Ginny Aiken (26 page)

Humming “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” the hymn Mrs. Stone played at the end of Sunday’s service, Letty refused to think of Eric. She meticulously swept corn kernels into a heap
in the middle of the kitchen floor and decided to resolve the matter of her poultry today.

She remembered the day she’d tried to catch a chick with her strainer. A bittersweet smile curved her lips. Eric had captured the chick and handed it to her.

She sighed. Each time she tried to pretend they’d merely had a disagreement, her eyes would well up and all her attempts at normalcy would fade. It seemed she was the sort who loved once, deeply and unwisely. Eric still lived in the past, clinging to the ghosts of Martina and their son. He viewed Letty as a new version of his dead wife. She’d come to symbolize a second chance to do what he should have done back then.

While Letty would never discount Eric’s love for his wife and son, she knew that if two years hadn’t been enough for him to start moving toward the future, then his wounds went too deep for her love to heal. His rejection of God’s love and healing power didn’t bode well for his recovery, either. As a doctor, she’d learned to fight the power of pain and death, but she’d also learned that there came a point beyond which she couldn’t fight on. The ghosts of Eric’s past lingered at that point. They were the wound she couldn’t heal. Only God could heal his heart.

Even though she brimmed with love and yearning, she could never stand in for another woman. She needed more than to be Eric’s expiation.

A question hovered in her mind. Eric had told the story of a family’s destruction rather coldly, but he’d stood ramrod straight, as though braced to ward off an attack. Could that be what lay behind his vehemence against the girls? Could that have been his family? Was he the youth who’d lost it all?

Surely not. She hoped . . .

And she missed him. Since their argument, Letty had spent her free time with Daisy and the typewriter, with Mim and the Stones, and with the Patterson children, hoping to lure Suzannah out of hiding. A former schoolmarm, Mrs. Stone had deemed
Mim’s untutored state unacceptable and had developed a curriculum for the girl. Bright as the sun, Mim soaked up knowledge and begged for more. The girl had found a home and now flourished in the Stone’s unconditional love.

Although Daisy spent an hour a day in Letty’s kitchen on the typewriter, she returned to Bessie’s each time. Encouraged by the girl’s tenacity, Letty prayed she would soon decide to change her life.

And Randy, the dear, visited often, each time bringing clothes for the girls. Thanks to her bounty, when Daisy came to visit these days, she was modestly dressed and looked as pretty and wholesome as any other girl her age.

Letty dumped the corn kernels back into the chickens’ box and washed her hands. During the noon lull, she checked the supplies in her medical bag. One never knew when a child would make its entrance into the world, and then, pity the unprepared physician.

In the examining room, she refilled a remedy pellet tube. The others she checked were full, as were the Mother Tincture vials she kept in the bag. The bandages, though, had run low, and she replaced them. As she closed the bag, she heard a yell outside.

“Dr. Morgan!” a familiar voice cried. “An accident.”

Bag in hand, she rushed to the door and opened it wide. Ford, looking more disheveled than usual, was racing toward her house.

“Excellent,” he cried. “You’re ready. We must go to East Crawford Street.”

“Ford, please, what’s happened?” she asked, hurrying behind him. “I need some details.”

Ford said nothing and trotted on.

Aware of his alarm, Letty fought her own fear, hoping to soothe him and learn what lay ahead. “Who’s hurt?”

He slanted a glance her way, but kept up his brisk pace. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he rammed his spectacles back up to the bridge of his nose. Letty lost her patience.

“Ford, I’m a doctor! Someone needs treatment, and it must be a child, a woman, or someone Dr. Medford and his friend won’t treat. Just gather your wits and tell me something, anything.”

“Slosh.”

Ford spoke too softly for Letty to be sure. “Who?”

“Slosh,” he said, louder. “Slosh fell off a horse.”

Letty pursed her lips. “Drunk again, I presume.”

“Of course.”

“How badly?”

“Wasn’t moving.”

“Breathing?”

“Didn’t stop to check.”

“Bleeding?”

“Puddle on the ground around his head.”

Letty worried her bottom lip. It didn’t sound promising. Those poor children. What would they have to face next?

“Was there a fight?” she continued. “Is anyone else hurt?”

Ford shook his head. “He’d gone celebrating and borrowed a horse. Drunk as he was, he lost his balance and slid right off. That’s all I saw.”

“What did Horace Patterson have to celebrate?”

Ford gulped again. “He came into some money today.”

“Slosh?”

“Yes. The Swartleys swindled him. He sold his claim and shack for pocket change, then ran to Bessie’s for whiskey and a harlot.” He blushed right up to his white-blond hair. “Beg pardon, Dr. Morgan.”

Letty waved acceptance of his apology. “The Swartleys?”

Then she remembered one of Eric’s editorials. It recounted the plight of poor ranchers and miners who’d sold their property to these Swartleys, hoping to move to town and take advantage of the prosperity they hadn’t achieved. They soon realized the money they’d made wouldn’t buy them shelter, and jobs weren’t even plentiful.

Glancing at Ford, she noticed his eyes, wider than ever behind his round lenses. She followed his gaze.

As they approached the group in the street, Letty saw garishly garbed women mixed in with the men gaping at the ground. She tried to see the object of their scrutiny but couldn’t see through them all. She came closer, made her way to the center of the circle, and noticed the onlookers’ silence. Bessie Brown, decked out in purple satin and black lace, stood over Slosh, her fist sealing her mouth.

Ford had told the truth. Blood turned the street dirt into a dark red halo around Slosh’s head. Before Letty reached his side, she knew her haste had been in vain. The gash on Horace Patterson’s head was more abuse than he could take.

Caroline, Steven, Amelia, Suzannah, and William were all alone now.

13

After she’d taken care of all the pertinent details, Letty went to the livery for her buggy, then dropped her satchel on the floor, got in, and hugged her middle. It had been one of the worst experiences of her life, but she’d done for Slosh what had to be done and what no one else would do.

Eric would more than likely kick up yet another fuss. Without conferring with him, she’d called on the undertaker, made the necessary decisions, and had the man send the bill to the newspaper.

She couldn’t in good conscience have left Slosh on the street, and no one would foot the bill for a decent burial. Since Eric had such a proprietary interest in the goings-on in town, he could take care of this as well.

Letty got Prince moving. Telling the children they were now fatherless wasn’t something she relished doing, but someone had to, and aside from Eric, she was the only one who cared enough to do so compassionately.

The bright spring day presented a conflicting backdrop to this latest tragedy. A man consumed by thirst for whiskey and guilty pleasures had left five innocents alone in a harsh world. Ford had said that Slosh had used the money the Swartleys paid him
to clear his tab at Bessie’s, then he’d spent his change buying a round of drinks for the establishment’s patrons.

Now Letty fretted over how long the Swartleys might wait before claiming their purchase. What would she do with the children then?

“You can do all things through Christ who strengthens you,” she said to bolster herself. Somehow she’d manage. She’d wanted those children from the start, and perhaps now she’d have the opportunity to do all she longed to do for them.

At the Pattersons’, she found a shiny black carriage tied to the spindly cottonwood in the front yard. She would have thought the only Hartville residents who could afford such a luxury were Dr. Medford and the banker, and they wouldn’t come here.

It seemed crime paid well indeed. Evidently, the Swartleys were offering little time for the children to find a new place. The closer Letty got, the more alarmed she grew, for in the yard she also saw the Pattersons’ bedraggled settee face down in the dirt. A table lay next to it, two legs broken. Steps away, a stained feather mattress leaked its stuffing onto the ground.

Letty urged Prince to a stop by the fancy carriage.

“Please, mister,” she heard Caroline beg, anger and anguish in her voice.

Letty picked her way to the defective porch. “Caroline!” she called. “Where are all of you?”

Silence reigned. Then, “Up—upstairs, Dr. Miss.”

“I’m on my way.” She only made it halfway up the creaky stairs before seeing the gaunt male at the top landing.

“We—ell, what we got here?” His nasal twang ruined the attempt at a drawl.

“Dr. Letitia Morgan,” she said. “I came to see about the children. Who are you?”

The man’s oily smile sent revulsion crawling through Letty’s innards. “Egbert Swartley, at yer service.”

She couldn’t avoid shaking the extended hand, and its clammy
feel turned her stomach yet again. She pinned Swartley in place with a glare. “I gather you bought Horace’s property.”

“Yes, ma’am, and I come to kick the bra—help the children move.”

Letty narrowed her gaze. “No need, Mr. Swartley. I’ll take over now.”

“Oh, no, no, no, missy,” he answered, his tone turning a tad menacing. “This here’s my house and land now. You don’t tell me what I can or can’t do here. They’re going, and they’re going now.”

Angry and frightened, Letty dredged up bravado. “As I said, I
will
take over the children. I’m sure,” she added, “the
Hartville Day
’s reporter will be more than happy to write a piece on how you threw five orphans out on the street.” Not that Egbert cared. Still, she continued. “I doubt your . . . er . . . associates would appreciate an unfavorable report, now, would they?”

Egbert swallowed hard. He pulled a handkerchief sporting a gaudy purple
S
from his pocket and mopped his brow. He shoved it in place but left the embroidered corner flapping.

“Seein’ as I’m so good-hearted,” he said, attempting to swagger down the stairs, “I’ll give you and them kids an hour to git. I’m taking me on a ride this fine afternoon, but when I git back, you and them had best be gone. This is my place now.”

“Is it, now, Mr. Swartley? I wonder in whose hand the world really is.”

He slammed the door in response.

Letty went the rest of the way up the stairs. “Come on, now, Caroline. We don’t want to be here when he returns. I need everyone’s help.”

Caroline popped her head out from a doorway off the short hall. Amelia peeped out below her chin. Steven peered around his sisters, wearing a cautious expression. In the other doorway, a sweet new face appeared. Suzannah.

If Letty made a move toward the little girl, she would most
likely scare her back, so she addressed the others. “Where’s Willy?”

“Sleepin’,” muttered Steven.

“Even Swartley didn’ wake ’im,” added Amelia, admiration in her voice.

Caroline frowned. “He’s got a cough.”

“Oh, dear. Again? Still?” Letty asked. “Let’s let him sleep, then. It’s best, since we have so much to do.”

Egbert Swartley had broken the news of their father’s demise to the children. Although their relative lack of sentiment didn’t surprise Letty, it did sadden her.

Soon, they’d loaded the children’s meager belongings onto her buggy, and she urged them inside. Steven and Amelia went gladly. Letty gathered the baby, concerned about the rattle in his chest. She’d see to that once she had them home. Caroline, however, a few feet outside the house, stared back at the place with haunted eyes.

Letty’s heart broke. She had to distract the girl. “Since Suzannah doesn’t know me yet,” she said, “could you please bring her to the buggy, Caroline? We must leave. That dreadful man will return any moment now.”

Caroline started toward the house, but before she reached the porch, Suzannah, blond pigtails swishing over her shoulders, appeared in the doorway, clutching something to her chest.

“Wait,” Letty whispered. The older girl stopped. She watched her younger sister walk across the porch, down the sagging steps, and onto the dirt yard. Letty held her breath. With her free hand, Suzannah clung to a fistful of her threadbare, red-faded-to-pink calico dress.

The child climbed silently into the buggy. Caroline followed, and Letty brought up the rear. She placed Willy in Amelia’s lap, Caroline scooped Suzannah onto hers, and Steven plopped down on the floor at the girls’ feet. Letty took up the reins, and a whisper, no louder than the day’s soft breeze, stole her breath.

“Mama,” Suzannah said, extending something to Letty.

The tintype bore myriad tiny fingerprints. Through the smudges, a young woman in white cotton and ribboned lace smiled shyly. A lovely young woman, into whose image Caroline was growing. The young woman who had given life to the five children Letty had with her. The woman whose vice-riddled husband and hard life had broken her will.

Letty returned the treasure. “She’s beautiful, Suzannah. I’m so glad you showed me her picture.”

The tot nodded, then laid her head on Caroline’s shoulder, hugging the photograph again. Alerting Prince with a tap of the reins, Letty headed back into town.

They soon arrived at her home. She tethered Prince at the post until she could take him to the livery, and the children tumbled out. As she let them in the back way, she said, “You must be hungry. I have cookies and cups of milk for everyone.”

The four older children stopped in their tracks. Eight bright blue eyes studied her. “I’ve plenty,” she added. “Have all you want.”

In the small kitchen, they bumped and jostled each other, lacking even elbowroom. In their equally small space, the chickens sent up a squabble of their own.