by Jane Shoup
Em woke the next morning dazed from a deep sleep. She got up, fighting the urge to vomit, and dressed hurriedly, agitated by her clumsiness, which was all consuming because of her panic to get to Tommy. She left the house, not even bothering to brush her hair.
“Emmy? You okay?” Doll asked, when she walked into the mess hall.
Em didn’t bother to answer, because she didn’t know. She only knew she had to get to Tommy. She stepped into his room and froze, shocked by how much better he looked. Some color had returned to his face.
Doll came in right behind her. “Don’t it beat all?”
Em went to him, sat beside him and smoothed back his hair with both hands. She leaned down further and kissed his cheek. It felt warmer.
“He looks almost like his old self,” Doll said, “’Cept he was never one to lay around.”
Em felt a surge of hope. She leaned down and kissed his lips, and they felt warmer. Sighing deeply, she touched her forehead to his.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Three mornings later, as a rooster repeatedly crowed, Jack walked to the house and knocked. A few moments later, Charity answered, dressed and ready for the day. “Good morning,” she greeted him.
“Care for a walk?”
“Of course.” She gladly stepped outside and they started toward the fields at a leisurely pace.
“I’ve got to go back,” Jack said.
That was so like him. No equivocation. “I know.”
“If we weren’t so understaffed—” he commented. She drew breath to reply and he stuck his hands in the air. “Do not start.”
She grinned. “Fine. I won’t.”
“You’ll stay?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Jack stopped. “You know this isn’t likely to have a good outcome,” he said quietly, even though no one was in hearing distance.
“I know. But these people—”
“I know. I like them, too. And they will be devastated.”
“I am glad you saw that telegram, Jack. And I’m glad you shared it with me.”
“I’m glad I saw it, too. I just wish we could have made more of a difference.”
“It’s not over,” she stated. “I’m not giving up. Tommy has so much to live for.”
“If he didn’t,” Jack agreed, “I think he would have passed over already.”
She felt tears prick the backs of her eyes, and so she looked at the newly planted fields. She’d never given farming a moment’s thought, but she saw the beauty and wonder of it now. “Oh, Jack, there’s so much life here. Look at it!”
“Charity—”
She looked at him.
“You’re an excellent doctor,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ve said that enough.”
She smiled, touched by the statement.
“You will return, won’t you? When this is over?”
She cocked her head. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I need you for balance, you know. Intellect versus pure female emotion.”
She gave him a look. “Hmm. I’m trying to think how many times you’ve lectured me on letting my emotions control my work.”
“I never used those words,” he rejoined. “I don’t think you let your emotions control your work; I think you allow them to influence your work. Heavily. And that is, and will always be, the argument against admitting female physicians to work in hospitals. Which is not a subject I want to reopen. What I meant is that there’s too much nonsense in that house.”
“Well, it’s your home and they’re your daughters. Perhaps they haven’t been challenged enough,” she ventured carefully. She’d made it a practice not to voice her opinion on Alma or the girls to him or anybody. She’d always understood the marriage. It had been expected, planned, a union of families, the children of friends and fellow physicians coming together as they should. Everyone had been willing to play their parts. More than willing. Jack and Alma Werthing would have a charmed life. It had been decided. Only it hadn’t turned out quite so idealistic.
Jack, too often, was unsatisfied and Alma knew it. Alma, almost always, was unfulfilled and Jack knew it. And the girls were spoiled.
“You’re right about that,” he admitted. “The thing is, you’re not only my sister, you’re my closest companion. We understand one another. We have the same sense of humor. For purely selfish reasons, I don’t want to lose that connection.”
“Nor do I,” she assured him. “I value it as much as you do.”
He smiled and offered her his arm, and she took hold as they walked on. “These people,” he murmured, “are very caring and supportive of one another.”
“Yes, they are.”
“And you see the ease with which they go about their lives because of it.”
She nodded. “We were fortunate to grow up in a good home.”
“But didn’t you feel you had to meet expectations? To live up to the potential you were born with? Sometimes it felt as if we deserved no credit for our accomplishments or talent or even hard work. There was never this—”
“Ease?” she suggested.
“Yes. And joy. There was never the simplicity and acceptance you feel here. Of course, there’s also sorrow for what’s befallen Tommy, but you get a sense of how it was before. I almost wish it wasn’t time to get back to the city and to real life.” The bell clanged, indicating breakfast was being served and so they stopped. “But it is.”
Chapter Fifty
Gregory Howerton walked into Tommy’s room and stopped short, alarmed at how markedly thin and pale Tommy looked. He took off his hat, grabbed the back of his neck and squeezed the knotted muscles. His gaze was drawn to the tube coming out of Tommy’s arm. Hooked to the far end of the tube was a bottle of what looked like water. Another tube emptied into a bucket halfway under the bed. Urine. Somehow Tommy’s urine was being drained from him. Tommy’s lifelessness was disturbing. The damn tubes stuck in him were disturbing. It wasn’t how a man was supposed to live or die.
“May I help you?” a woman asked.
Howerton turned and blinked in surprise at the woman standing there with a pile of freshly boiled sheets in hand. There was no possibility she was domestic help because she had too much poise and class. She wasn’t exactly beautiful. That wasn’t the right description. She was highly attractive. She was arresting, with eyes of bluish-gray. “Tommy used to work for me,” he said. “He’s a friend,” he added, realizing it was true.
“I’m his doctor,” she said, shifting the sheets to one arm and offering her hand. “Charity Werthing.”
Howerton accepted her hand in his and held it a moment before shaking. It was tempting to turn it slightly and kiss it, doctor or not. “Gregory Howerton.”
“I’ve heard your name mentioned,” she stated evenly, withdrawing her hand from his grip.
“And I’d heard doctors had come.”
“My brother and I traveled from Philadelphia, but he had to return.”
Howerton glanced at Tommy. “Has he revived at all?”
“No.”
“Is there any hope?” he asked more sharply than he’d intended.
Her eyes flashed with irritation. “As a matter of fact, everyone here has hope.”
She was a fighter, he realized. She had class and style, but she was strong willed, too. He looked at the IV bottle. “What’s in the bottle?”
“Essential fluid and nutrients.”
He looked at her.
“Did you mean specifically?”
“If you don’t mind.”
She turned and set the sheets down, then folded her arms defensively. “Twenty ounces of water, fifty grains of sodium chloride, three grains of potassium chloride, twenty-five grains of sodium sulfate, twenty-five grains of sodium bicarbonate, two grains of sodium phosphate and two drachms of absolute alcohol.”
“You could have skipped that last one. He’s not much of a drinker.”
“We’re battling dehydration, electrolytic depletion, aci
dosis and nitrogen retention. Each of the ingredients is important.”
“Pretty impressive. Having that formula in your head.”
“It’s not impressive, it’s memorization. I’ve prepared it many times.”
He grew somber. “Is he going to live?”
She studied him a moment and then uncrossed her arms. “I hope so.”
“As a doctor, I’d hoped you’d know.”
The defensiveness was suddenly back. He could see it in her posture. “I’m a physician, Mr. Howerton, not a fortuneteller.”
“How long can he hang on like this?”
She didn’t answer right away. “Another week. Maybe two. Maybe longer. I don’t know.”
“I suppose I appreciate your candor.”
She didn’t seem to know what to say to that. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said.
She started to turn away, but he spoke again. “A doctor is an unusual occupation for a woman.”
She lifted her chin slightly. “It never seemed so to me.”
He looked at her left hand and was pleased to see there was no ring upon it. “Really.”
“Yes, really. My father was a physician.”
“But not your mother?” he asked with only a trace of a smirk.
“No, but she could have been. She certainly never discouraged my calling.”
“I need a doctor at the ranch.”
“Right this minute?” she asked calmly.
Her eyes were a clear, sparkling blue-gray, like a lake on a cloudy day, and there was definitely a modicum of amusement in them. Or perhaps sarcasm. And spirit and intelligence. “On staff,” he clarified. “The town needs another, as well, but I plan on hiring the best available. The town can borrow her in her spare time.”
“I wish you luck with that. My plan is to return home.”
“I’d like a chance to change your mind.”
Her color flared and her eyes flashed again. Like a burst of unexpected heat lighting on a summer day. “Based on what? You don’t know a thing about me.”
He shrugged. “I know what my gut says, and my gut is never wrong.”
“That must be very nice for you.”
“Surely, you’re a woman who investigates her opportunities,” he challenged.
“I am generally a woman who investigates my opportunities. And you are a man accustomed to getting his own way. A man who’s probably used to having people fall at his feet because of his wealth.”
Her spirit was refreshing. Hell, it was downright intoxicating. “Which won’t be you, because you come from wealth.” She drew back slightly, disconcerted that he’d guessed correctly? “You’ve lived a highly privileged existence, unless I miss my guess.”
“Which you never do,” she retorted sardonically.
He nearly smiled. “I hazard a wrong guess from time to time. I said my gut was never wrong. I have an instinct for people. Like Tommy here,” he said, glancing down at him. “Everyone thought one thing.” He shrugged. “I knew they were idiots. I know quality when I see it. I know it in horses and I know it in people.”
“I have an instinct for people, as well, Mr. Howerton. Most of us do.”
“Tell me, Doctor, do I rub you the wrong way?”
“Because of your arrogance, you mean?”
“Confidence,” he corrected.
“No. You don’t . . . rub me the wrong way, but I do have things to attend to.”
Her color was quite high, her eyes glistening and her respiration significantly increased. All good signs. If he didn’t miss his guess, she was every bit as intrigued by him as he was with her. “I won’t keep you, then. For the time being,” he added because he couldn’t stop himself. He waited for another flash of her eyes before speaking again. “Do you know where Emeline is?”
“She’s resting,” she replied curtly. “One hour a day. Doctor’s orders.”
He nodded and looked at his hat. Looking back up at her, he asked, “Is she alright?”
She hesitated and looked away from him. “She’s been better, as I’m sure you can imagine.” She looked back at him, having willed some steel into her spine. “But she’s strong. Generally speaking, women are as strong as we’re required to be.”
“I’m of the same opinion,” he stated earnestly. She frowned slightly as she studied his expression. He recognized that he’d thrown her off balance, but, then again, she’d done the same thing to him. He didn’t remember the last time his blood had surged this hotly. The last time he’d wanted something quite so badly. “When she wakes, she’ll want to know that Blue and Mitchell are dead.”
She blinked, startled by the words. “I’m sorry?”
“Blue was the one that did this,” he said, motioning to Tommy. “Although Mitchell was really responsible. Plus, he killed another man. Shot him in the face.”
She absorbed the news in silence.
“Mitchell was Tommy’s brother, but—”
“Yes, I . . . I know.”
“I probably should be going, myself. It was a pleasure, ma’am. Or do I say Doctor?”
“Either is fine.”
“Or might I say Miss?”
She crossed her arms tightly against herself. “I’m not terribly particular, Mr. Howerton.”
“In that case, it was a great pleasure, Doctor Charity Werthing. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” He started for the door, passing mere inches away from her. Close enough that he heard her intake of breath. He’d just reached the door when she spoke again.
“How?”
He turned back to her. “How . . . will I see you again?”
Her cheeks reddened and her eyes blazed. “How did those men die?”
He put his hat on his head. “At the well-deserved end of a rope,” he replied, tipping it to her before walking on.
Charity stared in disbelief even after he’d gone, then stepped back, shaking her head. A tremor passed through her and she turned to look at Tommy before walking over to sit in the chair beside his bed. After all she’d heard about Mr. Howerton, she’d expected someone wholly different. She’d heard ‘successful’ and ‘full of himself.’ She rubbed her arms, disturbed by the sensations flooding her system. She hadn’t been told he was handsome and vibrant. Forceful. That’s why he was so successful. “So that was Mr. Howerton,” she murmured. She took a breath and exhaled, determined to get her pulse to slow and her face to cool. “Oh my,” she whispered.
Chapter Fifty-One
Em had never been one to enjoy naps because they made her feel so sluggish afterward. That’s how she felt now, curled on her side, not asleep but not quite awake. She gasped softly as she felt movement inside her. She looked down at her bulging midsection and felt thoroughly shaken by how large she’d grown. She put a hand to her swollen abdomen and felt movement. She heard footsteps, rounding the bed, and looked up to see Ben—which meant she was dreaming.
“I think it’s time,” he said with a smile.
“Time?” She struggled to sit up and that’s when she noticed Tommy on the other side of her. The sight was so jarring, she woke. “Tommy,” she whispered. She sat up and looked down at her stomach. It wasn’t bulging, of course. Not yet. That had been pure fancy, but the rest of the dream had meant something. Either that Tommy was about to wake or—
She got to her feet and left the room but, outside, nothing seemed extraordinary or even different. She could see the men working in the fields. Doll was on the front porch peeling potatoes. Queen Pretoria, the cat that had recently adopted them, sat curled at her feet.
“Did you have a good rest?” Doll asked.
Em felt light-headed because everything had changed, only no one seemed to realize it. Tommy was either gone or he was awake. She was sure of it. “I had a dream.”
“A good one, I hope.”
Em lifted her skirt and broke into a run. She had to get to Tommy.
“Em?” Doll called.
The windows in the dining room were all open and a breeze made t
he curtains billow inward. Em heard footsteps coming her way and stopped, knowing Charity was coming to give her news of her husband. Em reached out to brace herself against the wall. I’m not ready, she thought.
Charity appeared, breathless and crying, and stopped short when she saw Em. “I was just coming to—”
Em squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. She wasn’t ready to hear it. She wasn’t ready to lose him.
“His eyes are so blue!”
Em’s eyes flew open, and Charity was nodding fervently.
“What is it?” Doll asked from behind her.
“Go,” Charity said in a thick voice.
Em walked blindly, dizzy as could be, one arm stretched out. She stopped before she reached his door, terrified it wouldn’t be true. But she grabbed a breath and rounded the corner into the room to see him sitting up, looking at her. She burst into tears and ran to him, and they held each other and cried. When she pulled back, it was to stare at him. He was looking back at her, but she still couldn’t fully believe it. “Oh, Tommy.”
The bell began clanging outside, and she went right back into his arms.
In the fields, the men all straightened. Wood swallowed hard, knowing it would be news about Tommy. One way or the other, the fight was over.
Em pulled away and then she leaned in and kissed him. Her heart ached to see the familiar expression on his face, as if he couldn’t look at her hard enough.
There was a shy knock and she turned to see Charity standing there with a tray. “I hate to interrupt,” Charity said. “But we’ve got to get some food in him.”
“Yes, we do,” Em agreed, smiling tenderly at her husband.
Charity walked over and put the tray in front of him. “We’re going to start light, with some broth. And please don’t feel shy about letting your wife help.” Besides a bowl of rich broth, there was bread, a thin wedge of cheese, a bowl of strawberries sprinkled with sugar and a glass of water. “Eat what you can,” Charity continued. “Your stomach will have shrunk, but you need nutrients.”
“Thank you,” he said weakly.
