Seven Brides for Seven Mail-Order Husbands Romance Collection

by Davis, Susan Page; Dietze, Susanne; Franklin, Darlene

  “Mr. Smith?”

  No answer came, and he tried the latch. The door swung open. He walked into a small sitting room with an upright stove to one side, a horsehair settee flanked by a small side table, and an upholstered chair. Sam walked on through to the kitchen doorway. Enough light came through the single window at the back for him to see the large man lying on the floor.

  “Mr. Smith?”

  Still no answer, and Sam’s pulse quickened. Maybe the minister was hurt worse than Benjy had thought. And they had wasted a good ten minutes talking about it in Maggie’s dooryard!

  He strode across the room and knelt by the prone man.

  “Sir?”

  He touched the man’s shoulder, and he moaned. Relief flooded through Sam.

  “Mr. Smith, I’m Sam Cayford. I’m—I’m a friend of the Piners. Benjy brought me.”

  “Thank God,” the man choked out. “It’s my leg. I think it’s bad.”

  “All right, is there a doctor in town?”

  “Yes, Dr. Carter, on the main street, past the mercantile.”

  “I’ll fetch him, but can I do anything first to make you more comfortable?”

  “Water.”

  “Of course. Hold on.” Sam rose and looked around. He spotted a lamp and quickly lit it. Then he was able to locate the minister’s water bucket, half full, and a cup. He brought the drink to him and helped him raise his head and shoulders enough to sip. Smith let out a yelp on the first move, and Sam paused.

  “Easy, sir.” He held the cup carefully to the preacher’s lips so he could reach it without moving further then he eased him back onto the floor.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Sam studied the lines of his legs. “You look mighty uncomfortable, but I don’t know as I should move you. They say it can make things worse.”

  “Please,” Smith gasped. “I’ve been here for hours. If you can just get me a pillow from my bed.”

  “Surely.” Sam rose and carried the lamp with him. The small bedroom opened off the kitchen. He plucked the pillow from the cot and pulled the top blanket off and carried them to the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry, we’re going to have to leave you again,” he said.

  “I’m comforted,” the doctor managed.

  Sam left the lamp burning low and hurried outside. Benjy crouched on the ground in the dooryard, holding the end of Rocker’s trailing reins and watching the horse crop grass.

  “Come on, Benjy. We’re off to fetch Dr. Carter. Do you know him?”

  Benjy nodded. This time Sam climbed to the saddle and swung the boy up behind him. He found the doctor’s office without trouble. If only little Benjy had realized it, he’d have served the preacher better if he’d fetched the doctor first. Reverend Smith’s house was closer to the physician’s office than it was to the Piner ranch.

  He swung his leg over the front of the saddle and jumped down. Handing Benjy the reins, he said, “Stay here.” He ran up the steps to the doctor’s porch and pounded on the door. A few seconds later, a dour woman of about forty opened the door.

  “The door’s always open, young man.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Is the doctor in?”

  “He’s eating his supper.” Her face looked fierce as a bulldog’s.

  “Well, the preacher’s hurt bad,” Sam said. “Broke his leg. He’s lying on his kitchen floor. Been there for hours.”

  The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Reverend Smith?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh dear. Come in.” She turned her head and yelled, “Lawrence! It seems Mr. Smith has injured himself.” She walked through the outer room, which was set up with several chairs and benches so that people could sit comfortably while waiting to see the doctor.

  Sam followed her down a short hall, through a door, and into the family kitchen. The doctor sat hunched over the table, his plate before him.

  “Lawrence,” the woman said, “this gentleman says Reverend Smith needs you. Urgently, of course.”

  Dr. Carter glanced up at him. “Pardon me if I eat while you tell me about it. I have to take the opportunity when I can.”

  Sam nodded. “My name’s Cayford. I was at the Piners’ place when one of the boys came in and said the preacher was hurt. I rode over there, and he thinks his leg is broken. He’s in a lot of pain.”

  Dr. Carter swallowed. “Sounds like I’ll need some help. Can you go back there with me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. You got a wagon?”

  Sam shook his head.

  “Then I’ll have to get someone to take one out. Maybe you can step over to the blacksmith’s? He’d probably hitch up and go out there with us. We’ll have to bring Mr. Smith here, since he has no one living with him to care for him.”

  “I’ll go now, if you like,” Sam said. “If the blacksmith’s agreeable, I’ll go back to the preacher’s house and meet you there.”

  He got directions for the blacksmith’s shop and went out. Benjy was drooping in Rocker’s saddle.

  “Wake up kid,” he said, gently shaking Benjy’s foot. “We’ve got more riding to do.” Sam mounted and guided Rocker to the smithy, where the proprietor quickly agreed to take a wagon to the minister’s home.

  “I’ll meet you there as soon as I get my team hitched,” he said.

  Even Sam was tired by the time they reached Reverend Smith’s house. Twilight shrouded the yard, but faint light from the lamp in the kitchen on the back of the house seeped out through the front room’s windows.

  Sam climbed down once more and lifted Benjy from the saddle. He carried him inside and laid him on the preacher’s settee. Maggie must be worried sick by now, but he didn’t dare take her word until the doctor arrived. He went to the kitchen and found the reverend lying where he’d left him, sleeping fitfully. Sam turned the lamp up a little and went about making coffee as quietly as he could.

  Within minutes, Dr. Carter drove up in his buggy, followed by the blacksmith with his wagon. Sam met them at the front door and led them into the kitchen. The doctor quickly assessed Smith’s injury, rousing the minister at his first touch. He administered a dose of laudanum, after he proceeded to put splints on the broken leg and bandaged it.

  “Let’s move him on a blanket,” he told the others. “His femur is broken.”

  “What’s that?” the blacksmith asked.

  “The long thigh bone.”

  “Ah.”

  “Too bad we don’t have a stretcher, but we’ll work with what we have.”

  They moved the sedated man onto the blanket. Sam and the blacksmith lifted it and carried Mr. Smith out to the wagon. When they had headed off to town, Sam went back inside. Benjy was sound asleep in the parlor. Sam gulped down a cup of the tepid coffee he had prepared, turned out the lamp, and lugged Benjy outside.

  “Is the doc here?” Benjy muttered.

  “Here and gone, kid.” Sam hoisted him into the saddle and climbed up behind him. Rocker seemed eager to jog back to Maggie’s house, but Sam was bone tired. When they reached the little ranch house and he saw a warm yellow light spilling out the front windows, he felt as though he’d reached home.

  Chapter 5

  Fred must have heard Rocker’s hoofbeats. He threw open the front door and ran out to meet them. Sam was glad to see he wasn’t toting the shotgun. He dismounted and eased Benjy down. The boy was groggy but stood on his own feet.

  “What happened?” Fred demanded.

  “Not much,” Sam replied. “The doc’s got Mr. Smith over to his place now. He’ll be laid up for a while.”

  Maggie was in the doorway, looking anxiously toward them. Sam dropped Rocker’s reins and walked over to her. The lamplight behind her made her hair glow softly, like a halo.

  “I hope you weren’t worried,” he said. “It took a while, but I think the preacher’s taken care of now.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I finished the cake. Won’t you have supper with us? Fred and
I have been waiting on you and Benjy.”

  “I’d best move on,” Sam said, but he had no idea where he’d land tonight. He had no money for lodgings, so he’d probably camp down the creek a ways.

  “Please,” Maggie said. “It’s Benjy’s birthday.” She reached for the younger boy as he tottered toward her. “He looks beat, but I’m sure he’ll eat something.”

  “Nine years old?” Sam asked, mulling the possibilities if he stayed.

  “That’s right. It’s a day he won’t forget, I’m sure, what with meeting you and finding Mr. Smith hurt like that.”

  Sam crouched and looked into Benjy’s drooping eyes.

  “What do you say, kid? Should I stay and help you eat that birthday cake?”

  Benjy hesitated and then nodded. “You ain’t mad at us?”

  “Mad? Naw.” Sam stood. “I’ll just put Rocker away, ma’am, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. There’s a lantern hanging inside the barn door. Show him, Fred.” She put her arm around Benjy and turned him inside the house.

  Sam walked back to the horse. Fred had already picked up the reins. He handed them to Sam.

  “Mama says if I don’t apologize to you, I don’t get no cake.”

  “I see.” Sam walked slowly beside him toward the small barn, Rocker trailing them.

  “So, yeah.” Fred rubbed his hair into a bird’s nest. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have kidnapped you.”

  Sam smiled. “That’s forgiven. You had good intentions. But a man needs to think things through before he acts.”

  “Right.” Fred opened the barn door and fumbled inside for the lantern. A moment later the light sprang out, filling the enclosed space. Sam led Rocker inside. The barn consisted of two empty tie stalls and a walled-off haymow.

  “You don’t have any horses,” he said, but he’d guessed that already.

  “Pa took one to war when he went, and we didn’t get him back. Ma sold the other one last fall. She said we couldn’t feed him over the winter, but I’ll bet we coulda.”

  Sam rested a hand on his shoulder. “She was protecting you, Fred. She probably used the money to make another payment or two on the mortgage.”

  “What’s a mortgage, anyway?” Fred kicked at a tuft of loose straw on the floor.

  “It’s when the bank lends you money. Likely your pa took the loan when he bought this place, to help pay for it. But you have to pay it back, a little at a time. And if you can’t make those payments when you’re supposed to, well, the bank gets the ranch.”

  “That ain’t fair.”

  Sam lifted the stirrup leather and began to undo the cinch strap on his saddle. “Well, in a way it is, but it’s hard to explain.”

  Fred scowled at him. “Mama didn’t think it was fair. After Pa died, she said the bank told her we owed more than she thought.”

  “More than your pa told her they owed?”

  “I think she thought the bill was higher than it should be or something. I don’t know really.”

  “Hmm.” Sam lifted the stock saddle off Rocker’s back. “Where can I put this?”

  Fred showed him the short rail where his father’s saddle used to rest. “The bridle goes there.” He pointed to a nail in the wall. “We got brushes. Can I help brush him?”

  “Sure.” Sam wondered if Fred was jealous of Benjy’s time riding the horse. “Have you got any feed?”

  Fred shook his head. “There’s a little hay left.”

  “That’ll have to do, then.”

  They made Rocker comfortable, and then Sam blew out the lantern. They walked companionably toward the house.

  “I wish you really was marryin’ Mama,” Fred said in the dark dooryard.

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah. Then you’d stay, and Mr. Grant wouldn’t come around and bother her about the money.”

  “Mmm,” Sam said noncommittally.

  “And maybe we could get some more cattle.”

  Sam shook his head. “If I had money for cattle, I’d have my own place and not be looking to hire out to someone else.” If only, he thought. It was a nice dream, for a few seconds. And Maggie and the boys being in it made it even more attractive.

  They reached the front stoop, and Fred opened the door.

  “Sam! Lookit the cake,” Benjy cried. The small boy ran toward him and grabbed his hand. “It’s got jelly in the middle and powdered sugar on top.”

  Sam grinned. “Sounds like a fine mouthful, Benjy.”

  “Stew first,” Maggie said sternly, but her smile took away the rebuke.

  The stew was light on rabbit and long on potatoes and turnips, but Sam was so hungry he didn’t mind. The cornbread was plentiful and tasty—crisp on the outside and tender within. No one offered butter, and he didn’t ask for any. The milk cow probably went soon after the beef herd. To his surprise, Maggie brought him a cup of coffee.

  The cake was the crowning finish, and Benjy’s eyes grew huge as Maggie cut the first piece and set it before him.

  “Make a wish,” she told him.

  Benjy didn’t hesitate. “I wish Sam would stay with us.”

  Sam felt his face heat, and he glanced at Maggie. She was looking at him, too, as though she seconded the wish.

  “Thank you, Benjy,” Sam said. “That’s a mighty fine compliment. But I really can’t stay. I’ve got to find some work soon.”

  Maggie nodded. “Still, it’s late now. It’s not much, but you and your horse can bed down in the barn overnight, if you want.”

  Sam considered that. It made sense, and he’d get to say his good-byes in the morning. He liked the idea. He really didn’t want to ride off tonight and leave Maggie and the boys. Truth was, he didn’t want to leave at all. If it was within his power, he’d make Benjy’s wish come true. But he couldn’t do that.

  He cleared his throat. “Thank you. I’ll just do that.”

  Fred scowled as he accepted his cake from his mother.

  “What’s the matter, Fred?” Sam asked. Maybe the boy didn’t like the idea of his hanging around so much, since he wasn’t marrying into the family.

  “I guess Mama’ll have to get one of those mail-order husbands after all.” He picked up his slab of cake and took a big bite.

  “That’s enough,” Maggie said. “Just finish your cake.”

  When they had all cleaned their plates, she set the boys to washing up the dishes. Maggie put the food away and brought a cloth to wipe off the table.

  “What can I do?” Sam asked.

  “You’re a guest, Mr. Cayford. You don’t need to do anything,” Maggie replied.

  “I want to. Can I bring in some more water? How about firewood?”

  She nodded. “That would be nice. It would save the boys from doing it in the dark, and I’d be ready to get breakfast in the morning, before you ride out.”

  Sam went about the tasks willingly. They had a well with a sturdy stone wall around it. No doubt Rodney Piner had built it before he went into the army. The wooden bucket splashed into water ten feet below ground. He was glad they had a plentiful supply of good water.

  Wood was another question. He surveyed the meager woodpile with misgivings. Of course, it was spring. They’d used up most of their store over the winter, but even if they didn’t need to keep a fire at night now, Maggie would need fuel for cooking every day. What was stacked at the side of the house wouldn’t last more than a few days, and most of the pieces were small, broken sticks. No good thick, split logs left.

  He carried in an armful and went back for another. When he went in, the boys were mounting the ladder to the loft.

  Fred looked over his shoulder when the door shut. “Night, Sam.”

  “Good night, Fred. Benjy.”

  Benjy paused and turned around on the second rung. “You won’t leave without we see you in the morning’, will you, Sam?”

  “I won’t. Your ma said something about breakfast.”

  “Of course you’ll take breakfast with us,” Maggie said.
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  Sam nodded and smiled as he watched the boys continue up the ladder. When they’d disappeared from view, he said quietly, “I hate to eat out of your stores, ma’am.”

  “Don’t you fret about that,” she said.

  “Well, is there a place where I could cut you some wood? I’d like to repay you, and your woodpile looks a mite sparse.”

  “Thank you, but I have to pay a neighbor to do that for me. I don’t have a draft horse anymore, and it’s more than you could do with Rocker. I let the next rancher cut some wood on my place and give me half, all split.”

  “All right.” Sam guessed there wasn’t much more he could do.

  Maggie lifted the coffeepot and shook it a little. “There’s about one cup of coffee left. You want it, Mr. Cayford?”

  “Please call me Sam. And not if you usually drink it yourself.”

  “Not this late at night,” she said. “I have to sleep so I can get up in the morning and keep up with those boys.”

  Sam smiled. “Sure, I’ll take it then.”

  She poured what was left into a mug and handed it to him.

  “There’s a bench outside, where my Rodney liked to sit in the evening. The stove makes the house too hot sometimes, and he liked to get the breeze.”

  “Thank you.” Sam hesitated. Was she shooing him out so she could retire, too? Or was she offering him a place where they could talk without the boys hearing them? He looked into her eyes. She hadn’t gone back to her busywork. “Would … would you like to join me for a few minutes?”

  “Thank you, I would,” Maggie said.

  She led him outside. He’d seen the bench before, to one side of the stoop, but hadn’t taken much notice of it. It was on the opposite end of the house from the loft, though, and he saw it now as the parents’ refuge, but close enough so they could still hear if the children called out to them.

  He sat down beside Maggie, very conscious of her nearness. He took a sip of the coffee. It tasted bitter, but he didn’t care.

  Maggie sat in silence, looking out over what must have been their pasture. It was all overgrown now, and bushes were encroaching on the field. But the view of the night sky was still fantastic. He could almost picture the ranch with a herd of fat cattle grazing out there, along with a team of draft horses.