The Prairie Doctor's Bride

by Kathryn Albright

  “What made Carl come back a few days ago when he gave you this?” He indicated her bruised arm with his chin.

  “He brought some venison by the night you were here fixing Tommy and heard your voice inside the house. He thought...” The implication was uncomfortable. The doc wouldn’t think of her in that way. No man would. She hurried her words to get past the painful thought. “He came back two days ago to ask about you. I told him the truth—that you’d come to doctor Tommy—but he didn’t want to believe me. Like I said, Doc, he’s a mean one.”

  The doc’s face was ruddy with anger. “Did he...?” He asked, his voice hoarse. “Sylvia, tell me right now. Did he force himself on you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I haven’t been with any man but Tommy’s father.”

  He visibly relaxed, his shoulders resting down and his expression calming.

  It was awkward talking about this with Doc Graham, but the things he asked, and the way he asked...maybe he did care for her a little.

  “Well, now that you know everything, you can see how it ain’t fittin’ for you to come by anymore.”

  “Because of Caulder?”

  “You’ll only rile him more.”

  “I’m not afraid of him. In fact, it makes me want to stay. You need protection out here.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that. I’ll figure out a way to take care of Caulder if he comes by again. It’s you. You’re gonna upset a heap of people if they find out you came out here to visit.”

  “I didn’t. I came to check on Tommy’s recovery.”

  She blew out through her nose. “And stayed a mighty long time. As much as I like the company and grown-up talk, Doc, people ain’t fools.”

  “Some are. The next time I see Caulder, I won’t be so easy on him. He has no business hurting you or trying to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  Even though she liked that the doc wanted to protect her, she had to figure things out for herself. She couldn’t depend on any man. They had always disappointed her in the end.

  “You been calling me by my given name. Been a long time since anyone did that.” And she surely liked it, but that was neither here nor there. He shouldn’t keep doing it.

  “Maybe it’s because I had a good time today and I’d like to return. I happen to like your name. And I wouldn’t mind if you called me Nelson.”

  She sucked in a breath of the sweet, clean air. He was getting more personal by the minute. He might have discovered more about her and her situation, but that didn’t mean they could be real friends. The kind that visited back and forth. She had had a wonderful day up until he’d asked her about her bruise. Even talking about that had opened up something between them, like opening the window to let the fresh air flow in and sweep out the bad. But he couldn’t come back.

  “You call me by my given name when I’m in town and people could think there is something more between us than a checking up on Tommy. If you’re wanting to marry one of those women from the train, you should be spending time with them, not me and Tommy.”

  “I want to come back one more time. Just to make sure Tommy is progressing.”

  She would surely enjoy that, but his coming here and stirring up things better left buried was a worry. Tommy already looked to be attached to him more than was smart. Her boy had hung on his every word the entire afternoon. Better to stop things now. “No need to do that. I’ll let you know if Tommy has a problem.”

  He stood there, obviously ready to argue his point.

  And she was getting irritated. She plopped her fist on her hip.

  “Some people don’t have the good sense to know when a visit’s over. Now, the light is fading and I got chores to attend to before dark.”

  She spun away from him and didn’t look back as she stomped toward the shed.

  * * *

  Nelson’s chest tightened with pent-up frustration as Sylvia stormed away. She didn’t realize the danger she was in staying out here on her own, or if she did, she was being too darn stubborn to accept any help.

  It had been a surprising day. He actually enjoyed it very much despite one certain woman’s penchant to be so independent. Yet he admired her for that too. Wasn’t that exactly the way he had thought when he left his home in Boston? He’d make things work no matter what. There was no alternate plan for him. But for Sylvia, surely there had to be an alternative.

  He made his way back across the river on the ferry, his thoughts of Sylvia, and thoughts of Tommy, swirling inside like the eddies he saw in the river.

  How in the world did she and her son manage so far from town? It couldn’t be an easy life, yet he’d not heard one complaint from her lips. She and Tommy had so very little, and yet they both seemed happier than he had ever been at Tommy’s age. His cheeks hurt from all the unaccustomed laughing he had done that afternoon. As different as he was from them, he had felt very comfortable and had a good—no, wonderful—time.

  He’d never played a game with either of his parents. Over the years, he got along with his mother better than his father, but still she was always distant and, in his mind, cold toward him. He would have thought that was how all parents were if he hadn’t come across, among his schoolmates, mothers who were more like Sylvia.

  He’d never been comfortable around members of the opposite gender. He supposed that the all-boys school he’d attended had something to do with that. He’d never had a chance to practice speaking to girls other than at chaperoned dances and then it had been awkward. Much like those dances, the forced “getting to know each other” strolls lately with the women from the train also sapped his energy.

  Yet an afternoon with Sylvia had flown by faster than a minute. She was easy to talk to. Open. And he didn’t have to mold his responses based on some written etiquette code. She took his words at face value and didn’t twist them this way and that, as more sophisticated women had a penchant to do.

  His parents’ train was due in four days. What would they say if he suggested a game such as the one he had played with Tommy and Sylvia? It might be fun to see their reaction. Then again...he might be setting himself up for one more disappointment. Growing up, they had most often answered his queries with a resounding “no.” It didn’t matter what he did to try to engage them in his life. They simply weren’t interested. Why would the silence that had settled between them for the last four years make this visit any different?

  Why were they coming at all?

  * * *

  Darkness fell as he crossed the railroad tracks and started up Main Street toward his house.

  It was only as he was letting himself in his front door that he realized he’d forgotten about the early supper and chess game he’d promised to the mayor. Guess that meant he was the one to forfeit this time.

  He smiled to himself, thinking of his afternoon, thinking of Sylvia.

  It had been worth it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next afternoon he called on Katie O’Rourke. He’d heard good things about her from a few of his nosier patients. Miss O’Rourke had the start of lines near her pale blue eyes and a more generous girth than the other brides. He was immediately drawn to her pleasant smile and outgoing personality. He invited her to dine with him in the hotel’s restaurant.

  “I’m surprised you asked for me, Dr. Graham. I imagined that you would be interested in a younger woman. After all, your first choice was Mara. She’s the youngest of us from the train.”

  “There is something to be said for life experience in a good marriage, Miss O’Rourke. You and I are likely close to the same age and have far more in common.”

  Rollie brought in two bowls of cabbage soup and two plates of scalloped ham and potatoes. He set them down before Nelson and Miss O’Rourke. “Hello, Doc. Ah...Miss Katie...I would appreciate your opinion on the meal.”

  Nel
son raised his brows. Miss Katie, was it? It wasn’t like Rollie to solicit anyone’s opinion, especially when it came to his wife’s cooking. Ever since Rollie married Sadie, he had said that she could do no wrong.

  “Oh, Katie here is a fine cook,” Rollie said, catching Nelson’s expression. “She’s been teaching Sadie and me some secrets from her native Ireland. I wish she had been here for Saint Paddy’s Day.”

  Across from him, Miss O’Rourke smiled. “You’re too kind, Mr. Austin. I’m sure this will be delicious.”

  “Well, I’ll be waiting to hear your thoughts.” And with a quick rap on the table as goodbye, Rollie headed over to another table to speak with another couple.

  She could cook! That was good news for Nelson’s purposes. He settled back to enjoy his meal, his opinion of Miss O’Rourke rising steadily.

  “What is it you did before coming to Oak Grove?” he asked halfway through his soup.

  “Ach. I suppose you might think that I was married before, seeing as how I’m older than the other brides, but I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “It was on my mind,” he admitted. “I find it refreshing that you don’t make excuses. Sensible.”

  “Well...it is what it is, isn’t it?”

  She took a bite of ham and potatoes before continuing, “Ye see, I took care of my parents. First my ma fell sick, and it became my duty to do the cooking and cleaning and tending to my sisters. Then, a year after she passed, my da had an accident on the river. He needed my help after that.”

  “What about your sisters? Did they help?”

  She shook her head. “They married off as fast as you can say Christopher Columbus. First Bridget and then Susan. I’m glad of it. They have bonny husbands and they are happy.”

  Another mental check went down on the positive side of his list. She thought of others before herself, and she’d cared for a sick mother and ailing father and hadn’t minded her duty. “Miss Katie,” he said, “the fact that someone hasn’t snatched you up bewilders me.”

  A becoming blush rose up her apple cheeks. “It’s hoping I am that I’ll never have to care for another sickly person again, unless, of course, it was my own. You see—I like to be out of doors and I’ve had so little chance to do that. A garden of my own to tend on my own little patch of land, and cooking what I grow. Could anything be better than that?”

  Oh no. That didn’t sound like the life he had envisioned. “What about helping your husband?”

  “I suppose it would depend on what he did. For instance, I do like animals, you see. And as I said—growing things. Anything that is out of doors.”

  “Well, what if he was a doctor?”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you asking me for my hand?”

  His heart nearly stopped. “No, no!” he said quickly. “Of course not. It’s much too soon.”

  “Well, then, just what is it you are saying?”

  “I’m obviously not doing a very good job of making myself clear. I meant to say, or to ask...” He was stumbling about like a fool! He took a deep breath and began again. He leaned forward. “I would expect my wife to work with me. In my office. Doing things such as a nurse would do.”

  She snatched herself back from him as if burned. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I’ve done my duty as a daughter and I hope never to look on another hurt or dying man or woman in my life. It’s my heart, you see...”

  “No. I don’t see,” he said perhaps a little too crossly. “You are experienced. You are obviously well suited for the type of work.”

  “But I couldn’t bear to go through it again. Every person I tended would remind me of my ma or my da. I...couldn’t.” The last was said in a whisper as if she was remembering more than she wanted. Her eyes filled with tears. She stood. “I won’t be misleading you to think that I would.”

  Others in the restaurant were watching the drama with growing interest. This was not how he anticipated the afternoon going. “Please, Miss O’Rourke. Sit down again. I would have you finish your meal.”

  She stood there a moment, undecided.

  “Believe me, I do understand. I’m disappointed, for myself, but I completely understand your position.” It was obviously too much for her gentle nature.

  “Are we to be friends, then?” she asked, her voice uncertain.

  “That would suit me fine. A person can’t have too many friends.”

  “To be sure,” she said, gave a relieved smile and slowly sat back down to finish eating.

  * * *

  Nelson lay back in the barber chair while Otis Taylor wrapped a steaming hot towel across his jaw and up the sides of his face. He closed his eyes and sank into a state of semi-bliss as he relaxed and let the peace and quiet of the early Thursday afternoon take him.

  Last night’s vigil at the Whistle Stop Saloon had drained him of energy. Around eight thirty, Chris Sanders, owner of the saloon, had rushed to his office yelling for help. An altercation between two foolhardy cowhands had turned dangerous. Tempers ignited between men too young to respect the life they’d been given or anyone else’s and too prideful to back down. A week’s pay, cheap liquor, gambling and guns had been more than they could handle and one man had been shot. Unfortunately, no matter how hard Nelson had tried to help him, the bullet to the man’s liver had been fatal.

  The bells above the door tinkled.

  “Well, hello, ladies,” Otis called out. “What can I do for you?”

  Nelson raised his head slightly and opened his eyes.

  “We’re looking for—Oh! Is that the doctor? Hello, Dr. Graham.” The woman, a strawberry blonde with freckles, covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. She blocked his view of the second woman who had entered the shop after her.

  It was a rather undignified pose to be in for meeting them. Nelson maneuvered his chair back to a sitting position and stood to acknowledge them properly. Well, as properly as he could, considering he had a wet towel on his face. He swiped off the towel and bowed slightly.

  “Have you met Miss Simcock and Miss Weber?” Otis said.

  The one woman let out another round of giggles.

  “Only at the town hall meeting. Are you ladies getting to know Oak Grove?” he asked.

  They nodded in unison.

  “We won’t keep you,” Miss Weber said, leaning slightly to see him around Miss Simcock. “We’re here to learn about the quilting club that Mrs. Taylor is hosting tonight.”

  “She’s upstairs,” Otis said. Then he walked to the base of the narrow stairwell and yelled up. “Martha! You’ve got company!”

  Mrs. Taylor appeared at the top of the stairs. “Miss Weber! I am so glad you have come! I hear that the quilts you brought are exquisite. Come on up. You too, Miss Simcock. I keep my supply of material and notions up here.”

  Nelson settled back into the barber chair with the thought that he was right to steer clear of Miss Simcock. That giggling would drive him mad after only a few hours. Whether it was from a condition or from simply being irrationally happy, he could not abide it. Perhaps she would calm down once she married. He, however, would not be the one to witness that.

  Otis lathered up Nelson’s face. Overhead, the muffled voices of the women talking created a pleasant sound.

  “Heard what happened last night, Doc,” Otis said as he used a straight-edge razor to shave Nelson’s whiskers. “A shame to lose a life in such a way. Mayor Melbourne’s plan to bring women here to settle this town down makes more and more sense.”

  “Mmm.” He didn’t answer because to do so might cause Otis to nick his jaw.

  A few moments later, Otis handed him a towel to wipe off any stray soap. “Done.”

  Nelson got up, smoothing his palm over his trimmed hair and then his chin. At the same time, the two ladies descended the narrow stairs. He nodded to them and watched them leave.

  “Either of them
catch your eye, Doc?” Otis asked when the door had closed behind them.

  Unfortunately, no. He didn’t say it out loud. The only woman occupying his mind of late was Sylvia Marks and he didn’t know what to think of that. Something about her appealed to him—an openness, an honesty that he hadn’t seen in the others. There was something special about her. Something hardy and strong and clean.

  “Not at the moment,” he answered Otis. “At the moment, I am concerned with only one woman.”

  Otis grinned. “Which one might that be?”

  “My mother. She is arriving on the afternoon train today, along with my father.”

  “I don’t recall ever meeting them. First time here, ain’t it?”

  Nelson nodded. “And likely the only time.” He paid for his shave, grabbed his Stetson and walked out the door.

  He strode down the main street of town toward the small train station. The wind off the prairie whipped his coat and kicked up the ends of his string tie. He’d dressed in his best. His parents would expect that. And he’d stocked his kitchen pantry with more food than it had ever seen.

  After he had their things removed from the train and carried to his house, he would take them to Austin’s restaurant for an early supper. After that? He had no idea—he’d never had the privilege of a visit from them before.

  He heard the train whistle blow and picked up his pace. They would expect him to be standing there, ready to help them, even as the train pulled into the station. He would hear of it if he wasn’t in full view through their window. It irked him a bit. He’d always done what he could to encourage their regard, and yet they barely noticed him. He would probably end up doing a number of things they disliked on this visit, simply because he didn’t know much about their preferences.

  He stepped up to the flat platform at the depot and looked down the tracks. As the locomotive chugged around the last bend, smoke billowed up from the smokestack, which the brisk wind immediately whisked away. The engineer put on the brakes, causing a loud ear-grating squeal as the train slowed and then came to a stop.