A Convenient Wife

by Carolyn Davidson

  George was silent, looking from one to the other of the men who spoke of him as though he didn’t exist. And then he smiled, a triumphant leer that returned Win’s anger full force. “I knew you wouldn’t let him get away with his high-handed notions, Sheriff,” George spouted. He jerked his arm from Win’s hold, only to have James grasp his other elbow.

  “Sorry to disillusion you, Mitchum,” James said. “I’m with Doc all the way on this one. You’re going to tell us where Ellie is, or spend the rest of your life in a jail cell. You’ve got a choice. I may not shoot you, but if you give me too much trouble, I just might turn Doc loose on you again.”

  George was silent for a moment, his glare including both the men. Although he was a strong, sturdy man, he was obviously bright enough to realize his position. James and Win were tall men, broad-shouldered and physically fit, and neither of them appeared willing to back down.

  “You’re on your way, George,” James said bluntly, hauling the man in his wake as he strode across the road to where the jailhouse shared equal space with the sheriff’s office. George blustered, but James, unheeding of his threats, hustled him into the building and across the shadowed office to where two cells waited, empty but for a cot and slop bucket.

  Win watched from the doorway and James, after locking the cell door, turned back to him. “Why don’t you go on over and send those telegrams. Tell Henry Morris to give them first priority.”

  Win nodded and turned, making his way to the telegraph office. The thought of wiring his family was distasteful, but for Ellie, he would do anything in his power to relieve the situation. The second wire was simple. Sent directly to his uncle, he issued a plea for legal intervention, citing Marie’s lawyer by name.

  “How long before I get a reply?” he asked Henry, who had been hauled from his supper table.

  “Probably in the morning, Doc, I’d think. I’ll let you know as soon as an answer arrives.”

  Win stalked back to the sheriff’s office, the lantern lighting the square room, where James sat waiting for him. “What do you think?” Win asked in a low voice.

  “Let’s go and get a bite to eat,” James told him. “Kate will be holding supper for me. I’ll warrant she has enough for two.”

  They walked the length of the road, cutting across lots to the back street where their houses were located. “He won’t last past morning,” James predicted. “He was fuming about his men not knowing what to do without him there, and I told him he could go on home as soon as he led us to Ellie.”

  “Will there be trouble, you holding him this way?”

  James looked at Win, peering through the darkness. “What the hell’s the use of being a Kincaid if I can’t have a little clout? You think anybody in town’s going to listen to George’s ranting and raving? He can holler all he wants to. They hired me for a job, and if they think I’m not doing a good one, they can hire somebody else.”

  He grinned. “Do I look worried?”

  “No, I’d say not.” Win kept pace with him as they walked past the silent house that contained his office and home. “It’s been intolerable without Ellie there.”

  “I think you’re in love with the woman,” James surmised, stepping onto his back stoop and pulling the screen door open. He turned inside the kitchen to survey Win’s weary countenance. “Am I right?”

  “Does it show?” Win attempted a smile, but failed miserably. “I guess I didn’t realize it until a little while ago. You know I care for Ellie. I have from the beginning. But when I think of my life without her, I can hardly bear it.” He pulled a chair from the table, leaning heavily on the back of it.

  “James?” Kate came through the doorway, her gaze seeking her husband. Then as if assuring herself he was safe and sound, she turned to Win. “Any news about Ellie?”

  “Yeah,” he said harshly. “Her daddy made her sign some sort of paper.” With a quick movement, he pulled it from his pocket. “I forgot I had it,” he said, opening the envelope and unfolding its contents. His hand groped in his shirt pocket, retrieving his reading glasses.

  It was simple. A document written in hand, signed by Eleanor Gray. Win’s heart clenched in his chest as his index finger touched the rounded script that formed her name. This was the second time he’d seen Ellie’s signature, he realized, the first being when she’d signed their marriage certificate. That had been a joyous occasion, with her eyes alight, and her fingers trembling on the pen. Now those rounded letters that spelled her name attested to a lie.

  “Here it is, James,” he said, tossing it on the table as if it were a detestable object. As so it was. “If George doesn’t agree to take us to her in the morning, I’m going to pound it out of his hide,” he said harshly, sliding the wire-rimmed spectacles back into his pocket.

  James picked up the document and cast a warning look at Win. “You’ll have to steal the keys to his cell first, Doc.”

  “I can do that,” Win told him, and even as he spoke, his hands clenched into fists.

  “I know where James keeps them,” Kate said quickly, moving around the table to clutch at Win’s arm.

  “Kate…” James spoke her name quietly, and she re sponded with a flash of dark eyes through her round spectacles. And then he grinned. “The problem is, you know all my secrets.”

  She nodded, then stood on tiptoe to kiss Win’s cheek. “Sit down,” she told him. “And you, too, James. I kept supper hot.”

  The front door vibrated like someone’s horse had gotten loose and tried to kick it in, Win thought, stumbling through the hallway to answer the summons. The sun was bright and he shaded his eyes as he opened the heavy door, recognizing Henry’s eager face.

  “Got news for you, Doc. You got a reply from Saint Louis, another one from Washington. First time I ever got a wire from the nation’s capitol,” Henry said in awe. “And from a real live senator. He said you’re his nephew and his godson. How about them apples?”

  “I am both of those,” Win agreed, opening the screen door to reach for the sheets of paper. Henry handed them over and rocked on his heels, a wide smile telling of more good news.

  “Mrs. Jamison got a wire from her lawyer. Came in just as I was leavin’ to deliver these. Wanna see it?” He waved a third piece of paper between two fingers, and Win looked up, his attention divided as he absorbed the message he’d just read.

  “Marie got a wire?”

  “From her attorney-at-law,” Henry said, drawing out the syllables. “Said he could not be a part of her illegal actions. He didn’t even try to save any cost on words. Told her she was treading on thin ice.”

  “My uncle interceded,” Win said. “And…” He scanned the second reply quickly. “My mother is coming here, probably before Christmas, it says.” He looked up, his heart beating rapidly, his mouth dry as he considered the impact of his own words. “My mother is coming here, Henry. I haven’t seen her in over a year.”

  “Hope that spells good news, Doc,” Henry told him. He backed from the stoop and waved the third message. “I got to deliver this one to the hotel to Mrs. Jamison. She’s gonna be hoppin’ mad, I’ll betcha.” With a final wave, Henry hurried through the gate, headed toward the hotel.

  “Win? Is there news?” James strode across the yard from his house, one hand touching the top of the low fence that divided their front yards, as he scissored its height easily.

  “Yeah, I’d say so.” Win handed him the two messages and James read quickly. “I don’t think there’ll be any doubt of George’s cooperation this morning,” he surmised. “He knows he’s way out of his depths, and this should cinch it.”

  Within an hour, three horses were moving at a steady gallop, George in the middle, his face set in lines of stoic anger as they approached his ranch. Several men hurried across the yard as the horses approached, and George hailed them.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t any of you know how to do chores without me here to give orders?” And then he looked sharply at the tallest of the men. “Why aren’t y
ou out at the line shack?”

  “We were just gettin’ ready to ride out, boss,” Al Shrader said. “I lost her trail, and I came back for a couple of hands to help.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” George said sharply. “What trail?”

  “Ellie left the shack last night. I went to sleep and she got away.” Al looked shamefaced as he gave the bare details. “I tried to pick up her trail this morning, but I lost it in the woods. Figured I’d better get some help before I wasted any more time on my own.”

  “Ellie ran off?” Win’s words were harsh, and his flesh felt the chill of winter air as he thought of Ellie, alone in the far reaches of the ranch. “Was she warmly dressed?”

  Al shook his head. “Yeah, she had a shawl, I think and her coat, and she took a blanket. But, damn, it was cold last night. There’s frost all over the ground, hid her footprints real well.”

  James took charge, and Win allowed it readily, his own thoughts circling as he visioned Ellie, frozen beneath a tree. Inhaling deeply, he put the image from his mind, catching James’s orders as he shot them in rapid fire at the men.

  “…every man available. Spread out and check every hollow, every bush. You, Al, take us to the shack and we’ll go from there.”

  She was cold, so cold, right to the bone. The blanket was stiff, damp from the harsh temperatures, and she shivered beneath its weight. Her toes were aching, her fingers unfeeling, and she tucked her hands beneath her armpits for warmth. Rising was a problem, her legs cramped, her body weary.

  The birds were singing though, and through the bare tree branches above her, the sun cast a filtered warmth to where she’d slept. Ellie lifted her face to its light, inhaling the cold air, and then coughing harshly as it caught in her throat. She stood, leaning against the tree trunk, more weary than she’d ever been in her life.

  “I’ve got to find Win,” she whispered, as if the words were a talisman that would enable her to take one step forward, then another, until she found her way from this stand of trees, and across the open range to Whitehorn. “Win…” She whispered his name, remembering that she had done so as sleep claimed her during the night.

  How long had she slept? she wondered. Surely not more than a few hours. It was hard to recall how long she’d walked, stumbling through the brush, across what seemed like miles of rangeland. Win would be so worried. Her heart ached as she thought of his concern. If only he knew that she had not left of her own accord.

  Surely he was searching for her. Certainly he would not believe her father’s lies. And in that moment she recalled signing the document. “I had to do it, Win,” she murmured, as if he were there to hear her denial of choice.

  “I love you, Win. I’m coming home.” The words were spoken in a slow cadence, her feet matching the rhythm she set, and she spoke them over and over. She bent almost double several times as harsh bouts of coughing beset her, and her tangled hair fell around her like a shroud. Her chest ached now, and she slowed her pace, every indrawn breath an effort.

  The sun traveled higher in the sky and the frost covering the ground melted, making the grass slippery beneath her boots. She stumbled, fell, and rose again, casting the blanket aside as warmth welled within her. Her shawl went next, Ellie dragging it behind her for almost a mile before her fingers loosened and she dropped it on the ground.

  “I’m warm,” she whispered, her hands touching hot cheeks. “My hands are cold, but the rest of me is so warm.” The words were mumbled, as she shrugged from her coat, and she staggered as she wove her way toward the range of mountains in the southwest. It seemed she’d been focusing on them for hours now, so long she couldn’t keep track of the time. They faded in and out of her vision, and she halted for a moment, shading her eyes as she blinked, attempting to concentrate on the snow-capped peaks.

  “I think I’m sick, Win,” she said calmly. “I think I’m really sick.”

  A voice called her name and she stopped. “Now, I’m dreaming that you’ve found me,” she said with a rusty laugh. “I must be hearing things.”

  Her slender form swayed in the sunlight. Win cursed beneath his breath. The blanket had been found first, a crumpled heap of wool, and Al Shrader had identified it as the one he’d left for Ellie’s use. Her trail had been simple to follow, small boot prints in the frost, and then the white covering had thawed in the sunshine, and they’d relied on Al’s tracking ability.

  The shawl and then her coat had been discovered only fifteen minutes ago, and both were draped over Win’s saddle. He clutched at the shawl’s woven strands, as if by so doing he could feel Ellie’s warmth. Without it, she had to have been cold. The air carried the chill of winter, and he feared for her life.

  The sight of her in the distance brought her name from his lips, and she turned. His horse obeyed his command and Win surged ahead of the three men he accompanied. James was with three others, spread out across the range to the east. Al Shrader lifted his rifle, pointing the barrel to the sky, and fired three shots. The prearranged signal would alert the rest of the men.

  They’d found her.

  She was a small bundle in his lap. Even with the added weight of her pregnancy, Ellie fit across his thighs, and he turned her carefully, her face buried against his chest. His right hand left her hip and slid to her belly, his sensitive fingers pressing through layers of dress and blanket against the mound that was her child. A small movement nudged his palm and another lifted his index finger.

  It was enough. The baby was active. As for the woman he held, she had collapsed into a small heap of dark dress and long, tangled hair as he approached. Al Shrader had signaled his intent, leaping from his horse to lift her into Win’s arms.

  “Here, Doc.” His muscular build had made it simple, lifting the woman to lie across Win’s lap, then his hands had gathered the long length of dark hair and bundled it under her head. “I’ll get my bedroll,” he’d said gruffly and in moments had wrapped the rough fabric around Ellie’s limp form.

  Now they headed for town, James and Win riding abreast, George and his ranch hands on their way back to the Mitchum place. “George’s going to appear before the judge,” James said, breaking the silence. “I’m going to charge him with kidnapping.”

  “Will he go to jail?” Win asked the question, but his heart wasn’t in it. Ellie was safe, and in his arms. His anger at George had been put into the back of his mind, once his hands had touched her, once his mouth had brushed against her forehead. Now his concern was that she be put to bed, where he could treat her. The heat from her body radiated to his own flesh, his legs and chest warmed from the fever that claimed her.

  She coughed and the rattle in her lungs sent shards of fear through him. Pneumonia was almost certain. Pleurisy would complicate things, and surely she would need every ounce of strength she possessed to fight the fever. He clutched her closer and she moaned, her whisper calling his name.

  “I’m here, sweetheart,” he said, bending to press his lips against her temple.

  “Thirsty,” she murmured, restless now in his arms.

  “You got a canteen, James?” He should have brought his bag along, he thought, but even that didn’t hold a container of water. Besides, his instincts already knew her condition. The stethoscope wouldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already surmise.

  “Yeah.” James loosened the thong holding his canteen to the saddle horn and reached to place it in Win’s outstretched hand. They slowed their horses by mutual consent and Win lifted Ellie’s head a bit, loosening the canteen lid with his teeth, then tilting a bit of water onto her lips. She swallowed and licked at her lips.

  “More,” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering.

  Win brought his horse to a halt, his left hand controlling the reins. He shifted Ellie in his arms and offered the canteen again. She drank, long, deep swallows, then shook her head and sighed. He handed it back to James, along with the cap, and bent low to whisper his wife’s name.

  “Ellie? Can you hear me, swee
theart?”

  She nodded, just a faint movement of her head, and her voice sounded raw, rough and harsh. “I knew you’d find me, Win. I prayed.”

  “So did I, honey,” he told her, rearranging her in his embrace. “We’re on our way home. I’ll take care of you.”

  “My father.” The two words were barely audible.

  “I know,” Win said quickly. “I know what happened, honey. Al told us. He felt bad that you’d gotten away. He was afraid he’d be responsible if something happened to you.”

  “No.” She shook her head, a minute movement, as if she would deny Al Shrader’s blame.

  “Hush, honey,” Win said. “We’ll be home in no time.” And she relaxed against him, her breathing harsh now, her body burning with fever.

  “Let me take a turn, Doc.” Ethel placed her hand on Win’s shoulder, and he shook his head.

  “Thanks, Ethel,” he said, “but I can’t leave her.” His big hands plunged the cloth into a basin again and he squeezed the fabric, then placed it on Ellie’s forehead. A small towel lay in the basin and he wrung that out, then wiped her slender arms with its rough texture.

  She was so warm, so feverish, he despaired of an end to the watch he’d taken upon himself. That Ethel would be vigilant, that her hands could tend to Ellie as well as his own, was a given. But, walking from this room was not possible. Hovering over his head was the fear that she might slip from him, that her illness might take a final toll if he should look aside, even for a moment.

  And so he lingered, dozing fitfully for long minutes at a time, only to rouse with a jolt and bend once more to his task. He exposed her legs, lifting the gown to her knees, and washed the blotched skin with the towel, worried by the heat that rose from her fevered flesh. For those few seconds she was cooled, and her skin was pale, until the fever returned in full force, and her body lay lax and limp before him.

  “Let me bring you something to eat, Doc,” Ethel coaxed, kneeling beside the bed, taking Ellie’s hand in hers. She bent her head to kiss the slender fingers, and a tear fell against the palm. “She’s such a sweetie, Doc. This just isn’t fair, that she should be so sick.” She looked up at Win. “Do you suppose the baby is safe?”