The Doctor Takes a Wife (15 page)

Mrs. Patterson kept staring at Sarah with speculative eyes.

“That'll be five dollars for the baked goods, as usual,” Sarah said at last, reminding the proprietress why she had come. She didn't want to think about Jesse or Ada anymore, not when she had Sunday to anticipate, when she and Nolan would go to church together and then for dinner and a buggy ride.

“And Papa would like a half pound of peppermints,” Prissy piped up.

“T
his is indeed a day of celebration,” Reverend Chadwick announced, beaming from the pulpit as he looked out over the congregation. “Our first service since the influenza epidemic has abated, thanks to the goodness and mercy of the Lord…”

There were several calls of “Amen, preacher!”

“Thanks also in no small part to our dedicated physician, Dr. Nolan Walker,” Chadwick continued, gesturing to where Nolan sat in a pew close to the front, with Sarah, Milly and Nick Brookfield and Mayor Gilmore and Prissy, “and his dedicated corps of nurses, also known as the Simpson Creek Spinsters' Club. Would you stand, Doctor, and you ladies, too, that we may show our appreciation?”

They did so, to the sound of loud applause, but to Sarah's surprise, Nolan raised his hand as if he wished to speak.

“Dr. Walker, you have something to say?”

“Yes, indeed I do, Reverend. I want to add my thanks and admiration to these devoted ladies,” he said, gesturing next to him, where Sarah and Prissy stood, then
around the pews to indicate Faith Bennett, Bess Lassiter, Maude Harkey, Jane Jeffries and Polly Shackleford. “Doctoring is my duty, and I accept it gladly, but these ladies
volunteered
to nurse the sick, going above and beyond anything that could have been expected of them and exposing themselves to the danger of contagion—” He caught Sarah's gaze then. His eyes glistening, he seemed to have trouble going on.

“And we are very glad Miss Sarah survived her brush with death,” Reverend Chadwick finished for him. “Thank you, ladies, Doctor.” They sat down to more applause. “And now we should remember those who the Lord chose to call home in the epidemic,” the preacher went on, “so that we may pray for their families—Mr. Parker, Mrs. Gilmore, her sister Mrs. Tyler…” As he began to speak, the steeple bell began to toll, one tinny bong for each name. “Mr. Patterson, Mr. Calhoun, Sheriff Poteet, Pete Collier—who had so lately come to live with us—Mr. and Mrs. Spencer…”

The preacher kept reading the list of the dead. But Sarah heard a muffled sob from the back of the church, and thinking it was Caroline Wallace, who'd been Pete Collier's fiancée, turned around. She was surprised to see that the weeper was Ada Spencer, garbed in deep mourning, sitting with a black handkerchief to her eyes. None other than Jesse Holt sat beside her.

Their gazes met, and Jesse smirked at her.

They must have come in late. Quickly, Sarah turned around again, glad that Nolan hadn't noticed her looking. But Milly had followed her gaze, and Milly's wide-
eyed, shocked face reminded Sarah that she had much to tell her sister.

Sarah told herself it was nothing to her if Ada wanted to put on mourning only when it suited her, and have Jesse Holt console her. At least Ada was no longer claiming she was pregnant, and accusing Nolan of fathering her child. Nolan was a much better man than Jesse had ever been, and Nolan loved her.

And then she felt ashamed for allowing herself to be distracted by less than spiritual thoughts in the Lord's house, and resolved to keep her mind on the hymns and the sermon to follow.

“Let us now stand and sing the first hymn. Mr. Connell, if you will lead us? I'm sure Miss Sarah will be back at her piano next week….”

For the rest of the church service, Sarah threw herself wholeheartedly into worshipping God and being thankful for Nolan's presence beside her, thankful too that he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the singing and listening carefully to the preaching.

“Would you and Nolan like to come out to the ranch for Sunday dinner?” Milly asked afterward, as the congregation filed out and spilled down the church steps onto the lawn. “Now that I'm feeling better, I'm finding I love to cook. I'd like to show you how accomplished I've become.”

“Could we make it another Sunday?” Sarah asked. “Nick's taking me to dinner at the hotel, and then for a buggy ride.”

“Of course we can!” Milly exclaimed with a pleased grin. Then, seeing Nolan had been buttonholed by Mrs.
Detwiler to discuss her grandchild's teething woes, she pulled Sarah aside out of the earshot of others.

“If you're not coming to the ranch, then you'll have to tell me now when Jesse Holt reappeared like Lazarus coming forth from the grave!” she said in a low voice. “Why didn't you warn me? I nearly swooned in surprise when I turned around and saw him. And what's he doing with that Ada Spencer, who I see is no longer ‘with child'? Dear Sarah, how do you feel about all that?”

Sarah couldn't help but chuckle at the spate of dramatic questions, and told her all about her surprise encounter with Jesse and what had followed.

“Well, I think you've made the right choice,” Milly said a few minutes later, just before they walked back to rejoin Nolan and Nick. “Jesse Holt will come to no good end if he doesn't change his ways.”

 

Dinner in the hotel had been wonderful, and since the weather had cooperated to produce a sunny, mild February day, they took Nolan's buggy out to the meadow west of the creek. Nolan couldn't believe he was actually sitting in his buggy with Sarah close beside him and stealing frequent smiling glances at him. If he was dreaming, he didn't want to wake up.

A mule deer doe and twin fawns hopped away as the buggy crossed the bridge. The cottonwoods and live oaks along the creekside were bursting with pale green leaves unfurling from their stems. Birds warbled their songs from the trees or flitted from branch to branch, twigs clutched in their beaks, building their nests.

“Just wait a month, and this meadow will be carpeted
in bluebonnets,” Sarah promised him. “And the next month, gold and red flowers, Indian blanket, Mexican hat, primroses—Nolan, you can't believe how beautiful it is!”

“I can't believe how beautiful
you
are, Sarah,” he said, cupping her cheek. “And as I said in church, how kind, how brave…”

“Brave? Me? I'm not brave at all,” she protested. “Milly would tell you I've been a quiet little mouse all my life. She's been the brave one, the leader.”

“I don't think she'd say that anymore,
Nurse
Sarah. In fact, I think you have all the qualities to make an excellent doctor's wife.”

When his words hit her, she gaped at him. “Dr. Nolan Walker! Did you just propose to me, on our very first outing together?”

He grinned. “Ayuh,” he said, in a deliberately exaggerated “Downeast” accent. “We men of Maine don't waste time. Am I going too fast, sweetheart? I promise you'll get your courtship, never fear, but you and I both know I've been courting you every time we met—as much as you'd let me, anyway—ever since Founder's Day last fall.”

She considered his words. “I guess that's true. All right, as long as you don't stint on the courtship—we Texas ladies set great store by courting, I'll have you know—I agree.”

“Did you just say
yes
, Miss Sarah, on our very first outing as a courting couple?”

She nodded, blushing a rosy pink that made her even lovelier still.

He couldn't wait any longer, and lowered his lips to hers.

They were still exchanging kisses interspersed with sweet words when they heard horses approaching them from eastward beyond the town.

Letting go of one another, they lifted their heads.

 

Sarah's first thought chilled her heart—was it another Comanche attack? They were not far from the road—there was no time to hide—they'd both be killed… She sat paralyzed, wondering if there was time for them to run and conceal themselves in the underbrush along Simpson Creek.

Then common sense asserted itself and she relaxed. No, these horsemen didn't seem to be in any hurry, and she could hear the jingling of bits and spurs and the creaking of leather saddles as well as snatches of talk and laughter. Just some ranch hands coming into town for the afternoon…

But the riders who came into view did not look like any cowboys from the outlying ranches. They were bearded and rough, and each had loaded saddlebags with rifles and bedrolls strapped to the cantles. Their hats were worn low over their foreheads. They passed by without seeming to notice the buggy sitting in a grove of trees near the road, and there was something about them that put Sarah in mind of a pack of wolves—or of Jesse.

“Wonder where they're bound for?” Nolan murmured in a low voice. “They look like trouble.”

Sarah nodded, keeping her eyes on them.

Snatches of talk drifted back to Sarah as they passed.
“…Said he'd meet us east a' town. Hope he's got some whiskey—saloon's probably closed up tighter'n a drum on account of it bein' Sunday…”

“Reckon he's made up his mind by now…”

“Yeah, well, if he ain't, we ain't hangin' around while he chases some skirt…”

Sarah put a hand out to steady herself against Nolan's arm. “Nolan, I think those men are the Gray Boys—the gang Jesse spoke of being their leader.”

He gazed after the cloud of dust they had left behind, then back at her. “Perhaps we'd better wait no longer to tell Prissy's father what we've seen. It's all very well to advertise for a new sheriff, but in the meantime, he's got to have a plan in place to deal with troublemakers.”

By tacit agreement, they left the peaceful glade and drove back across the creek into town.

Mayor Gilmore, wakened by Prissy from his Sunday afternoon nap, listened attentively, absently stroking his full beard.

“I don't know that I'm convinced that those men have anything to do with your Jesse Holt, Sarah—”

“Papa, he's not
Sarah's
Jesse Holt anymore!” Prissy cried, her gaze apologetic as it flew from Sarah to Nolan.

The mayor blinked and cleared his throat. “Pardon me, Miss Sarah, I spoke without thinking—meant no offense—but it would probably be prudent to appoint somebody as temporary sheriff, until the right man answers our advertisement, just in case. Trouble is, I don't know who'd be up to the job. His deputy sure isn't. How about you, Dr. Walker?”

Sarah saw Nolan's jaw drop at the question.

Nolan said flatly, “Mayor, I'm a
physician
, not a lawman.”

“I know, but you were in the war…I'll warrant you had to be capable with a firearm in the army, even if your weapon was more often a scalpel.”

Sarah saw Nolan's jaw tighten, and sensed the turmoil churning inside him from his rigid posture.

“There are several men of the town who were actually
soldiers
in the war,” Nolan argued. “Naturally, I'd be willing to assist whoever you select—”

“Yes, there are, but the job calls for judgment and common sense, and the ability to lead, and I'm convinced you have that in good measure, Dr. Walker,” the mayor retorted briskly.

“Thank you for the compliment, sir,” Nolan said, “but I think I can serve the town better as its doctor.”

The phrase “ability to lead” sparked an idea in Sarah. “Mayor Gilmore, what about my brother-in-law, Nicholas Brookfield? He was a captain in the British army, and he certainly led the effort to have the fort built in town last fall.”

The old man blinked. “Of course, of course. I think that influenza must have boiled my common sense, not to mention my memory! Do you suppose he'd accept, Miss Sarah?”

“Until a permanent sheriff could be hired, yes, sir. But we won't know till we ask, will we?”

The mayor rubbed his chin whiskers, then said with a flash of his old decisiveness, “I believe we'd better act quickly. Doctor, would you be willing to take Miss Matthews out to the ranch now and ask Brookfield if he'd do it? Of course it'd be subject to town council
approval, but I think they'll follow my suggestion if he accepts.”

“Of course, Mayor,” Nolan said.

“Good. Prissy, would you go 'round to the councilmen's houses now and tell them I'm calling an urgent meeting at ten o'clock tomorrow?”

Sarah sprang up along with Nolan feeling relieved to be doing something to help in the crisis, but she couldn't help wondering if even Nick Brookfield would be enough to stop the trouble that was coming.

B
y the time they left the ranch that evening, they had not only secured Nick's agreement to serve as the temporary sheriff if the council agreed, but had been given a delicious early supper by Milly.

“Your sister and brother-in-law are delightful people, Sarah,” Nolan said as they neared Simpson Creek.

Sarah smiled in the darkness as the horse trotted along. “I can tell they like you, too. And Milly's relieved that I've finally seen the error of my ways. Once she'd met you, she was so upset with me for rejecting you because you're a Yankee.” She chuckled. “I wonder what she'd say if she knew you've already proposed, this very afternoon!”

Nolan favored her with a teasing sidelong glance. “Why didn't you tell her?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Because then she'd say I gave in too easily! She can't let go of being the big sister who knows best, you kn—”

Her voice trailed off as the saloon came into view, all lit up. From within, the strains of tinny piano music drifted out on the chilly evening air.

“What's going on?” she murmured aloud. “The saloon's never open on Sunday, never. I've always heard George Detwiler would like to, but you know Mrs. Detwiler, his mother—she'd never stand for it.” Then she spotted a handful of men striding into it, laughing and talking loudly—and one woman, around whose waist a man's arm was curled.

The buggy drew closer, and Sarah saw the woman turn to hear something the man was saying. Sarah recognized Ada Spencer. The man touching her so familiarly was Jesse Holt—which meant the men pushing open the batwing doors were the Gray Boys. “Nolan—”

“Unfortunately, there's nothing illegal about a bunch of drifters visiting a saloon, even if it is Sunday,” he said, guessing the cause of her apprehension. “And they've committed no crimes, as far as we know. We'd best get you inside out of the cold, sweetheart,” he added, seeing her shiver.

That night, she was wakened by gunfire from the direction of the road, and went to her window, which looked out on the street. Pulling aside the curtain, she was in time to see horsemen galloping away. Even through the closed window, she could hear their raucous whooping and hollering and shooting into the air.

 

Sarah came out the next morning with a load of pies for the hotel just as Nick was mounting his horse at the Gilmores' stable.

“Nick, am I to call you Sheriff Brookfield?” she called, raising a hand in greeting.

“For the time being, yes,” he confirmed as he swung his leg over the saddle. His face was grim, absent of the good humor that usually marked it. As he turned to greet her, she saw the five-pointed tin star already pinned to the collar of his coat.

A premonitory trickle of apprehension skittered down her spine. “Has something happened?”

“The ranch was hit by rustlers at sunrise,” he told her in his crisp British accent. “They drove off all the cattle in the back pasture, every last head. Micah happened to be out there checking on a cow with a new calf, and they shot him.”

She couldn't stifle the sound that escaped her. Micah was the youngest of the Brown brothers who were all cowhands at the ranch.

At her cry of alarm, he held up a hand. “He'll be all right, I think. He's at the doctor's right now, getting the bullet removed from his arm.”

What he wasn't mentioning, Sarah knew, was what a devastating effect the loss of the cattle would be to the ranch if they were not recovered. They'd lost almost half their herd last year when the Comanches had raided. Milly and Nick had hoped to build up the herd enough to make a profit when drovers came through next year.

“I—I'll go see him,” she said, feeling unfocused, “and see if there's anything I can do to help Nolan.”

“You're a good woman, Sarah. I know Micah would like that. Milly's there, but she's rather shaken up, you know, what with waking up to the sound of gunfire, then seeing Micah riding in, his arm all bloody…”

Sarah could well imagine, having awoken to the
sound of gunfire herself. And as stalwart as her sister was, she never could stand the sight of blood, and now she was expecting a child…

“Is Milly all right? Shouldn't you be with her?” She heard a sharp, disapproving edge in her voice, and was sorry, but this was her
sister
. “Perhaps she should stay at the cottage with Prissy and me while you're serving as sheriff.”

“I tried to stay with her at the doctor's,” Nick protested, “but she knew I was supposed to be at the council meeting here and chivied me out the office door. Besides, your Nolan said he'd check her to make sure all was well with the child. And I
did
already suggest she stay here with you while I'm away from the ranch, but she insists that since there's nothing left to steal, we won't be troubled again.”

Milly was probably right. Reassured somewhat by the news that her sister was behaving with her characteristic feisty resolve, Sarah felt her tensed shoulders relax some, though the worry remained.

“Josh and the others have already rounded up a posse to catch the rustlers. I'm riding to join up with them now.”

She didn't know if it would prove helpful, but she told Nick about seeing the group of men and Ada going into the saloon last night.

His eyes narrowed. “Your erstwhile friend Ada sounds a right foolish woman,” he said. “But thanks for letting me know. Leave word at the jail, if you spot them again.”

Stopping only long enough at the cottage to tell Prissy the news and ask her to deliver her pies, Sarah
picked up her skirts and hurried down the street to Nolan's office, arriving out of breath and feeling her carefully pinned hair falling down her back.

Milly jumped up from her straight-backed chair in the waiting room and fell into Sarah's arms. “Oh, sister, I'm so glad you're here!”

Elijah, Micah's eldest brother, rose more slowly beside Milly, his face betraying his anxiety.

Milly's shoulders shuddered with sobs. “Your Dr. Walker says Micah'll be all right as long as gangrene doesn't set in….”

Sarah stayed with her sister and Elijah until Milly was calm again, then went through the office door to see if she could be of help.

As she entered, the sharp tang of carbolic stung her nostrils. Nolan looked up sharply from the roll of linen he was winding around the cowhand's arm, but his stare softened as he recognized her.

“I'm glad you've come,” Nolan said, his gaze caressing her. “I was afraid it was your sister trying to help again. She means well, but she turned white as this bandage when she attempted to be my assistant a few minutes ago.”

“Hello, Miss Sarah,” Micah said from the doctor's examining table. Under his dark skin, he looked a little pale himself.

“Hello, Dr. Nolan, Micah.” Their formality in front of the cowboy felt odd after what had happened between them at the creek yesterday. “Micah, how are you feeling?” She tried to avoid looking at the small, round metal container beside him in which a bloody, misshapen bullet lay.

“Better now, Miss Sarah,” he said in his soft, slurred drawl. “This Dr. Nolan, he's one fine bullet remover. I barely felt it,” he said. The pain shining in his eyes, and the beads of sweat shimmering on his brow, however, belied his words.

“Young Micah, you're a very polite liar,” Nolan told him. “It's all right to say it hurt like h—that is, it hurt very badly. You bore up well, though.”

“Thank ya, Doctor.”

Nolan assisted the other man down from the exam table and into the waiting room, where Elijah and Milly waited. Sarah followed.

“You keep that bandage clean and dry, Micah. I'm going to send along enough linen that Mrs. Brookfield can change the dressing every day. Mrs. Brookfield, please have someone notify me at once, day or night, if there's any fever or a great amount of swelling, or any cloudy drainage—
any
of that, understand?”

Milly, Micah and Elijah all nodded solemnly.

“I'll send some morphine pills with you in case Micah's pain gets worse,” Nolan told Milly, “though the willow bark tea may well be sufficient.”

“Now don't worry about Nick, Milly,” Sarah said while Elijah helped his brother into the wagon. “Prissy and I will take his supper down to him at the jail every night.”

“And don't you worry about your sister, neither, Miss Sarah,” Elijah assured her in return. “I'll guard her and the house like a hawk.”

 

By the next day, word reached town that two other ranches had been struck by the rustlers, as well. At
those ranches, the thieves hadn't contented themselves with only the cattle, but had raided the ranch houses, too, and had stolen the ranchers and their wives' valuables, including the heirloom pocket watch of one and the garnet earbobs from his spouse. Sarah couldn't help but wonder if Milly and Nick's valuables had been left alone at Jesse's order because of her, or if the gang had merely grown greedier as they went along.

Nick and the posse returned the second evening without having caught up with the robbers and the stolen cattle, but with the news that yet another ranch had been hit. This time, the rustlers had killed a foreman and gravely wounded one of the cowhands who had attempted to drive them off. He was brought into town to Nolan, but the man had been shot in the chest and died despite Nolan's efforts to save him.

Now that the gang had added murder to their list of crimes, the ranks of the posse swelled and the president of the Simpson Creek Bank announced the formation of a reward account for the apprehension and conviction of any or all of the Gray Boys gang. Sarah heard threats to hang Jesse highest of all since he'd been one of their own, yet was now leading the pack of outlaws who preyed on them.

She felt a pang of grief for the idealistic young Jesse Holt who had gone off to war, promising to marry her and start a family as soon as the war was over, and who had returned as a cold, ruthless criminal. Perhaps it would have been better if he
had
died in battle as a soldier, his honor intact.

As the days went on and reports reached them that the Gray Boys had struck ranches in the neighboring
towns, Sarah was the recipient of decidedly odd looks from some townspeople she encountered in the street. She knew the gossips were having a field day telling anyone who would listen about the scene in the hotel restaurant between Jesse and herself, and reminding each other that the two had once been engaged to marry. She wouldn't have been surprised to hear that some of them actually
blamed
her for kindling Jesse Holt's wrath on Simpson Creek by rejecting him.

The outlaw raiding even managed to cast its shadow over Sarah and Nolan's burgeoning romance. The influenza epidemic was over, spring was fast approaching and their love was a growing, thriving thing, yet how could they plan a wedding with carefree hearts when the outlaws' reign of terror over San Saba County continued?

A very discouraged foursome—Sarah, Nolan, Nick and Prissy—had supper at the sheriff's office on the first Saturday in March to toss around ideas of how to capture the Gray Boys.

“Have you questioned Ada?” Sarah asked while she ladled the vegetable soup into bowls and handed them to Prissy to pass out. “Perhaps if she thought she might be arrested as an accomplice, be tried and go to prison if convicted, she'd give up their hideout.”

Nick steepled his fingers and eyed the ham Sarah was now slicing. “She might well do so, but the problem is finding her. Have you seen her lately?”

Sarah paused and laid down the knife. “Now that you mention it, no,” she admitted.

“Neither has anyone else,” Nick said. “‘Neither hide nor hair' of her, as they say. She seems to have gone
missing, though some of her neighbors have reported seeing her coming and going from her house at odd hours. Just the other night, Nolan, Donovan and I paid a surprise visit in the middle of the night after Donovan spotted a light in one of the back windows and summoned me—”

Sarah looked up, surprised, for Nolan hadn't mentioned it.

“—but the place was deserted when we got there.”

“Yes, there was a pile of dirty laundry on the bed,” Nolan said. “It looked as if she'd come home to fetch more clothes, and left just as quickly.”

“Apparently she's come to enjoy the outlaw life,” Nick went on. “The latest reports from the victims of their attacks have mentioned that she's riding along with them and packing pistols just like the others.”

Sarah and Prissy stared at one another, horrified. Had it really been less than a year ago when Ada Spencer had been as excited as any of the Simpson Creek Spinsters about meeting a beau through the newspaper advertisements?