A Touch of Flame

by Jo Goodman

  “Thanks for the warning, and Dr. E. Ridley Woodhouse is not some gal.”

  Remington’s dark eyebrows puckered over equally dark eyes. “What’s the E stand for?”

  “Exactly-none-of-your-affair.”

  “What?”

  Ben held up his hands, palms out. “That’s what she told me when I asked her.”

  Remington looked past Ben’s shoulder to a point beyond it as he thought back. “Right,” he drawled. “You asked Phoebe and me if we ever considered names for Winnie that begin with the letter E. Is this what that was about?”

  Ben shrugged.

  “Hmm. Interesting.”

  “It’s not,” said Ben. “Not really.”

  “Do you think it might be Eustachia? That’d be a name I wouldn’t want on the tip of anyone’s tongue. Or what about Edda? Elvira? Eos, the goddess of dawn? Eris, goddess of strife and discord?”

  “Now you’re just showing off.”

  “Humor me. I hardly ever get to bring up Eos and Eris at the ranch, and I spent a lot of time in college learning the Greeks.”

  Ben contemplated throwing something at his brother, but he would have to reach for the paperweight and he was too tired to make the effort. “Leave it,” he said instead, but in his mind he was going to add every one of those names to his list. “Have you had any sleep at all?”

  “Dozed off for bit. You?”

  “The same.”

  “Oddest thing,” said Remington. “I woke up thinking about Lily Salt.”

  “Huh?”

  “I was thinking about her situation, what you told me earlier. I have an idea of something that might help. Wanted to lay it out for you, see what you think.”

  Ben thought that whatever Remington had in mind was infinitely preferable to further probes about Ridley. “I’m listening.”

  Remington dropped his chair forward and sat up. “I have work for Jeremiah. Real work. Not something made up for this. I didn’t think I’d have time to talk to him about it, but with our departure being delayed, I realized I could have that opportunity tomorrow—I suppose that’s today now. Morning. Afternoon. Whatever works better for you and the doctor. I can keep him occupied for at least an hour while the two of you visit Lily. The Salts still live close to the forge, don’t they?”

  “They do. We’d have to circle around and enter from the back. Hard for him to miss us if we went in the front. You sure you can keep him busy?”

  “I wouldn’t have suggested otherwise. And if there’s a lull in the conversation, I can bring out the Greeks.”

  “Yeah, that will interest him.”

  Remington waved Ben’s wry observation aside. “Phoebe got it in her head, oh, maybe a month ago, that she wants a fancy weather vane on the roof of the house. She drew some pictures. I don’t have them with me, but I imagine she could re-create them. Probably has four new ideas by now. Everything she showed me is a complicated whirligig. Not sure any of them will spin in the wind.”

  “You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

  Remington regarded his brother as if he’d lost his mind. “Hell, no. You know as well as I do that if I so much as hinted it was going to be a bust, and it turned out that the thing did work, well, she’d be unbearably smug.”

  “She has a great smug smile.”

  “She does, doesn’t she? I don’t plan on telling her that either. She might turn mean.”

  Ben chuckled briefly and then sobered. “Afternoon would be better. That’d give Phoebe time to make the drawings. Neither one of us has the talent for it. Might as well give Jeremiah something to work with. That will keep him occupied.”

  “We’re going to do this? Will the doc agree?”

  “We are and she will.”

  “Are you courting Eulalie?” asked Remington. “Or just being neighborly?”

  “Still not talking about it.”

  “Hmm. So what do you think about Eleanor? Like your mother.”

  Ben’s response was good-natured, but firm. “Shut up, Remington.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Hitch arrived with breakfast from the Butterworth for the prisoners, and Ben was finally able to go home and get some real sleep. He appropriated the bed where Colt had spent the night and dropped off immediately. When he woke around noon, he discovered sticky dabs of oatmeal in his hair and went in search of his nephew. Colt heroically chose being tickled breathless over helping Ben wash his hair.

  Ridley walked into Ben’s kitchen just as Colt was panting for air even as he was asking for more of the same. She watched Ben pick up his nephew and toss him over a shoulder and carry him away. A few moments later she heard a thump as Ben tossed the boy like so much baggage on the sofa in the front room. She also heard Remington tell his son—and possibly Ben—that that was enough. Ben returned to the kitchen without Colt and stopped dead only a few steps in.

  “When did you get here?” he asked.

  “Just as you were carting your nephew out of the room. I want to look in on Phoebe.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him more keenly. “What do you have in your hair?”

  “Oatmeal.”

  “Ah.”

  “The evidence suggests that Colt crawled into bed with me after breakfast. It also suggests that Remington was lax in cleaning up his son and keeping an eye on him.” He went to the sink and bent over it, picking out small clumps of oatmeal and flicking them away. “Have you and Remington spoken?”

  “Yes. When I came over to look in on Phoebe and Winnie. Both doing well, by the way.”

  “I figured they were because Remington’s recovered his wits.”

  “Has he? He’s been calling me Eustachia. Sometimes Eris. That’s the Greek goddess of strife and discord.”

  Ben ran his fingers through his hair several times to be certain he’d removed all the oatmeal before he turned and put his back to the sink. “Of course you would know that. Did you tell Remington?”

  “I did. He seemed unusually pleased.”

  “I bet. I guess it means that studying the Greeks was not a complete waste of his time.” His features shifted suddenly as he became suspicious. “It’s not Eris, is it? Your name, I mean.”

  “No, Ben, it’s not Eris. It’s not Eustachia either. Is puzzling out my Christian name a competition now?”

  “Might be,” he muttered, looking away.

  Amused, Ridley said, “Phoebe said the two of you are boys when you’re together.”

  “She’s probably not wrong,” said Ben.

  “Which is a rather backhanded way of saying that she’s right. It must pain you to say so.”

  “She gets smug.”

  Ridley laughed. “I won’t mention it to her, then. Now, when are we doing this? Martha is going to come over when we leave to keep an eye on Colt. He’s too rambunctious for Phoebe to manage on her own.”

  Ben nodded. He knuckled his jaw. “Let me shave, get cleaned up. I won’t be long. You’re all right with this?”

  “I am. Your brother said you knew I would be.”

  “My brother has a big mouth.”

  Ridley heard him grumbling all the way to the front room, where he stopped long enough to confront Remington, and then continued grumbling as he climbed the stairs. She followed at a discreet distance to check on Phoebe, and she was still smiling to herself when she returned home and informed the housekeeper to be ready to leave within the hour.

  * * *

  • • •

  Armed with Phoebe’s drawings, Remington took the direct route to Jeremiah’s forge while Ben and Ridley walked the alley behind the shops until the Salt home was in sight. They took a side street, another alley, and came to the house from the rear. It wasn’t until they stood on the back stoop that Ben realized there was going to be an argument.

  “You can’t go in with me,” said R
idley. She had placed a hand on the door, barring his entrance. “You know that Lizzie and Ham will be inside, and unless they’re napping, there’s almost no chance that they won’t say something about the visit. Today or tomorrow, it will come out soon enough, and how does it make sense for both of us to be in Jeremiah’s sights?”

  “Ridley,” he said patiently. “No. I don’t like it. This isn’t what I had in mind.”

  “You can’t examine her.”

  “I can distract the children and keep them away while you speak to Lily. Otherwise they’ll hang on every word and repeat some version of it to their father.” He paused when he saw she was wavering. He let silence fill the space between them.

  “Darn it, Ben.”

  He was careful not to smile. “Thank you, Euphrosyne.”

  Ridley stared at him. “She was one of the three sisters. The Roman Graces.”

  “Mm, yep.”

  “How do you—”

  “Know?” he asked, finishing her question. “I am choosing not to be insulted. I may have passed on college when Thaddeus offered me the chance to go, but I can read just as well as Remington. It’s never been a problem to filch a book now and again. So, did I hit the nail this time?”

  “Euphrosyne? Not even close.” She lowered her arm, opened the door, and called out quietly. “Lily? It’s Dr. Woodhouse. May I come in?”

  It was Ham who came barreling toward her. When he got close and saw the sheriff, he leapt, arms outstretched in anticipation of being lifted off his feet. He was not disappointed.

  “Where’s your mama?” asked Ben.

  Ham pointed up.

  “In bed?” asked Ridley. When Ham nodded, she asked about Lizzie.

  Ham pointed upstairs again.

  Ridley looked askance at Ben. “I’ll go up and escort Lizzie to the stairs. You get her from there.” She hurried off, medical bag firmly in hand.

  The door to Lily’s bedroom was ajar. Ridley knocked and pushed it open in the same motion. It was empty. She took the diagonal across the narrow hallway; that room was also empty. She found Lily and Lizzie behind the last door she tried. Lizzie was bedfast. Lily sat next to her daughter and held a washcloth to her forehead. She looked up when Ridley entered, her features flat with weariness.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

  “I beg to differ. Mary Cherry expressed concern for you, but perhaps I’m here for the wrong patient.”

  “Doesn’t matter. My husband doesn’t want you here, doesn’t trust you. He wouldn’t let me send Clay for you when Lizzie took a turn.”

  Ridley approached the bed at the other side, parting a pair of curtains at a window as she passed. The light put Lizzie’s blotchy face in stark relief. “You know what this is?” she asked Lily.

  “Measles, ain’t it?”

  Ridley nodded. She removed her coat and laid it at the foot of the bed. “How long ago did she have the first symptoms? Runny nose. Cough. She might have complained of feeling warm or you might have noticed redness around her eyes.”

  “Guess it’s been five days now. The rash appeared this morning.”

  “Your other children? Ham looks right as rain.”

  “There was an outbreak when Hannah was about Lizzie’s age. She and Clay took to it then. Seems like Ham is never sick.”

  “When was Lizzie out of the house?”

  “Jeremiah took her and the others to church a week ago Sunday.”

  Ridley ticked the days off on her fingers. The incubation period for measles was one to two weeks, making the church visit the likely point of contact with the disease. Ridley opened her medical bag and took out a thermometer. She shook it out, took the reading, and then turned back Lizzie’s covers. “I’m going to take her temperature under her arm. This won’t hurt her.”

  Lily looked at the instrument suspiciously. “That’s not where Doc put it.”

  “Probably not, but this will work for our purposes.” She slipped one end of the thermometer under Lizzie’s shift and then inserted it in the crease of her armpit. Ridley wore a small watch on a fob pinned to her blouse and consulted it to mark the time. “Five minutes,” she told Lily. “May I look at her chest?”

  Lily nodded and rolled back the covers to Lizzie’s waist. The little girl’s eyes remained closed, but she found her mother’s hand and held it.

  The telltale rash covered Lizzie’s chest and belly. Ridley gently turned her on her side. The raised rash seemed to have spilled out of her scalp and spread across her back, equally distributing itself on both sides of her spine. “You know you have to keep her here until it’s run its course.”

  “Yes.”

  “Ham, too, just in case he shows symptoms later. What about you, Lily? Have you had the measles?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your husband?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Both women turned their attention to the doorway as Ben appeared. Ham was hanging upside down, supported behind his knees by Ben’s forearm. “Monkey’s here,” said Ben. “Where’s the rest of the circus?” His grin faded when he saw the somber expressions that greeted him. His gaze settled on Lizzie. “What’s happened?” he asked Ridley.

  “Measles. I had them young. You?”

  “Have to ask Ellie. I don’t remember.”

  Ridley used her fingers to wave him away. “Go. You don’t want this, and I don’t want to treat you. Adults feel worse than children, or at least they complain more.” She would have said more, but she was already speaking to the air. She could hear Ben bouncing Ham down the stairs.

  Lily said, “He’s a good man. Always was.”

  Ridley murmured something noncommittal. She helped Lily straighten Lizzie’s shift and then the blankets. “How are you doing, Lily? Why do you think Mrs. Cherry had concerns?”

  “You’d have to ask her. I surely couldn’t say.”

  “Will you show me that you can raise your arms over your head?”

  “Now why would I do that?”

  “Because I asked?”

  Lily sighed, hesitated, and then reluctantly complied. When she had the arms extended, she asked Ridley if she was satisfied.

  “Almost. Wiggle your fingers.” When Lily proved she could, Ridley gestured to her to lower her arms. “Will you stand now?”

  This time Lily did not question Ridley. She moved closer to the edge of the bed and stood. She wobbled slightly. Her flat expression tightened.

  “Do you always bite your lip when you get to your feet?”

  Lily pushed out her lower lip.

  “Too late, Lily. I know what I saw. Where does it hurt?” When Lily became animated enough to challenge her with a fierce stare, Ridley took it as proof that all the woman’s life hadn’t drained away. “You’re not quite steady, are you? Listing a little to the left. Did you hurt your hip? Your knee?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m not sure why I asked. That’s the only tune you know.”

  “It’s not a tune. It’s the truth.” She eased herself back to the edge of the bed.

  “Uh-huh. What about bruises? Contusions?”

  “Go away. My husband could walk in here any time.”

  Ridley did not explain why that was unlikely to happen. “Ham’s downstairs. Do you think he won’t say something if we ask him? I’m not going to suggest you leave Jeremiah, and Ben’s not going to take him in for what happened here—not without you swearing out a charge against him, but please let me see if there’s something I can do for you.” While Lily was mulling that over, Ridley removed the thermometer from Lizzie’s underarm. She read it, and then walked over to the window to read it again in the sunlight. She shook it out, returned it to her bag.

  “What is it?” asked Lily. “I know she’s burning up.”

  “Would it mean something if I told you
? Isn’t knowing that she’s fevered enough?” She didn’t wait for Lily to reply. “I’ll mix something up for her fever, but we could use a bucket of cold water and more cloths to bring her temperature down. I know where your linen cupboard is. I’ll get the cloths. How about you fill that bucket and bring it here?”

  Lily got to her feet for a second time and managed three steps before she stopped. “I can’t,” she said, her voice as taut as her ashen face. “You know I can’t carry something that heavy.”

  “I needed to make sure you knew. Sit down. I’ll get everything.” Ridley removed a packet of salicylate powder from her bag and took it with her downstairs. She found Ben sitting at the kitchen table playing cards with Ham. They both had a short stack of ginger snaps in front of them. “Are you teaching him to play poker?”

  “Sure, but not any version that a cardsharp would recognize. We’re playing by Ham’s rules.” He saw the powder packet in her hand. “What do you need?”

  “A glass of water for this and a bucket of colder water for Lizzie.”

  “I’ll get it for you.” He pointed a finger at Ham. “Don’t eat my snaps. I’ll know.” Hoping it was safe to turn his back, he set about pumping water at the sink.

  Ridley sat down opposite the boy. “Did your mother take a spill, Ham? Maybe on the icy path outside or while she was chasing you? I know you like to run.”

  He nodded. “I do like to run. No one can catch me.”

  “That’s what I thought. What about your mother taking a tumble? Did you see that?”

  He nodded again, this time with less enthusiasm than before. He pressed his lips together and his expression was guarded.

  Seeing him, Ridley wanted to weep. He knew, just as she had at his age, that there were family stories that could not be shared. She reached across the table, took Ham’s chubby hand in hers, and squeezed it. “It’s all right,” she said. “You don’t have to say anything.” He was still wary until she stole a cookie from Ben’s pile and gave it to him.

  “I saw that,” said Ben. He put a glass of water in front of Ridley and went to get a bucket.

  Ridley mixed the powder in the water, aware that Ham was watching her closely. “This is for your sister,” she explained. “You know she is feeling poorly. I’m going to help her. I want to help your mama, too.” Although he nodded, the uncertainty returned to his eyes, and Ridley vowed she was done pressing him for answers. When Ben returned with a bucket that he filled from the outdoor pump, she thanked him and took it off his hands.