THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy

by Susan Page Davis

  “Oh, I see. Actually, I hadn’t seen him after he received that wound until we met again on a stagecoach this spring.”

  “Ah. Then it’s as I thought—I shouldn’t take seriously his allegation that you are a dangerous woman.” The doctor winked at her and climbed into his buggy.

  Millie stood for a long moment staring after him, her hands on her hips. Of all the disgraceful nerve.

  David had found it hard to concentrate since the minister discussed Millie with him and told him that he believed her faith was genuine.

  “Trust her, and let God handle the rest,” Mr. Harden had said.

  It appeared that Millie was now trustworthy, so far as money and trinkets were concerned. But what of his heart? That was a different matter, and David had no intention of entrusting it to her again. Not that he had been so foolish on their first acquaintance—but if the truth were told, it was a near thing.

  Instead of the languid lady he’d met in Scottsburg, Oregon, or the shameless fraud, she was now a capable nursemaid and housekeeper. When he remembered her conduct after the stagecoach accident, David felt she should be made a brevet general for her valor in combat.

  But that did not mean he wanted to form a permanent attachment with her. In fact, he intended to send her off soon. Very soon. If only Dr. Lee weren’t so pessimistic. Surely he’d be able to fend for himself within a couple of weeks. He had made a joke of Millie’s ministrations when the doctor asked about their relationship. The physician only wanted reassurance that David had a competent attendant, he was sure, but the topic was a delicate one. Sooner or later, he had to face it head-on.

  The morning after Dr. Lee’s visit, after much thought, David summoned the innkeeper, Mr. Simmons.

  “How may I help you, Mr. Stone?” Simmons asked, approaching his bed with a smile that promised to meet any need—for a price.

  “I should like to know how much I owe you, sir.”

  Simmons told him the total. “Will you be leaving us soon, sir?”

  “No, not for at least two weeks, perhaps longer, but I’d like to keep my account short. Oh, and Mrs. Evans said she’s been paying for her own board and lodging?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Well, she’s been a great help to me, and I’d like to give you enough to bring my bill and hers up to date and pay for the next fortnight in advance. Is that amenable?”

  “Very much so.”

  David paid the man from his wallet, and a few minutes later Simmons left well content with his long-term guests.

  Millie, however, seemed far from pleased when she brought up his supper that evening.

  “Mr. Stone!”

  “Ah, Millie.” He’d loafed about all day and was tiring of his bed again. He nodded at the tray she carried. “Is that my supper?”

  “It is.”

  “I should like to sit in the chair to eat it, if you don’t mind.”

  She frowned but set the tray on top of the dresser. “I suppose you can, but when I say it’s time to retire, you must obey.”

  He laughed. “And now you’re my governess, it seems.”

  “Not I. Those are Doctor Lee’s orders. You must be cautious.”

  She brought his robe and crutches, and after a bit of exertion and fussing about his dressing gown, he made it into the chair.

  “Now, what is this about you paying my bill?” she asked.

  “It’s nothing. Bring the tray, please.”

  “Not until I hear a satisfactory answer. I am able to pay for my own expenses now, and you know it.”

  “How do I know it?” David asked.

  “Because I told you so.”

  “But you might have need of your earnings when you travel on to Philadelphia.”

  “Then I shall have to earn some more.”

  David sighed. “Don’t be difficult, Millie. Come now, I’m hungry. What’s on the menu tonight?”

  “A nice beefsteak, potatoes, squash, and some rather dry cornbread.” She made no move to retrieve the tray.

  “All right, going to be stubborn, are you?”

  “Difficult times call for extreme measures.”

  David threw his hands up in exasperation. “Difficult times? You think a disagreement with me is a dire situation?”

  “Indeed, sir.” She regarded him with steady green eyes. “Through all our acquaintance, I think we’ve managed to be civil to one another.”

  “That’s neither here nor there. You’re wearing yourself out, and I won’t have it.”

  “Oho.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Telling me what you will and won’t have, so far as my behavior is concerned.”

  He clenched his teeth, seeing that he must take a new tack. “Millie.”

  “Yes sir?”

  “It’s only that I don’t want you working day and night to earn your keep. You’ve been tending to me, and I’m happy to recompense you for your time and labor. You don’t need to take on these other exhausting jobs.”

  “But you are feeling better now, sir. You’ve said so yourself. And so you will be needing less care, am I right?”

  “Well, I hope that is true. I don’t need dosing so often, and I think I shall soon be dressing myself without assistance.”

  “So I shall be getting more rest,” Millie said. “I don’t mind earning an honest living.”

  “I didn’t say you should, madam.” Really, she was impossible. He’d tried to smooth her way, and she was taking offense.

  “Mr. Stone, I think we both agree that I should maintain my independence if I am able. You must admit that it was never your intention to support me.”

  He felt the blood rush to his face. “Well, no. Hardly.”

  “I rest my case, sir. And I shall be paying my own way from here on. I hope to earn enough by the time you’ve recovered to buy my own ticket to Philadelphia.” She picked up the tray and brought it to him.

  “I suppose everything is cold by now.” He picked up the napkin and spread it over his front.

  “Oh, and you’re going to get crotchety again?” She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Mr. Stone—”

  “Now, Millie, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’ve ‘Mr. Stoned’ me too many times. You told me recently to call you by your given name, and I believe I once asked you to use mine. So why can’t we be on equal footing?”

  She lowered her gaze, and her cheeks went pink. “That was a long time ago, sir.”

  “Yes, I suppose it was. But you don’t mind my calling you Millie.”

  “I thought it would be easier for you. More natural.”

  He thought about that, and he didn’t like the implications.

  “Oh. So you think I’m used to ordering servants about, is that it? You suppose I look on you as I would a scullery maid or an undercook?”

  “Well…” She turned away and spread up the covers on his bed.

  “I do not see you in that way, and if you insist on calling me ‘Mr. Stone,’ then I shall go back to ‘Mrs. Evans.’ ”

  “Whatever you wish. Now eat your supper, or it really will be cold.”

  “I don’t suppose…” He glanced toward the dresser.

  “What, you want me to read? We’ve finished The Black Tulip. I hoped to find a volume of Dickens at the ordinary, but the only one they had was David Copperfield, and you told me you’ve read that.”

  “Well, perhaps you could read me a chapter or two from the Psalms.”

  She froze for a moment, then nodded. “I shall be happy to.”

  She fetched his new Bible from the dresser—the one he’d bought in Oregon after she made off with the other—and drew a chair close.

  “Any special chapter?”

  “I’ve always been fond of the thirty-seventh.”

  She turned to it and read it with great spirit, as though giving a dramatic recitation. When she lowered the book, she sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever read that before. It’s lovely.”


  “Millie.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you take my Bible?”

  For a long moment, she was silent.

  “I don’t really know. I thought you were dead when I took it, and I was feeling horribly guilty. I saw it lying there in the hotel room, and I was curious about you. When I opened it, I saw that you’d marked some of the verses, and I thought perhaps I could learn more about you if I read what you’d thought was important. I never knew anyone who wrote in a Bible before—well, except births and deaths. But I thought you’d been a very special man, and I’d gotten you killed. And I—well, I just took it.”

  He felt as though he’d missed something important—something crucial to Millie’s story. He also knew that when he returned to England, he would never look at servants in quite the same way.

  Peregrin waited until eleven o’clock Monday morning before going to the bank. For one thing, he’d slept late. For another, he didn’t want to run into Lionel Baxter’s “friends.”

  He kept a sharp eye out as he left the Metropolitan and hurried down the street. He wished he could afford a cab, but thanks to the two ruffians, he hadn’t a cent until he made his withdrawal from the bank.

  Instead of just getting out Baxter’s thousand, or that much plus a bit more for his ordinary expenses, Peregrin closed his account.

  “Leaving us, are you, sir?” the teller asked.

  “Yes, I’m—” Peregrin caught himself and avoided blurting out his destination. One never knew who was listening. “I’m headed for Boston.”

  “Boston? Ah, well have a good journey.” The teller counted out his money and smiled at him.

  “Thank you.” Peregrin put half the bills in his wallet and split the rest between a couple of pockets. If he were held up—as he’d learned New Yorkers were apt to be—he didn’t want to lose all of his cash.

  He hurried back to his hotel room and began to pack. What he wouldn’t give to have Hogg there to do it for him! He supposed he could ring for the bellboy, but then he’d have to tip him.

  He threw his clothes and toilet articles, along with his stationery, into his valise. He decided to leave the bottle of ink, though he hadn’t used a quarter of it. Such a mess it would make if it leaked on his limited wardrobe.

  On second thought, he ought to send a note to Merrileigh. With a sigh, he unpacked his silver pen and stationery case. After a moment’s thought he scrawled,

  Yr letter rec’d. I am going to Freedom to visit my friend, Donald

  Peregrin scratched his head, trying to recall the name Merrileigh had invented. It started with S. That was all he could remember. After a couple of minutes he gave up and wrote “Smith.”

  …Donald Smith. I am told the Sanders is a good hostelry there. You may direct any correspondence to me there.

  He considered what he’d written and wondered what sort of chaos that would cause. Would Randolph or somebody else send him mail at the nonexistent town of Freedom? Or maybe there was a town by that name. Oh well, Merrileigh would have to figure it out.

  Now to get to the train station undetected. He briefly considered leaving without paying the hotel bill, but that seemed counterproductive. Lionel Baxter wouldn’t alert the police to his transgressions at the card table, but the hotel manager would call them in a second if he realized a guest had left without paying up. No way around it.

  He carried his bags down and stopped at the front desk.

  “Checking out.”

  The desk clerk looked at him in surprise and said, rather loudly, “What? Leaving us, Mr. Walmore?”

  Peregrin looked over his shoulder then leaned toward the man. “I’d like to keep it quiet. You see, my—my friend is always after me to borrow money, and I’d prefer he didn’t know where I’ve gone—or even that I’ve gone, if you take my meaning—at least for a while.” He slipped a dollar bill across the counter.

  “Oh yes, I see, sir. Just a moment, and I’ll total your account. You just paid on Friday, so it won’t be much. Would you like the doorman to call a hansom for you while you wait?”

  “Er, yes, that would be fine. And could I leave this letter here for the post?”

  At last he was able to get away. He paid his bill, paid for the letter to England, tipped the doorman, paid the driver when they got to the station, and gave him an extra dime for a tip. Peregrin went inside, bought a ticket, and tipped a porter for carrying his valise to the platform. All the while he felt his life’s blood was trickling away with the coins. The large amounts he’d lost at the gaming table weren’t the half of it. It was this daily drain on his funds that had brought him to this pass.

  He boarded one of the passenger cars and huddled in a seat near the back of the carriage, watching the doors with apprehension until they closed. At last the train set off westward, and he was reasonably sure the thugs hadn’t followed him.

  CHAPTER 24

  I don’t see why you can’t go down to the dining room for dinner tonight.” Dr. Lee eyed David’s leg in its plaster cast critically. “Take it easy, and have a stout fellow to lean on, and if you need it, get two to help get you back up again.”

  “I’ll be fine,” David said.

  “I know you think that, but it’s been six weeks since you took a flight of stairs, let alone two. It will be a big exertion, and you may need to rest awhile before you come back up to your room.”

  “Don’t you worry about me.”

  The doctor shook his head. “I won’t waste time worrying, but I shall have a word with Mrs. Evans before I leave. One thing about her—I know that if she’s on duty, you’ll mind.”

  David’s jaw dropped, but he quickly closed his mouth. He did have a point. Millie bossed him around like she did everyone else, now that he was getting better. “Time to practice walking in the hall,” she would say, with no room for protest, and “Don’t toss your laundry on the floor, sir,” and “Surely you can do that for yourself now.”

  “Remember,” the doctor said, closing his bag, “you have a compound fracture that is still healing. I know it seems like it’s been a long while, but it would be easy to overdo now. Go slowly, and build up your activity gradually. Keep using the crutches for a few days at least, until you feel steady. I’ll bring you a cane next time I come.”

  “So, when can I travel?”

  Dr. Lee hesitated. “Not for a while yet. I’d like to take the cast off next week, and I would like to see you at least one more time after that. We’ll see if you get your strength up. Then we’ll talk about travel.”

  When the doctor had left, David got up and walked slowly to the window, stepping gingerly on his left foot. His leg ached a little, but that would pass in time—Dr. Lee had said so.

  About fifteen minutes later, Millie arrived with his clean laundry.

  “I’m going downstairs for supper tonight,” David said eagerly. “The doctor said I may.”

  She smiled indulgently. “I saw him, and he told me. That’s wonderful.” She opened a drawer and tucked a few clean garments into the dresser. “I asked Billy to come up at five o’clock and help you downstairs.”

  “Who is Billy?”

  She frowned at him. “He’s the young man who carries luggage for people. He’s been in this room at least a hundred times since we’ve been here. Don’t you know his name?”

  “He told me it was Wilfred.”

  “So it is, but his friends call him Billy.”

  That struck David as odd—foremost because Millie was implying that she was Billy’s friend. It also seemed to him that a boy named Wilfred ought to be called Willie or Fred.

  “So he’ll still answer to Wilfred?”

  “I should think so, especially if you give him a half dime for his trouble.”

  “Ah.” David peered at Millie, but her green eyes were inscrutable. Did she think he was treating Wilfred in that “servant” way? Perhaps he was, but he didn’t think it would be proper to treat the young man like a chum. “I suppose I should put on a cle
an shirt and a tie if I’m going into the dining room.”

  “Trust me, the dining room here is very informal. However, I’d be happy to lay those things out for you if you wish.” Millie stepped toward the armoire.

  “Thank—” David stopped short. He ought to be doing things for himself now. After all, he was able. And Millie wouldn’t be with him forever. “I can do it,” he said.

  “All right. And are you content with those trousers?” She looked his pants up and down.

  David squelched his natural embarrassment. He was too old to blush when a woman looked him over. “Well, I guess I’ll have to be, since they’re the only pair I own that fits, at least until I’m rid of this cast.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” She walked over and stooped, then twitched the material at the level of his knee. “Stand up and let me adjust that. I think I can do it a little better, so the pins don’t show.” She held up his crutches while he positioned himself.

  “Hmm.” Millie tugged and fussed with the fabric. “I suppose I could baste you into them.”

  “Is that necessary?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Finally she stood. “There. You’ll pass. Now, is there anything else I can do for you, or shall I see you in the dining room?”

  “Meet me there,” he said. “It will be like old times.”

  An odd look crossed her face, and he wished his comment hadn’t slipped out. The less they thought about Scottsburg, the better.

  Peregrin arrived in Independence at dusk on a Sunday. He’d waited out two days of rain in St. Louis, at a dismal hotel with bland food and sluggish room service. The train he’d ridden from there to Independence had nearly deafened him, and he had several small holes in his suit, where cinders had fallen. But he was here at last.

  He had several ideas on how he would find David Stone. The town was not very large, and there couldn’t be many hotels a gentleman would patronize. More to the point, how would he stop David from going on to England?

  He’d half expected to find the town buttoned down for the Sabbath, especially at this hour of the day. To his surprise, he found that the West was apparently as rowdy as it was rumored to be. Taverns and saloons esteemed all days alike and kept their doors open. Some of them, in fact, had no proper doors, but only hinged panels that reached neither the threshold nor the lintel. Men were entering and emerging from these watering holes in steady streams. Peregrin decided to stop at one first thing and get rid of the smell of the locomotive.