0764214101

by Tracie Peterson

  Tuesday rolled around and the same thing happened. Mrs. Goodman voiced her concern, as well, and said they should give it one more day. The boy had bags under his eyes and had only drunk a little water all day long.

  Wednesday morning Lillian went to check on him and found him still in bed. But this time he wasn’t just sullen or depressed looking. The boy seemed sick. He wouldn’t respond to any of the questions the two women asked and stared off into space. The thing that really set Lillian to worrying was the fact that Mr. Whiskers was still in his box.

  She and Mrs. Goodman stood at the door as Lillian pulled it closed. “We’ve got to do something. I’m going to go look for Woody. Will you keep an eye on Jimmy?”

  “Sure thing, dearie.”

  Lillian raced out of the house and headed to the pond. The men had made good headway with the trench but were now digging it deeper at the source. At least that’s what she remembered Woody saying. The man had looked like he practically fell into bed each night and was gone well before she made it to the chicken coop each morning.

  The heat was draining, and in her corset and long skirts, she had to walk half the way rather than run. By the time she reached the pond, perspiration soaked her blouse. She looked around to see where Woody might be working but only found two of his men. “Where is Mr. Colton?”

  “He took a horse to town, miss. Two of the spades broke, and we need to finish to save the trees.”

  She nodded and headed back to the house. She’d just have to wait until he returned.

  But as soon as she reached the back door, Mrs. Goodman met her with wide, teary eyes. “He’s now running a fever, Lillian. And it’s high. He’s tossing and squirming and his breathing doesn’t sound right.”

  Lillian raced up the stairs. One look at Jimmy and she knew she had to get him to the doctor. “Mrs. Goodman, please find one of the men, ring the bell, holler, do whatever you can, and get them to hitch up the wagon. I’ve got to get him to the doctor.”

  She heard the woman rustle out of the room.

  Lillian put her hand on the boy’s brow. It was terribly hot. “Oh, my sweet Jimmy. I’m so sorry, but we’re going to get you to the doctor just as quick as we can. I need you to fight, little one. Fight for all you’re worth so that we can go fishing and have picnics the rest of the summer.”

  Grabbing the wash basin, she dipped a clean shirt in it and bathed him with the tepid water.

  She changed him out of his sweat-soaked clothes and put a clean nightshirt on him. Wrapping him in a sheet, she carried him down the stairs. It had to be cooler down there anyway.

  Within a few minutes she heard the wheels of the wagon. Thank You, Lord!

  Mrs. Goodman waited at the wagon with a few blankets and made a bed for the boy as Lillian carried him out.

  Once he was settled into the wagon, Lillian turned to Mrs. Goodman. “Please let Mr. Colton know as soon as he returns that we’ve gone to the doctor. Hopefully I’ll pass him on the road, but I don’t know.”

  Sam, the man who’d gotten the wagon ready, piped up. “He probably won’t come that way, Miss Lillian. He was in an all-fired hurry to get back here, so he’ll probably take the shortcut from the pass.”

  Mrs. Goodman must’ve sensed her worry. “Don’t worry, dearie. I’ll let him know. You just get our little Jimmy boy to town. I’ll go out and let the other men know, too.”

  Lillian climb up into the wagon as if she’d been doing it all her life. Sam held the horses and gave her a nod as Lillian picked up the reins. Now was not the time to tell them that she’d never driven a wagon before. She could do this. Jimmy needed her.

  She slapped the reins to the horses’ backs and they took off at a fast trot. Each hole, bump, and jostle to the wagon sent her gaze to the back to check on her little guy. She tried to sing for the first mile or so but kept choking on her tears. Maybe prayer would be better. “Lord, please, I need help getting to town. I don’t even know if I remember how to get there, and I sure don’t know where the doctor is. Please heal Jimmy. Please. I love him so much. And please help Mrs. Goodman find Woody. His son needs him. I need him. I can’t do this alone, Lord, I can’t. I need his strength.” She poured her heart out to the Lord and cried until she could hardly see. Thankfully, the horses knew where they were going and kept up a steady pace.

  At the edge of town, Lillian glanced back again. Jimmy’s face was so flushed. His body limp.

  Unsure where to go, she headed for the church, and if she couldn’t find the pastor, then she would head to Mr. Stickle’s store. She knew she could get him to help her.

  As luck would have it—if she believed in luck—Pastor Seymour was in the cemetery tending the graves. Lillian called out to him as soon as she was close enough.

  “Pastor Seymour, please help me!”

  The man raced toward the wagon. “Is everything all right?”

  Lillian pulled back on the reins to stop the horses. “I need the doctor, and I don’t know where he is.”

  The minister looked in the back of the wagon and didn’t hesitate to climb up on the wagon seat. “Let me take you there.” He grabbed the lines and steered the team down the street.

  “Thank you.” Lillian took a moment to wipe her face. She was sure it was a mess and tear-stained, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was getting Jimmy to the doctor.

  They made it to the little clinic within moments, and the reverend made quick work of tying up the team and helping Lillian down. The doctor came out the door and helped to carry Jimmy in. “His fever is high. How long has he been like this?”

  “A few hours.” Lillian gulped down her emotions. “But he hasn’t eaten much at all in several days.”

  “Fluids?” The doctor stared at her. “Has he had anything to drink?”

  “A little water, but I’m afraid that’s it.”

  “Let’s get him back to the table and I’ll examine him.”

  After they laid Jimmy down, Lillian couldn’t stop the tears. His little body looked so frail. She reached out to brush his light brown hair off his forehead. “He’s so hot, doctor.”

  The doctor nodded to Pastor Seymour, and the reverend wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her from the room.

  Please don’t let him die, Lord. Please . . .

  Now was his chance. They’d loaded up the kid in the wagon—he looked like he was dead—and that nanny lady took off toward town. He’d seen Colton ride off earlier, as well, and the men were all back at the pond digging some stupid trench.

  He watched a few more minutes and saw the housekeeper hightail it out the other direction.

  Perfect. His luck had changed. Darwin dashed down the hill, staying low and close to the trees. When he reached the house, he ran upstairs and up to the attic. It might take him a while to find which floorboard it was under. Harry had been sure it was in the corner, but he couldn’t remember which one. Darwin came close to smacking Harry upside the head. It was infuriating to be at his brother’s mercy. Nevertheless, Darwin was determined to find that gold—his gold. He’d rip up every single floorboard in the attic if he had to.

  Three corners and ten boards later, he reached under it and felt leather. Yes! He’d found it. He pulled out the sack and decided to rip up the rest of the boards just in case his fool brother had hidden more than one bag up here.

  “Woody, is that you up there?”

  Blast. That old housekeeper was back.

  Darwin grabbed his sack and the bar he’d used to pry up the boards. Maybe the old hag wouldn’t see him. He came down the attic stairs and waited.

  “Woody?”

  He peered around the corner, hoping to head down the other flight of stairs to the main level, but she turned and spotted him. Dagnabbit, the old woman was fast.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” She narrowed her eyes.

  Darwin cursed his luck, knowing that now he was going to have to kill again. But he didn’t want these fool people finding his gold. It was his
. And he was going to get it. He lunged at her with the bag held aloft. He dropped the pry bar but managed to knock the old woman off her feet.

  But she was quick. She grabbed the bar and struck him in the shin.

  “Owwwww!” he howled. “You fool of an old woman.” He raised the bag again. “It’s time to say good-bye.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The doctor came out of the little room in the back. Lillian jumped to her feet. “What is it, doctor? Is he going to be all right?”

  The man’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he removed his glasses. “He’s got quinsy, miss. I’m afraid he needs an operation to remove his tonsils.”

  She sat back down. “An operation?” Her hand quivered as she covered her mouth. Poor little Jimmy.

  “It’s quite routine, I assure you. I can perform the operation right here.”

  The news helped restore a little blood to her brain. “So he’ll recover?”

  “Oh yes. Most boys his age are up and running into mischief in just a few days. He’ll be chattering your ears off by Saturday, just you wait and see.”

  Well, she wasn’t sure about the chattering, but she would take the running, even into mischief. Lillian stood again. “May I see him?”

  “Of course. While you’re talking with him, I’ll get everything prepared for the surgery. You might let him know what’s going to happen so he won’t be overly afraid. Tell him that I’ll help him go to sleep, and when he wakes up, he’ll have a very sore throat, but that it will get better.”

  Lillian allowed the good reverend to lead the way. When they reached the room, she saw that Jimmy’s eyes were open. They were a bit glazed, but he was looking at her.

  “Oh, my sweet boy.” She kissed his forehead and leaned over him to talk to him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. The doctor can make you all better. He’s going to help you sleep, and then while you’re sleeping he’ll fix your throat. I’m sure it’s already sore, but the doctor said it would be a little worse when you wake up. But it will heal quickly.” She kissed him again.

  Jimmy reached for her hand, and it melted her heart.

  She squeezed his hand. “Jesus will be with you the whole time. And the reverend and I will be waiting right out there.” She leaned in to hug him and found herself enveloped in a fierce hug from the boy. “I love you, Jimmy. When it’s all over, I’ll be right here. All right?”

  He clung to her, but finally he pulled away and nodded.

  “Don’t forget, I love you. And your pa loves you.” She smiled. “And don’t forget, Mrs. Goodman and Mr. Whiskers love you, too.”

  A slight smile tipped the boy’s lips.

  The quiet pastor came forward and said a prayer over the surgery and Jimmy. Lillian found herself squeezing Jimmy’s hand with every word the man said.

  The doctor came back in. “Are we all ready?”

  “Yes.” She let go of Jimmy’s hand and smiled. And prayed it was convincing.

  Woody slowed his horse as he reached the part of the trench where he’d been digging. As he dismounted, he grabbed one of the new spades and looked at the sky. He had a few hours of light to dig in. If they didn’t hurry up and get this trench finished, there’d be no hope for this year’s crop. Between the drought and the extreme heat, they couldn’t keep the olives from shriveling up for too much longer.

  Sam ran to him waving his arms. “Mr. Colton, Mr. Colton!”

  “What is it?” Woody knew by the look on his foreman’s face that something wasn’t right. Hopefully nothing else had broken.

  “We’ve been waiting for you. It’s your son.” The man bent over to catch his breath. “Miss Lillian took him into town to the doctor. He had a really high fever.”

  “Is Mrs. Goodman with them?”

  “No, sir. She stayed at the house in case you came back.”

  Woody fought with all the doubts flooding him. He could lose his son. He could lose his crop. Lord, why are You doing this?

  “I can take care of things here, Mr. Colton. The men and I will continue to work hard.”

  “Thank you, Sam.” He unloaded the other tools out of his saddlebags. “I’m going to stop by the house to let Mrs. Goodman know I made it back, and I’m riding into town. I’m sure she’ll be able to help you with anything you need in case I need to stay in town.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Woody turned his horse and raced for the house. He’d have to get a fresh horse, too. This one was spent.

  He practically flew into the barn and unsaddled the bay gelding. He got Chestnut ready to go and tied him up to the post by the house. But something wasn’t right. The front door stood wide open. He raced up the steps to the porch and into the foyer.

  His heart raced in his chest. “Mrs. Goodman?” As his gaze went up the stairs, he saw her arm hanging over the edge. “Mrs. Goodman!”

  Memories flashed back of the day they’d found Rebecca. A guttural cry escaped his throat. “No!” Taking the stairs three at a time, he reached the top and knelt down beside his beloved housekeeper. This woman and her husband had been by his side for so many years until James Goodman—Jim to his friends—had died of a heart attack. Little Jimmy was named after the strong man who’d been like a father to Woody.

  He reached down and touched her face. It was still warm, but there was bruising on the left side of her face. He put his ear by her mouth and heard a ragged breath. She remained unconscious, and Woody tried to figure out what had happened. Had she fainted from the heat? He reached out to undo the buttons at her neck and he saw the unmistakable marks. Someone had tried to strangle her. He all but collapsed on the step and saw the pry bar and the blood. Woody hadn’t noticed blood on his housekeeper, but when he lifted her head and shoulders up, the back of her dress was blood soaked. No!

  Gingerly, he lifted the woman into his arms and then took the steps slowly. He’d have to hitch up the wagon and get her into town.

  Jimmy! His son was at the doctor right now, and that meant that Lillian had taken the wagon. Woody would have to race to the brining barn and get the other wagon. Lord, I could use some help here.

  He made it out to the porch and laid his faithful housekeeper down. “Hang in there, dearie.” His voice cracked at the use of her beloved endearment. “We’re going to get you help.”

  Without a second to lose, Woody rang the bell by the porch. Hopefully one of the men would come running.

  Miguel rounded the corner before Woody let go of the rope. Thank God for answered prayer.

  “Boss?” The man spied Mrs. Goodman.

  “I need you to run as fast as you can to the brining barn and get the old wagon hitched up. I’ve got to get Mrs. Goodman to town. She’s hurt pretty bad.”

  Miguel ran off without another word.

  Woody went inside and wet down a towel to lay over Mrs. Goodman’s face. He found a few blankets in the closet and would use those to cushion her in the wagon. As he ministered to the older woman, his gut clenched. As soon as he brought Mrs. Goodman in, he knew what conclusion the people would come to. And it wouldn’t be pretty.

  The older woman moaned. Her eyelids fluttered.

  “Mrs. Goodman . . . Mrs. Goodman . . . can you hear me?”

  She mumbled something and then winced and cried out in pain.

  “Who did this to you?” His heart broke. Who would do such a thing? And why? Twice he’d failed to protect those he loved. The sound of horses brought his head back up.

  Miguel made it back in record time with the wagon. He set the brake, then jumped down and held the bridle strap of one of the horses while Woody tossed the blankets to him and then carried Mrs. Goodman down. He carefully placed her on the blankets.

  He turned then to Miguel. “Please tell the men what happened. We’ll need someone to guard the house. Someone broke in and attacked Mrs. Goodman.” Woody noticed the blood on his hands and wiped them against his pants.

  “What about the irrigation, sir?”

  Woody climbed i
nto the driver’s seat and picked up the reins. “Right now all I care about is getting Mrs. Goodman to the doctor. Tell Sam he’s in charge and to do whatever he can. I’m going to need all of you working.” He shook his head. “No, I’m going to need a miracle.” Woody released the brake and slapped the lines against the horses’ backs.

  “Sí.” Miguel nodded, his expression most somber. “We’ll take care of everything, Mr. Colton.”

  The long road ahead of him was a bumpy one, but Woody pushed on. He couldn’t allow anyone else to die because he hadn’t been there.

  But as the light waned and Mrs. Goodman’s moans increased, he wondered if he would make it to town in time.

  And would he ever get to see his son again? Or would the townspeople just string Woody up from the nearest tree?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Someone kept patting his face. “Jimmy . . . wake up, Jimmy.”

  It wasn’t his father. And it wasn’t the reverend. But another man was telling him to wake up. He didn’t want to. The bed was warm and his throat hurt. He was tired of his throat hurting.

  “Miss Porter, maybe if you came over here and spoke with him. He doesn’t want to wake up for me, but his eyes keep fluttering.” The man’s voice stopped.

  Then he felt a kiss on his forehead. “Hey, sleepyhead. It’s time to wake up.” Miss Lillian’s voice washed over him. He tried to open his eyes.

  Everything was blurry at first, but when the haze cleared, there she was. Right above him. Smiling.

  “There’s my big guy.” Her smile got even bigger. “The operation is all done. And the doctor said you did great. So in a few days, you’ll be feeling all better.”

  He nodded.

  She leaned in and hugged him. “I love you so much, Jimmy.”

  That made him smile. She loved him and hugged him just like Mama used to.

  The man came back—he must be the doctor. “How are you feeling?”