Wild Abandon

by Cassie Edwards

  “You can still ride a horse,” Noah argued. “You can still make love. And by George you’re one of the best railroad men in these parts. So don’t whine like a baby over a wooden leg.” He leaned into Clint’s face. “At least you’re still alive.” He gave the derringer a shove. “But I can change that pretty quicklike, Clint. If you don’t get on your horse and ride away and leave me to see to that wounded Cherokee, I swear I’ll shoot you right here on the spot.”

  “He’s a damn gray coat Confederate,” Clint whined. “He don’t deserve to live.”

  “The war’s been over for years, Clint,” Noah said tersely. “So I suggest you put down your arms and be on your way.”

  “What are you going to do about him?” Clint asked, gazing over at Dancing Cloud.

  “What I’d do for anyone I’d find bleedin’ in the road,” Noah said, himself glancing over at Dancing Cloud. “And as I see it, he won’t have a chance in hell if I don’t get him to Dr. Kemper, and fast.”

  “You’re takin’ him to be mended up?” Clint said, his voice almost a shrill cry. “I went to all this trouble for nothin’? Ever since I heard that this Confederate Cherokee was arriving to town, I watched for him, and then I’ve stalked him. I just waited for him to be alone away from Judge Peterson’s niece. And by damn I took advantage of it. Let him die, Noah. For God’s sake, let him die.”

  “I don’t like Rebels any more than you,” Noah said thickly. “They killed my eldest son. But I’m a Christian. I don’t believe in vengeance. Now, Clint, get on your horse and get the hell out of here so I can see to the wounded man.”

  “I can’t let you,” Clint said, his eyes narrowing.

  “I don’t see how you can stop me, unless you shoot me once I place my derringer back in my pocket to see to the Indian,” Noah said, narrowing his blue eyes into Clint’s. “Can you truly shoot me, Clint? You’re sure as hell going to get the chance.”

  Clint backed away. He raised his hands in the air as he edged himself backward, his horse only a few feet away. When he reached Dancing Cloud he stepped around him. “Go ahead and do what your religion guides you into doing,” he said angrily. “There’ll be another time when I’ll get my chance to make sure this Rebel never takes another breath.”

  “It might be sooner than you think if I don’t get him to Dr. Kemper’s house,” Noah said, slipping his derringer in the rear pocket of his overalls.

  “Noah, if you tell the authorities that it was me who shot this Cherokee I’ll come for you,” Clint threatened. “I’ll not stop at killin’ just you. I’ll also kill your wife, June, and your son, Paul. You’d better forget your religion long enough to tell a lie that will be convincin’ enough when you are questioned about findin’ this Rebel on your land.”

  Noah gave Clint a sour look. “I believe you would kill my family,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I truly believe you would.”

  Then ignoring Clint as he mounted his horse, Noah went and knelt down beside Dancing Cloud. He took a pocket knife from his front breeches pocket, opened it, and cut the buckskin shirt away from the wound.

  He winced. “Terrible, terrible,” he said, closing his knife and placing it back inside his pocket. He gazed down at Dancing Cloud whose eyes lazily opened and closed, his body limp. “Young man, you may not make it until morning.”

  Dancing Cloud still drifted in and out of consciousness. He had partially heard the discussion between the two men. He now understood that Clint McCloud had lost a leg due to the gunshot wound that Dancing Cloud had inflicted on him during the war.

  He also knew from the conversation that Clint was a railroad man, and that this kind man leaning over him, caring for him, was a farmer.

  Through his hazed-over eyes Dancing Cloud could see a man with a lean face that had been bronzed over by the sun, smooth features, a long, straight nose, and kind, blue eyes that mirrored the sky. He wore baggy overalls and a long-sleeved denim shirt. His hands were large and comforting, his voice soft and gentle.

  “Young man, there ain’t much I can do for you way out here away from the city,” Noah said, taking a handkerchief from his rear pocket. It was fresh and clean, directly off the clothesline in his backyard. He placed the handkerchief over the wound. “It’s going to hurt like hell when I lift you and take you to my wagon. Just grit your teeth, young man. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

  Noah gathered Dancing Cloud into his powerfully muscled arms. He slowly lifted him from the ground and held him there for a moment as he peered down at him. “You see, Cherokee, although the Rebels killed my eldest son during the war, I hold no grudge,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sure you lost someone as close, yourself, during that damnable war.”

  The pain of his body being shifted as he was lifted from the ground was so intense Dancing Cloud drifted instantly into a black void, welcoming it.

  Seeing that the Cherokee had slipped into what might be a coma, Noah hurried him to his wagon. As gently as he could, worrying about the blood that Dancing Cloud was still losing from the wound, he laid him in the back of his wagon.

  He covered Dancing Cloud with a blanket that he always carried with him for those times when his wife June came out into the fields and surprised him with a picnic lunch. Many a time he had stopped his planting to have time with her. She had not yet totally gotten over the loss of their eldest son. Perhaps she never would.

  He patted Dancing Cloud on the leg, then went to his wagon and climbed onto it. Making a wide turn on the narrow trail, he headed back toward town.

  When he reached the house that Dr. Kemper had turned into a temporary hospital on Western Avenue, the doctor took immediate charge.

  Even after Noah told Dr. Kemper that this Cherokee had sided with the South during the war, the doctor who had been a captain in the Fifth Illinois Cavalry, still did not hesitate to care for Dancing Cloud. He took him immediately into surgery to remove the bullet, and to repair the damage inflicted by it. He had been born to sustain life, not to take it!

  While Noah sat in an outer room and waited to hear the results of the surgery, Sheriff Wes Decker came into the room.

  “Noah, I hear you found a man on that property you just bought today,” the sheriff said, lifting a wide-brimmed hat from his head, revealing brown hair that was trimmed neatly to his shirt collar. He was dressed in black from head to toe, his ruddy-featured face solemn. “Want to tell me about it, Noah? How you found the man? Who might have shot him?”

  Noah rose from the chair. He straightened his back and lifted his chin as he looked square into the pale gray eyes of the sheriff. “Not much to tell ’cept that I found him layin’ in the road all bloodied up and shot,” he said, not taking a chance in telling the total truth. He was afraid that Clint might follow up on his threats and go to his farm and kill his family while Noah was tending business in the fields.

  “I did my Christian duty, Wes,” Noah quickly added. “I brought him here for patching up.”

  “Gossip spread fast about this man,” Sheriff Decker said, tossing his hat onto a chair. He took a half-smoked cigar from his front shirt pocket. He slipped it between his thick lips and lit it with a match.

  “Yes, I heard the same gossip,” Noah said, slipping his hands down the front of his overalls, locking his thumbs over the sides of its bib. “He’s an Indian. He’s a Cherokee, and he’s a Rebel. But that don’t mean that I was to leave him to die on my land.”

  “See who did it?” Sheriff Decker asked, puffing on his cigar. He took his hat from the chair and circled it slowly around between his fingers.

  “Can’t say that I did,” Noah said, trying to make the lie as white as possible.

  “Did you hear the gunfire?” the sheriff continued. “Is that how you came upon the scene of the crime?”

  “Yes, I heard the gunfire,” Noah said, nodding.

  “But still you can’t tell me who did the shootin’?”

  “Are you deaf, Wes? I already answered that question.”

&nbs
p; “All right, all right,” Sheriff Decker said, plopping the hat back on his head. “I may never know who did it. Damn that Rebel. Why’d he have to come north, anyhow?”

  “I guess Judge Peterson had no idea the turmoil it would make once news spread that an Indian was escorting his niece to Mattoon,” Noah said, sighing deeply. “The judge is usually a quiet man. Keeps to himself. But I guess he was so happy about his niece comin’ to be a part of his life he couldn’t help but talk about it.”

  “I only hope that once the news spreads that the Indian is still in town, there won’t be a mob formed to lynch the guy,” Sheriff Decker sighed out as he slowly shook his head back and forth. “One thing for sure, though. Nothin’ else bad will happen to this Indian while he’s in my jurisdiction. I’ll threaten everyone with a jailin’, perhaps even a hangin’, if they try anything.”

  Noah looked over at Sheriff Decker and chuckled. “Then I’m certain this young man’s life is in no danger,” he said. “Who’d go against you, Wes?”

  Wes laughed boisterously. “I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me,” he said, sauntering toward the door. “Leavin’ now, Noah? Or are you going to stick around?”

  “I think I’ll wait and see if the Cherokee makes it,” Noah said, walking Wes to the door.

  “Tell your pretty June I said hello when you arrive home,” Sheriff Decker said, swinging the door open. “Tell her I’d love a piece of her cherry pie the next time she makes one.”

  “Same as done, Wes,” Noah laughed after him. “Same as done.”

  He watched Sheriff Decker mount his horse and ride away. The sound of footsteps behind him drew him quickly around.

  When he saw Dr. Kemper standing there, bloodstains on his clothes, and his eyes heavy, his insides quavered uneasily.

  “Well, Doc?” Noah asked, searching the doctor’s face for answers. “Did he make it, or not?”

  Doctor Kemper inhaled a deep, shaky breath.

  Chapter 11

  Doubt that the stars are fine;

  Doubt that the sun doth move;

  Doubt truth to be a liar,

  But never doubt I love.

  —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

  Lauralee looked proudly at her bedroom again, this time feeling even more wonderful that it was all hers. Abner had carried the last of her travel bags into the room and she had already arranged her clothes and toilet articles where they belonged.

  She was overwhelmed at how lovely it was. Everything smelled so clean, fresh, and new.

  And the view from the window was so different from the one at the orphanage where she saw only the dull, brick wall of the hospital next door.

  Now she could see miles of beautiful trees and lawn that stretched out from the Peterson House.

  “I’ve a present for you, as a welcome, my dear, to our household,” Nancy Peterson said as she stepped into the room.

  Lauralee turned around, her face flushed from the excitement of the day.

  Her eyes widened when she gazed at the package wrapped in beautiful pink tissue paper, a white satin bow tied around it. “What is it?” she asked, thrilled at the thought of receiving a special gift from a special person. During her long stay at the orphanage she had never received any gifts except at Christmas.

  Even then it had only been something used that had been donated by those who felt sorry for the children who lived there.

  Today there were no other children grabbing for her gift.

  It was hers, alone.

  Lauralee’s fingers trembled as Nancy brought the wrapped package to her.

  “My dear, take it and open it,” Nancy said, smiling sweetly at Lauralee as she gently shoved the gift in her hands. “Before your arrival, Abner and I went shopping together and picked this out for you. We hope you like it.”

  Lauralee sat down on the edge of the bed and gently removed the satin bow and laid it aside.

  Then, breathless, she unfolded the tissue paper until a small box was revealed. A wonderful fragrance wafted from it, similar to the one worn by her aunt.

  Lauralee’s eyes widened and she smiled up at Nancy. “Oh, but surely it isn’t,” she said, guessing what her gift was, without actually seeing it. “It surely cost so much.”

  Nancy sat down beside her. “My dear, go ahead and open the box,” she said, her dark eyes gleaming happily.

  Feeling almost giddy, Lauralee raised the lid and saw a bottle of perfume cradled in a bed of maroon velvet. She sighed and took the bottle into her trembling fingers. After unscrewing the lid she splashed some of it on her fingers. Placing her fingers to her nose, she inhaled. The fragrance was so tantalizingly sweet she closed her eyes and sighed.

  “There is something more.” Nancy gently took the perfume from Lauralee and gave her another beautifully wrapped gift.

  Bubbling over with excitement Lauralee smiled at Nancy, then quickly opened the second box. She found a tin of talcum powder with the same fragrance as the perfume in the box, and some soft pink balls the size of marbles.

  “Those are bath oil beads,” Nancy explained when she saw the question in Lauralee’s eyes. “When your water is warm enough you place these beads in it. They will melt and spread such a wonderful oil through the water. Your skin will be soft, beautiful, and fragranced.”

  “I have never seen anything like it,” Lauralee said, rolling the small beads around in the palm of one of her hands. “How can these melt . . .”

  Her words were stolen when Nancy suddenly dropped the bottle of perfume and grabbed at her chest. When the bottle hit the floor, not even the soft cushion of the carpet could stop it from breaking. Perfume splashed and spread everywhere, the scent overpowering.

  But Lauralee’s concern was not over the broken bottle, the ruined carpet and bedskirt of her bed, nor the spilled perfume that she had momentarily cherished as hers. She was totally stunned and frightened over Nancy’s condition.

  Nancy lurched, gasped, and clawed at her blouse where her heart lay beneath it, then swayed and fell back onto the bed, unconscious.

  “Oh, my Lord!” Lauralee cried, the perfumed bath oil beads rolling out of her hand. She stared at Nancy for a moment, aghast.

  Then knowing from her nurse’s training that her aunt had experienced a heart attack, she shoved the gifts aside on the bed and ran from her room.

  “Uncle Abner!” she screamed as she rushed down the hallway, toward his study. “Uncle Abner, it’s Aunt Nancy! I truly believe she’s had a heart attack!”

  When she entered his office he was already away from his desk and running toward her.

  “Go and see that the horse and buggy are readied!” Abner cried, panic in his voice. “You’ll find James at the stable. Tell him to get a horse hitched to my buggy. Hurry, Lauralee. We’ve no time to waste. We must get Nancy to Dr. Kemper’s.”

  Lauralee ran down the steps and rushed through the house until she reached the back porch.

  Night had fallen in its vast crown of black. The moon was full and bright. Panting, Lauralee went down the steps and ran toward the stable.

  She was relieved to find James there. He was spreading fresh straw on the floor. A kerosene lamp hung from a hook inside the stable emitting a soft, glimmering light.

  “James!” Lauralee ran to the tall, thin stable hand. Frantically, desperately, she grabbed his arm. “Ready the Petersons’ buggy. Quick. Mrs. Peterson is ill. She has to be taken to Dr. Kemper’s.”

  James, all legs and arms, dressed in fawn breeches and a long-sleeved white shirt, rushed around, Lauralee assisting him. Just as he led the horse and buggy out of the barn, Abner came running toward him with Nancy laying limply within his powerful arms.

  Lauralee scurried onto the buggy seat. Abner laid Nancy on the seat beside her so that Nancy’s head could rest comfortably on Lauralee’s lap.

  Abner rushed around and stepped into the buggy beside Nancy. He looked with a concerned longing down at her as he spread a blanket over her.

  Then he nodded to James who
released the reins to him.

  Abner swung the horse away from the stable.

  He slapped the reins.

  The horse moved into a quick gallop up the small gravel drive that led to the larger circular drive in front of the house.

  Lauralee ran a comforting hand over Nancy’s pale, ashen face as Abner sent the horse and buggy down Broadway Avenue, dust spraying out from beneath the wooden wheels.

  Lauralee looked around her as the horse and buggy flew down the street. One- and two-storied homes lined both sides of the street, lamplight splashing softly from lacy curtains at the windows.

  These homes multiplied as the horse and buggy fled on down the avenue, until larger buildings came into sight a short distance away.

  Although used to the large buildings in St. Louis, Lauralee saw this city as no less lovely with its long row of two-and three-storied brick establishments, as well as a few four-storied.

  The Petersons’ horse and buggy continued to travel until it reached Western Avenue. Lauralee quickly grabbed for Nancy with one hand and the edge of the seat with her other hand as the buggy came to a lurching stop.

  Everything after that happened so quickly it was all that Lauralee could do to keep up with Abner.

  He had whisked Nancy into his arms, running toward the large, two-storied house. He shouted at Lauralee to open the door.

  She did as he asked, then entered a large room where chairs were lined against the wall, magazines and newspapers spread neatly on tables beside them.

  “Doc Kemper!” Abner shouted as he ran down a narrow corridor, leaving Lauralee tailing along behind him, winded.

  Lauralee gazed at a distinguished-looking man, with kind, warm eyes, as he hurried from a room toward Abner. He removed his eye spectacles and shoved them in his vest pocket, then took Nancy from Abner and carried her into one of the many rooms that lined the corridor.

  Lauralee stopped and caught her breath, then looked slowly around her. If this was a hospital, it was nothing like the one in which she had learned the art of nursing. It was a house transformed into a hospital. She could smell the aroma of ether, rubbing alcohol, and other various medicinal smells. Sheeted tables lined the walls. Lamps fueled by kerosene flared their shimmering light from several wall sconces along the corridor and in the outer waiting room.