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Cowboy Creek Christmas: Mistletoe Reunion
Cheryl St.John
Sherri Shackelford
A Season for Love and FamilyMistletoe Reunion by Cheryl St.JohnWhen Marlys Boyd moves West hoping to find acceptance for her doctoring skills, she's surprised to find her former fiancé, Sam Mason, running the local newspaper. And with the ladies in town determined to make a match of the doctor and the single father, she's not sure she can resist building the family they once dreamed of.Mistletoe Bride by Sherri ShackelfordPregnant by a man who betrayed her trust, a mail-order marriage is Beatrix Haas's only hope. But when she arrives in Cowboy Creek and learns her intended groom has died, she needs a new daddy for the baby that's coming right away. Blacksmith Colton Werner offers the mother and child the protection of his name, but can their marriage of convenience ever lead to true love?


A season for love and family
Mistletoe Reunion by Cheryl St.John
When Marlys Boyd moves West hoping to find acceptance for her doctoring skills, she’s surprised to find her former fiancé, Sam Mason, running the local newspaper. And with the ladies in town determined to make a match of the doctor and the single father, she’s not sure she can resist building the family they once dreamed of.
Mistletoe Bride by Sherri Shackelford
Pregnant by a man who betrayed her trust, a mail-order marriage is Beatrix Haas’s only hope. But when she arrives in Cowboy Creek and learns her intended groom has died, she needs a new daddy for the baby that’s coming right away. Blacksmith Colton Werner offers the mother and child the protection of his name, but can their marriage of convenience ever lead to true love?
Praise for Cheryl St.John
“A fascinating look at shipboard life in the 1850s. The characters are delightful and inspire anticipation for the next story.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Wedding Journey
“This well-written, sweet love story has lots of romance and adventure.”
—RT Book Reviews on To Be a Mother
“A charming love story with a plausible storyline and characters who are firm in their beliefs.”
—RT Book Reviews on Marrying the Preacher’s Daughter
Praise for Sherri Shackelford
“Shackelford’s latest features imperfect but likable characters whom readers can connect with. Watching the progression of their slow-building relationship is enjoyable and makes this book a perfect treat for Christmas.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Rancher’s Christmas Proposal
“With sparkling dialogue and a perfectly matched hero and heroine, along with an intriguing mystery, this Prairie Courtship story makes a highly entertaining read.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Engagement Bargain
“A lovely marriage-of-convenience story, the interaction between the two main characters is a joy to watch, and the hero’s acceptance of love is well done.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Marshal’s Ready-Made Family
CHERYL ST.JOHN
CHERYL ST.JOHN’s love for reading started as a child. She wrote her own stories, designed covers and stapled them into books. She credits many hours of creating scenarios for her paper dolls and Barbies as the start of her fascination with fictional characters. Cheryl loves hearing from readers. Visit her website at cherylstjohn.net (http://www.cherylstjohn.net) or email her at SaintJohn@aol.com.
SHERRI SHACKELFORD
SHERRI SHACKELFORD is an award-winning author of inspirational books featuring ordinary people discovering extraordinary love. A reformed pessimist, Sherri has a passion for storytelling. Her books are fast-paced and heartfelt with a generous dose of humor. She loves to hear from readers at sherri@sherrishackelford.com. Visit her website at sherrishackelford.com (http://www.sherrishackelford.com).
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Cowboy Creek Christmas
Cheryl St.John
Sherri Shackelford


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#ue3b1e101-8b39-561e-a55c-421d25d1ed4e)
Back Cover Text (#u7927b702-f1cc-5a57-bdde-23978fa208a3)
Praise (#ucca68c7d-def5-5674-9135-48c1c7c7431c)
About the Authors (#ub145ea4c-1b05-5b54-9040-023a623361d7)
Title Page (#u51ab6173-c30d-5f99-9da6-2898a616ab99)
MISTLETOE REUNION by Cheryl St.John (#u66902264-4879-5eba-8f11-bc672dbdaedb)
MISTLETOE BRIDE by Sherri Shackelford (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Mistletoe Reunion
Cheryl St.John
Mistletoe Reunion is lovingly dedicated to my friend and critique partner of over twenty-five years. You may have seen Barb Hunt’s name in book dedications, mine and others. You may have met her. She supported my career in every way possible. We knew each other’s families and shared our faith. She was there when I got the call that I’d sold my first book. We celebrated every victory and supported each other through the rough times. She was a loyal and loving person, and I’m fortunate to have had her as a friend for as long as I did.
Though I miss her all the time, I’m assured she is seated at the right hand of God and having a really good time—likely even a better time than all the Friday nights with the girls put together...and we have laughed a lot! Donna Kaye, Debra Hines, *lizzie starr, Sherri Shackelford and I continue to celebrate Barb’s life and honor her memory. While it’s difficult to think of this natural world without her, she will always have a place in our hearts. She knew how much she was loved—by her family, her friends and her Heavenly Father, and that gives me peace.
All flesh is grass, and all its loveliness is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, because the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
Surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the Word of our God stands forever.
—Isaiah 40:6–8
Contents
Dedication (#ua6d1963a-40f8-5b39-8c14-226cc37d0111)
Bible Verse (#u43b3a48c-f4a8-59cb-a93c-51f309e7c3b8)
Chapter One (#u26163fb8-f474-599b-bbbb-8ef4f5a3ffd8)
Chapter Two (#ufe762a14-1166-5597-b6fe-28a357c38632)
Chapter Three (#u7ea64e91-beb9-54ec-965e-95f78620c366)
Chapter Four (#ua86c3569-3513-5402-8b81-a01c6386b812)
Chapter Five (#u68484707-e733-5292-a34d-1022253613a2)
Chapter Six (#ua12092c4-f5df-5c69-823f-24d0c94002f3)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u68f9dd3b-8a08-5054-847e-a9a9f8ae97d1)
Kansas, late October 1868
The bell over the door rang, and Marlys Boyd glanced up to see her scheduled patient arrive with a bright smile. “Good morning, Doctor Boyd!”
Pippa Kendricks removed her coat and hung it on the rack inside the door. After using the mat Marlys provided to wipe her wet boots, she took a pair of bright pink slippers from her bag and changed footwear.
“Good morning, Pippa. I have the water heated, and I’ll fill the tub.”
Pippa followed her toward one of the bathing rooms on the north side of the roomy office building. “You know I enjoy this room with the windows near the ceiling. It’s bright and cheerful.”
“I had those windows added after I purchased this place,” Marlys told her. The frosted glass had been etched with leaf and berry scrolls, and was one of the ever-practical lady doctor’s few splurges.
Pippa turned her back to Marlys for help with the hooks and buttons on her dress, then stepped behind the painted pine dressing screen. “There are so many exciting things happening of late. I’m actually glad winter came early, so Gideon and I can stay until spring. We would have been gone before all these rousing things happened. Truthfully, I’m going to miss everyone here.”
“We will miss you, as well. I read in an edition of the Philadelphia paper that President Johnson has declared a national day of thanksgiving, so you will be here for that.”
“Yes!” Pippa exclaimed. “In fact I was asked to be on the committee to organize a town celebration. I suppose because I know so many people. You should volunteer for the committee and get to know your neighbors.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not very good at things like that.”
“Nonsense. You’ve done a marvelous job organizing things here for your medical practice. You’d be an excellent addition to the committee.”
“But I’m still so new to town. Surely the committee is meant for more established townspeople.”
Pippa laughed. “Established? In Cowboy Creek? Why, the town is practically brand-new. There are always new townspeople. Like the new newspaper owner. Any day he’ll be putting out his very first edition,” Pippa told her as Marlys filled the tub and added oils and minerals. “I’ve already asked for an interview about the upcoming play at the Opera House. We’re doing The Streets of New York.” The petite redhead came from behind the screen, tying the sash of the flannel robe, and eyed Marlys. “Have you done any acting, Dr. Boyd?”
“No, I haven’t.” At the speculative look on the actress’s face, Marlys added, “And I have no interest in trying. My focus is on building my practice.”
Getting people to take her seriously as a lady doctor was difficult all on its own, but the situation only worsened when people discovered she did not practice traditional medicine, but instead took a homeopathic approach. She had hoped that establishing her practice out West would give her access to patients with the enterprising, pioneer spirit who might appreciate unconventional treatments. She’d been eager to learn more about the people of different cultures and ethnicities who had settled in this Kansas boom town.
Nearly two weeks after Marlys had opened her practice, Pippa had been the first resident of Cowboy Creek to inquire about her medical techniques, in reference to a skin rash. When Marlys suggested they try a few different herbs and oils, the flamboyant ginger-gold redhead had been elated. She’d been in a couple of times a week since, so Marlys had adjusted to the young woman’s dramatic speech and manner.
“So, the newspaper editor will give your play editorial support?”
“Yes, and he seemed quite pleased to have news for his first edition.”
In August Pippa had married Gideon Kendricks, the agent who sold stocks for the railroad. They were planning to travel west after the weather cleared in a few months.
Marlys needed all the advertisement she could get. The townspeople hadn’t exactly flocked to her practice. But if she could convince a few more residents like Pippa to give her a chance, she believed she could win them over, and word of mouth would spread.
“I’ll go see about an interview myself after we’ve finished here.” Marlys checked the temperature of the water in the porcelain tub and stirred one last time to assure the minerals were well dissolved. “Your bath is ready. Take your time and relax. You have towels on the stand there. I’ll let you know when you’ve soaked long enough, but should you need the water reheated, ring the bell.”
“Thank you, darling! You’ve saved me from a winter of dry skin and made me look dewy fresh. I will glow at my performance. I am singing your praises to the other ladies—lilting notes on a sweet high C.”
Marlys smiled and left the bathing room. She’d had two of those deep bathing tubs installed in comfortable private rooms, funded—along with the rest of her practice—by selling the jewelry and townhome she’d inherited from her mother. After working multiple jobs to pay for her degree from an unconventional school of medicine, selling her property had been her only option. Her father had supported her early desires to learn languages and world history, but had never approved of her medical studies. Immediately after she’d made the decision to become a doctor and not marry, he’d cut off all support.
As soon as Pippa’s session was over, Marlys emptied and cleaned the tub, hung the towels to dry, and dressed in her wool coat and fur-lined boots. She tugged her collar up around her neck and tied a scarf over her hair. Winters in the East had prepared her for cold, but not for the relentless wind that caught the hem of her skirt and whipped the end of her scarf across her face. She held it over her nose and trudged along Second Street.
She passed Dr. Fletcher’s office on the corner of Second and Eden, crossed the street and passed Sheriff Hanley’s office and jail to reach the newspaper. The previous owner had been sent to prison for crimes against the local business owners. While evading arrest, he had deliberately set fire to his own building. The quick response of the townspeople had saved the jail and the boarding house on either side, but the Herald had been gutted.
Shortly after her arrival, Marlys had learned that an Eastern journalist had bought the gutted building and renovated it so quickly her head had spun. She imagined a fresh young fellow eager to make a big name for himself in the quickly growing cattle town.
The exterior had been freshly painted, and the new door didn’t show any wear. On the other side of the enormous pane of glass, a bespectacled man was painting bold gold letters, scrupulously edged with black, spelling out Webster County Daily News. Beneath the name of the paper, the artist’s brush had scripted Owner & Managing Edito...and was midstroke on the r when he spotted her and quickly opened the door to usher her inside. A bell rang above the door as he opened and closed it. “It’s too cold to stand out there for longer than a minute,” he said. “Come inside and warm yourself by the stove.”
There was a new stove surrounded by wooden chairs in the corner of the front open area, a space obviously designed to welcome visitors and perhaps encourage local gossip. A blue-speckled enamel pot sat atop the stove, and pegs holding half a dozen tin cups lined the wall.
A four-foot-high wooden room divider with a half-door separated the back portion of the room, where desks had been haphazardly deposited and crates stood against one wall. Two enormous printing presses took up the space in the rear, and there were two doors leading to rooms beyond, one with the door open, the other closed.
“Coffee’s hot. I just made it.” The painter gestured to the stove and pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Are you the editor or a journalist?” she asked.
“Forgive my manners. I’m Pete Sackett. Just here to do this lettering. I’m sure the owner heard the bell, so he’ll be out in a moment.”
Marlys used the predicted moment to survey the impressive array of framed front pages along the interior wall of this area. The Progressive: LINCOLN ELECTED, New York Illustrated News: RICHMOND IS OURS!, Dallas Morning News: LEE SURRENDERS, The Daily Intelligencer: LINCOLN ASSASSINATED were a few headlines she had time to read before a greeting came from behind her.
“Welcome to the Webster County Daily News.”
At the instantly recognizable rich voice, her hands stilled on the scarf she’d been about to remove, and she turned.
* * *
At the sound of the bell, Sam Mason wiped ink from his fingers and stood, dropping the rag to the floor beside his journeyman. His knees cracked as he straightened, and the lanky young man grinned. They’d been cleaning type block since early that morning, arranging the blocks in orderly sequence in stained wood trays. “Your knees would protest, too, if you’d slept on the cold ground for months at a time while marching through Virginia. You were still on your mama’s knee by the fire, and a good thing for you.”
“I’m not that young—you’re exaggerating,” the younger man disagreed. “I was running my family farm on sweat and prayer. Where do these uppercase script letters go?” Israel asked.
“In that tray.” Sam pointed to the tray behind Israel. “Starting third row down and ending row seven in the middle.”
Israel nodded and loaded the first letter block. Sam’s uncanny memory for details astounded most people, but Israel was used to it. He’d apprenticed under Sam in the city and had been honored that Sam had asked him to accompany him on this new venture.
The appearance of the outer room gave Sam a jolt of pleasure every time he walked into it. The work area still smelled like new wood and plaster, but soon the combined smells of ink and paper would remind him of the history of years of journalistic endeavors and indicate a job well done.
A woman in a practical gray coat and red scarf stood facing away from him, perusing his collection of front pages. Pete was still painting letters and had just outlined the S for Samuel’s name. “Welcome to the Webster County Daily News.”
The woman pushed the scarf from her chestnut brown hair as she turned. The winter sun chose that moment to stream through the freshly cleaned and shined window, silhouetting her form and sparking glistening gold variations of color in her unfashionably short wavy hair, reaching only below her ears in casual disarray.
She wore no jewelry and hadn’t rouged her cheeks, but her skin glowed, and her beauty needed no ornamentation. Her gaze riveted on his face, intense, probing, familiar. He experienced a jolt of awareness akin to the nervous anticipation of an impending skirmish. Why he dredged up that feeling puzzled him for only seconds. She narrowed her gold-brown eyes. They recognized each other at the same time.
“Samuel?” she intoned.
Her voice was a confirmation. He’d never forgotten the lilting sound of it. Marlys. “Miss Boyd. Or—is it still Miss Boyd?”
“Yes.” His former fiancée’s astute gaze took in his shirt and trousers, the ink on his hands. “I had no idea it was you who had taken over the newspaper. I thought you’d long been settled in Philadelphia.”
“The war changed a lot of plans.” He determinedly collected himself. “May I take your coat? You’ll get too warm.”
She unbuttoned the garment and let it slide from her shoulders. She wore a pale blue blouse without ruffle or lace and a dark blue skirt. She was still as narrow and delicate-looking as the girl he remembered, but she’d blossomed into a lovely woman. He took the coat, sweetly perfumed with the scent of her hair, and hung it on a hook near the stove. His olfactory senses had not forgotten her, either. “Have a seat. There’s coffee.”
“I’m fine, thank you.” But she moved to perch on a chair, and her formal manner drove his discomfort up another notch.
The air crackled with more than the snap of the kindling in the stove. There were years between them, and he didn’t know her anymore. He had never truly known her.
She glanced behind him and back to meet his eyes. “Are you the editor?”
Perfunctory as always. “I am.”
“A piece on my new practice would help spread the word and let people know I’m ready for business.”
No small talk or girlish chatter. Her blunt and businesslike manner didn’t surprise him, nor did it offend him. Perhaps he knew her better than he thought. Sam tilted his head and went to gather paper and pencil before settling on a chair across from her. “I guess you’re the lady doctor who built on Second Street?”
“I am.”
“We lost touch quite a while ago,” he said, the first one to mention their previous relationship. “And we maintained no mutual acquaintances, so you’ll have to fill me in on your background, and we’ll make the piece interesting.”
“Will you interview me right now?”
He spread his fingers in question. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” She smoothed her skirt over her knees.
“I recall you’re fluent in several languages. That’s an interesting fact. Four, is it?”
“Latin, French, German, Portuguese, passable Chinese, and I can communicate somewhat in Choctaw, Chickasee and Cherokee.”
“More than I thought.” He added a note on the paper. “And your education?” He kept his voice studiedly neutral as he mentioned the reason she’d called off their engagement.
“I attended the Philadelphia School of Eclectic Medicine.”
His pencil paused. He glanced up. “Did you learn conventional medicine there?”
“If by conventional you mean cutting, purging, administering harmful chemicals, and adding tar to drinking water, I did not.”
He sensed he’d opened a can of worms. “By harmful chemicals, you mean...?”
“Mercury, arsenic. Even in small doses they are harmful at their worst and placebos at best.”
The pieces he’d read about reformers and botanical physicians had not been favorable. The majority of the population looked upon them as quacks. “So you studied the teaching of...” He’d read the news from all major cities for years, and he had perfect recall. “Wooster Beach?”
“As well as John King and John Milton Scudder.”
He nodded. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that she’d followed their practices. She’d always had unconventional ideas and questioned everything.
“Eclectic medicine promotes botanical therapies with the belief that the body heals itself. I studied medicinal plants of European and American origin to learn remedies. I was encouraged to explore how medicine should work with nature to harness its intrinsic healing capabilities.”
Marlys was passionate about her studies, about her practice. He didn’t doubt for a moment she believed her methods could help people. She was as caring and compassionate as she was strong-willed and outspoken. She was also the same woman who had broken off an engagement with him, left him to explain to friends and his social circle, wounded his masculine pride and left a crater in his self-respect.
Sam kept his expression neutral. He was a journalist, and no matter their history, it was his job to report the news in an impartial manner. He offered up a silent prayer for guidance to handle this situation without emotion or prejudice. “Do you have any followers yet?”
When she didn’t reply immediately, he glanced up. She was eyeing him with a guarded expression. “Don’t you mean patients?”
“I do mean patients,” he answered firmly.
“Yes, I do.”
He held the pencil at the ready.
Any previous warmth had fled her gold-flecked eyes. “I sense your hesitation to shed a positive light on this subject.”
“It’s my job to report the news impartially, Miss Boyd.”
“If you can’t call me Marlys, it’s Dr. Boyd. I don’t expect you to endorse my practice. Your concern is not unfounded—you haven’t seen the effectiveness of this type of medical practice firsthand. A lot of people don’t understand the benefits, but education is power. I can educate them.”
“You’re not wrong. I am definitely interested in an article. Maybe more than one. It could give you a chance to share information. I’ll choose language carefully to inform readers without insulting Doc Fletcher’s practice.”
“That sounds fair. It’s not my intention to insult anyone. I’m more interested in education and advanced medicine.”
He asked her several more questions, and she supplied answers.
“What was your first impression of Cowboy Creek?” he asked.
She thought a moment. “The town is laid out efficiently. I had no problem finding my property or locating help to work on my building. The stores are more than adequate, and the boardinghouse is sufficient for my needs until my quarters are ready. I’ve spent all my time and energy on my office and supplies.”
“What about people? Have you made friends?”
She flushed a little, which made Sam frown. Had people been unkind to her? He could understand if the townsfolk preferred to continue going to Doc Fletcher rather than trying something new, but that was no excuse for rudeness. She seemed to be struggling for an answer, so he hastened to say, “It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable. You spoke of locations and not of the people. I was attempting to interest the readers who like to hear about their friendly town.”
Her posture relaxed, and she faced him. “A lot has happened since we were last...together,” she said. “You know me well enough to know I’m socially awkward. I’m no good at inconsequential chatter—which can make it hard for me to make friends in a new town.”
“You’re good with patients, I assume.”
“I try to be.” She stood. “And now, I really should go.” She took her coat from a hook, and he stepped to hold it as she slid her arms into the sleeves. Her shiny waves didn’t touch the collar. She turned and faced him. He didn’t back up, so only two feet separated them.
He never had the slightest idea what she was thinking behind those golden-flecked eyes, one of the things that had intrigued him from the first. He’d never been certain if she’d broken his heart or injured his pride.
“I read some of your articles during the war,” she said. “You were in Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Maine?”
“And Virginia, too. I pretty much saw it all.”
“And your parents? How did they fare?”
“My father died shortly after I enlisted. Mother is well. She’s currently traveling abroad. And your father?”
She absorbed the information. “My father is alive.”
Her lack of further information spoke volumes. “He disapproved of your aspirations.”
“Along with everyone else.”
Did she mean him? “I suppose that was a strain on your relationship.”
“We no longer have a relationship.”
“I’m sorry.”
She turned to watch Pete edge the letters of Sam’s name with a neat gold line, giving him a moment to study her profile. She looked less girlish, of course, but even though she wore no jewelry and her hair lacked sophistication, she was as lovely as he remembered. She still fascinated him, but he’d learned the hard way she wasn’t carved out to be a wife. Even if she’d changed her mind about that—which he doubted—he’d know better than to trust her with his heart again.
Her gaze wavered, and she lifted her brows in curiosity, drawing his attention to the door where Hannah Johnson and a shivering August peered in. Pete stepped back to allow them entrance, and Sam’s eight-year-old son shuffled in ahead of their neighbor, Hannah, ushering in a gust of cold air.
“How was your day at school?” Sam said as they approached.
August glanced uncertainly at Marlys and then up at his father. “Fine. Mrs. Johnson made a pie for our supper. She let me help.”
Sam knelt and awkwardly touched August’s cold cheek. The child smelled like fresh air, chalk dust and flour. Things had been strained between them ever since he’d returned to his mother’s home at the end of the war. Thanks to his years in the Army, they’d spent too long apart—too many years he’d missed getting to know his son. He believed bringing August here where they could start a new life together would be the answer to bringing them closer. The boy had never known his mother, and his grandmother had been his caregiver until a few months ago. Sam’s mother deserved the opportunity to travel and see friends. And Sam needed time with his son to re-create and repair their relationship. But the relationship was slow to heal. August was reserved and withheld feelings and affection. Sam’s heart ached at the chasm of years and uncertainly between them.
“Dr. Boyd!” Hannah said, drawing his attention back to Marlys. “It’s nice to see you.”
Sam straightened. Hannah was a seamstress with her own dress shop, so it wasn’t unusual that Marlys would already have met her during her initial weeks in town.
“Mrs. Johnson,” Marlys acknowledged, but her attention was on August.
“Hannah, please.” The other woman glanced at Sam and handed him a covered pie. “My husband came home to be with the baby, and I thought a brisk walk would do me well, so I accompanied August.”
“Thank you. And thank you for getting him after school and keeping him for a time.”
“My pleasure,” she assured him. “I need to stop by the mercantile before heading home, so I’ll take my leave.” She nodded at Marlys and departed.
“August, this is Dr. Boyd,” Sam said. “Dr. Boyd, this is my son, August.”
August politely removed his wool stocking cap, and his dark hair stood up in disheveled curls. “How do, ma’am.”
Chapter Two (#u68f9dd3b-8a08-5054-847e-a9a9f8ae97d1)
The boy child’s shy expression was enchanting. He had shiny black hair and thick lashes like his father. Who was his mother? If things had gone differently, Sam’s son might have been her child. Nearly a decade had passed since she and Sam had been engaged. He had wanted a family. Of course he had married.
What kind of woman had Sam chosen? Surely someone with all the admirable feminine qualities Marlys’s father wanted her to possess. Someone focused on a marriage and not schooling and a career.
Marlys remembered meeting her father’s colleagues as a child, recalled her self-conscious feelings of inadequacy and the discomfort of being stared at. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, August. How old are you?”
“Eight, ma’am.”
“Do you enjoy school?”
“Yes, very much. Miss Aldridge lets me bring home her very own books. I’m careful with them.”
“I should like to meet Miss Aldridge.”
“Do you have any boys or girls?”
“No, I don’t. But if I did, I’d be proud if they were smart and liked to read, like you.”
August tilted his head to glance up at his father.
Sam clamped a hand on his shoulder and grinned. “Why don’t you hang your coat and go see if Israel needs a hand sorting the type.”
“Yes, sir.” August dutifully hung his coat and headed toward the room in the rear with the open door.
Marlys caught the wistful expression on Sam’s face. “He’s a bright boy,” she said.
“Yes. He is.”s
“Do you have other children?”
“No. My wife died when August was born. My mother helped care for him. He stayed with her during the war, and she continued to look after him when I returned. Until just a few months ago actually.”
There was a whole history of love and loss in those few words. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife.” She wrapped her scarf around her hair and buttoned her coat. “I will return tomorrow. I would like to pay for an advertisement.”
“I’ll look forward to seeing you.”
She lifted her gaze to his midnight blue eyes, puzzled. Fascinated in some unexplainable manner. “Your wife must have been...” She grasped for something comforting because it was expected. Yet she was always at a loss for words in these situations. “Just what you wanted in a life mate.”
“She was a lovely young woman.”
“Will you want to do another interview then?”
“Yes, perhaps in another week or two. We’ll generate interest with this first article, and with your advertisement, and then follow up so people don’t forget.”
“I read your book,” she said. She hadn’t been going to admit it, but there was no reason to withhold that bit of information. “It’s not my usual reading material, but it held my interest. You’re a very good writer.”
“I don’t know whether or not that’s a compliment. Your usual reading material is medical journals and field experiments.”
“I read history and—” She stopped abruptly. He was teasing her.
He was smiling, the corners of his dark-lashed eyes crinkling. The resulting flutter of anticipation was one she’d only experienced when facing a particularly stimulating curative challenge. How strange. But maybe she was responding to the challenge of convincing him to write about her in a way that would help grow her practice? Sam was no inexperienced journalist looking to make a name for himself. He’d been a city editor in New York, and the book he’d written about his Army experiences had been highly successful. He was well-known and admired.
“I’ll see you when you return to schedule your advertisement,” he said.
Pete held open the door for her, and she stepped onto the boardwalk, where the frigid air stole her breath. She glanced back into the newspaper office in time to see Sam’s tall form disappear into the back room where his son waited.
When faced with the choice between a life as someone’s wife and the challenge of learning and a career, she’d made her decision. She rarely paused long enough to consider what she may have missed. The past was the past, and both of them had moved on. She was satisfied with the path she’d chosen.
And now here he was, back in her life. Samuel Woods Mason. Still fascinating. Still charming. Still enigmatic and charismatic.
Still her one regret.
* * *
In the days that followed, Marlys’s plans didn’t go as expected, but such was the life of a doctor. She was surprised but gratified when three uniformed soldiers showed up in her office.
The shortest soldier removed his hat upon seeing her. “How do you do, ma’am. Is the doctor in?” A second man was occupied keeping the third fellow upright, with no free hand available to remove his hat. The patient grimaced and stood on one foot, leaning all his weight on his friend.
“I’m Dr. Boyd.” She hurried forward. “What is the injury?”
“You’re the doctor?” the first man questioned, but was cut off by his comrade.
“It’s my leg and foot,” the man in pain barked. “Horse reared and crushed me against a building.”
“Let me take a look at it.” She gestured to a narrow hallway. “Take him into the first room.”
“You sure about this, Ben?” his friend asked, eyeing Marlys.
“Get me to the room like she said,” Ben demanded, and hopped forward.
“His name’s Benjamin Cross,” the first man told her. “That’s Enoch, and I’m Jess. There was a note on Doc Fletcher’s chalkboard saying he’d be out all morning. Sheriff told us you were here.”
“Are you able to remove your trousers, Mr. Cross?” she asked.
Pain wasn’t enough to dull his discomfort with the suggestion, because the patient flushed, glanced around but finally unbuttoned his uniform pants. His friends helped him remove them and got him situated on the examining table. Marlys took a pair of shears and cut the leg of his gray flannel union suit from ankle to knee. “How long ago did this happen?”
“Happened right in front of the sheriff’s office,” Jess said. “Took us maybe ten or fifteen minutes to find you.”
“You’re fortunate, Mr. Cross.” She probed the area of his ankle, which was beginning to swell. “I don’t believe anything is broken. And I can encourage blood flow away from your foot to prevent more swelling and to help the soft tissue heal faster.”
“How are you going to do that?” Ben asked, looking at his purpling foot. Sweat beaded his forehead.
“While Enoch goes to the Cowboy Café for ice, I’ll give you something for pain, and then we will soak your foot in warm water, and I will massage the blood from the injury, upward back toward your heart. When Enoch gets back, we will ice it.”
“I never heard of such a thing,” Enoch said. “My pa got a crushed foot, and the doc put it in a cast.”
“How did he walk afterward?” Marlys asked.
“Well, he limped and used a cane.”
“Exactly. I don’t think Mr. Cross is ready to retire from his Army position and take to using a cane. I’d rather treat the injury and enable his body to heal the damaged tissue.”
Enoch just looked at his companions.
“It’s up to you, Ben,” Jess said.
Ben didn’t waste any time making his decision. Pain was a strong motivator, and the prospect of losing mobility—and employment—obviously added fuel. “What she’s saying sounds better than being a cripple,” he answered. “Go.”
Enoch turned and headed out.
Marlys diluted a pain remedy and gave it to her patient. He grimaced but swallowed it all. She heated water, dissolved Epsom salt, along with drops of hyssop, cypress, yarrow root, parsley and fennel oil, in a pail and had Ben soak his foot and ankle. After a few minutes he was resting somewhat more comfortably on the padded table. Using the oiled water, she massaged his foot and ankle in firm upward motions. He winced once or twice, but for the most part remained at ease.
“What did you give him?” Jess asked.
“It’s a boiled mixture of bark, roots and leaves to help with pain.”
He looked at his chum and then at her. “Seems to have worked.”
She nodded. “This procedure would have been quite painful without it. It’s necessary, though—motion will help the healing process and prevent his ankle from becoming stiff.”
Ben opened his eyes and attempted to sit up.
“Stay lying down, Mr. Cross. You’re doing very well.”
“Good thing Dr. Boyd was here,” Jess told his friend. “You’re going to be just fine.” Jess gave her a nod.
“What is the Army doing in Cowboy Creek?” Marlys asked.
“Delivering food to the Cheyenne.”
She paused her work on her patient’s foot momentarily. “Nearby?”
“To the south.”
“I read General Sherman had ordered provisions until a more permanent arrangement could be made by the peace commissioner.” She continued her effort to massage blood upward. “Have you seen their camp?”
He nodded. “Saw it last time we were through. They’re doin’ some farming.”
That made sense, since the tribes didn’t have freedom to travel, and their hunting was limited. The settlers would claim they had rights to the land if the Indians weren’t going to farm it. “Could you give me directions to get there?”
“Respectfully, Doctor, it’s not safe for you to ride into their camp alone.”
“I want to help them.”
“They don’t know that. Do you speak Cheyenne?”
She shook her head. “I don’t, but I can speak other languages, and there might be someone to interpret until I pick it up.”
He cast her a doubtful glance. “All the same, not a wise idea.”
“Perhaps you could take me with you.”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am. These distributions have to be handled delicately. Our orders are to send in as few men as possible while guarding the perimeter, deliver our parcels peaceably and leave. Taking a woman along would land us in hot water.”
“Of course.” She didn’t want to get the soldiers in trouble. But she wasn’t going to give up on the idea, either. I’ll just have to find an escort.
Enoch arrived with ice. The sound of additional boots on the floor in the waiting area caught her attention. “Are there patients arriving?”
“No, ma’am,” Enoch said. “I mentioned Ben’s treatment when I was at the café, and some of the men wanted to see what was going on.”
She blinked, gathering her thoughts. “What exactly do they want to see?”
“This here hot and cold treatment.”
“I carried ice!” someone called from the other room.
“Watch Mr. Cross a moment,” she said to Jess. “I’ll be right back.” Enoch followed her out of the exam room.
It had begun to snow, and four cowboys hung dripping dusters on hooks inside the door. “I’ll wipe that up,” one of them told her. “Wanted to see the soldier’s foot.”
She’d never had an audience before, and she didn’t know what to make of this one. She looked from face to face, seeing only sincere curiosity. “If Ben doesn’t mind, I’ll allow you in, two at a time.”
Enoch accompanied her back to the room, where he relieved Jess, and within minutes Jess was relaying what he’d witnessed to the group of cowboys.
Ben shrugged his acquiescence, and she had no lack of help chipping and dumping ice into a tub. She wrapped Ben’s foot in a wet cloth and instructed him to lower it into the tub. He winced and cursed inventively. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Would you like another dose of the pain medicine?”
“Yes’m, please.”
She diluted and administered the herbal mixture, and it didn’t take long for her patient to relax.
The observers were surprisingly quiet, occasionally whispering among themselves. Soon she asked Ben to remove his foot from the tub. “We’re going to do hot water mineral therapy again and then one more round of ice. Are you doing all right?”
“Ben, your ankle is already half the size it was when we brought you in,” Jess told him. More men clambered to get a look as Marlys dried it off and rubbed oil into the flesh.
“Would this treatment work if a horse stepped on ya?” one of the men asked.
“I need more water heated, if a couple of you don’t mind,” she said. “There are kettles on the stove. I’ll answer your question when the water is ready.”
Within minutes her helpers had emptied the deep bucket and replaced it with steaming water. Collective silence ensued as she added oils and Epsom salt. With her damp sleeves pushed up over elbows she began the massage.
“What good does that rubbing do?” one of the men asked.
“It works the blood back toward his heart and supplies oxygen to his injured muscles and tissues. I first made certain he had no broken bones or cuts that needed treatment,” she explained. “If he had, I’d have cared for those first and then assessed whether or not this procedure was safe. Since I believed there were no underlying problems, I felt it was harmless to treat the crushed area.”
“And what did you add to the water?”
“My own mixture of oils. The smell helped him be more calm, and the oils contain healing properties.”
“Will he be able to walk on that foot?”
“He’ll need to keep it elevated and rest until the bruising goes away, but I believe he’ll be just fine.”
“Are ya done gawking?” Ben asked.
“I’m going to go clean up your floor,” the man who’d promised told her. “Glad you’re going to be all right, soldier. Thank you, ma’am.”
“I’ll let Sergeant Calhoun know about Ben,” Enoch said as he left.
The few remaining men departed until only Jess remained.
“Where is the rest of your regiment?” she asked.
“Camped outside town.”
“Mr. Cross can stay here as long as needed,” she told Jess. “I have passable quarters set up in the rear, so I can stay and check on him during the night.”
* * *
The next morning brought the Army sergeant, who thanked her and paid her generously for her services. He arranged to have meals for the soldier sent from the Cattleman Hotel. Several new patients ventured in with various complaints, from foot fungus to stomach aches and coughs. She suspected one or two were there merely to see the recovering soldier, but she treated them anyway.
By the end of the day it was clear that if business continued at this pace, she was going to need help. Just running the dirty laundry out and picking it up left her waiting room unattended. She needed time to restock supplies and clean, as well. But despite the difficulties, her day had been exhilarating. Obviously this influx of patients was a result of yesterday’s news, so it could slack off at any time, but while the surge lasted, she was relieved to use her skills.
She hadn’t had time to return to the newspaper, so at the end of the week she wrote out her advertisements, made certain Ben was settled, and trudged along the snowy street. Her research about Kansas had revealed freezing temperatures and snow any time in late October, but she hadn’t learned about the wind until she’d climbed down from the train and chased her hat across the platform. She got a firm hold of the Herald’s doorknob and pushed, so she didn’t lose hold of it, and entered.
The interior was warm and smelled of oil and ink. The desks and filing cabinets had been organized and arranged, and it looked like a place ready for business. Sam stood from where he’d been seated at a desk and motioned for her to come behind the divider. “Dr. Boyd.”
“Mr. Mason.” She removed her wool mittens, unbuttoned her coat and took the papers from her skirt pocket, unfolding them and joining him to spread them flat on his desk. “How much for these two advertisements?”
“May I take your coat and get you a cup of coffee?”
“I won’t be staying long. I have to get right back. One of my placements is a request for an assistant.”
“Sounds like you’ve already been busy. I heard talk about the soldier you’re treating.” His deep blue eyes still held a measure of reserve.
“How much do I owe?”
“I charge by the word as a rule.” He took a pencil from behind his ear and quickly calculated the words on her two notices, then gave her a price.
She paid him. “When can I expect these to run?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be printing five issues a week to start. Would you like your advertisements in consecutive issues, as well? As long as I have the type set, I’m happy to do that for free for, say, another week? Or until you find your assistant, if it takes less time than that.”
She blinked in surprise. “Yes, thank you.”
He wrote her a receipt and handed it to her. “My pleasure.”
“Also,” she said, “you’ve probably met more townspeople than I have since you’re gathering news. Would you know of a guide or anyone who would be willing to escort me on a short trip outside of town?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“There’s a Cheyenne encampment to the south. I want to visit them.”
“Visit the Cheyenne?” Lines formed between his brows when he frowned. “Tensions are high between the Army and the Indians. There’s only a tenuous balance of peace. I don’t know that that’s wise.”
Her determined gaze locked with his, and she hoped he could see that she would not be dissuaded. “I’m going.”
Chapter Three (#u68f9dd3b-8a08-5054-847e-a9a9f8ae97d1)
“The soldiers are unable to accompany me,” she continued. “They said I’d need an escort.”
“Indeed you will if you persist with this plan. If you don’t mind me asking, why do you want to go there?”
“I want to see if they need medical attention.”
“They’re Cheyenne, Marlys. They have their own medicine.”
His use of her given name startled her, and she looked at him more closely. His ebony hair had a disheveled look, as though he’d run a hand through it recently. His furrowed brow showed only concern. He had a half-inch-long curved scar on his cheekbone under his left eye that she hadn’t noticed before. It was still pink, as though it was fairly new.
“That’s another of my reasons for wanting to meet them,” she admitted, tucking the receipt into her pocket.
He nodded, but his look of censure remained. “It wouldn’t be safe. Relations between the Army, the settlers and the Indians are touchy. There are entire regiments assigned to protection when those provisions are delivered. It’s not unusual for the Sioux to try to steal goods from the Cheyenne.”
“I don’t have anything to steal, and they have no reason to fear me.”
“That’s naive thinking, doctor. You don’t want to land yourself right in the middle of unexpected danger.”
She gave her head a little shake. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”
“You’re a bullheaded woman.”
“Which is why I will ask for a guide at the hotel and the sheriff’s office if you don’t have any better suggestions.”
“You’ve made up your mind you’re going.”
“I have.”
“I’ll find a scout and go with you, then.”
“You?”
“Is that so hard to imagine? I spent the whole of the war in the Army. How about you? Do you ride well?”
“I do.”
“When would you like to go?”
“Thursday?”
“I’ll meet you here at seven, then.”
* * *
Ben’s sergeant was with him when Marlys returned. “Is Private Cross able to be moved to the hotel?” he asked. “I will engage another private to stay with him.”
“Mr. Cross should be fine as long as he keeps his weight off that foot for at least another few days. I have crutches he can borrow until then, so he can get around unassisted. I’ve learned they have two small rooms on the ground floor, so ask for one of those.”
“I have to admit I wouldn’t have believed how good his foot looks in only a few days if I hadn’t seen the difference myself.”
“He was fortunate,” Marlys replied. “Nothing was broken, and his friends got him here quickly.”
“He was fortunate you were the doctor they brought him to.” He took bills from a flat purse on his belt and handed them to her.
“You already paid me,” she said.
“Even this amount is inadequate for your services. He will be back with the regiment soon. He may have been forced to leave the Army had you not healed his foot.”
“God created the body to do the healing itself. I simply treat the symptoms in a manner that best advances the process.” She accepted the payment. “Thank you.” She gathered Ben’s belongings and ushered them to the door.
A minute later, she patted the cash in her pocket. She now had the time and the funds to have some additional work done to her office. First thing she would do was find someone to install a secure lock on her medicine pantry. Many of her tinctures and oils could be harmful if used improperly. She gathered the laundry and headed out. After dropping off yet another heavy bag, she paid to have it delivered, then carried her clean clothing items to the boardinghouse. After putting them away in her temporary room, she found Aunt Mae bustling about the kitchen.
“Hello, dear,” the short, round woman said with an easy smile. “There’s certainly a lot of talk in town today, and you’re the topic of one choice tidbit.”
“The soldier’s injury, I presume,” she said.
“Yes, that.” She sliced two loaves of bread in deft strokes. “How is the fellow doing?”
“Quite well. His sergeant just took him to the hotel to finish recuperating.”
“And have you heard all the talk about Quincy Davis’s mail-order bride?”
Marlys puzzled over that one. “Wasn’t he the previous sheriff who was killed?”
“Precisely. But unbeknownst to everyone, he’d sent for an Austrian bride, and she arrived ready to give birth. Leah, the midwife—do you know her?—attended to her, and the blacksmith married her on the spot so her baby would have a name and a father.”
That seemed like a hasty decision, but she addressed the medical aspect. “Is she faring well?”
“Seems it was touch and go for a long while. Doc Fletcher couldn’t be reached.”
“Someone should have sent for me.”
“Leah’s a competent midwife.”
“I’m sure she is.”
“Stay for lunch as long as you’re here. I made a hearty soup and this warm bread. You skip too many meals, and they’re included in your rent.”
“Thank you.” She carried the basket of bread to the dining room, where the boarders were just settling into their places.
Old Horace was probably in his seventies, and wore his long gray hair in a tail down his back. Gus Russell had a white beard and was probably about the same age. In summer the two of them played horseshoes in the lot behind Booker & Son. Sunny days in winter afforded them afternoons on a bench in front of the mercantile. They knew all the comings and goings of the residents and newcomers. Though they often contradicted each other, their friendship was obvious.
“Howdy, Doc Boyd. Heard about the little German baby born last night?” Horace asked.
“He ain’t German. He’s Austrian,” Gus corrected.
“Same thing, ain’t it?”
“Same language, but different countries,” Marlys said. “There are different inflections in their dialects.”
Gus licked his lips at the steaming bowl Aunt Mae sat before him. “You speak German?”
“I do. I’m looking for someone to teach me Cheyenne.”
Gus squinted at her.
She seated herself and thanked the proprietress. She tasted the hearty soup. “I’m also looking for someone to install a lock on a storage pantry. Is there a local locksmith?”
“The farrier does locks,” Horace told her. “Colton Werner’s his name.”
“He’s the blacksmith who married the Austrian woman,” Aunt Mae explained.
“So, I’d find him at the livery to the north on this same street?”
“That’s the one,” the woman replied. “Speaking of newcomers, we have a new boarder. Georgia Morris is her name. She’s here to make a marriage, so she won’t last long.” She eyed Marlys. “Are you making friends in Cowboy Creek?”
Sam had asked the same question. Why did everyone want to know? While she wasn’t averse to having friends, she had simply never had the time. “I haven’t been here long enough.”
“Maybe, but you’ve stayed to yourself for the most part. There’s church service on Sundays, and this week there’s a gathering afterward. You should go. Just meet people. They’ll be more likely to trust you with their medical concerns if you’ve made their acquaintance.”
Marlys studied the older woman thoughtfully. As a doctor, she had a lot working against her, to be honest. She was a woman in a man’s profession in a man’s land. She didn’t practice conventional medicine. She had never been outgoing or personable. She didn’t care about fitting in, but perhaps giving the appearance of fitting in would make her more appealing and earn trust. Aunt Mae was genial and well-meaning, and she had no lack of helpful opinions. Marlys appreciated learning, so perhaps there was something to be learned from this woman everyone liked.
Marlys finished her lunch and thanked her landlady.
The blacksmith was a large man with a nice face and scarred hands. He listened to her explain what she needed, and told her he’d be able to do the work the following day.
She stopped at Godwin’s boot and shoe shop, and a thin brown-haired woman wearing a print dress and a white apron greeted her. “Good afternoon. I’m Opal Godwin. Can I help you?”
Marlys removed her scarf. “I hope so. My boots get wet so often, they’re never dry by the next time I go out. I need another pair.”
“It’s going to be a long winter,” the woman said with a smile. “Have a seat and I’ll draw your foot for my husband.” She knelt and unlaced Marlys’s boots. “Are you Miss Morris?”
“No, I’m Dr. Boyd.”
“Oh, I’ve heard about you from Pippa. Sorry I haven’t made it over to welcome you. I’ve been busier than usual.”
The fact that she’d meant to stop over heartened Marlys. “That’s quite all right.”
“Your boots are very well-made.”
“And comfortable. I want practical and comfortable.”
A thready high-pitched cry arose from the rear of the room. Opal placed a hand over her breast and glanced up. “It never fails. He cries as soon as I’m busy. And I’m always busy.”
“Bring him to me while you do that. I’ll hold him.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. It’s practical.”
Opal returned with a baby wrapped in a white crocheted blanket. He looked to be only a few weeks old. Marlys looked him over, even listened to his breathing and held him up to rest her ear against his chest. He flailed his arms, so she tucked him snugly back in the blanket. “His heart and lungs sound healthy. He appears to be a sturdy child.”
Opal blinked at her, and then smiled. “I was extremely exhausted while I carried him, but Richard’s a good eater and is growing.”
“You probably needed more minerals and protein in your diet. Nourishing him depletes your own reserves. Are you eating well now?”
“Yes.”
“Drink as much milk as you can. I can make a supplement that will help you, too.”
Opal appeared somewhat uncomfortable with her suggestion.
“I suppose you’ve heard things about me.”
“No, it’s just that Leah is my friend...”
“And the midwife, I understand.”
Opal nodded.
“Well, talk to her first, and then come to see me if you choose.”
Opal drew patterns of both of Marlys’s feet on brown paper and wrote on them. She showed her leather samples, and Marlys chose a supple dark brown.
“And we’ll make you a sturdy heel. Just enough to be fashionable, but not so much as to lose comfort.”
“Perhaps another fur-lined pair as well as a pair for indoors,” she decided.
Opal looked pleased. “I’ll show you the styles we have.”
Marlys chose a style, and Opal wrote notes for her husband.
Baby Richard had fallen asleep in her arms, and Marlys took a moment to admire his downy hair and tiny rosebud lips. What had Sam’s son looked like as an infant? She imagined wispy black hair and round cheeks.
“Your first pair should be ready in less than a week.”
Marlys looked from the baby to the eyes of the new mother. She remembered what Aunt Mae had said about people trusting her if she made friends. Her heart beat faster against the weight of the baby, but she opened her mouth to speak. “It’s a lot to get used to caring for a new baby, isn’t it?”
“It is, but he’s a blessing.”
“If you come by my office, I’d love to prepare a mineral bath for you. Just to relax for an hour or so. I’ll make a bed for Richard, or I’ll hold him. My treat.”
Opal’s brown eyes showed her surprise, but also appreciation. “Thank you, Dr. Boyd. I’ve heard only good things about your mineral bath treatments from Pippa.”
Marlys stood and, after another tender look at the baby, handed Richard to his mother, then laced up her boots. Maybe it wouldn’t be all that difficult to make friends. It would be nice to feel accepted—and a little less alone. “I’ll check back next week.”
“If they’re finished sooner, I’ll bring your boots to you.”
Marlys smiled and headed back to her office.
* * *
The first edition of the Webster County Daily News came off the press the following day. Sam and Israel folded, stacked and bundled papers. The sun came out as though in celebration of the big day. Accompanied by August, the three of them traveled the streets of Cowboy Creek, where melting snow formed ruts of oozing mud. Sam cleaned his boots on the iron scraper in front of Remmy Hagermann’s mercantile. He’d already made arrangements with as many stores as possible to keep a stack of newspapers until he replaced any old ones with new.
Remmy greeted him with a smile and a wave. “The first edition, eh?”
“It’s here.”
“I’m looking forward to actual news. Our last newspaperman skewed everything to make situations look bleak. We all figured it out too late. He was undermining the town for his own cause. We’re glad to have you. You’re a newspaper legend. When we learned you were coming to Kansas, I ordered a couple dozen copies of your book, and they all sold.”
“Much obliged, Mr. Hagermann.”
Remmy picked up the top newspaper and read the headlines. One eyebrow climbed his forehead. “‘Cowboy Creek’s First Female Doctor Sees Results with Progressive Medicine.’ The Boyd woman, I reckon.”
“Yes, Dr. Boyd is a most interesting woman.”
“I heard she learned Chinese medicine at a peculiar university.”
He had his own doubts about her education and practices, but he would stay neutral. “You’ll find the article about her education informative. She’s quite forthcoming about her beliefs. And statistically, the Chinese are remarkably healthy.”
Remmy glanced up from the paper and eyed Sam. “Yeah?”
“I’ll be doing another article in a couple of weeks. After reading about her you may find that many of her treatments are more logical and humane than commonly accepted practices. Cowboy Creek is growing. There’s more than one mercantile. I suppose there’s enough patients for two or more doctors.”
Remmy had opened his mercantile after Zimmerman’s and cleverly catered to women to attract a good share of customers. He didn’t argue with Sam’s reasoning. Instead he looked over the other articles. “Like I said, nice to have a paper again. Suppose I’ll run an advertisement in the next one.”
“I’ll give you a discount on your first ad,” Sam assured him.
Remmy glanced through the front window at August waiting on the boardwalk. “That your boy?”
“Yes, that’s August.”
“Works with you on the paper, does he?”
“Mostly he’s adjusting to a new school. Hannah Johnson watches him a couple of afternoons until I finish work.”
“Reverend Taggart’s daughter, the dressmaker?”
“That’s right. I was surprised when Hannah offered to take August for a few hours a week, but I’m grateful.” Sam headed for the door. “Come see me for that ad.”
Sam pulled the cart holding papers over the muddy ruts, and Israel joined them. He had taken papers to the railroad station. The three made their way north on Lincoln Boulevard, so they would pass Dr. Boyd’s office on their way back to Eden Street. August grabbed a paper, and Sam pushed open the door, which rang a bell. Israel followed.
A pleasant mixture of unusual smells hung in the air. A row of plain wood chairs lined one wall, all empty. A large rug, obviously new, covered the varnished wood floor in the waiting area.
Marlys stepped from an open doorway to greet them. “Good morning.”
August extended the newspaper he held.
“We brought you a paper so you could see the article,” Sam explained. “Israel, meet Dr. Boyd. This is Israel, my journeyman.”
Marlys leaned toward the young man. Israel removed his heavy glove and shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Doctor.”
“My pleasure. Let me grab a coin so I can pay you.”
“No, this one’s complimentary,” Sam said quickly.
“Thank you.” She unfolded the paper and studied the front page. She couldn’t have missed the caption about her practice, but she read aloud another. “‘President Johnson Proclaims a Day of Praise, Thanksgiving and Prayer.’” She glanced up at him. “It sounds like Andrew Johnson believes our country has turned a corner, politically, economically. He’s giving people permission to hope again.”
Sam nodded. “In his proclamation he talks about the abundance of jobs, crops, harmony in this country.”
Marlys read aloud, “‘I therefore recommend that Thursday, the 26th day of November next, be set apart and observed by all people of the United States as a day for public praise, thanksgiving, and prayer to the Almighty Creator and Divine Ruler of the Universe, by whose ever-watchful, merciful, and gracious providence alone states and nations, no less than families and individual men, do live and move and have their being.’”
“What does it mean, Papa?”
Sam looked into his son’s curious blue eyes. “It means even though we’ve been through a lot as a country, losing family and friends in war, that we have a lot to be thankful for. Like our freedom. So there will be one day set aside when everyone is thankful together.”
“The town is putting together a celebration. Mrs. Kendricks suggested I volunteer for the committee,” she said. “Perhaps it’s not a bad idea. I do need to meet people, so they will learn to trust me.”
“That’s good advice. I made up my mind to delve into town projects and affairs as soon as I arrived, so people learn to see me as one of their own.”
“While you’re here,” she said, “I’ve made something for you. Follow me.”
She turned and left them standing.
Chapter Four (#u68f9dd3b-8a08-5054-847e-a9a9f8ae97d1)
“I’ll wait here,” Israel said.
Perplexed, Sam followed Marlys into the room behind the waiting area, August trailing behind. They followed a hallway into the first room, which held a desk, shelves lined with books and a small wooden rack on a cabinet.
She took a squat bottle from the rack and applied a dot of glistening liquid to her little finger.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“Lean toward me.”
He hesitated, but slowly leaned.
She trailed her finger under his eye.
Her closeness and touch made him unexplainably unsettled.
“I can’t promise this will completely remove that scar, but the skin growth appears new enough that this might greatly improve its appearance.”
He’d received the injury while unloading the presses and parts a couple weeks ago. Sometimes he noticed the mark when he shaved, but hadn’t paid much attention to it after the cut had healed. Apparently she’d noticed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. A surprising curl of gratification spiraled in his chest. It had been a long time since someone had tended to him like this. But she was a doctor, so he’d be foolish to read anything more into the gesture. “Smells good. What’s in this?”
“Sandalwood powder, honey, lavender, aloe plus a couple drops of other oils.” She put the cap back on the bottle and handed it to him. “Dab it on a couple of times a day.”
Their fingertips grazed as he accepted the bottle. “Thank you.”
“Our plans for Thursday still stand?”
“Yes. I found someone who knows the area to travel with us. He speaks Cheyenne.”
Marlys’s eyes opened wide. “You did? That’s perfect. Thank you.”
“You’re dead set on doing this. If I can’t talk you out of it, I’ll first make it safe and then make it advantageous to your cause.”
“I can’t be talked out of going.”
“I know.” They returned to the front of the building where Israel waited. “Thank you for the balm.”
“My pleasure. That should be plenty.”
He took an awkward step back, gave her a nod and turned away. Their cart was half-depleted, so Israel walked ahead, and August sat on the remaining newspapers, hanging on and laughing when they crossed the ruts.
Sam had the urge to caution him about falling off, but instead smiled at the unfamiliar sight of his boy’s gap-toothed grin and the joyful sound of laughter. His son hadn’t derived much pleasure from their relocation.
Sometimes thinking about his son’s remoteness made Sam sick to his stomach. August had been only a year old when Sam had enlisted. Upon his return Sam had been a stranger to the five-year old. Little wonder the boy had barely warmed to him, preferring his grandmother’s company and tutelage over his father’s. But Sam’s mother had done more than her part in raising and caring for her grandson. It was time she had the freedom to travel and enjoy friends. And now that they were settled in their new home, it was past time August and Sam learned to make the best of their threadbare family.
But it seemed the more he tried to draw him close, the more reserved August became. Sam was at a loss, and he prayed continually for a breakthrough.
His thoughts skipped back to Marlys, strangely pleased that she’d had the inclination to make something for the scar under his eye. He glanced at his reflection in the window of the sheriff’s office as they passed, then grabbed a paper and entered to give the lawman a copy.
Marlys was still an enigma. He’d never understood what made her tick, and he still didn’t. He needed to create a stable life for his son, perhaps marry and establish a family if God saw fit to make that happen. He’d be wise to remember she wasn’t that woman, and no attraction or friendship was going to change that. He’d already learned the hard way that hoping for a piece of her heart was futile.
But for some reason, he did value her friendship, and he felt unexplainably responsible for her. She was the smartest person he knew, but she was also headstrong and naive, and those two qualities could mean trouble. He meant to keep his guard up where she was concerned—for her protection and for his.
* * *
Dressed in sensible boots, a slim split riding skirt and a warm coat with a fur hat, Marlys approached the livery and opened the single door. November had arrived with more sun and less snow, but she’d been warned that the weather was unpredictable, so she was prepared.
Sam stood beside a shiny mahogany horse in the wide open area, wearing a suede coat and boots, with a revolver holstered to his thigh. He tightened the cinch on the saddle, patted the horse’s rump and turned to spot her. “I thought we were meeting at the newspaper office.”
“I was ready so I walked,” she replied.
“You look warm and ready for the day.”
“Amos Godwin made these boots for me,” she told him. “I ordered two pair, and he finished these warm ones first.” She glanced over her shoulder. “We will need to go back to my office, though. I have items to bring that I couldn’t carry.”
“I wondered about that. Do we need another horse?”
“I believe so.”
The door opened again, and a young man in a heavy coat joined them, spurs jangling. “Sam.” He tipped his hat to Marlys.
“Marlys, this is James Johnson, Hannah’s husband. James, this is Dr. Boyd.”
“How do, ma’am. I’ve heard about you.”
Marlys greeted the young man with a warm smile. “All good, I’m sure.”
He grinned. “You arrived in town a little too late to hear all the gossip about me and Hannah. And there were a lot of tongues wagging so I was relieved about the new topic of interest.”
“You have me curious now,” she said.
“We’ll have plenty of time to talk,” he replied.
“How much are you taking?” Sam asked her. Then, without waiting for a reply, he said, “James, would a wagon make the trip?”
“No hills or rivers,” he answered. “One creek, not too deep. A wagon will fare well.”
“We will probably need it,” Marlys agreed.
“I’ll hitch horses,” Sam decided. “And I’ll drive the wagon. You can ride ahead, James.”
Their scout headed back into what appeared to be the tack room. “I’ll help with the animals.”
It didn’t take long for the two men to have the wagon ready. Sam assisted Marlys up to the seat and climbed up to take the reins. Back on Second Street, they loaded her crates and bags from her office, and covered them with a tarp.
“I brought food, too.” She handed him a basket with a lid, and he tucked it under the covering.
The weather cooperated, with partial sun breaking through the clouds, but the air was crisp. She was glad she’d bundled for warmth and brought her scarf for her neck and face. James rode ahead as they made their way north out of town.
“No patients today?” Sam asked.
She raised an eyebrow and slanted him a glance. After the incident with the soldier, she’d had a few patients by default, and Pippa liked the mineral baths, but her waiting room was still a good place to be if one wanted quiet time.
“Was that a no?”
“There was a rush of curious people after I treated the soldier, but only a few since then. Perhaps there will be more patients tomorrow,” she said.
He gave a nod of agreement. “The piece I wrote didn’t do any harm, I hope.”
“You stated the facts,” she replied. “At least no one has applied for the assistant position, so I’m not paying a helper yet.”
He glanced up from beneath the brim of his hat, and she followed his gaze to see a hawk gliding on a current.
“From what you said earlier, though, it sounds like you’ve grown accustomed to getting by on very little. Your father cut you off financially after you called off our engagement, did he not?”
“Most definitely.”
“How did you pay for university?” When she didn’t answer right away, he said quickly, “I’m sorry. That was a rude question.”
“I appreciate forthrightness,” she replied honestly. “I worked several jobs to pay my way. I cleaned every evening for a barber. I did laundry for a family. I stayed with a statesman’s elderly mother and had a small room in her home with meals included.”
“When did you study?”
“Every chance I got. Mostly at night.”
Sam looked at Marlys, and his admiration hitched a notch higher. He’d always known she was smart and ambitious, but her fortitude and passion equaled that of the great men he’d known. The strength and determination that shone on her face made her even more striking, with her beautiful porcelain skin and winged brows a shade darker than her bright chestnut hair. Little wonder he’d been smitten with her, but had she ever felt drawn to him? She’d accepted his proposal to appease her father, but now he believed she’d never felt anything beyond a sense of duty. No man wanted to feel like an obligation.
He didn’t really blame her. They were too different. They wanted different things. He’d wanted to marry and start a family. She’d been ardent about her education and medicine. It was better she’d been strong enough to end it than to allow them to make a mistake and enter an ill-fated marriage. “And once you’d graduated, you started looking for a place to locate?”
“I shared a practice with a colleague for a time, but we struggled. Most city people who appreciated advanced medicine already had established doctors. I’d followed the articles and ads about Western locations for some time. The more I looked into the new towns, the more I saw the possibility of pioneer communities being open to new and unconventional practices. Once I had the idea, I couldn’t let go of it. I saw several advertisements encouraging brides and business owners to Cowboy Creek. I wrote the town council, and the town clerk sent me a map and a list of available properties.”
“How did you select your location?”
“Because of my need for water, it wasn’t difficult. I wanted access to the well between the bath house on Second and the laundry on First. Also it’s only three businesses in from the main thoroughfare.”
“Maybe I could include more of your personal story in the next article.”
“I forgot for a moment I was speaking to the journalist. I’ll think about it.”
“Being a journalist is a big part of who I am. Like being a doctor is an important part of who you are. A person’s passions are part of them.”
“Like being a writer also makes you eloquent.”
“Am I?” He glanced over to find her looking up at him. For the first time he felt self-conscious in her presence.
“You have the ability to reach people. You’re able to inspire sympathy or understanding of anything you’re focusing on.”
That was quite a compliment. “You said you’d read my book.”
“And several articles.”
His book was a personal account, and it perhaps revealed more about him than he was comfortable with her learning. He didn’t know why her opinion was different than anyone else’s. People across the nation had read his book, and he wasn’t concerned about their reactions.
Sam couldn’t afford to expend any energy in the direction his thoughts kept leading. Enough was enough.
* * *
They rode in silence for a while. James rode back to let them know they would be arriving at the Cheyenne camp before long. Anticipation quivered in Marlys’s stomach. She’d been looking forward to this for so long. Meeting the indigenous people was part of her reason for leaving the East.
“James will test the temperature with these people before we approach,” Sam warned. “Strangers can be a threat to them, and we don’t know their situation today. They may welcome us, they may not.”
“Understood.”
They drew near the village, where smoke trailed out the tops of tipis arranged in an encampment. Two skinny dogs ran forward, one barking, the other sniffing the horses. Half a dozen braves stood facing them, as though they’d been alerted to the visitors. They wore deerskin leggings, moccasins and coats and hats made of fur.
James signaled for Sam to halt the wagon and rode forward. “Haáahe.”
“Nėhetáa’e. Nétsėhésenėstsehe?” the tallest of the Indians called out.
“He asks if I talk Cheyenne.” James nodded. “Héehe’e.”
“Tósa’e néhéstahe.”
“He asks where we’re from.” James spoke several more words, gesturing to Sam and Marlys. She heard their names, and James mentioned Cowboy Creek.
The Indian seemed to ask more questions and pointed at her.
James turned. “He wants you to climb down so he can look at you.”
“I’ll help you.” Sam climbed down and came around the rear of the wagon to assist her to the ground.
With one of the dogs sniffing at the hem of her riding skirt, Marlys took several steps toward the Indian. Sam remained right beside her.
“Nétsêhésenêstsehe,” he said to her.
“Red Bird asks if you speak Cheyenne,” James said.
She shook her head.
“Má’heóná’e,” James told them. “That’s the word for medicine woman,” he explained.
“Tell him I have medicine. Soap and blankets. Are there any children?”
James spoke with Red Bird and then turned to her. “There are about twenty children. A few are sick. Their medicine woman is old and feeble, and her helper died.”
“I can help them.”
James relayed her message, and Red Bird pointed to the wagon.
“He asks to see,” James said.
Marlys gestured for Red Bird to follow and led him to the back of the wagon, where she climbed up onto the bed to open crates and show him the contents.
Red Bird looked down at her. His eyes were so obsidian they shone, his dark skin lined from the sun, though he didn’t appear old. He had a broad nose and a long scar from his lower lip across his chin, but in his uniqueness she found him strikingly beautiful.
“Ho’eohe,” he said, and gestured for her to join him. Sam was right there to help her down, and she followed Red Bird toward the encampment. Red Bird spoke to James on the way past.
“Leave the wagon, but bring the supplies,” James said to Sam.
The other Indian men picked up crates as well and followed.
Red Bird led Marlys to the largest tipi, called out before entering and held the flap aside for her. She took a deep breath and followed him into what appeared to be their chief’s dwelling. A man whose long, coarse black hair was shot with steel-gray exchanged words with Red Bird. Red Bird led Marlys forward. “Né’seéstse’hena.”
“Take your coats off,” James interpreted.
The three of them did so, and the chief gestured for them to sit near the fire.
Among those in the tipi was a woman who was perhaps the chief’s wife and two women not much older than Marlys, as well as several children, ranging in ages. All the children sat quietly behind their mothers.
“Éhame.” The chief pointed to Sam.
“Chief Woodrow Black Snake asks if you are her husband,” James explained before he answered for Sam.
Red Bird spoke to Chief Black Snake, and apparently the chief asked to see the contents of Marlys’s crates and burlap bags. The men who had accompanied them displayed the contents.
Marlys explained that the blankets were gifts and that the bundles and jars contained medicine.
The chief sent for someone, and after several minutes a brave helped an aged woman into the tipi. She inspected the herbs and opened jars to sniff and taste, then she spoke to the chief. He signed for her to take a seat, and Red Bird helped her lower herself before the fire. Her cloudy black eyes surveyed the newcomers with keen interest.
The chief directed the two young women, and they brought the guests water, roasted nuts and jerky. Marlys instinctively understood they were being treated as honored guests, and the impoverished Cheyenne’s generosity brought swift tears to her eyes.
She asked James to tell her the Cheyenne word for every item in her sight, even the women and children’s names. The women nodded, and the children smiled shyly when she said their names.
“Néá’ee,” she said, thanking them. “Tell them it’s our pleasure to give them blankets.”
James spoke and got up to take the stack of blankets and place it before the oldest woman. She in turn handed one to each of her daughters or daughters-in-law, kept one for herself and instructed Red Bird to give one to the elderly medicine woman. The old woman touched the plain gray wool and nodded at Marlys. “Néá’ee.”
The chief’s wife spoke to one of her daughters, and the younger woman went to a huge woven basket under the slant of the tipi and returned with a folded item she placed before Marlys.
The blanket the old woman had given her was woven with colorful stripes, obviously made from the dyes of berries and plants. The edges had been sewn with short, soft leather fringe. Marlys blinked. She wasn’t an emotional person, and she understood these proud people’s honor depended on an equal trade, but this poignant communion between people of different languages and skin colors touched her heart and soul. Thank You, Lord, for showing me their hearts and giving me this important moment.
“James, please tell her it’s beautiful and will keep me warm for many years.”
James translated.
The woman raised her chin, and her daughters smiled. She then spoke directly to James. “Teke’ váótséva éháomóhtâhéotse.”
They conversed for a moment.
“She says a girl is sick with a fever. She asks if your medicine is powerful enough to heal Little Deer.”
Marlys’s heart leaped. She wanted nothing more than to help these people. She’d touted herself as a great healer—now was her chance to prove her worth. “I know little of their needs or the diseases common to this land and the native tribes,” she said aloud in an uncommon moment of self-doubt.
“Most likely they are immune or have cures for the sicknesses common to them, but the ones that baffle them are those they’ve contracted from the whites.” Sam gave her an encouraging nod.
She stood. “Take me to her.”
After a brief interaction, one of the braves who had accompanied them to the chief helped the old woman stand and gestured for Marlys to join them. Sam got her coat, and he and James stood. “Bring those two crates and my bag,” she said, and they left the chief’s tipi.
The brave spoke to James, and James told them his name was Gray Cloud. They referred to the medicine woman as Hausisse.
“What does it mean?” Marlys asked.
James spoke to the woman. “She said to some it’s She Knows, to others it’s Old Woman.”
Marlys followed them, trudging through trampled-down snow to another lodge, this one painted with animals and figures of women and children. “I like She Knows.”
Inside, there were several children, three lying under fur robes near the fire in the center.
“Teke’ váótséva éháomóhtâhéotse,” She Knows said.
“This is Little Deer,” James interpreted. “She has been sick for many days. The fever doesn’t leave.”
“What have you given her?” Marlys asked.
After a discussion James replied with the remedies the old medicine woman had given the child. Marlys instructed Sam to open the crates. He did as she asked and then took a seat away from the patients.
Marlys asked for water and used it to wash her hands. The child’s mother gave her a concerned look. “I want to help Little Deer,” Marlys said.
James interpreted their conversation.
“I am Blue Water. My child is not strong. She does not eat.”
“May I uncover her and look at her?”
Blue Water nodded and pulled the fur robe away.
The child’s tongue was cracked. She was painfully thin, her skin hot and dry. Marlys examined her for rashes or cuts, even checked the bottom of her feet, which were peeling.
“Are her feet sick?”
“No. The fever causes her skin to peel. We need to cool her down. Sam, bring me water that isn’t too warm, please.” She got cloths from her a crate. “Let’s move her away from the fire.”
With a minimum of effort she relayed her desire to find a vessel large enough to hold the girl. Gray Cloud brought an enormous but surprisingly lightweight bowl-shaped tub carved from a wood she’d never seen before.
Marlys and Little Deer’s mother made a secluded spot away from the heat by draping a blanket from the lodge poles and bathed the child in the tepid mineral water. They carried her to her relocated bed, and Blue Water attempted to cover her. Marlys stopped her with a gentle touch on her arm. “Let’s allow her skin and body to cool.”
Blue Water settled back with a nod.
Marlys draped only a light covering over her torso and gave Little Deer spoonfuls of water. Roused by the cool bath, the girl swallowed thirstily.
Marlys dissolved fermented soybean and coriander into water, as well as a combination of honeysuckle and forsythia powders, and spoon-fed it to her. She Knows came and watched, asked to sniff and taste. Marlys explained the curative properties of the mixture. Although she didn’t understand the cause of Little Deer’s fever, she’d learned this restorative Chinese fever remedy as a last resort, and it seemed She Knows had already used her vast knowledge of medicines to try the more common options.
Marlys had the education to remember and apply therapies for symptoms, but she’d never felt as humble or inadequate as she did at that moment. “Lord, You are the Great Physician. Help me understand how to treat this child. Touch her with Your hand of mercy, in Jesus’s name.” She glanced at the dividing blanket and called softly, “Sam.”
“I’m here.”
“Pray.”
Chapter Five (#u68f9dd3b-8a08-5054-847e-a9a9f8ae97d1)
At the unaccustomed qualm in Marlys’s voice, Sam experienced a thread of concern. She now understood the magnitude of coming here and claiming an ability to help these people. If her treatment didn’t help the Cheyenne girl, and she worsened—or even worse, died—the Cheyenne could perceive it as intended harm on Marlys’s part. Right now there were more lives than Little Deer’s at stake.
“I’m praying,” he answered. “I have every confidence in you, and confidence in God to guide you and to heal the girl.”
He prayed. Time passed slowly. He took his journal from his satchel and wrote for an hour or more. James’s and Marlys’s quiet voices blended with the sound of the other children and their mothers and the crackle of the fire, and he may have dozed.
Becoming aware that the log had burned down, he went out and found a pile of cut wood and put another log on the fire. Unaccustomed to a stranger in their tent, the Indian women watched him warily.
There was nothing to do but wait right now, and his body grew tense from inaction. With a dozen eyes on him he went to his horse and unsheathed an ax, walking toward a stand of trees, where he pulled brush and fallen limbs into a pile and chopped a log into pieces. Periodically he left the ax in a limb to check on Marlys and James. Marlys was methodically checking each child and their mother for signs of sickness. She was treating a small boy when he went back to his task.
Eventually, a woman brought a sling and piled all the wood he’d chopped. It was the women’s job to find and cut wood, so she probably found his actions curious. But she did not protest. She carried the sling filled with firewood back to their communal pile several times. On her return, she brought him a steaming wooden bowl and handed it to him.
He nodded, drank the hot broth, and returned the bowl.
She wiped it out with snow and walked away.
Sam glanced at the sun. It was late afternoon. If they stayed much longer, they would be traveling home in the dark. He trudged back to the lodge and entered. The children were seated at the fire eating savory-smelling roasted meat. His belly rumbled. That broth hadn’t been filling.
“Marlys, we need to think about eating and leaving. We can’t travel in the dark.”
“You must be hungry. Get the basket I packed and share it with James.” She came around the side of the draped blanket. “I’m not leaving.”
He swallowed the first words that sprang to his tongue and pursed his lips in frustration. “We can’t stay. I have to get back to August.”
“You go. I’ll stay.”
“I’m not leaving you alone here.”
“I am not leaving tonight.”
James was seated far enough away to give Marlys, her patient and the girl’s mother privacy, but close enough to interpret. He got to his feet and stretched his legs. “What if I go back, keep August with Hannah and me overnight and come back in the morning?”
“I’ve learned enough words to communicate well enough,” Marlys agreed.
Sam ran a hand through his hair. Short of throwing her over his shoulder, he wasn’t going to get her to go back until she was ready. He might have figured as much. He glanced at the other children in the lodge, at James and back to Marlys. He raised a hand in defeat. “All right.”
She hurried toward him. “Thank you.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice. Let James know if there’s anything you want him to bring tomorrow. James, I’m going to get the basket of food. You’ll eat with us before you leave.”
Once the basket was opened, the curious children crept from their places and sat close. Sam broke off pieces of rye bread and piled them into a woven bowl. He gave away all the hardtack, and James passed on it, as well. In the Army, he’d eaten enough of the tasteless unleavened biscuits to last him a lifetime. The Cheyenne youngsters got over their shyness to accept the food and join them. Marlys unwrapped smoked fish, and the aroma drew the women forward, too.
The Cheyenne women gave their guests wooden bowls of roasted game and tender cooked roots. Marlys cut a dried apple pie into a dozen slivers, so each child and mother had a tiny piece.
James made them a pot of coffee with a dented pot he carried in his saddlebags, emptied it and packed to leave. “I’ll bring more food in morning.”
Sam walked to the edge of the camp with him.
“Nothing else we could’ve done,” James said.
“She’s immovable when she has her mind made up. I’ll pay you double.”
“Once we got here it didn’t seem like a job,” James admitted. “After seeing those children, I was thankful she planned this.”
Sam couldn’t disagree. “Safe trip home. Please tell August I’m well, not to worry, and I will be home tomorrow.”
He watched James ride away, said a prayer for his safety and another for August to feel safe that night, and trudged back to the lodge.
After the meal was cleared away, Marlys continued her examinations of the other children. None were as sick as Little Deer, and some were only there with a sibling who suffered from symptoms. She Knows had settled onto a pallet of furs, her watchful gaze on Marlys, but had seemingly acknowledged the white woman was there to help.
Marlys and Blue Water bathed Little Deer one more time as night fell. The child roused this time and watched Marlys with uncertain black eyes. Her mother spoke softly, soothing her. They had her settled for the night when a brave entered the lodge and swiftly crossed to the child’s side. He knelt beside her and spoke to Blue Water. She replied, and the Indian’s eyes settled on Marlys, taking in her hair, her now-wrinkled apron and the array of her supplies.
He returned his attention to what Marlys now assumed was his daughter, and gently touched her face and hands. The girl’s temperature had cooled considerably, but she was still warm. After a few minutes he left.
After tending to the fire, the mothers settled their children down for the night and lay beside them.
Marlys gave Little Deer more water and another dose of the remedy she’d prepared. Blue Water unrolled two pallets and gestured to Marlys and Sam.
“Néá’ee,” Marlys thanked her.
She glanced at Sam.
“I’m not leaving you alone,” he said. “I’ll be right here.”
“Nor do I want you to go.”
He slid one of the pallets several feet away from hers, in plain sight of all the women, and stretched out on top of the comfortable furs.
He listened more than watched as Marlys washed her face and hands and used what looked like a porcupine tail that one of the women handed her on her hair. She was a curiosity. She didn’t conform to what their society would consider feminine fashion. Her hair was uncommonly short, and her clothing functional and undecorated. He’d never seen her wear jewelry or drench herself in perfume. Instead, she smelled always like lavender and hyssop and other natural scents. Her movements, her voice, everything about her was feminine, even without ornamentation or fripperies.
Back during their short engagement in Philadelphia, they had discussed literature and politics, and he’d learned she was intelligent. She’d never hidden her desire for education or her interest in medicine, so he’d understood her ambition. But he’d never seen her as she’d been today. Fearless. Impervious. Undeterred. Compassionate. Kind.
He reeled those thoughts in as soon as they’d slipped into his consciousness. This was the woman who had broken off their engagement because of her ambitions. She didn’t have time or patience for a relationship. She wasn’t inclined to set her career aside and focus on a marriage. It was plain that she was still as determined as ever to broaden her scope of understanding and knowledge, to discover as much of the world as was possible.
People were who they were. She couldn’t be expected to change for him. He hadn’t expected it then. He didn’t expect it now.
She had needed his help to travel here, to make this happen. Another protector would have done just as well. She didn’t specifically need Sam.
That fact reached a nearly forgotten, well-guarded portion of his heart and carved a fresh slice. He closed his eyes against the shimmer of her hair in the firelight. The interior of this lodge was surprisingly warm, the skins beneath him soft. He dozed and dreamed of summer during his childhood.
* * *
Marlys slept lightly, checking on Little Deer and finding her sleeping more restfully. Before dawn she woke to sounds of the community outside the tipi and went to find the child’s fever gone. “Thank You, Lord.”
She woke Blue Water by gently touching her shoulder. The woman’s dark eyes opened in fear, and she sat, her terrified gaze darting to her child.
“No, she’s better,” Marlys told her. “Come see. Ho’eohe.”
The woman scrambled from her bed and leaned over Little Deer. She touched her face and neck, rolled back her covering and examined her arms and legs. Tears of joy formed in her eyes, and when she looked at Marlys, they fell unheeded. “Néá’ee. Éévaéše’tovóho.”
She touched her breast with the tips of her fingers and then touched Marlys’s chest.
Marlys smiled. She didn’t need a translator to understand Blue Water’s mother’s heart was grateful. She was no different than any other mother of any other people or skin color. Her heart was no different. Love knew no boundaries. Love translated into any language.
Sam and the other Cheyenne in the lodge woke and came near to see what was happening for themselves. She Knows shuffled forward in her fur boots, and Blue Water helped her lower herself to sit beside the child. She listened to her heart. Listened to her breathing, looked in her mouth, examined the bottom of her feet. She turned and spoke to one of the older children.
He pulled on a robe and darted from the tipi. Several minutes later he returned with Little Deer’s father and the chief. Woodrow Black Snake held a conversation with She Knows and Blue Water. They all nodded and gestured. He exited as suddenly as he’d arrived. Sam left the lodge while the Cheyenne mothers washed and groomed themselves and their children.
Blue Water brought Marlys fragrant mint water and twigs and indicated she should brush her teeth. She and another woman they called Neha brushed Marlys’s hair, while coating the strands with an unknown substance they lathered on their hands. They spoke in hushed tones, and Marlys guessed they wondered why her hair was cut so short. The process was disconcerting. Marlys’s mother had died when she was very young, and she’d taken care of her own needs for as long as she could remember. With persistent focus, however, they managed to secure short braids and fasten them with beaded leather strips.
They brought her coat and led her from the lodge across the encampment in the crisp morning air. The aromatic smell of cooking meat made her mouth water. Together they entered the chief’s tent, where Sam already waited. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her appearance.
“I have no idea what’s going on,” she said. “I wish James would arrive.”
“I have a feeling it’s a celebration of some sort, and you’re the guest of honor.”
His assumption made sense after the women’s ministrations. “It’s a whole lot better than what I was imagining last night.”
He brought his gaze to hers. “You never let on that you had any doubts.”
She nodded. “No. I never let on.” She turned her gaze back to the gathering of Cheyenne before looking to Sam once more. “Thank you. For bringing me.”
He made a noncommittal sound.
They were seated across from the chief at the fire, and others crowded around them. The women served them roasted meat on a wooden platter, which they shared. Marlys tasted it and found it unlike anything she’d eaten, but tasty and tender.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Maybe elk or antelope,” he replied.
“Do you think sharing this food is a sacrifice for them? I mean, are we taking away from their winter supply?”
“They have meat hung in trees. If there’s no big game on the land where they’re allowed to hunt, the Army probably brought it to them.”
“They’re buffalo hunters, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “This tribe seems to have been left on their own and not relocated. The Army knows they’re here, so the Army is in a difficult situation, protecting the tribe while safeguarding settlers, as well. When the Indians are unable to hunt, they have to travel or starve. So if the Army is delivering supplies, they’re hoping to keep them here so they know where they are.”
Their discussion continued until James arrived and was given food.
“Red Bird told me the little girl is better today.”
“Our prayers worked,” she replied.
“And your Chinese remedy,” James added.
Sam nodded, surprising her.
“How did August fare the night?” Sam asked.
“He ate supper and played with the baby. Ava laughed and smiled at him. Hannah read to them for a while, then she made him a bed, and he went right to sleep. She was planning to walk him to school this morning.”
“Thank you,” Sam said.
It had been a sacrifice for Sam to remain here with her and not go home to his son. Marlys wouldn’t have blamed him for leaving last night, but she was thankful for his company and protection. She felt doubly indebted. Hannah had taken on additional duties for her sake, as well. “I will be happy to prepare a mineral bath treatment for Hannah to thank her.” She gave James a thankful smile. “She can bring the baby, and I’ll care for her while she relaxes.”
Before long James went out and returned with a crate holding jars of peaches. He opened several and indicated the mothers should share them with the children. The Cheyenne spoke among themselves, smiling and obviously enjoying the treat.
“Where did you get peaches?” she asked.
“I stopped at Remmy’s and bought all that Mrs. Herne had left for sale.”
“Thank you,” Marlys told him. “I’ll repay you.”
“No. This is my pleasure,” he said.
Two of the women took the jars and returned with them washed clean and set them before James. James spoke to them, and they nodded and smiled at each other, carrying away the basket of glass jars.
“I’m going to check on Little Deer and two other children, and then we can head home,” Marlys said.
They were headed back toward Cowboy Creek by midmorning. The ride home didn’t seem as long as the trip getting to the encampment. Marlys was justifiably satisfied with the experience. She had told She Knows that she would come again to bring her herbs and to learn about the roots and leaves the medicine woman used.
She offered to pay Sam and James, but both refused.
“Thank you, James,” she said as the two men unloaded crates at her office. “I couldn’t have made the trip without you.”
“I’m glad I joined you.”
“Perhaps you’d be willing to spend a few hours teaching me more Cheyenne?”
“Sure. I can meet whenever you want.” He mounted his horse and headed for the livery.
“You owe two days for the wagon,” she said to Sam. “I’ll pay.”
“I’ll let you pay for that,” he replied.
She took money from a metal lockbox and gave it to him. “Thank you for agreeing to go. And for taking the night away from August. I’m not much of a cook, but maybe I could take the two of you to supper one evening.”
“That would be nice.” He tucked the coins in his pocket.
* * *
News of her trip to the Cheyenne camp spread through town that week. When Marlys stopped at Booker & Son general store for supplies midweek, the skinny young man behind the counter held up one hand. “How.”
She gave him a puzzled frown.
“You heap big Injun doctor? Need something to smoke in your peace pipe?” He laughed heartily at his own joke. “Don’t see why you’re wasting your time with them anyway.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Eugene. You’re the lady doctor, right?”
She held her irritation and asked, “Who is the owner of this establishment?”
“That would be Mr. Booker.”
Mr. Booker came out of the back, where the portly man had apparently overheard her question, and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “I’m Abram Booker. What can I do for you?”
“Young Eugene here seems to think it’s humorous to disparage potential customers.”
He turned to his employee. “What have you done now, Eugene?”
“I was just havin’ a little fun with the lady doc.”
“I didn’t find it fun or funny at all. And I can just as easily take all my business to Mr. Hagermann’s. He’s always respectful.”
Mr. Booker clenched his jaw. The store owner’s face turned red, and color crept all the way into his thinning hair. “Apologize to Dr. Boyd, Eugene.”
Eugene didn’t appear very pleased to submit to the demand. He lowered his chin to his skinny chest and held his body tense. Through tight lips, he said, “I’m sorry, Dr. Boyd. I didn’t mean no offense.”
“I accept your apology, Eugene. I strongly advise you to consider your words before speaking. It’s my belief that we have much to learn from other cultures, and when people respect one another, the exchange of information benefits everyone. You might find it ironic that I treated sick Cheyenne children with a Chinese remedy. Those children didn’t seem to mind when they got better.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Eugene, go sweep the back room now,” Mr. Booker instructed him. “What can I help you with today, Doctor?”
“I’d like to order an array of jars, similar to something you would use to display candy.”
“I can show you what I ordered for my own use.”
Abram Booker was helpful and courteous, and she didn’t see Eugene again while she was in the store.
Her next stop was to pick up the second pair of boots she’d ordered at Godwin’s. Opal was pleased to see her. “I want to accept your offer for a mineral bath,” she said. “What would be a good time? I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Any time is a good time,” Marlys replied. “Come right now if you like.”
“Well...” Opal glanced around the small boot shop. “Let me just check with Amos.”
Her husband was pleased to see his wife take time for herself and waved them off. It was a short walk to her office, with Opal carrying the baby, and Marlys let them in and put wood in the stove to heat water. It didn’t take long to fill one of the tubs.
“I’ve never seen bathing tubs like these,” Opal told her.
“They’re made deep and yet narrow, so the entire body can be immersed without using as much water as a larger oval tub takes.” Marlys added oils and minerals and dissolved them in the water. “I’ll take the baby and sit just outside. We’ll be fine.” She showed Opal the towels and told her to relax and take her time.
“Well, Richard, we’re getting to be friends, don’t you think?”
The bundled baby opened his eyes at her voice but soon closed them again. He squirmed a bit, and instinctively, she bounced him in her arms until he stilled. She’d been around more babies in her short time here than in her whole prior life. It was reassuring that after all the death and sorrow of the brothers’ war that civilization was now replenishing itself. It didn’t take a scholar to understand the psychology of bringing their country back to life with a new generation.
She felt a grave responsibility to the children, to August and all of these little ones. She had knowledge to share, skills to teach, and she needed to impart as much as she could—to leave her mark on history and make a difference.
She’d always been a hundred percent confident of her choices. She was still confident she’d been true to herself and her ideals. But a barely discernable question rose in her thoughts. Was she missing out on something? Would she eventually live to regret she had turned her back on relationships, on friendship, on marriage...on Sam?
Chapter Six (#u68f9dd3b-8a08-5054-847e-a9a9f8ae97d1)
Rather than eat at the hotel again, Sam prepared a meal of sliced ham and boiled potatoes for himself and August. They sat at the tiny table in their long one-room quarters behind the newspaper office, and Sam said grace.
“I miss Grandmother,” August said.
“I know you do.”
“Why couldn’t she have moved to Kansas with us?”
“She has her own life to live, son. She has friends, and she likes to travel.”
“I could have gone with her.”
“No, you couldn’t have. We belong together, you and I. We’re a family.”
August looked at him, his eyes wide and dark and still filled with the same pain and confusion Sam had prayed to know how to erase. “But there’s only you and me.”
Sam ignored the ache in his chest and resisted placing a hand over the spot. “Two can be a family.”
August ate a few bites and laid down his fork. “May I be excused?”
Sam steepled his fingers over his plate and studied his son. “Two more bites of your ham.”
August took the two bites and lifted his gaze.
“You’re excused.” Sam cleared the table and washed the few dishes.
August was lying on his narrow cot when he’d finished. “Let’s start a new book,” Sam suggested.
“I can read by myself.”
“I know you can, but if we read together, we can both enjoy the story.”
August didn’t respond, so Sam went to the shelf of books and perused a few titles. “Life of Dr. Benjamin Franklin,” he read. “I like this one. You like history, and it’s interesting. It’s written by Mr. Franklin himself.”
“I already know he invented the glass armonica and that he experimented with electricity and that’s how he got famous.”
“But did you know he was a newspaperman?”
August shook his head.
“Benjamin was about fifteen when his brother started the first newspaper in Boston that did more than reprint articles from overseas. The Courant did opinion pieces, advertisements and printed ship schedules.”
He pulled a chair close to where his boy lay. “Benjamin wanted to write for the paper, too, but he was only an apprentice, so at night he secretly wrote letters to the paper and signed them Silence Dogood.”
“Who was Silence Dogood?”
“A name he made up. In these letters he gave advice and criticized what was going on, like how women were being treated. Then Benjamin would sneak the letters under the print shop door during the night. Everyone liked the letters and wanted to know who Silence Dogood was.”
August’s interest had perked up. “Did he tell them?”
“He finally confessed. Benjamin’s brother James’s friends thought Ben was clever and funny, but his brother was jealous.”
“Then what?”
“Why don’t we read it together, and you can learn all about Benjamin’s interesting life.”
“Yes, let’s read it. Will we finish it tonight?”
Sam chuckled. “It will take a few evenings, but we’ll read it all, I promise.”
August nodded his agreement. “All right.”
“‘Imagining it may be equally agreeable to you to learn the circumstances of my life, many of which you are unacquainted with, and expecting the enjoyment of a few weeks’ uninterrupted leisure, I sit down to write them. Besides, there are some other inducements that excite me to this—’”
“What’s inducements, Papa?”
“Things that spurred him to write.”
“Oh.”
“‘—that excite me to this undertaking. From the poverty and obscurity in which I was born, and in which I passed my earliest years, I have raised myself to a state of affluence and some degree of celebrity in the world.’”
“What is affluence?”
Sam stopped reading and couldn’t help a smile. It might take longer than he thought to read this book.
* * *
It was a sunny day the following week, but cold with a bitter wind when Marlys entered the laundry and stomped snow from her feet on the mat inside the door. She took all her sheets and towels to the laundry behind her own office, but brought her personal items to Mr. Lin’s. She liked the way he rinsed clothing and pressed it so it smelled fresh.
A pretty woman with a green felt hat covering most of her blond hair stood at the counter. She smiled at Marlys. “Are you Dr. Boyd?”
“Yes,” Marlys answered.
“I’m Leah Gardner. I’ve heard so much about you from Pippa, and I’ve been meaning to come introduce myself, but I’ve had a young mother and baby to look after, plus caring for my own newborn...”

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