by Sierra Rose
Speaking of praise, Gabriel had become a newly lionized hero to the general public. Out in the streets, anyway; Letitia Barclay, that self-appointed guardian of the sickroom, was playing martinet. She had allowed only a select few visitors in to see the injured man and shooed everyone else away, claiming a need for peace and quiet and recuperation. What did that matter, groused the clamoring hordes, when all they wanted to do was re-live their luminary’s experience?
Gabe allowed his medico to unwrap, check, and rewrap the healing hole in his chest, without much protest other than an occasional yelp of discomfort. When it came to relief of bodily needs, however, he called for reinforcements from amongst his friends.
“You just tell ole Ben he can hike his tail over here and help me out to the privy,” the doctor had grunted. “I ain’t hurt near bad enough to ask a lady to tag along.”
Once that first trip was made, its patient moving haltingly and voicing complaints with every step, he had insisted upon being transferred to the cot in his back room, next to the kitchen.
“Never realized how hard and slippery that examinin’ table is until I had to spend a night on it. I need to rest comfortable, or I’ll never get back on my feet again.”
“Anything else, Your Highness?” Letty had inquired coldly.
“Yeah.” Gabe had managed the weak semblance of a grin. “Where’s that bourbon I asked for?”
So, now, with the doctor settled in his own room, with the shades of both windows lowered halfway for privacy but with one pane open a few inches for fresh air, he was entertaining one of the limited callers allowed into his inner sanctum. Paul had arrived, on the mid-morning of this frosty Sunday, to check on the invalid’s condition and update him on the details of the attack that had been pieced together.
“Man,” he had muttered, taking a chair. “Might’s well just throw a pair of handcuffs on you, right now, Doc, for all the freedom your nurse gives you. She’s a tough one, she is. Wouldn’ta been surprised to see a shootin’ iron in her hand, guardin’ the door to keep people out.”
“I reckon she’s entitled.” Gabe was lounging against as many pillows as it took to prop him semi-upright, and carefully spooning rice from a bowl of hot chicken soup. “The girl done a fine job, both with Elander and with me. Musta been scared to death, too. But she’s got grit.”
Paul crossed one long leg over the other and grinned. “Well, Letty is my sister-in-law, and I will admit that, in this mood, as your hospital warden, she even puts the fear of God into me. Patched you up to your satisfaction, huh?”
“Seems to be. I figure to be outa this bed by tomorrow, and movin’ around a bit. Maybe out and about in a week. If my nurse will let me.” He returned the grin. but weakly.
“I reckon you taught her well, Gabe, to take hold as she did. She’s prob’ly out there timin’ the length of my visit, so I’ll fill you in while I can.”
The young farming couple had had such high hopes for their future. Married only a year, putting their roots down on some fifty acres of land, and with their first child due soon, everything seemed to be going their way. Then tragedy had struck.
On Thanksgiving Eve, Gabriel, called far too late to make any difference in the outcome, had fought all through the night and all of the next morning to get mother and son safely past danger. To no avail. Their double funeral had taken place several days later.
“Lawrence was just about b’side himself,” said Gabe, remembering. “Well. You saw him. You know. I thought he was gonna throw himself into that open grave, right next to Marcella. He kinda went off the deep end after that.”
Until his recent departure for Atlanta, at his mother’s behest, Gabe had visited the grief-stricken farmer once or twice a week, in an effort to help him emerge from the darkness in which he was existing to some semblance of sunshine on the other side. Drinking too much at home, alone, had led to frequenting several of Turnabout’s saloons. No wonder he had needed money.
“I never dreamed he might be robbin’ stages to get by. Never realized he might take it into his head to kill me, in retaliation for the deaths of his family.” Appetite gone, Gabe put aside his half-empty bowl and sighed. “And you got proof that he’s the one responsible?”
Paul nodded somberly. “Found some stuff at his house that had been reported stolen, when the coach was hit before. A necklace, a silver pocket watch—that kinda stuff. He’d given up on farmin’, so he musta needed some kind of income. But there wasn’t any violence till Friday, when he saw you on that run.”
“Me. The reminder of all the bad he’d gone through.”
“Yeah, for sure. Guess everything came crashin’ down on him like a ton of bricks. In his state of mind, it was easier to get killed himself, than to go on livin’ as he was.”
From the kitchen came the scrape of a wooden chair being moved, and water running in the sink. To heat for coffee, hopefully. By now, both men, still talking desultorily, could use a cup.
“Marcella has a brother livin’ up by Little Rock,” said Gabriel, after a bit. “I’ll write him, when I’m back in business again, and let him know what happened. He’ll have to decide what to do with their—personal effects...”
“It’s a hard life. And it’s gotta be hardest on the women.”
“You got that right. I never figured—”
“Well, Paul, I see you’ve interrupted my patient’s mid-morning meal,” Letty, appearing silently in the doorway, observed. “Are you planning to keep him from his nap, as well?”
A faint blush rose into the sheriff’s tanned cheeks. These Burton gals...!
“Oh, get off your high horse, Miz Barclay,” said Gabe, grinning at his friend’s discomfiture. “We’re just shootin’ the breeze, that’s all.”
“Yes, that is all. Skedaddle, Paul. I’m sure you have a multitude of details to clear up at your office. Citations to hand out for chicken ranching, or something.”
There was no point even attempting to argue; the battle was already lost. With a shrug, Paul pulled his loose-limbed frame upright, reached for his hat, and sent a farewell smile Gabe’s way. “Sleep well, Doc. I’ll be back again tomorrow, if I’m permitted to.”
The arch of his brow included Letty, who relented only slightly. “You may try. As long as he hasn’t had a relapse.”
“Relapse, schmelapse,” snorted Gabe, as his visitor ambled away. “Can’t keep me from talkin’ to anyone, Missy.”
“I can while you’re still bedfast. Want some coffee?”
“Bless you, I’d just about give both my lungs for a cup of coffee. How’s that sister of yours?”
Surprised, Letty paused before leaving to run her errand of mercy. “Oh, Gabe, to tell you the truth, I’m not sure. I mean, she holds a lot inside—although probably she confides a lot more in her husband than in her sister. But she’s very uncomfortable, and I know Ben has felt so very worried about her. He couldn’t wait until you got back. Not expecting that you’d get back all shot up full of holes, of course, but—”
“Hold on, hold on, slow down.” One-armed, Gabriel tried to push himself up higher against the pillows as if to halt the spate of words. Bedsprings creaked underneath his weight, and his head bumped lightly against the wall behind him. “She’s what, now?”
His nurse, taking the seat Paul had vacated a few minutes before, proceeded to enlighten the doctor on her sister’s condition, her symptoms, and Letty’s own inexperienced treatment. Gabe asked intermittent questions; Letty provided scattered—and sometimes unsatisfactory—answers.
Relieved to have something else to sink his teeth into, to get his mind off the itchy, constrained, painful healing of his mutilated body, he mulled the situation over.
“Childbirth is a woman’s business. You’ll find, Letty, that, in most cases, it’s best to just to leave her to it, b’cause her instincts take over. But we’re gettin’ more sophisticated now; we try to relieve the pain and the stress, if we can, so as not to let the poor gal be torn apart in the process.
But, after my own experience with Marcella...”
A shadow crossed over his unshaven face, fallen into weary folds like that of a basset hound, and bleakness entered his eyes. Would he ever, Letitia wondered, watching sympathetically, see another delivery in the same way, after that family’s devastation, with its myriad repercussions?
“I’ll try to talk with her in another couplea days, Letty. Ben can drive her over here to see me, can’t he?”
“I’m sure he can. And will.”
“All right, then, Put your mind at ease on all counts, honey. You’ve done a fine job while I’ve been gone, and I’m proud of you. Once I get all my senses back, you can tell me—what else you handled—’round here...” Relaxing, he yawned. “But, actually, I was wonderin’ about your other sister’s welfare.”
“My other—oh, you mean Hannah. Huh. Well.”
His gaze sharpened just a little. “What? Some problem?”
She shifted position, patently uncomfortable. “Gabe, don’t even consider asking me to betray a confidence.”
“Huh. She still moonin’ over that mail order character—Ualraig such and such?”
Letty’s jaw dropped. “You know about him?”
“Yep. Saw the letter she was startin’ to write, and I got her to confess what she was up to.”
Minutes had been ticking busily away; now, almost unheard because completely unnoticed, the kitchen clock suddenly struck a muted note for the half-hour. A kettle of water recently placed on the stove had begun to gurgle with impatience; it was meant for tea, and needed to be removed before the liquid boiled away.
With the tip of her shoe, Letty straightened the rag rug beside the bed. “I haven’t really had a chance to talk with her. Between your care, and my husband’s, I’ve simply been too busy.”
A negligent wave of the hand. Sure. Understandable.
She leaned forward just a little, although the room was empty of outsiders who might possibly be eavesdropping. “I suspect she’s quite upset. After all, the man was supposed to be here by now.”
“He gave her a definite date when he’d be arrivin’? Huh. Must put more faith in his travel arrangements than I ever could. Ain’t nothin’ certain but death and taxes.”
“Well, no, it was tentative, naturally. He suggested Wednesday, the fifteenth. And here it is, Sunday, the nineteenth, and not one word from this so-called suitor.” Her voice rang with irritation. “If he says he’ll be here, shouldn’t he live up to his promise?”
“One would think,” said Gabe noncommittally. Yawning again, he began to slump down against his pillows. “Well, I reckon she’ll have to deal with the problem, won’t she?”
As any good trained medico, Letitia noticed his grimace of pain and the lines of utter weariness that stamped his face. “Want your coffee now, Gabe, or would you rather sleep?”
“Huh. We talked through me gettin’ coffee, hon. Lemme—just lemme rest—a little while first.”
Rest, thought Letty with a grin, as she replaced the blanket he had pushed aside and watched his eyes drift shut. Innocent as a baby. If you equated the quality of rest with the noise of his snoring, then he would be full of vim and vinegar in a short while. She pitied his future wife, whoever that might be.
When he opened his eyes, some two hours later, she was sitting primly on the visitor’s chair, thumbing quietly through last week’s Gazette. He spluttered a little, coughed, groaned, and made a few more unusual noises all pertinent to a man recovering from grave injury as well as being taken by surprise.
“Hello, Gabe,” said Hannah, looking sedately at him with those clear blue eyes. “How are you feeling? I was so worried about you. And I’m so glad that you are going to be okay.”
“I’m too stubborn to die.”
“I think I will have to agree with you. How’s your mother?”
“Uh. What?”
She carefully folded the newspaper into its original sections and laid it aside, in case he might want to read the contents later. “Is your mother okay?”
“She’s good. Thank you for asking about her.” With a grunt, he attempted, with the one free arm, to shift himself upright. “Where’s—Letty—?”
“I told her I’d watch over you for a while, this being Sunday and all, and me having nothing better to do. That way she could go home and tend to her husband. Who, apparently, unlike some husbands, actually misses having his wife around.”
“Ouch.” Gabe grimaced. “That must be a record.”
“What do you mean?”
“At least two spears chucked—my way...just within a couplea sentences. Huh. You’re gettin’ to be quite the expert—in your field.”
“Well, that’s the old familiar Gabe. You didn’t change a bit while you were gone.”
“Tried—not to. Otherwise, who’d recognize me, when I—got back?” Another grimace. “Any nurse worth her salt would—help me a little, here...”
Hannah raised both brows and offered a small grimace of her own. “But I’m not a nurse, you see. What is it you need?”
Wordless and frustrated, he gestured. She made the supreme sacrifice of catering to his wishes, rose, and gently fixed the pillows around until he felt situated enough to give her a grudging, “Thanks.”
Then, since a quick glance around indicated no sign of his belated dinner being prepared, he muttered something about being as hungry as a bear fresh out of hibernation.
“You certainly snore like one,” said Hannah with a laugh.
He laughed.
“How about some food, Bruin?” she asked.
“Huh. Dunno. Fixed by your own lovin’ hands?”
“Fixed by someone at the Sarsaparilla. You should realize by now that I’m not much of a cook. But someday, I will surprise you and make you the best meal around. But until then, Letty left a nice big bowl of beef stew for you. But she told me you need a lot of liquids. So you have to drink first.”
The usual gleam appeared in his green eyes as he surveyed his visitor. “Been askin’ and askin’ for a shot of bourbon, but there ain’t—”
“Oh, hush up about your bourbon. You know that won’t help you get better.”
“Then I’ll listen to you.”
“I just want what’s best for you.”
“I like you taking care of me. And I can see the compassion in your heart.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you know I have a heart.”
He smiled. “I didn’t at first.”
She softly touched his hand. “Now you stop.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you when I was gone.”
“I was on your mind?”
“Always.”
She pondered and her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t know I meant that much to you.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first day we met.”
She smiled. “I thought about you too.”
His eyes gleamed. “Hearing those words... Now that has made my day.”
“Let me get you that stew.”
“You have feelings for me, don’t you?” he teased. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Maybe we could get to know each other a little better.”
“But that would entail you ditching your mailorder bridegroom.”
“Yes, that is a big problem I do have.”
He needed help balancing against the pillows when she returned with a tray, so Hannah, resigned, moved to give aid.
The feeling of his tousled head resting heavily against her side, while she held the glass for him, aroused something very sweet and indescribable. It wasn’t fair, when she was so deprived of male companionship, to put this one right within reach, and touch. If she succumbed to any feeling of warmth toward him, or an emotion much more intense than warmth, it was due only to propinquity.
“Now,” she said, when he was finally finished sipping (complaining that he felt like a bloated camel about to trek across the Sahara), “you may eat. And talk, if you’re not too tired
. I want to hear about your mother, and your travel such a distance, and what happened to get you gunned down like an escaped criminal.”
There was never any trouble getting the good doctor to talk. In between slow spoonfuls, he satisfied Hannah’s curiosity.
His trip to Atlanta was uneventful. Thank the Lord, his mother, sixty if she was a day (a lady never reveals her age, even to her family) continued in good health. The plantation had been situated far enough away from the city to survive the War—not unscathed, given the realm of destruction, but relatively intact. His two older brothers, with their wives and more progeny than you could shake a stick at, ran the place and all was well.
“So, she did her usual,” said Gabe, carefully applying his napkin. This business of having to do everything left-handed was a bloody nuisance, but he wouldn’t be able to move his right arm for some time yet. “Berated me b’cause I was so thin, wondered when I was movin’ back to God’s country, and ordered me to get myself married and settled down.”
“She sounds wonderful,” Hannah, considering the loving benefits of a motherly scolding, of which she had been deprived, murmured wistfully.
He snorted. “Oh, yeah. Wonderful. Well, I stayed as long as I could stand it, and then I shook that red clay dust from my heels and headed on back to Turnabout. Trouble was...”
Trouble was, he naturally had no idea what sort of hornet’s nest he would be running into.
“I heard most of that part from Paul,” she said quietly. “The whole thing must have been—terrifying.”
“To tell you the truth, it happened so fast that I was flung flat on the seat before I knew what was goin’ on. Here, take this, please.” He indicated his half-empty bowl. “I’ve gotten down about all I can right now. When is Letty comin’ back?”
“Later. When I let her know that you’ve driven me off, and she replaces me. Unless,” Hannah produced a wary half-grin, “we can find one of your other adoring fans to sit here and keep you entertained.”
“Adorin’ fan. Huh.” He shifted his bandaged upper body slowly back and forth across lumpy pillows: restless either with pain or with the conversation. “Ain’t got none of those.”
