A Convenient Wife

by Carolyn Davidson

  And that was the second offer she’d had today, Ellie thought, lifting the box and heading for the door. Striding out onto the sidewalk, then stepping down to the road, she ignored the passersby, nodding only when the tall minister of the Methodist church spoke her name.

  “Ellie, we haven’t seen you in Sunday morning service for a long time. Don’t be a stranger now, you hear?” Reverend Fairfax said with a wide smile. He tipped his hat and moved along the road, speaking to another of his parishioners as he made his way toward his own buggy.

  “I doubt you’ll be seeing me at all,” Ellie muttered beneath her breath as she untied the mare from the hitching rail. The box with her purchases settled beneath the seat, she climbed into the buggy and turned the mare toward home. Although seeing the kindly minister would have been a logical move if Tommy had stayed here, instead of moving back East. If he’d told his mother that he wanted to marry Ellie.

  She sighed, envisioning the event. Her with a new dress maybe. Tommy with his hair slicked back and his smile flashing just for her benefit. She frowned, closing her eyes, as his image eluded her, replaced by the tall, kindly man who’d just rocked the very foundations of her world.

  Winston Gray. No problem recalling him, she thought with a flash of humor.

  Now, as to Tommy… Ellie squinted as the buggy headed toward the setting sun. Funny, she could barely remember what he looked like. And he was supposedly the love of her life. Although, hard as she tried, today she couldn’t come up with much more than lukewarm feelings for the man.

  That she’d been a fool to listen to his palaver was a given. He’d played her like a shabby fiddle, plucking at her strings, telling her she was beautiful, just the girl he needed for a wife.

  Beautiful, indeed. As if plain brown hair and eyes that matched were anything to talk about. But she’d listened, bewitched by the running on of his compliments, intrigued by his kisses that promised pleasure. But there’d been no pleasure to be had in his taking of her body, only a painful, embarrassing few minutes of prodding and thumping on her, while Tommy wheezed and groaned against her ear.

  She’d been a fool. That fact recognized, she set about working on a plan to get her future in order. The first thing would be to tell Pa. And to that end, she set her jaw and considered the best way to approach George Mitchum.

  No matter what she’d done, the results would have been the same, Ellie realized. She crawled with effort into her bed, aching in every muscle, bruised from the blows she’d accepted as her due from the man who’d sired her. The man who’d told her in no uncertain terms that she was no longer welcome in his house.

  “You’ve got till tomorrow morning to be gone from here,” he’d shouted as she’d huddled in the corner of the kitchen. “I won’t have a bastard in this house. I always knew you were just like your ma. You’ll no doubt have a simpering girl child, just the way she did. Worthless females, both of you.”

  Supper forgotten on the table, he’d stormed out the back door, leaving Ellie to consider the condition of her body. Her face hurt from two sharp slaps, and unless she was mistaken, her eye was swollen. If the aching in her arms was any indication, there’d be bruises turning blue by morning, where great hammy fists had punched her as she’d sought to protect the child she carried.

  Her backside throbbed from several kicks and her legs bore bloody scuff marks from George’s boots, but there hadn’t been any serious bleeding done, and for that she supposed she should be thankful. She’d thought at first that he would surely kill her, but his look of disgust had not included a gleam of hatred akin to murder in his eye.

  She sighed, curling beneath the quilt. Maybe Tess Dillard would be the person to seek out. Perhaps she could use a hand in the store, at least until Ellie found a better solution to her problem. And that didn’t seem likely, at least not for the next few months.

  The house was quiet when she crawled from her bed, donning the same dress she’d worn yesterday. Her other two dresses, one she wore to do chores, the other her Sunday best, hung in the wardrobe and she gathered them, along with a spare petticoat and her good drawers, folding them all neatly into a small bundle. Two pairs of stockings completed her pile of belongings, and she stuffed the lot into a small valise that had been her mother’s.

  Her chest of drawers held extra bed linens and a shawl. The shawl she took, along with her comb and brush and a small bottle of scent Tommy had presented her with. Lily of the Valley, it said on the gilt label, and she smiled ruefully as she recalled her pleasure in the gift.

  On second thought, she decided, she’d do just as well without any reminders of Tommy, and cast the bottle aside. It was about as worthless to her as the promises he’d made and broken. She surely didn’t need to smell good for his sake anymore.

  Damn Tommy Jamison, anyway. “I hope he rots in hell,” she whispered, and then slapped a hand over her mouth as she muffled the curse word she’d said aloud.

  The kitchen was empty, the coffeepot cold. Pa must have taken breakfast with the men in the bunkhouse, she decided, heading for the pantry. Last night’s leftover beef and cooked carrots were on a platter, covered with a dish towel, and she wrapped a good portion in a clean napkin. It might be a long time before she found something else to eat.

  Her final act was to take the sugar bowl from its place on the kitchen dresser. A handful of coins were in the bottom of the flowered china container. Pa didn’t hold with fancy dishes on the table, preferring to take his sugar from a jar. Ellie had squirreled away all her meager savings in the last piece of china left from her mother’s good dishes, and thankfully, George hadn’t discovered the cache.

  She dumped them into her small reticule and replaced the bowl. Then in a moment of rebellion, she snatched it back and settled it in the top of her valise.

  “It’s the last thing I have of yours, Mama,” she whispered. “I won’t leave it for him.”

  The faraway sound of men’s voices came to her as she walked out the back door, looking toward the near pasture. The big farm wagon rolled across its width, filled with men holding scythes, her father holding the reins of his team of draft horses. One of the men, John Dixon, looked up, nudged another, and shook his head slowly in her direction.

  Whether it was an expression of sympathy or a declaration of disgust she couldn’t tell, and as she set off staunchly down the lane toward the town road, she decided she didn’t care.

  That she was a fallen woman was a fact she could face. That her father had turned on her with a vengeance beyond belief was more than a reality, as her bruised and battered body could attest. Her hips ached as she walked the length of the pasture fence. Her eye throbbed, and she squinted through its swollen slit as she turned onto the dirt track leading to Whitehorn.

  The load she carried, her valise in one hand, her bundle containing food and every cent she owned in the world in the other, was heavy, yet not nearly so weighty as the pain of being an outcast. “He never loved me, anyway. I don’t know why I’m surprised he wouldn’t let me stay on and work for him,” she murmured to herself. “If I’d been a boy like he wanted, he might have been different.”

  And wasn’t that the truth. She wouldn’t be in this fix if she’d been a boy. She’d have been the one doing the sweet-talking and taking advantage.

  No. She shook her head. Even as a man, she wouldn’t have done what Tommy did, hurting another human being the way he had. Running off back East with his folks, not even a goodbye issued in her direction.

  Useless. Pa had called her that, plus a few other choice names, none of which she felt were fit to pass between her lips. Her chin lifted as she paced along on the side of the dusty road. It was only two miles to town. She could make it in less than an hour.

  And then what?

  Chapter Two

  Winston Gray was a good doctor. He didn’t need the opinions of the townspeople to recognize the fact, although they were ever ready with praise on his behalf. He’d filled a need in Whitehorn, and the men on t
he town council had been jubilant at his arrival.

  They’d given him a house in which to live and set up his practice, and he’d been properly grateful, although they’d said it was just part of the package.

  The rest of the parcel included a whole community of men, women and children who’d done without the services of a doctor for almost two years. Harry Talbert’s wife had done her best, but being the wife of a barber did not automatically fit her for the role she’d been called on to perform.

  “I’m sure glad you came to Whitehorn,” she’d told him that first day when he climbed from the stagecoach. “I’ve had to sew up more cuts than you can shake a stick at, and deliverin’ babies is not what I do best.” Her grin had welcomed him, as had her unexpectedly firm handshake, matched by the dozen or so men who’d joined her to meet the stage.

  He’d settled in nicely, awaiting the arrival of his office equipment, and the shiny, walnut desk he’d ordered from Saint Louis. For several months he’d spent time with the people of the community, tending to their problems, mending broken bones and stitching up their wounds, with an occasional delivery tossed in for variety. A box of medicine he’d brought with him kept his black bag supplied, and he’d ordered more as it was needed from a pharmaceutical outfit in Kansas City.

  Now, his day half done, he polished the bell of his stethoscope with the cuff of his shirt sleeve, awaiting his first patient of the afternoon office hours. His morning and most of the night spent on house calls, he’d only just arrived back in town. He’d been at Caleb Kincaid’s ranch, setting a broken leg for one of Caleb’s ranch hands who’d been thrown from a horse.

  Called from his bed just past midnight, he’d ridden to the Darby ranch, where Matt’s wife had delivered her fourth boy just after daybreak. She could have likely done it on her own, he recalled with a smile, but had gratefully inhaled the chloroform he’d dosed her with at the end.

  Bone-weary, but willing, Win opened his office door, noting with thankfulness the dearth of patients. That would soon be remedied when the chill winds blew in from the north in the next few weeks, and folks began the usual run of pleurisy and other winter ailments.

  He might do well to consider outfitting himself with a sleigh, once snow fell and the buggy could no longer traverse the open country. There were always folks needing house calls, those too old or infirm to make it into town. It was a part of the business he’d chosen, he decided, although business was too harsh and uncaring a word for the lifestyle he’d accepted upon finishing medical school.

  Business best described the world of his father and uncles, the world of finance, where money was the god they worshipped, and his love of medicine and its benefits to humanity had met with scorn and derision.

  “You’ll come crawling back one day,” his father had said, his voice harsh as he’d delivered his final thrust. There’d never been a word of admiration for Win’s success in medical school, or a note of support for his choice of medicine as a career.

  Win took off his spectacles, recalling that day when he’d turned his back on family and the social scene in Saint Louis to come to this small town in Montana, where a doctor was desperately needed, and fervently appreciated.

  “Doctor?” The outer door opened and Tess Dillard stood on the threshold. “Are you busy?”

  Win smiled. The storekeeper’s wife was a lovely lady, friend to all, and one of his staunchest supporters, sending him all and sundry who complained of major or minor illnesses. “Come on in, Tess. I’m just wondering where all my afternoon quota of patients have gone.”

  “It’s too nice out to be sick, Doc. This spell of warm weather won’t last forever, and folks are taking advantage of it. School’s started up early this year, but before you know it we’ll have snow falling. Time enough then to be visiting the doctor.” Her cheerful words only served to support his own theory, and Win motioned to her expansively.

  “Come on in,” he said warmly. “Did you need to see me for anything special or is this a social visit?” He eyed her suspiciously. “You’re not about to offer me up another young lady on a platter, are you, Tess? I told you I’m not in the market for a wife.”

  She shook her head. “No, not this time, Doc, but one of these days, I’ll come up with a woman you won’t be able to resist.” She crossed the room and sat on one of the straight chairs he furnished for waiting patients. “There’s something going on I thought you needed to be aware of.”

  Win joined her, pulling a second chair from its place against the wall and scooting it closer to where she sat. “What’s the problem? What can I do?”

  Tess glanced out the open door. “I’m kinda keepin’ an eye out for the girl, Doc. I’m afraid she’s run out of choices, and I’m worried about her.”

  “What girl?” Win asked, and even as he spoke the words, his heart sank. Ellie Mitchum. As sure as he was of his own name, he knew the words that would fall from Tess’s mouth next.

  “It’s Ellie, George Mitchum’s daughter. I don’t know if you’re aware of her existence even, but she’s gonna need a doctor before long, and I’m afraid you’re elected. In fact, she could probably use some of your witch hazel and that arnica stuff you used on my boy’s banged up leg when he got it bruised so bad last month.”

  “Tincture of Arnica,” Win said distractedly, his mind racing. “What are we talking about here, Tess? Have you seen Ellie today? What’s wrong with her?”

  “You know her?” Tess frowned, taken aback by his recognition of the girl’s name.

  Win nodded quickly. “She was in here yesterday. Said—” He halted the words that would have spewed from his lips. “Well, let’s just say she needed a bit of advice.”

  Tess slanted him a knowing glance. “She’s going to have a baby, Doc. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

  He nodded. “I noticed, all right. Did she tell you when she left here? I saw her stop at the mercantile.”

  “No,” Tess answered. “I figured it out, once I took a good look at her. She hadn’t been in town for a couple of months, but I knew when I saw her comin’ in the door of the store she was in the family way. Now today, just after noon, she came walkin’ into the mercantile, and she’s all banged up. Looks like somebody ran her over with a team of horses.”

  Win stood, his heart racing. “She was in an accident?”

  Tess shook her head. “Not unless you call running into her father’s fists accidental. She looks like he pounded her good.”

  Win felt his stomach clench, and anger rose to tighten his jaw. “She must have told him about the baby,” he surmised, wishing for just a moment that he could lay his hands on the brute who had fathered the young woman.

  “I expect so,” Tess answered, her eyes bleak. “She came in to see me, asking if I could use her help in exchange for a place to stay for a while. Don’t know where she’s planning on going or what she’ll do when she gets there.”

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, Win strode to the doorway. A vision of the young woman he’d seen yesterday appeared in his mind’s eye. That her piquant beauty should be marred by a father’s anger was not to be tolerated. And yet, there would be no one to stand up for the girl. A father was the authority in today’s society, especially here on the edge of civilization.

  He turned abruptly. “Tess, where is she now?”

  “At our place, stretched out on a bed. She was absolutely exhausted, poor child. I made her get washed up and showed her the bed. She didn’t even have the energy to eat something first, just plopped down and closed her eyes.”

  Tess looked at him expectantly. “Will you do something to help?”

  “You got something in mind?” he asked.

  “I thought maybe she could come in by the day and do for you. You know, cook and clean, maybe.” Tess surged to her feet. “No woman deserves to be an outcast, Doc. And I’m afraid that’s what’s in Ellie’s future. There’s certain women in town who will turn their backs on her once everyone realizes her condition. And the
re’s others who’ll sympathize, but keep quiet.”

  “Cook and clean.” As if his mind had latched on to the phrase, he repeated it, almost absently. And then he cast her a penetrating glance. “This isn’t one of your matchmaking projects, is it?”

  Tess colored, shaking her head. “No, of course not. For heaven’s sake, a doctor should have a wife above reproach in the community. That’s why I’ve tried to get you interested in several of the young women from the better families.”

  “Ellie told me my yard needed watering,” Win said, a smile coming to life as he recalled her words. “Send her over when she wakes up, Tess. I’ll see what I can do.”

  The scraps from last night’s roast lay heavy in the pit of her stomach as Ellie awoke. Sleeping the afternoon away wasn’t something she generally did, and the undigested food she’d eaten on the long walk to town hadn’t agreed with her. She struggled to sit upright, the bed having an unfortunate tendency to sag in the middle.

  Once on her feet, she scooped her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck and sought out the hairpins she’d placed on the night table. It might not be neat and tidy, but it was as good as a hairdo could be expected to look when a day had gone as poorly as this one.

  The scent of chicken cooking lured her to the kitchen, and she crossed the room to the back door, opening it wide, inhaling deeply of the fresh air. Food was not at the top of her list right now, but Tess and John Dillard would be home from the mercantile soon, and if supper was ready, they would probably be most appreciative.

  The oven held a whole roasting hen and from the looks of it, it only needed potatoes and vegetables added to complete the meal. Ellie explored the pantry, finding a bucket of new potatoes, and a bunch of carrots. Cooking gave her a sense of accomplishment, and she scouted out a paring knife, her capable hands readying the vegetables for the oven. A pan of stale bread, cut up into cubes, told her that Tess had plans for chicken stuffing, and in minutes, Ellie had cut up an onion and found spices to complete that dish.