“I need the ferry.” His eyes darted from Nick to Anne and Sammy, then back to Nick. “Where’s Pikey? I have to cross.”
“He’s not here, but the ferry isn’t running. Have you seen the river?”
The man shook his head. The rain streamed off his hat and dripped from his moustache. “But my wife. She’s in labor. I have to get a doctor.”
Nick’s throat tightened at the pain in his face. Anne stepped closer.
“Isn’t there anyone here that can help?” she asked.
“The midwife sent me. She wouldn’t have if she didn’t think . . .” He looked away and swallowed. “I have to cross the river. That’s all there is to it.”
Still sheltered by the roof, Nick consulted his watch. Hours still before the train would come through. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do. We crossed this morning, and it was treacherous. It’s even worse now.”
The man stared straight ahead at the churning water. Like a sickness growing in his belly, Nick felt disaster barreling down on them as the man’s resolve grew. The man opened and closed his gloved hands around the reins. “I’ll ride across. It’s my only option.”
“You can’t,” Nick blurted. “What’s it going to accomplish? Even if you make it across—which you won’t—the doctor isn’t going to come back with you. You’re sacrificing your life for nothing—”
“For nothing?” the man roared. “My wife and my child are in danger and you think I’m going home to tell her I failed before I even tried?” He nodded toward Anne and the baby. “Surely you understand. Kiss your woman when I’m gone and thank God that you still have her.”
“Nick!” Anne cried. “Stop him!”
The man spurred his horse toward the bank. Nick ran behind, calling him, but he’d already determined his course. The horse sped down the embankment, shied at the first contact with the water but followed his master’s urging into the fury.
In seconds the river reached the horse’s chest. Their way slowed as each step now was a battle against an irresistible force. Crying filled Nick’s ears as Sammy screamed against the rain, but Anne was riveted to the drama before them.
“Isn’t there something we can do?” she shouted above Sammy’s wails.
Now the water coursed over the horse’s back. Its eyes flashed wild with terror. The man’s arms wrapped around its neck. He spoke into its ear, but nothing he could say could compete with the anger of the water. Another step and the horse lost its footing. They both went under and when they reappeared less than a second later, they were ten feet further downstream. Together, Nick and Anne rushed to the bank. The water swept the man off the horse, but he held on to the saddle. Both of them floundered as the dark water crashed over their heads, each time dragging them further off course. They swirled around. Were they trying to come back? Now hatless, the man was almost too far away to see. He dipped again. A swifter current caught him and he disappeared. The horse thrashed, water spraying as it crashed into him, but then it too was gone.
Nick waited, scanned down the river, waiting. Waiting. Again he heard Sammy’s cries. He turned to find Anne dry-eyed but as white as bones. What was he thinking? He should’ve sent her inside. She shouldn’t have witnessed that.
And neither should’ve he. His knees suddenly felt weak.
“Let’s get you out of the rain,” he muttered.
She didn’t argue as they walked back to the cabin and both collapsed onto the bench. Hadn’t they just been sitting there? Besides their dripping clothes, everything was exactly the same, but one family would never recover.
“We should go to town and tell someone.” Anne melted into the wall. Her boots stretched before her, showing her exhaustion.
“I’ll go,” he said, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He’d been sapped. Already in his mind’s eye he’d imagined a bridge spanning this river, and he couldn’t stop thinking that somehow he could get it built and help that man. Somehow, if he hurried, the rider wouldn’t have to swim the raging river. He could ride across and come back with the doctor in a buggy. If only time would stop, if only he’d decided . . . or someone had decided two years ago that the bridge needed to be built, the man would be knocking on the doctor’s door even now.
He’d always remember this day and the quiet woman who’d borne it with him.
“I’m sorry that happened,” he said. “And I’m sorry you had to go through it. But at the same time I’m glad you’re here with me. That’s not nice, is it? To be glad someone else feels as awful as you do?”
Anne’s eyes captured his, the gray as calm as he’d ever seen. “I’ve been through a lot on my own. I understand why you’d feel like that.”
Something passed between them. Something . . . a message, a glimpse of herself she held close? Whatever it was, Nick felt privileged. “Thank you.” He took her hand, barely visible at the end of her long loose coat sleeve, and pressed it to his lips, fulfilling the last request of a brave man.
11
Anne hadn’t expected that sunrise would find her back at the office of Lovelace Transportation Specialists, but because of the tragedy the night before she didn’t have the heart to complain.
The man’s devotion to his family, the price he paid, towered above any inconvenience she felt at being delayed by Sammy. She only hoped Finn would grow to love his son with the same dedication.
The door opened. Nick’s puffy eyes evidenced a night poorly spent, but he smiled just the same.
“Mm, the scent of sawdust reminds me of the sawmill back home.” He slid his outer coat off. “How do you like that new staircase?”
Anne spun so she wasn’t facing him head-on and watched through the corner of her eye.
“They’re stairs. You can’t mess them up.”
“Sure you can. What if they didn’t reach the top? What if they didn’t reach the bottom?” With his hand still on the hook he turned to her. “What if the carpenter mistakenly created them to only go up, and not back down?”
“But now that the stairs are there, Harold can come back.” Anne pushed her hair behind her ear.
“That doesn’t mean I won’t need you for another day or two. He still can’t hold a pencil.”
Having Harold there—having anybody else there—would make it easier. It seemed she couldn’t be alone with Nick without something significant passing between them.
“I sent Anoli another telegram letting him know I missed Finn. Until I hear back, I can help.”
“Anne, about yesterday”—he braced himself against her desktop—“are you all right?”
His concern rattled her. “I’m fine.”
“I talked to the doctor today.” He lowered his head, studying the papers scattered before him. “Our man made it across after all and lived long enough to send someone with his message to the doctor.”
She swallowed. “And his wife?”
“She delivered a baby girl. The doctor crossed on the train last night. The baby had already arrived, but the mother probably wouldn’t have survived without his help. Might not, even now.”
The little family had fought so hard for each other. What made them willing to give their lives? Anne didn’t know anyone capable of loving like that.
“And I saw the postmaster this morning,” Nick said. “Molly sent a letter. It seems that she, Bailey, and their youngest are planning to come up for a visit.”
Anne picked at her fingernail. The last time she’d seen Nick’s sister, Molly was shouldering the disappointment of a socially optimistic family and a scandal that almost cost her her longtime beau. “I’d like to see Molly. Sammy would like to have another child to play with.”
Nick straightened, his brow wrinkled. “I didn’t think about Sammy. Do you think he’ll still be here?”
“If Sammy leaves, so do I.”
His mouth turned down. His eyes didn’t leave her face, then as he blinked his neck turned red.
“Bring him.When she comes, I’ll reserve one of the parlors at the hotel fo
r supper. Maybe a dining room so we can have a place to visit.”
A dining room. Anne looked again at Nicholas’s fine striped suit. Knowing Molly, she’d be dressed like a princess. Would she be irritated to find that Anne’s wardrobe hadn’t improved over the years? The thought almost brought a smile to her lips.
After a week with no stairway, Anne jumped at the unaccustomed sound of the office door swinging open, and when Ophelia Stanford entered, she probably more resembled a fox caught in the henhouse than a confident clerk.
“Mrs. Stanford, come in. Have a seat.” Nicholas waved expansively but failed to draw her attention from Anne. “I was just telling Mrs. Tillerton that my sister and her husband are coming to town. I’d love for you to meet them, if you and Mr. Stanford have an evening free.”
The icy chill that entered the room wasn’t a result of the October weather, and the lemon-yellow dress did nothing to lessen the sour look on Ophelia’s face. She ignored his remark and pinned Anne with a glare. “What is she doing here? You said she was only passing through.”
Oh brother.
Nicholas escorted Ophelia into his office and pulled a chair to her, since she refused to walk any further.
“Mrs. Tillerton is helping me while Harold recovers.”
“Nicholas.” She drew a long breath while sinking into the chair. “I understand the compassion you must feel for her, but her presence here—”
“Ophelia, I have a decision I’d like to discuss with you.” Nick stepped between them, giving Anne a chance to slip out of sight.
Anne pulled her coat around her and lowered herself into the chair behind Harold’s desk. She ripped a long strip of paper off the back of the ledger, tore it width-wise to about the size of a .45 cartridge, crushed it tightly, and put it in her mouth.
“After looking over the work that could be done in the county office,” Nick said, “I’ve concluded that a month isn’t enough time to see anything through. Do you think it’s too late to register for the election?”
Anne sat up straight and launched the spitball at the spittoon.
Bing!
“What a splendid idea! I don’t know when the deadline for candidates is, but since Garrard was the forerunner and he died, it could possibly be extended.”
Anne rolled another one.
“So you think it’s a good idea? Will I have Mr. Stanford’s approval?”
“Mr. Stanford?”
Anne recognized the sarcasm from a room over.
“We aren’t currently on speaking terms. He’s run afoul of me, and he knows what he must do to rectify the situation.”
Good for Nicholas. He didn’t ask, but Ophelia told him anyway.
“The emporium has an adorable beaded reticule that perfectly matches my red boots. I’ve made it very plain that when Ian decides to repent of his vile behavior, he can signal his repentance to me with that purchase. So far, he’s unremorseful, claiming the bag is too expensive—as if I haven’t earned it many times over.”
Nicholas hesitated. “But your spat—it’s not going to affect our contract, is it?”
“Of course not. Nothing must get in the way of our partnership.”
Bing! Another hit.
Ophelia cleared her throat. Anne froze.
“And speaking of impediments to our future—” She turned in her chair to stare through the doorway directly at Anne. “How do you suppose you can win an election while associating with the likes of her? Her appearance detracts from the professional image you’ve worked to present. With the election—”
“But you are the only customer who ventures up these stairs,” Nick said. “It isn’t as if she’s working in my office at the courthouse.”
Ophelia rose. Anne’s chewing halted when they walked in the room. Ophelia didn’t look her way, but she did startle when the spittoon at her feet rang out. She pulled her skirt away from the spittoon and shot Nicholas a look full of meaning.
“Whilst I strive for perfection in my appearance, sparing no expense, this young woman doesn’t know the first thing about fashion.”
Anne quirked her mouth. “I like your boots. They look like fine workmanship. Good brain-tanned Indian leather.”
Rose and ivory blended perfectly on Ophelia’s powdered face. “Brain-tanned? Because they look so smart?” Her haughty expression implied that nothing Anne could do or say would affect her.
Anne was willing to test her assumption.
“No, it’s called brain-tanning because the tanners put the animal’s brain in hot water and mush it between their fingers until it makes a nice soup.”
Ophelia make a strangled sound, but Anne kept right on.
“Then they rub it into the animal skin. The incredible thing is that every animal has enough brains for its own hide. To cover every inch, they have to scrape brain soup out of the bottom of the kettle—”
“Thank you, Anne,” Nick interrupted. “Mrs. Stanford doesn’t need any more information.”
“No, but she might need more powder. Look at her face. I’ve never seen such a sickly green color.”
“Think about what I said,” Ophelia gritted out between her teeth. “We don’t want to waste our time supporting you in the election if you’re going to throw it all away.”
Anne fell back into her chair as Ophelia stalked out. She missed riding, shooting, and traveling the prairie, but being in town offered its own entertainment.
Anne spent every Saturday helping Mrs. Puckett, doing her best to make up for the tasks she missed during the week. At first the household chores made her uneasy. She kept glancing over her shoulder, waiting for Mrs. Puckett to explode if she did something wrong, but once she realized that no punishment was forthcoming, she began to relax and enjoy the tasks, glad to contribute to the family that had given Sammy and her a place to stay.
And their stay was about to end.
The smooth handle of the dasher stilled in her hands, the butter churn between her knees sharing its coolness. For the tenth time that morning Anne reached into her pocket and pulled the telegram out to stare at the words.
Finn Cravens informed. STOP. Coming to Garber. STOP.
Wordlessly she stuffed the telegram into her pocket. It was for the best. She wiped her palms on her trousers, found dry purchase on the agitator, and jerked upward with a force that rattled the ceramic lid.
She would miss the little fellow. Every time Sammy looked up at her with his big sweet eyes, every time he clapped his hands and laughed, a piece of her stone heart warmed to living flesh again.
And now it was over.
Sammy had a father who was willing to take him. Who knew what kind of family Finn could provide, but she needed to return to Pushmataha. Anoli, Tracker, Fred, and the other hunters needed her. She had a knack for choosing the bison with the best coats, even from a distance.
The thick buttermilk sloshed in the crock. The longer she’d stayed at the Pucketts’, the more chores she’d turned her hand to. At first, every domestic activity chilled her, accompanied as they were by the ghosts of her brief married life. But as she persevered through the bad memories, she made new memories—Mrs. Puckett’s laughter filling the kitchen, Sammy tugging on her britches as she stood at the worktable, the crisp scent of the laundry she pinned to the line.
Nicholas had been right. Gradually she realized that she could crack the fragile eggshell and stretch out her neck a bit further. She hadn’t lost her heart to Sammy. She’d held back enough that his departure wouldn’t shatter her. Her defenses weren’t quite as vulnerable as she’d feared.
The kitchen door swung open. Mrs. Puckett entered with Sammy on her hip.
“He was fussing upstairs. Naptime is over.”
Anne slid away from the churn and held out her hands. Parallel tracks from the seersucker coverlet wrinkled his face, and he almost leaped out of Mrs. Puckett’s arms to her.
“Momma.” Sammy buried his face into her neck.
“Isn’t that the sweetest thing?” Mrs.
Puckett rested her fists on her hips and swayed. “He’s taken to you. That’s for sure.”
Anne cupped his head, stroking the innocent silkiness. “I just got word that Finn Cravens is on his way into town. He’ll be anxious to see his son.”
The smile slid off Mrs. Puckett’s face as she sank into a chair. She wagged her head from side to side. “I guess we knew this day was coming. His folks will sure be proud of the little fellow.”
“Finn doesn’t have any family to speak of, but I guess he can’t be any worse than Sammy’s mother.”
Mrs. Puckett peered at her from over her spectacles. “This Finn, I don’t suppose he’s mended his ways, has he? Maybe he’d be willing to marry so his precious son would have a mother.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Anne scooted back from the churn. “And if he chooses to, he won’t have any trouble finding volunteers. He could sweet-talk a frog into a boiling pot of water.”
Mrs. Puckett straightened. “That sounds promising. I hate for you to leave us, but if I thought that you’d found a family of your own—”
Anne spun in her chair, her knee nearly knocking over the butter churn. “I’m not marrying Finn. I’m not marrying anyone. I’ll go back to what I know best—hunting, trapping, and living without . . . without all these people staring and talking.”
“Oh dear. I’m sorry that’s been your experience.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Sammy squirmed out of Anne’s arms and crawled toward a bag of potatoes propped in the corner. She paused, trying to find words of gratitude from a rarely used supply. “You’ve given me friendship when I had nothing to give in return. I won’t forget your goodness.”
Sammy beamed at them with a toothy grin.
“Just knowing you has been gift enough. And I’m afraid you’re going to have trouble forgetting that little guy, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Anne’s throat felt unusually raspy. “I don’t know how, but he’s become the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Caught in the Middle (Ladies of Caldwell County Book #3) Page 11
