Читать книгу The Rancher Inherits A Family - Cheryl St. John - Страница 14
ОглавлениеAfter asking Dr. Mason if it was all right to leave Peony in her cage in the waiting room, Marigold led Tate, Harper and Little John out of the doctor’s office and glanced west.
“I think your kitty is hungry,” Harper, the five-year-old, said with concern in his dark eyes.
“Dr. Mason fed her,” Marigold assured him. “She’s still frightened from the train ride and the accident. All this is strange for her.” She glanced up and down the street, her attention lighting on the closest building, which bore a sign that read Bath House. “Once we find our luggage and have clean clothing, I think a trip to the bathing establishment is in order.”
Harper shook his sandy-colored hair and ran his fingers through it so dirt and bits of unidentifiable rubble fell out. “I don’t need no bath.”
“Harper don’t like baths,” Tate told her. At only seven, he took responsibility for seeing to his younger siblings’ needs and wishes. He was slender, with shaggy blond hair and a serious expression.
“I’m afraid baths are in order for everyone today,” she told the three of them. “After our journey and then lying under all that wreckage, none of us are presentable. And we probably don’t smell very good.”
Harper sniffed his arm and shrugged.
The three-year-old, Little John, stuck his thumb into his mouth and gazed up at her with wide brown eyes. The contrast of his large dark eyes and pale hair gave him a waiflike appearance. She took in his soft-looking round cheeks, his spiky dark lashes, and an ache knotted in her chest. He was so young—all of them were too young to be without their parents. Too young to be traveling across the country without supervision. Who put children on a train all alone? What if Seth Halloway hadn’t been in Cowboy Creek? What if he’d denied knowing their mother and turned them away?
She collected her thoughts and concerns. Mr. Halloway had been here. He had come to their rescue, and he was taking responsibility for the three of them.
“You all must be hungry. I know I am. Are you hungry, Little John?”
He nodded.
She drew herself up straight. “Let’s go find the mercantile and arrange for Mr. Halloway’s wagon to be found and his supplies delivered. We’ll figure out a meal.”
A touch at her wrist drew her attention down. Little John found her hand and grasped it securely. His fingers were small and damp. She clasped them back. An arrow of distress pierced her conscience at his trust. What was she doing? How had she found herself exactly where she’d planned never to be? She was not going to develop an attachment to someone else’s children, no matter how deserving. She’d come to Cowboy Creek to start over, to distance herself from her past, from the losses and the hurt. She was determined to choose her own path for the future. She refused to have circumstances thrust upon her.
Her uneasy conscience warred with self-preservation. It was her Christian duty to help these children. She owed Seth Halloway for rescuing them. Who knows how long they might have been trapped in that railcar if he hadn’t been persistent or intuitive, or led by the hand of God? A fire could have broken out. Anything might have happened. And he’d been injured in the process. The least she could do was help until they all got home. She took a deep breath and pushed back the sharp twinges of panic.
She spotted Booker & Son and led the boys across the street, where several people conversed. “I wonder if I might trouble one of you for some help?”
A short, stout woman separated herself from the group and hurried forward. “Land sakes, look at these little ones. And you. Are you one of the brides?”
“I’m Marigold Brewster, ma’am. I’m the new schoolteacher.”
The woman introduced herself as Aunt Mae and presented the others on the boardwalk. “We weren’t aware you were bringing children.”
“No, no, I didn’t bring them. I met them on the train.” Briefly, Marigold explained the situation with Seth and what was needed.
“I saw Russ leaving town on a train a day or two ago,” one of the younger men said. “I’ll watch for him to return and let him know Seth’s at Doc Mason’s.”
“Seth’s wagon is at the livery, and his horses are cared for,” another explained. “I’ll go for the rig and we’ll get these supplies loaded.”
The men had Seth’s supplies loaded quickly. A young cowboy with long jet-black hair and beadwork in the shape of Texas on the back of his vest tied his horse behind, tipped his hat to Marigold and headed out to let Seth’s mother know her son was all right.
“Let’s not stand around here gabbing any longer. Come with me. That’s my place right there.” Aunt Mae pointed to a boardinghouse across the street. “I’ll get all of you something to eat. Afterward, these gentlemen will help you find your belongings.”
Marigold had never met such helpful and warm people. As she led the Radner boys across the street, Little John took her hand once again, and she glanced down. His brown eyes were nothing like the hazel ones in her memory, but they lodged protective feelings in her heart all the same.
Lord, help me guard my heart.
* * *
Living up to her name, Aunt Mae treated them like family. The motherly woman prepared them a satisfying meal. “Do you have any idea how many patients Doc Mason is seeing to?”
“I’d say at least half a dozen are there right now,” Marigold replied. “But she spoke as though only Seth and one other were spending the night.”
“They missed their noon meal. I’ll send trays for six.” Aunt Mae lowered her voice. “She’s a fine healer and a kinder person never lived, but she’s not much of a cook.”
The boys had washed up at the dry sink on the back porch, and she suspected she looked as silly as they did with only a clean face and hands, and her hair dirty and disheveled. They boys ate ravenously, and Marigold exchanged a glance with the older woman. She carried a second pitcher of milk to the table and they held out their glasses for refills. She agreed the bath house would be their most efficient option, since her boardinghouse had only one tub.
Thankfully, there was a knock on the front door and Aunt Mae returned minutes later to say her trunks and the boys’ bags had been left on her front porch.
“I suppose they can sit there until we figure out where we’re going,” Marigold said. It was unsettling to be uncertain of where she’d be staying. “I’ll gather clean clothing for today.”
At the bath house, they were assigned curtained-off chambers and provided with soap and towels. Tate insisted on bathing himself, but Aunt Mae and Marigold put Harper and Little John in one tub and shared the chore of scrubbing two little boys who didn’t want to be washed. They both had a few scrapes and bruises from the accident, so the women gently cleaned their injuries. Harper endured the washing, but Little John cried, and Marigold felt dreadful for his discomfort. These children had lost their mother and been shuffled across the country, ending up in a heap of train wreckage.
“It’s going to be all right,” she said to him and used the corner of a towel to dry his reddened face and his watery dark eyes. “After we’re clean and dressed I’ll read you a story. Would you like that?”
The toddler’s lower lip continued to tremble, but he lifted his wide trusting gaze to hers and nodded.
“All right,” she said with an encouraging smile.
“Do all of us get to hear the story?” Harper asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Poor little lambs,” Aunt Mae said after they’d dried the boys and supervised their clean clothing and hair combing. She waited with them while Marigold took her own bath and washed her hair. Her chin hurt to the touch, and she had a bruise on her shoulder that ached, and another on her wrist she hadn’t noticed.
Marigold thanked the woman for all of her help, but Aunt Mae just gave a shrug and hurried home to tend to her boarders.
A deep orange sun hung low in the sky and cast long shadows in front of the four of them as they walked back to Dr. Mason’s office.
Dr. Mason was ushering a cowboy with a bandage wrapped around his wrist from one of the examination rooms. He greeted Marigold with a crooked smile. Taking a hat from the rack near the door, he glanced back at her two more times, his gaze skittering away each time, before he finally exited the office.
“Get used to it,” the doctor said with an amused grin. “There’s a shortage of young women in this town, and especially pretty ones like you. You’ll receive a lot of attention.” She reached for Marigold’s chin and tipped up her face to get a better look. “You have a bruise here I didn’t notice before.”
“It was probably covered with dirt. I have some aches I didn’t notice at first.”
“I’ll make you a poultice for it. It will take down the swelling.”
Marigold admired the other woman’s efficiency, the way she moved about her offices with confidence. She liked the idea of working to support herself and of being indebted to no one. If she decided to marry one day, she would do the choosing.
“Did you enjoy one of the meals Aunt Mae sent?” she asked the doctor.
“Yes, she is thoughtful. Let’s see if Seth is ready to eat something. He was sleeping last time I looked in on him so I didn’t disturb him.” She gestured for them to enter his room. “I figured he and the children would want to get acquainted before they leave for the night, so I carried in a few chairs.”
Dressed in wrinkled but clean clothing, their damp hair parted and slicked back, the boys entered the small room ahead of Marigold. Tate took Little John’s hand and guided him forward.
“Mr. Halloway?” Marigold said softly.
He was already awake, a purplish bruise having formed on his cheekbone. With an assessing coffee-brown gaze, he took in the trio of youngsters without revealing his thoughts. He was a large man, seeming to take up the entire narrow bed where he was resting, a sheet covering him to his waist. It had taken several men to lower his unconscious form from the railcar, and three strong ones to carry him into the doctor’s office. Above the bandages that wrapped his torso, his shoulders and upper arms were powerfully muscled, attesting to arduous work. His russet-brown hair was chin-length and wavy, and he wore a thick, neatly trimmed mustache.
Little John turned and clung to Tate’s waist, obviously frightened by the bear of a man sizing him up.
“Mr. Halloway?” Marigold said again. “This is Tate Radner.”
Tall for his seven years, with dark blond hair, Tate took a jerky step forward and bravely extended a hand. Little John immediately released his older brother and attached himself to Marigold’s leg. “How do, sir.”
“Pleased to meet you, Tate. You look like your father.”
Obviously pleased, Tate puffed up his chest. “You knew our pa?”
“I did. We enlisted together. Served in different regiments, but ran across each other from time to time.”
“This here’s Harper,” Tate said, turning back to the five-year-old, whose fair hair had dried with a cowlick at the crown. Tate gave his brother a little tug.
Harper shuffled a few steps toward the bed, stared at Seth’s enormous outstretched hand for a moment, quickly placed his narrow fingers into the palm, then released it and scuttled back beside Marigold.
“You look like your mama,” Seth told him.
Harper glanced from Seth to Tate and back.
“And this here is Little John,” Tate said, pointing to the three-year-old with wispy platinum hair.
Little John’s wide eyes opened even wider. He stuck his thumb into his mouth and Marigold was relieved that he didn’t immediately burst into tears.
“We call him that ’cause he’s little. Pa named him Jonathan, but Mama said that name was too big for a little sprout.”
Seth’s mustache twitched and his mouth settled into an amused smile. “Little John sounds about right.”
“Why don’t you boys take seats?” Marigold suggested. “I’ll read the story I promised while Mr. Halloway eats his dinner.”
“Seth,” he said, turning his dark gaze on her and catching her by surprise with his intensity. No wonder the boys had flinched under his scrutiny. “They should call me Seth.”
She gave a nod. “Very well.”
Marlys, who’d been standing behind them during their introductions, moved near the bed. “I’ll slide some more pillows behind you so you can sit up.”
He cast her a doubtful glance.
“The herbs will help with the pain so you can move enough to incline a bit. Don’t try to do it alone today. Let us help.” She glanced at Marigold.
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.
“James, this is Miss Brewster, our new schoolteacher,” the doctor said. “Marigold, this is James Johnson.”
“How do, miss.” He inquired about their bags and carried them outside.
The door opened again and a slender older woman wearing a small gray hat with red ribbons flowing down the back stepped in, her gaze darting to Seth. The hem of her red-and-gray plaid dress swished when she hurried toward him. “Are you all right?”
“I’m good. A little banged up, but I’ll be fine.”
The top of her head only came to his collarbone, but she rested her head against his chest and he gently hugged her with one arm. “I couldn’t wait to see for myself. There were so many injured. Thanks be to the good Lord no one died.” She stepped back and turned her attention to Marigold. “And you must be Miss Brewster.”
“Yes.” She stood, setting down the poultice, and let the older woman give her a brief embrace, the delicate scent of lilac water drifting to her nostrils.
“I’m Evelyn. Seth’s mother. I’m so sorry about this difficulty and so relieved you weren’t seriously injured.”
His mother...of course. He had her dark hair and eyes. “Your son came to our rescue or it might have been much worse.”
“I don’t want you to worry about anything,” she went on. “I’ve made arrangements for you to stay at White Rock. We have plenty of room, and what with the news that we’ll have three little ones, two in school, it will be convenient to transport you to town in the morning with the children.”
“White Rock?” she asked.
“Seth’s ranch,” his mother explained. “You’re coming to stay with us.”
