They were still laughing when Flora entered and sat at the table. “Me and Lola really want to thank you for doing this for us, Miz Cantrell. Neither one of us got any schoolin’ when we was little.”
“We was hopin’ to at least get to read them dime store novels we see some of our gentlemen friends read,” Lola added.
Flora nodded. “And I’d plumb love to write my ma a letter.”
“I think you’ll both do just fine.” Laura took the slates and chalk Flora had set beside her and handed each girl one. Then she glanced at Sarah. “Billy gave us one too many. We only needed three.”
Sarah wiped her hands on a towel and sat at the table. “Well, I figure if these girls can learn to read, and my children will be getting some schoolin’, then I should at least give it a try too.”
Laura grasped her friend’s hand and squeezed it. “They’ll all be so proud of you. And you’ll be a good example for them to follow.” She picked up her chalk and wrote an A on the slate tablet. “First thing we’re going to do is learn how to write the alphabet.”
So busy with their lessons, all four women were surprised when Nathan poked his head in the door. “Lessons done for the day?”
“Has it been an hour already?” Laura glanced at the watch she’d pinned to her bodice.
“We’d best be hurryin’ back to the Golden Slipper before Mr. Bailey starts lookin’ for us,” Lola said as she and Flora stood to leave. “Can we take these slates to practice for our next lesson?”
“Certainly. We’ll meet next month and begin reading.” Laura scooped her things back into her basket.
“Couldn’t we meet next week?” Lola’s question sounded hopeful.
“I tell you what, ladies,” Nathan answered as he slipped Laura’s hand through his arm and took her basket in his other hand. “Why don’t I bring you all out to the farm for the afternoon? I’ll clear it with Bobby so you can spend the afternoon. And Sarah can visit with Tom.”
All three ladies agreed that would be a great idea.
As they walked up the wooden sidewalk to the doctor’s office, Laura tightened her grip on Nathan’s arm. “That was a sneaky tactic.”
“Darlin’, I don’t know what you mean,” he said, nodding to several cowhands who stepped aside to let them pass.
His innocent denial didn’t fool her for one second.
“You manipulated all three of them so they’d come to the farm, just so you can keep me at home.”
The man had the audacity to laugh. “I know you think I’m being overprotective, but think of it like this. Flora and Lola never get out of town or spend time with a family. You’ll be giving them a nice day off each week.”
“And you get to have your way.”
He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “True. But you seem to like it when I have my way with you.”
Before she could answer, they arrived at the doctor’s door. She hoped Dr. Dawson wouldn’t comment on the blush she felt in her cheeks.
* * * * *
“Everything seems to be going well. Although you haven’t gained any weight this month.” Dr. Dawson put his stethoscope on the oak desk, then sat behind it once Laura and Nathan were seated across from him.
“Is that a bad thing, Doctor?” Nathan took Laura’s hand in his.
“Not necessarily.” The doctor smiled reassuringly. “According to my calculations, the baby is growing just fine, and Laura appears very healthy. I’d just be sure she eats lots of meat and vegetables and drinks plenty of water. Are you getting some rest every afternoon, Laura?”
Great. Just what she needed, someone to tell Nathan he’d been right in acting so overprotective. She glanced at him, then rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Yes, whether I want to or not.”
“Good. According to my calculations, the baby should be due near the end of November, beginning of December. Since we don’t have a practicing midwife in town, I’ve asked Sarah to come with me to the farm when you go into labor. I assume you won’t have any objections to her assisting me?”
Warm heat filled her face. She hadn’t thought about the intimacies involved in giving birth. She squeezed Nathan’s hand tighter. “Of course. Sarah has already been a great help to me.”
“Laura, you’ll do fine, I’m sure.” Dr. Dawson smiled gently at her, then handed her a slip of paper. “These are some supplies I want you to gather together, in case the baby comes early. Keep them clean and somewhere both you and Nathan can easily find them.” He stood and escorted them to his door. “I’ll see you next month.”
“Daddy, Mr. Jensen said come to the mercantile right quick!” yelled the doctor’s oldest son as he ran down the street to the doctor’s office.
Dr. Dawson grabbed his coat. “Is someone hurt, Phillip?”
“Not here, sir. Zeke brung news from Denver. Mr. Jensen said you and Mr. Cantrell would want to hear it and for me to fetch both of you.”
“I wonder what news Zeke’s brought?” Laura asked.
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Nathan and the doctor exchanged worried looks, then the foursome walked to the mercantile. Nathan kept a steady hold on her elbow and his strides even with hers so she didn’t have to run to keep up with the tall men.
As they neared the store, most of the town’s adults had gathered outside on the dirt street and clapboard sidewalk. Frank and Zeke stood in front of the crowd.
“What’s up, Frank?” asked Mr. Trainer, the blacksmith, wiping his hands on the leather apron Laura always saw him wear when working. “Your young’un said you had some news for us.”
“Zeke, you tell them.” Frank pushed the old mule skinner forward.
“I was pickin’ up a load of supplies for the store down in Denver a few days ago and the news came over the telegraph that someone tried to kill President Garfield.”
The crowd gave a collective gasp, then everyone started asking questions.
“Did they catch the murdering bastard?”
Zeke nodded. “They caught him, red-handed.”
“Did Garfield survive?”
“The docs are taking care of him and he ain’t died yet.”
Laura tightened her grip on Nathan’s sleeve, trying to concentrate on the answers. Then she leaned in and asked him, “How?”
“How?” He looked at her curiously.
“How did they try to kill him?” she whispered.
“Zeke, did they say how the murderer tried to kill him?” The command in Nathan’s voice caught the crowd’s attention.
“Shot him twice in the back as he was gettin’ on the train for his vacation. The docs say one bullet is lodged in his belly.”
The crowd mumbled their feelings, both men and women shaking their heads. Everyone knew few people survived a shooting in the stomach, and it was a painful way to die.
“Who?” Laura whispered to her husband again.
“Do they know who shot him?”
“Caught him as he was trying to leave the train station. The man said he worked for Garfield durin’ the ’lection but Secretary o’ State Blaine said he was a crazy man the president never even knew.” Zeke spit a stream of tobacco juice onto the dirt. “They said he was mad coz Garfield wouldn’t give him no office.”
The crowd mumbled as the people took in the news. Laura leaned on Nathan’s arm. “Can we go home?”
“You look a little pale. How about you sit inside the store for a minute while I get the wagon?”
She let him lead her inside to a bench.
“Are you all right, darlin’?” Nathan asked once she was seated.
Laura nodded. “I think the day’s been a little more taxing than I thought. I’d like to go home to rest.”
“I’ll be right back.” He kissed her on the forehead, then hurried out the store’s rear door.
Only once he’d left did Laura think about the news they’d just heard. Someone had shot President Garfield. Her mind had quickly jumped to the conclusion that Blackwood had been behind the attempted assass
ination when she’d heard the news. After all, Anderson had been one of Garfield’s trusted advisors. Before his disappearance, rumors back in Washington had circulated that he’d be named to the Cabinet. But since they caught the culprit, surely this attempt on the president’s life couldn’t be connected to the senator’s death, could it?
* * * * *
Nigel leaned back in his chair in the only saloon he’d found in the shipping town of Cairo, Illinois. He’d traveled this far by riverboat to see if he could pick up the elusive Miss Melbourne’s trail. The effort had been a complete waste of time. The same as it was in Memphis. He’d traveled south then north on the Mississippi in hopes that someone working the riverboats or the wharves might’ve seen a woman matching her description. No one recalled seeing her. His only choice was to head back to St. Louis and go farther west.
He picked up the newspaper and read the front-page article again. The president continued to hang on to life, but his doctors didn’t give any hope of a full recovery. Charles Guiteau either missed his target or forgot his mission was to kill the president.
Damn. His superiors weren’t going to be pleased. Guiteau’s failure would be another black mark against him. He’d recruited the man and spent hours feeding his delusions of greatness. He’d also added fuel to the fire of his disgruntlement—just like loading a pistol and leaving it in the hands of a child. Sooner or later, the results would be what his leaders wanted, a government in chaos.
He scanned the article. No mention of Guiteau’s connection to their group. Good. The police seemed to think Guiteau worked alone.
“Mister, you interested in a game of cards?”
A man dressed in the same type of buckskin shirt and dungarees he wore leaned back against the bar, studying him. “What did you have in mind?”
The man’s lips split in a derisive grin. “Poker.”
He hid his own sneer. Everyone in this backwater part of the country assumed as an Englishman he couldn’t play their favorite game. There wasn’t a card game he couldn’t master. He’d been making his living at bilking people out of their money since before his father forced him to cross the Atlantic. “I’m not much good at cards, but I’ll play you a hand or two.”
The man pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. “I see you were reading about that foreigner who shot the president,” buckskin shirt said as he shuffled and dealt the cards.
“The article said he was a member of the president’s campaign team. It also said he was born in Illinois.” Nigel picked up his cards. A pair of pocket jacks, a two of spades, ten of diamonds and a four of clubs.
“Name sounds foreign. Don’t matter. No one should try to kill our president.”
Nigel put down two and received two more. Another jack and a five of hearts. Three-of-a-kind. Wonder what the dealer held.
“You’re from back East, ain’t ya?” Buckskin took three cards. Probably only had a pair.
He nodded, then raised the pot by two bits.
“I could tell, coz ya got an Eastern accent. I hear it sometimes when the trains pass through.”
The man was a fool, but maybe he could give him some information on his prey. “Do you work for the railroads?”
The man laughed. “You can say that. I work the route from here to Chicago, and sometimes from here to St. Louis and on to Denver.”
Maybe his luck had turned. He signaled the bartender to bring them a bottle and two glasses. He poured for his new friend.
“Don’t mind if I do,” buckskin said as he accepted his glass of whiskey.
“I’m searching for a woman.”
“Ain’t we all?” Buckskin laughed and called.
Nigel folded. He knew he had the pot won, but best to keep his new friend happy and drinking. “Well, she’s my woman, and she stole some money from me. I don’t suppose you ran across her when you were working out of St. Louis, did you?”
The man dealt another hand. “When did she run off?”
“Back in January.” Nigel looked at his hand. A flush, all hearts. Damn, he hated folding a second winning hand. He asked for three cards and got them. All spades.
Buckskin chuckled as he scooped up his second pot, then swallowed another shot of whiskey. “January, you say? I can’t help you much there, mister. I was doin’ the Cairo to Chicago run that month. Old Riley was the conductor from St. Louis to Denver.”
Old Riley. Now he had a clue to a man who might help him find the woman. He poured them both another drink, then calculated how quickly he could lose another hand to the man. He needed to be on his way in the only direction his prey could’ve gone—West.
* * * * *
Late one night, Laura lay snuggled in Nathan’s arms. “When is Rachel’s birthday?”
“I don’t really know,” he answered, wondering what she was up to now. “The couple I took her from didn’t have any idea when Kirsten gave birth to her. I guess they didn’t really care. Why?”
“I was just thinking that I’d like to have a party for her birthday. Nothing fancy. Just cake with Sarah and Frank’s family after Sunday dinner. I’ve made her a new doll and thought to give it to her then.” She paused and laid her hand on his chest. “Every child should have happy memories to help them through the bad times. Rachel’s experienced too many terrible memories for such a little girl. I want to give her some happy ones.”
Nathan hesitated before answering. He’d tried for weeks to get her to tell him about her past. Maybe this time she would. “Did you have happy memories to help you though your bad times, darlin’?”
“When I was about Rachel’s age, my parents had a wonderful party for me. I remember the house full of people, lots of laughter, presents and a beautiful cake. Whenever things got really rough…” She hesitated, then continued with a slight catch in her voice. “One of my favorite gifts from my parents was a book of children’s rhymes. My aunt took it away from me right after I went to live with her, but I had already memorized it. The poems helped me endure the isolation. I’d quote them to myself and I wouldn’t feel so lonely, because it was something from my parents.”
“How were you isolated?” He kept his voice neutral so as not to push her too hard.
“Oh, just being away from people, missing my parents. You know, being lonely.” She gently ran her fingers through the hairs on his chest.
Just being away from people. She’s not telling me everything. Time to try a new tack. “I did the same thing when I went to war.”
“You did?” Her hand stilled its movement, her fingers warm against his skin.
He laid his hand over hers, lightly caressing her fingers with his. “Despite our bravado, Micah and I were still barely out of the schoolroom when we joined the First Virginia Regiment. We’d both grown up hunting with our fathers, so we knew how to handle our weapons, but we’d never been around cannon fire or shot at another human before. That first battle scared me so bad everyone probably heard my knees knocking together.”
“What happened?” Her fingers lightly stroked the hairs on his chest again.
“I realized it was shoot or be killed. I believed I was defending my homeland, so I tried not to think about the men I was shooting as men, but as targets.” For the first part of the War it actually worked. He’d force every thought of humanity out of his mind, aim and squeeze the trigger.
Her hand stilled on his chest once more. “So you became accustomed to fighting and killing?”
“For a while. Then one day, we were in a battle and I chased down this Yankee solider as he fled the battlefield. He stumbled to the ground in front of me. He’d already been shot in the gut. I lifted my rifle to shoot him again and then I saw his face. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old. Just a boy.”
He could still see the boy’s face. Tears making tracks through the dirt and soot, fear and pain in his red-rimmed eyes. One hand held up in a plea for mercy, the other trying to stem the blood pouring from the wound in his belly.
A shudder ran t
hrough her. “What did you do?”
He pulled her tighter against him, running his other hand through her hair. “The only thing I could do. He was dying already and completely unarmed. I helped him into the shelter of some trees near a creek. I gave him some water, then held him in my arms until he took his last breath.”
She laid her hand over his heart. “Oh, Nathan.”
“It was the first time I’d seen a person die such a violent death.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. He hadn’t thought about that boy since he walked out of that copse of birches and he hadn’t told another living soul what he’d done. But he hadn’t told her the story to garner sympathy. “Have you ever seen anyone die like that?”
“Once, a long time ago.”
He waited, hoping, praying she’d tell him about the senator’s murder.
She remained silent.
He brushed his knuckles softly against her cheek. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head and pulled away. “I can’t.”
“Maybe you should. I felt better telling you about that boy.”
“I just can’t, Nathan. Please don’t ask me to.” She turned on her side. “I’m tired. I think the baby and I need to sleep now.”
He ran his hand over his face then stared out into the moonlit night. Danger stalked his family and he was powerless to do anything to stop it. If she didn’t confide in him soon, he’d have to force the story out of her. And if he did that, he’d just as likely drive her from their home.
* * * * *
Laura mopped at the sweat dripping off her brow from the combined heat of the Indian summer and the stove. “I’d hoped it would’ve cooled off before we had to do all this canning.”
Sarah lifted the jars from the hot water with a towel and set them on the table to dry on the towels Laura had laid out. “It’ll get cold quick enough up here. Then you’ll be wishing for these hot days.”
“Remind me then how hot I was now.” Laura ladled the blanched green beans into the jars, steam rising off the cooked vegetables. She stepped back and fanned herself with an old newspaper. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hot or miserable in my life.”
“That’s coz you’ve never been carrying before. Babies make you burn hotter than a blacksmith’s forge.” Sarah laughed and went back to cutting corn from the cob. “Come winter you’ll be glad we put all these vegetables up.”
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