My Heart Belongs in the Superstition Mountains

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My Heart Belongs in the Superstition Mountains Page 21

by Susan Page Davis


  Carmela looked up at her. “But he’s telling the whole town what I did. That I’m a fraud and that I took people’s money for telling lies.”

  “So you really did?” Ralley asked. “You’re such a quiet young thing, I figured Butler was making it up.”

  Carmela pulled back her shoulders and managed to meet his critical gaze. “Mr. Butler is correct. My uncle and I have traveled for more than seven years performing, and in the course of our programs, falsehoods were told.”

  “So the Apache never stole you? Did they kill your parents?”

  Carmela held back a sob. It wasn’t worth explaining that she’d never claimed it was the Apache who kidnapped her but the Yavapai or possibly the Mojave. But the rest of it had to be laid bare.

  “No. My parents died of illness, probably cholera, on the trail. No Indians were involved. And I was not kidnapped.” Unless, she thought, some might construe Uncle Silas’s taking control of her life as an abduction, but she kept that thought to herself.

  “And what’s more,” Mrs. Finney said firmly, “if you can force yourself to attend church this Sunday, sir, you will hear Miss Wade confess the entire truth to the congregation and beg their forgiveness.”

  Oh dear, Carmela thought. Would she still be able to get up in front of everyone, now that Uncle Silas had returned, and tell her entire story? If her uncle was able to rise from his bed, she was certain he would try to stop her.

  She let out a little moan, and Mrs. Finney took hold of her arm.

  “There now, child, you should be in bed. Mr. Ralley, I’d thank you to stop spreading dissension. Miss Wade has not done anything wrong, or if she has, she did it under duress. Excuse us.”

  She tugged Carmela toward the hallway, and Carmela didn’t have the energy to protest. She let the landlady guide her along to the door of her own room, her sanctuary.

  “You get right into bed,” Mrs. Finney said. “Don’t give a thought to what that no-good half-wit said. Come morning, we’ll see what your uncle has to say for himself by light of day.”

  Her words vaguely disturbed Carmela, but she was too fatigued to think about it. She mumbled a thank you, closed the door, and collapsed on her bed.

  Morning came sooner than she was ready for it, but the sound of raised voices from the other end of the house roused her. She dressed quickly and opened her door with caution. It sounded as though the boarders were arguing over the breakfast table.

  “I say you should throw her out in the street,” came one harsh voice. Carmela thought she recognized it as belonging to Mr. Hoffman, a miner who had joined the household two days before her excursion with Deputy Orland.

  “Gentlemen, you’re taking this far harder than is warranted,” Mrs. Finney said loudly, to drown out the other voices.

  “How can you defend her?” Surely that was Mr. Ralley. “She’s taken money from hundreds of people—thousands, even—under false pretenses.”

  “I say we don’t talk to her when she comes to the table,” said Mr. Shifton.

  Carmela shrank back down the hallway and into her room. She closed the door and sat down on the edge of the bed. The tears came unbidden, and she sat for a long time, gasping a breath every few seconds.

  Perhaps half an hour passed before a gentle tapping at her door roused her. She got up and walked stiffly across the room to open it.

  “Oh my dear,” Mrs. Finney said. “What’s got you down?”

  “I heard them talking,” Carmela managed to get out.

  Mrs. Finney put her arms around her. “You mustn’t let what other people say cripple you. You need to think about what is right. You’re going to do that now. You’re never going to give anyone reason to say nasty things about you.”

  Carmela sniffed. “I suppose.”

  “Come, now. Wash your face. They’re all gone but Zeke Ferris. He came in late last night, and he’s just having breakfast. I saved you some porridge.”

  “That was kind of you.”

  Mrs. Finney pushed her gently toward the wash stand. “Your uncle is probably awake by now. We’ll go and see him straightaway.”

  Before long, the two women were out the door.

  “You don’t have to go with me.” Carmela was still subdued, and Mrs. Finney eyed her sidelong.

  “We shan’t stay long, or if you want to, I’ll go back and start dinner preparations.”

  They walked on another block, and Carmela said softly, “Thank you.”

  She had scrubbed with new fury at the ink marks that morning, and though her face was red, the ink had faded even more. People didn’t stare so much. Of course, Uncle Silas would be livid.

  A pretty woman of about thirty stood in Dr. Greenwood’s waiting room, which was filled to capacity with miners, ranchers, and a woman who sat with a crying baby and a toddler who alternately hid in her skirts and pulled newspapers from their basket.

  “Mr. James,” the standing woman said, scanning the people on the benches and chairs.

  A man shuffled to his feet.

  “Dr. Greenwood will see you.” Her gaze lit on Mrs. Finney and Carmela. “Ah, Mrs. Finney, as you see, we are quite busy this morning. You know the way, so you may go through. Forgive me for leaving you on your own.”

  “It’s no matter,” Mrs. Finney said. “We’ll be fine.”

  As Mr. James walked over to follow the woman into the hallway, Carmela caught a foul odor. He was holding his left hand with his right, and the bandage around the injured limb was encrusted in dirt and dried blood. She couldn’t help flinching.

  Mrs. Finney put a firm hand on her elbow and guided her to the small bedroom at the end of the hall, where Uncle Silas lay ensconced in his cot, seemingly asleep. A bowl and spoon sat on his bedside table, the bowl containing what looked like the remains of a serving of gruel.

  Uncle Silas looked cadaverous in Carmela’s eyes. She swallowed hard and stepped to the edge of the bed.

  “Good morning, Uncle,” she said.

  His eyes opened, and he stared up at her. For a few seconds, she wondered if he recognized her. Then his lips twisted. “What have you done to your face?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nothing,” Carmela said. She remembered Uncle Silas’s orders for when she was to address a paying crowd and straightened her shoulders. “I let nature take its course.”

  He struggled to sit up. Mrs. Finney leaned over, grabbed an extra pillow from the far edge of the bed, and slipped it behind his shoulders. Uncle Silas ignored her but continued to scowl at Carmela.

  “How many people have seen you like this?”

  “Quite a lot, actually. I told Two Pony, who seems to be a man of substance in the Apache tribe, and all of the men who were in the posse with Deputy Orland heard me say it.”

  “Told him what?” Uncle Silas spoke slowly, and his words held an ominous tone.

  Carmela blinked back tears at the memory of the angry voices she had heard that morning. “I told him that I was never with any of the tribes and that the story of my captivity was false.”

  “Why would you do such a foolish thing?”

  Carmela sniffed, knowing she had lost the battle with the tears. “Because he knew my story couldn’t be true. I’ve met two girls who have really been captured, Uncle. One of them wanted to go back and live with the Indians. I couldn’t stand there begging her to come back to her family and let them all think I’d been through that ordeal. Two Pony had saved my life, probably because he thought I’d been living with the Mojave, or whoever makes these kind of marks. I was trading on his good will based on a lie. I couldn’t stand it.”

  “You couldn’t stand it.” His voice was deadly cold now. “We’ll have to leave town as soon as possible. Find out when the next stagecoach leaves.”

  “Here, sir.” Mrs. Finney stepped forward, her face lined with concern. “The doctor says you’ll be several weeks recovering. You can’t set out again on a stagecoach in this state.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He moved as i
f to fling aside the bedclothes and sank back on his pillows with a moan.

  “Now, now,” Mrs. Finney said. “That’s enough of that. I think it may be time for some more pain medicine for you.”

  Uncle Silas’s eyes opened and focused on her. “Who is this woman?”

  “Uh, that’s—she’s Mrs. Finney,” Carmela said. “She’s my landlady at the boardinghouse.”

  “You were in here yesterday,” he said, his voice fading a little.

  “Yes sir,” Mrs. Finney said. “I came in after I heard the marshal had brought you here. I knew Miss Wade would want word of you the minute she got home.”

  Uncle Silas’s eyes narrowed. “Did you tell her she had to do all this nonsense?”

  “What nonsense?” Mrs. Finney gazed down at him with all innocence.

  “Recanting the story she’s been telling for years, that’s what.”

  Mrs. Finney frowned. “Well, sir, if it’s a lie, then it ought to be recanted, hadn’t it?”

  “Who says it’s a lie?” What started out as a roar ended as a whimper, with Uncle Silas flopping back on the pillow exhausted. Beads of sweat stood on his brow, and he closed his eyes, drawing each shallow breath with a painful jerk.

  Carmela looked at Mrs. Finney, torn over what to do. “Perhaps you should leave.”

  “You come with me, child. Don’t let him bully you.”

  She shook her head. “I need to talk this out with him, if he’s able.” She dredged up a wobbly smile. “Don’t worry. He’s so weak he can’t hurt me. But I must make him understand I’m serious about this and that I can’t go back on my course now.”

  Mrs. Finney’s hazel eyes still looked troubled, but she patted Carmela’s shoulder. “All right, if you’re sure. But if you don’t feel safe walking home alone, you tell Mrs. Greenwood. She can fetch someone to walk with you.”

  “The lady who brought us in?”

  “Yes, she’s the doctor’s wife.”

  Carmela nodded. “I will do so. Thank you.”

  Mrs. Finney left the room, and Carmela pulled over a stool and sat down beside her uncle. She half wished he would drift off into sleep again, but she knew she had to discuss things with him sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner.

  Before she could begin, Dr. Greenwood entered the room quietly.

  “Everything all right in here?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Carmela said.

  “I was in the room next door, and I thought I heard raised voices.” The doctor eyed her keenly.

  “So you did,” she replied. “My uncle was not happy with my recent actions.”

  “Oh?”

  “She wants to ruin me,” Uncle Silas said suddenly, making Carmela flinch.

  “Beg pardon, I thought he was sleeping.” Dr. Greenwood moved in to take Uncle Silas’s pulse. “So, Holden, got yourself worked up, have you? I shouldn’t wonder if you’ll exhaust yourself.”

  “This girl has done a reckless thing.”

  Dr. Greenwood said evenly, “Well, she looks like a woman to me, not a girl, and a levelheaded one at that. She can’t have done anything too rash.”

  “If you knew,” Uncle Silas said with menace in his voice, “you would know she doesn’t care a whit for my well-being, my reputation, or my fortune.”

  The doctor arched his eyebrows at Carmela. “Hmm. Sounds rather extreme. But Mrs. Finney told me she’s a respectable young lady.”

  “And that she is, or always has been, until now.”

  “I tell you what.” Dr. Greenwood turned to the nearby table that held medicine bottles, glasses, and spoons. “I think you should sleep for a while and let your wound heal. When you’re feeling better, perhaps you and Miss Wade can discuss this matter calmly. Does that sound reasonable?”

  “It does to me,” Carmela dared to say.

  “Well, not to me.” Uncle Silas’s roar faded again as he grimaced and put a hand feebly to his side. “I tell you this, girl: If you cannot carry out your duty to me and to your father, who owed me a king’s ransom when he died, then you can just not bother to come back here again. You can find your own way in this godforsaken wilderness. What do you say to that?”

  Carmela clapped her hands to her burning cheeks.

  “Surely you don’t mean that,” Dr. Greenwood said affably. “Here now. Take this.” He held a spoonful of liquid up to Uncle Silas’s lips.

  “I do mean it.” He opened his mouth and accepted the medicine then slumped back with a sigh. “I’ve cared for her all this time, met her every need. I’ve put the food in her mouth and the clothes on her back. And now she wants to denounce me in public.” His voice trailed off, and his eyes closed.

  “There,” Dr. Greenwood whispered. “Shall we let him sleep?”

  Carmela nodded, unable to speak, and followed him out of the room.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, unable to stop tears from flowing down her cheeks.

  When he had closed the door, the doctor beckoned her into the room across the hall, a small office with a cluttered desk in the center. He shut that door also.

  “I just want to say, Miss Wade, that I’ve heard bits and pieces, both from Mr. Holden and outside this house. I want you to know that I think you are doing the right thing, or trying to. Now, it’s none of my business, but it seems to me you got into rather a bum situation when you were only a child. Now you’re grown, you want to get out of it. Am I right?”

  “Yes sir. He says we’ll have to leave town, now that I’ve told people I wasn’t a captive.”

  Dr. Greenwood shook his head. “He’s in no condition to travel. I’ll keep him confined to bed as long as I can. Perhaps he’ll cool off as he heals.”

  “Thank you,” Carmela said. “I’d better go back to Mrs. Finney’s and help her. Shall I come back this afternoon to see Uncle Silas?”

  “You may if you wish, but it might be better for you if you stayed away.”

  “I couldn’t do that.”

  Dr. Greenwood studied her for a moment. “No, I don’t suppose you could. Come back around five if Mrs. Finney doesn’t need you then. You can help him with his supper.”

  Mrs. Greenwood, true to her word, found a lad to escort Carmela home, but she didn’t feel the menace she’d felt earlier. Maybe it was because she kept her chin down and avoided making eye contact, or perhaps there weren’t as many people milling about the streets now.

  When they got to the house, Mrs. Finney gave the boy a penny and sent him on his way.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I’ve had three more miners come in today and a ranching couple. All my rooms will be full tonight.”

  “What can I do to help you?” Carmela asked.

  “If we could get the beds made, that would take a load off my mind. Then I’ll let you bake a cake while I fix the chicken and vegetables for supper.”

  “Put me to work,” Carmela said sincerely. She actually enjoyed the hard work she put in that day, from changing beds and laundering the vast array of sheets that came off the dirty ones to filling the water pitchers and baking.

  At four o’clock, she was tired but felt a great satisfaction. Mrs. Finney insisted she stop work and eat an early supper so that she could get off to Dr. Greenwood’s before the other boarders came to the dining room.

  At the doctor’s house, Mrs. Greenwood met her at the door and ushered her into the empty waiting room.

  “The doctor was called out to one of the mines, but I expect him back soon. Your uncle is awake. You may go right in.”

  “Thank you,” Carmela said. “Has he had his meal?”

  “He ate a small amount,” Mrs. Greenwood replied. “The doctor is trying to get him to take more liquids, so perhaps you can encourage him to drink some water. I left a pitcher on the bedside table.”

  Carmela walked down the hall and into Uncle Silas’s small room. The late sunshine slanted in through the small window, and much of the room was thrown into shadow. She let her eyes adjust and saw that he was resting a
gainst several pillows, probably in the elevated position so that he could eat and drink more easily. He watched her in silence.

  Carmela walked to the bedside and sat down.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  “Not really, but I forced myself to eat the broth they brought me. The doctor seems to think I won’t be able to travel for some time, but we must. I shall try to get out of this bed tomorrow. If I can walk, we’ll leave.”

  “We can’t leave unless there’s a stagecoach to take us, Uncle Silas.”

  He frowned. “You must find out what the schedule is.”

  “I think I can do that,” Carmela said. “Now, will you drink something?”

  She held the glass for him, and he swallowed an ounce or two of water. Her best course was not to argue with him, she decided. If he got too agitated, it would only slow his healing. Instead, she tried to introduce other topics. He was very interested in her dinner at the governor’s mansion.

  “Perhaps you can meet Mr. McCormick in a few days,” she suggested. “When you’re up to it.”

  “If I hadn’t been shot, I’d probably be sitting at his dinner table tonight.” Uncle Silas scowled. “We were to be the toast of Prescott this week. How could you—”

  The door opened, and Mrs. Greenwood came in carrying a medicine bottle. “There now, Mr. Holden, Doctor left orders for me to give you your next dose if he wasn’t back, and it’s time.”

  “I don’t want that stuff.” Uncle Silas waved an impatient hand. His face reddened, and Carmela knew he wanted to vent his wrath about her confession again.

  “You need to rest, so that you’ll heal up,” Mrs. Greenwood said calmly. “I know you want to heal as quickly as possible. You told me so yourself.”

  Uncle Silas submitted to her ministrations and swallowed the laudanum. Carmela sat with him a few minutes longer, until he drifted once more into slumber. She tiptoed out into the hallway and listened. Sounds of clattering dishes came from the rear of the house, and she followed them hesitantly until she came to an open doorway that led into the family’s kitchen.

  “Hello,” she called.

  Mrs. Greenwood looked up from her supper preparations.

 

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