Miss Zimmer scorched her maid with a glare then turned her incendiary gaze back on him. He should go. Although he hated to leave his patient so soon, he’d done all he needed to do for now. “Make sure Abel stays in bed for the next few weeks, and give him that dose of laudanum like I explained earlier. No walking or standing until I give permission. Woodson, let’s get Abel back inside where he’ll be more comfortable.”
“We don’t need help from a Bishop.” Miss Zimmer nudged her chin toward the trail, her meaning evident.
Reed strode forward, stopping a few feet in front of her, and met her eye for eye. She had to tilt back her head to keep her glare locked onto his. He’d never noticed before the extraordinary length of her ebony lashes or that her eyes were so black the pupil and iris all but melded together. A strip of paler skin at the base of her neck moved as she swallowed hard—the only indication that he had any effect on her. He longed to slide his finger across her skin and see if it was as soft as he expected. He stepped back, and swallowed, too. “I’ll. . .uh. . .be back tomorrow—to check on my patient.” He nodded to Woodson and Betsey then marched around Miss Zimmer and strode past the barn. Now where had that boy put his horse?
“Don’t come back, Bishop.” Miss Zimmer’s harsh words snapped at his heels like a pesky terrier. “We Zimmers tend our own.”
Six
Reed marched back to the front of the barn, searched for his horse, and found him roped to a post near the water trough. Emotions battered him from all sides, like a rudderless ship tossed about on stormy waters. Anger swelled, but as it receded, guilt gnawed at him. Carina Zimmer had a right to be angry at him for all the pain he’d caused, but that didn’t mean she could deny her servants proper medical treatment, especially when there were precious few surgeons willing to treat slaves.
He tossed the blanket onto the horse’s back then set the saddle down and cinched it. His mother had ordered the saddle specially made with leather straps to hold his medical bag, but Reed didn’t bother attaching it. Mounting in one swift movement, he just wanted to get away before he stormed back and said something to that irritating woman that he might regret.
The trail that led back to the road didn’t just look shabby now. Instead it sent a message: stay away. Ride on past, and don’t stop here. You’re not welcome.
He drew in a breath through his nose and exhaled. What kind of life had Miss Zimmer lived that would make her so closed off and bitter? He thought of the differences in the two neighboring estates. Reed Springs was probably five times larger and kept in immaculate condition. His estate radiated life, prosperity, and openness, while Tanglewood represented failure, struggles, and death.
A motion in front of him caught his eye. A buggy turned the corner and approached, carrying his mother, and behind it rode the Zimmers’ man, Enoch. Miss Zimmer was in no mood for visiting, and he wasn’t about to let that snippety woman lambast his well-meaning, kindhearted mother.
The buggy slowed and stopped. Reed didn’t recognize the driver—a young man of about thirteen—but there was something familiar about him. Hadn’t his mother said the boy’s name was Charley?
His mother tilted back her head and peered out from under the brim of her bonnet. A wide blue ribbon, the color of the sea, wrapped around the hat and was tied in a huge bow beneath her chin. His mother always did love her bonnets. She smiled, and he remembered all the lonely nights in Scotland when he’d longed to see her face again. Nobody except for his heavenly Father loved him like his mother. “Are you finished already, son? The injury must not have been as bad as Enoch indicated.”
“The man’s leg was fractured. I splinted it.”
His mother lifted her gloved fingertips to her lips. “Oh, the poor dear. When you come back to check on the man, you can bring Carina some of my willow-bark tea. That will ease the pain some.”
“Miss Zimmer isn’t receptive to receiving help from us Bishops. It’s best you just turn around and head back home, Mother.”
She pinched her lips as if tasting something sour then shook her head. “No, Carina is just upset at seeing you again after what you did, but she’ll let me help her.”
Reed stiffened. “After what I did?”
His mother glanced at the youth beside her. “You know.”
Leaning forward, he met her gaze. “That was all Johan’s doing. I had no intention of shooting him.”
The boy’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Reed’s midsection, as if looking for a weapon.
“But you did, and it cost Carina her brother. Surely you can understand how seeing you again is upsetting her. She just needs time.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “You should have stopped me from coming over if you knew that to be the case.”
A gentle smile lifted her lips. “There’s no stopping you when you’ve made up your mind.”
❧
Reed stood on the piazza and watched a rabbit hopping from one spot in the lustrous grass to another. It paused, lifted up its head, and looked around, then dipped its head and came up chewing. It hopped to another spot and did the dance all over again. Such a serene scene.
A yawn slipped out. He leaned his weight against the railing and looked to the east, where the Zimmer plantation resided two miles away. Had Abel slept any better than Reed? Was that stubborn Miss Zimmer up yet? It was common knowledge that many Southern belles stayed up late at night when the temperatures were cooler then slept late into the morning, but he couldn’t imagine Carina Zimmer enjoying such luxuries.
He sipped his lukewarm tea, trying to decide whether to ride over to Tanglewood or not. The doctor in him felt the need to check on his patient, but he also ought to honor Miss Zimmer’s request to stay off her land.
Long lashes and fiery eyes had invaded his dreams the night before. He heard her screams over and over as her brother fell to the ground, bleeding. He saw the blood on the man’s shirt as he all but ran from the scene. Rubbing his arm where Johan’s shot had grazed it, he relived that horrible day. He hadn’t wanted to shoot but had reacted and accidentally pulled the trigger. Intentional or not, the result was the same. A young man had died at his hand.
A knock sounded on his bedroom door. He turned and padded into the room, noticing a young Negro servant waiting in the hall. Her yellow dress reminded him of the one that Miss Zimmer had worn at the ball, except the fabric of this dress was stiff with newness and vivid in color. Why would such a thing sadden him?
He lifted his brows. “Yes? Tansy, isn’t it?”
The young woman nodded but kept her head down, revealing the floral pattern of her multicolored head scarf. “Miz Bishop wants to know if’n you is gonna eat breakfast downstairs with her or in yo’ room.”
“Tell her I’ll be right down.”
Tansy gave a quick shake of her head, a brief curtsy, and scurried away. Reed grinned. His being home had set on edge the newer staff, although those servants who had been around most of his life seemed delighted to have him home again.
He dropped into a rococo side chair, pulled on his boots, then jogged down the stairs. His mother was already seated, sipping her tea. Her gaze snapped to his as he crossed the room, and she smiled warmly. “Good morning, son.”
She stared at him as if unable to tear her gaze away. “I’m still getting used to your being home. Sometimes I declare it must be a dream. I missed you so much.” She blinked her eyes as if to stem tears.
“So did I.” He cleared the tightness from his throat, pulled out the chair at the head of the table, and sat.
“You missed yourself?” She giggled and covered her mouth.
“What? Oh.” Reed grinned. “No, Mama, I missed you.”
She hid her smile with a sip of tea. Tiny lines crinkled in the corner of her eyes. Sparse webs of gray spread from her temple back to where they disappeared among the darker strands of her hair, which had been plaited, curled, and pinned perfectly on the back of her head. His mother’s hair lay flat against her head, and not a s
ingle strand dared to poke up its head for fear of being snipped off. Such a contrast to Miss Zimmer, whose hair reminded him of the fuzzy-haired Scottish sheep.
His mother tapped her fingernail against her saucer, making a tiny clinking sound. “What are your plans now that you’ve returned home?”
Reed stared into his teacup. He’d contemplated the same thing many times. Should he move to Charleston and set up a practice or remain on the plantation where he’d have less opportunity to tend the sick and injured but would be near his mother? “I honestly don’t know.”
“I’m sure you want to serve as a surgeon, but I’d love to see you take over the operations of the plantation. It is your inheritance, after all.”
Reed pursed his lips. The plantation had always been the one bone of contention between his mother and him, ever since his father passed on. He loved his home, but becoming a planter had never been his dream. All his life he’d cared for injured animals. Training to be a surgeon had been the realization of his biggest dream. “Harley seems to have things under his control. Reed Springs has fared well these years I’ve been gone, hasn’t it?”
She nodded, but it was obvious that his response didn’t please her. “That’s true, but Harley is just a hired man, not an actual owner.”
Reed caught his mother’s gaze. Her brown eyes conveyed the turmoil going on inside her. Why couldn’t she understand his need to ease people’s suffering and mend their wounds? Why must the plantation always come between them? “You asked what I intended to do, Mother.” He broke her gaze, unable to see the hurt in hers, and stared out the open window. “I’d like to find a spot of land closer to the main road and build a clinic.”
She sucked in a breath but didn’t say anything.
Could she not see that even this was a compromise for him? If he lived in Charleston or another town, he’d see a number of patients daily. By living at Reed Springs, he’d be close to her and could share most meals, but he’d never have the patient traffic he would in a city.
Footsteps sounded in the entry, and the footman cleared his throat. The man held a silver tray with a missive on it in one hand. Reed’s mother slowly turned her head as if it were an effort. Knowing he disappointed her weighted down Reed’s shoulders as if he were carrying a hundred-pound sack of rice.
“What is it, Jarrod?”
“A letter has arrived for Mr. Bishop, ma’am.”
Reed’s gaze jerked to the silver tray. Had the invitations to balls already begun to arrive? He had dreaded attending one, ever since the duel.
“You may bring it to Reed.”
The footman nodded and strode forward, stopping on Reed’s left. He held out the tray, Reed took the sealed note, and the footman left the room. A scrolling Z had been pressed into the wax seal. He searched his mind, trying to think of a friend or acquaintance whose last name started with a Z, but nothing came to mind.
“Well, are you going to stare at that note all morning?”
Reed slid his index finger under the flap and popped the wax seal loose. The terse note chilled him as much as if he’d fallen in the river in midwinter.
“What does it say? Bad news, from the look on your face.”
He scanned the message again. Surely he’d misread it:
I challenge Reed Bishop to a duel at dawn, two days hence, at the dock at Tanglewood.
Carina Zimmer
Seven
Reed hunkered low as the wind and horse’s mane whipped his face. The animal’s hooves thundered down the dirt road toward Tanglewood. He had decided to abide by Miss Zimmer’s wishes and stay off her land, but her ridiculous challenge had changed his mind. Had the woman no sense at all?
Who would care for her father or her plantation or her slaves if something happened to her? Did she honestly think she had a chance shooting against a man who was an expert shot?
Not that he liked shooting, but his father had taken pride in his natural ability. It never mattered to his father that it cut Reed to the quick to kill an animal they needed for food. The family had to survive, his father always said, and a man had to provide for his family. He was much relieved when Harley had suggested raising beef. Reed had always made sure to be in Charleston or away some other place when it was time for slaughtering. He didn’t want to seem lily-livered, but he couldn’t bear to witness such an event.
His mount galloped down the lane toward the Zimmer home. He’d say his piece to Miss Carina Zimmer, check on his patient, then leave this run-down joke of a plantation.
As he neared the house, he reined in his horse and dismounted while the gelding was still walking. He dropped the reins, knowing the animal wouldn’t go far, and climbed the steps two at a time. Reed pounded on the front door so hard it hurt his fist. When no answer came, he rapped on it with his other hand, just a bit more gently.
The door finally jerked open, and Betsey stood there with wide eyes. “Great day in the morning!” She glanced over her shoulder then back at him. “What you doin’ here, Doctah Boss?”
Reed’s anger dimmed at her uncouth greeting. And Dr. Boss? Where had she come up with that nomenclature? He shook off any traces of humor and reminded himself of Miss Zimmer’s challenge. “I need to see your mistress.”
Betsey’s head swiveled back and forth. “Huh-uh. No, you don’t.”
Reed lifted a brow, more than a little surprised that Betsey would correct a visitor. A smidgen of fear passed through the slave’s eyes, sending instant regret coursing through him.
“Miss Zimmer, she don’t want to see you, sir. You bein’ a Bishop an’ all.”
“I can’t help who I am. I need to speak with her.”
Betsey pressed her lips together and peeked behind her again. The heavyset woman shifted from foot to foot, obviously uncertain as to what to do.
Reed decided to let her off the hook. “I’ll go check on Abel. Maybe you could let Miss Zimmer know that I’m here and would like to talk to her.”
She bobbed her head up and down, her relief evident. “I can do that, sir. Mmm-hmm, I can.”
He spun around and crossed the yard, having no doubt that once Carina Zimmer learned he was there, she’d come to chase him away like a hound dog after a rat. He wished he hadn’t run off in such a rush and had thought to grab his medical bag.
Reed halted at the open door of Abel’s cabin. Knocking at a slave’s door felt odd, but barging on in didn’t sit right with him, either. He stood staring at the opening a moment then looked around for Woodson. At this hour, the man was most likely out in the fields. No one else was around, either. Reed sighed.
“C’mon on in, whoever is out there.” Abel’s faint voice drifted out the door.
Reed stepped inside. “How are you doing today?”
“Better’n yesterday.” Abel chuckled then groaned.
Smiling, Reed crossed over to the man’s bedside. He checked his pulse—strong enough—and felt the man’s forehead. Thank the good Lord there was no fever. “How is the pain?”
“Well, it’s there, but not so bad if’n I swallow that nasty med’cine.”
Feeling more confident that the man would survive, Reed relaxed. He checked to make sure the splint had hardened as he’d hoped. “Just make sure that you stay off that leg. No standing or working for a while.”
Abel pursed his lips. “I can sit and mend tack and stuff. Maybe make some nails.”
Reed shook his head. “Not this week. I want you flat on your back. I’ll check again in a few days, and if you’re still doing well, we’ll try sitting you up. You’ll probably be dizzy as long as you’re taking the laudanum, but you need it until the pain in your leg dulls.”
Abel scowled.
“I’ll talk with Miss Zimmer to make sure she understands why it’s important that she not push you to work more than I say you can.”
The old man’s gaze shot to his. “Miz ’Rina, she won’t hardly let me work the ways things were. A man’s gotta work, Doctah Boss.”
Reed tried no
t to smile at the second use of the odd nickname. One of the slaves must have referred to him by that name, and the others had picked up on it. He squatted down to be on Abel’s level. “A man needs to be able to walk to do most chores. You can best serve Miss Zimmer by getting well, and if you want to walk again, you need to follow my instructions.”
Abel worked his mouth as if to say something but simply nodded. He yawned and closed his eyes. Reed stood and tiptoed out of the warm cabin. The cooler breeze instantly refreshed him. He glanced down the row of ten slave cabins, noting that of all the buildings he’d seen so far at Tanglewood, surprisingly they were in the best condition. The wood had not yet faded completely, and though they were not as nice as the two-room cabins with lofts that the Reed Springs servants lived in, they were by far better than most slave quarters. Few that he’d seen on other plantations even had furniture. It would seem that Miss Zimmer took better care of her slaves than she did herself. In spite of her challenge to a duel, that thought elevated his opinion of her. He still didn’t agree with owning slaves, but hers were healthy, well fed, and well cared for. Quite the dichotomy.
He strode back past the barn, where several slats had fallen loose and lay on the ground. The odor of manure and hay emanated from the building. He picked up a board and studied it. The plank was still of fair quality and could be reused if a man had a nail and hammer.
His horse grazed contentedly near the paddock, and since no one was about, Reed walked into the barn and looked around. This place was not neat and orderly as his barn was. Instead of the tools being hung up in a tack room, racks, shovels, and hay forks lay dumped together in a heap. A few bridles hung by nails on one wall, and just two saddles set on lopsided racks.
The compact gray horse stuck its pretty head over the stall gate and whickered to him. He crossed over to it and scratched its head. “Well. . .good morning.”
The horse nudged his hand as if asking for more attention. He ran his gaze along its shoulder, back, and rump. Other than being on the thin side and having its right front cannon wrapped, the animal looked fairly healthy.
Dueling Hearts Page 5