by S. A. Glenn
Focusing on the shiny silver part of the stethoscope dangling from the doctor’s neck, Samuel began to sweat the question. “Samuel Lee,” he mumbled.
“Lee, you said, sir?” he asked, raising his brow an inch.
“Yes, sir.”
The doctor took two steps to his desk, grabbed a pen and dropped it into the inkwell. He wrote down Samuel’s name onto a piece of paper. “And what do I put down for your residence?”
“Sara’s Restaurant,” he squeezed out from his lips, feeling faint, sitting onto a chair.
“Fine place to dine,” he said as he wrote down the information. He turned to Samuel. “I’ll have to report this to the marshal—it’s standard, nothing to worry about. And as soon as I determine what the cause of death was, he’ll receive that report as well.”
“Yes, sir,” Samuel answered with concern, not wanting his name attached to anything the law will see.
Two weeks later Samuel was in town buying supplies. As he headed home with his merchandise, he heard a rigid shout calling his name. He swiveled around, curious about the deep voice—there stood the marshal, badge glistening orange in the sunset. The lawman slowly moved toward Samuel, his serious demeanor able to intimidate anyone with his black ten-gallon hat, six-shooters at his sides, and his leather boots with silver sharp-toothed wheels worn on the heels. Samuel froze to the core with fear, his heart beat fast and hard. As he remembered to breathe, the act became erratic, his hands clammy. He observed the narrow gap closing between the two of them, his indecisiveness destroying any chance he had of escaping. Standing face-to-face with the marshal, Samuel gulped hard, nodded.
The lawman, steady in his approach, reached for Samuel. “Samuel Lee?” he asked. “I’m Marshal George Epp.” He broke a smile.
Flinching at the gesture, Samuel fumbled his sack of goods. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “I’ve been working hard all day—my strength’s gone.”
“No problem. Let me help you with that.”
They crouched and collected the items, placed them back into the sack. Samuel studied the pistol at the marshal’s hip, despising and cursing anything used as a weapon; yet, he perceived it gave protection to the innocent, and the dilemma toyed with his mind. Standing once again, the marshal placed the sack into Samuel’s grasp.
“Thank you, Marshal.”
“Just wanted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lee. Haven’t seen you around these parts. And I wanted to thank you for bringing in the poor ol’ geezer. The doc believes he either passed away from pneumonia or some kind of poisoning—probably alcohol—or maybe something else. Either way, he can’t determine which got him first.”
“Glad I could help. I think it was pneumonia. He was sure coughin’ up a storm last I saw of him,” Samuel assured him as he nervously fiddled with his beard.
“Probably so,” answered the marshal, watching Samuel twist at his facial hair.
“Well, Marshal Epp, sir. If that’s all, I need be gettin’ back home, put my supplies away; ’n’ get some shuteye.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Good to have metcha, Mr. Lee. And if there’s anything you need, let me know. You hear?”
“Yes, Marshal Epp, I will. Thank you, sir.” He shook the man’s hand, tipped his hat and hurried home.
OCTOBER 1868
The months flew by; autumn was ablaze with a vivid array of deep red and soft metallic yellow protruding from a backdrop of a spacious blue sky. An abrupt rush of chilled air unfastened leaves from their bonds, landing them onto the withering prairie.
Samuel had had his nose to the grindstone during the last two seasons. Along with his laboring six days a week, he had been harvesting fruit, nuts, and herbs from his garden. He had been sculpting again also, creating dozens of pieces. All of the extra commodities had been sold to Ned Johnson at the General Store. Samuel had put away lots of money, letting his savings grow.
Tom and Samuel completed the addition to the Ferley’s home. During the time they worked, Tom counseled Samuel, getting him to cope with the tragedies with his stepfather, Tommy Smith, and Herman Snodgrass—but Samuel still had difficulties with God. Samuel ached for the infinite truth, but could not pinpoint the faith he needed to trust in a creator of everything.
CHAPTER 7
JANUARY 1869
The rising sun gave sight to the barren trees and the landscape dressed with a blinding blanket of powdery snow. Bitter cold numbed one’s fingers to the bones. Though there hadn’t been much precipitation that winter, it was the most frigid one remembered.
The coldest month of the winter had impeded lumber sales. Oli’s arthritis had hampered his ability to maneuver, so he placed Samuel in charge of his business.
Samuel and Jacob Reynolds were an efficient duo, managing all aspects that presented themselves. Oli was lucky to have them, needing not to remain there except for an occasional visit to make sure all was well.
Spring crept in like an unconcerned crab. The abounding thunderstorms of April, pursued by many days of blissful sunshine, finally announced the birth of a wondrously budding terrain. All was once more flourishing with activity.
Sara was cleaning the restaurant on that glorious Saturday morning, done with picking up in Katherine’s room above the establishment. She was full of excitement since her daughter would be coming home soon. Samuel aided Sara with the dusting and polishing, the sweeping and mopping, the cleaning of the windows; and the assisting of the customers, keeping the business flowing. He was absorbing the happiness that emanated from within Sara’s soul, stirring up promise within him about Katherine’s arrival. For some marvelous reason he could not wait to encounter this mysterious woman he had heard Sara speak of often.
Samuel knew through Sara that Katherine loved fruit—especially berries—and that she fancied the outdoors as well. He was itching to share the golden garden on the hill with her. He also desired to seize moments at the lake fishing, and having picnics. A heartfelt awareness enveloped him as he daydreamed about sharing precious common interests with Katherine. Samuel was also aware that Katherine treasured animals. He longed for her and Ruff to meet. He had carved a miniature oak statue of Ruff with enormous detail, painting it to match Ruff’s color. It had turned out to be his finest handiwork.
As Samuel wiped down the last window, he stalled, shifted his head toward Sara. “Ma’am,” he said, one arm on the glass, “when’s Katherine supposed to be here?”
“Sunday morning, a week from tomorrow,” she replied, hunched over, scrubbing sticky sirup off of a table next to him.
“Katherine sure is an eyeful!” he uttered, applying his heated breath to a smudge on the window, rubbing it out, a goofy smile on his face.
Sara paused, stood with her hands to her hips, gazing at Samuel with a fierce grin. “Samuel! From all the questions you’ve asked about Katherine lately, and now, come to think of it…”—her finger went to her lips as she looked out into space—” . . . the way you act, too, with your silly grins whenever you speak of her… not to mention your talking to her picture in the stairwell… I’d think that you had a crush on my daughter.”
“Ma’am!” he whispered with a red face.
Friday, late afternoon, Samuel and J.R. were worn-out, both ready to leave for the weekend. Samuel was organizing the orders for Monday while J.R. swept. Completing the cleaning, J.R. stood next to Samuel, who was seated at the desk.
Samuel jogged the paperwork and stacked it into a neat pile. He shoved back his chair, kicked out his tired feet, rested his hands at his stomach, and spoke with a composed flame. “Only about 36 more hours till Katherine shows up.”
“She’s gonna take one look at you, Samuel, with that unkempt beard, ’n’ run for them hills. Along with you being all gawky-eyed in love with her, you’re gonna frighten the poor lass!” J.R. grabbed Samuel’s hat off of his head and smacked him with it.
“Says you!” Samuel took back his hat, thumping J.R.’s thigh. “Anyway. How could I be in love with someone I’ve never met?”
“Go easy with her, boy. Break ’er in slow,” J.R. laughed, acting like he was riding a bucking bronco, jumping around, one arm in the air.
“It’s not like that, you varmint! Now listen up, you darned character. I’m gonna buy an expensive bottle of red wine. Katherine likes that. We’ll have it with the steaks Ms. Sara’s barbecuin’ Sunday evening. She said Katherine misses sinkin’ her teeth in a thick slice of western-raised tenderloin. Whaddaya think?”
“I think you’re trying to get her drunk—then in the sack.”
“Ahhh!” Samuel stood, wrapped his arm around J.R.’s noodle, and gave him a noogie. “Come on, you nut. Let’s blaze this place.”
Samuel slipped through the restaurant’s back door, squeezing a bottle of imported French wine by the neck. The purchase set him back a day’s pay, but the bartender mentioned that it was an excellent year: 1852. Samuel waltzed up the stairs, cradling the costly item, hopeful for Katherine’s friendship.
Reaching Katherine’s tantalizing photograph, he stood still, straightening it out, blowing off a piece of lint statically clinging to the glass. Smiling, he studied her familiar eyes. Gripping the brim of his worn-out hat, he tipped it, and nodded to her. “Hello, Katherine. Nice to see you,” he said with a tender forthright delivery.
“Hello, Samuel. It is nice to see you, also,” spoke a heavenly voice from above.
Samuel’s jaw dropped, his knees flimsy as he veered back against the wall, afraid he had become completely unglued from hearing her picture speak. Affectionate ladylike laughter erupted from atop the stairs. Samuel’s puzzled head jolted toward the outburst. He observed a delicately-beautiful sweetheart, with a gorgeous smile, beaming with grace, covering her creamy alluring lips with her dainty fingers, hushing herself as she shrugged her shoulders, showing a soft smile. She was exhibiting a dazzling fine floral print dress with decorative ruffled edging, and it was as pretty as a spring garden in blossom. With one golden earring in her right earlobe, she pulled her straight black hair away from her face as she inserted the other piece of jewelry.
Samuel stood there, watching her dashing episode, fascinated. “Katherine! You’re not supposed to be here till Sunday mornin’,” he said with a blissful perplexity.
“Samuel!” she uttered back at him, smiling. “I could leave and come back if you wish.”
“No no no!” he blurted out, running up the stairs to her. “How was your trip? Are you thirsty? Hungry? Do you need anything? How come you came early? How did ya—?”
“Slow down, Samuel,” she interrupted. “I want to answer your questions… but you have to give me a chance, silly.” She slipped her hand through his arm, ushered him over to an old-fashioned maple bench padded with multicolored satin fabric. She sat him down, desiring for him to relax. Taking position next to him, she settled her arm onto his shoulder. “Now, to answer your inquiries…” She fixed a finger to her lips, squinting one eye. She shifted her stunning sky-blue eyes toward Samuel’s gazers. “Oh yes, I remember. My trip was long, but worth it. I am neither thirsty nor hungry. I do not need anything, and I came early because I caught an earlier train. As for your final questions, I believe I cut you off. Sorry. How did I what, Samuel?”
“My last question was how did ya know who I am?” He was amazed with her memory and intelligence as the sweet smell of wild berries from her hair refreshed him. Peering deeper into her eyes, he was enchanted by their color, seeing great familiarity in them.
“Mother told me that a charming young man named Samuel Lee rented the room next to mine. She said that he had a beard—a long one at that. She also said you have a birthmark on your—” Though she was daring enough to mention where the mark was, she kept the ammo to herself for another time. Clearing her throat, she wiped off her devilish grin. “Anyway, when I saw you, I figured: who else could you be?”
Her amorous gesture did not register with him due to a sudden striking understanding of his. Without hesitation yet with great ease, he expressed with desire, the glimpse of his vision within the window to her sole. “I feel, Katherine, that we’ve been searching for each other; that I waited here for a long time for you to find me, my beloved… and now, here you are.” Promptly realizing what gushed out of his mouth, he felt it was impolite to tell her that. He stood and replaced his serious face with shame. “I’m sorry, Katherine. That was stupid and weird! I oughtn’t to say such improper things. I’ve just metchu!”
She bounded to her feet, grasping his hands tight. She peered into his intense dark blue eyes. “Samuel! That was not stupid or weird at all; on the contrary, that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
They stood there, silent, peaceful, clenching each other’s clammy hands. Butterflies in their stomachs, they gazed upon one another, exploring deep inside the other’s core, curious about what mysteries they shared. A mutual emotion streamed through their veins, causing tranquility.
Samuel snapped them out of their trance. He raised her hand over her head and twirled her. She gave off a gentle giggle as he let go and stepped back to view her ravishing attire. He peered into her warm eyes. “You sure do make that dress purty, Katherine.”
“Thank you, Samuel. You are too kind. Mother made it for me as a graduation present. It fits wonderfully!” She admired her apparel in the mirror, checking its length and snugness to her waist.
“Katherine!” called out Sara from downstairs. “Come show me how your dress fits. I’m anxious to see it.”
“Coming, Mother.” Katherine curtsied for Samuel. “Hurry and wash up, now. Dinner is almost ready. You do not want to miss Mother’s famous steaks—they are to die for—mmm, so good!” She licked her lips.
“Yes, madam,” he said, tipping his hat, bowing, feeling as though they had been friends forever.
The three of them sat at the table in the dining area, Sara at the head of the table with Samuel and Katherine across from each other. Each person had a sizzling thick and juicy steak displayed in front of them. A tossed salad with honey-mustard dressing and baked potatoes with fresh butter and chives were passed around, each person placing a healthy portion onto his and her plate. Five flaming candles gave an elegant mood, lighting up their evening feast.
Samuel scooped up a hint of seasoning from the saltcellar, sprinkling it over his food. He took a hold of the wine bottle, popped the cork. “Wine, anyone?”
“Yes, please.” Katherine held up her glass.
“I’ll have some, too.” Sara reached for her glass. “I think you are supposed to let it breathe.”
Samuel scratched his head as he poured the glasses, looking confused. “That’s the same thing the bartender said when I bought this. Wine don’t got lungs, for Pete’s sake!”
Sara and Katherine chuckled.
Katherine raised her glass to her lips, tasting the wine. “This is Beaujolais!” she blurted out.
“How do you know that word, Kat?” asked Sara.
“I do not know, Mother.” Her face went blank as though she were probing her memories for an answer.
“Has my little girl been drinking? I’ll have to have a chat with your father.” Sara patted Katherine’s hand with a rascally smile.
Katherine replied while slicing off a morsel of steak. “Father and I had trout with white wine the night of my graduation. Other than that, I have never touched alcohol to my lips.” She placed the bite of tenderloin into her mouth, rolling back her eyes to express how succulent the beef tasted.
Samuel ceased chewing his mouthful of food and swallowed hard, then he gently set down his fork and knife, astonished, stumped: he was positive Sara mentioned Katherine’s taste for red wine. So where had he attained that nutty notion? he wondered. He swilled down a swig of flui
d to help make sense of his beclouding surprise. He looked at Sara. “Ma’am, I was sure you told me Katherine liked red wine. That’s why I bought it,” he admitted, poking his salad, bringing a bite of lettuce dripping with dressing to his mouth, chomping down on it, peering at Katherine, then back at Sara.
“Hmmm!” Sara motioned with her hand to give her a moment to chew and swallow. She grasped her napkin from her lap, dabbed the corner of her mouth, and set down the napkin. “Samuel, as far as I knew, Kat’s never touched alcohol. I didn’t tell you that.”
Katherine shrugged, sipping more wine.
Samuel’s brows narrowed. He tipped his head to one side, not finding a solution to the riddle. Scooping out a portion of butter from a dish, he placed it atop his last half of potato, dismissing anymore energy for the conundrum.
Samuel noticed Katherine had finished her wine. She gave him a big smile with a quirky giggle as she handed him her glass, motioning for more. He grinned back, with a manly giggle, not able to resist her adorableness. He poured her a smidgen, but she shook her head no, using her hand to tell him to keep it coming.
“I do like red wine!” she stated.
The comment Katherine made earlier about his birthmark popped into his thoughts as he handed back her glass. “What was that you mentioned about my birthmark?” he asked with a sly grin.
Katherine was tipsy, no less bold than earlier. She spilled a splash of wine as she slid her glass toward herself. “Oh, yeah… Mother told me that you have a mark next to your privates,” she giggled, pushing away her plate, drinking more wine.
“Katherine Marie!” Sara exclaimed with a smirk. “I never said anything like that to you, young lady. I don’t know if he has a mark on him there or not! When I walked in on him, like I told you, Katherine, I turned away, saw nothing of the sort! What’s going on with you two?” Sara asked. “You’ve both lost your marbles thinking I’ve told you things I never did—along with your giggling!”