Down in the Valley

by Jane Shoup

  “I can’t imagine coming to after that many days. You wouldn’t know which end was up.”

  She nodded in agreement and drew breath to reply, but refrained when the housekeeper, Janice, entered with a tray.

  He’d ordered that they go right to the main course, prime rib with sautéed squash, onions and mushrooms. “I had them skip the soup,” he said. “Unless you want it?”

  “No. This is perfect.”

  Janice put plates in front of them, refilled wineglasses and left. They began eating and the food was delicious.

  “I sat him up,” she continued, “and helped him to drink. The IV and catheter bothered him—”

  “I can imagine,” he interrupted.

  “So I removed them before going to get Em. But she’d had a dream and was coming to him. We almost collided in the hall. I swear she . . . knew. She knew something had happened.”

  He nodded. “Some people are meant to be together. And they are.”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me about your life in Philadelphia. Did you work in a hospital?”

  “I do,” she said lightly, correcting the tense. “At Preston Retreat, a hospital for the care of indigent married women of good character,” she finished with a wry lift of her brow.

  “Which part do you take issue with? Married or good character?”

  “Both, in this case. Medicine should be provided to those who need it, when they need it. Character and marital status should have nothing to do with anything.”

  “If you don’t like their rules, why not go elsewhere? I’m sure there are plenty of other hospitals in Philadelphia.”

  “Oh, indeed. Twenty-three hospitals within the limits of Philadelphia, not to mention thirteen dispensaries, where treatment is provided to the poor at no cost. Unfortunately, most of them don’t employ female physicians.”

  He reached for his wine and sat back. “I know a place that hires female physicians. Pays well, conditions are comfortable, there’s always something to do and good wine to enjoy. Oh, and the air is fresh.”

  Her cheeks took on a definite pink glow.

  “There are many benefits to life in the country,” he continued. “By the way, we’re not far from a decent little town. There’s really not much that you could need or want that can’t be had. And if there is, we take a trip to New York or Chicago. Or Philadephia.”

  “Are you from this area?” she asked with a polite coolness.

  “No. I’m from New York, but I have no intention of returning. This is home now.”

  “Dinner is delicious,” she said before taking another bite. “You have a wonderful cook.”

  He got the picture. He was pushing too hard. She was changing the subject. Not that he’d stop.

  When Janice entered with dessert, freshly baked oatmeal cake with a coconut glaze, she offered tea or coffee, which they declined. When she left, he pushed his dessert away. It held no appeal. “May I ask your age?”

  “Almost twenty-eight. Entirely too old for mar—” She broke off in mortification and her face flamed. She pushed back her chair and stood.

  He did the same, concerned by her distress. He’d wanted to push and prod, but not to scare her off.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I need some air. Will you excuse me?”

  She started for the door, but he moved into her path, stopping her. “Entirely too old for marriage?” he said, finishing the statement for her. “I disagree.”

  “Please let me by,” she said, trying to maneuver around him.

  He grabbed hold of her arms. “Charity—”

  “I don’t know what made me blurt such a—”

  “You said it because I’ve asked you to stay. Because I want you to stay. And because you sense I have every intention of making you fall in love with me. Which is true. I want you to need me. I want you to stay with me.”

  “Let me go. Please. I need some air.”

  “You said I was arrogant once, and maybe I am. I’m a man who goes after what he wants, and I make no apologies for that. Perhaps when women adopt the same strategy, you’ll be hired wherever you damn well want to be hired.”

  She huffed in objection. “I have always gone after what I wanted, thank you very much.”

  “What about now?” he asked, eyeing her lips. He wanted to kiss her and he suspected she wanted it as much. He felt her trembling.

  “As I already said, I need some air.”

  “Alright. Done. We’ll take a moonlight stroll. My lady’s wish is my command. I’ll just say one thing more. I’ve observed more than a few doctors at work, and you are as good or better than any of them. That’s why I want you working here. It may even have a little to do with why I want you to be my wife.”

  She yanked back. “You don’t even know me!”

  “I don’t know you as well I will, but I know you. Somehow.” He moved closer. “A year from now, when someone asks me about my wife, because they’ve never met you, I’ll say she’s lovelier than you can imagine, with a mind that astonishes me. Then I’ll probably add that I don’t care in the least that she’s outspoken, stubborn and willful.”

  For a moment, she suffered from a loss for words. “You truly are—”

  “Tough,” he interjected. “Arrogant at times.” He shrugged. “I’ve worked hard to get what I have. But I’ve got a heart, too. I protect what’s mine. I care about the people that work for me. I’d be a damn good husband . . . and father.” He paused, but she didn’t speak. She was shaken, but in a good way. “I think you know, too, that I won’t take no for an answer when my mind is set on something. I want you. In fact, I’m not about to let you go. Not when you’re the best thing that’s ever walked into my life.”

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. One hand gripped the back of her slender neck, the other caressed the small of her back. When he released her, he studied her flushed face. “I’ll never hurt you, Charity. And I’ll never see you hurt.”

  “I’m going to my room now,” she said, stammering slightly.

  “What about that walk?”

  She hesitated.

  “If I promise to behave?” he added.

  She turned her head, battling something within herself. “Good night,” she said as she started from the room.

  He watched her go, and it occurred to him how wonderful it would be to have a daughter. He’d always wanted sons, sons that looked, thought and acted like him, but the mental picture of those sons, once so distinct, had suddenly and irretrievably altered. They suddenly had lighter hair than before and blue-gray eyes. They were more thoughtful now. Still strong and fine looking and passionate about the ranch, but they also had an excellent grasp of medicine and the ancient Romans. He turned and went for his wine with a smile on his lips.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Although it was early, Tommy had bathed, shaved and eaten breakfast. He’d used the outhouse on his own and now he sat on the porch, getting some air. Em brought him a cup of coffee, kissed his temple and sat next to him. He’d asked for the whole truth about what had happened and she’d resisted and hedged, but it was time. “Tell me.”

  “I was in the outhouse, sick,” she reluctantly began. “I heard you yell as I was coming out, and then I saw Blue. He came from behind me. He had a gun and he fired.” She swallowed hard. “And you fell.” A tear rolled down her face and she quickly wiped it away.

  “I’m sorry for what you went through,” he said, leaning over to take hold of her hand.

  “I’m sorry for what you went through. I don’t know why people can’t just leave us alone.”

  “He got away, I guess?”

  She shook her head. “Mr. Howerton and his men went after him.”

  Tommy waited.

  “They . . . they hanged him.”

  Tommy looked out to the fields. “Did Blue say why he came?”

  “His intention was to take me back to Mitchell.”

  Tommy looked at her sharply.

  “Appare
ntly, Mitchell blames me—”

  Tommy nodded as he absorbed this. “I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised.” He paused. “As soon as I’m strong enough, I’m going to find him. And I’m going to kill him.”

  “You can’t. He was arrested in Roanoke.”

  “For killing Johnny Macgregor? He was the one who did that?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Did . . . did they hang him, too?”

  She hesitated and then nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “At least it was the law,” he said quietly. “Otherwise, it would have had to be me.”

  “It wasn’t the law,” she said haltingly. “The judge let him go because there wasn’t enough evidence. It was Mr. Howerton and his men.”

  Tommy looked back to the green fields, saddened and relieved at the same time. Or maybe he still wasn’t thinking altogether straight. He glanced up and noticed a stain from a leak in the ceiling of the porch. “It looks like a rabbit,” he said, vaguely recalling that he’d noticed it once before.

  Em looked, too, and then smiled. “It does. I never noticed.”

  He sipped his coffee and began to rock. Maybe his thinking was just fine, after all.

  “Blessed,” Em said.

  He looked at her. “What?”

  “We are so blessed,” she said, reaching out for him. Their hands connected and held tight. “Too often I’ve feared I was cursed . . . with bad luck. But we’re not. We’re the opposite. Bad luck comes looking and it’s turned away. Because we’re blessed.”

  Slowly, he smiled. And nodded.

  Charity woke the next morning, aware that someone was in her room. She was confused for a moment as to her surroundings, but everything came back to her quickly. “Good morning,” she said in a raspy voice.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” the young woman in her room said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “No, it’s alright,” Charity said, sitting up. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly eight. Mr. Howerton said to bring a fresh pot of tea at eight.”

  Charity blinked as a ray of light lit the silver teapot on the table across the room. There was also a bowl of fresh cut flowers and a small basket containing freshly made bread of some sort, judging by the scent. She was ordinarily up by now, but the day before had not been ordinary by any means and she had not been able to sleep for half the night thinking about it.

  “Shall I bring your breakfast?”

  “I think you just did,” Charity replied with a smile. “It smells wonderful.”

  “Cinnamon rolls. It’s a specialty of Mrs. Deckling. But I can get you some eggs or fatback or—”

  “No, what you brought is perfect. Thank you.”

  The maid left and Charity rose. She poured herself a cup of tea and walked over to open the curtains. Marveling at the misty mountains in the distance, she tried to prepare herself for seeing Coy. Not one chance in ten was probably right, barring a miracle, and there was nothing left to do. Nothing but to face the inevitable.

  She thought of Greg Howerton. Of the kiss. Of the feeling of his arms around her, then gave a quick shake of the head, trying to push the suddenly crowding thoughts away. It wasn’t right to think of that now. She set down the cup of tea and went to get ready. Action was the key; it was always the key.

  She stepped from the house and saw a man breaking in a wild horse in a nearby corral while a few others stood back and watched. In the distance, cattle grazed and men built fences. Life here was so different from the city. A warm breeze blew and yet she experienced a shiver at the unbidden thought that she could be happy here. She swallowed hard and walked on, shaken by the thought. Had her entire world just shifted on its axis? Because of a man? Because of Gregory Howerton?

  She reached the bunkhouse, and hesitated. She knocked lightly and then opened the door slowly, fearful of catching the men by surprise, but there was no one in the room except Coy and a middle-aged man who sat by his bed. The man stood at once and she walked closer. Coy looked worse. She felt his head and pulled back the covers to see the condition of his abdomen. It was grossly distended, worse than before. The infection was too far progressed. The surgery had been for nothing.

  “Hurts,” Coy whispered.

  She glanced at the bottle of laudanum she’d left. Not much was left.

  “Not that,” he bit out. “Knock me back out, Doc. Till I’m gone. Please.”

  Her eyes filled and spilled over. Crying was not professional, and she detested herself for the weakness, but it couldn’t be helped. She nodded.

  “Here you go, ma’am,” the other man said, offering her a chair.

  She sat and opened her bag with trembling fingers. She pulled out the bottle of chloroform and a rag, then looked at Coy, wanting to express how sorry she was.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed. “I found out—” he whispered.

  She leaned closer. “What?”

  “It’s not so bad,” Coy finished. “Dying. It’s not bad.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not bad,” she managed. She poured chloroform onto the rag.

  “You’re a good doctor,” Coy said. Every word was work, his pain excruciating.

  “Bye, kid,” the man said.

  Coy nodded once.

  “I’ll tell everyone you said so long,” the man added. “And, hey, we’ll be seeing you on the other side. Right?”

  Charity put the rag close to Coy’s mouth and nose, wishing she were tough enough to stop crying.

  Coy held her gaze for a moment and then closed his eyes. She brought the rag closer, determined to leave it there until he was gone. It was time to end his pain. She looked away, willing the ache to stop, but it didn’t. Had she done the right thing in operating? She’d wanted him to live. She’d wanted another miracle, but she’d known the odds. She looked again at Coy and then noticed the other man had left. She was alone in the room.

  She moved over to sit next to Coy on the bed, felt for a pulse and discovered there wasn’t one. She set the rag and chloroform aside and allowed the quiet of the room to press in on her. The moments following a death were important. To reflect on the gift of life, the fragility of it, the magic of it, was important.

  Minutes later, Greg Howerton stepped inside. She didn’t look over but she was acutely aware of him walking toward her. He sat on the chair facing her. “No more pain.”

  She shook her head and wiped her face, still avoiding his gaze.

  “Are you alright?”

  She nodded, but didn’t trust her voice to speak.

  “Look at me,” he said gently as he took her hands in his.

  His were strong and callused. She liked the feel of them. She liked being held by him. She liked his strength. She had worked long and hard to accomplish all that she had; why did allowing herself to love a man diminish any of it? She looked into his eyes.

  “We all knew he was going to die when his gut puffed up like it did. That was before you got here. What you did was to give him hope when he needed it. And, somehow, you made him realize it was okay to die, too.”

  “You give me too much credit,” she said in a thick voice.

  “I don’t think so.” He stood, pulling her up with him. For a moment, they just stood there and then he enfolded her in his arms. She didn’t resist this time. It was exactly where she needed to be.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  December 28, 1882

  Wood leaned back in his chair and watched Tommy pace. “You might as well play a hand or two,” he commented.

  “Make the time go faster.”

  “I’m not playing cards while my baby is being born,” Tommy stated.

  Wood shrugged. “Suit yourself, Papa.”

  “Deal already,” Joey complained.

  Jeffrey, who was shuffling, gave him a dirty look. “So I don’t shuffle good as some of you. I’ll deal ’em when I’ve shuffled ’em.”

  “Geez, Louise, my grandmother shuffles faster. And she’s got them knotty fingers.”
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  Tommy went for his coat.

  “Son,” Wood said. “Emmy’s got Doll and Fiona and Charity over there with her. What do you think you’re gonna go do?”

  “He’s anxious to see if his baby is pretty like Em or pretty like him,” Hawk teased from his seat at another table, where he was engaged in a chess match with Ed.

  “Hey, Ed,” Wood said. “Why don’t you get your guitar and come strum a tune to soothe Tommy.”

  “Ed’s busy contemplating his next move,” Hawk rejoined.

  Tommy shrugged on his coat and left the bunkhouse. Em’s pain was unnerving, but he had to be there.

  The black sky was spitting snow again and the frozen ground crunched beneath his feet. He put his collar up and balled his fists in his pockets. He hadn’t gone a dozen paces when a shooting star caught his eye. He stopped and smiled; it felt like a good omen. He hurried on, but when he stepped inside the house, it was too quiet. There was no screaming or crying out from Em, nor was there a baby crying. His stomach was tight with fear as he took off his coat and tossed it over a chair. He started toward the room, but stopped short when Doll emerged crying. “What is it?” he asked breathlessly. “Is Em alright?”

  She stuck her hands on her ample hips and sniffed. “Tired is all. Good and tired. And, honey, you have got yourself a beautiful baby girl.”

  Tommy blinked, hardly daring to believe it. “Is she alright? The baby?”

  “She is the prettiest little thing I have seen in my whole life. She cried for a moment and then she settled right down to sleep.”

  Tears filled his eyes and he laughed with sheer relief. “Can I—”

  “Get on in there! Go see your wife and daughter.”

  Daughter. He had a daughter. What an astonishing thing. He went into the room, and Fiona passed him on her way out. “Congratulations, Daddy,” she said, patting him on the back.

  “She’s fine,” Charity assured him from Em’s side. “Mother and child are both fine.”

  He walked forward, his gaze locked on Em’s. She smiled, although she looked worn to a frazzle.

  “Catherine?” Em asked.

  He nodded and carefully sat on the bed, peering into the blanket at a small, dark-haired babe. He reached out and touched her clenched fist with his finger. She was so tiny and yet so real and whole. He looked into Em’s face. “You still have any pain?”