0764214101

by Tracie Peterson

  Jimmy looked to Miss Lillian.

  The doctor chuckled. “It’s okay. You can just whisper. I don’t want you talking too much the next few days, but it won’t hurt you.”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  Miss Lillian touched the doctor on the arm and whispered, “He hasn’t spoken aloud since his mother died.”

  The doctor nodded and looked back at Jimmy. “That’s all right. You just rest, and I’ll make sure that Miss Porter knows exactly what you need.” The man took Miss Lillian by the arm and walked her out of the room.

  “I’ll be back in just a minute,” she called over her shoulder.

  Jimmy wanted her to stay. He didn’t like being alone. All the happenings of the past few days came back to him. Church, visiting Mama’s grave, their picnic, and then the bad man coming back. Jimmy shivered and closed his eyes. He had hoped so much that the bad man was dead.

  “Is something bothering you, son?” Pastor Seymour’s voice came from the corner.

  Jimmy opened his eyes and saw him.

  The reverend stood and came to his side. “I’m here if you need me, son.” The man grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Why don’t we pray?”

  For several minutes the nice minister prayed for Jimmy to heal and for everything to go well so that he could go home and be with his family right away. But Jimmy prayed a little differently. God was the only One who knew the truth. The only One who could protect them all from the bad man.

  God knew the words that Jimmy couldn’t say and why he couldn’t say them.

  Lillian stood outside the doctor’s office and breathed in the fresh evening air. The heat had been so intense for weeks, it was nice to feel a cool breeze tonight. The sun had long set, but there was still light to enjoy the evening. Lots of people were out and about in town, and she found the noise and ruckus made her long for the quiet of the farm. But the doctor assured her that after a night or two she’d be able to bring Jimmy home to finish his recovery. His fever had already diminished, and he’d had several sips of water before falling back asleep.

  She stretched her limbs one more time and prayed that Woody would make it back into town soon. As she turned to go back into the clinic, the reverend was coming out.

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll head on home now. My wife is used to me disappearing, but she’ll start to worry if I don’t show up for supper.”

  “Thank you, pastor. I can’t tell you how much it meant to have you here today.”

  “If you need me, just send someone for me.” He tipped his hat to her. “I’ll keep praying.”

  “Thank you.”

  The man left, and as she watched him walk away, a wagon came barreling down the street. Reverend Seymour stopped.

  Lillian raced down the stairs. “Woody!”

  He climbed down from the wagon and caught her as she jumped into his arms and hugged him tight. “I’m so glad you made it!” Her words rushed out. “He’s going to be fine. Just fine. He had quinsy and had to have an operation to have his tonsils removed, but he’s already made it through the surgery just fine and he woke up and—”

  Woody’s hand came over her mouth. His mouth formed a grim line. “It’s Mrs. Goodman, Lillian. It’s not good.” He gently lowered her until her feet touched the ground again.

  Looking into his deep brown eyes, she shivered. Something shook her to the core. “What’s wrong?” She followed his gaze to the back of the wagon.

  Reverend Seymour looked over the side to where the older woman lay unnaturally still. “What happened?”

  Woody lowered his eyes to hers again. “I don’t know. I had come into town for tools and went back to the irrigation ditch to dig when John told me what had happened with Jimmy. I raced back to the house to get a fresh horse and to let Mrs. Goodman know that I had heard and was headed into town. When I got to the front door, it was standing wide open and she was collapsed at the top of the stairs.”

  “Oh no.” Lillian went to her friend. “Oh no. Mrs. Goodman . . .” Tears shook her frame. “Who would do this to you?”

  “I’ll tell you who did this!” The sheriff’s loud voice boomed across the street. He stomped toward them. “The same man who murdered his wife. I’d heard tell the Colton boy was in the clinic, and I came to see why. This is even worse than I thought!” Several men came to join them from across the street.

  The reverend came forward with his hands up. “Now, wait just a minute, sheriff. Mr. Colton did not kill his wife. And why would he bring Mrs. Goodman to the doctor for help if he was the one who did this to her?”

  “I don’t rightly know, reverend,” Hobart sneered, “but I don’t have the mind of a murderer. It’s all too clear what has happened here.” The man waved at the woman lying in the wagon. “Look at her bruised face! I’ll wager she’s been beaten just like Rebecca Colton, and by the same man.”

  The men behind him murmured as yet more people began to gather.

  The sheriff seemed to feed off the growing crowd. “What?” He got in Woody’s face. “Did you throw this one down the stairs, too? What’d you do to your boy?”

  Lillian pushed forward and stood between the sheriff and Woody. “How dare you? You don’t even have any proof! Mr. Colton had been in town buying tools needed for the farm when Jimmy got really sick. I brought Jimmy into town and Mrs. Goodman stayed to let Mr. Colton know what had happened.”

  “Exactly.” The sheriff nodded. “You weren’t there, so how would you know? Your testimony means nothing.”

  Woody seemed to be at his wits’ end. He pointed his finger right into the middle of the sheriff’s chest. “I didn’t hurt Mrs. Goodman, nor did I kill my wife.” He glanced around at the growing crowd. “I’m pretty much sick and tired of being accused of something I had no part in.”

  “Once again a woman in your household is beaten—maybe she’ll even die,” Hobart countered. “That seems too much for coincidence.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Woody all but growled. “I think you probably hit the nail on the head when you said the same man who murdered my wife did Mrs. Goodman this harm. But I’m not that man.” He leaned closer to the sheriff. “Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you just fine, but I don’t believe you.” Calls of support for the sheriff came from the crowd.

  Lillian couldn’t help but wonder where Woody’s friends were. Why was no one there to lend him support?

  “I don’t much care what you believe,” Woody said. “I didn’t do anything to hurt either woman.”

  “Do you have witnesses who can defend your innocence?” The sheriff crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Well?”

  Lillian couldn’t take any more. “What about the men who work for Mr. Colton? Have you talked to them? What if they saw something? They were there waiting to let Woody know about his sick son. Who just had surgery, I might add.” She placed her hands on her hips. Standing up to bullies seemed to be her new calling in life. “I won’t stand for you accusing a man falsely. And when Mrs. Goodman—who needs medical attention immediately—wakes up, I’m sure she will be able to clear it all up.”

  “It’s all right, Lillian. You don’t have to fight this battle for me.” Woody looked at her for a long moment and then turned back to the sheriff. “Now, I suggest you get out of my way so I can get Mrs. Goodman the help she needs.”

  The sheriff didn’t move. “Or what? You gonna beat me up, too?” Someone in the crowd had the audacity to laugh out loud. Others just encouraged the sheriff to arrest Woody right then and there.

  The doctor came out of the clinic. “What is going on here?” He spotted the wagon and Mrs. Goodman. “Good grief, men! Get this woman inside.” He turned to the sheriff. “I suggest you get rid of this crowd now, Sheriff Hobart.”

  The lawman turned to Woody. “We’re not finished yet.”

  The crowd roared in approval.

  Lillian stood her ground and stared the man down. “We’ll be in the clinic, sheriff. I suggest you do your job and
go find who almost killed my friend!”

  The hours passed in a slow torture of waiting. Woody watched his son sleep and prayed for Mrs. Goodman. The woman had been there for him for years. She was family. How did this happen? Again! Whoever beat Mrs. Goodman must’ve been the one who killed Rebecca. Woody didn’t know how to prove it, but in his gut he knew it was true.

  He clenched and unclenched his fists. If he didn’t get ahold of his anger, who knew what he would do? And that wouldn’t be good. Jimmy needed him. The farm needed him. Lillian and Mrs. Goodman needed him. If only that rat of a sheriff would do his job and find the real criminal. Why were the men of this town allowing someone to terrorize their women?

  Lillian paced the floor across the room, her hands folded in front of her face and her lips moving but no words coming out. She must be praying, too.

  He stood and was drawn to her. Touching her shoulder, he waited for her to open her eyes. “Why don’t we pray together?”

  Tears streaked down her cheeks. She nodded, “I’d like that very much.”

  Beside Jimmy’s bed, Woody took Lillian’s hands in his. His heart lurched and his stomach churned as he fought the anger and the grief. “Father, right now we come to You a mess. Lord, You know I’m dealing with my anger, and I need Your help. Thank You for bringing Jimmy through surgery and for Lillian having the wisdom to bring him in to the doctor when she did.” He swallowed back the tears. “Thank You for my boy, Lord. Help him to heal completely. But right now we are hurting and grieving for Mrs. Goodman, too. She looked really hurt. Please help the doctor to know what to do and Lord . . . please . . .”—he sniffed—“please heal her. She means so much to this family, and she’s just an innocent woman caught in the middle of something awful. I ask, Lord, no, I’m pleading with You, that You would bring the truth to light. I ask all these things in Jesus’ name.”

  Lillian’s soft voice washed over him then. “Father, thank You so much for bringing Jimmy this far. Please heal him totally. I pray that You would also help him talk again. We don’t know what’s holding him back, but, Lord, You do. I also come to You now, Lord, on behalf of Woody. He’s had to bear so much heartache and shame and lies and gossip because of all this. Please help this town and everyone around here and especially the sheriff to see the truth. We need to find the killer, Lord. And that man needs You. Because we know we’d all be in the same boat if it weren’t for You. I pray that You would heal Mrs. Goodman and that You would turn this town around for Your glory. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.”

  When he opened his eyes, she was staring at him with her big green eyes. Her long dark hair had come loose from the pins, and even though it was disheveled, it was natural and beautiful. She didn’t release his hands, and he was glad. Something in that moment cracked the shell around his heart. He felt closer to God, and he felt drawn to Lillian. And it didn’t hurt to feel drawn to her. There was no guilt and no heartache. Only joy and hope.

  The doctor cleared his throat at the doorway. “I’d like to speak to you both about Mrs. Goodman.”

  Lillian didn’t jump back in shock or pull away from him in fear. Instead, she held on to one of his hands, and they followed the doctor down the hall together. When they reached another room, he held out his hand for them to enter.

  He followed them in and sat down. “Woody, I’m glad you got her here when you did. The poor woman has six broken ribs, and one was perilously close to puncturing her lung. In fact, it’s a miracle that both her lungs weren’t punctured from these injuries.”

  “Will she make it?” He felt his voice crack on the question.

  The older man rubbed his neck. “I can’t say for certain, but the chances are good.” He looked down at his hands. “Once we get past the first few days. She’s got the broken ribs, a broken leg, and a broken arm and collarbone. The bruising is substantial over her whole body, and there are lacerations on her back, but miraculously there seems to be no head trauma other than that bruise on her cheek. The attacker probably slapped her.”

  “It looked like he tried to strangle her, too,” Woody added. “I saw marks on her neck.”

  The doctor nodded. “I saw them, too, but it doesn’t appear the man caused much damage. He didn’t crush the windpipe. Maybe he heard someone coming and stopped. Hopefully she wasn’t long without air. We should know in a few days. I’m giving her some medicine to see that she rests without pain.”

  “But we need for her to tell us who did this.” Lillian stepped forward. “I don’t want her to hurt, but neither do I want them to take Woody to jail for something he didn’t do.”

  The doctor looked at her and then turned his focus to Woody. “I believe you when you say you had nothing to do with this, but Mrs. Goodman is in no shape to be questioned. It’s going to have to wait. I’ll let the sheriff know that, too.”

  Woody ran his hand through his hair. “Is there anything we can do?”

  The doctor shrugged. “She will be in a great deal of pain for several weeks. That will be the hardest. And then the lack of mobility will frustrate her, I’m sure. As long as there hasn’t been any major internal bleeding, I think she will recover. But again, it will take a great deal of time.”

  Woody leaned in and touched his housekeeper’s hand. “She’s a fighter. I know that. Do whatever it takes. I’ll pay you whatever it costs.”

  The doctor shook his head. “I’m not worried about money right now. For the time, our challenge will be to get her past these first few days.”

  Woody looked back to the doctor. “You said, once we get past the first few days. Exactly what did you mean?”

  The doctor sighed and his brow furrowed. “There’s so much we don’t know about the brain. As I said, I couldn’t find any apparent trauma to the head, but she appears to be comatose—whether that is from the intense amount of pain she is enduring or from the physical trauma to her body, I don’t know. As I mentioned, I will keep her medicated to keep her from as much pain as possible, but we also want her to regain consciousness. That is very important. If she doesn’t wake up in the next few days, I will be less optimistic about the outcome.”

  Lillian put a hand to her mouth and sobbed.

  Woody pulled her into his arms and looked at the doctor. “Thank you, doctor. I’m so sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”

  The man nodded.

  Woody nodded as well. “And thank you for all you’ve done for my son and for Mrs. Goodman. She’s an important part of our family.”

  The doctor rubbed his neck. “If you’ll excuse me, I am going to try to get some rest. My quarters are just upstairs, so please ring the bell if you see that either of the patients needs anything. I would ask that someone stays with each of them, as these next few hours are crucial.”

  Lillian took a deep breath and faced the doctor. “Thank you, sir. We can trade off. I’d like to stay with Mrs. Goodman for a bit if that’s all right.”

  The doctor touched her shoulder. “Keep talking to her. It might help her wake up.”

  She nodded and the doctor left.

  Woody still had his arm draped around her shoulders and didn’t want to leave her, but he knew it was what they needed to do. “Will you be all right?”

  She sniffed and wiped at her cheeks. “Yes. I just need to pull myself together. I was so worked up over Jimmy earlier and now Mrs. Goodman. I think my emotions are catching up with me.”

  “That’s understandable.” He squeezed her shoulder again. “I’ll be right down the hall if you need me.”

  Woody dreaded leaving her, but he ached to see his son again. The morning, he feared, would bring his toughest day yet. The sheriff wanted to blame him not only for beating Mrs. Goodman but also for killing his wife. And the townspeople seemed riled up enough to become a lynch mob.

  As he sat beside his son’s bed, he brushed the light brown hair off the boy’s forehead. God had given him so much. There was a time, even recently, when Woody was too tired to fight. He’d been ready to g
ive up. His grief and burdens too much to bear. But things were different now.

  He didn’t know how God would do it, but Woody knew that He could. The storm might be coming, but if he could weather it, there just might be something beautiful on the other side.

  He hoped and prayed that it would be so.

  Glancing out the window, he saw the sun coming up. Lord, the only way I’m going to make it through this is with Your strength. I don’t have it. Please help us all. . . .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Banging in the distance brought Lillian out of a deep sleep. Who was knocking? Where was she? As she sat up, the events of the past day collided with her brain. She stretched and looked at Mrs. Goodman. The woman hadn’t moved at all.

  Lillian leaned in and kissed the older woman’s cheek. “I love you, dearie. I’ll be right back.”

  She attempted to smooth her dress, but it was a rumpled mess after the last day and night, and she really didn’t care. But the closer she got to the door, the more noise she heard. And it wasn’t a pleasant sound.

  The doctor was already there. With his hands out. “Now what seems to be the problem? I’ve got patients in here who need their rest to recover, and your ruckus is not helping the situation.”

  Lillian came up behind him and watched the sheriff strut up the steps. “I’m here to arrest Mr. Woody Colton.”

  She burst forward. “On what charges?”

  “Attempted murder and murder!”

  The crowd roared with voices and cheers.

  She shook her head and crossed her arms. “This is ridiculous, sheriff, and you know it.”

  “I know no such thing, young lady. Now, I did what you suggested and interviewed Mr. Colton’s men.” He waved his arm.

  Lillian watched as Sam, Miguel, and the others came forward. “Good.”

  “And with their testimony, I’m here to arrest Mr. Colton.”

  “What?” She couldn’t believe this man. She wanted to wring his neck but knew that wasn’t a very Christian thought.