Heart of Stone (10 page)

“Amelia—” she began.

Amelia smiled over her shoulder. “It’s all right, Laura.” She turned to the indigent. “What is it, Rob?”

“Mazie’s taken a turn for the worst. Denton’s afraid she ain’t gonna make it this time. She’s calling for you and a preacher. We’re hopin’ you got something for her pain, ‘cause the liquor ain’t working no more.”

Laura watched the exchange, wished it wasn’t unfolding here. She didn’t have to imagine the scene at the Silver Slipper. She’d witnessed more than one death in just such a place before.

“I’ll walk back with you.” Amelia told Rob.

Laura knew better than to protest; she knew Amelia could most likely take care of herself. But Amelia didn’t leave immediately. First she turned to Laura.

“Will you go get Brand for me? Bring him to the Silver Slipper? Tell him a young woman desperately needs him, and she hasn’t much time. If he’ll come, that is.”

“Oh, he’ll come,” Laura said. It was the least the preacher could do for a dying woman begging for help. “I’ll see to it.”

At a trot, Amelia followed the man, who was already off the porch and limping down the walk. Laura hurried to the kitchen and told Rodrigo and Anna that she’d be back as soon as possible and to settle any guests when they arrived. She then ran upstairs
and grabbed a bonnet and gloves and dashed outside, thankful the horse and buggy were still hitched up.

She hadn’t driven in a long while, but the reins felt right in her hands as she headed out of the yard and down Main Street. Brand’s home was next door to the church and not far from Amelia and Hank’s. She found the place easily, though she’d never been there before. She pulled up in front, set the brake, and climbed down. It wasn’t until she raised her hand to knock on the front door that she realized her gloves didn’t even match.

Janie opened the door. Somewhere behind her, Sam was yelling, “I wanted to get it!”

When they saw who it was, they fell silent.

“Is your father home?” Laura asked.

“Why?” Janie demanded.

“It’s an emergency.”

“He’s in his office. He said not to bother him.”

Laura took a deep breath. “This is an emergency. Please bother him.”

“But…”

Laura pictured the dying girl at the saloon. Her patience was ebbing.

“Please go tell him right now or I’ll have to come in and find him myself. When I do, he’s not going to be happy.”

Sam bolted down the hall yelling “Papa! Emergency!” as if the house were on fire. Janie stood her ground.

“Do you love my papa?” the girl asked.

Laura closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I like him. He’s a very nice man. But I don’t love anyone.”

Janie crossed her arms and didn’t invite her in.

Laura stood on the porch waiting for what seemed like hours. In reality it was mere minutes before Brand came down the hall. It was the first time she’d seen him without his coat. Collarless, with his shirtsleeves rolled up, he looked like any other man. Any other handsome man.

Her heart stuttered. She ignored it. This was no time for her emotions to betray her.

“Laura? Sam mentioned an emergency—” Concern was written all over Brand’s face. “Are you all right?”

“It’s not me.” She glanced down at the children with their upturned faces, big eyes, and bigger ears. “Can we speak alone?”

He had to tell them twice to go find their Aunt Charity. They left, but not without exaggerated whining and foot dragging. Brand stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Laura thought he might take hold of her hand, so she locked them together.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A young woman is dying. She’s asking for a preacher.”

“Let me get my Bible,” he said without hesitation.

Laura quickly added, “Amelia is with her. She’s at the Silver Slipper.”

“I’ll be right back.” Again, no hesitation whatsoever before he stepped back inside.

Laura walked to the edge of the modest front porch and tapped her toe while she waited. Seconds later, Brand was back. He’d collected his Bible and was donning his hat as he crossed the porch. He hadn’t bothered with his coat or collar.

“Let’s go,” he said. He headed down the steps toward the buggy.

Once they were settled and she had taken the reins up again, he leaned back, watching her carefully.

“How is it you’re here?”

“Amelia was at the house when they sent for her. She’d helped the girl earlier and now it appears the young woman is dying.” Laura focused on the street, guiding her rig between other wagons and riders on Main.

She snuck a sidelong glance at the man beside her. When she found him studying her, she tried to concentrate on the road again. In no time she had pulled the rig up outside the saloon.

“Thank you, Laura.” He jumped out of the buggy, lingered a moment. “Don’t wait. I’ll walk home.”

“I’ll wait,” she said. “Amelia might need my help.”

“This place isn’t—”

“I’ll wait,” she insisted.

“But—”

“Go, Brand.”

Bible in hand, he disappeared into the saloon.

She sat on the high-sprung front seat of the covered buggy staring into the saloon. Beyond the open front door, the interior was gloomy. It was afternoon, so there were fewer patrons inside. Of an evening when the air was still or a breeze blew in just the right direction, tinny piano music drifted as far as the boardinghouse. Just now, the piano was silenced.

Now and again as she waited and watched, a lone patron would walk inside the Silver Slipper. Thankfully, they were intent on their destination and paid her little mind. Laughter rang out. No one had any idea that a young woman lay dying upstairs. Laura doubted any of the men would even care.

W
hen Brand stepped into the saloon, the barkeep, Denton Fairchild, immediately said, “Room two,” and indicated the staircase in back with a nod. The air was stale and tainted with a sour smell. Brand took the steep stairs two at a time and paused at the second door from the top of the landing.

He knocked softly, heard Amelia say, “Come in.”

A young woman with matted brown hair lay on a narrow iron bed. The only colors that distinguished her from the bedsheets were those of her hair and the purple shadows beneath her sunken eyes. A pile of soiled sheets and rags lay mounded in the corner of the room.

Brand focused on the woman in the bed. She appeared to be in her early twenties.

“How is she?” he whispered to Amelia.

“Feverish. Weak. There’s nothing more I can do. She’s lost too much blood.”

“Is she conscious?”

“Barely. She’s been begging for a preacher. I think she was just hanging on, waiting for you. Her name’s Mazie.”

There was barely enough room for him to slide past Amelia. He knelt on the floor beside the bed and set his Bible down.

“Mazie?” He took her limp hand in his. “I’m Reverend McCormick.”

She didn’t respond so he closed his eyes and began to pray. After a few moments, the hand inside his moved. He looked into her face and found her eyes open, glassy and feverish.

“I don’t want to die a sinner.”

“You won’t, Mazie. Not if you believe.”

“I do. I do and I’m sorry for everything I done. Will you pray for me?”

“I will. Close your eyes and pray with me. Ask for forgiveness. Put yourself in God’s hands and He’ll see you safely home.”

“Preacher?”

“Yes, Mazie.”

“My real name’s Jenny.”

Brand knelt and prayed for what seemed like hours while Jenny, barely breathing, clung steadily to his hand. Now and again she would moan in pain and Amelia would place drops of laudanum in water, lift the young woman’s head, and help her swallow.

Finally, a slow, shuddering breath escaped the girl and her hand relaxed in Brand’s. He raised his head and looked down upon her face. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, but a blissful calm had come over her features. The corners of her mouth hinted at a smile.

Amelia reached over and closed her eyes. “What a tragic waste of life,” she said. Then she whispered sadly, “Not one, but two.”

L
aura waited until the sun had slipped behind the western corner of the building. She knew that if she left, Brand and Amelia
wouldn’t blame her—they could walk home together—but she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

It was late afternoon. The street traffic was gone. The saloon wasn’t as crowded as it would be later. Laura stepped out of the buggy and walked up to the door. With every step she asked herself what she was doing, why she was walking into a situation that just might be her undoing, but she thought of both Brand and Amelia and their willingness to help.

Surely she could slip inside, tell the barkeep to let them know she had gone home, and then leave without incident.

Inside, the Silver Slipper was just as she imagined it would be, as down at the heels inside as it was out. There was nothing about the place to distinguish it from any other watering hole. The barkeep was wiping down the bar when he looked up and saw her framed in the doorway.

“Can I do something for you, lady, or are you just here to gawk?”

A few years ago she could have silenced him with one word, but she was Mrs. Laura Foster now. She drew herself up, took a step inside the door. One step. That was all. Only the veteran soldier, Rob, was inside, propped up at a table, staring into a glass of ale.

“Please tell Mrs. Larson and the reverend that I’ve gone home.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Who should I say left ’em here?”

“They’ll know.”

He laughed and adjusted the garters on his shirtsleeves. “Anytime you’re down on your luck, I could use a gal like you around. You wouldn’t even have to do anything but stand in the doorway and lure ’em in.”

Laura opened her mouth, about to tell him that he couldn’t even afford her as window dressing. But remembering who she was, she closed her mouth and turned to leave. Unfortunately, four saddle tramps chose that moment to swagger in. Her heart stopped when she realized the man in the lead was the one who had slapped his daughter at the mercantile.

He took one look at Laura, snagged her in the crook of his arm,
and without missing a step, pulled her across the room with him. When he reached the bar he ordered two whiskeys.

“‘Pears to me things have changed, Miss High and Mighty. Where’s your watchdog now?”

“Get your hands off of me.” Laura was so furious she trembled with rage as she struggled to wrest herself from the man’s grasp. His grip tightened. She instinctively reached for her reticule but realized that in her haste she’d left it at home. She had no derringer to protect herself with.

The man’s companions bellied up to the bar alongside them.

“You got all the luck, Simon. That ‘un’s a looker.”

Desperate to get away, Laura turned to the barkeep.

“Tell him to unhand me.”

“Hey, lady, you walked in here on your own.” He shrugged. “He’s not breaking any laws.”

Yet
, she thought.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar. Her hat had been knocked askew, her hair was loose and cascading wantonly over one side of her face. The man beside her was leaning into her, trying to nuzzle her. She could feel his hot breath on her neck, his stubble against her cheek. She smelled liquor on his rancid breath and tried to shove herself back to gain some space between them.

She couldn’t turn away from the image in front of her. It was only a reflection, but it was as if her new identity had been stripped away, as if her past was on display for all to see.

A reminder that one moment in time, one misstep, could change everything.

She stopped struggling and turned in the man’s arms until she was facing him.

“Now that’s more like it,” he chuckled.

Laura smiled back at him as she brought up her knee and rammed it home. As he doubled over in pain, she raised her foot
and stomped the heel of her shoe onto the toe of his boot. He gasped and reared back.

She turned toward the door but wasn’t fast enough. The last thing she saw was his raised fist.

B
rand was halfway down the stairs when he heard the commotion. He caught sight of Laura before she suddenly fell to the floor. The barkeep dashed out from behind the bar as Brand rushed toward the knot of men staring down at Laura. His heart stopped when he saw her lying on the filthy floor.

He tossed his hat and Bible onto the bar and shoved the men aside.

“What happened? Did she faint?” He wanted her out of the muck and mire. Wanted her safe. He knelt beside her.

The barkeep shook his head. “Sorry, Preacher. Everything happened too fast for me to do anything.”

Someone made the mistake of volunteering, “Simon hit her.”

Brand stood and scanned the men gathered around Laura. One was bent double, hands on his knees, gasping. He grimaced in pain even as he shot threatening glances at the circle of men crowding him. The minute his head came up, Brand recognized him.

“Abusing women and children appears to be a habit with you,” Brand said.

The man tried to straighten. “Yeah. So?”

Without thought, Brand hit him on the jaw. Simon went down hard and was out.

Ignoring the man, Brand turned his attention to Laura again. Her hat had come off; her hair was a golden nimbus around her head. He hunkered down on one knee and scooped her up into his arms.

Amelia was at his side when he stood up.

“What happened? Let me see her.”

“Not before I get her out of here.”

Brand’s footsteps were the only sounds in the room as he strode
out with Laura draped over his arms. With Amelia hurrying to keep up, he headed for the buggy. He shifted Laura’s weight and climbed aboard.

“Can you drive?” he asked as Amelia scrambled up and grabbed the reins.

“I drive my father’s old rig all over the countryside when I call on patients.”

He knew as much. He wasn’t thinking straight. A cloud of fury had overtaken his senses. Not since the war had he felt such anger, such turmoil. Seeing Laura felled had been his undoing.

He looked down at the woman in his arms, brushed her hair back off her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. A welt was quickly rising on her cheek just below her eye. Upstairs he had just witnessed the damage a man could do to a woman. To see Laura this way only stoked his rage.