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Marigold jerked into action and stood beside the bed.
“Each of us will take an upper arm like this.” She demonstrated, placing her forearm along Seth’s forearm and clasping his bicep securely. “Then we’ll let our arms do the work, and not your back or ribs. Got it?”
Seth glanced at Marigold, likely sizing her up for the job. She rested her right forearm along his and placed her hand around the muscled circumference above his elbow. His arm was warm and work-hardened, and decidedly masculine. An unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation fluttered in her chest. Her gaze moved to the scars on his muscled arm, where he’d been shot with Comanche arrows. This man was as different as night and day from anyone she’d ever met before. Her gaze slid hesitantly to his. Seth assessed her hair, her eyes, her chin and lips, and her skin flushed under his perusal.
“On three,” Marlys said.
He had another scar above his right eyebrow, where the skin wasn’t tanned like the rest of his face, and a fresh cut under the same eye she hadn’t noticed before. Two neat sutures held the cut closed.
“One. Two. Three.”
He grasped her arm gingerly, undoubtedly holding back so as to hurt neither her nor the lady doctor, but she gripped his and pulled firmly. His lips formed a white line, but he sat up and leaned forward. Marlys quickly slid pillows behind his back and the women allowed him to inch back onto the added support.
A fine glow of perspiration glistened on his forehead, and Marlys used a damp cloth to blot it away.
“Are you doing all right?” Marlys asked.
Seth released a breath. “Yes. I’m fine.”
Marlys hurried from the room, returned with a tray and settled it on his lap. “I’m going to see to one of my other patients now.”
“Thank you.” After the doctor had gone, he glanced at Marigold. “And thank you, Miss Brewster.”
Marigold uncovered the plate and handed it to Seth, along with a fork. His attention moved to the boys, who were taking up only two chairs, because Little John huddled on Tate’s lap.
She got the book she’d brought along and seated herself beside Harper. “My books are still packed in trunks, but I had this one with me. It’s about a little girl, but we’ll have plenty of time to read stories about boys later.”
“What is the book called?” Harper asked.
“Jessica’s First Prayer.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s about a little girl abandoned in London, but she makes an unlikely friend.”
“Who is the friend?”
Marigold grinned. “You will have to be patient, listen and find out.” She opened to the first page. “‘In a screened and secluded corner of one of the many railway-bridges which span the streets of London there could be seen a few years ago, from five o’clock every morning until half past eight, a tidily set-out coffee-stall, consisting of a trestle and board, upon which stood two large tin cans, with a small fire of charcoal burning under each so as to keep the coffee boiling during the early hours of the morning when the work-people were thronging into the city on their way to their daily toil.’”
“What’s a coffee-stall?” Tate asked.
“An open booth where a vendor...where a person sells coffee.”
“What’s a trestle?” Harper asked.
“A bridge,” Tate replied.
“Well, there are trestle bridges,” she answered, “but this is a makeshift table.”
“Trestle is the wood frame that’s holding the board on top to make a table or a bridge,” Seth explained.
Marigold gave him a relieved glance. “Yes, exactly. The table is set up so the coffee can sit upon it.”
“And then the little girl sells it,” Harper suggested.
She gave Seth an apologetic glance. “This might take a while.”
The fork hovered above his plate. He studied the faces of the curious boys, his overwhelmed expression revealing doubts about his ability to raise three young boys while he ran a ranch. He met her gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”
In that instant and with those words, much as he’d ignored pain for the sake of remaining calm in front of the children—as well as for the sake of his pride, no doubt—she watched him deny his sizable struggle and accept the responsibility that had been delivered to his door. These children frightened her. But he frightened her more. She needed control of her future. She sensed the threat each of them presented to that control.
She wanted people of her own choosing in her life, but so far, since arriving, circumstances were determining her actions. Marigold turned back to the book. She could handle anything for a short time.
* * *
The doctor’s husband, Samuel Woods Mason, was the local newspaperman. Marigold recognized his name right away, had followed his articles covering the war and read the book he’d written afterward about his army experiences. He was a talkative, friendly man and arrived with a handsome young son some time later.
“You’re the new schoolteacher?”
She extended a hand. “Yes. I’m Marigold Brewster.”
They stood in the exterior portion of the doctor’s office.
“When things settle down, I’d like to do an interview and write a piece for the Webster County Daily News. Your arrival will be of interest to the citizens.”
“Well, I don’t know how interesting I am, but I’d be happy to let people know my plans for the students.”
“Everyone is interesting if I ask the right questions,” he said with a smile. “And in this town women are of utmost interest. This is August,” he said, indicating his son. The slender boy had jet-black hair and lashes like his father’s, and appeared a couple of years older than Tate.
Marigold extended a hand. “I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other at school.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“August loves to read,” Marlys told her. “He’s learned to speak Chinese and now together, we’re learning to write the characters. He can also understand German and is picking up some Shawnee.”
Marigold looked at the boy in surprise. “My goodness. That’s impressive, August.”
He gave her a bashful smile. “Marlys teaches me languages. We visit the people who speak it so we can learn.”
He’d called the doctor Marlys, but looked to her with affection.
“Come meet the children who will soon be in your class.” Marlys rested her hand on his shoulder and introduced the boys, who’d been sitting on chairs in the waiting room. The four of them looked each other over.
“You’re going to stay with us tonight while Dr. Mason looks after your—after Mr. Halloway,” Sam explained. “We can get up early and have breakfast at The Cattleman.”
“They have flapjacks and sausage,” August told them.
The boys looked at Marigold for confirmation. She felt so out of her league with these children. She’d taught in stressful circumstances, with inadequate supplies, and in cold classrooms during the war, but she’d always been confident she had something to offer her students. These children needed so much more than she could give them.
But right now, they simply needed assurance that they were going to be safe and together, and she could offer them that. She kneeled in front of the trio and took Little John’s damp hand. “August and Mr. Mason are going to take good care of you tonight.” She looked from one little face to the next. “You’re all safe and you’re together. Tomorrow we’ll get you settled at Mr. Hallo—At Seth’s ranch. Your travels are over, and you’re going to be just fine.”
As she stood, Little John dug his fist into her skirt and clung to the fabric.
“Let go, Little John,” Tate told his smallest brother.
Little John’s lower lip trembled.
She thought quickly. “I’ll tell you what.” She moved to a nearby table, under which her open bag sat. Attached to her skirt, the toddler followed. She reached into the satchel and withdrew the book they’d started earlier. “You take care of the book for me, Little John. And tomorrow we’ll read more.”
After a moment’s thought, he released her skirt to grasp the book and clutched it to his chest. “Aw-wight.”
“That’s a good boy. Thank you.” She handed Sam the small valise that held their belongings and he led them out the door.
An ache opened in her chest as she watched them leave with a stranger. She’d been a stranger to them until a few days ago, and now she was their lifeline. They were vulnerable and helpless in a world of unfamiliar people.
Except for Seth Halloway, of course, she reminded herself. He was a strong capable man, willing and able to take over their care. Just as soon as he was on his feet again.
“I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping tonight,” Marlys told her. “It’s perfectly comfortable. I lived here before Sam and I married last year. I carried your pet’s cage into the room earlier.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
“Marlys, please.” She led the way into a long narrow room that ran the width of the building. It held a bed and bureau, a woodstove and a table with two chairs. “Feel free to make yourself a pot of tea. There’s wood in the bin. The necessary is at the end of the path out back. It’s visible in the moonlight.”
It had been six days since Marigold had dressed in her nightgown and been afforded a comfortable place to rest. Her entire body ached, and exhaustion was catching up with her. From her cage, Peony, too, was making her displeasure clear. Marigold unfastened the latch and the long-haired ginger cat stepped out, immediately inspecting the area.
Marigold had dreamed of a cup of tea, but tonight she settled for a glass of water and poured a bowlful for the cat. Marigold slipped the thick braided ribbon leash she’d made for the train ride around Peony’s neck and let her out for a few minutes, talking softly to her the whole time. Bringing Peony on the train had been challenging, but Marigold had lost so much already, she couldn’t bear to leave her pet behind. Peony symbolized home and stability—a small comfort, but a much-needed one. It would be good to get settled, so the poor dear could get used to a home again.
She changed into a delightfully unrestrictive soft cotton gown and climbed under the covers on the narrow bed. Peony leaped up and stretched along her side, her purring loud in the small room. Sweet comfort engulfed Marigold, and she stroked the animal’s soft fur. She prayed whoever took her in first was amenable to having the cat as well. “Thank You, Lord, for hearing my prayer in that railcar and sending Mr. Halloway.”
She thought of Little John’s frightened eyes, of Harper’s inquisitiveness and Tate’s brave front. Seth Halloway was going to take good care of them. He was a responsible, hardworking person. Even lying down, he probably looked like a giant to them. Fingers curled in the cat’s long silky fur, she imagined the giant tied down by the six-inch inhabitants of Lilliput in Gulliver’s Travels and smiled.
It was the last thought she had until sleep claimed her.
When she opened her eyes again, sunlight was streaming through the small window at the end of the room. She couldn’t recall falling asleep, but she remembered the strange dream. The grainy mirror over the bureau reflected a rested yet disheveled young woman with a garish purple bruise on her chin. She set her valise on the bed and found her hairbrush. Several minutes later, after dressing, gathering her clean hair into a tidy knot and feeding the cat, she put Peony back into her cage and stepped into the office.
She discovered Marlys working in an enormous cabinet filled with hanging stems and dozens of bottles and jars. The earthy aroma was strong, but not unpleasant, and unlike anything she’d ever smelled.
“I didn’t intend to sleep so long,” she said, apologizing after she greeted the doctor.
“You needed your rest. I remember what that journey was like.”
“How is Mr. Halloway this morning?”
“It’s going to be difficult keeping him still,” Marlys told her. “He’s dressed and eaten already. Aunt Mae sent food for all of us.” She pointed toward a tray on the nearby table. “There’s yours. While you eat, I’ll make you a small poultice for your chin.”
Marigold looked over the labeled jars and crocks, the bunches of hanging dried plants. “What is all this?”
Marlys explained about her practice, how she gathered most of her herbs and roots, how she’d learned healing techniques from the Cheyenne and Chinese. She was a fascinating woman, one Marigold hoped to get to know better.
“James Johnson will be here in a bit to escort all of you to the ranch,” Marlys told her. “He’s a nice young man with a baby girl named Ava. His wife, Hannah, is a skilled seamstress. Her services are in such high demand, she’s had to hire help in her shop.”
Marigold uncovered the food tray and found oatmeal, toast and cooked apple slices that smelled like cinnamon. She scooped them into her oatmeal and perched on a stool near the doctor to eat. “I’m sure there are a lot of new people to meet.”
“How did you come to teach—and to accept this position?”
“My mother was sickly and my father traveled a lot. I had a teacher who took an interest in me, and when her husband went to fight, she and I spent a lot of time together. She helped me get my teaching certificate. Her husband didn’t return from the war, so she moved to be with family. That’s when I became the schoolteacher in our small town, Athens, Ohio. My older sister and I inherited our parents’ home, so things were comfortable enough for a while.”
None of that explained why she was here. She rested her spoon on the tray. She’d come here to put all of this behind her but for some reason she related her story to the woman. “We both worked and cared for my niece. It wasn’t easy for a couple of years, but we had each other. Then Daisy got sick. I took care of her, but she got weaker and weaker until she died.”
The doctor turned and gave her a sympathetic nod. “I’m sorry.” Then she handed her a warm wet cloth covered in pungent-smelling leaves. “Press that to the bruise.”
Marigold did as instructed. The soothing warmth felt good. “After that I just couldn’t stay in that big empty house.”
“And your niece? Where is she?”
A crushing weight pressed against Marigold’s heart. She flattened her palm against her breast as though to relieve the ache. “She... Her father came and got her. She went to live with him.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
Marigold shook her head. “No, it’s all right. We all have our stories.”
A sound alerted them to another’s presence in the room. She turned to discover Seth Halloway’s imposing presence several feet away. He’d dressed in his clothing, which had obviously been laundered and pressed since yesterday—brown trousers, a loose white shirt without a collar and suspenders. He had a worn holster with a revolver slung over his shoulder. She’d thought him imposing lying down, but he was an even more intimidating figure standing erect.
“Mr. Halloway experienced one of my mineral baths this morning.” The lady doctor closed and locked her cupboard before walking toward him. “How does your side feel now?”
“Surprisingly better.”
“Is your head hurting any longer?”
“No.”
She reached up to move the hair from his forehead, and Marigold astonished herself by wondering what that lock felt like to the touch. Her fingertips against the poultice pack tingled, and warmth crept into her cheeks.
“The swelling has gone down,” Marlys told him. “All you need now is rest. I’m going to warn you the ride home won’t be pleasant with those bruised ribs. I want you to take a tincture for the trip.”
“It feels better.”
The business-like lady doctor put a hand on her hip. “Do you want to spend the entire ride in pain and pretending it doesn’t hurt so you don’t frighten the children?”
His lowered eyebrows showed he hadn’t considered that. “All right. Just for the ride.” His gaze traveled to Marigold and pinned her to her seat. “Are you all right?”
“Oh. Yes. Just a bruise.” She took away the cloth, so he could see her chin.
Seth took a few steps closer and reached to pick a leaf from her skin. He set it on the cloth in her hand. His lashes were thick and black, his eyes revealing concern as he inspected her injury. Her breathing came shallow and ragged at his unsettling nearness.
The bell over the door chimed and Seth stepped back, breaking the tension. The black-haired young man who had taken Seth’s supplies to the ranch the day before removed his hat. “Mornin’, ladies. Halloway.”
“Thanks for your help, James,” Seth said to the newcomer.
