussing the best way to inform them. It all must be handled with care, especially where Melly is concer
ned.”

  He blinked.

  “Let me go speak to Mrs. Franklin. Remember to remain as still as possible. Rest for now.”

  She left, and no one else came within his vision. His eyelids became heavy. He closed his eyes, and sleep took him.

  WHEN WARD OPENED HIS eyes again, Grace was there, and he believed she’d called his name. He again didn’t remember Dr. Robbie’s instructions and attempted to slur out words, none making sense to his ears. Grace told him not to speak, her eyes brimming with tears, and a smile playing on her lips. Perhaps she had understood some of what he wished to convey.

  She tended to his needs and fed him, and then he slept again.

  It seemed, each time he opened his eyes, Grace was there. The few times she was not, one of his brothers-in-law hovered by his side.

  Time passed, how much, Ward did not know. Grace told him the funeral was over, but that she would continue providing care for him.

  Shortly after that, Dr. Robbie allowed him to sit. He believed something was in the tea Grace gave him to drink for he remained groggy and his limbs heavy.

  He asked again to see his sisters and was informed that it was a unanimous decision to wait until he had further recovered. Discovering their new-found brother in a disabled state might be too overwhelming, he was told.

  After another day or two, Grace told Ward that Taron’s brother, Ander, had arrived, and he’d come alone—his mother had been too ill to travel, and his wife had stayed behind to care for her. Ander had to return soon, and Grace said Dr. Robbie would talk to Mr. Ander about his plans for the ranch before he left.

  The next day, Grace came in upset. Without thinking, Ward swung his legs off the bed, intent on comforting her.

  She was aghast. “What are you doing? Get back in bed before I have to fetch Dr. Robbie.”

  He did so, reluctantly, and she tucked the linen sheets around him. “She does not want you walking yet.”

  “Another pillow, please?”

  She brought him a pillow and raised him to a reclining position. He caught her wrist before she moved away. “What’s wrong?”

  She pulled from his grasp and ignored his question. Instead, she asked, “How are your headaches?”

  “Better. Why are you upset?”

  Grace grew serious and sighed heavily. She cast her gaze to the floor and then raised her head. “Mr. Ander plans to sell the ranch.”

  Ward frowned and had to suppress a grimace as a pain shot forth. He had not been entirely truthful about the headaches. Regardless, he searched Grace’s eyes. “Does Dr. Robbie plan to go to Boston?”

  “No. Actually, your brothers-in-law have persuaded her to go with them.”

  His forehead puckered, and he fought to relax the muscles, to relieve the pain. “Why?”

  “It seems Tristan, Joy’s husband, will soon open a school outside of Lonely Grove, Texas. The whole family will be involved in some capacity, and Tristan asked Dr. Robbie if she’d like to teach anatomy and physiology as well as serve as the school’s doctor. She’s agreed.”

  Ward was puzzled. “Isn’t that good news?”

  Grace nodded. “Of course! Good news for her. And I should be happy—rejoice with them that do rejoice.”

  “Can’t you go? I’ll ask my...”

  “We cannot ask your sisters! This is your family whom you do not know. You can’t ask for a favor like that, not until you know them better. Besides, what would happen to Mother and Gus? Your sisters and their husbands, as nice as they seem, would not take us all on—your family would be crazy to even consider it.”

  He laughed, and this time could not hide his wince. “Crazy family,” he managed to say. “One punched me.”

  “Perhaps he had good reason. You lied about being a marshal.”

  “Never lied. Not my fault.”

  “Still, you did not correct the sheriff’s mistake. You assumed a false identity.”

  “Didn’t have time. Babbitt dying.”

  “What is your real name?”

  “Don’t know. ‘Ward of the...’” He had to stop speaking, and she gave him a sip of water.

  “Ward of the state?” she asked, puzzled.

  He nodded.

  “Didn’t the orphanage give you a name?”

  He nodded. “But I had a name and didn’t need it.”

  “You said you don’t remember your name.”

  “The Choctaws gave me a name.”

  Her eyes sparkled with interest. “What was it?”

  “Shilup.”

  Slowly, she said the name, and a long-ago memory teased the edges of his mind. He smiled for it was a pleasant one until she called him back to the present.

  “What does Shilup mean?” she asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  Heat crept up his neck. He didn’t like telling folks since it spooked some. Grace, though, was not like most folks. “Ghost,” he said and watched for her reaction.

  “That’s how you seemed to me,” she explained. “When I first saw you, I mean.”

  He nodded and smiled when she laughed.

  “So, the orphanage refused to call you Shilup, and you were too stubborn to use the name they gave you.”

  He nodded again, growing tired of talking.

  “But you do not know your real name?”

  “I don’t, I won’t. My sisters...” He was out of breath again.

  “Your brothers-in-law won’t tell you your name because they want your sisters to tell you?”

  He nodded. “Soon, I hope.”

  Her eyes clouded. “Your recovery will take time.”

  “Too long already.”

  “Everyone recovers at their own pace. You’ll soon be as good as new.” She shrugged, but her eyes were uneasy and evasive.

  He didn’t attempt to answer. “When Dr. Robbie leaves, where will you go?”

  She laughed, but it seemed forced. “I will find a job somewhere. And Gus is doing better—for how long, I don’t know, but at least, he’s helping with chores around the house. That’s why I’ve been able to spend so much of my time here.” Pink rose to her cheeks.

  “Good for Gus and good for me.” He attempted a smile, failed miserably, and leaned back. He breathed deeply, fighting to control the pain.

  “Goodness gracious! Dr. Robbie will fire me sooner rather than later if she finds you like this. She left some medicinal herbs for your headache pain. I’ll make a tea for you.”

  He managed to grunt out a thanks before she left to make the tea. He closed his eyes and thought of his sisters.

  If Dr. Robbie did not allow him up soon, he would defy her and go find them, even if he must crawl. He had to talk to them—for Grace’s sake.

  And then another idea hit him, one that did not suit him, that would lead Grace far away. And that would be a good thing. His recovery was taking too long, no matter what she said.

  Grace had a dream, and he intended to help her fulfill it. He’d been patient long enough. He’d do what little he could do to ensure Grace’s happiness, no matter how much it would ruin his own.

  He swung his legs off the bed and grimaced, but the pain soon subsided. He took a few steps and did not fall. He made it to the wash basin. A mirror hung above it and a razor, bar of soap, and washrag next to it. He rubbed his scruffy beard and then poured water from the pitcher into the basin and lathered up the soap.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dr. Robbie had given Grace the buggy so she would not have to depend on anyone to drive her. She was heading home, and the ride should have been pleasant; for spring was come, in full bloom. But instead, worry gnawed away. Once the sisters knew Ward was their brother, they’d insist he move away, to Lonely Grove, over a hundred miles away.

  Ward would never return. Why should he? They’d met less than a month ago, and most of that time he’d been confined to bed. His convalescence had been slow, slower than Dr. Robbie would have liked, although he’d been up for longer periods and walked short distances.

  H
is headaches were still intense, especially when he performed any physical activity. However, he grew stronger, slow as it was, and Dr. Robbie and his brothers-in-law had at last consented to tell his sisters of his existence tonight.

  That both gladdened and saddened Grace. Once he reunited with his sisters, he’d never think of her again—well, maybe once or twice, as a once-upon-a-time pleasant interlude, for he had enjoyed their time together. She was sure of it.

  But a month surely was not long enough for them to grow strongly attached to one another. Not only would he forget her, she’d soon forget him, too, although she could not fathom such a scenario.

  She drove the buggy past the sheriff’s office. Rance was livid when he found Ward was not Marshal Henderson. It was his own fault for believing ‘Ward’ was a shortened form of ‘Howard.’ She giggled. He should have asked to see Ward’s badge.

  She admonished herself as she drove into the livery. She could not absolve Ward of all blame; he’d deliberately misled the sheriff.

  She took her time walking home. Mr. Ander had extended his stay for they’d found a buyer for the ranch almost immediately. Fortunately for him, the buyer was a neighbor wishing to extend his own ranch. The cattle, most of the horses, and equipment would all be included in the sale. However, that left the household goods to be packed away. All hands, including Grace, were needed to help pack.

  The furniture had already been shipped, to all places, Lonely Grove, for Mr. Ander had also been asked to teach at the school and accepted. He was a sculptor and would teach one art class, allowing him time to work on his own projects. His tenure would not begin for a while—he had to return to Boston to finish business there. His wife would be accompanying him to Lonely Grove in a year or so, after they resettled his mother, where, Mr. Ander did not yet know.