by Clari Dees
“I’ll get some fresh water, and you can sponge his face and neck to give him some relief from the fever. That’s what I was doing when I heard you arrive.” Picking up a basin and wet cloth from the bedside stand, he left the room.
Meri dropped her face into her hands. Fear sat so heavy on her chest it was difficult to draw a breath, and she trembled all over. Her heart labored with hard, painful thuds. She couldn’t have stood to her feet if she were forced at the point of a gun.
A gun.
The nasty urge to find the man who’d injured her father swept over Meri in a black rage. Oh, how she wanted to hurt the man who’d done this! Do to him what he’d done to her father! Anger surged through her temporarily replacing fear, and Meri shot to her feet as Dr. Kilburn reentered the room carrying a fresh cloth and basin of water.
“Here, keep your hands busy and your father a little cooler.”
Meri moved to do his bidding, tenderly wiping her father’s face repeatedly with the cool wet cloth while chewing on the anger raging through her and envisioning what she would do when she got her hands on the person who had caused her father’s injury.
It was some time before she paid any attention to the quiet nudging in her spirit to pray, to forgive, and when she did, she couldn’t push any words past her clenched teeth or her even tighter heart. The man who did this didn’t deserve to be forgiven, her emotions argued.
Giving up the halfhearted struggle, anger and fear once again vied for dominance, and the bitter ache that had resided in her heart since her mother’s death shaped itself into a hard, defiant, angry knot.
Meri lost track of time and jumped when she heard subdued voices and multiple feet entering the house. Laying aside the wet cloth and grabbing a nearby towel, she hastily dried her hands, smoothed back her hair and straightened her clothes. She wished she’d taken a moment to change into fresh attire, but she was out of time. A knock sounded, and she stiffened her spine and took a deep breath before stepping to the door to open it.
Pastor Willis entered the room followed by six more men, all showing signs of having recently and hastily washed up from their day’s labors. The men included Mr. Benhard, the Western Union agent; Mr. Allen, the surveyor; Mr. Gumperston, owner of the cafe; Mr. Hubert, the barber; Mr. Van Deusen and Franks. All were members and elders of Little Creek Baptist Church, and hearing the clock chime from the parlor, Meri realized that these men, in all probability, had delayed their supper by coming to pray for her father. The knot in her chest softened just a bit at this display of concern and care for him, and she struggled to swallow past the lump that blocked her throat.
Dr. Kilburn was last through the door, behind the solemn little troop, and ushered Meri through the now-crowded room to seat her in the rocker. Pastor Willis stood at the end of the bed and pulled a small Bible out of the pocket of his black frock coat. After flipping through the pages, he stopped and read aloud the passage from James 5 before asking the assembled men to take turns praying.
Closing her eyes, Meri listened to the humble prayers. Men she had been acquainted with only in a cursory way through church and town activities now knelt at the Throne of Grace asking for healing for their Brother in Christ. Men like Mr. Van Deusen who never spoke more than a few words at a time poured out their hearts to God as they prayed for her father. Their fervent requests made the small room ring, and the simple eloquence of their prayers further loosened the knot that had formed in her chest.
When Franks stepped up to pray, Meri’s eyes startled open, and her gaze flew to his face when he mentioned her. “Father God, I ask in faith, dat you heal Brother Ian, dat you raise ‘im up from dis bed a sickness. And Father, I ask dat you heal Miss Meri from de hurt a losin’ her Mama, and dat you give her de abil’ty to forgive de man dat did dis crime. I ask dis in de precious, holy name ob Jesus!”
How had Franks known she was struggling with forgiveness? She hadn’t realized it herself until moments before the men had arrived. Meri forced her eyes shut as Pastor Willis began to pray and wrap up the solemn little service. He reiterated the requests for the full recovery of Mr. McIsaac and for peace, grace and the ability to forgive for Meri, and finished by thanking God for his promise of healing and for the willingness of the gathered men to humble themselves in prayer for Ian McIsaac.
Meri stood and moved around the end of the bed at the gruffly chorused Amen and watched as the men surreptitiously wiped at their eyes. Her own eyes were dry, but her throat was painfully tight as she tried to express her thanks to men who, one by one, came up to her, shook her hand and thanked her for the opportunity to help, to pray.
Pastor Willis urged Meri to let him know when there was any change or any further way he could be of service, and then he exited the room behind the men, leaving Doc and Franks with Meri. Doc leaned over and checked on Ian, and Franks reached down to draw Meri into a gentle hug. How she wished she could give in to the desperate urge to cry. Her eyes and throat burned but no relief of tears came. She heaved a dry, sobbing sigh.
“Hush now, chil’. I know you is hurtin’, maybe wurse den yo’ pa, but our God’ll heal you, if you let ‘im. Jis as surely as de sun rise in de mornin’. You jis place yo’ faith in His promise!”
Chapter Six
Meri forced her aching eyes open. It had been a long night of no rest as she’d kept vigil, bathing her father’s feverish face repeatedly. Mrs. Van Deusen had delivered supper and given Meri a chance to wash up, change clothes and eat, and then had insisted on staying the rest of the night. Meri had tried to dissuade her, dreading the woman’s chatter, but Mrs. Van Deusen had refused to leave. To Meri’s grateful surprise, however, the shopkeeper had seemed to realize Meri was near the end of her rope and had merely added her quiet prayer to those still echoing in the room before pulling out her knitting.
In the early-morning hours her father’s fever had broken, his breathing had grown easier and Dr. Kilburn had declared the immediate crisis over. Mrs. Van Deusen had dozed off and on during the long night and had ordered Meri and Doc to their rooms for some rest, promising to wake them if there were any changes. Stumbling to a spare room, Meri had collapsed on the bed fully clothed, asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Now, trying to focus her weary eyes on the small clock on the bedside table, she was surprised to see it was after nine o’clock. She’d slept the morning away. Sitting up, she tossed aside the blanket someone had laid over her and moved to the dressing table. Fresh water was in the pitcher, and she gratefully splashed the cool liquid on her face before brushing her hair and pulling it off her face in a hasty braid. Changing into a fresh skirt and blouse, she hurried to her father’s room.
Dr. Kilburn looked up from his examination of her father as she came in.
“Has his fever come back?” she asked fearfully.
“No.” Doc’s voice was hushed and held a strange note. “In fact, if I hadn’t seen it yesterday, I wouldn’t believe he ever had a crisis.”
“What do you mean?” Meri asked in confusion.
“I mean there is absolutely no sign of infection, the wound is clear and healing well, there’s no hint of fever, his color has improved and his breathing and pulse are all normal for someone who’s just asleep.” Doc moved to the nearby basin and washed his hands, muttering under his breath. “We asked God to intervene yesterday, but I guess I didn’t expect it to happen so fast. I claim to have faith, but…” Doc shook his head, a rueful expression on his face.
“I don’t understand. If he’s better, why is he still unconscious?”
“Your father was in a coma from the head injury and then had complications from the infection. Today the infection is gone, the lump from the blow to the head is nearly gone, the symptoms that indicate a coma are gone, and he’s responding to stimuli. Your father exhibits all the signs of a man who is simply sleeping.”
“Then why don’t you wake him up?” Meri whispered in frustration.
“He stirred some during my examination but didn’t wake co
mpletely. Sleep is healing to the body, and I’d like him to wake on his own.”
Taking her by the arm, he ushered her out of the room, gently closing the door. In the kitchen he poured two cups of coffee. Handing one to Meri, he sat down, took a sip of the steaming brew and heaved a huge sigh of satisfaction. “My wife should be home shortly since the patient she was watching last night is on the mend, and with your father looking so much better, I’m feeling quite the successful practitioner this morning.” He chuckled. “I don’t think I had all that much to do with any of it, though. A greater Physician than I has been at work this morning.”
Meri tentatively sipped the bitter drink and hid a grimace. She really didn’t like the stuff, but maybe it would wake her up since she seemed to be walking through a dream. As the liquid hit her empty stomach, it growled loudly in protest. “Excuse me!”
“No. Excuse me. I forgot to tell you breakfast is waiting for you at Naoma’s. She left early this morning after I returned from checking on my other patients. We let you sleep as long as you wanted. You are under doctor’s orders to get some fresh air, stretch your legs and have a hearty breakfast.”
“What about your breakfast, and Faither—I need to be here when he wakes up.”
“I had a lovely breakfast with my wife when I checked on her and her patient, and you sitting around waiting for your father to wake up won’t change things or hurry them along. I don’t want you as a patient, too, so follow my prescription and go get some hot breakfast.”
“But what if he wakes up while I’m gone?”
“I’ll be right here, and he’ll still be here when you return. You’re only going to Naoma’s, not around the world. You’ll be back before you know it. But don’t run there and back. Walk.”
Feeling her stomach rumble again, Meri took his advice, and after checking to see that her father was still asleep, she walked toward Thomas and Naoma Van Deusen’s home.
“Well, good morning. I wondered where you were hiding.” The marshal’s voice rang out, startling her and causing a couple of passersby to turn and look at the man walking toward her.
“I wasn’t hiding, but maybe I should have.” A grin lit the marshal’s face at her feisty reply, and she fought the unexpected urge to grin right back. No, she warned herself. Don’t encourage him.
“I saw Doc when he did his rounds earlier. He said your father was doing better. Is he awake yet?” He fell into step alongside her.
She shook her head. “Doc says Faither is better, but he hasn’t woken up.” She winced at the childish whine in her voice, but the fear that Dr. Kilburn might be shielding her… Meri turned to head back. She should not have left her father.
Fingers touched her arm, halting her steps. Almost as soon as she registered the contact, his hand withdrew, and he shoved it into his pocket. “Is Dr. Kilburn a liar?”
“What? No! Of course not.” The worry whirling inside her dissipated at the unexpected question.
He parked his free hand on the butt of his pistol. “Because I’m the man to see if you want to file a complaint against him.”
The absolute ridiculousness of filing a complaint against Dr. Kilburn caused a rueful grin to tug at her mouth. “And who do I see if I want to file a complaint against you?”
He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “Now, I don’t rightly know. I’ve never had anyone complain about me before.”
The grin tugged harder, turning up the corners of her mouth as she forced her feet to continue to Mrs. Van Deusen’s house. “You are incorrigible.”
“Well, thank you, but that’s not exactly what I’d call a complaint.” His long, easy stride brought him alongside her again as she neared the little cottage tucked behind the mercantile.
Mrs. Van Deusen stepped onto the porch and waved. “Good morning, Marshal. Come in and have some breakfast with Meri.”
“No, thank you. I ate at the cafe this morning.”
Meri hid a relieved sigh. The thought of sharing breakfast with him did funny things to her insides.
“That was hours ago. I know because I saw you leaving when I headed home. I have plenty of hot biscuits, sausage and gravy, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
He shrugged. “Who can refuse an offer like that?” He stepped onto the porch and held the door open for her. “After you.”
“Thank you,” she said to the marshal. As they entered the kitchen, she turned to Mrs. Van Deusen. “I’m sorry you had to go to all this trouble after being up all night.”
“Fiddle-faddle. I left early enough this morning that I had a chance to take a nap after Thomas opened the store. I had just gotten up when I looked out and saw you coming. Now quit apologizing and dig in.” She set two steaming plates of food in front of them. “You two keep yourselves company. I, ah, I need to take something to Thomas. He’s so absentminded you know.”
Meri knew nothing of the kind. Thomas might be quiet and reserved, compared to his voluble wife, but absent-minded he was not. Naoma scurried out the door leaving a painful silence behind her.
* * *
“Shall I ask the blessing?” At her nod Wyatt bowed his head and prayed a quick prayer before picking up his fork and digging into the fragrant food on his plate. He ignored the bowed head and pink cheeks on the woman across the table.
She took a halfhearted bite of food, keeping her head down. The food must have sparked her appetite, because after the second bite, she dug in eagerly. When her plate was almost empty, she laid her fork down and leaned back, still avoiding his gaze.
Wyatt stood and gathered his dishes. Since she didn’t seem inclined to break the silence, military strategy called for a diversion to end the standoff. “Why did your parents leave Scotland?”
Miss McIsaac dabbed her mouth with her napkin, a feminine move that might have distracted a less disciplined soldier. “They were evicted off the land and put on a boat to Canada during the potato famine.”
“How’d they wind up in Colorado?” He placed his dishes in the tub of soapy water and began to wash them. He didn’t want Miss McIsaac to think he was going along with Mrs. Van Deusen’s matchmaking scheme, but it was only polite to do the dishes in return for such a fine meal.
“They worked their way down to the States, where I was born, and saved every penny they could. Faither worked as a hired hand, and Mither took in laundry. When they heard about the gold rush, they followed it out here.”
“Did they strike it rich?”
“Not in gold. Faither tried panning for gold, but he found he could make more money driving freight wagons of supplies to the miners.” She grinned slightly, remembering. “Mither panned more gold dust than Faither ever did.”
She should smile more often. Then again, it might be safer for him if she didn’t. “What do you mean?”
“Mither took in washing and mending from miners who couldn’t or wouldn’t do their own. She said she would pan her wash water before dumping it out to collect the gold dust she’d washed from their pockets.”
Wyatt chuckled. “Smart woman.”
Her smile disappeared. “She was.” Her eyes took on a distant look. “I was little, but I remember how tough those years were. They scrimped and saved, and when the Homestead Act was passed, Faither staked his claim on a piece of land he’d seen while hauling freight. For the first time in his life, Faither owned his own piece of ground. He kept driving freight wagons for a while to bring in money, buying a couple head of cattle at a time to stock his ranch. It was slow, but he built a home and solid herd without going into debt. Later when they modified the Homestead Act, Faither was able to acquire more land. The ranch is nearly a thousand acres now—bigger than the estate their landlord owned in Scotland.”
“And stocked with the furriest cows I’ve ever seen.”
Mrs. Van Deusen’s return interrupted whatever reply Miss McIsaac might have made. “Aren’t you the sweetest man? A marshal who does dishes. I knew I liked you. Our town is so blessed to have been able to get you to fi
ll the position of our marshal.”
She picked the remaining dishes off the table and handed them to him to wash, never taking a breath as she turned toward Miss McIsaac. “He resigned his commission in the army and moved back to Virginia when his father died and his mother grew ill. When she died, he came back West and was working down in Texas as a deputy. The first Sunday he was here after arriving to meet with the town council about the position, he came to church services. He has such a lovely voice and sings right out on the hymns. We had him over for lunch that very day. Thomas is on the town council you know. Marshal Cameron won my husband over right away! Now Thomas isn’t easily impressed. He reserves judgment on people ‘til he’s known them awhile. Why, he still hasn’t warmed up to Banker Samuels, and we’ve known him for nearly ten years!”
If he hadn’t been so anxious to get out of the kitchen, Wyatt might have been impressed at how long the woman could talk without stopping for air.
“Thank you for the wonderful breakfast, but I really should get back to Faither.” Without waiting for an answer, Miss McIsaac hurried to the kitchen door and through the house to the front door. Mrs. Van Deusen followed hot on her heels.
Wyatt took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. Much more of that and he would have been the one blushing.
Mrs. Van Deusen’s voice carried through the house. “He’s thirty-three, you know.”
“Mr. Samuels?” Miss McIsaac sounded as confused as Wyatt felt. He swiped his rag over the last dish. He had better make good his own escape before the woman returned.
“No, dear. Marshal Cameron. He’s never been married, and you two are so close in age.”
“I’m not thirty yet, Mrs. Van Deusen!” Miss McIsaac’s voice was growing fainter.
“You’re not? Hmm…I thought you were. Oh, well, you’re not very far from it. Goodbye, dear.”
Wyatt dried his hands on a towel. Dishes or no dishes, it was time to retreat before the matchmaker returned and trained her guns on him. He strode to the open front door. Miss McIsaac was nearly running in her attempt to put distance between her and Mrs. Van Deusen. He would have laughed if he hadn’t been so impatient to escape himself.
