Home by Morning

by Alexis Harrington

  Walking out into the parlor, she looked around and knew this place, including the office below, would belong to him as soon as she could move out. His name was even on the sign that swung from its iron bracket on the front of the building.

  Downstairs, she heard the doorknob rattle and her heart lurched. She had taken to locking the front door at all times now. Images of Adam Jacobsen, his eyes alight with a hateful gleam, or more harassment from his followers crossed her mind. Even people who did not agree with him felt compelled to whisper when they talked about him, for fear of bringing down the tyranny of the American Protective League on their heads. Earlier, Leroy Fenton’s delivery boy had brought her another telegram from the hospital in Seattle, asking about her status.

  Now a knock sounded.

  Jess crept to the landing, but she couldn’t see who stood on the other side of the glass from up here.

  Another knock. “Jessica?” She recognized Cole’s voice and released the breath she’d held, then hurried down the steps. “Coming, Cole!” When she reached the bottom stair, she rushed across the entry to fling open the door. Seeing him there, tall and broad-shouldered, the silver badge pinned to his jacket and a gun belt slung low on his hips, she felt safer. He represented the only security she knew these days. She stepped aside to let him in. He kissed her once on the mouth and then on both cheeks. It was such an affectionate, endearing gesture, she felt her throat constrict with emotion.

  “Have you had any more trouble?” he asked.

  “No, but I don’t feel like I can leave the door unlocked now.”

  He nodded. “It’s probably just as well that you keep it bolted. I went by the high school, but Granny Mae said you came back here. Pearson looked overwhelmed.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes and sighed. “I don’t know how well he’s going to work out. I’m not sure Powell Springs, even at its worst, deserves him.” She nodded toward the back room where coffee was perking on the hotplate.

  He followed her and settled in one of the chairs, crossing his ankle over his knee. “Why?”

  She checked the progress of the coffee on the work table and swept some stray grounds into her palm that she’d scattered. Dumping them into a wastepaper basket, she brushed her hands. “Aside from the fact that he’s condescending and insulting, and doesn’t approve of female doctors, I got the feeling that he’s going to be a real fish out of water here. He’s rather upper crust, from New England, and pretty full of himself. At least that was how it seemed to me.”

  “Hmm, that should make tonight interesting.”

  “What’s happening tonight?”

  “Adam Jacobsen has called for a town meeting at city hall. He wants to formally welcome Pearson and, well…” He looked away for an instant.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “To run me out of town.”

  He tipped his chair back on its two rear legs. “I didn’t hear it put quite that way. But my head’s on the chopping block, too. He wants Whit Gannon to take my badge. At least that was what I heard this morning. Hell, he can have the damned thing. It’s not like I don’t have enough to do.”

  She threw up her hands. “So Horace Cookson is allowing this even though the influenza is still active and large gatherings have been banned?”

  “Horace isn’t the same man he was before his wife and son died. I know how he feels.”

  Jess dropped her hands and let her stiff shoulders relax a little. “Are you going to attend this meeting?”

  “Yes, and I think you should too.”

  Her mouth popped open. “To deliver myself to Adam and his henchmen so they can stone me in the public square without having to come looking for me? Thank you, but no.” She turned to the coffee pot and poured two cups, fixing his the way she remembered he liked it.

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it. You should face him down. He’s one man, and a lousy one at that. The reason he has so much power over people is because no one has taken it away from him. You were born and raised here, too.”

  “I’ve done the job I promised to do. I filled in until Pearson arrived. Powell Springs has a doctor again and my work is finished.”

  He let the chair fall back into place and stood to take the cup she offered. “So you won’t come tonight?”

  She leaned a hip against the work table and sipped her own coffee. “You saw the mentality of those people outside who broke the window. It’s not hard for me to imagine that ‘meeting’ turning into a kangaroo court. Next thing you know, they’ll be dunking me in Powell Creek.”

  He gazed at her for a long minute. In the quiet, she could hear his leather belt creak with his breathing. “I know you have more faith in Powell Springs than that. You’ve always been a fighter, Jess.”

  “Maybe. But there are so many battles, and I don’t want take on every one of them anymore. Some are just too hard to bear.” At this moment, she felt almost as defeated as she had when she’d left the East.

  He nodded finally, as if he understood what she meant. Reaching out, he tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. His touch made goose bumps rise on her arms. “Then I’ll fight it for you. I’ve lost too much lately to just give up, and I’m not going to stand by and let those sanctimonious hypocrites tear down either of us.”

  Impulsively, she pressed a quick, hard kiss to his mouth. “I hope you win.”

  At six forty-five, most of Powell Springs’s citizens who were well enough to attend filled the council room at city hall and spilled out into the corridor. Even Virgil Tilly had closed his place to come to the event. Roland Bright and Horace Cookson scrambled to find every chair in the building, but a lot of people were still left standing.

  Susannah and Tanner accompanied Cole, and in a move that both surprised and pleased him, so did Pop. “I’m not gonna have people like Jacobsen and Leonard tarnish our family name. They’ve got a hell of a nerve, especially Jacobsen. I remember he couldn’t even say ‘mama’ until he was six years old, and he hasn’t quit yapping since.” This was the most energy the old man had shown since that telegram came. After they learned of Riley’s death and Amy’s treachery, a lot of the bluster had drained out of Pop. Even trips to the saloon had lost their allure for him.

  Cole acted as a spearhead to cut his way through the group, bringing his family close to the front of the room where they could all see the proceedings and hear what was being said. He felt the eyes of others on them and noticed heads bending to whisper as they passed. Looking around, he saw people he’d known all of his life, people he’d done business with, those whose weddings he’d attended and had even shared drinks with at Tilly’s. He was counting on that. Maybe they would remember him instead of the man who had come here to destroy his character and attack Jessica and his family.

  On one side of the room, James Leonard moved from person to person, papers and pencil in hand, gathering signatures, Cole assumed, for his petition. On the other side, Adam Jacobsen did the same. As seven o’clock drew near, he stopped to talk to a woman who was seated close to the front.

  “Oh, good heavens!” Susannah whispered, and pointed discreetly to her left. All four of them turned to look and saw Amy Layton sitting down the row, wearing a shawl and the prim, long-suffering expression of someone who had been grievously wronged. With grave solicitousness, Adam took her hand and bent to speak to her. What now appeared to be Amy’s true motive in befriending Susannah had been very hard on the widow. Cole knew she felt almost as betrayed as he did. She had believed that Jessica’s sister genuinely cared about her, but she’d heard not a single word from her. Not even after she’d been strong enough to go back to Mrs. Donaldson’s had she sent a letter of condolence about Riley.

  After some preliminary shuffling of chairs and whispering, the three town councilmen took their seats at the long meeting table. Birdeen Lyons sat at a small desk to their right in her role as recording secretary. It was already hot and stuffy in the room, and the random cough was still enough to make a few people turn s
uspicious eyes on the possible germ carriers. Some still wore their influenza masks, but many others had abandoned them.

  Mayor Cookson rapped his gavel, bringing quiet to the room. “All right, let’s get this meeting underway. I’d like to take a moment to welcome Dr. Fred Pearson to Powell Springs. I think most of us will agree that we’re happy to see him after so many months.”

  Polite applause rippled through the group, and people craned their necks for a glimpse of the doctor they’d waited so long to meet. Pearson stood and bowed in all directions, but not even a suggestion of a smile crossed his stern-looking face. “That would be Frederick Pearson.”

  In a town where dress clothing was worn only to church, weddings, and funerals, his expensive suit stood out among the bib overalls and everyday broadcloth and denim.

  Adam, looking harassed, dropped some papers and hurried to put them back together. With a glance in Amy’s direction, he smoothed his tie and spoke up. “I’m sure Dr. Pearson will be an asset to this community for years to come. I, for one, have sent prayers to God to thank him for sending us this doctor with such fine credentials, and high principles and ideals.” This was followed by more applause.

  Beside Cole, Pop snorted. “How does he know that?” he whispered.

  “Gentlemen,” Pearson began, still standing. “I do appreciate your generous compliments and observations of my character. They are most gratifying. And I am sorry to disabuse you of my tenure in Powell Springs, perhaps more sorry than you were to give me a false impression of what this town would be like.”

  The applause died away to a puzzled silence. Dr. Pearson continued.

  “However, now that I have had an opportunity to tour your village, it is obvious to me that Powell Springs’s merits were grossly overstated in my correspondence with this distinguished body.” He nodded toward the three men sitting at the council table, and his sarcasm was hard to miss. “I would not go so far as to say that I was purposely duped, but clearly the town has a far more cosmopolitan view of itself than is warranted.”

  People began sputtering with outrage—at least those who could follow Pearson’s high-flown speech and flat New England accent. The rest just knew they were being insulted somehow. Cole ducked his head to hide a laugh.

  “Exactly what are you saying, Doctor?” Adam demanded.

  “What I am saying is that I expected to assume a large city practice with adequate facilities. Nothing I have seen here remotely meets that criteria. There is no hospital, no satisfactory clinic—I suspect that I might even be called upon to deliver a calf or diagnose a colicky sheep. That is, if your folk herbalist isn’t too busy making up asafetida charms and running her café. In short, gentlemen”—he turned to face the group—“and ladies, I will stay here only as long as it takes me to find a more promising position in another city. Surely, you can understand that a Yale-educated physician would not want to remain in a place where his skills would not be properly utilized or appreciated.” He smiled at last, a most candid smile. “If you will excuse me, I have patients waiting for me in the gymnasium.”

  He strode out of the room, head up, as arrogant and self-important as a king who had descended from his mountaintop castle to mingle, however unpleasantly, with the great unwashed of his serfdom.

  The stunned room flared with a roar of angry voices.

  “He’d better sleep with a gun under his pillow tonight,” someone barked, and Cole was inclined to agree.

  “Have you ever heard the like?”

  “Who the hell does that man think he is? Yale—where is that, anyway?”

  “If he thinks I’d let him touch a sheep of mine, he’s got rocks in his head!”

  Weary Horace Cookson stood and banged his gavel repeatedly, calling for order with increasing volume. After three or four minutes, he finally managed to break through the din.

  “Everyone sit down and be quiet or I will clear the room right now!” he thundered. At last the noisy outrage dulled to a sibilant buzz. Remaining on his feet, the mayor said, “Now we’re in a worse fix than before. We have no doctor and no other on the way. Jessica Layton told me up front that she has a job waiting for her in Seattle. She delayed her move to help us during this influenza crisis.”

  If ever fate had handed Cole a moment to act, he knew this was it. He stood. “Horace, Jessica might be persuaded to trade working in Seattle for staying in Powell Springs—” He stared pointedly at Adam Jacobsen. “Providing the people who have made it their business to insult her and ruin her reputation stop hounding her and call off their petition drive.”

  Adam stood. “Mayor Cookson, if I may speak.”

  Horace sat and waved his assent with no particular enthusiasm. “Go ahead, Adam.”

  The minister cleared his throat. “Well, this certainly isn’t how I expected this meeting to go. It leaves us with the same problem we had before.” This time he sought out Cole and glared at him before continuing. “Most of Powell Springs knows by now that Dr. Jessica Layton was recently caught in a morally compromising situation with Cole Braddock. I might remind everyone that Braddock has been almost engaged to Amy Layton, the doctor’s sister. A woman of such loose morals does not deserve to be entrusted with the care of our citizens.”

  Everyone began talking, many of them agreeing with Adam.

  While Horace thumped his gavel again, Granny Mae Rumsteadt, skinny and gray-haired, rose like a Fury from her chair several rows behind Cole. “You, Adam Jacobsen, are acting like a witch hunter, not a man of God.” She turned and looked at many of the faces around her. “I’m disappointed by every one of you who signed that man’s filthy petition. When you were sick in the infirmary, wasn’t Dr. Jessica there, tending you, almost every time you opened your eyes? Powell Springs thinks it’s too high and mighty for Jess Layton? Well, you saw for yourselves that Dr. Fancy-Britches thinks Powell Springs is too lowly for him. Not only that, Amy Layton and Cole Braddock are not engaged.”

  “Granny, you’re out of order!” Adam snapped.

  Birdeen struggled to keep up with the flying dialogue.

  “Goat turds, Reverend Jacobsen!”

  Pop and Cole burst out laughing, and so did some others. Several of the ladies present gasped, but Granny Mae wasn’t a woman to mince words when she felt she was right. And that was most of the time.

  “What proof do you have that any of what you’ve said about Cole and Jessica is true?” she demanded. “This town has gone to hell in a handbasket, and I’m thinking that people like you, Adam Jacobsen, and you, James Leonard”—she turned to point at the man who’d led the rabble to Jessica’s office—“blazed the trail down there.”

  Adam, his face red with frustration, turned to Horace. “Mayor Cookson, are you just going to sit there and let this meeting turn into a free-for-all?”

  The mayor rubbed his forehead. “For God’s sake, Adam, Granny, everyone. This isn’t a quilting bee where we came to trade gossip. It’s a town meeting. We’re trying to get serious business accomplished.”

  “Yes, we are. I will not vote to approve offering this job to Jessica Layton. I saw Cole Braddock coming out of her office at five-thirty in the morning. What do you suppose they were doing there at that hour?”

  “What were you doing out there at that hour, Jacobsen?” Cole asked. “You looked like you’d spent the night in a hayrick, yourself.”

  “I was on my way to the infirmary, where I’ve been comforting the sick.” He returned his comments to the assembled group. “I heard them talking—some rather suggestive conversation it was, too. And I saw them kiss.”

  “Oh, yeah? And I saw your bare ass this afternoon on my wife’s bed, Jacobsen, humping away on her. That’s lots worse than just talking and kissing on a front porch.”

  All heads swiveled to see who had made such a crude, monstrous accusation. Bert Bauer stood at back of the room, his shoulder against the doorjamb, and his arms across his chest. Judging by his slurred words, he was liquored up—and mad.

  A si
lence so profound and complete fell over the meeting that Cole thought he heard a horse nickering outside. Jaws hung open and slack, people seemed frozen in place.

  Then chaos erupted.

  Everyone spoke at once. People jumped to their feet.

  “That no-good bastard,” Tanner ground out, and Cole wasn’t sure which bastard he was referring to.

  Adam grabbed the gavel from Horace Cookson’s hand and began beating it on the table, his eyes about to pop out of his head and his face gleaming with sweat. “Have that profane, corrupt liar ejected! Throw him out!” he shouted.

  A couple of men near Bauer made a grab for him and started to drag him away until he shouted, “It ain’t a lie! And it ain’t just my say-so, neither. I had a witness with me—Sheriff Gannon! He saw this snot with Emmaline.”

  Adam, nearing a fit of frenzy, kept pounding the gavel until the handle broke and its wooden head flew across the room.

  Whit Gannon, who stood along the far wall, obviously was caught by surprise and looked as if he wished he could be anywhere else but here.

  “Is it true?”

  “Sheriff, did you see Jacobsen with Emmaline?”

  “Who is Emmaline?” This question was asked by several women.

  Cole could not believe the drama unfolding before him. He stood to get a good look at Bauer and then turned back to Jacobsen.

  “Emmaline is married? To Bauer?”

  “By God!” Pop exclaimed.

  “Who is Emmaline?” a woman nearby demanded again.

  Mayor Cookson caught Whit Gannon’s eye and signaled him to the front. With long, loose strides, the sheriff walked to the council table. Adam eyed him and seemed to shrink in his clothes.

  “Whit,” Horace said, “is Bert Bauer telling the truth? Did you find Reverend Jacobsen in a compromising situation with Em—that is, Mrs. Bauer?”

  “Yes.”

  Birdeen had taken to scribbling.

  “There was no mistake—they weren’t just…talking?”