A Touch of Flame

by Jo Goodman

  Ben had not walked down to the livery for the express purpose of attending to Macbeth or renting a buggy. He went there because his route took him past Jeremiah Salt’s forge. Jeremiah was there, standing a safe distance from a glowing furnace. He had a long-handle pincer in his hand. What it held was deep in the flames, and Ben watched him slowly turn the tool, softening the metal, making it malleable. Jeremiah looked over as Ben passed. Ben tipped his hat in acknowledgment. Jeremiah nodded back.

  And that was that.

  Ben finished grooming Macbeth and helped Hank finish cleaning the last two stalls. He didn’t expect any thanks, but he knew the buggy would be polished and ready to go at the appointed hour, and whatever Hank charged him would be reasonable.

  Mary Cherry was standing at the bench in his office, studying the wanted notices when Ben walked in. “See anyone you know?” he asked.

  “Always surprises me when I don’t.” She turned to face him. “I did what you asked. Just got here, in fact.”

  Ben dropped into the chair behind his desk. “And?”

  “And I don’t know what I think. Lily was tight-lipped, but maybe no more than usual. Clay and Hannah are both in school. I suppose that’s good. The little ones weren’t talking, not even to each other.”

  “That doesn’t sound right.” He pulled off his gloves one finger at a time and dropped them on his desk. “What was Lily doing when you got there?”

  “Reading a story to the children.”

  “So she was sitting down.”

  Mary’s nostrils flared slightly and her lips thinned. There was as much disapproval in the look as there was concern. “I took two quart jars of chicken noodle with me just to keep things ordinary. I’ve done it before.”

  “That was a good idea.”

  “I don’t think it helped.”

  “Did she get up?”

  “No. That worried me, but the children were like burrs on horsehair. There was no moving them. I put the soup in the kitchen, chatted a little while afterward. She might be hurting, but she’s not saying, and I couldn’t see anything.”

  “What did you chat about?”

  “The Fullers mostly. Not so the little ones would understand. I asked her if she might stop by their home later today. She was definite that she would not.”

  “All right. I appreciate your help, Mary.” He unbuttoned his coat. “I understand you’re working for Mrs. Springer now.”

  “I am. She’s a pill, but then, so was Doc.”

  “You hear anything from him? He hasn’t written to me.”

  “I haven’t written him.”

  “You’re still angry?”

  “Angry doesn’t begin to describe it. The man left me. Maybe I shouldn’t take it so personal, but after years working at his side, it felt wrong. It felt hurtful.” She shrugged. “I’m tending to other things now.”

  Ben hesitated, wondering what he could say and still keep Doc’s confidences. It wasn’t even Doc who had confided that he was ill; it was Ridley who shared his secret. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea to leave it that way. Couldn’t hurt to write to him.”

  “So you say.”

  “And maybe you could try a little harder with Dr. Woodhouse. She’s not the devil’s handmaiden.”

  Mary’s features did not alter a whit. “So you say.”

  “I know you’ve made up your mind that you don’t like her, but that’s as far as it goes, isn’t it?”

  “What does that mean?”

  Ben reconsidered his approach. He couldn’t ask what he was wondering. “When did you hear about the Fullers?” he asked instead. “I don’t think you were there last night.”

  “I wasn’t, but I was late at the Springers. Her nibs is having a ladies’ tea and I was making tarts. I finished up just as him and her returned. Couldn’t get out of hearing the whole of it, the whole of it being what she said. He went straight to bed. Looked proper sad.”

  “We all were.”

  “Not so’s you always know it. You ever notice how some folks smile when they’re telling you bad news? It’s like they don’t know what to do with it. Makes them Nervous Nellies, smiling foolishly in the face of tragedy.”

  “What are you saying, Mary?”

  “Not saying anything. Making an observation.” She repositioned her hat on her head and wound her brushed wool scarf around her neck. “I brought you some soup, too.” She pointed to where the quart jar sat on top of the stove. “It’ll keep warm there. Don’t know what got into me, making enough to feed the town. I’m going to send my husband to the Fullers with more.”

  “That’s real thoughtful.”

  She headed for the door, paused, and turned to him. “I guess you heard about the dampers on Louella’s oven by now.”

  Ben’s heart hammered once. He did not let his interest get away from him. “Might’ve. What did you hear?”

  “Seems Jeremiah replaced the dampers and they didn’t fit proper. Could have been at the root of the problem, and that’s a damn shame.”

  “Huh. How’d you come to hear that?”

  “Mrs. Springer, but she had it straight from Dr. Woodhouse. This is what I’m saying, Ben. Doc Dunlop would have known better than to share something like that. Mark my words, there’s trouble for you.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Wait!” Mrs. Rushton called after Ben as he began to climb the stairs to Ridley’s rooms. The widow’s plump arms were outstretched imploringly. Her entreaties thus far had had no impact. When she’d tried to block his way, he simply picked her up and put her aside. She stuttered and sputtered after that, but then she found her voice. “You can’t go up there! I tell you, she’s resting. That’s on your orders! Do you remember anything you said to me this morning?”

  Ben paused on the stairs and looked down at her. She’d changed her stance and now her arms were resting akimbo. She had her hackles up and looked as if she might charge the hill. “Mrs. Rushton, you are performing your duties admirably and making me regret I was so firm with you earlier, but I hereby rescind those orders, at least as they apply to me.” He took a page from Ridley’s book and said, “I’m the sheriff and I rule.”

  “Hah!”

  “Overrule,” he said. “I overrule myself.” He did not think she was impressed. She pointed a finger at him and wagged it to great effect.

  “You be careful up there. Don’t make me regret that I voted for you. A lot of women did, you know, and I am acquainted with all of them.”

  Ben grinned, gave her a small salute, and then hurried the rest of the way up the stairs. He thought the widow might be nipping at his heels, but when he turned at the top of the steps, she was already on her way back to the kitchen.

  He knocked lightly on Ridley’s door before he poked his head in the room. She was sitting in the rocker, a stack of medical books beside her. It was interesting then that she was reading what he’d left behind. Felicity Ravenwood’s adventures were hard to resist.

  “Too late,” he said when she closed the book and tried to slip it between her hip and the rocker. “Already saw it.” She wrinkled her nose at him, and for a moment, he thought she might stick out her tongue. She appeared to think better of that because he only glimpsed the very provocative tip. “Are you as far as the part where Felicity—”

  “Don’t you dare say another word.”

  He made a show of clamping his mouth shut.

  “What do you want?” she asked. “I heard you arguing with Martha. I don’t like you bullying her.”

  “I didn’t think I was . . .” He lifted his hands and turned over his palms in a guilty gesture. “Maybe I was. I’ll apologize on our way out.”

  “Our way out? Ben, I have twenty stitches in my side because your mother has a deft and dainty hand. I’ve hidden them from Martha and I’ve managed the pain with some powders instea
d of more laudanum. I’ve moved around a little to keep from getting too stiff, but I don’t think I’m ready to leave the house just yet.”

  He rolled right over her objection. “Emmilou Fuller’s been laid out in her home.”

  Ridley dropped Felicity Ravenwood on top of the medical tomes. “Of course. I just need a few minutes to get ready.”

  Ben did a quick translation and thought a half hour was probably fair. “I’ll wait downstairs. Holler when you’re ready to come down. I’ll help you.”

  “First, I don’t holler. Second, I need your help now.”

  “Um, maybe we should call Mrs. Rushton back in here?” He inched backward in what he thought was a surreptitious manner. She caught him out immediately. Worse, she smirked. “You cannot be that shy,” she said. “I was laid out like a Christmas turkey in my own surgery last night, fit for stuffing and stitching. You saw a great deal of me then.”

  “Actually—” Ridley put up a hand, stopping him before he began. He wondered if she would believe that he’d left the room fairly quickly and set his mind to discovering what had happened instead of giving in to carnal curiosity. Besides, she wasn’t at her best just then. He knew better than to say that so he simply closed his mouth and regarded her expectantly.

  “You cannot be unfamiliar with a woman’s form,” she said. “I know there’s a brothel in town two blocks off the main street. Did anyone tell you I visited the women? It seems that Hitch is a particular favorite, but they were of the opinion that you take your pleasure out of town. Harmony, is it?”

  “Can we pretend that you’ve embarrassed me and get started?” He liked it when she blinked owlishly at him over the top of her spectacles. “Where did you find those? You didn’t have them last night when you came to the hotel.”

  “I didn’t find them. These are an extra pair. I have several. I suspect I lost the others in that drift in front of your house.”

  “I’ll look for them later.”

  Ridley placed her hands on the arms of the rocker and began to rise. The effort was slow and torturous. She did not have to ask for help. Ben was at her side before she was halfway to her feet. He put a hand at her back and steadied her at the elbow. She grimaced until she was standing and then she took a careful breath.

  “Thank you,” she said. She looked at him sideways. “I’m sorry about what I said. I don’t know if I was trying to embarrass you, though. Goad you, maybe.”

  “Well, I felt a mite goaded. I took it as a sign that you’re feeling better.”

  She chuckled and her body instantly seized on a sharp intake of air. “You can’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.”

  “Point taken, and I’m thinking maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.”

  “Oh, no. You’re not changing your mind now, and I’m certainly not changing mine. Let me get behind the screen and I’ll tell you what I need as I go.”

  “So there’s no chance I’m going to become more familiar with your female form?”

  She swallowed another chuckle but not without feeling it. “Stop it, Ben. I mean it. You can let me go. I can make it on my own now.”

  His dropped his hands but stayed close. When they reached the screen, he moved aside a panel so she wouldn’t have to squeeze into the small space, and then replaced it once she was on the other side. He heard water splashing into the basin and the sound of her wringing out a washcloth.

  “I brought a buggy,” he said. He heard her gasp and was tempted to look over the top of the screen. “Are you all right?”

  “You scared me. I didn’t realize you were still standing there. Go sit down. I swear I’ll call you when I need you.”

  Scratching behind his ear in the way he did when something didn’t quite make sense, Ben went to the bed and sat. The rocker looked inviting but that was mostly because Felicity Ravenwood would have been within reach. He resisted the urge and chuckled under his breath because he felt so good about it. Dr. E. Ridley Woodhouse prompted him to experience things a little off-kilter. He liked it.

  “Is Evangeline on your list?” she called from behind the screen.

  “Pardon?”

  “Your list,” she said. “The one you’re making so you don’t have to count sheep.”

  “Oh, that list. I’ll have to check. I think I have Evangeline.”

  “And you have to have Emmilou.”

  He sobered. “I already do.”

  “Good.”

  “I don’t suppose . . .”

  “No, neither one.”

  “Eve?”

  “No.”

  “Were you named after anyone in your family?”

  “No.”

  “Who had the naming of you? Your father or your mother?”

  “My mother’s mother. She meant well.”

  Ben saw Ridley’s hands rise above the screen as she shed her night shift over her head. She laid it over the top, where it slid between two of the partitions. He waited and caught sight of a lacy chemise. It slithered down her outstretched arms and disappeared. A surprisingly frilly petticoat followed. There was some more movement, and when his gaze dropped to the space between the screen and the floor, he watched a pair of wide-legged drawers suddenly appear as a drift of snow at her feet. One dainty foot found an opening in a leg, and then the other searched out the second opening. Ridley must have lowered herself carefully because it seemed like a long time passed before her fingers grasped the drawers by the waist and began to pull them up as she straightened.

  There was a lot Ben couldn’t see, but that didn’t seem to matter. On the contrary, the experience was curiously erotic.

  “All right,” she said. “I need you.”

  No wonder she didn’t have to holler. He was moving toward her like a moth to a flame. That gave him pause when he thought about it. It was not a particularly kind image. The moths usually died beating their wings helplessly in and around that flame. He shook out his arms as a precaution before he moved behind the screen.

  Dr. E. Ridley Woodhouse—it was important right now to keep that in his mind—was indeed dressed precisely as he’d imagined. The fine, filmy chemise had lace edging at the neckline. There were matching tiers of it on the hem of her petticoat and evidence of the same at the bottom of the drawers where they peeped out. She must have seen the drop in his eyes because she smoothed the petticoat and the lace frosting disappeared. That was a shame.

  “Yes?” he asked. “Do you need help with your gown?”

  Ridley pointed to the stool at the vanity. A tailored brocade corset lay open on the stool; pink ribbons trailed over the side. There were lace frills at the bottom and a garden of rosettes trimming the top.

  Ben couldn’t have imagined this. It was becoming more difficult to think of her as Dr. E. Ridley Woodhouse.

  “I need you to tie that off for me,” she said. “I can’t manage.”

  “Do you have to wear it? Doesn’t seem that fashion should be your concern right now.”

  She sighed. “Of course you would think that. It’s not fashion that concerns me. I need it for support. It will keep everything, and I mean everything, in place.”

  “Oh. You’re not bandaged?”

  “Yes, I’m wearing a bandage. This is an additional precaution. Please don’t make me go on.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You know how it works, don’t you?”

  Ben picked it up, held it open in front of him, and looked it over. “I figure it’s not so different than saddling up a mare.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right,” she said dryly.

  He looked her over again. “There’s considerably less girth to you.”

  “You overwhelm me with flattery. No wonder you have to pay for women in Harmony.”

  “Hah. A lot you know. They pay me.” He made a circling motion with his finger. “Turn
around before you snap at that bait. Your mouth’s open like you mean to.”

  Ridley clamped a hand over her injury and gave him her back. “I can’t help it that I find you ridiculously amusing, but there will be retribution.”

  “There’s never been any doubt in my mind. Lift your arms a bit so I can get this contraption around you. Is this what they’re calling a bust improver now?”

  “It’s a corset, just a corset.”

  “Oh. Mrs. Fish. You know her, right? The dressmaker.” When Ridley nodded, he said, “Well, she was telling me about these bust improvers. I guess they have bands in them where you can insert pads to present an illusion of—”

  “Girth?” she asked.

  Ben chuckled. “Something like that. I was thinking of bountifulness.”

  “I’m sure you were. You have to pull tighter. Here, let me put my hands on the wall. I can brace myself.”

  Ben didn’t like it but he did as she asked. The corset ribbons were slippery in his fingers. He dropped them more than once as he crisscrossed the laces and pulled. “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m thinking about you and Mrs. Fish discussing women’s undergarments. How does that come about exactly?”

  “Exactly? I’m not sure I know. I just like to hear people talk about what they’re interested in. That day Mrs. Fish was looking over some fashion plates in a catalog when I stepped in to say hello. We got to chatting; she got to sharing. It happens like that.” He pulled on the laces again. “That has to be tight enough because I’m not squeezing you so you can’t breathe.”

  “It’s good. Tie it off.” When he was done, she pushed away from the wall. “Much better.” She lowered herself to the stool. “My stockings are in the top drawer. Do you mind helping me put them on?”

  Oh, he minded. He minded plenty. What he said was, “What color?”

  “Any pair of black ones will do. The black garters as well.”

  He found them and knelt in front of her. “You’re going to need help with your shoes, too, aren’t you?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “All right, Cinderella. Let’s do this.” Ben thought if he had been removing her stockings and garters, he would probably have lingered. She had smooth knees, shapely calves, and nicely turned ankles. Yes, he definitely would have lingered. What he did now was the opposite of that. The stockings were on, the garters in place, and those fashionably pointed shoes tied up with neat little bows. He was a goddamn paragon of integrity, that’s what he was, and he didn’t thank her for depending on it. “Is that it? Your carriage is waiting.”