by Linda Broday
How long Squirt had been in the room, Glory could only hazard a guess. Fresh hotness washed over her. She did need them. Family could give her something to cling to in this new place where cold was the temperature of pitch-black.
Not that it came close to filling the shoes of a charming scoundrel. Nothing could. Lord knew she’d need every scrap of help to ease the loneliness though.
Patience laid her cheek to Glory’s. “Please, Glory. We can’t bear it without you. If you don’t wanna get up, I’ll lie here with you. I don’t wanna hafta whip those darn kids anyhow.”
That decided it. A body couldn’t be alone in her misery with a small crowd. She pushed them off.
“Hell’s bells! You win. I may as well get dressed.”
“I’ll pour your coffee.”
Quite a satisfied snap to Hope’s skirts, Glory thought, swinging her feet to the floor. She’d make an effort, though she couldn’t promise how long she could mask her desolation and loss.
A deep sigh later, groping for her Sunday best, she found it shoved into her outstretched hands.
“Who’s there?”
“Only me.” Patience sniffled. “I’m sorry you’re blind.”
“I asked Hope not to tell.”
“She didn’t. I knew it all by myself.”
Did everyone in the whole blessed town know? Mama? “Will you keep my secret? Just for a while.”
“I love you, Glory. I’d never hurt you.” Patience launched herself into Glory’s arms.
She pried the small arms from her neck. “That goes double for me. Now scat so I can have a minute’s peace.”
Only when she heard voices in the kitchen did she truly know they’d left her. She pulled the dress over her muslin petticoats and buttoned it. By touch alone, she found the cotton stockings, then her shoes.
Strange how much remembrance a person relied on. The comb on the stand, underthings in the top dresser drawer…and the reason why she’d grow old alone.
Just for today, couldn’t she be a scared little girl? She squinched her eyes shut. Please block the memories, she prayed.
Suddenly, she bent and patted the floor beneath the bed until she located the empty seed box. She sat and held it on her lap.
Though old and useless, the wooden container held the greatest treasure anyone had ever bestowed. The top slid back easily and she reached inside. She unfolded the piece of faded tissue paper from around the prize—the toothbrush Luke had given her.
She cradled it to her heaving bosom.
Still brand-new, it represented something she thought beyond reach. It had taken a stranger on a paint horse to show her such trappings did not a lady make. True, she’d never be refined and wealthy in the way of Bess Whitfield. But Luke taught her a lady meant far more than that. She already had what she’d always desired.
Blaming her father for her perceived lack had been wrong. She’d dishonored him and now it was too late to beg forgiveness.
Fate had to strip her of so many things for her to see.
She’d asked only for one kiss and was given a love unlike any she’d dared imagine.
A pretty fair exchange, she reckoned. Except she wished someone had warned her how gutshot she’d feel at giving it up. The hand that reached through the mangled mess and ripped her heart from its mooring cared nothing for her survival.
“Are you dressed, Glory?” Hope called.
With tender care, she replaced the paper over the toothbrush. Then removing the cigar band from her finger, she tucked both precious items inside the box and slid it beneath her bed.
“Be right there.”
A few calming breaths later, she slipped on a smile to mask her broken heart.
* * *
The rain-cooled day gave most of Santa Anna’s faithful reason to rejoice. Everywhere Glory turned, folks spoke in shushed tones about the possible end to the drought. Perhaps fear that the heavens should get wind of their doubts and plunge them back into dryness kept their voices lowered.
Mama pleaded a sick headache this Sunday morn, refusing to rise from her bed. This made Hope’s and her task imperative.
They stood at the bottom of the steps after the service.
“I see him,” Hope whispered. “Dr. Dalton’s coming.”
“Is anyone with him?”
“He’s alone for the moment.”
“Good. It’ll make it easier.”
“Uh-oh.”
“What?”
Suddenly, someone jerked Glory’s arm. “I want to know what you think you’re doing. We’re not going to stand for it.”
Bess’s vicious attack left her reeling. Whatever did the snooty girl mean? Somehow, she had to keep her vision impairment from the town, for they’d only delight in using it against her. She turned her face toward the sound, staring as if she had perfect sight.
“Nice weather, isn’t it, Bess?”
“Don’t nice me, you…you farm tramp, beau stealer.”
Stinging words for someone who had the wrong facts. Lightning must’ve struck the fashion queen’s brain. Glory hadn’t stolen anything that she knew of.
“What are you babbling about?”
“As if you don’t know.” Amelia joining the fray came as no surprise.
Uncle Pete once pointed out that if one half of the Miss Prisses came to an abrupt stop, the other’s nose would be imbedded very far up a part of her indelicate anatomy.
“Would you care to enlighten me?”
“You probably thought you could get away with it, but we spied you walking arm in arm with Dr. Dalton.”
Finally, it made sense. Luke hadn’t been the only one to blow the episode out of proportion. She tried to ignore the torture that came when her mind spoke his name.
“For heaven’s sake!” There went that unladylike snort she hated. “I’m not going to belittle myself justifying it.”
“I don’t know where you get the idea that you’re pretty enough for two men to be courting you. You’re as ugly as a fence post.”
“That’s about enough. Leave my sister alone.” Hope’s snarl shocked the daylights out of her. Glory had never heard her sister use that tone.
“Who’s gonna make us?”
“Me, that’s who.”
If only she could see. She was missing out. Grunts and the swishing of air made her think of blows being exchanged for some reason. Fisticuffs in her defense?
“Ahem, ladies, is there a problem here?”
Despite having spoken with Dr. Dalton no more than twice, Glory recognized the distinguished baritone.
“Of course not.” Bess couldn’t have been sweeter. “We were simply discussing the virtues of respecting one’s property.”
“I see.” He chuckled the same way he had before when he told of his sister. “Well, it looks like the discussion split your lip, Miss Whitfield.”
“Hope?” Alex O’Brien arrived winded and puzzled. “Did I just see what I thought?”
“You sure did, and I’ll give ’em some more if they don’t button their mouths.” First snarls and now smugness. What else would Hope reveal before the day ended, pray tell?
“I thought my imagination was playing tricks on me.”
“It didn’t. Did you want something, Alex?”
“I rented a buggy from the livery. I’d like to take you home if it’s all right.”
“We’re a little busy right now. We have business of a personal nature with Dr. Dalton. If you don’t mind waiting?”
Glory imagined a certain light in the boy’s eyes at the prospect. How nice to be young and foolish. As she once was.
Before she learned everything came with a high price.
“I’ll count the minutes,” he said.
She died to know if Bess and Amelia had decided they’d bitten off more than they could che
w and moved on. Fire and damnation, she cursed this blackness!
“Misses Hope and Glory, fortune indeed smiled on me this morn. What is it you wanted to bend my ear about?”
“A delicate situation, Doctor.” Glory directed the answer toward her right, where she’d heard him.
“Ah, a professional visit. Then, in that case, I suggest we adjourn to my office.”
Strength in the hand that took her arm gave her to know it most likely wasn’t Hope. However, after the events of the last five minutes, she could be totally wrong. For the first time since awaking, she felt a smile form. Her sister had literally meant what she said about fighting for her.
“Dr. Dalton,” came Amelia’s whine. “Bess and I brought some of that fried chicken you love so well. Will you come eat Sunday dinner with us?”
“Later. Duty calls at the moment.”
“I doubt we can keep it warm.”
They’d certainly earn high marks in persistence.
Again, Ted Dalton chuckled. “Cold is my favorite, girls.”
She felt him turn slightly.
“Oh, and, Miss Whitfield, you might put a damp cloth on that lip. I see the makings of an awful bruise.”
Gasps filled the air behind them.
“Miss Hope, you’ve got quite a mean punch. Ever think of becoming a pugilist?”
“Oh no, sir; I’d never do anything like that.”
The doctor’s teasing and this new side of Hope had Glory’s head whirling. She only prayed Squirt stayed out of trouble. She hadn’t seen her since the reverend ended his sermon.
Defending principles appeared to run rampant in the Day family.
Twenty-two
The stairs to Dr. Dalton’s office creaked. Glory stumbled once when her foot failed to clear the upper step. His firm grip kept her from falling. The care he took of her stirred the dying embers of times past.
And yet, his presence jumbled her nerves.
If she couldn’t trick Patience, what luck did she have with a man of learning?
Here she’d worked herself into a frazzle to stave off the inevitable and the effort could be for naught. She failed miserably in the pretending lessons.
The turn of the knob told her they’d reached the top.
“You ladies have a seat and tell me what I can help you with.”
Locating the chair edge with the back of her legs, Glory sat down. “It’s our mother. We recently discovered she’s consuming an unhealthy amount of laudanum.”
Hope took over. “Sick headaches consume her to such a degree she’s grown dependent on the drug. Mama talks in riddles. Most times she can’t remember that our papa is…away and has been for a long time.”
“You are right to seek help. That addiction carries grave effects.” The young doctor paused for a second, tapping his fingers on the desktop. “This clears up another puzzle though.”
A curious thing to say. Glory tried to curb the peculiar pinpricks running the length of her spine. “A puzzle?”
“It pertains to your last visit, Miss Day. I couldn’t quite understand why you’re so desperate to hide your impairment. I didn’t know about your circumstance and how your father’s leaving dumped the family’s entire survival on you.”
“Don’t sit in judgment, Doctor, until you’ve been there.” Glory hadn’t meant to spit the sharp rebuke from her mouth. Not in that way. But it irked her to see how fast a body jumped to the wrong conclusions.
“My sister didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Hope apologized.
“No, the regret belongs to me. I should mind my manners. Will you believe I only wish to help?”
Those offerings were a dime a dozen. No one could return the thing she most needed. Still, he meant well even if he could use a bit more prudence.
“We both spoke before thinking.” Glory allowed a wan smile. “A problem I have quite often.”
“Getting back to your mother—how long has she taken the laudanum and how much?”
“Though we don’t know for certain, we believe she began shortly after my father left,” Hope said.
“That’s when we started noticing she had trouble separating fact from fiction. Her headaches grew increasingly worse and kept her abed for days.” Glory wrinkled her brow. The truth was there all along had they chosen to see it. She’d not filled Papa’s boots very well.
Worry likely created the catch in her sister’s breath when she helped complete the picture. “Yesterday, Uncle Pete confessed how he’d secretly supplied the laudanum for years. Could that account for the symptoms?”
“Absolutely.” Dalton sighed heavily. “It’s nothing more than a liquid form of opium and extremely hazardous when taken frequently. In large quantities, it kills.”
“Oh dear!”
The gasp came from Hope and gave noise to the shudders inside Glory. “What can we do?”
“Taking it from her in one fell swoop poses an equally vexing problem. Many patients die in the throes of the horrible shakes that develop.” The sound of him scratching his chin met Glory’s ears. “The only thing you can do in my estimation is to wean your mother off it gradually. Hide the bottle and dole it out in small quantities. I suggest one spoonful a day for a week, then begin every other day, and slowly taper off.”
“Thank you. It relieves our minds to confide in someone.” She hated that the bulk of the task would fall on Hope’s shoulders yet again. Hell’s bells!
Dr. Dalton’s next question came softly, but with the blunt force of a hammer. “Would you mind if I examine your eyes? Purely to satisfy my professional concern of course.”
* * *
Miles from Santa Anna, Luke sniffed the smoke of a campfire floating in the breeze…and coffee?
Just what he needed to drive the chill from his bones. Last night’s storm had drenched him. Or maybe he’d died from longing and the good Lord hadn’t told him yet.
Folks claim nothing but death creates such mind-numbing cold. He could put up an argument to the contrary.
He slid from the saddle for a look-see. Didn’t pay to ride into a fellow’s territory uninvited. These days especially. Luke didn’t mind a trip to the Promised Land; in fact, he welcomed relief from the utter misery gripping his gut, he just didn’t care to be helped there with a rope.
Rain-dampened grass silenced his movements. He pushed aside the low branch of a Texas redbud. Scents from the small fire had his belly rumbling. Not a soul in sight. Whomever it belonged to—
“Hold it, pistolero.”
Someone cocked the hammer of a weapon. The metal poking into the back of his head assured Luke the person wasn’t asking for directions. The stranger took his Colt, slipping it easily from the holster. The hackles on Luke’s neck rose. He never developed a fondness for sitting ducks. Especially if he was in the duck’s shoes.
“Smelled your coffee. Didn’t mean any harm.”
“Turn around slow and easy.”
Thank his lucky stars the man hadn’t shot him on the spot. Luke swiveled and got his first look.
“Dan? You old son of a gun.”
“That’s Captain Roberts to you. You’re getting sloppy, McClain.” The Ranger handed back his pistol. “Time was you’d have snuck up on a man, made him eat some lead, and sent him to his Maker before he knew what happened.”
That was in the old days when a certain lady hadn’t occupied his thoughts.
“Care to share a cup of that brew?”
“Not if you don’t mind shedding some light on the urgent telegram you sent. I met the necktie party when I rode in. Pretty riled up. You’re in a mess of trouble, boy.”
“Seems so.” Luke rubbed eyes that burned from lack of sleep. Felt bloodshot and raw, just like his insides. A night of blinding rain and intolerable grief tended to do that to a man. He wondered how Glory fared this Sunday mo
rn. Better than he had, he hoped.
“Anything to do with the gang robbing the stages you told headquarters about a week or so ago?”
“You guessed it. Only it’s worse now. Where’s Major Jones anyway?”
“He died last month. That’s how I got your telegram.”
“Sorry to get that news. None better than the major.”
“Yep, mighty big shoes to fill. Don’t know that I’m able.”
“You’re a good man, Dan. Don’t sell yourself short.”
“I’ll do what I can. You’d best fill me in, I reckon.”
A few hours later, Luke watched Captain Roberts disappear through the brush. Relief settled some of the turmoil knotting his belly. They’d arrived at a plan that could work, given that everything would go accordingly.
He scooped a handful of mud, smearing it on his face. His hair got a generous helping as well. Then, he took the black eye patch from his pocket and rigged it in place. A few tears in his clothing, a liberal splashing of rotgut, and he reckoned his own mother wouldn’t have recognized him.
Soldier pawed the ground when Luke reached for the reins. He watched the animal’s eyes grow wide when he climbed instead on the strange mount the captain had brought.
“Hate to do this, boy, but you’d give me away. Folks around here know I ride a paint.”
Luke stashed the horse near a stream in a secluded spot where no one was likely to stumble across him.
At least he hoped they didn’t. Soldier was family.
The broom-tail mare sidestepped when he headed for Camp Colorado. After scouting the area the last few days, he knew for a fact the gang made use of the abandoned military fort.
“Cotton-pickin’, girl! What’s the matter with you?” Luke scratched his head.
Crazy horse. He’d never seen an animal trot sideways.
The rolling motion made him think he’d go off any second.
“Where in hell did the captain find you—a reject at an animal graveyard?”
The mare tossed her head from side to side as if to say she was most proud of the way she walked. Fire and damnation! If he wasn’t so hard up, he’d turn her out to pasture and walk. Course, that might get him tossed out of the hideout on his ear. No self-respecting outlaw went into a den of thieves afoot. Better a flea-bitten nag than none at all. He reckoned he was stuck with Miss Gut Twister.
