The Marshal Meets His Match

by Clari Dees

  “That about sums it up.” Wyatt wearily scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the rasp of three days’ growth of beard. “How’s everything here in town?”

  Franks unsaddled, rubbed down and fed the weary horse as he talked. “Well, Mr. McIsaac’s still out cold, and Doc is shore ‘nuff worried. Miss Meri ain’t left his side de whole time. De banker is okay, but he’s sayin’ he cain’t do nuttin’ ‘bout the loss ob de money, and we’d better hope you foun’ it. Everythin’ else has been quiet like.”

  Wyatt gave Franks a quick rundown of the fruitless search before adding, “I think I’ll check in at Doc’s office then try to find a meal and my bed, if no one needs me. Thanks for the use of that horse. He was a good fella. I appreciate you keepin’ one handy for me until Charger recovers from our trip up here.” Wyatt shook Franks’s hand, bid the man good-night and made his way to the doctor’s house.

  A light was burning in the front window, and he tapped softly on the door. Dr. Kilburn opened it and, upon seeing who it was, quietly invited him in. “Did you catch him?”

  “No. We lost his tracks,” Wyatt ruefully admitted. He had a feeling he was just beginning to hear this question. He changed the subject. “How’s McIsaac?”

  Doc shook his head. “I wish I knew. I removed the bullet from his side, and it isn’t such a bad wound, barring infection. It’s the blow to his head that has me concerned. He hasn’t shown any sign of consciousness, and I’m worried there might be swelling inside his skull due to the severity of the blow he took when he fell. It’s become a waiting game, unfortunately.”

  “May I see him?”

  “You can peek in the door, but be quiet about it. Miss Meri had just dozed off when I checked on them a few minutes ago. She hasn’t slept much since it happened, and I’d like her to get some rest.”

  Wyatt nodded, and Dr. Kilburn led him down a short hall and quietly opened a door. A lamp glowed softly, throwing its feeble beam on the two figures occupying the room.

  Mr. McIsaac, his head swathed in white bandages, was lying motionless and silent on the small bed. His face looked unnaturally pale even in the dim light of the lamp’s lowered flame. Wyatt threw up a quick prayer for God’s healing and turned his gaze toward the room’s other occupant.

  Miss McIsaac—he liked Franks’s “Miss Mary” better—the woman who’d hopped on a bareback, bridleless horse to go flying across the field, snagging his attention like no gussied up, eyelash-batting, flirting female had ever done. He’d found himself distracted and thinking about her at the oddest times while tracking with the posse, remembering her reaction when she’d fallen off the horse at his feet. He’d expected tears and pouting but she’d come up fighting, and he’d kept at it just to watch her spine stiffen, her chin come up and her brown eyes spark and sizzle.

  Tonight, though, the fiery spirit and ramrod-straight spine were missing. The slender young woman drooped sideways in the large rocking chair, weary distress creasing her sleeping features. Her head leaned awkwardly against her shoulder and the back of the rocker in a way that was sure to leave a crick in her neck by morning. Someone had draped a blanket over her, but her slender hands gripped the arms of the rocker. Even in sleep there was a tension about the fragile-looking figure and an obvious lack of peace that made his heart ache.

  Wyatt forced his gaze back to Mr. McIsaac. He was not in Little Creek to be distracted by a female. He was here to do a job and continue to squirrel money away toward his goal. He’d seen the stress the families of army soldiers and lawmen had undergone. Long ago he’d decided not to put someone he loved through that and to avoid female entanglements until he was no longer in a dangerous profession. When he found a place to settle down and pursue his dream of raising prime horseflesh, then he would think about a family. Until that happened, however, he was riding alone. And enjoying it.

  A hand on Wyatt’s shoulder reminded him Doc was waiting. Stepping back, he allowed the man to softly pull the door closed and followed him to the front room.

  “Now, young man, you go find yourself a meal and a bed. There’s nothing you can do here tonight, and I’d like to catch some sleep myself before anyone else decides they need me.”

  Taking his advice, Wyatt bid the doctor good-night and left the house, praying as he walked through the dark, quiet town for God to heal Mr. McIsaac, to give Miss McIsaac strength and to help him bring the thief to justice. He reached his office and decided a meal and a bath could wait; sleep was more important. Retreating to the small rear room that held his few belongings, Wyatt wearily shed hat, boots and pistol holster. Placing his pistol and rifle within easy reach, he flopped across his bed and let out a gusty sigh. Like the doctor, he wanted rest before anyone else needed him. Dumping the questions and worry swirling through his mind at the feet of his Heavenly Father, he was sound asleep within minutes.

  * * *

  Please, God, don’t take him, too! Please don’t take him, too!

  Time slowed, and the ticktock of the bank clock grew louder and slower until it was all Meri could hear as she desperately pressed the blood-soaked cloth against the bleeding wound and struggled to pray. She jerked when a second pair of hands covered hers, and she glanced up wildly.

  “You can let go now.” Dr. Kilburn’s kind, bearded face peered into hers as he lifted her hands away. “I need to take a look.”

  Meri sank onto her heels, clenching bloody hands together while he examined her father. After a cursory look at the wounds, he pulled a thick cloth from his bag, folded it into a square pad and pressed it over the gunshot wound. Looking up, he motioned to two men who hurried over with a litter, and Meri scrambled to get out of their way.

  “Take him to my office. Tell my wife to prepare for surgery. I’ll be right behind you as soon as I examine the banker.” Turning to Meri he added, “You walk alongside and keep pressure on that pad to slow the bleeding.”

  Unseen hands lifted Meri to her feet as she struggled to make her limbs obey her brain. Moving to her father’s side, she frantically tried to keep up with the litter bearers as blood spurted over her hands. The harder she pressed, the faster the blood poured.

  “Stop. Please stop!” But there was no one around to hear. She was kneeling over her father in the middle of a deserted street.

  “Please, God, don’t take him, too. I can’t lose him. Don’t take him, too!”

  A rooster crowed as Meri searched for something else to staunch the bleeding. The rooster crowed again, and Meri jerked awake, a cold sweat covering her skin from the vivid dream. Aching from the rocking chair and the unaccustomed inactivity of the past few days, she slowly pushed herself to her feet and gingerly stretched protesting muscles and joints before straightening the nightgown and wrapper Mrs. Kilburn had loaned her. A tap on the door warned her, and she turned as Dr. Kilburn and his wife entered.

  “Good morning, dear. I have breakfast almost ready. You have a few minutes to wash and freshen up if you like. I also washed and pressed your clothes for you. They’re hanging in the spare room.” Mrs. Kilburn smiled softly at Meri as she issued the invitation before hurrying back to her kitchen.

  Meri delayed leaving the room, hovering over the doctor as he examined her father. “Still no change,” he muttered.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Meri asked in frustration as she looked at the pale, quiet figure of her father.

  “Yes. We can pray for God’s healing and wait for it to occur. Your father had a pretty big shock to his system, but so far he’s holding his own.” The doctor moved away from the bed and patted Meri’s shoulder reassuringly. “Go freshen up and get some food in you. I’ll leave the door open. We’ll be close enough to hear if he stirs.”

  Meri allowed herself to be ushered from the room to the spare room across the hall. By the time she’d finished her morning ablutions, dressed in the neatly pressed skirt and blouse and headed for the kitchen, another voice had joined those of Dr. Kilburn and his wife.

  Pastor James Willis was sitti
ng at the table drinking coffee but stood when she entered the room. “I’m sorry for disturbing you so early, I wanted to check on Ian and see if there’s any way I can be of assistance.”

  “Doc says all we can do now is pray and wait.” The words felt like shards of glass in her throat.

  “They’ve been keeping me apprised of Ian’s condition—” he waved his hand toward Dr. and Mrs. Kilburn “—and the church family has been lifting him up in daily prayer, but what can we do to help you?” Pastor Willis gently asked.

  “I don’t know…” Meri choked as the pressure of the past three days suddenly clawed its way up her throat and overwhelmed her. The need to get away before she screamed and made a complete fool of herself robbed her of any semblance of social skills.

  “I’m sorry, I… Excuse me!” Meri rushed out the door of the kitchen into the backyard.

  “What about your breakfast, dear?” Meri heard Mrs. Kilburn ask as she cleared the door.

  “Let her go. Food’s the last thing on her mind right now.”

  Dr. Kilburn’s voice faded as Meri left the yard, running blindly. She didn’t know where she was going; she just followed her feet as they carried her away from the place where her father lay unconscious.

  Adrenaline had carried her through the past couple of days, but the uncertainty of her father’s health could not be ignored any longer. The doctor said wait and pray.

  She’d been waiting.

  She’d been praying.

  Why wasn’t God listening? She’d prayed and waited and waited and prayed through her mother’s illness but lost her anyway. Now here she was again, in the same position with her father. She couldn’t go through this again. She couldn’t!

  Fear and grief met with the fury of a mountain thunderstorm and raged in Meri’s chest. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her eyes and throat burned. She needed to get away from curious eyes. She needed to be on the range where she could run and scream. Where no one could hear and accuse the “old maid” of finally snapping.

  Where could she go? For that matter, where was she?

  Disoriented, Meri glanced around and realized she’d run from Pastor Willis, straight to the church building. Well, maybe praying at an altar would be more effective than the silent, incoherent pleas ricocheting around her brain the past three days.

  Trying the handle of the spick-and-span little white building, she walked inside, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The room that rang with preaching and singing on Sundays, and the schoolchildren’s recitations the rest of the week, was unnaturally quiet and dim. The sun had just started peeking over the horizon, not yet bright enough to illumine the interior.

  Collapsing onto the nearest bench, her eyes fastened on the flag at the front of the room as her mind tried to find the words to pray. Gradually her ragged breathing began to quiet.

  “Heavenly Faither…” The words echoed hollowly in the empty room. “I don’t know what to say that I haven’t already prayed. I don’t want to lose Faither. I’ve already lost Mither. Isn’t that enough for a while?” The anger in the question surprised Meri. She was scared and sad, not angry. Meri’s voice rose though she tried to temper her tone. “Please! You have to heal Faither!”

  Unable to sit any longer with the emotions tumbling around inside her, Meri got up and paced the aisle of the little building. An open Bible lying on the edge of the desk at the corner of the platform caught her attention. It was a school day, and the teacher would soon be here to prepare for the children who would fill the benches when the bell rang. She needed to leave before she was caught yelling at God, but maybe she could find quick comfort in His word.

  Grabbing the book, her eyes roamed the open pages for several seconds…

  …searching… There.

  Romans 8:25-28.

  But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it.

  Wait. There was that word again. She was tired of waiting. She wanted her father healed now.

  Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of the God.

  Pastor Willis had preached one Sunday how Jesus Christ prayed to the Father on behalf of believers. He didn’t forget to pray like a person might, He always knew what and how to pray, and the Holy Spirit interpreted the muddled, incoherent prayers, which might be all a believer was capable of in times of trouble.

  A hint of peace tiptoed through her heart. Someone was praying over her, and that thought brought the first comfort she’d felt in days. Her eyes continued down the page.

  And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God…

  She didn’t know how any of the awful recent events could be good, but maybe she’d make it through them without running screaming down the main street of town.

  Rereading the verses slowly, she hugged the reassurance of them to her heart before placing the Bible back on the desk. The weight on her shoulders wasn’t gone, but it was more bearable, and Meri felt she could face the day and the people in it.

  Hunger pangs reminded Meri of missed breakfast, so she left the little church—her return to the doctor’s house much slower than her departure. Fear and worry still nibbled around the edges of her heart, but the verses she’d read seemed to be keeping the worst of it at bay.

  A burst of embarrassment over her abrupt exit hit her as she slipped through the kitchen door.

  “There you are. I’ve got your breakfast keeping warm on the back of the stove if you feel like eating.” Mrs. Kilburn looked up from the bread dough she was kneading.

  “I am hungry, but I need to apologize for the way I ran out so rudely,” Meri said softly.

  Wiping her hands off on a towel, Mrs. Kilburn walked over to where Meri was standing and wrapped her in a hug. “Oh, honey. You don’t owe me an apology. I’m not upset. You’ve been cooped up in this house for days and have a ton of worry pressing on you. Frankly, my husband and I were beginning to worry that you hadn’t let any of it out. I think that maybe you have this morning. You look like you feel better.” She pulled back and peered into Meri’s face.

  “A little. Thank you for saving breakfast for me, and for taking the time to clean my clothes.” Meri swallowed past the lump in her throat as the warmth of Mrs. Kilburn’s hug sank into her heart.

  “Enough of that. We keep this up, and we’ll both be crying while your food spoils.” Mrs. Kilburn dabbed her eyes with her apron and tugged Meri to a seat at the table before placing the plate of breakfast in front of her. “You eat while I tend to this bread, and then you can help me do the dishes. Busy hands help keep the mind off heartaches.”

  Meri’s mouth watered as the aromas drifted up from the plate in front of her, and she bowed her head briefly. Digging into her meal, she listened to Mrs. Kilburn quietly hum the new tune “Blessed Assurance.”

  Mrs. Kilburn was in her late forties with curly blond hair arranged in a thick bun, and soft eyes that seemed to look at the world with a calm assurance and acceptance Meri wished she could emulate. Meri had not spent much time around the woman outside of church gatherings, but she knew Mrs. Kilburn was familiar with heartache. She’d miscarried several times and knew the grief of loss and childlessness, so her words of compassion rang with authentic empathy.

  Mrs. Kilburn assisted her husband with his patients, and Doc frequently said he wouldn’t be able to practice medicine without her. He bragged she was his right hand and the best nurse he’d ever worked with. Watching her over the past few days, Meri couldn’t help but agree.

  Finished with her meal, Meri washed and dried the dishes while Mrs. Kilburn kneaded and shaped the dough into loaves and slid them into the oven. Meri could hear Dr. Kilburn’s office door open and the sound of boots getting close
r.

  “Come into the kitchen,” Dr. Kilburn was saying to someone. “We can grab a cup of coffee while you wait for Meri to return.”

  Meri finished drying the dish in her hands as she glanced toward the door. Dr. Kilburn entered followed by the tall figure of Marshal Cameron. Meri stiffened her knees and spine, fighting an abnormal thudding in her heart that destroyed the measure of peace she’d found earlier.

  “Ah, she’s back already. Meri, the marshal stopped by to speak with you. Both of you have a seat, and I’ll get us some coffee.” He stepped to the stove where the coffeepot simmered.

  Meri set the dish down and wiped her perspiring hands on the towel, the marshal’s cool, searching eyes making her uncomfortable.

  “If she can be spared for a few minutes, I need to speak to her in private.” He addressed Dr. Kilburn, but his hard gaze remained on Meri, watching, waiting. He motioned toward the back door. “If you’ll step outside into the garden, I have a few questions to ask you about the bank robbery.”

  Chapter Three

  Wyatt studied Miss McIsaac, and replayed the morning’s events in his mind. Questions concerning the holdup had driven him from his bed before dawn. After time spent praying and searching the Scriptures for wisdom, he set his Bible aside and pored over the wanted posters and notices filed in his desk. He had glanced through them as time permitted over the first days on the job, but early this morning, he’d studied each one carefully, looking for any descriptions that matched what he knew of the bank robber.

  Sounds of an awakening town had finally caused him to push back from the desk, stretching as he stood. He needed more information about the holdup and the culprit; rushing to follow the trail of the thief hadn’t left time for a comprehensive investigation. Talking with witnesses again might provide additional information to tie to the wanted posters. Buckling his holster around his waist and settling his prized Stetson on his head, Wyatt blew out the lamp on his desk and walked out the door. He’d learned the cafe was a favorite morning spot for many of the single tradesmen in town, and Wyatt decided to combine two chores at once: breakfast and information gathering.