by Jo Goodman
“You sound surly. Are you?”
“I’m impatient.”
“That would be a first.” She waved him away. “Go on. I can manage the rest.” When he didn’t move, she pointed to herself. “I’m still in my altogethers.”
“Yeah. I see that.” He backed away and slipped to the other side of the screen.
“You can hand me the black gown from the wardrobe,” she said. “The one with the satin frogs on the left side of the bodice. I can get into that.”
Ben found it and passed it over the top of the screen. There was some mildly colorful language as she wrestled with the gown. It amused him that she even cursed in pastels.
He bent so he could see what was going on below the screen and was in time to see the skirt of the gown fall into place. When she didn’t appear immediately afterward, he stood and peeked around the screen. She was sitting at the vanity again, facing the mirror. She had a brush in one hand and was staring at a defeated reflection. She lifted her eyes and caught his. “I’ll get the widow,” he said.
“I’ve never asked her to dress my hair before. I manage this on my own. She’ll be suspicious and she’ll argue with you again. She’ll argue with me. If she blocks the door, I don’t think we’re getting through.”
“She tried blocking the stairs. I picked her up and moved her aside.”
Ridley smiled. “There’s a picture. She might do it again just for the thrill.”
That convinced him to help her. That, and the twinge at the small of his back. Martha Rushton was not a tiny package. “What do I need to do?” he asked, taking the brush from her hand.
“Goodness, you worked on a ranch that raised horses. Are you telling me you never brushed out a mane?”
“I have, but making another comparison to a horse didn’t seem wise.”
“Well, it’s probably a good thing it came from me, then. My plait is already falling apart. Just remove the ribbon and separate the braid. You can just brush it out. Give it a twist after that and secure it against my head with the combs I’ll give you.”
“You don’t want another braid? I know how to do that.”
“You’d still have to put it up and secure it.”
“Okay.” He slipped off the ribbon and held one end between his lips as he gently brushed out the braid. When he’d finished, her hair rippled down her back like a waterfall at night. It seemed a shame to wrap it up, but then he was optimistic that he’d get to see it like this again. He dropped the brush on the vanity and began to overlap thick ropes of hair. Once he’d tied it off, he took the combs she held up for him and anchored the braid to the back of her head. “Are you going to wear a hat?”
“A shawl for inside the house. My cloak and hood outside of it.”
“Then this will work.” He picked up the hand mirror and held it up so she could see the back of her head. “Don’t make too much of that. Sam Love does the same for me after he’s cut my hair.”
“I did wonder. You have unexpected accomplishments that have nothing at all to with raising horses.”
“Huh. Maybe I do.” He laid the mirror back on the vanity. “Is your shawl up here?”
“In the wardrobe. My cloak and gloves are downstairs.”
Ben was already on his way to retrieve the shawl. She was waiting for him outside the screen. He wrapped it loosely around her shoulders and adjusted it so she would be able to cover her hair when she was inside the Fullers’ home.
“Sam does this for you, too?”
“I’ve watched my mother,” he said wryly. “And the ladies over in Harmony.”
“Of course.”
Ben let her walk to the door under her own steam, but when they reached the top of the stairs, he took her elbow while she gripped the banister with her free hand. He heard the widow pounding across the front room before she appeared in the vestibule.
“She looks like death,” said Mrs. Rushton. “Paler than. It’s probably a sin to say so, but little Emmilou will look better lying out than the doctor does right now.”
Ridley grimaced. “You should have stopped after ‘it’s probably a sin.’”
“Don’t I know it. It’s a failing of mine, but it’s moving me to take action. I’m going with you to pay my respects. It’s not as if you need me anywhere else at the moment and I want to do right by the family. They’re good people.”
Ben said, “The buggy only seats two.”
“That’s all right. I guess I know how to drive a buggy. You can walk beside or ahead. Makes no never mind to me.”
He felt Ridley’s slender frame begin to vibrate. She was making a heroic effort not to belly laugh, when he imagined what she wanted to do was howl. He wanted to howl as well but not because he was amused. Out of the corner of his mouth, he said, “If you laugh, I’m letting go.”
That sobered her. “I need my cloak and my gloves, Martha. Would you be so kind?”
The housekeeper removed the cloak from the coat tree and found the fur-trimmed gloves in an inside pocket. She had the cloak open for Ridley by the time she reached the bottom. Ridley stepped inside the brushed woolen warmth while Ben got his coat off the same rack. Mrs. Rushton closed the cloak, fastened the frogs, and smoothed the material over Ridley’s shoulders. “Do you want the hood up?”
“Please.” Ridley put on the gloves.
“I surely wish you would tell me what’s wrong. You’re moving like an old woman. A very old woman.”
“I told you that I strained myself last night when I moved the children.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, getting her own coat. “And I told you I didn’t believe it.” She opened the door, gloves in hand, and was still shaking her head as she reached the sidewalk. “Have a care. There are icy patches under this last layer of snow. Thought Clay would come around, but I haven’t seen him.”
“I’m taking care of that,” said Ben, helping Ridley down the steps. There was no rail for her to hold. “Clay won’t be back. That’s the word from Jeremiah.”
The housekeeper pursed her lips. “Hateful man. I guess that’s what makes it easy for folks to think the worst about it. No one ever questioned his work before, but something like this calls it into question.”
“You heard?” asked Ridley. “Already?”
“Stopped at the butcher’s before I came here. Amanda Springer was there haranguing her husband.”
“That says it all,” said Ben, guiding Ridley around the patch of ice that the widow pointed out.
“Don’t it just.”
“No,” said Ridley. “Wait. That doesn’t say it all. Did she mention that I was the source of the accusation against Mr. Salt?”
“She might have said something like that.” Mrs. Rushton offered that information reluctantly. “I didn’t believe her, and I told her so. She didn’t like that, but I’ve disagreed with her before. It’s not as if she can turn me into a pillar of salt, no matter how much she’d like that.”
“But you aren’t asking me if I did say it.”
“Now wouldn’t that just be a waste of my breath. It makes no kind of sense that you’d court Jeremiah Salt’s wrath even if you were one to speak out of turn. I’ve noticed that you keep your own counsel. I don’t have to look any farther than you’re standing from me right now—barely standing, I can say confidently—to know the truth of that.”
“All right,” said Ben. “I believe that covers it. Let’s get to the buggy.” He helped Ridley in first and then escorted Mrs. Rushton to the other side and made certain she could step up. He reached for the reins, but she took them on her own.
“I swear to you that I can drive a buggy.”
“Just have a care with my horse. She knows my touch.”
“What’s her name?”
“Macbeth. Lady Macbeth.”
“Lord. You call her Macbeth?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I’m calling her Lady and she’ll do just fine.” She snapped the reins; the buggy wheels hesitated over a mound of snow and then jerked forward. “There we go. Try to keep up.”
Keeping up was not a problem. Mrs. Rushton couldn’t exactly go hell for leather in the snow. Ben thought she was also being cautious because of her companion. When he caught a glimpse of Ridley’s face, he was put in mind of that pillar of salt the widow mentioned earlier. If it were not so important that Ridley make an appearance at the Fuller home, he never would have pressed.
It was not a long trip. Yesterday she had run most of the way, Frankie weaving on his feet behind her. He suspected that in a few days, she would be able to make the walk on her own, even though as a doctor she might not advise it for a patient.
There were people spilling out of the house, mingling on the porch with cups of coffee, tea, and hot chocolate in hand. They began to separate when they saw Ben and the buggy and realized who might be inside it. Ben took the reins and tethered them. Mrs. Rushton stepped down without his help. Ridley waited for him, and as soon as she alighted, the path to the front door began to clear. Men tipped their hats. The women acknowledged her with a slight bow of the head.
Ben felt Ridley falter but he doubted that it was her wound that caused her discomfort. She had not expected her arrival to be greeted as something outside the ordinary, but Ben had suspected there might be a stir. It was a solemn occasion, but there were also thanks to be expressed, and while no one spoke, gratitude was there all the same.
Because Ridley looked as if she hoped the ground would swallow her whole, he said, “You can breathe. You’re queen of the Frost Falls Festival.”
Chapter Twenty
“I should have stuck my elbow in your ribs,” Ridley said when Ben climbed in the buggy beside her. “Better yet, in your mouth. Someone could have heard you make that ridiculous comment.”
“Someone did. You. And I’ve been wondering if you’ve always had this violent, retaliatory streak? Have we ever had a conversation where you don’t threaten?”
Ridley gave him a sour smile. “Probably not, but I’ll let you think on why that might true.”
Ben chuckled, snapped the reins. “Lay on, Macbeth.”
“I believe the quote is, ‘Lay on, Macduff.’”
“Yes, but her name is Macbeth. The other would confuse her.”
“Of course,” she said dryly. The buggy began to move forward. Ridley put a hand on Ben’s forearm. “Wait. Where is Martha?”
“I did wonder when you’d notice. She stayed back to help with the repast. I heard her tell you.”
“Oh, did she? I don’t remember.”
“You were sitting beside Louella. You had your hand in hers, and the two of you hadn’t exchanged a word in minutes. You sat there, not sharing her grief exactly. More like you were absorbing it. It’s not surprising that you don’t recall the widow speaking to you.”
Ridley bowed her head a fraction. “I felt her sorrow all the way to my marrow. Her heartache . . . it’s profound.”
“Emmilou was the apple of her eye. Big Mike’s, too. A little girl coming as she did after those boys. She was a blessing to them.”
Ridley swiped at a tear at the corner of one eye. She sniffed, removed a glove, and swiped at another tear with her fingertip. “Do you have a handkerchief?”
“In my pocket.” When she was not moved to explore, he unbuttoned his coat enough to reach inside and fish out his handkerchief and hand it to her. He shivered slightly and closed his coat. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I tried so hard not to cry in there. It felt wrong somehow to be comforted by the one who needed comfort.”
“Big Mike cried.”
“So he did. I saw you were speaking to him. What did you say?”
“Not much. Asked him if he needed help with the burial expenses. I have a small fund for that, and folks will pass a hat. He was grateful. I guess no one had brought it up.”
“It’s not an easy thing to talk about.”
“Yes, well . . .” Ben’s shoulders lifted and fell inside his heavy coat. He looked down at his sleeve when Ridley placed her hand once more on his forearm.
“I imagine you said everything exactly as it should have been said,” she told him. “It’s remarkable really. I don’t think you know how to shy away from what’s difficult. I wonder sometimes if you even know that what you do is difficult for others. That family didn’t need another worry. It was good of you to relieve him of that burden.”
“You keep going on like that and I’m going to ask for my handkerchief back.”
She patted his arm and gave him a watery smile when he shifted in his seat to look at her. She glimpsed evidence that he could have used the handkerchief just then, but he blinked once and turned his face into the bitter cold. Ridley said nothing, but she moved infinitesimally closer to him. If what she did was absorb grief, then she could absorb his as well.
* * *
• • •
“Do you want to go back to your room?” Ben asked as he took Ridley’s coat from her. “It’s probably better if I help you up before Mrs. Rushton returns.”
“She’s coming back?”
“That’s her intention.”
Ridley couldn’t help it. Her shoulders sagged as she released an audible sigh. “I suppose I hoped she would—”
“Go home from there?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I’m not ungrateful for her help, but there is so much fussing. I think I’d just like to rest.”
“And on the other hand, when you need something, it must be a relief to know she’s here.”
“Precisely. It’s simple really. Everything must be on my terms.”
He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind. It won’t change a thing, but I’ll keep it in mind.” He held out an elbow. “Up the stairs?”
“Aren’t you going to take off your coat?”
“I have to leave. Easier to keep it on.”
“But—”
“I’ll be back. Probably before the widow. You said you wanted to rest.”
“I do. You’re restful.” She ducked her head and looked toward the stairs. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I shouldn’t have because it’s not as if you’re always restful. Sometimes you’re provoking.”
“Hmm. We’ll sort it out. But right now, stairs.”
They were halfway to the top when Ben decided that acting as Ridley’s escort was taking too much damn time. He turned, looped her arms around his neck, and lifted her. He initiated the gesture, and when she didn’t offer a single word in protest, he knew this was one of those things on her terms.
Once they were in her bedroom, he deposited her behind the dressing screen, and took her clothing as she carefully placed it over the top. She required assistance with the corset. Removing it was considerably easier than lacing her into it. He told her that.
“Not restful,” she said.
Ben grinned behind her back because that was safe. He helped her with her stockings and garters while she removed the combs from her hair. She drew it forward over her shoulder and tied it with a black grosgrain ribbon. The ribbon drew his eye, lying as it did against her white chemise. A moment later, something else drew his eye. Droplets of blood dotted the chemise where it lay over her injury.
“That’s not good,” he said, pointing to the stain.
Ridley looked down at herself and plucked at the material. “Darnation.”
That made him smile. “You should really try to do better.” When she looked at him oddly, he explained, “Cursing. I can teach you.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she said, her expression wry. She turned to the basin and dampened a cloth. Just as she was lifting the chemise to apply the cloth, she asked him to get her another. “And a fresh nig
htdress. You can put them on top of the screen.”
Which meant that he was not going to get behind it again while she was in any state of undress. Damn, but she was the very opposite of restful. He put the garments where she wanted them and collected the stained chemise, her petticoat, and the corset, which he now saw had similar bloodstains.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes. The bleeding has already stopped. Most everything’s in place.”
“What does that mean, ‘most everything’?”
“My innards aren’t outwards.”
“Good to know. Anything else?”
“A couple of broken sutures. I can repair them myself.”
“This is the real reason you can’t be left alone.”
“Thread and needles are in the cabinet. The laudanum, too. I was trying not to use any more, but—”
“Enough. This is me holding up my hand. Is there anything else you need? I’m going to wash out these garments as best I can. You don’t want Mrs. Rushton finding them in their current condition. Can you wait?”
“Yes.”
Ridley was lying in bed when he returned holding a tray with the items she’d requested. Ellie Madison was right behind him. Ridley began to push herself up, but the look Ellie gave her sent her sinking back. Taking her cue from Ellie, Ridley gave Ben a similarly reproving look. He didn’t have the grace to sink anywhere.
“I didn’t hear you leave,” she said.
“That’s because I didn’t want you to. Ellie is going to have a look and stitch you up. She is unhappy that you insisted on going to the Fullers, but I explained about you being headstrong.”