Unbroken Hearts

by Anna Murray

  Yours,

  Doctor Jedediah A. Rutherford

  Jed’s bloodshot eyes danced across the scrawl as he checked his spelling. Satisfied, he blotted and signed the letter, reached into a drawer, and pulled out an envelope. Then he loped over to his bed, leaned across it, and recovered his boots from the side near the window, where they’d fallen when his exhausted body hit the hay the previous evening. He sat and tugged them on and ran a hand over the stubble covering his jaw. He decided he’d shave when he got back from his errand.

  After a few moments Jed checked to make sure the ink was dry. Satisfied with his correspondence, he folded it into the envelope and walked down the stairs, past the bright examining room, and into the street.

  The doctor’s little clapboard house wore the dubious distinction of being the last on the edge of town. The location provided him privacy, and a healthy walk to the Main Street. Jed loved his quiet surgery and home; the place billowed with air whenever he opened the windows. This was vital, it was the key to good health. Jed’s patients recovered more quickly when exposed to clean, crisp breezes.

  On this spring day Jed’s long, purposeful stride ate up the dirt; his thick brown hair flew from his blue eyes and angular face as he made for Watkin’s General Store.

  His walk took him by the jail, and Roy Easton, the town sheriff, paced back and forth on the boardwalk. Jed quickened his step and saluted him stiffly.

  “Roy.”

  The sheriff touched his hat brim and squinted. He’d recognized Jed at a hundred paces; Roy Easton was one of the few tall men who could face Jed straight on. “Rutherford,” he snapped. “What good fortune brings your path across mine today?”

  “Posting a letter. I’m sending for a mail-order doc to join my practice.” He slowed his pace but kept walking.

  “You don’t say?” Easton grimaced. “About time you had assistance.”

  “We’re down to three with measles, but I don’t want to go it alone the next time. I’m on my way to check on Hunt’s brood after I stop at Watkins.” He smiled tightly.

  “Good luck.” The sheriff settled a hand on his wide gun belt.

  “Right. Give my best to your brother, Cal, and his wife, Sarah.” Jed called back as he strode further away and out of conversation distance. It paid to be cautious around Roy Easton. A former cowboy and the silent partner at the Mineral Creek ranch, Easton was the one man in town who likely knew of Jed’s weakness, and it was downright uncomfortable to dwell on the possibility. Easton hadn’t fought in the War Between the States, but as a lawman he’d been down the trail and back. There wasn’t much that escaped his notice. It was even possible he suspected what sparked the letter. Jed had come close to losing a patient, due to being tired and stretched like a deer hide at the tanning. He barely dodged botching the case; the man had hung on in spite of him arriving late to the blood-letting.

  Cold, hard reality crashed into Jed. He was on the path to oblivion, and it was his duty to deal straight on with his condition.

  As he neared Watkins, Jed shoved a hand into his duster pocket. He fingered a surgical knife he found inside, and pushing the store door open with his shoulder, he strode over the plank floor. The place was empty but for Watkins obsessively wiping a rag over the counter. He glanced up, noting the condition of Jed’s cambric shirt, and grunted.

  “Doc. Can I steer you to buying new shirts?” He continued his cleaning.

  Jed wagged his head back and forth. “I have a letter to send.”

  Earl Watkins dropped the cloth to the counter. “It’ll go out with the two-ten rider.”

  “Very good. Put it on my account. Thank you, Earl.”

  Jed pulled the envelope from his pocket and passed it across the counter. Earl took the letter, scanned the address lines, and placed it a wooden box behind him.

  Relief washed over Jed as he retreated back to the street. Help was on the way. Doctor Cole would send a good man.

  Chapter 2

  May is the month for journeys, thought Hannah Sutton. She’d traveled up the Missouri river by steamboat, and now she rode in a lurching supply wagon to her final destination.

  Under a starry sky, Hannah inhaled the damp night air and began to wonder if she’d truly accepted the job.

  She told herself she was thrilled . . .

  She peered at the shadows dancing across the desolate landscape and hesitated briefly in her self-consolation.

  She was grateful . . . she was needed here . . .

  Hannah shifted on the hard seat as she tried to find something uplifting about this new life. She’d managed to find something special about each day for most of her twenty-six years, but now loneliness and frustration were closing in. She quickly turned her thoughts to the sick and injured, who needed her skills, and her lips curved upward. Doctor Rutherford would gain her hands and what she could give of her heart – to the work, of course. Her efforts would surely be appreciated.

  Hannah’s inescapable destination had been forged in a long ago conflagration. Her carefree years were taken before she celebrated her ninth birthday, but her father had worked tirelessly to ensure her education. He said nothing could steal a body’s book smarts and training.

  Now events moved at a blinding speed. She’d quickly penned notes to friends and family, and when Hannah embarked on the arduous journey she focused forward. She was driven to bury the past ever deeper; these measures of her life music were marked accelerando.

  Smiling softly, she touched the letter in her pocket, and recalled how she’d made her decision when she’d seen Rutherford’s hand on the thin letter paper. She imagined a firm confidence beneath the simple, bold strokes; such sure-footed script came from a man who led others, one who was intelligent and direct and honest.

  “Wounded Colt!” The wiry driver croaked in a raspy voice Hannah associated with a tobacco habit. The wagon yawed and creaked as it turned onto the town’s main street.

  Her heart aflutter with anticipation, Hannah swayed against the rocking motion and gripped the sideboard. Leaning forward, she squinted, hoping to see her new colleague. Alas, crickets and frogs formed the lone welcoming committee, and all were jumping away from the grinding wagon wheels. She knew Doctor Rutherford would be waiting for her along the main street, so she composed herself, smoothed her hair. Hannah would have to make the introductory remarks, as he’d be expecting a man. She furrowed her brow, searching for the right words to say in that first awkward moment. It wouldn’t be easy, but then nothing in her life had been easy since the fire.

  She was confident of one thing: It wasn’t likely anyone would remember gangly eleven-year-old Amy Sutton. She’d grown to full womanhood. Her curly chestnut hair had calmed to gentle waves. Her cheeks were no longer rosy childhood plump; her skin was soft ivory, her lips full. She’d reclaimed her Christian name on the day she’d taken her seat at college, the day she dedicated her life to the service of alleviating physical suffering and caring for others in need.

  Hannah reminded herself of the advantages of accepting the job in Wounded Colt. She knew well the liberation ladies enjoyed in the territories. Plucky Montana women didn’t have the burden of petticoats or corsets, and she was excited by the prospect of such freedoms. In warm weather she could wear a lighter skirt, something soft that wouldn’t brush her legs. Although they weren’t sore anymore, Hannah sometimes felt phantom pains, reminders of the scars of a lost childhood.

  Hannah took a deep breath and settled restless hands in her lap. Doctor Cole had approached her with this job offer because she was finishing her studies. She was ready for the next challenge. He told her he thought she’d find acceptance easier on the frontier. As one of less than a handful of women who’d been allowed into medical schools, Hannah had met with disbelief and distrust in her patients. Indeed, she’d sometimes felt these same sentiments from her own classmates. But this was Wounded Colt. She’d likely encounter minds as open as the sprawling range. She mustered her courage and determination to meet her
new partner.

  The driver slowed the horses to a plodding amble. Main Street was quiet, except for gusts of laughter drifting from the town’s saloon.

  “Whoa Pops, whoa Sam.” The driver pulled on the reins, and they halted.

  A single man stepped forward from the shadows.

  “Evenin’, Charles.”

  “Howdy, Roy.”

  The new stranger was tall and young and Hannah saw the outline of a gun belt riding low on his hips. Her heart lurched at the sight, but she relaxed when she made out a glinting star on his wool vest. A tentative smile played across her lips.

  The lawman’s gaze fell upon the lone passenger. “Well, now. Here’s a nice surprise. Howdy, Miss.” He doffed his hat and grinned. Then he barked up at the driver. “Where’s Rutherford’s bone healer?”

  “I’m the doctor.” Hannah summoned a wider smile and extended her hand, while putting the other into her pocket, ready to produce Dr. Rutherford’s letter as proof.

  The stranger named “Roy” dropped his jaw. “I’ll be. You’re the mail order?”

  “Doctor. Not a bride.” She regretted the words as soon as they slipped from her mouth. Her cheeks blazed.

  He raised an amused eyebrow. “Hmmm. Welcome, Miss, er, Doctor.” He offered a hand to assist in her debark from the high step. Hannah lit on the ground, but she was yet unsteady on her feet, so she leaned against the sheriff’s side.

  “I appreciate your hospitality, Mister. Where’s Doctor Rutherford?” She couldn’t hide her disappointment. Her thoughts suddenly ran to wild speculation. What if the doctor had fled the town? Perhaps a tragedy had befallen him. What if he’d died? Maybe outlaws attacked him or a rattlesnake bite did him in. Or, what if he’d changed his mind about needing help? She’d used all her money for the tickets, and he was supposed to pay her back when she arrived.

  “Don’t worry. Rutherford’s got a doctor’s excuse. He’s tending to Mrs. Carson,” the man named Roy explained. “Babies decide to arrive at the least convenient times. By the way, I’m Roy Easton, the law in this establishment.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Hannah Sutton. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her grey eyes blinked as she assessed the man more closely.

  Roy Easton lightly touched his hat brim. She saw his eyes flicker and his mouth tighten as his gaze moved down her skirt to her dusty boots. He was considering her unusual dress. Like Mary Walker, the Civil War surgeon, Hannah had taken to amputating her skirts slightly below the knee, and she wore men’s trousers beneath to cover her legs and ankles.

  Roy Easton ‘s warm smile met her pursed lips. “I can see you ain’t no greenhorn, Miss, I mean, Doctor Sutton. Rutherford asked me to show you up to his place and get you settled. You must be tired.”

  “That I am, Mr. Easton.”

  Hannah stepped to and fro, as she was still recovering her land legs. Charles and Roy moved to the rear of the wagon and slid off dirt-covered trunks. They carried the luggage into the jailhouse.

  “I’ll haul these up in a wagon tomorrow morning, if it suits you,” Roy grunted as he pushed the luggage through the door.

  “It’s fine. I only need the necessaries bag tonight.” Hannah locked a firm hand around a small case and waited on the boardwalk outside the jail entrance.

  The men finished the task and emerged from the office. Sheriff Easton grabbed a lantern from a post, and Charles climbed back into his seat and snapped the reins to move his rig down the street.

  The lawman turned to her and frowned. “You’re late.”

  “Yes sir. We ran into rain,” Hannah replied.

  “Rutherford didn’t mention he was expecting a pretty lady doctor.” His voice teased.

  “No. I don’t suppose he considered the possibility,” she murmured. “I pulled the short matchstick.” Hannah blushed, and she was grateful for the cover of darkness. Used to being alone and outcast, the feeling was magnified this night. The town was shuttered, and the man who was supposed to meet her was absent. He’d sent this proxy, but instead of a gruff sweat and tobacco trail man, which she would have preferred, this one was a charmer, and his flirtatious manner made her uneasy.

  Roy Easton leaned in to hear her. “That makes you a pioneer, and pioneers do well here,” he drawled. “I expect you’ll be a perfect mate for Rutherford.” He paused. “Professionally speaking, of course.”

  “Of course. Thank you for your confidence.”

  Her gaze ran over the broad-shouldered lawman. He was the picture of health, a pleasant aspect of this dingy street in the middle of a dreary night.

  The man’s eyes flickered recognition. “Did you say Sutton?”

  She studied the nick on his chin. “Yes.”

  He slid a finger up his neck and scratched under his broad-brimmed hat. “There was a Sutton family here when I was a kid. Their place burned, and they went back east. They lost a son in the fire, and another was burned as I recall, but she survived.”

  Hannah’s back stiffened, and her eyes narrowed.

  “You wouldn’t be related?”

  “It’s a common name.” She looked past his shoulder, anxious to change the topic of conversation.

  “Yes, I ‘spose. Josh and Amy,” he added. “Those were the kids. There was another girl, still in the cradle. I knew Josh. He’s up in the cemetery, God rest him.”

  She drew in a ragged breath. “Mr. Easton, as I said, I’m tired.” Her gray eyes misted, and she was thankful for the darkness a second time.

  “Of course, of course. Let’s get you to Doc’s.”

  He turned and walked with long purposeful strides. The tall shadows of false front buildings were a godsend; the sheriff didn’t notice as she brushed the tears away from her eyes.

  The five-minute hike to the little two-story house tucked down a side street gave enough time for Hannah to regain her composure.

  “Will his wife be there to meet us?”

  “Heh, that’s a good one,” he laughed. “Rutherford’s a bachelor. There’s little joy in his life.”

  “Oh.” Hannah had tried to envision him countless times on the journey, and she’d settled on conjuring up a man with a wife and children, a strong leader in the community. She’d imagined him welcoming her, not only as partner in practice, but also as family, folding her warmly into the household. In her fantasy his wife would come to be like a sister, and the children would love her like a dear aunt.

  “He has sisters or brothers?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh.” Her voice pitched lower.

  Easton heard her disappointment. “Don’t worry, he’s not eccentric. He’s social enough. I’ve seen him play hopscotch with the kids. Oh, you’ll get on with Rutherford. Everyone does. He’s a good doc who needs a partner, what with all the miners and ranchers coming in to these parts since the war. The ladies are fond of him.”

  “His letter lacked mention of himself. My mentor assumed he’d be married by now.”

  “Single women aren’t rushing out to the territories, Miss. Those that make the trip are a precious lot. A young woman looking for matrimony in Wounded Colt can have her pick of the herd, pardon my saying.”

  Hannah had no interest in marriage. Or, to be perfectly honest, she figured the institution had no interest in her. Marriage was not for offering a scarred body to a man, and therefore Hannah was not eligible. Not two years prior, her father’s business associate had shown a marital interest in her. Her father had taken him aside, and with Norwegian efficiency, Hannah’s suitor was swiftly passed to her sister.

  Hannah’s parents, and her father in particular, had worked hard to give her an education normally reserved for a son. She’d thrived on books and learning. It went unstated, but the message to her was clear: She was to be a work partner, not a bed partner.

  * * *

  When they arrived at Rutherford’s house the sheriff paused outside the door, pondering the doctor’s orders. He’d said the new man was to bunk in the kitchen, where a bed had been w
edged into a tight corner. However, as there was no privacy curtain, and no space for personal items, Roy decided this arrangement wasn’t proper for a pretty lady doctor.

  He shoved open the creaky door. “Doc isn’t much for house repairs,” he apologized over his shoulder.

  Hannah Sutton followed, declaring the place “nice” with a false brightness, even before he had a chance to fire up a lamp and show it off in dim light.

  Sheriff Easton grunted and tossed his hat on the table. He wiped his brow and ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. Over lighting the table lantern he thought about how he’d best change the sleeping arrangements.

  “You hear that?” He cocked an ear to the ceiling.

  “Hear what?” Hannah whispered.

  “Flapping. There’s, uh, a bat upstairs.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Blast.”

  A corner of his mouth turned up. “Dang Rutherford! He left the window open. Wait here Doctor, and I’ll go up to fetch the critter out.”

  The sheriff had decided to assign Hannah to Rutherford’s bedroom upstairs, and he had to play the charade to go up there and make sure things were in order. He lit another lamp and bounded up the narrow back steps to inspect the private space. The bed wasn’t made, and clothes were strewn about on the floor and across a chair. Roy grabbed the covers and pulled them up, smoothing the wool army blanket to remove lumps. Then he collected the clothes and stacked them in the hallway hamper. Tiny bottles and a few old photos littered a night table; Roy stacked them on a corner of the bureau. It wasn’t a proper clean up job, but he couldn’t delay much longer. He stomped and jumped and whooped a few times to pretend at bat catching.

  Roy stumbled down the steps, winded from his hasty housekeeping efforts. “I pushed the critter out the window,” he winked. “Your room is clear up there.”

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  Unbroken Hearts