Читать книгу Marry Me - Jo Goodman - Страница 10

Will knew he was staring like a fool at the doc, knew his jaw had gone slack and that his eyebrows were climbing toward his hairline, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He figured he was about as stupefied as a man could be and still draw breath.

Cole had no comment for Will’s reaction. His attention had already returned to his patient. “Tear one of the sheets into strips,” he said. “You can let go of her arms. Runt’s not going to fight us.”

“Then he must be dead.” Will didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Cole barked the order at him a second time. He dropped Runt’s wrists like they were hot coals and grabbed one of the sheets. Using his knife, he quickly shredded it into bandages while Cole opened Runt’s trousers and union suit.

“I don’t see it, Doc,” he said, stealing a glance at Runt’s face. Not dead, just insensible. There was no belligerence or hint of challenge left in the set of Runt’s mouth, no jut to the jaw or flare to his nose. The loose features weren’t exactly peaceful either, and they resisted Will’s effort to see the female in them. “You sure Judah didn’t beat Runt’s privates to bloody pulp?”

“I’m sure.” Cole grabbed one of the bandages, folded it end over end into a pad and carefully placed it between Runt’s thighs. “Help me lift and turn her. We’ll use the slope to get her feet higher than her head. If I can slow the bleeding here, we might be able to move to the cabin.”

Will slipped his forearms under Runt’s shoulders and back. Cole supported her legs. On Cole’s count, they lifted her just the few inches necessary to make the awkward half turn on their knees. Runt never twitched.

“Take a few of the bandages and wet them in the stream.” Cole spared a glance at Will when the deputy didn’t move quickly enough to suit him. If one got past the greenish tinge, Will’s face was almost as pale as Runt’s. “Are you going to faint, Deputy?”

Will rose unsteadily to his feet. “Touch of vertigo.” He started off for the stream, remembered the sheets, and hurried back to get them. Coleridge Braxton Monroe rose in his estimation when he didn’t comment on the lapse.

Cole removed Runt’s boots, rolled down her trousers to her knees, then cut away part of her union suit with the knife Will left behind. When Will came back with the damp cloths he held out one hand for them. “Go wash out your shirt,” he said, gesturing to the wadded and bloody chambray lying on the ground. “Then fashion some kind of sling we can use between the horses to take Runt back.”

“I can make a litter. It’d be more gentle-like if we carried her back.”

Cole considered the distance and the time and weighed it against the caution they would be able to exercise. “You’re right. Make a litter.”

Relieved that he wasn’t needed at Runt’s side, Will decided his shirt could wait. He grabbed his knife and went off in search of a couple of limbs long and strong enough to use as poles.

A grim smile flickered across Cole’s mouth. In a whispered aside, he addressed his patient just as though she were able to hear him. “He’d never be able to look you in the eye again if he had to look at you now.” The cotton bandage between Runt’s legs was soaked with blood. Cole removed and replaced it, then began to mop the blood from Runt’s belly and thighs. “I don’t know if there would have been any satisfaction for you in seeing his face, but when he realized I was telling him that you’re a woman, he looked as if he’d been poleaxed. I’m not convinced he believes me now.”

The damp cloth in Cole’s hand was already dark red with blood. He tossed it aside and picked up a clean one. “I’m not convinced that you believe me,” he said quietly. The bloody smear on her skin was transparent enough now that Cole could see that some of what he’d assumed were streaks of dried blood were actually welts. The raised ridges ran diagonally on the flesh of her abdomen and upper thighs. Frowning, Cole set the cloth down and picked up Runt’s right hand. He stripped off the bloodstained glove and examined her hand for defensive wounds. There were none, neither on the palm nor the back of the hand. He examined her wrist with his eyes this time, not merely with his fingertips. Evidence that she had been restrained was burned into her skin. He gently cleaned her wrist and found rope fibers embedded in her skin.

“Mother of God.” Cole closed his eyes, but it was a brief indulgence. Setting Runt’s hand aside, he continued to work to staunch the flow of blood. He eyed the shape of her abdomen, then laid his palm over her belly to gauge the distention. It was difficult to know the length of her pregnancy without speaking to her, but he didn’t think he was wrong about the fact of it. The extent of the hemorrhaging concerned him. A woman in the first months of pregnancy could lose a child and only have ever had an inkling that she was carrying. The terrible proof that Runt’s pregnancy had progressed beyond the first trimester was in the angry wales that marked her skin. Someone had tried to beat the baby out of her, which meant it wasn’t solely her secret. Had she shared it, or had she been found out?

Looking at the raised stripes again, Cole couldn’t help but wonder about internal damage. Concerned that a crude examination in this setting would do more harm, Cole elected to wait. Runt had to survive the transport first.

He called out to Will. “How’s the litter coming?” There was a rustling in the trees off to Cole’s left, but he didn’t bother looking up. “Did you find anything you could use?”

Will came out of the woods dragging a trimmed and sturdy limb in each hand. “Sure did. I figure I got enough rope with me to lash a sheet to these poles. If I can tie it off, even better.”

Cole nodded. He pointed to a spot some distance away where the horses were grazing. “Make it over there.”

That no-account Beatty boy didn’t have to be told twice. He gave himself a lot of clearance when he passed and spared only the narrowest of glances at Runt. “How’s he doin’?”

There was no point in correcting Will’s pronoun. “Just balancing on the brink of consciousness,” Cole said. “The bleeding’s slowed.”

“Then he ain’t been drained.”

“No, Deputy,” Cole said dryly. “He ain’t been drained.”

Will came close enough to grab a sheet and returned to where he’d dropped the poles. “Hell, you know what I meant, Doc. I didn’t know a body had so much blood. I guess it’s a good thing and all, but I never saw the like before. There’ve been gunfights in town with less blood.”

“I assume the victims died quickly.”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“The heart’s just a pump, Will. Once it stops, blood flow’s only a matter of gravity.”

“Oh.” He thought about that. “Then Runt’s got a strong heart.”

“She does.” Cole decided not to mention her wounds were probably more grievous than a bullet. He looked over his shoulder to see how Will was coming with the litter. “Why isn’t Judah here?”

Will kept working. “You’ll have to ask him.”

“I will, but I want to hear what you think.”

“Not that it makes any kind of difference to the truth, but I suspect he’s not here because he’s mightily peeved. He and Runt don’t get along all that well. It’s my recollection that they never did, leastways it was different than how Judah could tolerate Rusty and Randy. He didn’t exactly warm to them, but he didn’t cuff them every chance he got.” Will paused, struck by a thought that could never have occurred to him before today. “Do you suppose he knew Runt was a girl?”

It was the deputy’s grave tone that kept Cole from ridiculing the question. He had to remind himself that Will was still struggling to accept a new truth. What Will had believed to be fact was, in fact, only perception. That noaccount Beatty boy wasn’t the first to mistake one for the other. The power of perception, now misperception, was evident in Will’s discomfort and the downright idiocy of his last question.

“I think it’s safe to assume that Judah knew the truth about his own child,” Cole said.

Will flushed. “Yeah. ‘Course he did.”

“It might account for his dislike.”

“Because Runt’s a girl? What kind of sense is that? Girls are …” He searched for a word that would be the sum of all his scattered thoughts. “Nice,” he said finally. “They’re nice.”

“I agree, but there are entire cultures that believe daughters are inferior to sons and have no value. The Chinese, for example.”

Will wondered what explained Judah Abbot’s thinking. The man was eccentric, but Will had never taken him for a fool, and he’d been married once upon a time. Had Judah held that same prejudice against his own wife? “I reckon there’s no accounting for peculiar notions.”

“Probably not.”

Cole exchanged another bloody rag for a clean one. He saw Runt’s lips part around a soft moan, but her eyes remained closed. He called to Will, “Are you about ready with that thing?”

“Just about.”

Cole folded the last clean strip of sheet and placed it over the one between Runt’s legs. He finished washing her, examining her flesh for more wheals. It struck him as odd that there were no welts on her hips. He would have expected her to twist violently to avoid the blows, thus raising welts on at least one side, depending on where the assailant stood. Realizing that her legs had probably been restrained as well, Cole rolled down one of the socks. Abrasions circled her skin at the ankle.

“Could Judah be the father of her baby?” asked Cole.

Will’s stomach heaved. He waited for it to settle. “That’s a hell of thing to ask me, Doc. I’m just gettin’ used to the idea that he’s a she. I can’t think about how a baby got in him … her.”

Cole didn’t find the deputy’s answer surprising. He rolled Runt’s sock back up, loosely closed her trousers, and tugged on the stained tails of her shirt to give her some protection as Will drew near with the litter. “What about the sheriff? He was insistent that I come out here.”

Will set the litter down as close to Runt as he could. “Are you asking me if Wyatt Cooper could have fathered Runt’s baby? ‘Cause if you are, that makes you about as thick as day-old porridge.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of the sheriff suspecting that Runt was carrying a child.”

“Then he had to have suspicioned Runt was a girl.”

“That’s right.”

“He never said anything.”

Clearly, that troubled Will. Cole said, “Maybe he thought you’d laugh at him.”

“I probably would have.” He considered what Wyatt could have possibly known. “Wyatt’s got an eye for things, better than most folks, I’ve always thought. He started lugging his camera and equipment outdoors again, making photographs the way he used to before he became sheriff. His wife sorta insisted on it. She doesn’t like him underfoot when she’s working.”

As a member of the search committee, and a woman of considerable influence in Reidsville, Mrs. Cooper was among those who greeted his train at the station platform. He knew she owned half of the town’s mining operation outright, and all of the Calico Spur, but he learned these things later from others. She’d simply introduced herself to him as a dressmaker.

“Has Mrs. Cooper ever come out this way with her husband?” he asked, gesturing to Will to support Runt’s shoulders and back again.

Will moved into position as Cole did the same. They easily lifted Runt and laid her on the litter. “She’s met all the outliers at one time or another.”

Cole nodded but kept his own counsel. “Do you want to get your shirt before we leave?”

“Later. Once Runt’s back in the cabin.” He regarded Cole questioningly. “Unless you’ll need me then.”

“No. What I have to do is better done alone. Will the horses follow?”

Will put two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. His mount tossed his head and turned in their direction. “Dolly will come by and by.”

Cole decided to place his unopened bag near Runt’s feet rather than trust either of the horses to carry it back. “Will you lead? I need to be able to watch her.” Once Will agreed, they bent and raised the poles together, testing the strength of the litter before they straightened completely. It was more difficult for Will because of the awkwardness of gripping the poles slightly at his back, and Cole waited until he was certain Will had a good grasp and balance before he indicated they could set out.

Their progress was slow but steady, and they only halted once when Cole saw Runt’s eyes flutter open. Her stare was blank at first, then so sharp with pain and accusation that Cole felt the edge of both. He thought she might have grimaced, but the dirt and blood smearing her lips could also have accounted for the misshapen curl of it.

Judah appeared in the doorway as soon as they reached the porch steps. He didn’t move aside. His clear intention was to block their entrance. He thrust the tip of the walking stick at Will’s chest, poking him hard. “You can’t bring Runt in here.”

“Move aside, Judah, or I swear I’ll pick your teeth clean with that stick.”

“You think I can’t keep you out?” He gave the stick a flourish. “Do not underestimate my skill, Deputy. I honed my talents for the stage, but they’re real enough. You have seen my Tybalt. He lays Mercutio out. And my Hamlet? The rapier is but an extension of my hand.” Judah parried with his stick, jabbing Will in the abdomen. “You’re not carrying a gun, I noticed. Just the rifle, and I think I can get to it first, what with you having to hold the litter the way you do.” He looked past Will’s shoulder at Cole. “You have something to say, Dr. Monroe?”

“Have you no compassion, Mr. Abbot? None? For your daughter?”

“So you know that now. Do you think it makes a difference? Should I keep company with a whore just because she’s my daughter?”

Will’s knuckles whitened on the litter. “Put down that damn stick, old man.”

Judah made a circling motion with the tip and lunged, driving the breath from Will’s lungs with the sharpness of the blow. Will staggered, lost his footing in the loose gravel at the base of the steps, and bobbled the litter. Behind him, he felt Cole’s grip change and thought they were losing Runt. It took him a moment to realize that Cole was lowering his end to the ground. The piercing whistle that followed made Will instinctively raise his shoulders to shield his ears. He noticed that the sound also halted Judah in his tracks and stayed his hand.

Will’s horse trotted up and sidled close. Cole had Will’s rifle out of the scabbard before Judah realized there was any danger. Sidestepping the horse, the litter, and the loose gravel, Cole raised the rifle and cocked it. His arm was steady, his aim true.

“You might find comfort in the fact that I know exactly where to fire a mortal round. There would be some pain but not much. I suspect you would be dead before you felt it.” He paused, his eyes fixed on Judah’s. “Now, move off the porch, Mr. Abbot, or I’ll shoot you in the knee where you’ll feel it the rest of your life.”

Judah Abbot’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. He offered no response, however, and gradually lowered the walking stick. He used it to support himself as he moved sideways to the left lip of the porch.

“Go on,” Cole said. “Jump.” It was only a few feet, but Cole knew enough about the stiffness in Judah’s hip to know the jolt would be painful and keep him from moving too quickly. As soon as Judah leapt, Cole laid the rifle beside Runt and picked up his end of the litter.

Will nudged the door open with his boot and went inside. “Judah’s bedroom is over there,” Will said, jerking his chin to the right.

“Where I got the sheets. Runt and his brothers slept in the loft.”

“Judah’s room it is.”

With some careful maneuvering, they were able to set the litter on Judah’s iron rail bed. The springs creaked and mattress dipped alarmingly as Cole placed one knee on the edge to position Runt better. “We’ll leave her on the litter for now. Fire up the stove and put some water on for me, then you can go get your shirt. Take the rifle and find a leash for that mad dog. Don’t let him poke you with that stick again, and see if you can’t get Runt’s proper name out of him.”

That no-account Beatty boy had an urge to salute smartly. He held himself in check, but only just. “Anything else?”

“Not now. Check with me when you get back.”

Will nodded and started to go, pausing in the doorway to look back once. “That was some good thinking, Doc. You looked real comfortable handling that rifle.”

Cole was brushing back a black shock of badly cropped hair from Runt’s forehead. He looked up and caught the deputy’s eye. “Perhaps I was.” His gaze dropped away as he opened his bag, “Then again, perhaps I was acting.”

“That’s all right,” Will said. “I like a puzzle.” With that,

he closed the door quietly and went about his business.

In preparation of this morning’s visit to the Abbots, Cole had taken the time to pack his medical bag carefully. He wished now he’d known it would require a magician’s skill to pull whatever he needed out of it. He owned three satchels: surgical, obstetrical, and one that Whitley called the kitchen sink. Believing that his goal today was to learn about his patients and provide evaluation and consultation, he brought the third bag for its general usefulness. It contained a mercury thermometer, a couple of scalpels and probes, one pair of scissors, sutures and a curved needle for suturing, tweezers, a razor, a binaural stethoscope, hand soap, a notebook and pencil, finger splints and a bandage roll, cotton pads, and five small cobalt blue bottles containing common medicines like pepsin and aconite tincture that had wide application. Almost as an afterthought, he’d added a saw and anesthetic vaporizer from his surgical bag. It never once occurred to him that he’d need any of his obstetrical instruments. “It’ll have to do,” he told his patient. “I’ll have to make it do.”

Cole heard Will leave the house. Almost immediately there was a volley of expletives leveled at Will’s head. Cole ignored Judah’s colorful curses and accusations, confident the deputy could handle it, and began preparing his patient for a thorough examination by first removing the clothes that he could easily and cutting away the rest. The rest included the wide strips of linen wound around her chest like swaddling cloths. Cole’s only response to making this discovery was to shake his head.

He carefully removed the bloody wadding from between her thighs and pushed a pillow under her hips to keep her pelvis on an incline. He covered her with a clean sheet.

The lack of good light in the room frustrated him. Drawing back the curtains revealed another window in need of a thorough scrubbing. Cole propped it open and examined the wadding. There appeared to be little new blood; most of it was in some stage of drying. This was borne out when he raised the sheet and glanced at the pillow under her buttocks. He was encouraged to see that bright crimson stains were minimal.

Cole tossed out water from the basin on the washstand and poured fresh from the pitcher. He found a stack of linen towels folded in the cupboard and removed one. Taking the soap from his bag, he made a good lather and washed his hands before he applied himself to the further care of his patient.

He retrieved his thermometer and slipped it under Runt’s armpit, then he removed his pocket watch and observed her respiration for a full minute. After recording it, he checked her pulse. It was stronger than it had been when he’d first come upon her but not as steady as he would have liked. Cole took out his stethoscope and fixed the ivory earpieces in place. He lowered the sheet to uncover Runt’s left breast and rested the ebonized wood bell over her heart. He listened carefully to the rhythmic contractions of the chambers, the rush of blood, and its smooth passage through the valves.

Runt stirred, moaned, and offered a modicum of resistance when he turned her on her side to listen to her lungs. After assuring himself that they were clear, Cole allowed her to lie on her back. He removed the thermometer from her armpit and read it. She had a slight fever. He set the thermometer on the washstand and recorded the temperature in his book as 100.4°

Cole put away his stethoscope and turned down Runt’s sheet to the level of her waist. He tapped on her abdomen, carefully avoiding the welts, then pressed harder in the areas of the major organs, watching her face all the while for some reaction. None of her distress seemed to be associated with anything other than her pelvic region. He covered her up to her neck with the sheet and relocated himself closer to the foot of the bed.

Cole raised Runt’s knees and pushed the hem of the sheet over them. He separated her thighs and pressed her heels into the feather tick until they found purchase. It was a stretch to reach the basin and towels, but he managed it and set them on the bed beside him. In order to learn the extent of her beating, he wiped away every vestige of blood. The labia majora were bruised and there were thin lacerations on the inner lips. Without a vaginal speculum, Cole could not make as complete an examination as he would have liked. He probed her vagina gently with two fingers, feeling for tearing and abrasions and believed he found both, suggesting the insertion of a foreign object.

Cole rinsed off his hands and rose from the bed with the basin in his arms. He emptied the basin out the window for the second time, then left Runt alone while he checked on the water Will was supposed to have left for him on the stove. It was boiling when he got there. At their current altitude boiling didn’t necessarily mean it was hot enough for sterilization, but he decided it would serve his purpose.

He found some whiskey in the larder and tucked the bottle under his arm, and then carried it and the kettle back to the bedroom. He rinsed the basin with hot water, tossed it, and added more hot water. When it was tolerable to dip his hands in, he washed them again.

Situating himself at Runt’s side, he replaced the pillow with two folded towels. Laying his warm palms over her lower abdomen, he massaged and manipulated the flesh in aid of expelling any placental tissue still trapped in her uterus. He worked for several minutes and kept a close eye on the bloody effusion that stained the towels.

When he was satisfied that the procedure had been as effective as it could be, he straightened and rolled his shoulders, loosening the hard knots between his blades. He reached for the towels, his glance swiveling sideways toward Runt as he did so. He knew a moment’s hesitation when he saw she was watching him.

This was a lucid gaze. There was pain, certainly, but her slate gray eyes were not dull with it. There was cognition and comprehension. She held his stare unblinkingly but with none of the defiance he had glimpsed earlier. It required effort for her to speak. Cole would have only been surprised if she hadn’t made it. Her voice was breathy, edged with a soft rasp that came from deep in her throat.

“Is it gone?” she asked.

Cole nodded.

She closed her eyes. “That’s good, then.”

“You’re in a better place to judge than I am.”

“God judges.”

Cole did not disagree. He studied her face, the only part of her that he hadn’t spared the time to clean. Looking past the smears of dirt to the structure of her face, Cole could see that she’d been given certain features that helped her hide her true nature. There was strong definition to her jaw and a natural thrust to her chin. Her mouth was a bold slash, the lips marked by beads of blood and scored from the biting pressure of her teeth. She had a nose that had actually been broken–perhaps more than once. If it had ever been delicate, it wasn’t now, but the slight asymmetrical bent simply made her face more interesting, not necessarily more masculine. Her eyes were a tad widely spaced, and while she had thick lashes, they were also stubby. In the strictest sense, her most feminine feature was the absence of an Adam’s apple, although Cole could imagine that cleaned up and given the proper application of stage cosmetics, she had favorably impressed her audiences as Portia, Juliet, and Desdemona. The heart-shaped face alone might account for it.

Cole slid off the bed. “I know you’re not sleeping,” he said, setting the basin aside. “I need you to be for what I have to do next. Do you understand?”

She didn’t open her eyes, but she did answer him. “I can stand it, whatever it is.”

“But I can’t. If you’ve no pity for yourself, then show some for me.” He didn’t give her an opportunity to argue. “I have an anesthetic vaporizer with me. It’s a kind of mask.” Cole pulled it out of his bag. “Do you want to see it? No? All right. It has two parts, the metal holder that I’ll place around your nose and mouth and the gauze that I’ll stretch across the top and fix to it. I’ll soak the gauze with some liquid ether. It will vaporize and you’ll breathe it in. Slow, deep breaths. When you wake up, I’ll be done.”

He wondered if she would ask him what he meant to do and knew a measure of relief when she didn’t. At no time during his stay at St. John’s were any of the house doctors advised that they should explain themselves to a patient. Rather, they were cautioned to keep their exchanges with the sick to a minimum during rounds and discuss symptoms, diagnoses, and procedures with their colleagues. It was the generally held belief that the patients, even if they could understand what was being said, were not interested. They vested their faith in God and their doctors, and it was all the better, Dr. James Erwin told his interns, if they didn’t know the difference.

Cole was never certain that the chief surgeon knew there was a difference, either. Erwin embraced the notion of his own infallibility. This thought rolled through his mind as he prepared the vaporizer. His hands were steady as he measured out the ether and poured it onto the gauze. He was not immune to uncertainty, even fear, especially when the procedure was one with which he had little experience, but he’d always possessed a talent for turning doubt into further inquiry and caution. He would act, but he would be exacting.

Cole placed the apparatus over Runt’s mouth and nose and held it firmly when she instinctively tried to avoid it. He turned his face toward the open window to avoid breathing the ether fumes and spoke to her in a firm and steady cadence, encouraging her to take deep and even breaths. “Count backward from one hundred,” he told her. By ninety-two, she was asleep.

Cole worked quickly after that. Using a finger splint and most of his own bandages, he fashioned a swab. He poured hot water and whiskey over it and then situated himself between Runt’s raised legs. He carefully inserted the swab into her vagina and pushed until he felt the tip of her cervix. He cleansed her internal wounds by rotating the swab as he slowly withdrew it.

As soon as he was done, he discarded the swab and removed the vaporizer to the windowsill. He lowered Runt’s legs and covered her, then pulled a chair up to the bedside, sat, and waited.

Cole heard the approach of Will’s horse. There was another heated exchange between Judah and the deputy, then the cabin floor shook as Will thumped across the porch. A moment later, he was knocking at the bedroom door.

“Come in,” Cole called.

“How is she?” Will hovered in the doorway. Water from the tails of his wet shirt dripped on the wooden floor. “Did you even wring that out?”

“Twice.” He waved more questions about his shirt aside.

“What about her?”

“She’s coming out of the ether now.”

Will’s lightly colored eyebrows lifted. “Glad I wasn’t here then. If you needed that, it must’ve been bad.”

Cole didn’t argue. “What’s her name?”

“Judah tells me we’ve been saying it proper all along, only we didn’t have it right in our minds.”

“How’s that again?”

“It’s spelled R-h-y-n-e. He said it was his wife’s maiden name. Pronounced it like it was R-y-a-n, but with a little bit of a drawl. Rhyne. It’s kinda pretty that way.”

Curious, Cole thought. “When the family performed, did Judah print a playbill?”

“Not sure I remember.” He removed his hat and plowed his pale hair with four fingers. “Reckon he did. Judah liked to be professional.”

“It would be interesting to know how he introduced her.”

“Runt Abbot.”

Will and Cole turned simultaneously. Rhyne’s eyes were still closed, but her lips were parted.

“Rusty, Randy, and Runt Abbot,” she said quietly. “So there would be no mistake.”

Cole dampened the corner of one of the towels and leaned forward to press it against Rhyne’s parched lips. “Will you get her some cool water?” he asked Will. “And bring a couple of empty glasses. I don’t know about you, but I could use a whiskey.”

When Will disappeared, Cole addressed Rhyne. “Are you nauseated? Feel like you have to–”

“I know what it means. Keep a bucket close. We’ll see.”

“Pain?”

“What about it?”

“I can give you something for it.”

She opened one eye, her regard skeptical. “Laudanum? I don’t want it.”

“I can’t give you anything else. I have salicylate, but it will thin your blood. That’s not a good idea right now.”

Rhyne remained skeptical, but she didn’t offer any resistance.

“As soon as I’m certain you’re not going to be sick, I’ll mix the laudanum for you.”

Rhyne opened her other eye, turned her head carefully, and looked around. “Where’s Judah?”

“Outside.” He didn’t mention that her father was tied up.

“He won’t like me being in his room.”

“I don’t understand. Isn’t this where he flailed you?” Cole had not intended to put the question to her so baldly, but he’d told his sister the truth when he said no one had ever mistaken him for being charming. Rhyne Abbot certainly would not misjudge him. What he did not expect, however, was for her to show no reaction. Will’s arrival prevented him from asking further questions.

He held out his hand for the glass of water and edged his chair closer to the bed. Slipping one arm under Rhyne’s head, he pressed the lip of the glass against her dry lips. “Easy. Easy now.” He drew it back when she tried to make him tip it. “Ready?” When she nodded, he allowed her a few more sips before setting the glass on the washstand. “How about that whiskey, Will?”

Will plucked the bottle from beside Cole’s chair and poured each of them a generous shot. “Wasn’t sure you were a drinking man,” Will said. “Sid Walker doesn’t think you are.”

“I’m not in the practice of offering alcohol to my patients, especially when their visit is prompted by that expectation.” He picked up the thermometer from where he’d placed it on the washstand. “Here’s what it’s good for.” He used the thermometer like a stirrer in his whiskey. “It cleans my instruments.” Cole put the thermometer back in his velour-lined bag and tipped his glass at Will before he drained it.

“Will?”

“What is it, Runt?” He flushed. “Rhyne. I mean Rhyne.”

“What’s Judah doing?”

“Last time I saw him, he was pacing the ground and railin’ at me. I’ve got him tethered to a tree by the privy, so you can understand the old bastard’s not in good humor.”

“You won’t be able to let him go,” she said weakly. “He’ll kill you.”

“I’m taking him in. He can cool off in jail. I figure that’s the only way either one of us is safe. The doc isn’t going to want to move you any time soon, and if you’ve got to stay in bed, Judah can’t stay here.”

That no-account Beatty knew what he was about, Cole decided. “It’s a good plan,” he said.

“I thought I’d save you the trouble of explaining it to me.” He finished his whiskey and rolled the glass between his palms as he went on. “I was thinking you’d want to stay here and look after her, but I know you’d have to make arrangements for your sister. I could ask Rose if we could take her in until you get back.”

Cole weighed the needs of his patient against his responsibility to Whitley.

Will made another suggestion when Cole didn’t respond, “Mrs. Cooper or Mrs. Showalter would do it, too, if you’d rather it was one of them.”

Cole realized that by not answering immediately he’d offended Will. He knew all about Mrs. Beatty’s former profession inside of two hours of his arrival. Rose made it a point to tell him. “It’s a generous offer, Will, and I’ll be relieved if Mrs. Beatty agrees. I hesitated because of Whitley. She thinks she’s sufficiently mature to be left alone.” She probably was, he allowed, but that didn’t mean he’d allow it. “I think she’d be pleased to spend time with you and your wife.”

“Good. That’s settled.” He stopped rolling the glass. “The sheriff makes his rounds on Thursdays. If you tell me what you’ll need, I’ll see that you get it. If you need it earlier, I suppose one of us can bring it tomorrow morning.”

“Judah’s about my size. His clothes will do. I’ll want my obstetrical bag on Thursday. Whitley will show you which one it is.”

Will nodded. “The larder’s stocked. I peeked in the root cellar. You sure as hell won’t starve.” He glanced at Rhyne as it occurred to him that maybe he should apologize. “Pardon my language.”

She sneered at him. “Damn you and your apology, Will Beatty. You can’t leave me with him.”

“I can’t leave you with your pa.”

“I want my rifle.”

Will looked at Cole, saw the almost imperceptible nod, and agreed. “I brought it back with me when I got my shirt. There’s nothing gained by leaving a fine rifle like your Winchester on the ground. I’ll clean and polish it before I go, and I’ll put it on the rack.”

“I want it here.”

“Bring it in, Will,” said Cole. “She doesn’t know she’s supposed to be too exhausted to argue.”

“Runt never did.” Will realized his mistake, but he didn’t correct himself this time. Rhyne wouldn’t have thanked him for it, but she would have sapped her strength setting him straight.

Will took Cole’s glass with him when he went. He poked his head out the door to check on Judah and got a double fist shaken at him for his interest. Grinning, he ducked back inside, took the glasses to the kitchen, and got the rifle. Rhyne’s Winchester repeater was a well cared for weapon and he was still admiring it as he carried it back into the bedroom. “I don’t mind cleaning it,” he said, approaching the bed.

“Take your time,” Cole told him. “She fell asleep again.”

Will found what he needed in the other room and set to work while Cole took some time to familiarize himself with the cabin. He climbed to the loft where Will told him Rhyne slept and found some relatively clean shirts, a pair of denim trousers, another flannel union suit, and five socks. “She doesn’t own much,” he said, showing Will what he’d found.

“No, I’ve never seen Runt in more than three of four different shirts.”

“What about her stage clothes? Where do you think they might be?”

“Now, there’s a question.” He looked up from cleaning the rifle, a gleam in his eye. “You want me to ask Judah? It’d be a pleasure.”

Cole shook his head. “Let me look around some more.”

“Suit yourself.”

The cabin only had three areas, and Judah’s room was the only one that afforded some privacy. The small loft was open and looked down into the front room. The kitchen and larder took up all of the space under the loft. Cole made his own inspection of the larder, saw that it was as well stocked as Will had said, and wondered if Rhyne was the one who made the preserves and pickled the beets. He chose ajar at random and read the label. The script was small and painstakingly neat: CHERRY CURRANT JELLY. The date indicated it was made last summer. Replacing the jar, he moved on, taking note of how precisely the shelves were organized and of how clean they were.

Judah’s influence, he thought, but perhaps not his work. It was difficult to know, and he wasn’t confident that Rhyne would see fit to answer his questions.

The door to the root cellar was set squarely in the middle of the larder. Cole lifted it and peered in. He found a lantern on one of the shelves, lighted it, and then eased through the opening and down the ladder. The smell of the rich, dark earth was pleasant, and Cole breathed deeply, inhaling the layered odors of onions, radishes, and potatoes.

Raising the lantern, Cole glanced around. He almost didn’t see the trunk for the burlap bags piled around it. He didn’t assume the intention was to hide the trunk, but rather that it had come to be hidden as a consequence of its lack of importance.

Cole cleared off the trunk and found that the key was in the lock. He turned it, flipped open a pair of latches, and lifted the lid. He called up to Will, “I found it!” Above him, he heard Will moving around. He looked to the opening and waited for the deputy’s face to appear. “The costumes,”

he said when Will came into view. “There’s a trunk of them here.”

“I’ll be darned.” He leaned the Winchester against the wall. “You want some help?”

It took about twenty minutes for Cole to rummage through the trunk and pass what garments he thought might be useful up to Will. The work could have gone more quickly, but Will had some comment about every piece he examined, usually a vague, highly suspect reminiscence about the play or the role that had employed the particular costume.

“I don’t feel so bad now about chasing after Runt. Seems to me that if I’d been able to catch and kiss him, I would’ve known he was a girl long before now.” He held out a hand to assist Cole coming out of the cellar. “’Course, I don’t know if I’d have really kissed him. Truth is, I was always relieved when he got away.”

“I can imagine,” Cole said dryly. He brushed himself off and looked at the gowns and other garments Will had laid neatly over the backs of two chairs. “We have to talk about that, Will.”

That no-account Beatty boy frowned. “Talk about what? Tryin’ to kiss Rhyne, you mean?”

“Not exactly.” Cole closed the door on the root cellar and motioned Will to follow him into the kitchen. He kept his voice low so there was no chance that he would be overheard. “Have you thought about what you’re going to charge Judah with?”

Will rubbed his chin. “Seems like there should be something. I know he beat Rhyne. She said he walloped her pretty good.”

“That hardly describes what happened to her.” The gravity of Cole’s expression kept Will from interrupting. “What you say to people about bringing Judah in is your prerogative, but I’m hoping you’ll be cautious about what you reveal–and to whom. It’s going to be difficult for Rhyne when people learn Runt Abbot is a girl, but they don’t need to know she was pregnant and lost the child. No one’s health is improved by being the subject of that sort of speculation, and she’s bound to learn of it.”

“A lot of people know Judah has a temper, and they know Runt felt the hard edge of it most of the time.”

“My point is that no one intervened. Ever.”

“I can’t say that anyone exactly witnessed it. More like they saw the evidence. There were the older boys, don’t forget, and Runt, well, he wasn’t complainin’.”

“She wasn’t complaining,” Cole reminded him. “Then, or now. You must have noticed that. When she asked about Judah, she was concerned for you. She still is.”

Will couldn’t argue with that. “So what are you suggesting?”

“Charge Judah with assaulting you. It’s not a lie. He poked you with his stick, remember?”

Will rubbed his chest. “I’m not likely to forget.” He didn’t mention that he would have a bruise later. It paled in comparison to what Rhyne had suffered. “He took a couple of swings at me when I hauled him out to the privy.”

“He also threatened you.”

“That’s true. I suppose what he did to Rhyne doesn’t need to come into it.”

Cole nodded. “Good.” He saw Will hesitate, obviously uncomfortable. “What is it?”

“What about the other? The actual fact that there was a baby.”

“What about it?”

“Well, we don’t who the father was. If it wasn’t Judah, then it could be someone from town. It seems like I should be lookin’ into that, most particularly if Rhyne tells me it was rape.”

“She’s not going to tell you.”

Will thought Cole was probably right, but it was a disappointment that Runt wouldn’t trust him. “She might.”

Cole merely shrugged. He didn’t offer that in his experience it was more likely that she’d confide in a stranger rather than a friend. “Are you all right with this?”

Will nodded. “I’ve got no problem with it. What about you?”

“No problem.”

“Have you thought about what I should tell people when they realize you didn’t come back with me? People are bound to need a doctor while you’re gone. Seems like I should have something to explain it.”

“You can say that we found Rhyne with a fever and I stayed behind to treat her.”

“I suppose that’ll do,” Will said slowly.

“But you’re doubtful.”

“Folks expect to manage a fever on their own, not have the doc at their bedside for the duration. Maybe we should say she broke something … like an arm or a leg.” Before Cole could speak, Will dismissed his own suggestion. “No one would believe you’d be the one to stay behind and help her with the place. I’m going to have to send someone out here to do that anyway. How about we say she was shot?”

“Shot? Who shot her?”

“Miscreants, that’s who. People will believe anything about miscreants.”

“I suspect they will,” Cole said, his tone wry. “If you think that’s best, Deputy, I can support that story.”

“Good. I like it.”

“Now, you mentioned something about getting me some help.”

“You can’t look after Rhyne and do her chores, too.”

“I’m not incapable, Will.”

“No, but you’re city. Big city. I bet you never fended for yourself. Fed the chickens. Butchered your own meat. Milk probably came up right to your door and had the good manners to knock.”

Cole could see that Will was enjoying himself. Folding his arms, he leaned against the stove and waited for the deputy to wind down. The mere suggestion of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth, and he found himself oddly entertained by the picture Will painted of his New York life. Much of what that no-account Beatty boy said was true, but it didn’t follow that the picture was complete. To do that Will would have had to understand something about the demands of a house doctor, know the hours could be as long as a farmer’s, the pay as poor as a ranch hand’s, and the rewards as unlikely to be realized as those offered by the wanted posters.

“So what I’m saying,” Will concluded after ticking off six additional points, “is that you’re goin’ to need an extra pair of hands. I figure the Longabachs can spare Johnny Winslow for a spell, and if they can’t, then Ned Beaumont would probably hire himself out.”

“Whatever you think is best,” Cole said.

Will nodded. “One of them will be here in the morning.” He picked up the Winchester. “I should take this in to Runt. She’ll want to know that it’s close by. I’ll slide it under the bed.”

“That’s fine. Will you need help with Judah?”

“You might want to keep a watch for me out the window, but I’m not expecting there’s much fight left in him. Lots of talk, mind you, but not much fight. I think we saw his final act when he drew that damn walking stick.”

“I trust you to know.” Cole pointed to the bedroom. “You go on. Say good-bye to her if she’s awake. If she asks, reassure her that she’s safe with me.”

“She won’t believe me.” Will’s quicksilver grin made his deep dimples appear. “I gotta tell you, Doc, Rhyne Abbot might just be the first female around here that doesn’t think much of your fine patrician looks.”

Rhyne felt as if she were being held underwater. Her lungs were near to bursting with the need to breathe. Panic made her want to flail and thrash; pressure from an unknown weight kept her in place. Sparks of pure white light appeared at the center of her vision, while at the periphery there was only unrelenting darkness. If she didn’t draw air, she would die. If she did, she would die. There was no real choice, only the inevitability of death.

She decided to embrace it.

Cole jerked awake. His feet slipped off the iron bed rail and thumped to the floor. He sat up straight, alert. Something had changed.

Rhyne lay exactly as she had when he fell asleep in the chair beside her. The sheet covered her to her throat; her hands remained at her side. Her stubby lashes cast no shadows to add to the violet smudges beneath her eyes. She was pale, ethereally so, her shape defined by softly draping cotton.

And she wasn’t breathing.

Jumping to his feet, Cole bent over her. He placed his cheek near her lips and laid his palm over her heart. “Rhyne!” He forced her jaw open and swept the inside of her mouth with his finger, searching for an obstruction. He could not feel anything, but his finger was wet and darkly stained when he withdrew it. Blood? The lantern light was inadequate to know with certainty, but no other cause came to mind. “Rhyne!” Turning her on her side, Cole gave her several hard blows between her shoulder blades with the heel of his hand.

She hunched her shoulders, gagged, and finally expelled the object caught in her throat.

Cole stared at the pillow. Not blood at all, he realized, but something deeply brown yet transparent, more like water in its consistency.

After a moment, it came to him. Tobacco spittle.

And lying just beyond the pillow where she had expelled it was the thing that had almost killed Runt Abbot: a black bolus of chaw.

Coleridge Braxton Monroe surrendered to both the consequences of adrenaline and the absurdity of his discovery. Slumping into his chair, he threw back his head and laughed until he was the one in danger of choking.