The Accidental Lawman (18 page)

“The Harroways have always been able to trust me to keep their troubles private,” she began.

“Are you afraid I’m going to make them front-page news?”

“If it wasn’t for my brother, you’d have nothing scandalous at all to write about.”

“Do the Harroways have something of a scandal brewing?”

She grabbed her medical bag from the floor of the buggy and plopped it in her lap. “Stop the buggy. I’ll walk.”

Hank looked around and made the mistake of laughing. “Settle down, Amelia. We’re miles from anywhere.”

“I can go back to the Ellenbergs’ and get a horse. It’s not that far.”

“I’m sorry, Amelia. I was just teasing.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Nothing seemed funny anymore. Except for a few blissful moments now and then, when Hank smiled at her in his warm, special way, or back at the Ellenbergs’ when she’d held the peacefully sleeping child or had laughed at something Hattie told her—except for those respites, there was only torment over Evan.

Suddenly she realized Hank was pulling back on the
reins. His horse stopped in the middle of the road. She looked out over the prairie. The minute the buggy came to a standstill, the sun’s heat seemed to intensify.

Was he really going to let her get out and walk?

“I’m sorry, Amelia,” he said softly.

With her hands fisted around the handles of the medicine bag, she turned to Hank. He draped his arm across the back of the buggy seat, not touching her, but it was a move that reminded her of the day he’d held her in the shelter of his arm when he stood up to Oz Caldwell for her.

That day she’d felt cared for, protected. Usually she was the caregiver, not the other way around.

She stared at her hands, afraid to look into his face, into his eyes.

Afraid she might shock them both by kissing him again.

“I shouldn’t have teased you, Amelia. I know how much your reputation as a healer means to you. I would never jeopardize that by printing a story that should remain confidential.”

She swallowed. “Thank you.”

She shifted her gaze out to the horizon and listened to the erratic beat of her heart.

“Have you ever thought of going to medical school?”

“Pardon?” Caution flew as she turned to meet his gaze.

“Medical school. From what you’ve told me of your work with your father during the war, you’ve had more experience than many bona fide doctors.”

“I’m—I’m too old,” she mumbled.

“You’re what? Twenty-three?”

“Twenty-seven,” she whispered. He thought her younger? She was nearly thirty. Nearly at an age when most women lost any hope of marrying or having children of their own. Would he think differently of her now?

“You say that as if twenty-seven were a hundred.”

He was doing it again. Staring in a way that made her want to lose herself in his eyes. She wished she could distill and bottle whatever magic was in his gaze as easily as she bottled one of her elixirs.

“Amelia?”

“We should be going,” she whispered.

Hattie was right. It wasn’t safe out here on the prairie alone and she certainly wasn’t safe with Hank while having such wayward thoughts. She reminded herself of who she was and where they were going.

“I’m needed at Harroway House,” she said.

His smile was nearly her undoing.

“I’m beginning to realize how very much I need you in my life, Amelia.”

She could barely concentrate when they arrived at Harroway House. Sigrid came flying off the porch to meet the buggy when it pulled up. The lovely young woman with her plaited hair bound up atop her head like a crown barely gave Hank a second glance as she waited for Amelia to climb down.

“Missus is havin’ a bad time vit Miz Fanny.”

Amelia grabbed her arm before she could say more in front of Hank. She turned to him and called over her shoulder, “Wait here for me. I’ll send Sigrid back out to let you know how long I might be.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he called.

Seeing the maid’s distress, Amelia realized that in that moment Hank was the least of her worries.

Amelia lowered her voice as they hurried toward the wide veranda framed by huge white columns. “How bad is she? What’s happening?”

“Miz Fanny has been tro’in up all her meals. She stood up dis morning and she…she…” Sigrid put her hand to her forehead and pretended to swoon. “She hit her head on da edge of da table.”

“Fainted?”

The maid nodded. “Ya. Fainted. She’s been sick as a mule.”

“Dog. Sick as a dog,” Amelia corrected absently.

“Ya. Dat, too.”

They hurried up the stairs and found Sophronia pacing outside Fanny’s door. She ran to Amelia, grabbed her free hand and dragged her away from the locked door.

“It’s about time, Amelia,” she said in a rough whisper. “Where
were
you?”

Amelia ignored her rudeness. “Sigrid said Fanny hasn’t been eating?”

Sophronia nodded. “She can’t keep anything down, not even water. She’s worse than ever. Ranting, talking to herself. Bouts of hysteria, yelling, sobbing. She’s sure she has a tumor and that she’s dying of it.”

“She didn’t mention a tumor when I was here last week.”

“This is a brand-new obsession.” Sophronia glanced down the hall and then shook her head. “Before long I’ll be as insane as she is.”

The woman was so angry, so upset, that Amelia didn’t want her around Fanny.

“Why don’t you unlock the door and then go downstairs and have a cup of tea. I can handle Fanny.”

Sophronia appeared doubtful. “I’ve never seen her like this. Do you think you might have made a mistake when you concocted that latest tea mixture? She’s gotten worse.”

Amelia thought back, realized this was no time to doubt herself. She wrote down every formula in her
notebook, checked and rechecked every measurement just to make certain no patient ever received the wrong dosage of any curative agents.

She put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “There was nothing wrong with the tea. Unlock the door and I’ll try to find out what’s ailing her. You try to relax. I know how taxing this must be for you.”

There were deep shadows beneath Sophronia’s exotic dark eyes. She seemed embarrassed by Amelia’s concern. As if aware that she’d let down her guard, she turned her attention to the ring of keys dangling from her waistband and led Amelia back to Fanny’s door.

Sophronia slipped the key off the ring and handed it to Amelia.

“Be sure to lock the door after you. She’s slippery as an eel when she wants to be.”

Amelia nodded. She paused with her hand on the knob and offered up a silent prayer. Then she waited until Sophronia walked away before she knocked softly on the door and called out, “Fanny? It’s Amelia. I’m here to see you, to find out what’s wrong. May I come in?”

There was no answer so Amelia knocked again. “Fanny? I need to examine you.”

“I’m dying. There’s nothing you can do,” Fanny called back. She sounded weak and forlorn.

“Why don’t I take a look and we’ll see about that?”

“It’s no use.”

Have you ever thought of going to medical school?

She tightened her hand on her bag, straightened her spine.

“I’m a very good doctor, Fanny. Let me take a look at you.”

“The door is locked, of course.”

Amelia unlocked the door, opened it a crack and poked her head into the room. Fanny, dressed in a long white nightgown, was reclining on the bed. The covers were rumpled and askew, pillows tossed around. There were books scattered all over the floor, the table, the window seat.

“May I come in?” Amelia could tell by the look on Fanny’s face that no one ever asked permission to enter her room, they simply unlocked the door and breezed in.

“Of course.” Fanny grabbed a pillow and tried to prop herself up, but a greenish pallor tinted her face and she lay flat again and moaned. “Every time I sit up, I vomit.”

Amelia crossed the room. When she reached Fanny’s bedside, she felt the young woman’s forehead and found it cool to the touch.

“Stick your tongue out, Fanny.”

Fanny did. Amelia nodded.

“Looks fine to me,” she said. She pulled a chair up beside the bed and held Fanny’s wrist. “Your pulse is steady.”

“I’m dying,” she moaned. “I have a tumor.”

Amelia sat back. “Where exactly do you think this tumor might be?”

Fanny placed her palm on her lower abdomen. “Right here. I can feel it growing inside me.”

“May I feel it?” Amelia stood and leaned over Fanny.

“Go ahead. You’ll see.”

Amelia opened both her palms and pressed them gently against Fanny’s abdomen. She moved her hands over the top and sides of Fanny’s flat belly and then a bit lower. There was no evidence of any growth large enough to feel.

“Well?”

“I don’t feel anything.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” Fanny’s eyes wid
ened and she grabbed Amelia’s wrist hard. “I
know
it is. I know it is. I know it is.”

Amelia gently wrested her wrist back from Fanny and sat down again. “How do you know?”

“They told me! That’s how I know. They never lie to me. They told me I have a tumor and it’s all my fault. Sinners must be punished, you know, Amelia. My papa always said sinners are always punished. That’s what they say, too.” She always referred to the voices in her head as “they.”

Amelia looked around the room. “How do you feel you have sinned, Fanny?”

“It’s a secret I can’t tell. I’m not to ever tell anyone. Ever.”

Amelia reckoned Fanny feared death more than the voices in her head.

“I’m sure that if they knew telling might save your life, then it would be permissible, don’t you think?”

Fanny reached up and grabbed handfuls of her butchered hair and tugged.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” she groaned. “You have to help me.”

Amelia studied the lovely floral pattern of the Persian carpet beneath her feet, trying to come up with a way to help the tortured soul.

Fanny began to thrash and roll from side to side mumbling, “I hate waking up. I can’t even put my feet on the floor anymore. I can’t stand the smell of that tea you gave me. I don’t know what’s to become of me. They whisper to me that I’m doomed. I should have never listened to the others. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever—”

“Fanny, stop!” Amelia’s sharp command halted the tirade. “I need silence.”

“Are they talking to you, too?”

“No,” Amelia assured her, closing her eyes. The sight of Fanny stretched out on the bed tearing at her hair was too distracting. “They aren’t. I’m just thinking.”

Smells bother her. She feels faint upon standing.

Nausea. Loss of appetite.

Sinners must be punished, you know.

Suddenly Amelia opened her eyes and stared at Fanny. She reached for her bag, unwilling to leave it with the girl, and stood.

“Where are you going, Amelia? You’re giving up, aren’t you? I’m going to die, aren’t I? I knew it.” Then Fanny paused, cocked her head to one side as if listening and then began nodding yes vigorously. “I know. I know.”

“What are they saying, Fanny?”

“They are reminding me that you can’t help me.” She dissolved into hysterics. Shrieking and sobbing, she rolled across the bed and began to rip the sheets away from the mattress. “No one can help me! I’m doomed! I’m dooooomed!”

The door flew open and Sophronia came charging in.

“What have you done, Amelia? She’s worse than before. At least I’d had her calmed down a bit.” Sophronia stared down at her charge, her hands clasped.

Amelia signaled Sophronia and they crossed the room to stand before the window seat.

“When was her last menses?” Amelia whispered, not wanting Fanny to hear.

“Her last menses?” Sophronia’s lips pursed. “Why? Surely you aren’t thinking—”

“I’m thinking that if there’s some blockage, if there is some reason why she hasn’t had her monthly, then that would account for these hysterics—”

Sophronia turned her sharp gaze Fanny’s way. “You mean she may actually have a tumor?”

Fanny let out a shriek.

Amelia leaned close and whispered, “Is there any possible chance that she may be…that she could be…expecting?”

Sophronia blanched white. Her severe hairstyle accentuated her high cheekbones and her arching raven brows.

“Expecting? A child?” She could barely utter the words. “Preposterous. How dare you insult me like this? I have given up my own life to care for her as if she were my own blood relation and not Lemuel’s. How on earth could she be expecting? No one goes in or out of this room without my knowledge—only Sigrid and Lemuel.”

Amelia stared at the stables and the corrals beyond the window bars. There were at least five cowhands within view at this very moment. It wasn’t impossible that one of them might have found a way into the house—

“Amelia?”

“I’m sorry…I was just thinking.”

Across the room, Fanny’s shrieks had subsided to loud, heart-wrenching sobs.

Sophronia was still ranting. “Why, it’s preposterous. Ridiculous. As if any man would find
her
attractive—”

“Someone could have taken advantage of her—”

“Stop!” Sophronia held up her hand. “I refuse to hear more.”

We’ll know in time, Amelia thought, as she stared over at Fanny. Until then, the poor wretched creature needed help.

“Should we restrain her? Tie her hands and feet?” Sophronia suggested.

“Absolutely not. I’m going to give her some laudanum.
That should calm her down quickly—unless her body has built up a tolerance to it.”

“I’ve sent for Lemuel,” Sophronia told her. “He should be here soon.” She turned on Amelia, her expression foreboding. “If I were you, I would
not
bring up your absurd theory to him. Spare yourself the embarrassment.” Marching across the room, she waited by Fanny’s bed. “Bring your medicine bag over here, Amelia. If I have to, I’ll hold her down while you dose her.”

H
ank drew the buggy into the shade and, hat in hand, waited for Amelia. Eventually, Sigrid brought him a glass of lemonade and said she had no idea how long the doctor might be.

Cowhands passed by, going about their duties. Some acknowledged him with a tug of a hat brim. Others ignored him completely. He couldn’t imagine what it would take to run such a huge spread. Compared to Harroway House, the Ellenberg place was little more than a log hovel—yet love made up for its lack of amenities.

Hank was debating climbing into the buggy to take a nap in the shade when he noticed two riders approaching through the entry gate at the end of the long drive. One was dressed as a hired hand, the other wore a dark suit and a black, low-crowned hat. A gold watch fob caught the sunlight, as did his shiny plum-colored satin vest beneath his open jacket.

As the man drew closer, his looks and dress reminded Hank of some of the riverboat gamblers he’d seen in Saint Louis. The regal way the rider in black sat his horse,
the curt nod he gave Hank as he rode up, dismounted and absently tossed his reins to the hired hand marked him as the man in charge. Hank figured him as none other than Lemuel Harroway.

A womanizer,
Joe Ellenberg had said. Did Amelia know?

Hank watched the arrogant way Lemuel Harroway strode toward him and had to remind himself to keep an open mind before he passed judgment.

Harroway introduced himself and offered his hand.

Hank shook it. “I’m Hank Larson.” Thinking of Amelia’s concern for the Harroways’ privacy, he merely said, “I drove Miss Hawthorne over from the Ellenberg place where she was visiting.”

“And exactly who are you, Mr. Larson? What is your connection to Miss Hawthorne?”

“I’m a friend. I’m also sheriff of Glory.” Let him chew on that, Hank thought.

“I didn’t know Glory had a sheriff.”

“Up until a month or so ago, there wasn’t one. Now I’m it. There has been a rash of holdups and robberies in the area. Miss Hawthorne accompanied me out to the Ellenbergs to see about their newborn while I asked them to be on the lookout for a couple of desperados who hail from around here.”

“You don’t say?” Lemuel surveyed his property and the men working in the corrals. If he was at all concerned, he didn’t show it. “Who is it, exactly, we should be watching out for.”

Hank hesitated, hoping the information wouldn’t cost Amelia.

“Evan Hawthorne and Silas Jones.”

“Miss Hawthorne’s brother?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“I’m not familiar with the other man.” Lemuel glanced toward the house, looking impatient to head inside.

“He’s a hired hand. He’s worked at ranches in the area. Ellenberg fired him a couple of summers back.”

“My foreman would know better than I who is on our payroll. I’ll be sure to tell him. Silas Jones, you say? And Evan Hawthorne?”

“That’s right.”

“Thank you for the information. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” He took a few steps in the direction of the house and suddenly stopped. “Is there a reason you’re out here cooling your heels when you could be inside out of the heat?”

Hank shrugged. “There was an emergency. Your maid brought out some lemonade.”

“Come inside. No sense simmering in the heat.”

Hank almost declined, but decided he might not ever get another chance to see the inside of Harroway House so he caught up with Lemuel and, together, they went inside.

The home was elegant and extravagant at the same time. No expense had been spared on the carpentry, the wood floors, the ceiling medallions, the wall fabric or the carpeting. Hank stopped in the entry hall and took it all in. Lemuel was just telling him to make himself comfortable in the front parlor when both men were drawn to the sight of Amelia coming down the wide, gently curving staircase.

She seemed lost in thought, but when she realized they were waiting in the entry hall, her frown was replaced with an absentminded smile. Hank knew she was concerned about Lemuel’s sister.

“How is she?” Lemuel had already handed his hat to Sigrid, who appeared out of nowhere to take both their hats.

Hank was embarrassed to hand over his mauled
bowler. He gave Sigrid an apologetic shrug when he caught her staring at it.

Amelia was saying, “I’ve sedated her with a bit of laudanum. She’s calmer now. Hopefully she’ll sleep for a while. After that, we’ll see if we can get her to eat something and keep it down.”

Hank noticed Lemuel’s arrogance was gone. He was genuinely concerned for his sister’s welfare and, much to Hank’s relief, the man was cordial and solicitous to Amelia.

Lemuel took her arm and led her into the front parlor.

“Sophronia will be right down.” Amelia moved away from Lemuel and went to stand beside Hank near the settee.

Hank’s heart swelled with pride when she made it obvious they were more than mere acquaintances.

“Please, have a seat,” Lemuel said. “I’ll ring for beverages.” He walked over to a long embroidered bellpull near the double doors and gave it a tug. Hank and Amelia sat on the settee.

Just then a striking dark-eyed woman with raven hair pulled back into a severe knot walked into the room. Her emerald gown complemented her flawless ivory skin. She seemed as aloof as her husband. When she noticed Hank, she bridled and gave him a once-over.

“Who are you?” she said cooly. Her gaze drifted to Amelia and back to Hank.

“This is Mr. Larson, sheriff of Glory,” Lemuel told her. “He accompanied Miss Hawthorne. How is Fanny?” Lemuel wanted to know.

Sophronia shot a look at Hank before she said anything.

“If you’d like me to leave—” he offered.

“Not at all,” Lemuel said, surprising Hank and obviously Amelia, too.

Sophronia looked aghast. “But, Lemuel—”

“He’s a friend of Amelia’s. And the sheriff of Glory.”

“But—”

Lemuel dismissed his wife. “Amelia? What’s happening to my sister that is so dire I’ve been called home from Austin?”

Hank admired Amelia’s calm.

“Apparently, she’s been overwrought for the past few days. I was called out last week and she was distressed, but manageable. She spoke of hearing voices—”

“Nothing new,” Lemuel interrupted.

“No. Not at all. She mentioned a shadow man, someone who visits her room at night.”

“Obviously just another of her hysterical hallucinations.” Lemuel dismissed the notion with a shrug.

Hank could tell Amelia wanted to say more, but then Sophronia cut in.

“Amelia is of the opinion that Fanny might be—” Sophronia glanced at Hank and stopped. “I really don’t think this is a discussion we need carry on in public.”

Before Lemuel could protest, Hank was on his feet. “I agree, Mrs. Harroway. This conversation is of a private nature. I’ll be happy to wait outside.” He turned to Amelia and bowed. “Whenever you’re ready, Amelia.”

She nodded almost absently and he took his leave.

Twenty minutes later, she met him beside the buggy.

“I’m sorry, Hank.”

“I’m sorry for you. What an obnoxious woman.”

“She’s not always that rude, but there is a hardness there. She married Lemuel in good faith and since their marriage, he spends most of his time in Austin while she’s left here to manage his sister and the ranch.”

“Still, I hate that you have to deal with her. Is the sister going to be all right?”

A sadness crept back into Amelia’s eyes. “I doubt it. She’s been this way for years. Most of the time her illness can be managed, but once she gets out of control, it takes days, sometimes weeks, before she settles again.”

He noticed she didn’t have her bag with her. “Do you need to stay a bit longer?”

“I came out to tell you I’m going to spend the night. When Fanny wakes up, I’d like to encourage her to try to eat. I’ve some ginger compound that might help with her nausea.”

“On top of everything else, she’s ill?”

“She claims to be. It’s very odd. I wish—”

“Wish what, Amelia?”

“I wish I was at liberty to talk to someone about it.”

“It’s that troubling?”

“It is if something beyond Fanny’s control is happening to her. Perhaps Brand—”

He could tell she was musing aloud, trying to work things out in her mind. He wished she felt she could turn to him for help, but he couldn’t blame her.

“McCormick is not only wise and levelheaded, but he’s a preacher. Who better to advise you?”

“You’re right. I’ll talk to Brand if it comes to that. Mr. Harroway will have someone drive me back to town tomorrow.”

“You’re certain you need to stay on?”

“I am,” she said. “I want to. I hate to ask, but could you possibly stop by the house and feed Sweet Pickle?”

Hank took her hand. She’d looked so content with the Ellenbergs, so at peace. Now, she had not only her brother to worry about, but she’d taken on the Harroways’ troubles, as well.

“Of course. I’ll see you when you return to Glory.” He
glanced up at the house, wishing he could kiss her goodbye, knowing his very proper Miss Amelia Hawthorne would be mortified at the very idea.

The afternoon passed quickly as Amelia sat at Fanny’s bedside, watching the troubled young woman sleep. She was given the guest room beside Fanny’s for convenience. The rooms shared a connecting door. She borrowed a nightgown from Sophronia and the family Bible from Fanny’s room. It was old, the leather bindings nearly worn through, and dusty from sitting ignored on one of Fanny’s crowded shelves.

Amelia locked Fanny in, took the Bible into her room and lit a lamp on the bedside table. She changed into the borrowed nightdress, her thoughts as jumbled as buttons in a button jar when she finally slipped into bed.

She kept picturing Hank with the Ellenbergs, the easy way he chatted with all of them. The regard he had for Joe and his family. She was glad he was getting to know folks in and around Glory and she wondered if he’d actually be able to make a success of his newspaper. Right now it certainly didn’t seem as if he spent much time at it. Then again, as he said, there wasn’t much news to report. She was certainly thankful that he wasn’t devoting more space to the Perkins Gang.

But if the paper failed, would he have to leave town and move on to greener pastures?

She found herself thinking of how solicitous he’d been after seeing her stricken by the sight of the new Wanted poster. She even found herself wishing he could have kissed her goodbye this afternoon. The way he’d lingered, the way he’d held her hand made her certain that he’d wanted to as much as she’d wished he could have.

She turned to the pages of the Bible as she always did when in need of consolation and answers, hope and comfort.

She had no idea how long she read before she suddenly awoke with a start and discovered she’d been dozing.

She thought she heard the floor creak, but she couldn’t tell if the sound came from Fanny’s room or in the hallway. If Fanny was awake, perhaps she was hungry. Amelia decided to wait and see if she heard her charge stirring before she got up.

No one goes in or out of this room without my knowledge—only Sigrid and Lemuel.

Sigrid. And Lemuel.

Sophronia had been so insistent. Amelia knew without a doubt the woman was vigilant when it came to locking Fanny into her room, for truth be told, Sophronia was more than a little afraid of Fanny.

There were bars on the windows, but if Fanny had discovered a way to escape then she’d been clever enough to know to return to her room before dawn. She may have been able to sneak out of her room for illicit trysts with a cowhand. If Fanny was pregnant, and if she had not been sneaking out, then someone had been sneaking in. That
someone
had to have stolen a key somehow.

Or it’s Lemuel.

Amelia would not, could not seriously consider such an abomination.

She pressed her hands over her eyes. Exhausted, she was about to reach for the candle and blow it out when she definitely heard a floorboard creak. The sound came from Fanny’s room.

She threw back the sheet and slipped out of bed and nearly fell on her face when she tripped over the hem of Sophronia’s nightgown. Amelia scooped up the extra
fabric in one hand and headed for the connecting door, careful not to make a sound.

She’d left the key in the door. All she had to do was turn it and walk in.

She pressed her ear to the wooden panel and listened. Was that someone whispering on the other side?

Her courage nearly failed her. Did she
truly
want to discover what was on the other side of the door?

Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself.

Lord, fill me with the courage you gave Daniel in the lion’s den and give me the wisdom of Solomon so I’ll know how to best help poor Fanny.

Her hands shook as she twisted the key and the lock clicked open. Slowly, slowly, she turned the doorknob and pulled the door open.

“Is that you?” Fanny’s hoarse whisper scratched the air as it crossed the room.

“It’s me, Fanny. It’s Amelia.”

Amelia lifted the candle higher, but darkness burrowed into the corners of the large room. She paused just over the threshold of the connecting door, listened intently. The only sound was that of Fanny’s agitated breathing.

“Is that
you?
” Fanny repeated. Under the effect of the laudanum, she sounded groggy.

Amelia hurried to the bedside, set the candle down. Fanny’s eyes were open. She stared up at Amelia for a moment and then, disappointment evident in her tone, she mumbled, “Oh. It’s only you, Amelia.”

Fanny’s eyelids fluttered closed. Amelia took hold of her wrist. Her pulse was slow. Fanny’s breathing settled and she fell into deep slumber. Satisfied Fanny was alone and safe, Amelia gazed around the room. She walked to the window, paused to stare out over the stables and barn
in the near distance. Nothing moved. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

She went back into her own room, locking Fanny’s door behind her. Before she climbed into bed, she knelt and said a prayer of thanksgiving, prayed for Evan, for Hank, for everyone she remembered in her nightly prayers. She prayed for Fanny’s healing. Tonight she even prayed for Sophronia. She prayed for Lemuel.