John stifled an inner groan. “Not exactly. The prior doctor hasn’t left the premises yet even though I was told he’d be retired and gone. That’s what the mayor and I were discussing. I want to be able to get my things in but the place is in bad shape and needs a lot of work. And now I find out the doc wants to stay around to make sure I know what I’m doing. Actually, I’m at a loss. I can’t just kick him out, but I can’t get on with my life with him there. I don’t know.” He stopped and removed his hat, running his hand through his hair and down the tense muscles in his neck. “I know what my mother would say, though.” He settled his hat back on his head and leaned against a post.
“What would she say?”
“She’d say be patient. And respectful.” He shrugged. “And kind.”
“Your mother sounds a lot like mine.”
Lily was not only beautiful and brave, but had a good sensible head on her shoulders. She was smaller than Emmeline and her nose had a dainty little slope. He glanced away. Why the heck did he keep comparing the two? Lily was his friend. And thank God he had her. He’d thought the process of moving to Rio Wells was going to be easy. But, so far, it had been the exact opposite.
“Does she?” He hitched his head and they continued on. “I’ve come to learn the hard way that she’s right almost one hundred percent of the time. Okay, so the ol’ doc stays awhile, what could it hurt? But, will he let me clean up the place and get it into shape? I don’t think I could stand it for long the condition it’s in now. It needs paint and a whole hell…” John stopped and pointed across the street. “There’s the place now.”
Lily shaded her eyes with her bag to get a better look. “Oh.” Her face took on a pained expression. “I see what you mean.”
“Go ahead. Say it. The place needs more than paint and a cleaning. It needs three sticks of dynamite and a match.”
John was surprised when Lily started to laugh—because he hadn’t said it to be funny. Soon she was laughing so hard others were looking their way. She waved her hand in front of her face, trying to get control, but high-pitched squeaks kept escaping.
“Oh, I am sorry,” she finally said between gasps. “It is just…” She pointed. “It is as horrible as you said. You were not exaggerating in the least. I can see it blasting into the sky, boards raining down this way and that, finally ending in a big messy pile.”
“Well, laugh all you want, but I don’t think it’s all that humorous,” he replied, trying not to smile. The only other girl he’d ever seen laugh so hard was his sister Charity, and only after a good tickle. But Lily’s laughter was contagious, and before long he was laughing so hard tears ran down his face.
“Well, I guess there’s no help for it now,” John said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “All in due time.” He took Lily’s elbow and continued on until they were in front of the post office directly across from the Union Hotel.
“Mind if I check the mail before we cross?”
Lily drew away. “I am certainly capable of crossing a street on my own, John. I am not a baby or a weakling.”
“I know. I know. But as soon as I see if I have anything, I’m crossing too. I need to get a room for a few nights until I can figure out what I’m doing. Where I’ll be living.”
A distant gun blast sounded and Lily flinched.
He raised a brow. “I’ll only be a moment.”
“In that case.” She smiled and nodded and John went into the post office while Lily waited on the walk.
The tiny building looked deserted. John swiped his hat from his head and went up to the counter. He tapped the bell several times. “Anyone here?”
A scuffling came from the back room and a young woman hurried out. She was of medium height and weight with dark braids twisted up like cinnamon rolls on either side of her head. Her attention was focused on a mound of papers in her hands.
“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you come in.” She stopped for an instant, then proceeded forward. She quickly stuffed what she’d been carrying under the counter, then reached up to pat one side of her hair. “May I help you?”
“Can you see if you have any posts for Dr. John McCutcheon, please?”
“You’re the new doctor?”
“Yes. Arrived yesterday.”
“Let me check.” She rushed away but was soon back. “This is for you. It arrived two days ago.” She held tightly to the post when he tried to take it from her fingers. “My name is Louise Brown,” she said, smiling into his face. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Brown.” She finally let go and he slipped the letter into his front pocket.
“Miss Brown,” she corrected, dipping her head shyly.
John replaced his hat, giving it a polite tip. “Good day, Miss Brown.” As he stepped away she cleared her throat. Against his better judgment, John glanced back to find her gazing up at him through a barrage of fluttering eyelashes. He hastened out the door.
***
John settled into his hotel room after retrieving his medical supplies and books from the stage office. He unpacked just the bare necessities, believing he wouldn’t be staying long. He hoped that within a couple days he’d have the mix-up with Bixby resolved and have things back on track.
With his letter in hand, he flopped down on the goose feather mattress and got comfortable, plumping the pillow before doubling it over and sticking it behind his head. For a brief moment he closed his eyes.
As was usual, the face of Bob Mackey, the man he’d killed when he was nine years old, popped into his thoughts. Although the number of times the vision awakened him in a cold sweat had lessened over the years, they still occurred occasionally. Like an old, unwelcome friend showing up at odd times, not quite ready to give the relationship up.
It had been a stormy August night and John was home alone having missed the social and barn dance because of a stomachache. At the sound of the door opening John grabbed his gun, and snuck down the big staircase in the darkness. A tall figure loomed in front of him, seemingly larger than any bear he’d hunted with his father. His trigger finger trembled. There was an earsplitting crash, then shards of glass sprayed him. His gun discharged accidentally. In the close proximity, the blast was deafening. It wasn’t until the smoke cleared and John was able to light a lantern that he saw who it was. He’d tired to stop the flow of blood, but the effort was futile and soon the man was dead.
Bob Mackey was a merchant from town and a friend to all. He’d been delivering a new pane of glass and it had slipped and broken. Flood had told Mackey to drop it off anytime, and since no one appeared to be home it was speculated that he was putting it inside the front door.
His parents had paid restitution to Bob’s brother and business partner, and after time, he’d forgiven John, but the shooting weighed heavily on his little-boy’s heart, regardless of his mother’s assurance that it had been an accident. And, truth be told, it was still as heavy a burden today as it had been sixteen years prior. His mother looked for ways to help him though his pain, to heal, but there hadn’t been a magical fix. As he grew older, his ache turned to anger, and he began letting his temper get the best of him. Longtime friends whispered behind their hands. He started getting into fights. The betrayal of his friends hurt. It was only after he’d decided to become a doctor that the horror of it lessened. He’d pay his debt by saving a life, then another, and another, and another…until his debt was gone. His moving away from Y Knot had been a relief of sorts, finally free from the stigma he still felt, even if most people had forgotten.
John held up the letter to divert his thoughts. It was from Charity. She’d written to him unfailingly while he was at Harvard, keeping him updated with all that was happening at home.
The most recent news was a new baby girl, born to his brother, Luke, and his wife, Faith. The first two grandbabies for his parents had been boys. Billy and Adam were older now and were becoming a real help on the ranch. Then there was Colton, Faith
’s feisty eleven-year-old stepson. John stifled a chuckle thinking how the boy had knocked Luke out with a frying pan the night he’d found Faith.
John glanced at the letter again, looking for the little one’s name. Holly Lace McCutcheon. Pretty. But before Holly there was Rachel’s and Matt’s little Faith, named after Luke’s wife, and Mark and Amy’s Cinder. He was having a hard time keeping all the names straight. And who could forget baby Dawn, the little filly Luke had actually delivered? His nephews were seriously outnumbered; although Amy and Rachel were expecting again and perhaps they’d give the boy’s team one up. There was a lot going on at the ranch these days.
Skimming the pages, Charity reminded him that she was ready for a visit. Now that he was out of school she wanted to come and stay for a few months. He knew she was going to be upset seeing his face. Knowing her as he did, he knew she’d take it hard.
No. He wasn’t quite ready to have Charity see it. He’d write and postpone, at least for a few months. By then, it was conceivable the bright crimson two-inch line would fade a little and be easier for her to take.
He read further. She thought Brandon was going to propose to her soon. She wasn’t sure what she’d say. John looked up at the ceiling, perplexed. Why couldn’t she see how much he loved her? More importantly, why couldn’t she feel it? They were a perfect match. Brandon was totally devoted to her. And Charity, even if she didn’t recognize it, set the sun by him.
The last paragraph was a complaint about how their ma and pa still wanted to send her to a finishing school for three months in Denver. She couldn’t fathom why their parents kept saying that in this day and age a woman needed to know more than shooting and riding. Someday Charity might be put in a position of power and would need some “social skills”. She didn’t want anything to do with it. A vague comment about running away finished the letter. John knew his dramatic little sis would never go as far as that, but it was her way of getting attention. They’d work it out, and hopefully while they did it would take the pressure off him for a while.
He laid the letter on the quilt and slung his arm over his eyes. He needed to send a telegram to Emmeline and tell her he’d arrived safely. Regret pinched his insides as he thought of the others who’d been killed. He’d meant to send a message first thing yesterday when they arrived into Rio Wells and had forgotten in the aftermath of the attack.
Emmeline had been persistent about announcing their plans to marry. He would have preferred to keep their plans to themselves for a while longer, at least until he was settled and had some money coming in. Unfortunately Emmeline wouldn’t listen to reason. His lips turned up remembering the night she’d practically begged him to let her tell her parents. He’d felt uneasy since they’d not been courting for long.
Rolling over, he reached for his book on the bedside table and withdrew the picture he’d put there for safekeeping. He held it above his head, just looking. She was beautiful, without a doubt. He did worry a little about her age. Eighteen was usually a perfect age to marry, but she was immature. He’d noticed right away, but he’d been charmed. When the day came for her to join him in Rio Wells, how would she handle leaving her family? Her friends? Her social life? How would a rough cattle town like Rio Wells compare to Boston? A sharp rapping on his door made him jump.
Chapter Nine
“Dr. McCutcheon,” a voice called, “you there?”
John rolled from the bed and hurried to the door. Opening it, he found a sandy-haired boy, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old.
“Doc Bixby sent me to find you. He wants you to come over to the office right quick. He told me to tell you it’s urgent.”
“Absolutely, just let me pull on my boots.” That done he followed the boy down the stairs and out the front door of the Union Hotel. They turned left into an alley, between the hotel and the saloon, where piano music pounded.
“It’s faster this way,” the lad called over his shoulder. It was only then that John noticed that the cuff of the boy’s left shirt sleeve hung empty, dangling loosely where his hand should have been.
After emerging from between the two buildings, they turned right and hurried past the back of the sheriff’s office where two horses hitched to a post dozed in the warm sun. They took the steps into the back door of Dr. Bixby’s two at a time.
“Doc, we’re here,” the boy called loudly.
John followed through the messy kitchen where he’d been earlier this morning. Turning into a door he hadn’t seen before he stopped short at the bright and clean examining room. The countertops were neat and tidy, and it looked completely organized. A frightened young girl was lying on the examination table, and her teary-eyed mother held her hand with a tight grip.
“Ohoo,” the girl cried between loud gasps of breath. Her blue calico dress hung over each side of the examination table and her worn brown boots protruded from beneath her hem, each toe pointing to an opposite wall. Her other hand was pressed on the lower right side of her abdomen.
Dr. Bixby looked up. “Glad you found him, boy.”
John came forward and put his hand on the girl’s forehead. She was hot. He cautiously palpated her torso not wanting to cause more discomfort. Every time he came even remotely close to her midsection, she’d scream out in pain and double forward. It looked like a classic case of appendicitis. He’d done the surgery in Boston, but always assisted by his teacher. “Appendix?”
“That’s my guess.”
Does Bixby want me to assist – or to do the actual surgery? John couldn’t tell by the look in the old-timer’s eyes.
The boy hustled into the room carrying a deep basin of water clutched with his one hand and pressed to his body. Bixby took a smaller bowl and scooped some of the steaming water out and started scrubbing his hands. “Get her undressed, Martha, but leave her in her petticoat.”
The girl was now crying uncontrollably.
“It’s gunna be okay, honey.” Dr. Bixby said as he prepared the operation room. “Tucker’ll put you to sleep and you won’t feel a thing.”
The patient began begging her mother to take her home, saying it didn’t hurt anymore at all. The poor woman’s face was white as a sheet. “Go on, do as I said, Martha.” Bixby set out a canister of ether and a scalpel onto a clean piece of white cotton.
John took a newly laundered apron and looped it over his head. He rolled up the white sleeves of his shirt, then went to the water, and with a bar of lye soap, scrubbed his arms and hands vigorously.
The boy picked up the canister and shook a little of its contents onto a cotton handkerchief and waited for a signal from Dr. Bixby.
***
Lily tapped on John’s door for the third time and pressed her ear against the varnished wood to see if she could hear him moving around inside. Still nothing. Only the piano music from the saloon next door. She’d tried ten minutes before with the same results and knew she couldn’t wait any longer. When they’d returned from the bank this morning, and after he’d gotten a room, John insisted on going back to the bank with her at two o’clock. At one thirty Lily had freshened up, put the lease agreement into her satchel, then snuck out without waking Tante Harriett. She’d found his room as empty then as it was now.
She’d have to handle this matter on her own. Setting her resolve, she hurried downstairs and stepped out into the harsh afternoon sun, looking down the two blocks to the bank. She needed to hurry. It was almost two o’clock and she didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot by being tardy. She picked up the hem of her dress and crossed the dusty street.
She arrived with four minutes to spare. When she approached the counter, the same teller who’d been there before met her with a smile now that John was nowhere to be seen.
“You’re back.”
“For my two o’clock appointment with Mr. Shellston.”
His forehead crinkled. “That’s right. Actually, he’s not back from lunch yet. Do you want to check back in say, half hour?”
Lily felt her
face heat. In Germany people were respectful of appointment times. “He is expecting me?” she asked, trying to keep her annoyance from showing. She wasn’t going to leave and come back. She needed to get this resolved. Tante Harriett was worried sick. “I’ll wait, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” The teller went back to his desk.
Lily seated herself and tried to be patient. Twenty minutes passed without
Mr. Shellston or anyone else coming in. She withdrew her handkerchief from her bag and pressed it to her damp brow, reminding herself that they needed Mr. Shellston’s cooperation. He held ownership of the property they’d leased. She must remain level-headed. Looking down she noticed a centipede moving quickly across the dusty wooden planks in her direction. Its legs moved like a wave as the creepy insect sped directly toward her.
She stood and went to the door and looked out. Where is he?
On the opposite side of the street two men stood in front of the Land Office, talking. Soon they parted ways and a tall thin man started for the bank. He walked through the common area without looking her way and continued down the hall to his office. The teller got up and followed him. When he came back, he motioned Lily forward. “Mr. Shellston will see you now. Follow me.”
All her indignant feelings evaporated and Lily was instantly filled with resolve. What if he wouldn’t hold to the bargain Mr. Bartlett had made with her aunt? What would they do to support themselves? All they knew was sewing. They needed this shop.
The teller closed the door behind him, leaving Lily conspicuously standing. Mr. Shellston was seated behind his desk, shuffling through some papers. He’d put on a pair of spectacles and it seemed he’d forgotten already that he had a visitor.
Lily cleared her throat.
“Oh, please, take a seat.” He put away the papers and looked up. “Miss…”
“Anthony,” she said, settling herself in one of the two chairs in front of his desk.
Texas Twilight Page 5
