“Mr. Jackson! That troublesome goat is walking on my porch again!” Her hands curled into fists. She wanted him off of there. He was always chewing on the posts. She took a step toward the door and stopped. Mr. Jackson could wait. He’d just come back again anyway. She didn’t want to delay any longer. She spun around, “You were going to tell me about Pa?”
He pointed to the stool next to the bed. “It would be best if you sit, as it’s a long story.”
His tone made her knees weak, but she made it to the stool without embarrassing herself by tripping and landing on his chest. She took time to arrange her skirt, making sure her ankles were covered. She looked and found him staring at her. His brown eyes were warm and caring. Mary, whoever she was, should consider herself blessed.
“Who else lives here?”
“My sister, Angel, is asleep in the loft.” Her sister had helped last night in ways Heaven wouldn’t have thought possible. The two of them worked in harmony like a pair of well-trained horses.
“I met your father on the steamboat, not long after we left Memphis.”
“You know where he is! You’ve brought our passage money?” She scooted to the edge of the stool. She had so much to do—lists to make, things to pack—and she needed to find someone to buy this place. Then she realized Mr. Logan hadn’t answered her question. In fact, he stared at her in a sad sort of way. “You don’t have the money? Were you robbed?”
“Please, Miss Wharton. Let me finish.”
The bad feeling slid on like a strained pelisse. “Go ahead.
I’ll listen.”
“While we were on the deck observing the water, your father fell.…”
“He went overboard? He drowned!” She sprung to her feet. Her hand caressed the back of her neck while she paced the length of the bed. “I knew he shouldn’t have gone on that boat. He should have taken us with him and traveled by land. If we’d gone with him, he wouldn’t have …” She hiccupped a sob.
“Miss Wharton. He didn’t drown. Please sit down.”
She sat but didn’t want to. The small, dark cabin closed in on her. She forced herself to look him in the eye. “Tell me.”
“He didn’t drown, but he isn’t alive.”
Numbness crept from the roots of her hair to her toes. She worked her lips, trying to form words. A guttural sound escaped before her vocal cords could shake free of the shock. “Not alive? Dead? Pa’s dead?” Her mind flew into action. She was left to take care of Angel. What would she do now? How would they survive the winter? There was no family left to run to. Maybe Annabelle’s father would let them stay, but she would have to get there, and the train fare … And Angel! What would she tell her? Her mind pushed and pulsed against the sides of her head. She feared her skull would burst.
“Miss Wharton,”—he touched her shoulder—“I can see lots of things are worrying you. Would you like me to tell you the rest of what happened later?”
“No. No, I have to know now so I can tell my …” A sob escaped. “My sister.” They were alone now, just the two of them. The realization found purchase and settled into her shoulders. It was an enormous burden she wasn’t sure she could carry. She dabbed her eyes with the hem of her apron. “Go ahead, tell me.”
“I did everything I knew how to do, but nothing worked. I tried to save him. I couldn’t. He died on September 27 from a high fever.”
Fever. Icy cold formed layers around her heart, and she fought to take a breath. It wasn’t possible—no not at all. Not Pa, too. The man had to be mistaken. “September?” That wasn’t long after he’d left. That’s why they hadn’t heard from him in all these months. “What took you so long to come and tell us?”
He seemed uncomfortable, wiggling in the bed away from her, and turned his head. “I wasn’t aware there was anyone to tell.”
Her mouth slacked open, and she gasped. Surely Pa had mentioned them, unless he’d been too sick.
“Then how did you know to come here?” Suspicion marched into her mind. He was here because he thought the place was abandoned.
She was right about shooting him after all.
Annabelle greeted her companion with a conspiratorial smile as she climbed into the closed buggy. She’d scooted out of the house with a cheery good-bye wave to John, even though leaving without saying a proper forever farewell to him left a small knot of sadness hanging in her throat.
“Good morning, Mrs. Miles.” She slid under the edge of the wool carriage blanket Mrs. Miles held up for her. A waft of attar of roses hugged her. Annabelle’s own mother used to wear that fragrance. “Isn’t it a great day to ride a train?”
“Isn’t it though, even if it’s a bit chilly? Now we must stay out of Jake’s sight so he doesn’t make us disembark before we’ve even left the station.” The older woman smoothed the blanket over her lap.
“He’s going to be surprised to see us, isn’t he?” Annabelle hoped Jake wouldn’t be furious at her for asking his mother to be her chaperone. Mrs. Miles had agreed readily, stating she’d enjoy spending time with her son. She had told Annabelle how much she had missed him. On the train he wouldn’t be able to hide in his room the way he did at home, and Mrs. Miles said she had a lot she wanted to say to him.
Mrs. Miles’s striking green eyes glimmered as she patted Annabelle’s gloved hand. “I do hope to see him marry Heaven while we’re there, too. I’ve been praying he’ll come to his senses once he sees her and forgets that nonsense about not being good enough for her.”
“That would be nice.” If Jake did marry Heaven, then Mrs. Miles would have to travel back alone. Annabelle hadn’t thought about that situation. Even though she’d made the decision to travel to Memphis on her own, that was her worry, one that Jake’s mother shouldn’t have. She’d simply convince Heaven not to get married without Jake’s father present. She tugged the edge of the blanket under her hip and settled in to take in her last views of the city she’d called home.
“Pa’s dead? What happened?” A young girl’s voice shrieked from above.
Heaven’s eyes widened. “That’s my sister, Angel. Apparently she is eavesdropping. I have to go to her.”
Travis tugged the blanket under his chin. “Before we continue this conversation, do you think I could—could use the, um …?”
Her face flushed a delightful rose color as she understood his request. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her, but he really needed a trip outside.
“Of course. Do you think you can make it alone, or …?” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Should I bring you a chamber pot?”
Now her face was past rose, more of a blood-red color. Come to think of it, his face was feeling a bit warm. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take my time getting up so the room steadies. If you’ll just bring me my clothes.”
“You don’t need any. We didn’t remove anything. That wouldn’t have been proper.”
Proper? Where did she think she was, in a big city where women took notes of every uncovered sneeze? “My boots?”
“Still on your feet.”
“On my feet.” He wiggled his toes. They bumped into leather. He peaked under the quilt. He was fully clothed right down to his muddy boots. “Guess your sheets are going to need washing.”
“They were going to need it anyway after you bled all over them.” She stepped away. “I’ll see to Angel while you’re outside.”
After she’d left him alone, he stood. His head pounded, and the room dipped and swayed. It didn’t matter how weak his legs were; he would make it outside to the privy. Alone.
When he came back inside, he found Heaven next to the fireplace in a rocking chair holding her sister and stroking her golden hair. Heaven briefly raised her red-rimmed eyes and met his then rested her head against the top of her sister’s. The fire had nearly died. Only a few winking embers remained.
He didn’t say anything but let them grieve, knowing there was more to come. The chill of the cabin wrapped around him, sending goose bumps down his arm, and he hoped it wa
s that and not the return of the fever. His fever must have been high for him not to remember what had occurred the night before. Gathering a few small logs from the pile next to the fireplace he knelt and placed them on the embers. With a squeeze from the bellows, air whooshed across the bed of embers. Orange and then blue flames jumped and then licked the logs until they tasted the bark. Satisfied the fire would burn, he stood, unsure of what to do next.
Heaven lifted her face. The peach tone had faded, leaving her pale. “I’ll make breakfast.”
Angel grabbed her sister’s neck. “Not yet.”
“That’s okay. Can I do something?” He felt out of place. He’d seen a lot of death but hadn’t experienced the womenfolk’s side of it.
“There is nothing for you to do, no one to send a telegram to. It’s just the two of us now.” Heaven lowered her eyes and kissed the part on her sister’s head.
“You have a preacher I can get for you?” He shifted his weight. “I could ride back into town.”
“No!” Angel hopped off her sister’s lap and slapped her hands on her hips.
Travis backed up.
“You can’t tell anyone. They’ll take Heaven away and lock her up.” Her arms folded around her chest, and she rocked on her heels. “If that happens, I won’t have anyone.”
Heaven reached out her arms and encircled her sister. She pulled Angel back onto her lap, all the while glaring at him.
Travis looked at the door. He should leave and come back later when they’d had time to calm down. Then he would tell them the rest. But he couldn’t. He had never been able to shrug off his need to rescue animals and humans. These two were scared and feeling hopeless. He wouldn’t abandon them. “They won’t lock her up. I promise. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them it was an accident.”
Travis found himself in the kitchen. What did he plan to do in here? He wasn’t sure, but at least he was away from the scary girl who seemed even fiercer than her sister. He picked up a toy-sized china cup. It looked as if it would hold only a thimbleful of coffee, as his father would say. “Can I get anyone a cup of coffee?”
Heaven released her sister and wiggled out of the rocker, leaving Angel. “Forgive me, Mr. Logan. I’ve forgotten my manners of hospitality.” She wiped her eyes with her hands and appeared to pull a smile from out of nowhere and apply it across her face. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“That would be nice.” He didn’t want to eat; he wasn’t hungry. But he wasn’t about to mess with her hospitality manners, as they seemed important to her. He stood back and watched her work in silence while Angel huddled in the rocker in front of the fire.
“Sit down, Mr. Logan. Angel, come try and eat something.”
“I don’t want to.” Angel’s voice sounded dull and flat to Travis. He tried but couldn’t imagine the pain the little miss felt.
“Angel, you need to come eat, too. We aren’t wasting these eggs.” Heaven turned from the stove and pointed a spatula at her sister. “Now.”
Travis waited for Angel to find a place at the table, afraid he might take her seat and cause another outbreak of anger. “Is the chair at the end of the table all right for me to sit in?”
“It’s Pa’s chair, but I guess he won’t be needin’ it, so you can sit there.” Angel scooted closer to the table.
Heaven plunked a plate on the table in front of him. Travis sat and stared at his plate of scrambled yellers. His stomach flipped and did a twist. Perhaps he wasn’t quite ready for heavy food, or maybe it was the untold details of why he was at the Wharton’s home. He picked up a piece of perfectly browned toast. With a knife, he shaved off a sliver of butter. “Did you make the butter here on the farm?”
“Miss Bessie did.” Angel spooned a hunk of eggs into her mouth. “Heaven just churns it into butter.”
“Angel, please act like a lady at the table. Don’t talk with your mouth full, and take smaller bites.” Heaven filled a china cup with coffee nestled in a saucer. It rattled as she set it in front of Travis.
His finger wouldn’t fit through the handle of the tiny cup. He picked it up and rested it in the palm of his hand like an egg, afraid it would crack. “Thank you for the breakfast. It seems I’m not that hungry though.”
“Does it hurt much? I’m sorry I don’t have anything to dull your pain. We don’t keep spirits in the house.”
His hand went to the wounded area and touched it without consideration of the possible contact pain. He winced. He’d have to cover that after he talked to Heaven about her father’s wishes. “It’s not too bad. I have some pain medication in my saddlebag. If it gets to feeling worse, I’ll take some. I don’t like to use it though. I’ve seen soldiers get to where they want more and more of it long after their pain should have been gone.”
“Are you a doctor?” Angel asked.
His eyes shifted to the toast on his plate. Eating would buy him time before having to answer. He picked it up. He was unsure what to say to Angel’s question. He was a doctor, still, but he didn’t want to be. He no longer wanted to wake up regretting a mistake he might or might not have made that caused a man to die. “I was. During the war.” No longer hungry, he dropped the toast on the plate. Crumbs broke off, scattering on the worn tabletop.
“We could have used you last night, since we didn’t know what we were doing when we patched you up.” Angel spider-walked her fingers across the tabletop to the right of her plate where her glass of milk sat.
Travis, sure she would knock it over, grabbed her hand and placed it on the glass.
“Stop it! Don’t help me!” Angel pushed back from the table. “I can do things. I can do lots of things if people would just let me.”
Travis was taken aback by the display of anger. Then it occurred to him that Angel hadn’t been blind since birth. He’d seen this same behavior in some of the soldiers with head wounds that caused them to go blind.
“How long has it been since you could see, Angel?”
“Angel, finish your breakfast. There’s too much talking going on, and it’s going to get cold.” Heaven scrambled out of her chair. “Dr. Logan, I imagine that your coffee could be warmed up a bit.”
Why did Heaven want to avoid his question? It seemed odd to him, or maybe they were one of those families that ignored such things.
“That would be nice.” He held up his cup. “Then I need to see to my horse.” He noticed the dried mud on his jacket sleeve. “I need to get a set of fresh clothes, too, one less distressing to look at.”
She topped off the cup with the dark liquid. “I fed your horse when I milked the cow this morning. I fed the chickens, too, Angel. After last night, I thought you might like to sleep a little later.”
“That’s okay—just for today.”
Heaven began to clear the table. Since it had been a small breakfast, it didn’t take long to accomplish the task.
“Before you get your shirt, I want to know everything about how Pa died and why you were the one chosen to tell us.”
Travis cleared his throat and ran his hand against his scruffy chin. He needed a shave. “I don’t know if you want Angel to hear all the details.”
Angel wrapped her arms around her chest. “I want to know.”
“You can talk in front of her. He’s her pa, too.”
Travis felt his shoulders tighten. “You’re stubborn women. But I’ll answer your questions after I get my clean clothes.” Because when they found out what he had to say, he was sure Heaven would go for that rifle and usher him out of the cabin.
“Your clothes can wait. We can’t.” Heaven plopped in the chair across from him, next to Angel. She grasped her sister’s hand. “Go on now. Tell us about our pa.”
“Caleb, your father …”
“Quit stalling,” Angel said.
He cleared his throat. “He caught something in Memphis is my best guess, and when he fell on the deck, he was sweating and feverish.”
Heaven paled, and her eyes widened at the word “feverish.
” He wondered why.
“Did he say anything about Angel and me before …?” Her eyes glistened. “Before he passed?”
Angel pulled her hand out of Heaven’s. “That’s all? He caught a fever and died? That’s why you’ve been stalling? Lots of people get a fever and die. That’s what happened to Ma. Might as well get him his clothes and send him back to town. He’s told us what he came to say, and he promised he would tell people that you shot him by accident.”
Travis glanced at the corner where the rifle seemed to sparkle. “There’s a bit more.”
Heaven’s eyes narrowed. “More?”
Could he get to that gun before her? He scooted his chair back and angled his body toward the door. “Before your father died, he had the ship’s captain write his will.” His legs tensed, readying to spring from the chair. “He left me this farm.”
Heaven stood so fast her chair fell, banging on the floor.
Travis was a second behind her, ready to run for the gun.
“Why would our pa give you our home?” Heaven’s lips narrowed, and her lips rolled in tight.
“I don’t know. We’d been talking in between his bouts of fever about where the best place to raise horses would be. He insisted it was here.” The peach had returned to her cheeks, but not the sweet blush color, more the overripe, ready-to-explode-with-juice color.
“I’ll get your clothes, Dr. Logan, and then I want you out of here and on your way back to that Mary you were calling for.” Heaven’s frostbitten words stopped him from telling her what else her father had given him.
Chapter 7
All concern about being prim and proper fled Heaven’s mind as she gathered the hem of her skirt and stormed off to the barn. She sidestepped the hole, realizing she no longer had a need to fix it. Not if what Dr. Logan said was true. He would have to take care of this place now.
Inside the barn, sunshine poked its long fingers between the boards, lighting the tack corner, making it easier to see.
Mr. Jackson butted against her thigh, smearing mud on her fresh white apron. She pushed his head. “Go away, goat.” He stepped back and then reached down to nip at her hem. “Stop it!” Mr. Jackson irritated her on a good day. Today she looked at him and saw stew meat.
Bride's Dilemma in Friendship, Tennessee Page 6