The Long Trail Home (14 page)

“You're a bronco buster?” She examined him closely. “You look more like a mine owner.”

Sam pushed his hat back and grinned. “You flatter me, Amanda Edgington. I scrub up good.”

Little Rocklin continued to lean against her mother and suck her thumb, never taking her eyes off Sam Fortune.

“Well, Mr. Fortune, I very much appreciate your coming all the way up to Cheyenne to give me this report. A letter would have sufficed, but a personal visit is much, much better. I do wish I had some money to cover your expenses.”

“Your daddy already did that. He wanted me and my partner to have the horses we broke if anything happened to him. I sold the horses in Sidney, Nebraska, a few days ago. I would have brought that money to you, but he had somethin' else in mind for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“The main reason I trailed up here from the Indian Nation was to give you this.” He reached inside his suit coat pocket and pulled out the banknote.

She looked him in the eyes. “What is it?”

“Take a look, Mrs. Edgington. I think you'll find it good news. Just might be your luck is changin'.” He handed it to her.

She unfolded the paper and stared at the words. Her mouth dropped open, and her hand flew up to her lips. “I . . . I don't understand. . . .”

He stepped closer and pointed to the note. “Your daddy sold some cattle, about twelve hundred head. This is the profit off them. The banker down in Dodge City said any Wells Fargo office could handle it, or your local banker can telegraph the bank in Dodge to transfer the funds.”

She put her left hand to her chest and took deep breaths. “Are you telling me this is for real?”

Fortune's grin stretched his cheeks. “I'm tellin' you your daddy left you $22,400.”

The banknote fluttered out of her hands. She clutched her stomach with both hands and let out a scream that sent chills down Sam's back and caused the hair on his neck to bristle.

Little Rocklin started to cry.

Sweat popped out on her forehead and face.

“Ma'am?” Fortune called out. “Do you always shout when—”

“When I'm about to have a baby?” she screamed. “I certainly do!”

“A baby? Oh, no . . . no,” he cautioned. “You don't want to do that!”

“Mr. Fortune . . . I have no choice in the matter. . . . Help me to my feet.”

“Maybe you shouldn't move.”

“I am not going to have this baby on my front porch. Help me into my bed.” Her hot, sweaty palm clutched his hand.

“Oh, I couldn't do that. . . . I . . .”

“Mr. Fortune, if you don't help me, I'll pull that revolver out of your holster and shoot your head off. Do I make myself clear?” She accented the sentence with another heart-stopping scream.

“Yes . . . ma'am.” He took her arm and gently helped her shuffle to the door.

“Get the banknote!” she yelled.

He ran back, snatched up the slip of paper, and scurried to her side.

“Get the baby!” she hollered.

His eyes widened as he froze in place. The little girl sat on the porch swing, sobbing.

“Rocklin. Carry Rocklin for me!” Amanda instructed.

“Me? I . . . OK.” He clutched up the near hysterical child. The baby laid her head against his wide shoulder and immediately quit crying.

Sam scooted over and held the door open for Amanda Edgington, then trailed her into the parlor.

“I'll make it to bed.” She was doubled over, holding her side. “You telephone for Dr. Morton.”

“Me? Telephone? I don't know how to use them. I've never even seen one work.”

Another scream brought him to her side. “Help me lie down,” she sobbed.

“Yes, ma'am. . . .” He cradled the toddler in his left arm as she watched her mother with wide eyes.

When they reached the bedroom decorated with lace and gingham, she motioned at the bed. “Pull the covers back!”

“Eh, Amanda . . . this is . . . this is embarrassin' me,” he mumbled.

“Not nearly as embarrassing as it will be if I have this baby on the floor at your feet. Help me to bed for heaven's sake.”

He jerked the covers back, and she turned around, sat down, and laid her head on the big feather pillow. “Lift my feet up onto the bed, please.”

The sweat poured off Sam's face and cascaded down his neck.

“Leave Rocklin on the bed with me. I can watch her. Call Dr. Morton first, and then call the courthouse and send word to my husband.”

When he started to put the toddler down, she clung to his neck and wailed. He stood back up with the baby still in his arms, and she instantly stopped crying.

“She doesn't like a cranky mama,” Mrs. Edgington grimaced, then screamed. When she caught her breath, she pointed at Rocklin. “Do you mind keeping her?”

“If she can put up with me, I reckon I'll put up with her.”

“Go make the phone calls,” she panted.

“I really have never used a—”

“Hurry,” she cried out, then gritted her teeth. “This baby is coming quick. The directions are on the shelf under the telephone. Anyone can use it. Trust me.”

He found the telephone mounted to the wall in the kitchen and studied the box. He could hear Amanda Edgington groan from the other room. He stared at the telephone and then at the toddler in his arms. “Li'l darlin', do you know how to make this thing work?”

Rocklin reached over, plucked up the hand telephone, and put it to her little ear. She began to chatter in monosyllables.

“OK . . . OK . . . I listen there . . . and I must talk in this piece.” He leaned closer to the other circular part of the phone. “Hello, the telephone?” he shouted. “Is anyone in there? Hello?” He stared at the toddler. “I want Dr. Morton!”

There was no reply.

“It's not working. It must be broken!” He continued to hold the hand piece to his ear. “What's the matter with this? No wonder they're in financial difficulty. The thing doesn't work!”

Rocklin Edgington leaned over and tugged on the crank handle that made a bell ring. “Don't do that . . . ,” Fortune protested. “I can't hear anything!”

A man's voice demanded. “Number?”

Fortune stepped back, “What? Who is this?” he shouted.

“What number are you calling, please?”

Fortune stared at the receiver, then shouted. “Where are you?”

“This is Central Office,” the man replied. “What number are you calling?”

“Number? I only need one—one doctor. She's havin' a baby! Send a doctor quick!” He put the hand unit back on the hook.
I was supposed to telephone Mr. Edgington. Maybe the doctor will tell him.

Immediately the phone rang and Sam Fortune jumped, the baby still in his arms. He picked up the hand piece again and brought it to his ear. “What do you want?” he hollered. “You scared Rocklin half to death.”

In the back bedroom, Amanda Edgington screamed.

“What was that?” the man on the telephone probed.

“It's a woman having a baby! If you don't send Dr. Morton over here right away, I'll personally come down there and run you up the flag pole on the top of the Inter-Ocean Hotel.”

“Sir, have you ever used a telephone before?”

“No, and I don't intend on usin' it again!”

“What doctor do you want?”

“Dr. Morton, . . . and tell her husband to come right home.”

“Whose husband?”

“The woman havin' the baby,” he shouted. “Are you a dunce?”

“What is the woman's name?”

“Mrs. Edgington—don't you know anything?”

“Amanda's having her baby?”

“Yes, won't you hurry?”

“With whom am I speaking?”

“The one who will hang you up the flag pole if you don't hurry!” Fortune slammed the telephone down on the hook.

“You better learn a trade, darlin', because your mama and daddy are whippin' a dead horse with this telephone thing. They are just a hassle, and you don't know for sure if they even got your message.”

When he returned to the bedroom carrying the toddler, Mrs. Edgington was on her back and had her knees up in the air and spread wide, though the covers were pulled up to her chin. “Get me some clean towels,” she barked out.

“Now, ma'am . . . you just hold on. . . . Don't do anything until the doctor gets here.”

“Get the towels!” she demanded.

“Yes, ma'am.” He ran to the dresser, grabbed up two cotton towels, and ran back, the toddler clinging to his neck.
Lord . . . I'm not supposed to be here. . . . This isn't right. This isn't my place. Her husband should be here. Or a doctor. I can't watch this. I can't do this. It . . . it isn't proper. You've got to get me out of this. Quick!

Amanda screamed twice and began to yell, “It's coming! It's coming!”

“No, ma'am!” he screamed back. “You can't do this to me!”

The front door banged open, and a man about Sam's age sprinted into the bedroom.

“Hallelujah!” Sam shouted. “Are you the doctor?”

“I'm Mr. Edgington. Who in blazes are you?”

“I'm . . . I'm . . . a friend of your wife's daddy. . . . I'll be outside if you need me!”

“That's my daughter you're carrying.”

“You take her.”

Little Rocklin clutched Fortune tightly when her father reached for her.

“Eh . . . I'll watch her. . . . You take care of your wife.”

A thin, gray-haired man burst through the front door as Fortune approached it from the parlor.

“Are you the doctor?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“A mighty, mighty happy man. Amanda and the Mr. are in the bedroom.”

Fortune staggered out to the front porch and plopped down on the wooden porch swing on the veranda. The toddler sat up on his lap. “That was close, little darlin' . . . very close. I think the Lord had mercy on us accordin' to his loving-kindness, don't you?”

The two of them rocked back and forth amidst screams and shouts from the back room. His coat collar was wringing wet. The toddler rested her head on his chest, and Sam laid his head on the back of the oak swing. He closed his eyes and felt his racing heart begin to slow.

The stifling heat had turned to a pleasant breeze when he opened his eyes. It dried the sweat on his face and chest, cooling him. The sun sat lower on the western horizon. Scattered, dark gray clouds rolled across Cheyenne City. The sweaty-faced little girl was asleep in his arms.

The gray-haired man tapped on his shoulder. “Mr. Fortune?”

Sam sat up straight. “Yes, sir?” Little Rocklin blinked her eyes open.

“Everything is taken care of inside. Mr. and Mrs. Edgington would like for you to bring Rocklin in to meet her brother.”

“Her brother? Doc—you mean it's a boy?”

“That's normally what a brother means.”

He hugged the sleepy little girl. “Did you hear that, li'l punkin? You got yourself a brother!”

A tiny, round, red face slept on the feather pillow beside an exhausted woman with tangled hair and chapped lips. His tie and jacket tossed across a chair and white shirt rolled up to his elbows, Mr. Edgington paced the room.

He stopped right next to Sam. “Mr. Fortune! How can I ever thank you?”

“I just . . . just happened to . . . I'm glad. . . . Those telephones really work, don't they?”

Mrs. Edgington held out her arms to Rocklin and Sam placed the toddler on the bed. “Come see your little brother Samuel,” she murmured.

“Samuel?” Fortune gasped. “You named him Samuel?”

Amanda looked up through tired eyes. “We named him after you—Samuel Gabriel Edgington—because you showed up like the angel Gabriel when we needed help most. I'm afraid we can never repay you.”

“I told you, ma'am, you don't me owe anythin'. Your daddy was a good man and treated me square. I only tried to do the same for you. It was just a coincidence that I—”

“Mr. Fortune, I do not believe in coincidences,” Mr. Edgington asserted. “The Lord brought you here, whether you believe it or not.”

Rocklin curled up at her mother's other side.

“I think perhaps we all need a little more sleep,” Mrs. Edgington declared. “Mr. Fortune, would you please call on us tomorrow about noon? We would like you to join us for lunch. I want to talk with you, but I don't think I'll have the energy until then.”

Sam pulled on his hat and nodded. “Yes, ma'am. I'll call on you.”

“Could I talk to you in private, Mr. Fortune?” Mr. Edgington asked.

The men strolled out onto the porch.

“Did your wife get a chance to tell you about her daddy and the funds he sent?” Sam asked.

“Yes, and I don't know how much of it was reality and how much was delirium and pain talking.”

“Mr. Rocklin died by a snakebite down in the Indian Territory. I buried him there. And this,” he pulled out the folded banknote, “is his inheritance that he wanted you and Amanda to have.” He handed the man the paper.

Edgington gaped at the note, then looked up. “If I were an emotional man, I'd cry, Mr. Fortune. You cannot imagine the joy this brings to our lives. Surely my cup is full and runneth over.”

“Mr. Edgington, I want to be honest. I haven't exactly spent my entire life doin' things I'm proud of. But seein' the joy of this day for you and Amanda and little punkin . . . well, it makes a man enjoy doin' the right thing. It might not be too bad a habit to continue.”

“Mr. Fortune, forgive me if I sound presumptuous. But do you need a job or a place to stay? We would be happy to put you up with us until you find what you're looking for.”

I spent most of the past three years in prison, and most of my life on the other side of the law . . . I'm not at all sure what I'm lookin' for.
“Thank you, Mr. Edgington, but I'll be travelin' on in a day or so. Like I said, I'm not exactly the type that's comfortable on this side of town. I'll probably look for some ranch job. I have a friend who's up in Johnson County. And I'm still wrestlin' demons from the past.”