by Merry Farmer
“You want coffee or something?” Trey asked.
“No, although I wouldn’t say no to a good night’s sleep.”
“We can go to bed then.” He glanced toward his bed. “Uh, we’re going to have to share, even though we aren’t…you know.”
“That’s fine.” Talia laughed tiredly. “The only time in my life that I had a bed to myself was at Hurst Home, and even then, sometimes I would offer to share when there were too many girls staying with us.”
“Oh.” Trey paused, scratched his head. He went on. “Uh, so where are your mother and father now?”
A deep gloom settled over Talia. “I was still small when the war broke out. Papa and Mama felt it was their duty to help where they could. Papa had very little work anyhow, so he enlisted. He was killed at the Battle of Gettysburg.”
“I’m sorry.” Trey reached across the table for her hand. It was a comfort to take it.
“Mama and I went to Gettysburg too, but to nurse, not to fight. Conditions were frightful after the battle. Men from both sides were left in the fields and cellars of nearby houses to suffer and die. The neighbors of Gettysburg did what they could. They were grateful for Mama’s help. But as the injured soldiers died without enough hands to bury them, disease began to spread. Mama sent me to stay with a woman who was kind to us a few towns over, but a week later, I received word that she’d succumbed to fever and died herself.”
Trey’s mouth dropped open. His whole face went pale and splotchy. His eyes took on a glassy look that defied description. In fact, it looked to Talia like he had just seen a ghost of some sort.
“Trey, are you all right?”
It was a few more moments before he closed his mouth and nodded. “Yeah. It’s just…I’ve had folks die of disease on me too.” His voice was so hoarse that Talia was sure there was more of a story behind it.
A moment later, he shook his head, and his frown returned. “Wait a minute, Gettysburg was in 1863. That was fourteen years ago. How old were you back then? And…and how old are you now?”
“I’m twenty-seven now,” she answered, blushing and glancing down. Trey probably thought he had married a much younger and fresher girl. “I was thirteen back then.”
“So wait, your brother?”
“Was seven years older than me and had already moved on,” she explained. “We had a sister between us, but she died after only twelve days.”
Again, Trey’s face took on an inexplicable pallor. There was so much Talia didn’t know about him. As sad as the story behind his expression was, she was eager to come to know it.
“So you were left all alone at age thirteen.” Trey swiped a hand through his hair and shook his head. “How did you manage to survive?”
Talia shrugged. “By the grace of God. That, and the woman my mother had left me with, Mrs. Adams, allowed me to stay for a while. She had children of her own, though, and could barely make ends meet. But I continued to use the healing skills my mother taught me where I could. Just before my fifteenth birthday, I moved to Baltimore and found work as a washer for a hospital there. I paid attention to more than just sheets and bandages, though.”
“Did you ever go to school to become a nurse?”
Talia shook her head. “I never had the time or the money.”
“How did you end up in Nashville, at Hurst Home, then?”
Another feeling of dread, not unlike the way she felt about losing her family, settled over her. “I moved because I heard that there were hospitals down there in need of nurses. It was a step up from laundry. I was able to find a low-level position too. But I still wanted to use the things my mother taught me.”
“Did you?”
Talia sighed. “I did. But as it turns out, doctors don’t take too kindly to young women going behind their backs to use remedies from the old world to cure their patients.”
“Uh oh,” Trey said, as though he could sense what she was about to say.
She confirmed his suspicions with a nod. “One doctor in particular objected. But he was not the one who ultimately caused me to lose my job and end up on the streets.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.” Trey rubbed a hand over the bottom half of his face.
“There was a patient, an older woman. She had been the wife of a large plantation owner before the war, but by then she had lost everything. She suffered from gout. Using Mama’s knowledge, I was able to bring her a good deal of relief. For which she accused me, as Mama was sometimes accused, of witchcraft.”
“No.” Trey scowled. “That ungrateful—” He stopped himself and pressed his lips together.
“Yes.” Talia sighed. “She claimed my skill was ungodly. She was prominent enough that when she made a fuss, several of the smaller newspapers in Nashville decided to run a story about the hospital employing witch doctors and magic to cure their patients.”
Again, Trey swallowed an expletive.
“After that, I couldn’t find work anywhere,” Talia went on. “I would have had to resort to drastic measures if I hadn’t learned about Hurst Home.”
“I’m glad you did,” Trey said with a nod. “Remind me to go find Charlie Garrett tomorrow and thank him for funding such a wonderful place.”
“I’d love to thank him too,” Talia said, her smile returning. She let it go as a yawn overcame her. “Tomorrow.”
Trey stood. “Yeah, let’s get you to bed. Do you want the left side or the right side?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Talia chuckled.
Trey walked her to the bed. “How ’bout you take the side closer to the fireplace. It’s warm now, but in winter that side should be a little cozier.” He paused and cocked his head to the side in thought as Talia sat on the bed to remove her boots. “Though now I’m thinkin’ it might be a good idea to talk to Rupert Cole about building a house on the other side of the tracks.”
“Don’t go building any houses on my account,” Talia said, fighting another yawn. “After all, with our agreement, it’s not as though we’ll be needing a larger place for children any time soon.” Although saying that aloud filled her with a deep sort of sadness.
Trey, too, seemed to be feeling some sort of difficult emotion. She could see it in his face. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll leave you to wash up all you want and get some rest. I’ve got to go check on the saloon. It’s getting to be that time of night when folks drink too much. But I’ll be back before you fall asleep.”
“Thank you,” Talia said.
Trey nodded, then headed back down the stairs and out into Haskell. Talia freshened up and changed into her nightgown. She thought about boiling water for tea, although she was still stuffed from the food at the hotel. Exhaustion got the better of her, though, and even though there was still light in the sky, she decided to climb into bed for a quick nap.
She didn’t wake up until the next morning. By then, she was warm and comfortable in bed. Trey had returned and climbed in bed with her sometime in the night, and even though he slept with his back toward her, just having him there gave Talia a feeling of peace and safety. She hadn’t felt either of those things in far too long.
By the time Trey finally did get up, Talia was already out of bed, washed, changed into a clean, if wrinkled, skirt and blouse, and had breakfast sizzling away on the stove.
“I tell you,” Trey began, inhaling deeply as he came out of the washroom, ready for the day, “having someone cook breakfast for me is one part of married life I could get used to.”
His comment made it that much more satisfying to set a plate of sausage and eggs and a mug of coffee in front of him at the table. She sat down across the tiny kitchen table from him with her own breakfast. They said grace, then Talia asked, “Do you cook much yourself?”
Trey dove into his sausage before answering, letting out a low moan of appreciation—a moan that left Talia tingling in unexpected places. “Not like this,” he finally answered, eating another bite.
The food did taste g
ood, although she figured that relief at being safely settled in life was the best seasoning any meal could have. She and Trey didn’t have long to enjoy their breakfast, though.
“Sheriff, sheriff, we need you to come quick!”
The shout started off downstairs, followed by the slamming of a door as someone entered the jail. A few seconds later, a wiry, young man in dusty work clothes, his hair sticking up every which way, charged up the stairs.
“Oh.” He stopped, nearly stumbling backward, at the sight of Trey enjoying breakfast with Talia. “Uh, sorry, sir. I forgot you got hitched.”
“It’s all right, Hank. What do you need?” Trey got up from the table. He eyed the remaining sausage on his plate with fond regret before walking over to the young man.
“Miss Virginia’s missing a mess of cattle this morning,” Hank said, dripping with urgency. “She thinks that new rancher, Arnie Wilson, is up to no good, rustlin’ and all.”
Trey sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Virginia always thinks someone is up to no good when her cattle wander off.” He turned to Talia. “I hate to leave on your first morning, but—”
“I understand.” Talia nodded. “You’re a sheriff first and a husband second.”
A faint smile softened Trey’s face. “Thanks for understanding.” He turned to Hank. “All right, lead the way.”
Talia finished her breakfast in silence, smiling with pride over how important her husband was, but also looking forward to being able to catch up with her friends without having to worry about offending Trey. She cleaned up after breakfast, finished putting her things away, and tidied Trey’s already neat apartment a little before heading out into the overcast morning, her first in her new home.
There were so many things to do and so much to see and learn about, so the first natural course of action was to walk across Main Street to Wendy’s dress shop. A large, feminine sign hung over the door, letting her know which shop it was.
“I was just about to come looking for you,” Wendy greeted her when she entered, a bell jingling over the door. She had little Emanuel strapped to her chest in a sling and was already wearing an elegant hat to match her fashionable dress. “We were just coming to see if you’d like to take a walk around town to learn where everything is.”
“That’s exactly what I’d like.” Talia smiled.
They set out up Main Street first, and Wendy pointed out all of the businesses along Haskell’s main thoroughfare—the general store, the bank, the saloon, and a strange, empty, pink building that Wendy explained had housed the town’s brothel until the previous fall.
“Rex Bonneville owns it now,” Wendy told her, “but he doesn’t know what to do with it, since Howard and the town council passed an ordinance saying no brothels north of the train tracks.”
Talia giggled in spite of herself. “You all have written so many things about the Bonneville family that I can’t wait to meet them.”
Wendy sent her a strange look. “Are you sure?”
They burst into laughter together. And Talia got her wish sooner than she expected. She and Wendy turned left at the top of Main Street, where the hotel and town hall were, then looped around on Elizabeth Street as it made a large circle through a few houses, the town’s baseball field, school, and church, then turned into Station Street and ran parallel to the train tracks. They passed several warehouses, a saddle-maker, cooper, and blacksmith, before reaching the jail and the station once more.
Mr. Montgomery had his peddler’s wagon parked by the station platform once more, and several women were crowded around, picking through the wares he’d laid out in the wagon bed and on the corner of the platform. Talia hadn’t thanked the man properly the day before and tried to weave through the shopping women to where he sat, slumped on a bench beside the platform. He seemed even more pale than the day before, with a feverish flush to his—
“Ouch! Watch where you’re going.”
In her efforts to get to Mr. Montgomery, Talia bumped into a blonde woman in a dress that was far too fancy for a frontier street. The woman glared at her as though she were a stray dog.
“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am,” Talia attempted to apologize.
“It’s miss,” the woman growled. “Miss Melinda Bonneville. You won’t ever catch me succumbing to the wicked ways of men.”
Talia grinned from ear-to-ear before she could stop herself. The famous Miss Melinda Bonneville. Which meant that her sisters should be nearby. She studied the other shopping women, wondering if she could pick them out.
“Excuse me,” Melinda snapped. “I am speaking to you. Who are you anyhow?”
Talia lost her grin. “Talia La—Mrs. Talia Knighton,” she corrected herself, extending her hand with a smile. “I just arrived in town and married Sheriff Knighton yesterday.”
Melinda sneered at her hand without taking it. “Oh, you’re one of those women.” She glanced past Talia’s shoulder to where Wendy was watching the scene with a frown. Then she sniffed.
“Oh no, not another one.” One of the shopping women broke away from the wagon. She had the same blonde hair, fine dress, and peevish expression. Talia deduced she must be Vivian Bonneville. “Ugh, they’re like a plague of locusts these days.”
“I don’t know why any woman would debase herself so much to marry a strange man sight unseen,” Melinda said, then added, “Or any man at all.”
“Some of us are deceived into matrimony,” Vivian added with a long-suffering air, raising the back of her hand to her forehead in a gesture worthy of the stage.
“I don’t think we should have anything to do with her,” Melinda said as though Talia were not there, then promptly turned her back on her.
Talia pivoted to Wendy, barely able to contain her giddy laugh. She was just about to walk back to her friend when the crying of a baby split the air.
“Ugh, Bebe, can’t you keep him quiet?” Vivian snapped.
Talia searched and found a third blonde woman standing beside an ornate baby buggy, rocking it with a look of desperation on her sallow face. “I don’t know what he wants,” the woman, Bebe, said. “He’s been fussy all morning. I think he’s not feeling well.”
Vivian made a frustrated noise. “That little wretch is always crying about something. Just like his father.” Talia was surprised Vivian didn’t spit at the end of her words.
“Just give him a toy to chew on,” Melinda said more interested in a chest of lace that the shopping women had just discovered and were picking through. “That usually does the trick.”
Bebe let out an anxious breath and stared into the buggy. “I think it’s more than that. His face is all screwed up, like his tummy hurts.”
Talia couldn’t just stand there while a baby was in pain. She crossed to the buggy, smiled at Bebe, and reached in to scoop what must have been Reece Bonneville—if everything her friends had written to her in the last month was right—into her arms. The poor baby was miserable and thinner than she thought he should have been, and just yellow enough to indicate jaundice.
“There, there, little one,” she cooed to him, smoothing a hand over his head. “You’re all right.”
Amazingly, the tiny baby stopped crying, merely gulping for breath instead. Even that settled to silence as Talia continued to stroke his head.
“Wow,” Bebe whispered. “No one has been able to get him to quiet down like that since he was born.”
“Has anyone bothered to pick him up when he cries?” Talia asked.
“You should never pick up a screaming baby.” Vivian pushed through the shopping women to march over to Talia. “It instills bad habits in them, makes them think they can have their way whenever they want.”
“Who told you—” Talia abandoned the question before she could finish it. She knew she wouldn’t like the answer anyhow. “Have you consulted a doctor about your baby’s jaundice?”
“His what?” Vivian blinked.
“What’s that?” Melinda joined the conversation, looking do
wn her nose at her nephew in Talia’s arms.
It took all of Talia’s patience to remain calm and not to lecture the women into next Tuesday. “His skin is yellowish. It’s not uncommon for newborns. The best way to cure it is to give him as much sunlight as possible and to make sure he feeds as much as he wants. How often does he eat?”
“Oh, I have him on a strict schedule,” Vivian said, tilting her chin up. “He only eats after the rest of us eat. It’s never too young to teach discipline.”
Talia took a breath, forcing down her anger. “I think you’ll find that if you feed him more frequently, whenever he’s hungry, not only will the jaundice clear up, he’ll be less fussy. And if the jaundice doesn’t go away, there may be tinctures you could add to bottle milk when you feed him that could help.”
Vivian planted her hands on her hips. “Are you telling me that if I cave in to that little beast’s cravings every time he has them, he’ll give me a moment’s peace now and then?”
“Yes,” Talia answered with all confidence.
Melinda made a disgusted sound. Bebe shrugged. “It has to be worth a try. Mrs. Knighton does seem like she knows what she’s doing. I mean, look how quickly he settled when she picked him up.”
“He is quiet now.” Vivian narrowed her eyes and studied her son.
“It’s not magic,” Wendy sighed, stepping forward to join the conversation at last. “It’s common sense and compassion.”
“We didn’t ask you,” Melinda sniffed. “Bebe, put the baby back in the buggy. We’re going home.”
“I say when we’re going home.” Vivian overrode her sister. She gave Talia another considering look. “Bebe, you hold the boy.”
Talia knew enough about the Bonneville sisters from her friends’ letters to know she wasn’t going to change their minds about common decency overnight. All she could do was shift the unfortunate little boy into Bebe’s arms. Bebe took him, but she looked terrified.
“Hold your arm under him, like so.” Talia showed her how to cradle the boy in a way that would make him feel secure. “Let him feel your heartbeat.”