Before the Larkspur Blooms

by Caroline Fyffe

  Hannah gave her a pained look. “Just business as usual, Violet. Come on, son, say your good-byes.” She went over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Be sure to send a post now and again.”

  “Well, I just don’t know what’s wrong with that Irishman,” Roberta said to Hannah as they walked across the bridge and past the livery. They turned onto the footpath between the bakery and Dr. Thorn’s office and proceeded up the hill toward the little white church. “Except that it’s exactly what I’ve been saying since the moment he came back into this town. He’s thick-skulled. Mind like a mule. Gets an idea and there’s no changing it.” She looked over at Hannah and winked. “We just have to be more clever.”

  Markus was between them, playing with a cricket he’d found outside their door. The Sunday midmorning air chilled as the sun disappeared behind a billowy white cloud hanging in the sky. It was only a moment before it popped out on the other side with happy golden rays.

  “I don’t want to change his mind anymore, Mother,” she replied softly, feeling mulish herself. No matter what she’d tried that morning, she couldn’t fix her puffy red eyes. Anyone who saw her would know she’d been crying. She’d skip church if she hadn’t promised to talk with Maude afterward about the coming fall social.

  As they approached, several ladies smiled and waved. Buggies and wagons were parked about, and trees were surrounded by horses already sleeping in the sunshine. A mill of voices greeted them as they entered. Roberta led the way to their usual pew halfway up the left side of the nave.

  “Hannah,” a hushed voice called.

  She looked over Markus’s head to see Chase and Jessie directly across the aisle. Shane was perched on Jessie’s lap. Surprised, she recognized the Stockbridges, the couple she’d met in her restaurant on the day of the railroad celebration, and wondered at the connection. Sarah sat between the old man and woman, looking happy as a chipmunk. Hannah wiggled her fingers. Smiled as best she could.

  The small building warmed as the townsfolk all gathered inside. Hannah wished the service would get started so she could get her day over with and get home. Ashamed of herself, she glanced down at Markus sitting next to her, knowing she had much to be thankful for. She needed to pull her emotions together. Stop feeling sorry for herself. The restaurant had record-breaking sales every day now, and she needed to talk with Uncle Frank about the possibility of expanding out back.

  Brenna walked past with her scraggly brood. Indeed, Hannah was well-off, and she had just better remember that.

  “Can ya scooch over a tad?” someone whispered into her ear.

  Violet stood close with a solemn-faced Thom directly behind, hatless and clean-shaven. Their eyes met and held. A burst of butterflies filled her chest. Her lips tingled at the memory of his kiss. She jerked her gaze away.

  “Of course,” she replied. She gently pushed Markus over toward his grandmother, and Roberta looked over. Her eyes opened, then widened, but she didn’t smile. Oh, she’s a cool cucumber when she wants to be, Hannah thought.

  At ten sharp, Reverend Wilbrand greeted his congregation. It was difficult to concentrate on the preacher’s words with Thom sitting so close. Without turning her head, Hannah was able to see him struggling to find space in the cramped area for his long legs. Fiddling with his song sheet. Gazing at the ceiling. We would have been perfect together. Filled with hurt, and a good measure of anger, she forced her attention away.

  Before she knew it, people stood and began the closing hymn. Roberta exited into the main aisle, and Hannah came face-to-face with Jessie.

  “Just wait until I tell you our news,” Jessie whispered into her ear. Her friend glanced over her shoulder and smiled at the woman who held Sarah’s hand. Hannah smiled, too, painfully aware of Thom’s tall presence close behind.

  Out in the bright sunshine, people gathered in groups. For many, this was the only social time they had each week. Maude hurried over and pushed in between Roberta and Thom, giving Hannah a big smile. Markus had long since run out back with the other children, where laughter sounded from a game of tag.

  When the shopkeeper spotted Violet, she pulled up short. “Good morning, Violet,” Maude said, nodding to everyone in the group.

  “Mornin’, Maude,” Violet responded. Her taciturn tone could freeze a forest fire.

  The innkeeper’s attitude was not lost on Maude. “How are those poor little pullets? Still alive?”

  Oh, no! If those two got going, Sunday would be ruined. Hannah elbowed her mother into action.

  “Mr. Donovan,” Roberta said, without missing a beat. “I want to tell you I’ve had a change of heart.”

  Hannah almost gasped. What was she up to?

  Roberta smiled charmingly. “What you said the other day. I’ve been thinking.”

  “About?” Thom asked slowly, carefully. He looked around the small circle of women, clearly uncomfortable.

  “The buffalo. I actually believe the idea has merit. Would be beneficial for the town. And, although I sincerely hate to admit it, especially to you, I’ve grown fond of the aromatic creatures. Particularly the little one.”

  Thom looked back and forth between the women, skepticism written in his eyes. “That’s good to hear. Win’s attached to his pets and I’d hate to see—”

  Thom’s sentence cut off. A look of confusion crossed his face, then his eyes closed and he collapsed to the grassy earth.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Hannah dropped to her knees. “Thom,” she cried urgently. “Thom!” She stroked his face in an effort to wake him. Something very bad took hold of her heart and squeezed. What was wrong? “Get the doctor!”

  Dr. Thorn pushed through the group of women. “What happened?” he asked as he knelt down and picked up Thom’s wrist.

  “We were talking and he just passed out,” Hannah heard her mother say. Hannah hadn’t taken her gaze off Thom’s face. Crushing fear sliced her heart asunder as a voice whispered in her mind, Oh, God, don’t let Thom die.

  Hannah glanced up when Jessie called her name. Her mother huddled together with Violet and Maude, the three women whiter than a snowy Christmas morning. She scrambled to her feet. “Don’t let Thom die!” She looked around wildly. “Please, somebody do something!”

  “Get a wagon,” Dr. Thorn yelled. “Chase, Jake, Albert! I need some help over here.”

  Instantly, all the men in the yard hurried over. They carefully lifted Thom’s unconscious form into the back of a wagon.

  “Has this ever happened before?” Dr. Thorn asked.

  Win stepped forward, his brows crinkled together. “I noticed he’s been stumbling a lot in the livery the past two days. I wouldn’t have thought a thing about it ’cept he dropped a sack of grain on our cat and we laughed about it after we made sure she was unhurt and only mad.”

  Roberta stepped forward. “What about that draining headache he got at our place last Sunday?”

  Hannah nodded. “And I noticed he had a hard time seeing what I had in my hands at the inn,” Hannah whispered. It was impossible to keep tears from trickling down her face. “At the time I thought he was just tired from the night before with Rome.”

  Albert cleared his throat as his face drained of all color. When he looked away, Hannah grabbed his arm. “What? What do you know?”

  “In light of all this, I feel I must speak up,” he said. “Thom confided in me that he has a bullet lodged in the base of his skull. Got it years ago. He didn’t want anyone to know. Didn’t want their pity.”

  Jessie’s arms came around Hannah to steady her.

  Mr. Stockbridge stepped forward as Gabe climbed into the driver’s box. “Drive slowly and take your time,” he cautioned. “We don’t want to jostle him. Chase, you climb in and hold his head completely still.”

  Dr. Thorn stood with questions in his eyes.

  “We don’t have time for proper introductions, Doctor,” Mr. Stockbridge said, climbing into a buggy Jake pulled to a stop by his side. “I’m a surgeon visiting
from Virginia. We best get that young man down to your office before it’s too late.”

  Thirty minutes later, Hannah, along with what seemed like half the town, filled the waiting room of Dr. Thorn’s office. Silence was thick. More people gathered outside in quiet contemplation, waiting for news. Children looked through the window with cupped hands. Reverend Wilbrand sat in the corner, reading the Bible.

  The two doctors had promised they’d pass on information as soon as they had any. After a short time in with the doctors, Albert left and returned twenty minutes later, disappearing again into the examination room without an explanation. Every nerve in Hannah’s body felt as if they had just gone a round with a meat cleaver. She’d run to the privy several times with an urge to throw up.

  The door opened. Albert stuck his head out, looking around the crowded waiting room, down the row of faces. “Hannah,” he said softly. “Can we speak with you in here for a moment?”

  Feeling as if she were in a cocoon, Hannah stood and walked slowly into the examination room, knowing the worst had come to pass.

  Thom had died.

  He was gone.

  She couldn’t breathe. It was as if her heart literally stopped beating. Thom! Oh, why—why couldn’t you tell me? We should have lived each day we had instead of letting happiness slip through our fingers. I’d have loved you no matter what. I’ll love you forever…

  Once inside, Albert quietly closed the door behind her. Without asking, she went to Thom’s lifeless body stretched out on Dr. Thorn’s tall table. She placed her hand on the side of his face, loving everything about him. The men followed her over and circled around.

  “I want to tell you what I told the doctors,” Albert began. “Yesterday, when I offered Thom the deputy’s job, he turned it down flat. Wouldn’t even think of taking it. Was afraid something like this would happen at a bad time and didn’t want some innocent person to suffer because of it. He also said that it’s because of this situation he wasn’t able to follow his heart and marry you, Hannah. He was afraid not only of dying, but of becoming an invalid. He didn’t want to be a burden.”

  No! She couldn’t hear this! She shook her head softly, never taking her gaze from Thom’s face. Dark hair fell over his forehead, drawing her eyes to his dear face, as if he was only asleep. She wanted to lay down next to him, refuse to let him go. She couldn’t accept that their chance for love was gone.

  Albert touched her hand, regaining her attention. “When he was shot, the doctor who treated him was little more than a self-taught sawbones. At least he had the good sense not to try. Thom healed with the bullet inside and was sent to prison.” Albert held up a piece of paper from the telegram office. “This is a response from the doctor in Cripple Creek. Not much to go on, but it’s something. More than anything, Thom wanted the bullet out of his head. Wanted his life back. He told me he would risk anything, even death, to accomplish it.”

  Her head jerked up. “He’s not dead.” Her heart welled, and new tears rushed to the surface.

  “Oh, sweetheart, no. Unconscious.” Albert took her hand. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

  “Hannah,” Dr. Thorn said. “Thom needs surgery. Dr. Stockbridge is a skilled surgeon with many years of experience. Taking into consideration what the sheriff told us, we feel compelled to try.”

  Her dry throat felt as if it’d crack. “What are the risks?”

  Dr. Thorn shrugged. “Huge, of course. I don’t even like to think about them.”

  Dr. Stockbridge ran his hand over Thom’s forehead, then lifted each eyelid and looked closely at each eye. “Mrs. Hoskins, the operation is very chancy. If we move the bullet and are not able to extract it, he could be blind, or never walk or talk again—if it doesn’t kill him instantly. However, and let me be clear—if the bullet is not taken out, I’m certain he will die soon anyway. Because of the signs and symptoms he’s been experiencing, I feel quite certain his time is near. Your choice is to do nothing and hope he wakes up—only to die soon. Or do the surgery now. It may kill him, but it may give him back his life. At least with surgery he has a chance.”

  Albert cleared his throat. “Knowing you’d be his wife if circumstances were different, we wanted to ask your opinion, Hannah. Can you help us decide what Thom would want?”

  The door cracked open, and Roberta cautiously entered. She went to Hannah and turned her into her embrace. Oh, it felt good and warm. She snuggled close, loving her mother now more than she ever had. “What is going on?”

  “We’re deciding whether the doctors should try to remove the bullet from Thom’s skull.” The horrible words slid out of Hannah’s mouth, almost making her retch. “Either way, he’s at death’s very door.”

  Roberta gently set Hannah away and looked into her face. “And what do you think? Would Thom want another chance at life?”

  Hannah nodded. “I know he would.”

  “Then say so. Take charge. That is why the Irish bloke loves you so much, my dear.”

  Hannah wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked at Dr. Stockbridge. “You’re right, Mother. Thom deserves this. He served eight years for a crime he never committed. He deserves a little happiness coming his way.”

  “Good. I think it’s a wise choice,” Dr. Stockbridge said. “Now, if you two will please wait outside with the rest of the townsfolk.”

  Hannah stood her ground.

  Her mother tugged the sleeve of her dress. “Come on, Hannah, we need to let the doctors get to work.”

  This is it. The last time I might see—No! She couldn’t think like that. She stepped to the table and carefully buried her face in Thom’s neck, breathing in his masculine scent. Oh, how she wished she could crawl onto the table and hold him close. Instead, she whispered into his ear, “Come back to me, Thomas Donovan! Do you hear me? Live! Live so we can be a family. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. Don’t you dare die on me now, do you hear? Fight for your life!”

  “Hannah.” Her mother was waiting for her at the door.

  “This will take several hours,” Dr. Thorn said. “You’re tired. It might be best for you to go on home, get some rest. You’ll be the first—”

  “I’ll be right outside, Doctor.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Everything hurt. From the bottom of his feet to the top of his head. A dull, ripping pain slipped up Thom’s body and then dribbled back down, sizzling as it went. Woozy spins kept him confused.

  If only he could get that annoying mosquito out of his face. Murmured voices wafted across the room. If he weren’t so blasted bone-weary spent, he’d ask whoever it was chattering in the corner to come kill it. Lifting his arm seemed as difficult as lifting a team of draft horses. He struggled to open his eyes, but as with his arm, both lids felt like sheets of lead.

  Where was he? What was that strange aroma? Someone was definitely here with him, he was sure; unless the ringing in his head was more misperception and he was hearing it as voices. Voices all around. But not a chance of making out any of the words.

  Thom felt someone’s presence next to him. He fought to open his eyes.

  “Thom, can you hear me?”

  A man. He’d heard the voice before but couldn’t place it. “Thom, try to say something. Squeeze my fingers.” Warm fingers slipped into his palm.

  Thom squeezed; at least he thought he did. Panic surged into his throat. Nothing happened. Again he told his hand to crush the fingers he felt wiggling in his palm. “Come on, Thom. By now, you should have some strength back. Give it another try.”

  My God!

  The bullet. It had moved.

  The nightmare had come to pass.

  Nooooo, his mind screamed. He wanted to shriek for life’s injustice. He searched his mind. Tried to find the last thing he remembered. When? How? Nothing. His life was now a black, mysterious void. Everything gone.

  No. Wait. If everything was gone, he wouldn’t remember the bullet. It took so much energy just trying to remember. Oh, Lord, hel
p me was his last thought before drifting off…

  The familiar female humming slowly came into his awareness, and again Thom wondered who it was. A thump and then a scraping noise sounded to his right.

  “I’m only going to leave this window open a moment, Thom. Just enough to freshen up the room. The cold air will do you good.”

  Snow!

  Cold, crisp, clean.

  “No back talk,” the person said and then chuckled. His shoulders were lifted. Warm liquid placed in his mouth. Reflex made him swallow. The spoon was back, and he swallowed again. Several more times. A sound reached his ears, and he realized it was his own groan. “Only three more and I’ll let you lay back.” A towel at his chin wiped away a bit of liquid that had escaped over his lip.

  “Good boy. I think you’re getting stronger. Now, lay back and relax, it’s time for a bath.”

  His covers came off with a whoosh, and the air swirled up his body, causing gooseflesh.

  He liked it. Something different. He heard a bang. Wondered what it was.

  “Mother, I’m home,” a distant voice called.

  Hannah!

  “I’ll be down in a moment, dear. I’ve just finished giving Mr. Donovan’s limbs a good stretching, and now he’s having a bath and shave. Getting all spruced up for Thanksgiving. You stay downstairs.”

  My God.

  Roberta.

  Taking care of him as if he were a baby.

  November crept by, followed by December. Hannah hurried around the parlor, preparing for the company she expected to knock at any time. Every few minutes she stopped to gaze at the striking Christmas tree the Logans had dropped off yesterday. It was lofty, almost ten feet tall. When Uncle Frank helped Markus place the star tonight, it might even touch the ceiling.