by Sierra Rose
“It’s all right,” said Letitia. Her gaze, as startled as his, flew from that rugged scarred face to the gunslinger’s pose. Quickly she came to her feet, as a buffer. “That’s just Dr. Havers, my employer, announcing his presence as he always does. In the kitchen, Gabe!” she called then.
Heavy footsteps blundered through the hall toward them. They sounded like a locomotive, runaway on the track.
“Well, well, what have we here?” The volume of his voice thankfully lowered, Gabriel entered the room with a broad grin. “A little romantic interlude goin’ on, away from pryin’ eyes, eh? Got any of that coffee left, Letty, my dear?”
Reese’s ready right hand shifted imperceptibly, rising from the area where a firearm might have been holstered to meet the doctor’s forthright grip. “Reese Barclay, sir.”
“Oh, don’t go sirrin’ me; I ain’t but a few years older’n you. How d’ you do? So you’re the mystery man that’s had the whole town flappin’ their gums.” Looking rumpled and tired, Gabe pulled out a chair and plopped down upon it.
“Willie was well enough to go home?” Letitia interceded, before the men could get caught up in their own line of dialogue.
“Yep.” A great slug of coffee, and a great sigh. “I left stern instructions with his mama, though, to watch for any signs of infection. As for young master Terrence O’Day, he’s doing better. Late summer croup can be a nasty thing. We got anything around here to eat? I’m not only fagged out, I’m starvin’.”
Obligingly, Letty rose and began rustling through cupboards and pantry. She found a chunk of moldy bread, a jar holding three stale cookies, and something of an odd color that defied description. “Gabe, don’t you ever go shopping for food to re-stock these shelves?”
“Nope. I try to eat at the local diners as often as possible. Failin’ that, I mooch off your sister. Who has, by the way, turned into a right good cook. You’d do well to follow in her footsteps, Missy, so’s you can catch yourself a husband.”
She drew herself up stiff and straight. “I hardly think you—”
“Yessir,” he went on carelessly, with a wink thrown across the table for his guest, “that’s the way to a man’s heart, y’ know. And you’re dealin’ with such fickle critters. We males may like lookin’ at a well-turned ankle, but, when the lovin’ is over, we need our bellies filled.”
“Doctor!” Letitia, furious, hissed in the manner of a sizzling firecracker about to go off. “You are absolutely incorrigible, and I refuse to listen to this nonsense any longer. If you can keep a civil tongue in your head, I shall allow you to get acquainted with Mr. Barclay. Otherwise—”
“Oh, shush yourself, honey.” Laughing, he patted the hand that lay clenched next to her empty cup. “No need to get your petticoats all ruffled. You know I’m just joshin’. So, Mr. Barclay, where are you from, and what are your plans, and how long d’ you mean to stay with us?”
Reese, who had been too busy following this remarkable confrontation back and forth to make a comment, perked up a little at the chance to finally answer a direct question.
“Well, you coulda knocked me over with a feather—” His two companions exchanged glances; difficult to imagine the substantial physician being knocked over by anything, “—when this young lady here told me she’d joined the ranks of other mail order brides. Let me tell you, Reese, if you end up tyin’ the knot, you’ll be gettin’ yourself one top-notch wife.”
The prospective groom had lowered his guard enough to smile at his prospective top-notch wife. “I can see that. I guessed as much from her letters, and, then, when I first caught a glimpse of her... Well.”
Leaning back in his chair, Gabriel studied his visitor. It was a careful, speculative survey that took in all that Letitia had already noticed—and more. “What kinda work do you do?”
“Nothin’ in particular,” replied Reese, gaze straight and steady. “And everything in general.”
“Huh. That covers a wide range, now, don’t it? Whatdya think of our little community?”
“Looks to be a prosperous place.”
“Maybe so. We got our share of deadbeats and miscreants, Lord knows, but most things go along pretty smooth.”
“And well-run.”
Gabe brightened. “Well, now, there I have to give a lotta credit to our mayor, Ben Forrester. Actually this young lady’s brother by marriage. Ben is a far-seein’ fellah, looks into the future and oftentimes anticipates problems b’fore they happen. Got a bit of a temper, blows up once in a while when the situation don’t warrant, but for the most part he’s steady and good-natured. Proud to call him my friend.”
“From the way you’re defendin’ him,” offered Reese thoughtfully, “I’d say he might feel the same way about you.”
“Don’t reckon ole Ben needs much in the way of defendin’, but I thank you for that anyways. So.” Distrcted, Gabriel toyed with a spoon left in the sugar bowl. “You two spent enough time on your own, gettin’ acquainted?”
Again the exchange of glances between long-lashed eyes of sea glass green and long-lashed eyes of moonstone blue. “For now,” Letty, prying her gaze away, finally assented.
“All right, then. C’mon, let’s all head on over to the Sarsaparilla for an early supper, my treat. You can make your first public appearance as a couple, and get them ole town gossips trippin’ over their own tongues.”
Letty’s full breast lifted and fell in a soft sigh. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this yet, Gabe.”
“Shoot, honey, no time like the present. You gotta face it some time. Or else move outa town.” Cackling, he pushed back from the table, pulled himself erect, and stretched until joints popped alarmingly and muscles seemed ready to creak. “B’sides, how often do I offer to buy anyone a meal?”
“Not often,” she admitted. “Gabe likes to save his money to spend on things he can’t get for free,” she explained with a disarming smile for the man who was simply sitting quietly, absorbing and digesting.
Who replied with a shrug and a temperate, “Makes sense to me.”
“So,” said Gabriel, as he opened the front door wide so his guests could exit first, “where’dja get that scar, Reese?”
Letty, still pinning her broad-brimmed hat into place as she stepped over the threshold, let out an exasperated groan. She should have remembered the doctor’s insatiable curiosity about every matter, large or small; she should have warned Reese what he might expect from someone so interested in life, especially when it came to any detail involving his protégé.
Not to worry. The man seemed to be taking no offense at Gabe’s untoward intrusiveness; seemed, in fact, to be taking such an attitude in his stride. Probably because he had gotten a lot of sidelong looks and questions about his appearance over the years. Briefly he described, as they walked along, the battle which has nearly cost him his sight, and how the smoke and thunder and chaos had roared on in bloody confusion until at last it was no more and that particular skirmish was done.
“And this happened where?”
“The Wilderness. Virginia.”
No more. Mouth tightened and set, jaw muscles clenched, gaze lifted to seek the horizon, whole demeanor suddenly pulled in on itself: distant, reserved.
Set between Lt. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant and Gen. Robert E. Lee, lasting nearly three horrendous days in May, 1864, the conflict had inflicted heavy casualties on both sides. Neither the Union nor the Confederate Army had eventually been declared a clear winner. With some 4000 men killed, and nearly 20,000 wounded, the place would be remembered more for its carnage than for any decisive victory.
“Ahuh.” Gabe’s usual bluster was surprisingly subdued. He, too, had seen combat. He had
given years of medical service in that hellish confrontation between North and South; he, better than most, understood the horror of gory wounds and utter, boundless bedlam. “You have to deal with any pain from it?”
Reese shrugged. ”Now and then, if the weather turns damp. And sometimes cold.”
“Well, one thing, you won’t find much cold round these parts. I got me an herbal remedy that might help, if the scar gets to achin’ too much. Mostly wintergreen, in a liquid you can apply—my own recipe—but it helps. Any other wound leftovers you got tucked away?”
Pausing, Reese allowed a small smile to lighten his rather somber countenance. “You tryin’ to drum up business, Doc?”
“Dang it all, son, I’m always tryin’ to drum up business. But, in your case, I’m just makin’ the offer, that’s all.”
“Much obliged. I’ll keep it in mind. But not somethin’ fittin’ to discuss in a lady’s presence, d’ you think?”
Letitia, sandwiched in between the two tall men as they ambled along, gave a little shiver at what these few words might portend. Clearly some history here that her potential betrothed had not already confided to her, and that was a subject that should probably, in the interest of disclosure, be discussed at some point in time.
An early supper hour found only a few takers at the Sarsaparilla. Wilbur Knaack, the owner, emerged from the kitchen area long enough to wave the newcomers to their choice of table before disappearing back to his stove.
Then, within just a few minutes, word miraculously spread. Shortly, business picked up to become quite brisk.
It ended up being as bad as Letitia suspected it might be.
Even as they settled in to a corner location, out of the way of traffic, a positive parade of patrons just happened to wander past. A greeting for the doctor, a tip of the hat for his lovely assistant, and an inquisitive glance toward the stranger. No one made a fuss, it was true; westerners abhor the thought of some busybody sticking his nose into their business, just as they abhor the thought of doing it themselves.
That reliance on privacy did not prevent diners scattered about from making normal casual talk about Turnabout, its citizens, and any new event transpiring right under their noses. Which included the man who, after nearly three days of solitude, was finally exposing himself to the public eye. Scar and all.
Letitia did her best to hide behind the menu. She could only hope that her irrepressible mentor would not begin gabbling on, in his less-than-dulcet tones, about wedding plans. While the town might be guessing as to what was going on, facts stated aloud would certainly set them a-twitter.
The good doctor exhibited more tact than she might have expected.
Over a plate of ham and scrambled eggs, he talked about the spate of pleasant weather everyone had been enjoying. Not that it was rare for the area to see so much sunshine and balmy breezes in late September, of course, but everyone was taking advantage of being outside. Especially his friendly enemy, Hannah Burton, and her sidekick, Amazin’.
“Why, Gabe,” said Letty, surprised into speech, “Hannah isn’t your enemy. How can you say such a thing?”
“Huh. She puts her nose in the air and snarls at me every time we cross paths. Say, Reese, you don’t have much to say for yourself, do you?”
“Just waitin’ to get a word in edgewise,” Reese offered impassively, politely.
Gabriel was rollicked by laughter. “Oh, I think I’m gonna like havin’ you around. A lot like Benjamin—you’ll keep me in line. Letty, honey, don’t you find the beef stew to your likin’?”
“It’s fine. I’m just sitting here in awe of your performance.”
“Oh, the two of you are birds of a feather, I swear. I see I’m gonna haveta stay on my toes.”
Again that exchange of glances between the couple. Tinged with amusement, edged with something more visceral, more fiery. A little shiver began pulsating through Letty, beginning amidships, and worked its way beyond and around every inch of skin. She only hoped this man parked at her elbow couldn’t actually observe her beflustered state, or the slight trembling of her hands, or the fluttering of pulse at her temples.
Except...he was wearing a small, somewhat secretive smile. As if he were aware...
He consumed his meal without much small talk, leaving it up to the doctor and Miss Burton to carry the conversational ball. No fuss, either, she noticed; just neat, economical, deliberate movements that bespoke a certain delicacy of upbringing.
Alerted by an unexpected stir at the restaurant’s front door, Letitia looked up.
“Molly!”
Her sister, blooming like a late summer rose, had just strolled into the café arm-in-arm with her own tall and stalwart escort. “Hello, my dear,” she swooped down to greet Letty with a hug. And the familiar crinkle of turquoise eyes that indicated tremendous well-being, that all was right with the world. “Word has gotten out that you were dining here, and Paul and I wondered if we might join you.”
“Don’t add my name to that,” hastily adjured her betrothed. “This was all Molly’s idea, I assure you. I’m just along so she don’t get mobbed in the streets.”
“My goodness,” grumbled Letitia, with feeling. “How does that grapevine work so quickly? I suppose, if I shot someone dead over near the livery, I’d be hanged by the neck before every bullet had even finished flying.”
Both Gabriel and Reese had risen, at the newcomers’ approach, and introductions were made all around, with the sheriff taking quiet but concise measure of this stranger in town (and the reverse, as well). Two more chairs were moved forward, and everyone got comfortable.
A slight agitation from every other patron, and then a hush, had swished across the room, as if Paul and Molly’s appearance had put a stamp of approval on whatever was going on with another Burton girl and the man beside her. An almost tangible air of expectation hung over the crowd.
“Isn’t this just heavenly weather?” burbled Molly, for whom the last couple months had been, following her recovery from a disastrous marriage and many physical ailments, an absolute tide of burbling. Happiness can cause that, and she was enjoying every minute.
The usual starchy reserve of Paul’s attitude and his posture had been greatly relaxed, due to the advent of love in his life. Despite the gathering groups in the diner (for which Walter felt unfailingly grateful), Paul leaned slightly sideways to wrap an arm around his inamorata’s corseted waist. “You want some tea, sweetheart? And maybe some of that shepherd’s pie they got on special?”
“Well, now, I don’t rightly know, my dearest. What would you suggest?”
“Oh, by all that’s holy,” snorted Gabe. “All right, you’re provin’ that you got this big lunkhead wrapped around your little finger, Molly. Let’s forego the goo-goo glances and the treacly comments at least durin’ supper, so the rest of us can eat without gettin’ sick. How’re things, Paul?”
He was answered with a knowing grin. “We set a date.”
The table erupted—except for Reese, who was still stranger enough to doings in the Burton clan to be unaware of how events might proceed. “Didja, now!” ejaculated Gabriel, slapping his friend on the shoulder with enough force to knock him off the chair. “Huh. Gotta know more details, so I can get my best bib and tucker all cleaned. When is it?”
Paul cast a mirthful look at his bride-to-be, who was playing coy with mirthful looks of her own. “Oh, she won’t let me spread the news yet. Not till Cam and Ben get back, so’s we can have a family gatherin’ first.”
“Oh, Molly,” Letty breathed. “I’m so happy for both of you. Is it to be—soon?” she finished up in a whisper.
“Yes,” Molly whispered back. “But Paul wants me to have the Widow Semple create a stylish new wedding dress, and that may take a while.”
Paul, overhearing, interceded. “Much as I know she’d like wearin’ Cam’s dress,” he said quietly, with a meaningful smile down at her lovely face, “I’d rather she get herself one with no—uh—unhappy memories.”
Everyone privy to the facts—which meant everyone but Reese—immediately nodded in understanding and agreement. Too much water under the bridge; it would be impossible that she could wear the same dress for her second marriage as for her first. And kudos to Paul to realizing how that fact, how such
unpleasant memories might affect his bride, and offering an alternative.
Meanwhile, Reese simply set aside his empty plate, took a sip of lukewarm coffee, and waited. Explanations usually followed an indecipherable situation. All in good time.
He seemed to be, Letty was beginning to discern, after sending him an inscrutable upward scan, a man of infinite patience.
She also sent that quick scan around the room, with its wall-to-wall customers all straining to eavesdrop on the compact little clique in the corner. What was the matter with these people? Had no one living in Turnabout ever gotten married before?
The meal finished on a round of good wishes and congratulations and conviviality from not only those at the table, but surrounding diners, who had visibly increased in numbers as the evening wore on. Thus no curious questions were asked about the reason for Reese’s presence (although it is fair to say assumptions flew about like winged birds), or his accompaniment of Miss Letitia Burton, or possible plans for their own nuptials. That could wait.
Walter, bidding the group a personal farewell at the door, urged them to return soon. Business had never been so booming!
The Burtons and their entourage were leaving without, at least for several, the satisfaction of obtaining more personal information from Reese Barclay. No particular facts about his upbringing, his travels, his choice of employment, his future plans, even his state of mind.
That, too, could wait. That, too, would come all in good time.
“May I have the honor of walkin’ you back to your room, Miss Burton?” Reese, stepping with relief back into the gathering dusk of twilight, wanted to know.
“Of course you shall!” replied irrepressible Molly, before her sister could respond. “And Paul and I will follow along behind, at a discreet distance, so that the two of you may converse more privately. Won’t we, Paul?” With a giggle and a smile of delight, she tucked her arm in his.
“I reckon we’ll do whatever you want,” Paul gave her a besotted grin.
