Chapter 20
Mother. In Savage Wells. Nothing could have prepared Gideon for that. Nothing.
Her gaze settled on Miriam. “Why is this woman wearing her nightdress in your parlor?”
“She was injured last evening after growing ill.” That was both true and the safest response he could think of. “I am a doctor, you’ll remember. Treating the ill and injured is what I do.”
“But she is wearing her nightclothes in a public room. I cannot—” Mother’s eyes pulled wide as she caught sight of Paisley. “Merciful heavens. You’re wearing a gun.”
“And a badge,” Paisley said. “And on less formal occasions, I’ve been known to sport a man’s hat.”
Mother pressed a hand to her heart, her mouth dropping open.
“You ain’t back East any longer, dearie,” Tansy said.
Mother leaned closer to Gideon and whispered, “That woman was speaking of moonshine only a moment ago.”
Moonshine and guns and nightclothes were not remotely the most pressing issue at the moment. “Why are you—? When did—?” He had too many questions to know where to begin.
Mother, however, did not wait. “Which of these women is the wife you purchased through the telegraph?”
Gideon choked. Paisley laughed out loud.
Miriam, to his astonishment, was the one who seized control of the situation. “I would like to go upstairs to rest,” she said. “Would someone assist me?”
Gideon, grateful for the reprieve, crossed to the sofa.
Miriam shook her head. “You need to stay here and talk to your mother.” She looked over at Paisley. “Would you?”
“Gladly.” Paisley slipped between him and Miriam. She glanced at Mother, then met his gaze and whispered sarcastically, “Your mother’s a gem.”
“I know,” he whispered back.
“I am reassured to realize she married into the family,” Paisley said. “With Gid being my cousin, that makes she and I only vaguely related.”
“Not a reassurance I can offer myself, Pais.”
Paisley helped Miriam to her feet. Miriam was still unsteady. He would need to find a way to convince her to stay in bed, but her stubbornness would likely make that difficult.
Tansy stepped toward the kitchen. “I’ll go finish lunch—by myself. I’m needing some quiet.”
He nodded, and she escaped without hesitation.
As Paisley and Miriam reached the doorway of the parlor, Gideon said, “I’ll check on your shoulder later, Miriam.”
She gave him a look of severely tried patience. “I am a nurse, Doctor. I took a look at it myself, and it is precisely where it ought to be.” Then she slipped out, Paisley assisting her.
“She is a nurse?” Mother repeated. “Then she is the woman you sent for? The one you married without the slightest—”
“We aren’t married,” Gideon told her.
Rather than relieve her anxiety, those three words only shocked her further. “Not married? Yet she’s”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“living here? Traipsing about in her nightclothes?”
The discussion only grew more awkward. “She does not live here. As I said, she was ill last night and injured herself in a fall. As a doctor, it is my duty to care for those in need. And, before you decry the scandalous nature of an unmarried woman and an unmarried man under the same roof—no matter that one of them was deliriously ill for long stretches of time—Tansy was here all night.”
“The moonshine woman?” That did not meet with her approval. Little ever did.
“She is a fine person.”
Mother lowered herself into the wingback chair and pressed her fingers to her forehead. “This town is even more backward than I had anticipated.”
“Why did you come to this ‘backward town’? And on your own, no less?” It was foolish in the extreme, and that was not like Mother.
“I’m not alone. Your father and the driver are making arrangements with the stable.”
“Father is here?” Worry seized him. Something truly terrible must have occurred to bring both of his parents all the way to Wyoming. Had someone in the family taken ill? Or worse? “What has happened?”
She eyed him as though he were being ridiculous. “I had an informative discussion with Ian.”
“And he told you to come to Wyoming?” That was unlikely.
“He told us that you had recently paid a company to send you a wife, and we could not imagine this approach would work any better than your last attempt to marry.”
Gideon groaned. “Ian wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
“You are fortunate that he did,” Mother said. “You are making a mess of your life, son. Your father and I mean to stay until you have yourself sorted once more.”
A great many responses came to mind, none of which were appropriate to say in front of his mother.
The front door hinges squeaked.
“Mother, if that is one of my patients, I would ask that you—”
His father’s voice cut off his words. “The sign in the window said to walk in. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Ah, here you are, Isabelle. I see you’ve run him to ground.”
“Enough with the pleasantries,” Mother said. “I have discovered that our son is not married.”
Father’s eyes darted between them a few times. “We are happy about this.” He looked at his wife and tried a different answer. “We are unhappy. We are neutral. Utterly and extremely neutral.” He never expressed an opinion on any matter unless it met with Mother’s approval first.
“None of your sass, William. You will only encourage him to indulge in his usual ridiculousness, and then we will never have a serious word from him on this important topic.”
“Yes, dear.” Father turned to Gideon, his grin making a sudden appearance. “I met a US marshal. Right out on the street.”
“There is a deputy marshal upstairs,” Gideon told him.
“She is a deputy marshal?” Far from impressed, Mother sounded appalled.
“She?” Father’s gaze darted to the ceiling. “That’s unexpected.”
“This is Wyoming,” Gideon said. “It is always best to expect the unexpected.”
“The deputy—is she the one you meant to marry but didn’t?”
“The deputy is your cousin Mary Catherine’s daughter, Paisley,” he said. “She’s family, so, no, she was never someone I intended to marry.”
“Ah.” Father nodded. “It’s a shame they never came to Washington for a visit. If she is at all like her mother, she is already a favorite.”
“Paisley is a great gun,” Gideon said.
“And, being a marshal, I imagine she carries a great gun.”
Mother sighed. “Do sit down, William, and let us sort this out like civilized people.”
“Yes, dear.” He sat near Gideon, his gaze taking in the entire room. But, unlike Mother, he seemed almost excited at what he saw. “Is this where you do your doctoring?”
Gideon nodded. “All of my equipment is on that side of the room. I see my patients there.”
“Our son is a doctor, Isabelle.” Father had never vocally disapproved of Gideon’s profession the way the rest of the family had, but this was the first time he’d sounded truly proud. “He takes care of an entire town.”
“I actually take care of half of the Wyoming Territory. Twelve different towns and a vast area of ranches and farms. Thousands of square miles.”
Father whistled appreciatively, his attention fully on Gideon. “How do you manage that?”
“I travel a lot. Sometimes my patients travel here.”
“And you remember all of them?” Father leaned back against the sofa. “I don’t know that I could keep all of that information in my head at once. I have to write everything down at the bank.”
“A medical practice isn’t entirely unlike a bank, really. Instead of depositors, I have patients. Instead of guarding their money, I guard their health. I, too, take a great many notes and write everything down.” He hadn’t ever shared the details of his work with his family members. He was enjoying the experience. “You occasionally visit other branches of the bank you work for. Traveling to other towns is much the same for me.”
“We can discuss the particulars of Gideon’s profession later,” Mother said. “At the moment, we have his disastrous personal life to sort out.”
Quick as that, Gideon’s enjoyment vanished. “Mother, if I am capable of running a complicated and successful medical practice, surely I can be trusted to sort out other areas of my life as well.”
Her posture grew stiffer, her glare more scolding. “You, son, have been twice engaged and are yet unwed.”
Twice engaged. Thank the heavens he hadn’t told his mother about Harriet Fulton’s rejection.
“One of those failed fiancées,” Mother continued, “is the belle of Washington society. The other, apparently, traipses about your parlor in her nightdress.”
“She was not ‘traipsing.’”
“Is she another deputy?” Father asked eagerly.
“No,” Gideon answered. “She is a nurse.”
“Your nurse works in her nightdress?” He sounded both shocked and intrigued.
“She was not working.”
Mother harrumphed. “Makes rather free with your home, then, doesn’t she?”
“I told you, she is ill.”
Mother lifted her chin a notch. “She seemed perfectly healthy to me.”
“I will take your diagnosis into consideration,” Gideon answered dryly.
“Do not grow impudent with me. I am in an ill humor.”
That was not the least surprising. “Where do the two of you mean to stay while you are in town?”
“Here, of course.” Mother hadn’t, it seemed, been entertaining the slightest doubt as to her welcome. “And, it is a good thing, since you are in need of a respectable chaperone.”
“I am a grown man. I do not need a chaperone.”
“What you need is a good shaking.” Mother rose from her chair. “Come, William. Let us settle in. Straightening this young man out will likely take longer than we expected.”
Gideon and his father both stood and assumed nearly identical weary postures. To say Mother was, at times, a bit overbearing was like saying the ocean was, at times, a bit wet. And Gideon could feel himself drowning.
Chapter 21
Miriam returned to her room at the hotel for the second night of her convalescence. She arrived at Gideon’s house at half past eight the next morning to begin her nursing duties. Gideon had not officially fired her, and she meant to prove herself worthy of being kept on. She had no delusions of her plan succeeding in the long term, but she didn’t know what else to do.
Stepping into Gideon’s parlor to the sound of his mother asking why he’d chosen a cherry end table when his desk was mahogany told her as nothing else could that she was unlikely to be the first concern on Gideon’s mind. That was reassuring, at least.
Gideon stood like a man at a mark, not responding to his mother’s detailed suggestions for improving the look of his home. Gideon, a respected doctor who never seemed out of his depth, listened helplessly.
Had he not yet learned how to survive the attentions of such a mother? Fortunately for him, Miriam was an expert.
As soon as Mrs. MacNamara stopped for a breath, Miriam jumped in. “Good morning, Dr. MacNamara. What is on our schedule for today?”
His attention was immediately on her. “Miriam. Are you—?”
“Ready to review the day? I certainly am.” She gave his mother a sweet smile. “You will excuse us, I hope. Organization is key to a well-run day.”
Mrs. MacNamara sputtered a moment before settling into silence.
Gideon shot Miriam a grateful look, then moved to his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Rupert was limping at the social, so I’ve asked his mother to bring him back by.”
“His leg should be healed by now.”
“I believe it is,” Gideon said. “Both the break and the wound from the operation. Yet, he is still limping.”
It was odd. “Six-year-old boys don’t limp for no reason.”
“My thoughts exactly.” His gaze dropped to the paper again. “The Clarks’ mare is likely to foal today—”
“Gideon,” Mrs. MacNamara spoke over him. “I believe I have not yet been introduced to your nurse.”
“You met her yesterday afternoon.” Gideon really didn’t seem to know how to best interact with his mother.
“But that was not a proper introduction,” Miriam said. She faced Mrs. MacNamara, whose taffeta gown could not have been more out of place in such a small, no-account town. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. MacNamara. I am Miriam Bricks.”
“Bricks? I know a few with that surname.”
Her own mother was forever ranking families. This was no different. “I would be surprised if you were familiar with my father’s family. He is British.”
“I didn’t know that,” Gideon said.
“You never asked.”
“And from where does your mother hail?” It seemed Mrs. MacNamara was determined to assume control of the conversation.
Miriam knew better than to fight it. “My mother is from New York City. That is where I grew up, in fact.”
That seemed to impress Mrs. MacNamara. “What does your mother’s family do?”
“My grandfather is in shipping, as are several of his sons, though one is a banker.”
Mrs. MacNamara nodded her approval.
“I didn’t know that either.” Gideon set down his paper. “What else haven’t you told me about your family?”
Mrs. MacNamara didn’t allow his question to be answered before asking one of her own. “What is your father’s line of business?”
“He is an importer. He ships goods from England.”
“Is that so?” Quick as that, Mrs. MacNamara was no longer dripping with disapproval as she had been the afternoon before.
Miriam had experienced such shallowness before; the same focus on the outward had thoroughly condemned her for having a condition “no one cared to witness.” She disliked it, but she understood it.
“Who else are we expecting today?” She returned her attention to Gideon and the business at hand.
“No one, which is actually a good thing.” Gideon folded his hands in front of him. “I need to decide what to do about my trip to Quarterville.”
This was news. “When are you going to Quarterville?”
“I had originally planned to leave in three days.” He leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “I was leaving the town in your care, but now, with you feeling unwell . . .”
“I am much better today, other than my shoulder.”
“Miriam.”
She held firm. This was her chance to prove herself. If she could convince him to keep her on, even temporarily . . .
“Paisley could stay here at the house,” Miriam said. “She has assisted you before. Or Tansy. We both know she knows more about treating injuries and illness than anyone had guessed.”
“It is not your competency that concerns me,” he said. “I would be gone for nearly a week, and we don’t yet know how fully recovered you are.”
Mrs. MacNamara cleared her throat. Gideon stopped on a tight sigh.
“You are leaving?” Mrs. MacNamara clearly disapproved. “But your father and I have only just arrived. You cannot go running about the country when you have guests.”
The usually jovial Gideon was anything but when talking with his mother. “This is my job. It’s what I do, and traveling is part of it.”
“But your father and I—”
“I didn’t know you were coming, and I cannot stop doing my job in order to entertain you.”
“We—”
“Mrs. MacNamara, have you had the chance yet to visit the millinery across the street? Mrs. Wilhite and Mrs. Carol, I am certain, would welcome your expertise on the latest Eastern fashions. And beyond that, they are lovely women. I believe you would enjoy spending time with them.”
She didn’t answer immediately. Miriam suspected Mrs. MacNamara was unaccustomed to not being in charge of every exchange.
After a moment, Mrs. MacNamara regained her composure. “I should go visit. Knowing the people who are looking out for Gideon will help us accomplish our goal for this journey.”
“Wasn’t tyrannizing me the goal for this journey?” Gideon muttered.
Miriam shot him a warning look.
“I will go look in on the millinery,” Mrs. MacNamara said.
“And will you ask Mrs. Wilhite if she will find me a length of puce ribbon?” Miriam added.
Gideon turned quickly away, biting his lips against an obvious smile.
“Puce?” Mrs. MacNamara repeated. “That is an odd color to request.”
“Yes, but I need you to ask for that color quite particularly.”
“Very well.” Mrs. MacNamara looked to her son one more time. “We will discuss this trip of yours when your father returns from wherever he’s gone off to. Likely the jailhouse.” She shook her head in exasperation. “I do not understand his fascination with such morbid things. He is a respected banker in Washington and quite influential in political circles. A single day in this town has turned him into a little boy playing with toys. I do not understand it at all.”
A moment later, only Miriam and Gideon remained in the parlor.
“I am sorry about that,” Gideon said. “My mother has particular ideas about . . . everything.”
“So does mine. I, however, am far more interested in discussing your cancelled plans.”
He came around his desk and sat on the corner of it, facing her. “It is only the two of us now. Tell me honestly—how are you feeling?”
Healing Hearts Page 14
