by Kit Morgan
“Cutty!” Imogene gasped. “That was … was … magnificent!”
“Really?” he asked as he handed the dumbfounded Mrs. Dunnigan her ladle.
Imogene’s expression was almost rapturous. “Oh yes!”
“That no-good Clinton ought to be locked up!” Irene said. “In fact, I’m going to get the sheriff right now!”
“What did he do?” a voice asked. They were all so busy staring at Clinton’s crumpled form that no one noticed the small group of riders approaching. Newton was the first to reach them. “Nettie, what’s wrong?” he asked and jumped off his horse. “I could tell you weren’t yourself this morning. What is it?” He glanced at Clinton. “And what did he do?”
“Nothing, other than picking a bad time to arrive,” she said, a tear escaping. “And being himself, I suppose.”
“Clinton being himself is a crime right there,” Irene squawked, then headed toward the sheriff’s office.
“Nettie?” Newton said and wiped it away.
“It’s Amon,” she told him, her lower lip trembling.
Newton suddenly realized where they were. “Good Lord, no! What happened?”
She shook her head. “The doctors don’t know. The preacher came by earlier – he thinks maybe he contracted some sort of disease that … that we brought!”
“What?”
Before he could question her, the others dismounted and joined them. Everyone openly stared at the tall Negro couple dressed in rags. Seth stepped forward. “These are our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Awahnee.”
“We’ve known them since we were younguns,” Ryder explained.
The tall man gazed into his wife’s eyes, then looked at Nettie. “It is time.”
Newton glanced at them, then Seth and Ryder. “Both of your friends said that! Time for what, exactly?”
Mr. Awahnee threw his head back and laughed. Everyone jumped in surprise, except Mrs. Awahnee, who was gliding already toward the Wallers’ front door. “He is in here,” she said, her voice silky-smooth.
“Yes, I know,” her husband answered. He turned to Nettie. “Come wid us.” Without waiting for an answer, he took her by the arm and pulled her from Newton’s embrace.
“What are you doing?” Newton asked, yet not in anger, which surprised even him. He felt a calmness he could not explain. Well, maybe he could – the huge African had an air of command. He instinctively knew the man was not only accustomed to giving orders, but having them obeyed.
“No harm will come to her,” Mr. Awahnee told him. “You have my word, little bro-dar.” He took his wife’s hand with his other and steered both women into the house.
The rest stood a moment, transfixed, before Newton shook himself and followed them. He entered the house and headed down the hall just as Mr. Awahnee finished saying something to Doc Drake in the kitchen – something that made the good doctor’s jaw go slack.
Drake let the trio pass, but stopped Newton from following them. “Let them go. He knows what he’s doing.”
“What … how … do you know this man too?” Newton demanded. “What’s going on?”
Doc Drake turned as the door to the patient room closed. “I’ll tell you in the parlor. There’s nothing more I can do.”
“Do?” Newton whispered. “What are you saying?”
“Amon Cotter is dying. If they can’t save him, no one can. And if Amon dies … your sister may also.”
* * *
Nettie watched in fascination as the ragged African looked upon Amon, his face stern. His wife stood off to one side, having pulled a long cloth over her head and wrapped it around her neck. It was hardly cold in the room, Nettie thought, but maybe it was some sort of custom for her when entering a sickroom. Mr. Awahnee glanced around, spied a wash bowl with a wet cloth in it, and snatched it up. He wrung it out, placed it on Amon’s brow, then wrapped it around his head.
“Doctor Drake says he hasn’t a fever …,” Nettie said without thinking, trying to understand Mr. Awahnee’s actions.
He looked at her. “He burns, little one, more dan you can know.”
Mrs. Awahnee went to the other side of the bed and sat. She reached out her hand tentatively, then touched Amon on the chest. He took a huge lungful of air, held it, then let it out slowly and opened his eyes. Mrs. Awahnee smiled at him, cocked her head to one side and spoke very softly. “Khelah veh, Amon.”
“What does that mean?” Nettie whispered.
Mrs. Awahnee looked at her. “It means ‘welcome home, Amon’.”
“Home?” Nettie said confused. “What …?”
Mrs. Awahnee smiled. “You are his home.”
“I … am?”
Mr. Awahnee chuckled low in his throat. “Look at him. Is he not yours?”
Nettie glanced between them, not understanding what they were talking about other than the obvious. “We were to be married …”
“And so you will,” Mr. Awahnee said.
“You can save him? You know what’s wrong?”
“Yes, we know,” Mrs. Awahnee told her. “We have seen it before where we come from, many times.”
“Then help him! Do you need to give him something? Dr. Drake and Dr. Waller already gave him what they could but –”
“We have what he needs,” Mr. Awahnee interrupted. He looked at his wife, and Nettie caught the tiniest hint of a smile curve his mouth. His wife gave him a single nod, put one hand on Amon’s forehead, the other on his belly.
“What is she doing?” Nettie asked.
“Praying,” Mr. Awahnee said.
Much to Nettie’s surprise, Mrs. Awahnee began to softly sing. The woman’s voice was beautiful, lyrical, and tears filled Nettie’s eyes as she listened. Amon’s eyes slowly closed in response.
“Do you love dis man?” Mr. Awahnee asked.
“Yes!” Nettie cried, unable to help herself. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but yes, yes!” She looked up at him, her eyes full of tears. “Please, if there’s anything you can do …”
He smiled. “Do you love him enough to take care of him, see dat he is fed, give him what he needs to get his strengd back, keep him strong?”
“Yes! Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it!”
“I just told you what to do.” He smiled. “And he loves you.”
Nettie swallowed hard and sniffled. “He … how do you know that?”
“Because he is still alive. Fighting to stay dat way. I have seen dis before. It can kill quickly. Take his hand, tell him you will be wid him de rest of his days. Give him de reason to live.”
Nettie looked at Amon. Color was returning to his cheeks.
Mrs. Awahnee stopped singing for a moment, removed a small bottle from her clothing and put it to Amon’s lips. She didn’t even lift his head to help him drink. But he drank it, all of it. “It will help him heal,” she said before Nettie could ask. “Now take his hand as my husband told you and tell him.”
Nettie sat on the bed. “Tell him what?”
“Dat you are here,” Mr. Awahnee said. “Dat you will be to de end of your days.”
Nettie stared at Amon a moment as she took his hand. Her eyes drifted to Mrs. Awahnee whose eyes were intent on him. “What good will it do?”
Mrs. Awahnee looked at her. “All men want a woman they would die for. Be that woman now. Give him the reason to live.”
Nettie squeezed Amon’s hand as she stared at the woman across the bed. Amon’s eyes opened. Nettie’s met his and locked. “Amon … Amon, I’m here.”
He tried to swallow, opened his mouth, but couldn’t speak.
Nettie leaned toward him. “Amon, I’ll not leave you, I’ll never leave you. You have to fight this, you hear?” She stopped to calm herself. “We have too much to do.”
He stared at her, closed his mouth and smiled. “Yes,” came out, raspy but clear.
Nettie was encouraged by his voice. “Whatever this is, you’re going to get better. And I’m going to take care of you. I can cook quite well, I can sew all your clothes
… I … I know how to work and work very hard. Between the two of us, we can have our home built in no time.”
His smile faded, his eyes filled with confusion.
Nettie shook her head. “I know, I wasn’t forthcoming with you before, but I am now. I wanted to tell you everything, but I was afraid you’d reject me …”
His brow furrowed slightly as if to say, no, I’d never put you away.
She felt suddenly emboldened. “Amon, I … I was no more than a servant in my grandfather’s house. He hated us that much. The only reason we were allowed to live with him was because of our mother. I wasn’t a lady, not even a lady’s maid. I’m just a … a …” She stared into his eyes and felt as if she was inside of him somehow, as if they had just … joined? “Oh good Lord …” she gasped.
“You’re what?” he whispered.
She looked at him, bent to his face. Several tears fell onto his cheek. Nettie closed her eyes and squeezed his hands again. “I’m yours.”
Amon gasped, shuddered, gasped again. “Nettie,” he said, his voice stronger.
Mr. Awahnee chuckled again. “Do you want dis woman?” he asked Amon.
Amon looked at him. “You, what … what are you doing here?”
“Do you?” he asked again.
Amon’s eyes widened. “Well, yes … but what does that have to do with anything?”
Mr. Awahnee threw his head back and laughed. He leaned over Amon, a wide grin on his face. “Everyding.” He stood straight again. “You will marry her, yes?”
“Yes, but …”
“Den why not now?”
“What?” Nettie and Amon said at once.
Nettie’s eyes widened as she realized his voice was stronger too. “Amon?”
“What’s he talking about, get married now?”
“Amon!”
“What?”
“You’re … you’re speaking normally!”
“I … good grief, I am.”
Mr. Awahnee burst into laughter. His wife stood, her face calm. “He will be well. The medicine I gave him works extremely fast, but he is still weak. Just as quickly as his symptoms came, they will leave, but do not push him to do much for a few days. Best to let him rest a week.” He turned back to Amon. “Marry dis woman, little bro-dar, enjoy her company while you regain your strengd. Let her take care of you.”
Amon could only stare. “Who are you?”
Mr. Awahnee stood to his full height as his wife joined him at his side. “Someone who cares. About you, about dis place.”
“Place?” Nettie echoed, her voice a whisper.
“Rest now,” Mr. Awahnee said. “We will be nearby. De Jones bro-dars know where to find us.”
Amon struggled to sit up. Nettie helped him, and together they stared open-mouthed at the couple who had just saved his life. “Thank you,” Amon told them.
“You are most welcome, little bro-dar,” Mr. Awahnee said and turned. “Send for de preacher. Wed de woman next to you as soon as you can so she can take care of you – and dere is no talk.”
Amon gazed into Nettie’s eyes. “He has a good point.”
“Yes,” she agreed, still marveling that Amon had the strength to speak at all. She barely noticed when the tall couple left the room, she was so intent on her future husband.
“Tell Doc Drake to fetch Preacher Jo,” Amon said, his voice still soft. Maybe he didn’t have as much strength as she thought.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. And Nettie …”
She looked at him, her eyes searching his. “Yes?”
“I don’t care what you were. To me you’re the woman I’m going to marry.” He smiled. “And I, for one, am glad you already know how to cook.”
She put a hand to her mouth, smiled and with tears in her eyes, began to chuckle. “I’m so sorry I never said anything before …”
“It doesn’t matter. What does is that we marry, get a room at the hotel and I get over this. It hit me hard and fast and I never want to feel like this again.”
“What if one of the others gets sick too?” she asked.
“I’m sure that whatever they gave me, they’ll give some to Doc Drake … or tell him how to make it. I don’t much care what it was, so long … so long as it worked. And it’s working. I can feel it.”
Nettie sucked in a breath. “I almost lost you …”
“And I you.” He closed his eyes. “Now get Preacher Jo and let’s get married while I can still say ‘I do’.”
Nettie nodded, held his hands, then leaned down and kissed him. On the lips this time – for the first time but not, thank the Lord, the last. “I’ll take care of it. And you.”
And she did.
Epilogue
Three weeks later …
“What do you mean he’s not going to leave any with us?” Doc Drake asked, his face contorted with worry. “What if someone else comes down with it? What are we supposed to do?”
Ryder shrugged. “Mr. Awahnee done told me Amon’d be the only case. Nettie may have got a hint of it, but it was only because of poor Amon.”
“It almost killed him!” Doc Drake argued.
“I don’t take to them foreign medicines anyway,” Doc Waller said, more to himself than anyone else. “At least that concoction Mrs. MacDonald left us was made out of local plants.”
Doc Drake sighed. “You would think he’d … that they’d … blast it! I still don’t understand why the Awahnees don’t leave us with some.”
“Maybe they figure you’re enough.” Ryder said with a smile. “You and the good Lord always have been before.”
Doc Drake sighed but said nothing.
“They’re still around,” Seth said. “We can ask again if you like – that is, if we can find them. That’s not always easy …”
“Do that, or better yet, take me with you to look for them and I’ll ask. Now, let’s get back to work.”
Seth and Ryder each grabbed a long board and carried it to where the rest of the men labored. They were helping Amon, now fully recovered, build his house, and he was determined to have it done before the weather turned and fall was upon them.
Amon looked up as they approached. “I can’t thank you boys enough for helping me out these last few weeks.”
“Shucks, Amon,” Ryder said. “Ain’t nothin’ you wouldn’t do for us. Besides, now that you’re mended, you can help me with a few things. Constance wants some new furniture.”
Amon’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to make some for you. It would be my pleasure.”
“When you’re fully healed,” Nettie said as she approached them, a basket in her hands. “He still has bouts of weakness, but nothing good food can’t fix. Lunchtime, gentlemen, unless of course you’d rather keep working.”
“No, ma’am!” Seth said and dropped his board where he stood.
“Ow!” Cutty yelled. “Watch what yer doin’, ya idjit …” His eyes met Nettie’s. “Er … I mean, please watch what yer doin’.”
Nettie stood, a pleased look on her face.
Ryder glanced between her and Cutty. “What was that about?”
“I’m teaching Cutty what it means to be a gentleman,” she said proudly.
Seth and Ryder exchanged a quick look. “Cutty? A gentleman?” Ryder asked, perplexed.
“What of it?” Cutty snapped. “Cain’t a man improve hisself?”
Seth laughed. “You go right ahead. I wish you luck.”
“Yeah,” Ryder agreed and turned. “In fact, I can think of someone else who’d appreciate it a whole lot.”
They followed his gaze. Imogene Sayer, also carrying a basket, was with another group of men, passing out sandwiches. Nettie was the first to smile. “Yes, indeed.”
Cutty spun on her as Imogene approached. “Mind yer own beeswax!”
Nettie smiled again, walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Next to my husband, you are my business.”
Cutty turned beet red as Imogene reached them. “I’ve got a
few sandwiches left – does anyone want another?”
“Don’t mind if I do!” Ryder said and pulled out two. He handed one to his brother and they wandered off in search of something to wash the food down. Nettie and Amon watched them go, then went to speak with Doc Drake and Preacher Jo. Half the town had turned out that day to help with the building of their new home.
“Well, this is coming along nicely,” Imogene said.
“Yep,” Cutty agreed then took a huge bite out of his sandwich.
“So, you’re getting lessons on how to be a gentleman?”
Cutty froze, his mouth stuffed with food and looked at her. “Wahft’s it to mhew?”
She smiled. “I think I like you just the way you are.”
Cutty chewed as fast as he could and swallowed. “You do?”
She looked at him. “I do. From the top of your hairless head, to the tips of your dirty little toes. You’re my Cutty and no one else’s.”
Cutty blushed. “Imogene …”
She gazed across the field to where Amon and Nettie had now sat and were eating. “They’re lovely, aren’t they? Such a beautiful couple.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, the admiration in his voice hard to miss.
“So, when are you going to tell them?”
Cutty looked at her. “Tell ‘em what?”
She looked him right in the eye. “Come now, Thackary. You know as well as I that eventually you’re going to have to let them know who you really are.”
Cutty froze, sandwich in hand, and stopped breathing.
Imogene studied him with a calm he didn’t expect. “And of course Newton as well. But they’re all that need know.” Her gaze returned to Amon and Nettie.
Cutty swallowed hard, then did it again, tears in his eyes. “Imogene,” he choked. His Western accent was gone, replaced by his native one. He quickly glanced around. “How long have you known?”
“I’m glad you’re not trying to deny it,” she said without looking at him. “I wasn’t entirely sure at first. You were so crass and ill-mannered as Cutty. But when I said I was married at one time, you looked jealous. The truth is, I never was. I just wanted to see your reaction.” She sighed. “A woman never forgets a lost love. Not even after so many years.”