by Kit Morgan
Doc Drake nodded. “Just thought I’d throw it out there. Have you felt weak, lately?”
Amon held his hands out in front of him and flexed his arms. “No – in fact, I’ve been feeling stronger lately. A lot stronger.”
“Hmmm … then I don’t know what to tell you. Everything I know of that can be accompanied by hallucinations is also accompanied by fever and loss of strength.” He shook his head. “Get plenty of rest and try not to think about getting married too much.”
Amon chuckled. “Hard to do when you’re courting a woman with marriage as your aim.”
“I can only imagine. I remember what it was like with Elsie and trying to concentrate on that blasted play.”
Amon laughed. “Oh yes, the Christmas play! You and your wife gave a grand performance.”
“You have no idea,” Doc Drake said with a smile. “So when are you going to see her again?”
“Miss Whitman?” Amon pondered that, then shrugged. “I’ll arrange for a meeting tomorrow. Unless you think I should rest for a few days?”
Doc Drake studied him a moment. “It might do you good – you could at least see if the symptoms persist or not. If, after a few days rest you see Miss Whitman and they start again, then it’s definitely nerves.”
Amon shook his head. “Who would’ve thought? Usually almost nothing bothers me.”
“Yes, I know,” Doc Drake agreed. “That’s what makes this so puzzling. Oh, one other thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell Miss Whitman you won’t be seeing her for a few days, and why. Tell her you’re feeling under the weather, and you’ll see her again when you’re better. That way she won’t worry. A worried woman is a dangerous thing – take it from me. You wouldn’t want her to think you don’t like her anymore, or worse.”
“You’re right – I’ll leave another note with Seth explaining my absence.” Amon stood up. “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough your time. Thanks for seeing me.”
“It’s what I’m here for.”
“Sure enough,” Amon said with a smile. He left the patient room, went out into the hall and headed for the door.
“Well?” Grandma called from the parlor. “Are ya gonna live?”
“Yes, Grandma, I’ll live.”
She set down her knitting, got up and went to him. “Can’t leave here on an empty stomach. If ya got the time, come on in the kitchen and I’ll get ya some lunch.”
“Thanks, Grandma, that’s mighty kind of you.”
“I saw Jefferson Cooke head out of town with your intended and her brother in the back of his wagon,” she said as he followed her down the hall.
“You did?”
“Imogene and Cutty were with them too.”
“Is that so? Where do you suppose they went – to the Triple-C?”
“Haven’t the slightest idea, don’t really care. Just thought I’d mention it.”
“What for, being as how you don’t really care?”
“Because I figured you did! Now sit down and I’ll fix ya a sandwich. Ya can’t go chasing after everyone on an empty stomach.”
“Who said I was going to chase after them? Especially when Doc Drake just told me to take it easy.”
“Ha! You’re fit as a fiddle.”
“How would you know, you didn’t examine me.”
“No, but I got ears, and the parlor ain’t that far from the patient room. I can hear everything when the door’s open.”
Amon tried to keep a straight face but failed. He snorted, then shook his head. “You were eavesdropping.”
“Don’t act surprised. It’s my job to keep track of what goes on in this house.”
He thought a moment then smiled again. “All right. But the doctor did make a good point.”
“Which was?”
“That I not court Miss Whitman for a few days to see if my symptoms go away.”
“Hmmm,” Grandma mused. “Makes sense. Only problem with that theory is you don’t seem the nervous type.”
“I’ve never been the nervous type, you know that.”
She nodded in agreement. “Best do what Doc Drake says. The man follows his instincts with these sorts of things. At least you’ll know if it’s nerves or not. I’ve heard some men get all tongue-tied and flustered over a pretty gal, especially if he’s going to marry her.”
“Yes, but … I have no reason to be that way.”
“No reason? You mean to tell me deciding to marry a perfect stranger just because Clinton Moresy threatened to isn’t a reason to be nervous? You had no intention of getting married as far as I knew. Now you’re beating a path to Preacher Jo’s door.”
“I’m doing nothing of the kind and you know it.”
“No? Maybe you should, then. But enough of this talk – it might be part of the problem and if so, I’m sorry. I guess when I see a right match I want it sealed.”
Amon stared at her in confusion. “What do you mean, a right match?”
“You and that Miss Whitman. You’re right for each other.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.” She put her hand over her heart and patted her chest a few times. “In here, I can feel it. Same as I felt it for Elsie and Bowen Drake. Or Cozette and Duncan Cooke. Or Harrison and Sadie …”
“You should stop doctoring and take up matchmaking,” Amon suggested with a chuckle.
“Oh, maybe it’s a silly old woman’s fancy notions, but sometimes you see things with two people.”
“But, you’ve never seen me and Miss Whitman together before.”
Grandma looked taken aback as she thought a moment. “Land sakes, you’re right! Why do I think the two of you would be such a good match?”
Amon shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Eleven
Four days had passed since Mr. Cotter had cancelled his outing with Nettie, not to mention that second note from Seth, saying he wasn’t feeling well and would be resting for a few days. His absence was unsettling at first, and she had to curb the notion of going to see him. Actually, Newton had stopped her, saying it would be better to let him approach when he was up to it. Besides, she didn’t want to catch whatever it was that ailed him.
In the meantime, Nettie spent her days in polite company with Cousin Imogene, Mrs. Upton and a few sporadic hours with Cutty, whom she had to admit was starting to grow on her. He was an odd sort of man – his manners abhorrent one moment, impeccable the next. Half the time she didn’t know if he was mocking her or not.
Or maybe he was copying Imogene’s accent, mocking her instead. Considering the way the two of them looked at each other, that was probably the case. There was a mutual affection between them – Nettie could see it in their eyes, even if Cutty put up a fuss every time Imogene hinted at it.
A knock sounded at her door. Not bothering to wait for her to open it, Newton stepped inside. “Looks like we’re going to have company today,” he said as he crossed the room and plopped down on the settee.
She sighed and gave him an accusing stare. “I wish you would wait until I answered the door instead of just lumbering in like an ox.”
“Except that half the time, you don’t answer the door, dear sister. Besides, you know how impatient I am.”
She shook her head in resignation and smiled. She couldn’t argue with him there. “Who’s coming to see us? Is it Mr. Cotter?”
“No, I’m afraid it isn’t. I’m sorry.”
Nettie folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. “If this keeps up, I’m going to be sorry too.”
“Give the man a few more days and I’m sure he’ll be fully recovered. In the meantime, Penelope and Constance are coming to town – Eloise just told me. We’ve not had time to visit with any of our other cousins.”
“What about the rest?” she asked, still staring at her hands. “Lena, Apple and Fina?”
“Eloise says they drew straws to see which ones would visit first.”
Nettie’s head came up. �
��They wagered?”
“Not so much a wager – they simply thought it better not to descend on us all at once. They’re being polite.”
“Of course,” Nettie said. “I should thank them for that.”
“At least you haven’t been bored in the meantime,” Newton said. “But if Mr. Cotter doesn’t come to town in the next few days, I will pay him a visit.”
She hid a smile. Newton was suspecting that Mr. Cotter had a case of cold feet and – being impatient, just as he admitted – was itching to settle the matter. “Thank you,” she said. “But I do hope he comes soon. I don’t want to go through this again.”
Newton chuckled. “To tell you the truth, neither do I. Come, let’s go downstairs and wait for our guests.” He pulled her up from the settee and together they went to the dining room.
They hadn’t been waiting long when Penelope and Constance showed up with their husbands. “Nettie, Newton,” Constance said and pointed to the dark-haired man at her side. “This is Ryder, Seth’s brother.”
Newton stood. “A pleasure to meet you, dear sir.”
Ryder extended his hand and shook Newton’s. “Shucks, Mister – pleasure’s all mine!”
Nettie’s eyes widened at Ryder’s country accent – or what she thought was one, anyway. Where in this huge country was he from? “How do you do?”
“Plumb tuckered out, ma’am, to be honest. But other than that, I’m fine.” He held out a hand to her.
Nettie stared at it with a half-smile. If there was one thing she’d learned since sailing around the horn and arriving in Oregon, it was that most men in the New World did not kiss a lady’s hand in greeting. Instead, they shook the life out of it. She gritted her teeth and held out her hand as well. Ryder took it and gave it a healthy shake, rattling Nettie’s entire body along with it. Constance and Penelope didn’t bat an eye. They were probably used to it by now.
“And this is my husband, August,” Penelope said, introducing the man next to her. He too had dark hair, but was taller than Ryder and no less handsome.
Nettie held her hand out again – might as well get it over with – and was surprised when August took it gently, gave her a slight bow and nothing more. “How do you do?” she asked.
“Very well, thank you,” he said in return. “I understand our Mr. Cotter has been unable to attend to you these last few days. I was very sorry to hear that. I hope he’ll be able to join you again soon.”
“As do we,” Nettie agreed. “His absence has not yet been cause for concern. Time will determine if it should be.”
“I can go by the men’s camp and check up on him if ya like,” Ryder offered. “Won’t take but an extra minute on the way home.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Jones,” Newton told him. “I plan on riding out myself to this men’s camp, as you call it, to check on Mr. Cotter.”
“Suit yerself,” Ryder said and pulled out a chair for Constance. Everyone sat, and within moments Mrs. Upton was serving them tea.
After she scurried back into the kitchen, Constance asked the inevitable. “Can you tell us about London?” she pleaded. “We’d so much like to hear what’s been happening there. The Duke writes to us, of course, but all he talks about is the estate. From the sounds of it, the man never leaves the place.”
“Don’t misunderstand my sister,” Penelope said. “We do enjoy it when Cozette writes a note or two within his letters and tells us about the latest fashions. The dresses she describes must be absolutely divine.”
Nettie swallowed hard and tried not to wring her hands under the table. She shot Newton a furtive glance, but he sat stock-still and said nothing. Traitor. “There’s nothing much to tell,” she mumbled, then forced a smile. “I’m afraid we didn’t leave our own estate much. Of course, the Baron traveled to London several times a year but … we were scarcely able to go with him.”
“What a pity,” said Penelope with a frown. “How long has it been since you’ve attended the season?”
Nettie wrung her hands together anyway. “Well … I … we …”
“Haven't been for years,” Newton finished for her, much to her relief. “I’m afraid our business kept us in the country with the Baron most of the time.”
“I see,” Penelope said, her frown deepening. “Then we shan’t find out anything. I’m assuming the last ball you attended was while we still resided there. We were hoping for information on what’s happened since we left.”
“Afraid we can’t help you on that score,” Newton said. “You’d best ask the Duke to send you some news the next time you write him. But as I understand it, you’re quite right in that he never leaves the estate. I don’t think he’s been to London since he took it over. Too much to do …” He shrugged helplessly.
“Too bad,” Constance said with a pout. She sighed. “But what does it matter? Here we all are, living a country life on the other side of the world.”
“Aw shucks, sugar,” Ryder drawled. “After bein’ here, why would ya want to go back?”
“It’s not a matter of going back,” she said. “Just keeping up with what’s been going on. Surely you want to hear the news from your old haunts sometimes.”
“Not right at the moment,” Ryder replied darkly. “Not with them dang fools down there startin’ a war they can’t win, for the stupidest of reasons.” He and August exchanged a meaningful look.
“A war?” Newton said in alarm. “Who is the United States going to war with?”
“It’s a civil war, I’m afraid,” August explained. “Some of the Southern states are attempting to leave the Union and start their own country.”
“Over slavery,” Ryder spat, as if the word were poison. “Over the right for rich fat cats to own Negroes and make ‘em do their dirty work. And the rich are sendin’ the poor to go fight their battles, of course.” He stopped and shook his head in anger.
“A civil war …,” Nettie whispered. The words brought to mind her own country’s conflict two centuries past, of the regicide of King Charles, the dictatorship of Cromwell, John Bunyan being jailed for his faith. It didn’t bear thinking about.
“Sorry … I didn’t mean to sour the milk,” Ryder apologized. “But right now, I’m real happy to be right here, away from that foolishness.”
“And I’m happy you’re here with me,” Constance added, squeezing his arm.
“Glad to hear ya put it that way,” said Ryder. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, making her blush.
“I’ll second that – all of it,” August agreed, patting Penelope’s hand. He glanced around. “Where are Seth and Eloise? I thought they’d have joined us by now.”
“Seth had to run an errand,” Ryder explained.
“You know what this means,” August said with a smile. “More cookies for us.”
Penelope rolled her eyes. “His legs are not hollow, I swear. But the way this man eats, you’d think he was slipping food to someone he’s hidden in the barn.”
Constance giggled.
Ryder gawked at her. “Laugh if ya want, sugar, but I could say the same about you sometimes.”
Nettie gasped.
But Constance burst out laughing. “Pay him no mind – he hasn’t the slightest idea what he’s talking about.”
“Seriously – lately she’s eaten enough for both of us,” Ryder stated. He looked around the table. “Honest, she does.”
“That’s because you work me like a sl – like a draft horse,” she said, giving him a playful shove. She’d almost said “slave,” but caught herself, knowing that the brewing war back east weighed heavily on him.
He didn’t seem to notice the slip. “Well, a ranch don’t run itself, sugar. Don’t tell me yer gonna complain about the work now? ‘Specially ‘bout the kind that goes on in the barn …”
Constance stopped giggling and glared at him. Penelope quickly cleared her throat and blushed. August put a hand over his mouth and coughed into it, while also giving Ryder a look.
Ne
ttie watch them all and raised a curious eyebrow. “What kind of work has to be done in the barn?”
Now Newton began to cough. “Never mind, sister. On to another topic –”
“Is it hard work?” Nettie asked, ignoring him.
“Oh, uh … yes, ma’am,” Ryder volunteered. “But it sure is fun!”
Constance bit her lower lip, blushed a furious red and turned away. Nettie looked around the table in confusion.
“You wouldn’t happen to want a rooster once you’re married, would you?” August asked Nettie.
“August Bennett!” Penelope said in a scathing tone. “Don’t you dare!”
He looked at his wife, his face dripping innocence. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Clyde is not going anywhere!”
“Clyde?” Nettie and Newton said at once.
“Our rooster,” August explained. “He wandered off for a while but now he’s back.”
“Where did he go?” Newton asked, curious. “I think it would be splendid if Nettie kept chickens.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea where he went. All I know is he found his way back and now we’re stuck …” Another dagger stare by Penelope caught him short. “I mean … Penelope’s very happy he’s home.”
Nettie looked between her cousin and August. If Penelope glared at him any harder, she’d set the man on fire. Clearly there was something about the rooster they were not saying. She suppressed a smile, looking at anything but the couple to keep from laughing …
… and her eyes landed on none other than Amon Cotter!
* * *
Amon approached the table slowly and crossed the dining room with agonized steps, as if approaching an apparition. But Nettie Whitman was no spirit, though she certainly had some. He knew that from day one.
But he didn’t want to appear a lovesick fool by running to the table. Even though it had been less than a week since he’d seen her last, it felt like months. But why? Sure, he’d thought of her over the last few days, but thinking of her and seeing her in the flesh were two very different things. Something beyond his control drew him to her. Was he imagining it?
