He heard her. Trouble was, he couldn’t. He hurt too badly, and the shadows were pulling at him again.
* * *
It was just before candle lighting, and there was no sign of Gabe. Rachel was sitting in the parlor, pretending to read the newest copy of Woman’s Home Journal while a tedious refrain chased through her mind: He’s changed his mind. He’s changed his mind...changed his mind...
The sounds of half a dozen yelling voices interrupted the litany, followed by the loud clatter of wagon wheels rumbling across the railroad tracks. More crying out ensued, shouts that were accompanied by the sound of a whip cracking through the air and hoofbeats thundering toward the rear of the house.
Someone was making quite a ruckus, which meant that whatever it was must be serious. Leaping to her feet and calling for her father, she headed for the office. All thoughts of Gabe vanished as she mentally prepared herself to deal with this newest crisis. Patients arrived at all hours of the day and night, and she needed to be clearheaded to attend them.
No amount of preparation could have equipped her for what she saw when she flung open the door. The wagon Gabe used to make deliveries sat there, but it was Sarah VanSickle who held the reins. Her tear-streaked face was battered and bruised and smeared with blood. Her expensive hat was askew, and one feather dangled by her ear.
“Sarah!” Rachel said, rushing forward. “What on earth happened?”
“Robbed outside Antoine,” she said, sobbing as her tenuous hold on her dwindling stamina slipped away.
“Robbed?” Edward said from the doorway. “Who...?”
“Elton Thomerson!” she cried. “I didn’t know the other one.”
Elton Thomerson? Meg’s husband? Stunned by the information, Rachel had no time to dwell on it. “Let me help you down,” she said.
“I can’t walk,” Sarah said with a shake of her head. “I think I broke my ankle when I went over the side of the gully. It’s Gabe you need to help. He’s been shot.”
Blood drained from Rachel’s head and she swayed with sudden dizziness.
“Rachel!” The sharpness of her father’s voice dissipated the gathering fog. “Go check on him. I’ll get the stretcher.”
Thank God for her father, she thought. He always seemed to be there when she needed him most. She spied Danny in the doorway next to his grandfather. His frightened eyes were wide and glittered with unshed tears. She knew what must be going through his mind. He had just found his father. Was he about to lose him? He needed a task that would divert his mind from the news that Gabe had been shot.
“Danny!” She heard the same brisk command in her voice that she’d heard in her father’s. Like a true Stone, Danny’s head snapped up and he gave her his full attention.
“Run get Roland. I need someone to help me get your father inside. Then go tell your grandmother and the others. They need to know what’s happened. Run like the wind.”
Danny took off, passing Roland, who was just rounding the corner of the house. If there had been time, Rachel would have hugged him in relief.
“I heard all the commotion and headed this direction. Figured you might need some help,” he said, already moving toward the rear of the wagon. “There’s a passel of folks headed this way to see what’s going on.”
Grabbing her skirt in one hand, she hurried to join him. When Roland saw who it was, he raised his troubled gaze to hers. She knew he was remembering the other time a beaten, bloody Gabe had been brought for her to patch up.
Edward returned, dragging the stretcher behind him. Rachel slid it into the wagon bed and Roland climbed in, lifting Gabe’s upper torso while Rachel took his feet. Every molecule of her body was telling her to hurry, yet common sense urged her to take care.
A quick visual once-over told her that he’d been in another fight—were there more broken ribs?—and confirmed that he had indeed been shot. Twice. One bullet had struck him low in the side. The other had grazed his skull just above his left eyebrow. It had bled profusely, which was normal for a scalp wound. The bleeding had slowed to a sluggish ooze. She didn’t want to think that if it had been an inch over he would be dead. She didn’t want to think of possible brain trauma.
Together, she and Roland got Gabe into the surgery and onto the table. She gave Roland a quick smile of thanks. “Go get Mrs. VanSickle and take her into the bedroom. She thinks she’s broken her ankle. Dad will have to handle that while I take care of Gabe. Then stay close in case we need you.”
Knowing Roland would do her bidding, she gave Gabe a whiff of ether to keep him from waking while she treated him, then scrubbed her hands. She cut away his shirt and vest and pushed the fabric aside to examine the wound on his side. Luckily the bullet had entered the soft tissue near his waist. She rounded the table and heaved him to his side. Spotting the exit wound, she knew the bullet had traveled straight through. She was cleaning the injury when her father came into the room.
“How about some help?”
“That would be great, but what about Sarah’s ankle?”
Edward was already scrubbing his hands. “It isn’t broken, just a really nasty sprain. I gave her a little laudanum to ease the pain, so she’ll be fine until we get to her. From the looks of things, Gabe needs us worse than she does.”
“He does,” Rachel said, probing with sterile tweezers for any bits of fabric that might have been drawn into the cavity by the expansion and contraction of the surrounding flesh.
While she worked on the soft-tissue wound, Edward irrigated the head injury and probed the area with his finger. “I’m pretty sure there’s no fracture or bone splinters,” he said. “And the bullet missed all the big vessels. He’ll have a massive headache when he wakes up, but barring infection, he should be fine with a few stitches.”
Still as white as a sheet, Rachel looked up from her own work and flashed him an uneasy smile. Barring infection... The unknown element that doctors always worried about. But Gabe was strong and healthy, and she’d done a thorough job of cleaning his wound, as she knew Edward had. Please, God...
When she finished bandaging Gabe’s side, she determined that besides a few bruises on his face, he had no other injuries. Then she poured some fresh water, fetched a clean cloth and began to wash away the blood.
Her touch was as gentle as if he were a newborn, as she cleansed the reminder of the ordeal and revealed the face she loved so much. She smoothed the cloth over a cheekbone, trailing it over his eyebrows and the grooves in his cheeks.
“Rachel.”
She looked up to see her father’s smiling face.
“Maybe you ought to marry the boy so you can keep an eye on him. We can’t have this happening every six months.”
“What makes you think he wants to marry me?” she asked, amazed by the breathlessness she heard in her voice and surprised that her father had brought up what she’d supposed would be a touchy subject.
“Because he’s already asked me if I’d mind.”
* * *
Rachel had no time to think about what her father had said. After they checked Sarah over and treated her cuts and scrapes, Rachel immobilized the swollen ankle. Sarah would spend a miserable few days, but her injuries were not serious, and Rachel released the groggy female into the care of her husband and son, telling them that if they needed her in the night, not to hesitate coming for her.
Secure in the knowledge that she and her father had done all they could for their patients, she cleaned and straightened the bedroom and treatment room. Rock steady and able to rely on her skill and knowledge in a crisis, she was less professional if the patient was someone she cared about, often assaulted by a ridiculous panic and shakiness once the emergency had passed. Mundane tasks helped steady her.
After peeping in on Gabe once more, she and her father went into the parlor, where the Granvilles and the preac
her sat waiting for news of his condition. Someone had made coffee and served the leftover peach cobbler she’d made for supper.
Libby, who was cuddling Danny on her lap, looked up as soon as she spied them in the doorway. Worry added years to her pretty face. Danny, too, looked anxious. Thank goodness his grandmother had been here to comfort him.
“How is he?” Libby demanded. “Danny said he’d been shot.”
“Yes.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“Sarah said it was Elton Thomerson and another man.”
“A local, I assume?” Win asked.
“Yes. Sarah told Dad she was being robbed and Gabe came to help, but that’s all we know at the moment. There was no time to ask too many questions since he needed immediate attention. We’ll have to wait until one of them is lucid enough to tell us more.”
Weary from standing so long, Edward, who had traded his canes for his wheelchair, rolled himself over to Libby and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Barring infection or trauma to the brain, he should be fine.”
“Trauma to the brain?” Win echoed. For the first time since meeting him, Rachel saw a breach in his supreme self-possession.
“He sustained a gunshot wound to his side.” Rachel put her hand on her own side to indicate the approximate location. “The bullet went all the way through. I cleaned it as best I could and removed a few cloth fragments. But infection is always a concern.
“It appears the second bullet grazed his scalp.” Again, she pointed out the spot. “Dad didn’t detect any bone fragments, and we don’t expect any other damage at this point, but we can’t be completely sure. Unfortunately, we have no way of looking beneath the skull to assess any other injury.”
“Is he gonna be all right?”
The question was asked by Danny, who looked at her with the fearful expression of someone who realized that his world had been turned upside down and he had no way to set it aright.
Rachel crossed over to him and squatted down. Danny catapulted from his grandmother’s lap into his mother’s embrace, flinging his arms around her neck.
“I hope so, Danny,” she said, holding him close and inhaling the little-boy scent of him. Dirt and sweat. A smell she could breathe in all day. One Libby had been robbed of by Lucas Gentry. She blinked back the sudden sting of tears. “You know Pops and I will do everything we can to make him better, but it’s in God’s hands.”
He pulled back to look at her. “Then we should pray, shouldn’t we?”
“We have been,” Blythe offered. “But we can certainly pray now if you like.” She looked at the minister. “Brother McAdams, would you lead us, please?”
“I’d be glad to.”
The preacher led the request to God, praying for returned health for both Gabe and Sarah, for the capture of the men who’d caused the injuries and for strength for the families and protection for the community from further incidents. When he’d finished, Danny seemed comforted and asked if he could see Gabe.
“Of course you can,” Rachel said, standing and taking Danny’s hand. “I’ll go with you.”
“If it’s okay with you, I think Pip should go,” he said and gave a shrug. “I mean, Dad is her little boy, and I know she’s worried about him.”
“You’re right, of course,” Rachel told him, meeting Libby’s gaze. Like Danny, Libby had just found Gabe. If her heart was aching half as much as Rachel’s, she was in a lot of pain.
Rachel followed Libby and Danny to the room where Roland had put Gabe after Sarah was taken home. She stopped in the aperture and leaned against the doorframe. Libby went straight to the bed and reached out to brush back an errant lock of Gabe’s hair. Danny stood in the doorway watching, almost as if he were gathering the courage to face Gabe’s injuries.
Finally he took a tentative step and then another. Libby held out her hand to him and pulled him to her side. Rachel watched as he looked from the bandage wrapped around Gabe’s head, over his bruised face to the one circling his middle. He swallowed hard.
“He looks really sick, doesn’t he, Pip?” he asked in a low, trembling voice.
“He does,” she agreed, pulling up the sheet to hide the disturbing picture from Danny.
Rachel approved of the answer and gesture. There was no sense denying the obvious.
“Do you think he’ll be all right?” he asked in a quavering voice.
“I do.” The statement held firm conviction. “His father was as tough as nails, and I come from sturdy New England stock, and your mother and grandpa are very good doctors. Besides he’s already come through one round with those robbers, so I can’t imagine him letting this get him down, can you? He has too much to look forward to.”
Danny angled his head and looked up at her. “Like what?”
“Like being a father to you, for one thing. I know it’s in God’s hands, but I just can’t believe that He would bring your father back to his family and not allow you to have a life together.”
“Like God sent him back here on purpose?”
“I really think so,” she said, brushing Danny’s hair away from his forehead as she’d done for Gabe. “God works in our lives, Danny, even when we don’t do what He wants. He says, ‘You didn’t do what I wanted, and now look what a mess you’ve made of things! But don’t worry, I can fix it if you’ll only trust me and let me have control of your life.’”
She smoothed his hair again. “People usually understand things better and change as they grow older. Often they try to fix their mistakes by doing the right thing. I believe that when they do, it’s God working in their lives.”
He nodded. “Is that what He’s doing with Mom and Dad? Mom said they made a mistake a long time ago. Do you think God is trying to help them fix it?”
Rachel blinked and swallowed the lump that suddenly clogged her throat. From across the room, Libby’s eyes met hers.
“I do,” she said with the same conviction she’d used earlier. “I really do.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was almost midnight when Rachel finally convinced the Granvilles that Gabe was stable and they all should go back to the hotel for some sleep since they would be leaving for Boston the following day. When he arrived, Caleb joined her in trying to convince his mother. Libby finally agreed to get some rest but vowed that nothing could persuade her to leave town until she knew for certain that Gabe was on the road to recovery. Understanding the maternal mind-set, Rachel offered no further argument.
Once she had donned her gown and robe, she went into Gabe’s room and made another thorough check of him. His pulse was steady, and both injuries had all but stopped bleeding. He stirred as she listened to his chest.
“Lie still,” she said, gently pressing a hand to his shoulder.
At the sound of her voice, he opened his eyes, glassy with pain and dulled by the anesthesia she’d given him. “Rachel.”
His voice sounded as if he’d swallowed gravel.
“Don’t talk.”
“Not going anywhere.”
“Not for a while,” she said, removing the earpieces and looping the stethoscope around her neck. She started to turn away, and his hand moved with surprising speed to grasp her wrist.
“Don’t go.”
“I’ll be right here,” she said.
“Promise.”
“I promise.” The vow seemed to satisfy him, and he closed his eyes. She slipped from his loose grasp, and convinced that he was holding his own, she lay down on the cot.
Drawing a deep breath, she forced the hands fisted at her sides to unclench and folded them over her middle. Using a technique her father had taught her, she started at her toes and willed every part of her body to relax, releasing her not only from the tension, but also the “doctor mode.” Once she was filled with calmn
ess instead of cool objectivity, she could try to process the past few hours and all they meant. One thing stood out above all else.
Gabe might have been killed.
She wasn’t aware that the tears she’d imprisoned behind a facade of professionalism had escaped and were running down her temples. She had waffled over her feelings for weeks now, knowing she loved him but telling herself she wasn’t sure she could trust him or that love, feeling he had to prove that he had changed and that he intended to stay no matter what, so that she and Danny would not get hurt.
What a cockamamy notion! She either loved him or she didn’t. Real love didn’t set rules. It didn’t depend on stipulations: Promise you will never do anything to make me angry or hurt me. Prove that you won’t repeat the same transgressions so that I can trust that you mean what you say. Do all these things and I’ll love you.
Ridiculous and naive.
Love just was.
Loving someone and sharing a life was fraught with pitfalls that guaranteed pain. Whether it was sudden and passionate, tender and gentle, or based on the solid bedrock of respect and mutual liking learned through the years, love was an indefinable emotion that crept up and took root in the heart, often when you were not looking for it and least expected it.
Love bloomed indiscriminately and for reasons no one understood, often striking two people who were totally unsuited or were in disparate places in their lives—like Caleb and Abby.
It was near impossible to imagine two people less likely to suit, yet despite that, and despite not knowing it at the time, they had each seen something in the other they needed to be whole.
She began to think it was the same with her and Gabe, and yet she had almost let her stubborn pride and resentment blind her to the truth. She would make no excuses for him or herself or their past. The truth was that even back then she’d recognized something in him that she lacked and yearned to possess.
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