by Natalie Dean
“Maybe we can work something out,” Carson suggested, slowly walking forward. “Maybe we can figure out a way to solve this without any need for guns.”
“I escaped from your jail,” Boone reminded him. “I doubt the Marshal is very happy about that.”
Carson moved forward several more paces. “Jack Walker is a reasonable man,” he said, stealthily moving his hand closer to the gun holstered at his hip. “I reckon that if you talk to him with some of that Eastern learning you have, he might be persuaded to go light on you.”
“I have not found the lawmen of Knox Mills to be particularly reasonable,” Boone said in an aggrieved tone. “I have come to the conclusion that I must remedy this matter on my own.”
Boone swayed more, leaning further to the left than was wise for a man on horseback. Wasting no time, Carson drew his gun and shot, aiming near enough to spook the horse without hitting either it or Boone. The horse reared, and Boone slid off its back. Drunk as he was, he came to no physical harm. But when he rose to his feet, his eyes were filled with fury.
“You’re trying to make me look ridiculous!”
“You seem pretty capable of doing that all by yourself,” Carson said. “You don’t need my help.”
By now he and Boone were within arm’s length of each other. Carson’s aim was to disarm the drunken Boone. Once the gun was out of Boone’s hands, the risk of a gunshot wound to an innocent bystander was diminished. Not that he saw any innocent bystanders. The five men standing by their horses behind Boone didn’t look innocent.
Boone staggered forward. Had he been well, Carson would have deftly dodged the man’s attack, but he was still weak from his time in the hospital. He tried to move out of the way. Instead, he was overcome by dizziness and he fell to the ground at Boone’s feet.
Boone raised his gun. “It looks like I’m going to be able to solve one of my problems right now,” he said. “And after I take care of you, I’ll just be heading on home to my wife. The wife you tried to take from me.”
Chapter 17
“No!”
Sarah, watching anxiously from the window of the makeshift hospital, raced out into the street before Dr. Darnley could stop her. Although she was encumbered by her skirts and apron, she wasted no time in getting to the scene that was playing out in the town square. She ran past Graham Boone as he pointed his gun and threw herself on top of Carson.
“Sarah, no!” Carson said, struggling to free himself from the tangle of pink skirts caught in his boots.
“What’s this?” Boone demanded. “What is my wife doing here defending this, this wife stealer?”
“She’s not your wife!” Carson retorted. “You were drunk as a skunk when she met you and she said she wasn’t going to marry you. So you hit her because that’s the kind of polecat that you are. We put you in jail. No one stole your wife from you. You just don’t deserve her.”
Boone pulled Sarah’s arm, forcing her off Carson. “I expect a virtuous wife,” he said. “Not someone who makes a spectacle of herself in the middle of town by leaping on top of a man.”
“You were going to shoot him!” Sarah told Boone. “Do you want to hang for murder?’
Boone considered this. He seemed to be having trouble with the processing of his thoughts. His eyes were bright. Too bright. The spots of color in his face were not those of health. Sarah recognized the signs.
“Dr. Boone,” she said, “you have the smallpox. You need care. I can take care of you. Come to the hospital and we can see that you are attended to. Dr. Darnley is there.”
“Smallpox!” he scoffed. “You’re a lying strumpet, aren’t you? You rushed out here to his defense. Have you given yourself to him? Have you squandered your virtue and given to him what is mine to claim? You lying, cheating harlot!”
Sarah gasped. “I am a nurse, as you know very well and you have no cause to call me by that insult!”
Carson would have rushed to Sarah’s defense, both from the insult and from the physical harm that threatened, but he knew that there would be a risk in making any sudden moves. And if he spoke up in Sarah’s defense, Boone would likely become even more incensed and suspicious.
“You denied me,” Boone said, pulling her closer to him. “You came here to marry me and then you refused me. Well, you aren’t going to refuse me now, are you?” He waved the gun in the air. Whether he was aiming at her or at Carson, Sarah didn’t know, but she realized that she had no choice but to acquiesce or someone would be hurt.
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m not going to refuse you now.”
“Then we’ll get married,” he said. “We’ll go to the cabin, get the children and be on our way. I want to get out of this miserable town where I’ve never been appreciated. I haven’t, you know. I’m a doctor and a preacher but this town has never recognized me for my attributes.”
“We can’t go to the cabin,” she said. “You have smallpox, you’ll infect the children. Dr. Boone, you’re a man of medicine, you know how dreadful smallpox can be to those who are not vaccinated. You cannot want to see your children harmed—"
But Boone wasn’t listening. He pushed her toward his horse. “Get up,” he said. “We’re going to the cabin first. No, first we’ll get married. We’ll get the preacher to marry us. The children will want to be there for the ceremony. We’ll get the children first.”
He was delirious and incoherent, trying to follow two different lines of thought at the same time and having little success. He was drunk as well and there was no way for her to get through to him in his present condition. There would be no reasoning with him, she realized. She could only follow through on the decision she had already made, which was to protect the children, no matter what it required.
Sarah climbed onto the horse, aware that, without a sidesaddle, her skirts were raised and the onlookers could see her stockinged legs. One or two guffawed, another made a comment which Sarah pretended not to hear.
“Take care of him,” Boone ordered his men in a voice which did not indicate that the care would be beneficial. “We’ll meet up later.”
As the horse carrying its two riders galloped away, Carson tried to take advantage of the commotion by getting up, but the members of Boone’s gang were watching him closely and, at a signal from one of the men, they encircled him. Feeling his weakness overcoming him, and knowing that he could not, in his present condition, fight off five men, Carson raised his hands.
“Listen,” he said, “you haven’t done anything that will get you into the jail. Why not ride off now and stay out of this? Boone has an unfinished jail sentence hanging over him but you don’t. What do you owe him?’
“Thought you said your marshal was a reasonable man,” one of the men recalled. “Was that just blather?”
“No,” Carson said in desperation. “But Boone didn’t accept my offer. That means he’s still a wanted man. It’s worse than that. He’s got the smallpox and the rest of you might have it too. Our town has it; there are upwards of sixty people with it. You can go to the hospital and get treated before it kills you.”
“Smallpox!” This was different from a bit of gunfire and sport. Smallpox was deadly, the men knew that.
Behind the men, Carson spied Justin Ward, who was quickly moving behind a wagon to take aim. Carson kept talking to give the young deputy time to get into position.
“That’s right, smallpox. I have it,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt so that they could see the rash that had appeared on his chest.
The men edged closer to see the evidence. That was when Justin began firing. Caught off guard, Boone’s gang headed for their horses, no longer paying attention to the deputy with smallpox. Carson raced from the town square, ducking behind buildings and horses to stay out of the gang’s line of vision.
“Which way did they go?” he asked when he saw Mayor Winslow appear from his office. “Boone, did you see him? He was on a horse with Sarah—Mrs. Baker.”
Abe Winslow hadn’t seen where they�
��d gone, but he hailed Herr Wiessen, who had heard the commotion and had emerged from the general store to see what was going on. “Did you see Graham Boone ride by?”
“I did, that I did,” said the older man, leaving the porch of the general store to hurry over and share his news. “I heard him say that they would go to get married.”
“Married or get the children?” Carson asked.
“Married, I said,” Herr Wiessen repeated, looking insulted that his recollection was doubted. “He said he was taking her to the preacher. They were riding very fast,” he added disapprovingly. “I do not think that Frau Baker is wise to marry such a man.”
“She doesn’t want to marry him,” Carson said as he took off in the direction of the chapel.
“If she does not wish to marry him,’ Herr Wiessen asked Mayor Winslow, “then why are they looking for the minister?”
Abe shook his head. “I thought Boone had left town.”
“Like a bad penny, they return. Deputy Ward,” Herr Wiessen called out to Justin. “Where are the men who were with Dr. Boone? You did not arrest them?”
“Boone was the one who needs to be arrested,” Justin said as he approached. “The others were just his back-ups. They weren’t shooting at anyone, they weren’t firing their guns. They can go; it’s Boone we want. Which way did he go?”
“To the church. Which is where your comrade is going as well. I think that what is going on will be much more interesting than any sermon I have ever heard, no?”
But Justin wasn’t there to answer, having taken off, at a run, toward the church.
Chapter 18
Unaware that a rescue was in the works, Sarah made no objection when Dr. Boone insisted to the minister that they needed to be married right away.
“Dr. Boone,” the clergyman protested. “You do not look at all well and Mrs. Baker—you were in church on Sunday with the Boone children but you left before I could greet you—"
“I apologize for leaving so abruptly,” Sarah said, striving to sound as if she were entirely composed. “I had just found out from Mrs. Graves that smallpox broke out and I was going to see to Mr. Graves, who was one of the first to be afflicted with the disease.”
“Yes, so I learned,” the minister said, putting on his spectacles. “I am very sorry—"
“Never mind all that. We’re in a hurry to get married. Then I’m taking my children and we’re heading out of town,” Boone interrupted.
“Dr. Boone, this is not at all an auspicious—"
“We’re in a hurry. Tell him.”
Sarah forced a smile to her face. “Please forgive us for our haste, sir,” she said. “But the children, you see . . .” she left the sentence unfinished, trusting that a man of the cloth would respond to the needs of the young before he would bother with an unorthodox request for a hasty wedding ceremony.
The minister removed his spectacles, polishing them with the cuff of his shirt. “Very well,” he sighed. “If you insist that this is what you want, I will marry you now. Let’s go into the sanctuary.”
“You can do it right here,” Boone said.
“No, Dr. Boone, I cannot,” the minister said with dignity. “I will do it as all marriages are conducted or I will not do it at all.”
Carson was out of breath by the time he reached the church and he had to lean against the railing, gasping, before he could continue.
“Looks like you’re about beat. Good thing I came along when I did.”
Recognizing the voice and the tone, Carson looked up. “Good thing,” he said, not disagreeing. “If you hadn’t started shooting when you did, I don’t know what they’d have done to me.” He put out his hand. “Thanks.”
Justin seemed surprised at the reconciling action. He gripped Carson’s hand, shaking it firmly. “Glad to do it.”
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Carson said, “we have a wedding to break up.”
“Fair enough,” Justin said. “Sounds like it might be fun. Do I get to kiss the bride?”
“If there’s any kissing of the bride to be done, I’ll be doing it.” He tried to open the door, but it was locked.
“Who ever heard of a church being locked?” Justin queried.
“A man who doesn’t want anyone to interrupt his wedding,” Carson said, his teeth clenched in anger. “Come on. We’re breaking down the door.”
“We’re breaking down the door to the church?” Justin said. “I’m guessing that’s a sin.”
“So is letting Sarah Baker marry Graham Boone. Put your strength into it.”
“What about your strength?”
“I just got out of the hospital,” Carson said. “I’ll need a little help. Come on now, on three. One . . .two . . three!”
The door succumbed to the combined force of the two men who burst into the sanctuary of the church just as the minister said,
“Do you, Sarah Baker, take this man, Graham Boone—"
“She does not!” roared Carson. “She most definitely does not take this man.” He charged up the aisle at a run, grabbing Boone by his shoulders before anyone realized what he was doing.
Sarah gasped, and the minister protested, but Carson heard neither. His fist struck Boone in a punch that sent the older man reeling.
Justin watched in admiration. “If you need any help,” he offered, leaning on the baptismal font as he enjoyed the spectacle, “just yell out.”
“I’m fine on my own,” Carson said, picking Boone up from the floor.
“This is God’s house!” the minister exclaimed. “What you are doing is sacrilege!”
“I’m just cleansing God’s house, Reverend,” Carson said. “There aren’t any pigs handy to send the demons into, so I’m just going to have to boot this devil’s spawn out of here.” With his hands on Boone’s shoulders, Carson forced him all the way to the door.
“Now, you listen to me,” he said, breathless with the exertion, “you ride out of town and don’t you ever look back, you hear me? You get on that horse out there, and you take off. If I see you, if I hear that you’re within one hundred miles of Knox Mills, I will come for you and I’ll have a gun in one hand and a noose in the other. Do you understand? Your children don’t mean anything to you. Now they’ll have parents who will care about them and will take care of them.”
Justin strolled down the aisle. “I hate to miss the wedding,” he said nonchalantly, “but I think I’ll just ride out a ways to make sure that Dr. Boone can find his way out of town. Come with me, Boone. You’re not invited to this wedding. Oh, Reverend,” Justin said as he prepared to follow Boone out of the church. “Sorry about the door . . . me and Harlow will make it right before Sunday services.”
The minister looked bewildered. His expression did not improve when he saw Carson drop to one knee in front of Sarah.
“Sarah,” Carson said. “Will you marry me? We’re going to start our married life out with four kids. I’m just getting over this smallpox business. You’re just getting over what was almost a forced wedding. If you don’t mind having a little extra excitement in your married life, I think that you and I are going to get along just fine.”
“But I thought you weren’t the marrying kind,” she said, scarcely able to believe that from the ominous situation of just minutes before, she was now about to marry the man she loved.
“I wasn’t the marrying kind before you came along,” he said. “But I never met anyone like you. If you’ll have me, and if the Reverend will marry us, then I’m yours.”
“Will you please tell me who it is that you wish to marry?” the minister demanded. “I have never conducted a wedding like this before. The groom breaks down the church door, he fights inside the church and forces the other groom to leave—I hope that you do not intend to behave like this during Sunday worship!”
“No, sir,” Sarah promised him obediently. “This has been a most unusual day.”
“Are we getting married or am I going to stay down here on one knee until
you make up your mind?”
“We are getting married,” Sarah said. “And then, we’re going to go home and tell the children. And then—"
“Mrs. Baker!” the minister interrupted. “Please, decorum!”
“And then I’m going to shave you,” Sarah said demurely, her eyes downcast innocently. “Because you look like a grizzly bear with that beard and I won’t kiss a man with a beard.”
“Oh, no?” Carson challenged her.
“There will be no kissing! No kissing before the vows,” the minister told them sternly.
“After the vows, then?”
“Not in here! I will marry you and then you will leave!”
After the vows were exchanged and the newlyweds walked arm-in-arm out of the church, now bereft of its door, Carson turned to his bride. “Did you mean what you said about no kissing until I’m rid of this beard?
“I always mean what I say, Carson Harlow,” she told him.
“But you said I can’t shave until the smallpox rash is gone.”
“That is so.”
“You can’t mean that! We’ve just gotten married! What kind of man gets married and doesn’t kiss his beautiful wife?’
“You should have gotten vaccinated,” she told him. “Next time, you’ll heed what I say.”
“The kissing better be worth the wait,” he grumbled.
She smiled up at him. Her hair was mussed from the wild ride to the church on the back of Boone’s horse, and she was still wearing her hospital apron. But her green eyes sparkled and her lovely face hinted at an endless supply of delightful mysteries that would unfold during their marriage. “It will be.”
Chapter 19
Carson Harlow, sitting up in bed, glared at Lucy Boone, as she entered with a bowl of oatmeal. Unperturbed by his demeanor, Lucy came to his bedside.
“Miss Sarah says that you are to eat all of this so that you regain your health.”
