Texas Twilight

by Caroline Fyffe

  “And you, Harriett?” he said, looking to her aunt. “Do you feel rested?”

  “Oh, much better, Dr. McCutcheon. I guess the sight of Abigail Smith getting killed right before my eyes was just too much for me. Today I’m fit as a fiddle, thank you kindly.”

  “That’s good. Still, I’d like you to stop by my office later this week so we can make sure you’re all right. Will you do that?”

  “Where would that be, Doctor?”

  John sat back in his saddle and looked up the road, which was gradually coming alive with people. A large wagon, pulled by four horses, plodded by slowly, and he had to wait until it passed so they’d be able to hear his answer. “I’m told it’s just up this street a ways.” He chuckled. “Actually, I’m not sure yet myself.”

  “Well, don’t you worry, we’ll find you. We’re on the way now to our own new shop.” She held up a large skeleton key. Looks like we’ll be neighbors.”

  “So it does.” He smiled and tipped his hat again. “Good day.”

  John rode down the street, taking it all in. This was his new home. Rio Wells wasn’t huge, but it was much larger than Y Knot. Just on Dry Street alone he’d seen a yellow school house, a livery, the Cheddar Box restaurant, an undertaker, the Station House Hotel, and a blacksmith shop, and he wasn’t yet halfway down. The street was lined with gas lights, and there were lines running from pole to pole that he suspected would lead to a telegraph office.

  John reined up in front of a building. “Jas Bixby, MD.” He read the sign out loud. Gray paint curled off the bat-and-board siding like shavings piled on a woodcrafter’s floor. The dingy front window was opened just an inch, from which a curtain fluttered pathetically, as if trying to draw attention. A random gust of wind sent the sign wagging back and forth and bringing the faint odor of rotten eggs.

  Dismounting, he tied Bo at the hitching rail. On the porch John reached up and pushed up on the sign, slipping the hooks from the eyes holding it to the underside of the porch overhang. The previous doctor had forgotten to take it with him when he left. He leaned the sign on the wall and proceeded inside a few steps, then stopped.

  The waiting room was a cluttered mess. A bookshelf running the length of one wall was overflowing with books, as well as a variety of other things of every description. John just stared. This was his new office? The town council had promised it would be ready, and the upstairs fit to live in. If the condition of this room meant anything, it would take days to get all this disorder thrown out to make room for his medical books and supplies. Removing his hat, he searched for a clean place where it wouldn’t get covered in dust.

  “Who’re you?”

  John swung around to find a man standing in the doorway to another room. He was old and had a piece of toast in one hand and a newspaper in the other. A worn cardigan sweater was haphazardly buttoned across his thickened belly, and his white hair stuck out from his head.

  “John McCutcheon. Dr. McCutcheon,” he quickly corrected, his hat still hanging in his fingers.

  The man’s shoulders relaxed. “In that case, I’ve been expecting you. I’m Dr. Bixby.” He shuffled toward John, switching the toast to the hand with the paper, and stuck out his right.

  Bixby eyed the wound on John’s face as they shook hands. His spectacles teetered on the end of his nose. “Come in and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” He turned without waiting for an answer and went back into the room from which he’d come. John stood for a moment before following behind.

  “Dr. Bixby,” John said as he watched the man set an extra cup and saucer at the table and go back to the stove for the coffeepot, “I was under the impression the office was vacant.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. That town council is always getting ahead of itself.” As he poured the coffee his hand shook violently and John feared he’d spill it all over the yellow-plaid cloth. Dr. Bixby set the pot on the table and pulled out a chair, gently nudging a little white kitten from the cushion. He motioned for John to take a seat.

  Sitting, John tried again, “Dr. Bixby…”

  The man pointed to the right side of John’s face with his fork. “Knife wound?”

  John nodded.

  “Whoever sewed you up did a darn fine job.”

  He was at a loss and felt like a fool. The council had said that Dr. Bixby was retiring after forty-five years as Rio Wells’ doctor. They’d said he’d be gone and the place would be cleaned out, newly painted, with all the files in order. As it was, the place was a shambles. He clenched his jaw several times before answering. “What exactly are your plans for moving out?”

  Chapter Seven

  “Moving out?”

  Bixby looked up at him as he soaked up egg yolk with his toast. “Never said anything about moving out. Just handing the reins over to someone with a few less miles under his saddle. But that’s only after I make sure he’s well prepared to take care of the people here.”

  John opened his mouth to speak but Bixby held up his hand, silencing him. “I understand you’ve completed your medical training. But that’s a far cry from knowing what to do if Millie Banks delivers three weeks early like she has with the last two. Or how to treat Frank if he gets the gout in his other leg, or, or…,” he mumbled, scratching his forehead. “Or, Cradle Hupton crushes his hand for the umpteenth time in his blacksmith’s forge. You get my drift?”

  The kitten mewed then hopped up into John’s lap. It looked around, then stretched its neck curiously, trying to see over the rim of the table. Jumping up, it went straight for Dr. Bixby’s plate.

  “Damn scamp.” Bixby scooped up the kitten and went to the back door and put it out. He pulled the door tightly closed and returned to the table. John stood and met the doctor eye to eye.

  “I was told that this place would be vacant.” He brought his arm up and covered his nose. “What’s that smell?”

  “Mineral Spring. It’s a block down Spring Street. Gets a bit pungent when there’s no breeze to clear it out. You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

  Jas Bixby sat back down and took up where he’d left off cleaning his plate. Seemed as if he hadn’t heard what John had just said. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. Possibly, he was just ignoring him completely. John strode to the door. “I’ll be back.”

  ***

  “What do you mean there isn’t anything you can do?” John leaned palms down on the Mayor’s desk, the shiny mahogany wood reflecting his frustrated face. “This whole situation is asinine, and if I had any good humor at all this morning, it’s now gone.” After leaving the doctor’s office, he’d gone over to the Mayor’s office where Mayor Fred Billingsworth was sipping his coffee and reading the morning paper.

  “I sympathize with you, Dr. McCutcheon. As soon as Jas gets his thinking on straight, he’ll remember that it’s this week that he’s supposed to be moved out.”

  “Has anyone talked this over with him?” John asked firmly. “Was it his decision to retire?”

  “Of course. It’s been discussed for almost three years now.”

  “Does he have a place to go?”

  “I don’t know, Doctor. I suppose he does.”

  “What? He’s been the town’s doctor for all these years and you don’t even know what he’s planning on doing when he quits his practice, or if he even has someplace to move to?”

  What a hypocrite. He wanted the old man out, too. He swiped a hand over his face in irritation. Going into practice with another doctor, especially one as old as sin, was not the set-up he’d been dreaming of.

  “How come no one has kept on top of this? I was told the building would be ready.”

  The door opened and Lily Anthony came in, closing the door behind her. The mayor looked up from his desk, peering around John’s body, to see who had entered. He looked much more interested in Lily than he had been in him.

  “May I help you, young lady?”

  She came forward and stood a few feet from where John was. He noticed a slight brightening o
f her expression as she glanced in his direction. “Dr. McCutcheon.”

  “Miss Anthony,” he said, taking his hat off. “We meet again.”

  She handed the mayor a piece of paper she was holding. He opened it and scanned the page. “Yes, I hope you can. My name is Lily Anthony and I am looking for Mr. Bartlett,” she announced before he had finished reading. “In his last post to us he said to inquire about him here.”

  “Mr. Bartlett? He no longer lives in Rio Wells.”

  Lily’s sharp intake of breath echoed in the quiet room. “There must be some mistake. We have entered into a business agreement with Mr. Bartlett. And traveled all the way from Boston.”

  “Who is we, Miss Anthony?”

  “My Tante, Harriett Schmidt, and me.”

  John moved a step closer to Lily, giving her moral support.

  “If he is no longer living here may I ask where I can find him? Where he has moved? We have already paid to him a year’s lease of dollars and in return he sent us the key.” She held the key up for the mayor to see.

  It seemed the stressful situation was causing her to struggle with her normally good English. Her accent thickened considerably and her words jumbled.

  The mayor sat back in his chair as if thinking hard. “Miss Anthony, Mr. Bartlett left town and didn’t tell anyone where he was going. For all we know he up and got his self killed.”

  “Who took ownership of the building when Mr. Bartlett moved?” John asked. Lily looked up at him quickly, appreciation written in her eyes.

  “Norman Shellston, the banker.” He folded the paper in two and handed it back to Lily.

  For a moment the name seemed to ring a bell to John, but the thought was pushed away by an inward groan. Most of the bankers his family knew were known to be overly concerned about themselves more so than the interest of their clients. Bloodthirsty, Flood used to call them. “Where’s the bank?”

  The mayor pushed his heavy body away from his desk and stood, possibly because he could see that the two newcomers were getting ready to leave. “A little way up the street on the corner of Church and Dry.”

  Lily and John turned to go. “Dr. McCutcheon,” the mayor said, “give Jas a few days to get used to you and used to the idea of retiring. He’ll comply. Right now I’m trying to find someone to temporarily oversee the school until we can find a new teacher. It was truly a shame about Miss Smith.” He shook his head. “Well, good day,” he finished.

  They stepped outside. “Let’s go see the banker,” John said as he escorted her up the plank walk.

  “No, no. You have already been so generous with your time. I cannot ask this thing of you, Dr. McCutcheon. You have your own business to attend to without my problems adding to that worry.” You also have a fiancée and I enjoy your closeness much more than I should.

  “Nonsense. You’re new and I’m new. The way I see it we both need a friend about now.” His arms swung loosely by his side and his crooked smile was endearing. Every now and then he’d nonchalantly grip a post as they passed, as if looking for something to do. “What happened this morning after I saw you two on the boardwalk? You were on your way to the shop with the key?”

  “When we got there the key wouldn’t open the door. It looked as if someone had recently changed the lock. We tried until my aunt was exhausted. She said she was tired and wanted to lie down. But I know she is also upset. And worried.”

  “She’s back at the hotel?”

  “Yes, Dr. McCutcheon. I walked her back and then went over to the mayor’s office right away. That is when I ran into you.”

  “Please, you must call me John. We’ve been through too much together to keep to such formalities. Don’t you think?” He pointed playfully to his face and the many stitches she’d so carefully made.

  Lily felt a thrill of happiness as she walked by his side. “Only if you stop calling me Florence.” In her way of thinking, the name was a nickname—something you would call a special friend, and it just didn’t feel right. “Please just call me Lily.”

  John looked at her skeptically, then chuckled. “Um, I’ll try.”

  “I insist.”

  “Well, okay. If you put it like that. Did I ever tell you I thought you very brave to climb onto the top of the moving stage, between flying bullets and rampaging outlaws? Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

  “From my brothers, Roland and Sigmund. They are great sportsmen.”

  His brows lifted in interest. “Well, it’s a good thing they did. How old are they?”

  “Roland is the oldest. He is twenty-seven, married and has three little children. Sigmund is twenty-five and still a bachelor. Mütti says he will never settle down and give her any grandbabies.”

  “So,” John said, chuckling again. “You’re a miniature Annie Oakley—as well as a Florence Nightingale.” He quickly put up his hands defensively. “I’m not calling you that, mind you.” He shrugged. “Just observing the truth. Do you have any more talents I should know about?”

  “Why? So you can tease me?”

  “Maybe.”

  When he gave her a playful wink Lily couldn’t help remembering how he’d held her so gently in his arms. All her sisters would think him the handsomest man in the world. And truth be known, she did too. Emma would love his hair and Giselle his strong, manly jaw. His sensitive green eyes would be what Gretchen would notice first. Ida and Louisa, being only twelve and eight, would just love the “whole idea” of him—the cowboy doctor.

  “Not unless you count the ability of balancing a plate on my head while dancing the waltz.”

  He stopped and his eyes opened wide. “Seriously? That’s something I’d like to see.”

  She laughed, continuing down the boardwalk. “Perhaps you shall.” He had to hurry to catch up. “And, I also play the harpsichord.” His expression was one of amazed amusement. She could not recall him ever looking so happy.

  They were passing a leather tannery and a small speckled hen darted out the front door. It smacked wildly into John’s leg then made a dive for Lily’s hemline. She gasped, pitching towards John off balance.

  John clasped her by the shoulders. “Easy. It’s just Chicken Little.”

  Lily laughed again, enjoying this new, more easygoing Dr. McCutcheon very much. “You know that story, too? My mother used to tell it to us girls. She used to say if the sky is not falling, things cannot be all that bad. Look for ways to be peacekeepers. There are two sides to every story.”

  John laughed appreciatively, nodding his head. “Us girls?”

  “I have so many sisters that most young men are too nervous to come to the Anthony home. Emma is twenty-three, and she, too, is married, to our landlord’s son, Jürgen. They are expecting their first child this winter and are hoping for a Christmas baby. Then me. I am nineteen. Then comes Giselle, sixteen, Gretchen, fourteen, Ida, twelve and Louisa is the baby. She is only eight.”

  “Holy cow. That’s some brood. And I thought I had troubles fighting for my very survival in my good-sized family.”

  “Fighting to stay alive?”

  “That’s just a figure of speech. Although my three older brothers and one younger sister were a force to be reckoned with sometimes. The thought of eight children is hard to comprehend. What does your father do for a living?”

  John seemed keenly interested in her answers, and she felt satisfied to while away the whole morning just as they were doing now. “He is one of the best watchmakers in all of Germany. His shop sits in the town square and we live a short distance out in the country. Our home is small, and we all had to share, but that is all we have ever known. Our town is quite beautiful. Picturesque, as you would say.”

  They walked along in a moment of silence. “That is why my Tante Harriett sent for me to come to America. By teaching me a trade that is one less mouth to feed and one less Madchenkind to worry over.”

  “Madchenkind?”

  “Girl child.” A warm flush moved through her again and she hoped he co
uld not see the tell-tale signs on her face.

  “Do you ever get homesick?”

  Lily glanced away. That was something she struggled with often. “I do. But, I know I will eventually go home to my family.”

  They stopped in front of the Bank and John opened the door. A young man rose from his desk and met them at the counter.

  “May I help you?” His hair was slicked back from his forehead and he was nicely dressed and clean. His skin glistened from the uncomfortable warmth of the room.

  “We’d like to see Norman Shellston, please,” John said.

  “Is there something I can help you with? Mr. Shellston is busy at the moment.”

  “No. We’ll need to speak with him.”

  “One moment, then.” He hurried off and came back a moment later. “He’s busy and won’t see anyone until afternoon. Would you like to make an appointment?”

  Chapter Eight

  John looked at the clock on the wall and counted slowly to three. They’d have to come back for a ten minute conversation? Damn, if this wasn’t turning into the most aggravating town. But, he had to keep his head about him since he was a doctor now and needed to stay in a good standing in his new community. “Seems we have no other choice.”

  “Will two o’clock work for you?” the teller asked.

  John glanced at Lily. “Yes, that will be fine.”

  Back outside, the town was alive with the mid-morning business. Three wagons passed in the street, followed by a man with a big stick driving two cantankerous cows. What to do now? They had a few hours before they needed to be back. “Come on, Lily, I’ll walk you to the hotel,” John said. “How did you enjoy living in Boston?”

  She nodded and they started up the boardwalk. “The whole way here we talked about me. I want to know about you. Did you get your things settled in your office?”