“You could say that,” Thomas said gruffly, hoisting a heavy rope from the side of the stall. He sighed, hitching the rope over one shoulder and walking to the side of the skittish mare. What a strange day. And the sound of the wind against the wooden barn was almost ghostly. The afternoon was turning dark at speed. The slats of the barn rattled under the force of the gusts while the younger workers busily lighted additional lamps to combat the gloom.
Thomas stroked the mare’s mane and spoke quietly in her ear, making sure she was calm enough to submit to the dental check. In a few seconds he had a good view inside, with Mateo holding the lamp.
“All clear. I’m just going to feel that sore left hoof. She seems better, after packing it with gauze and antiseptic but we don’t want her to go lame tomorrow.” He moved around to the back leg and was running his hand down the heavily muscled leg, from the forearm to the knee to the cannon, a cue for the bay mare to lift her hoof. She shifted a bit, then lifted it for examination.
Thomas held the mare’s knee against his thigh, the cannon tucked securely against his forearm and tilted the heel toward the light. He quickly removed the gauze and Mateo doused the area with alcohol. The mare shifted her weight again, but stayed quiet. Thomas repacked the gauze and lowered the hoof to the ground.
He straightened up and addressed the mare’s carriage man, Frank Bassett, who stood off to the side, watching closely. “We’ll have to have her back in a few days, just to make sure she’s progressing.”
“Aye. She will be here. If the storm doesn’t clog the roads.” The dark-haired Irishman jerked his head toward the barn entrance, where carriages clattered by on the street.
“Clog the roads? Is it going to be as bad as all that?” Thomas nodded at Marco, who brought forward the mare’s lead rope.
“Already ‘tis. The old oak at Bellevue has gone down. Jerry Mannish told me so as I came in.”
Thomas froze, his mind struggling to accept the words. “Bellevue? The Leeds estate?”
“One and the same. Must have had a weak point. Didn’t stand a chance with these winds. Went right through the young lady’s bedroom.”
He felt his heart pound, saw Bassett’s mouth moving, but heard nothing. Allie had been heading up the staircase when he had left just hours before. Would she have been resting there still? He stepped away from the mare, imagining the very worst. The oak crashing through Allie’s bedroom window, crushing the bed, impaling her. The thought of it was almost too much to comprehend. He put out a hand to steady himself, forgetting the skittish animal a few feet away.
His father had always said, “Stay close or stay away”. Thomas was neither close nor away, but just the wrong distance. His hand brushed the mare’s rump. She responded to the touch with a fierce kick, her powerful leg launching at lightning speed.
There was no time to yell a warning and no time to step back. Marco was darting forward, hand outstretched with the rope. The boy was going to take the blow, and at his height, it would be fatal. Thomas did the only thing he could. He stepped forward into the path of the mare’s hoof.
Thomas felt the blow before he could register the pain. He body spun with the force, collided with Marco’s slight figure, and they both landed in the dirt at an awkward angle. He used the momentum to roll them both as far out of the way as he could get. A dozen images and thoughts flashed through his mind. Don’t stand up. Standing up in a daze could get him a second kick and this time it could be deadly.
He grasped Marco’s slight figure and scooted further away, blinking the blackness out of his vision. Marco lay motionless beside him on the dusty barn floor, his white shirt shining in the dim light. Mateo ‘s cry of shock and horror echoed around the barn by other witnesses.
Thomas felt pain, but was still not sure where he had been hit. Not his head, because he was still conscious. He gingerly put a hand to his chest, barely aware of the yells and shouts around him.
Mateo and Bassett hovered over him, one telling him to stay down while the other endeavored to stand him up.
“Just lay still, we’ve sent for a doctor.” Mateo’s voice was high with panic.
“Marco kicked?” Through the waves of agony, he gritted out a few words. He had to know.
“No, no. But he is hurt. Please, don’t try to stand.” Mateo gently shoved at his shoulders and Thomas swatted his hand away.
He needed to know one more thing, this time focusing on Mateo’s face. His dark skin was pale even in the dim light of the barn, eyes wide with fear. “Was Allie injured by the oak?”
Mateo blinked, working to connect Thomas’s words with the present situation. “I do not know, sir.” He turned to Bassett, then the others crowded around. “When the big oak come down, was anybody hurt?”
Bassett shook his head, cap askew. “No. Mannish says nobody was upstairs. The cook was scared senseless and the kitchen maid was crying.”
Thomas let out a breath and let himself flop backward on the straw-strewn floor. He could feel bits of horse manure under him, could see the dust swirling overhead from the hurried feet and the wind blowing through the barn’s entrance. But he did not care. Marco had not taken the force of the kick. Allie was safe. Janey was safe. As his mind quieted, his body decided it was time to let him know exactly where the bay mare had landed her hoof.
Thomas rested his hand against his thigh. It screamed at the slightest touch. His elbow throbbed at the point where it had collided with Marco’s head. The voices of the men echoed around him but he let his eyes fall closed for a moment. Thank you, Lord, for sparing my skull and my chest. A man could live with a crippled leg, but he could not live after such a kick to the brain or the heart. Even a half-strength kick from an injured mare could be deadly.
“Mr. Bradford,” a voice said near his head. He opened his eyes to see Dr. Barrows leaning over him.
“Please see to Marco.”
The doctor nodded. “I have. He was knocked unconscious during the fall but should be all right.” He motioned a few feet away, where Mateo was cradling Marco. The boy sat up on his own, but his eyes seemed vacant and his face was drawn.
“Very pale. Sweating. Heart rate is too quick.” The doctor mumbled, withdrawing a stethoscope and pressing it to Thomas’s chest.
“My leg took the brunt of it. The patella might be bruised, but is mainly... the femur.” His last words came out in a groan as the doctor ran a steady hand down Thomas’s injured leg.
“Always easier when the patient helps with the diagnosis,” Barrows muttered. He spent the next few minutes extending the leg, turning it from the hip joint, gently probing the flesh.
“Well, you’re going to have a rough few days ahead of you, but I do not believe it is broken. There will be swelling and some pretty fancy colors, but you should be up and around within the week. Let’s get you home and have that leg wrapped in cold cloths to decrease the swelling. I’ll take you in my carriage.”
Thomas turned to Mateo, questioning. The stout Italian nodded. “I will take Marco home now.” He attempted a smile. “And if I do not return, it is because my sister has taken revenge on me for letting her boy get in the way of a horse’s hoof.”
Thomas cringed. “Mateo, I beg your pardon. Give her my apologies. It is my fault.” He shifted slightly, then stopped, gritting his teeth against the pain. “Can you forgive me?”
“Mr. Bradford, your elbow may have injured him but your quick thinking saved his life.” Mateo’s tone was earnest. He stood, carefully supporting Marco’s slight figure as he swayed unsteadily. Thomas watched them move toward the door, troubled.
“Were you waiting outside for an accident to occur?” Thomas attempted a little humor, as the doctor replaced his tools.
“I was just driving by when Mr. Bassett ran out the door. He waved me over.”
He looped his strong arms under one of Thomas’s and Bassett took the other side. They gently lifted Thomas to his feet, carefully keeping his injured leg from bearing any weight.
Thomas glanced up a
t the small crowd of men gathered and lifted a hand. “You may stay and have your horses checked by the team, or bring them back next week. I apologize for the wasted time.”
A young man stepped forward, his cap in his hand, gray eyes clouded with worry. “You don’t give a moment’s thought about that, Mr. Bradford. We’ll be fine here. You take care of that leg.”
Murmurs of agreement came from the group, and Thomas felt a few gentle pats on the shoulder as he made his way to the doctor’s carriage. It was slow going, as they shuffled through the barn like an awkward five-legged creature.
The wind wailed around the men as they approached the carriage. The doctor’s long coat flapped, the horses shuffled their hooves as the dust and debris swirled around. The street was almost deserted and the sky was turning an angry black.
They lowered Thomas as carefully as possibly, but the pain took his breath away. His leg protested with every movement. The drive to his home promised to be an exercise in suffering.
Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise. He focused on holding still, one hand gripping the edge of the carriage door as the doctor settled on the other side.
“Yes, He is,” the doctor responded with a nod, and put a strong hand on Thomas’s shoulder.
He had not realized he was repeating the words aloud. He turned his head and smiled wanly. “Sounds strange, I’m sure.”
“Not to me. Remember what I do every day. You know and I know how deadly a horse’s kick can be. I’ve seen bigger men gone in one instant.” He snapped his figners for emphasis. “We praise God’s name together, for sparing you and that child.”
Thomas laid his head back against the seat, gritting his teeth against the waves of pain that came with every bump of the carriage. He had never noticed the road being as rough as it was now. Maybe the wind had something to do with it. He mind went to Allie, and the oak. There could have been another tragedy today. Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise, he prayed with all his heart.
“Why do you think that is? That one man is spared while another is not?”
Dr. Barrows shook his head. “I would like to say I’m too wise to ever question God’s will, but there are days―” His voice trailed off and he looked out the window at the deserted Chicago streets. “When parents watch their little ones die in their arms, or a woman is left a widow, or a strong man is made frail and I cannot find the reason for it, those are times I ask ‘why’.”
He glanced over at Thomas and his craggy eyebrows lifted. “But I do not think He minds so much. As long as we end our questions with trust in His plan.”
Thomas rested his eyes again, clenching his hands against the pain. There was a divine plan, he knew it to be so. But pain was difficult to bear, it seemed never-ending. Was this what Allie suffered those months after the fire? No, her pain had been much worse. He felt his heart constrict, imagining her alone in a hospital, surrounded by strangers and demanding answers from God.
“Here we are,” Dr. Barrows said. The carriage had made its way fairly quickly to Thomas’s house, perhaps because the streets were so empty. As the doctor opened the door, Thomas turned his face from the gust of wind that rushed through the carriage compartment. In a moment, the driver had opened the other side, and the two of them helped Thomas up the steps.
“Mr. Bradford!” Mrs. Anderson let out a cry of dismay as she opened the door to the small group of men.
“Please don’t be alarmed,” Dr. Barrows said, to Thomas’s relief. He would have spoken but he was biting his tongue to keep from screaming. His leg was throbbing with even the smallest movement.
The cook shuffled this way and that, one hand pressed to her mouth and the other wrapped in her apron. The maids crept from the kitchen to watch the procession with wide eyes.
“Let me call Mrs. Bradford,” Mrs. Anderson said and rushed to the sitting room.
“I’m taking him directly to his bedroom,” called back Dr. Barrows. “As soon as he tells me where we’re going.”
Thomas took a ragged breath and pointed with one hand. Up the stairs. How he wished he had a room on the first floor, near the servants. Dr. Barrows took one look at the staircase and sighed. “Right. Here we go.”
The trip upstairs was one that Thomas never wanted to repeat in his lifetime. His mother hovered behind them, asking questions and interrupting answers. The driver was strong and nimble, but Dr. Barrows was a little too portly for being a part of the transfer team on such a narrow staircase. After what seemed like several hours, Thomas was gingerly laid to rest on the covers of his bed. He could feel the beads of sweat slipping from his hairline down into his ears.
“Shouldn’t we have undressed him? Now there is straw all over the room.” His mother waved her hands at the small specks on the floor.
Thomas lifted his head and looked to Dr. Barrows, his voice was ragged with exhaustion. “Which reminds me, I am sorry about your carriage. Send my maid out to clean it before you leave.”
“Nonsense,” he said, frowning.
But Thomas’s mother turned at once and gave the order to one of the maids, who hurried away to clean the carriage. Then she turned again to Thomas, reaching out to take one of his hands. “Are you in very much pain?”
Thomas wanted to laugh. There was no good answer to that question. If he said yes, his mother would hover all night. If he said no, then he would be left to fend for himself.
“He has had a terrible blow to the thigh but it seems just a bruise. He will need a lot of rest, and cold poultices if you can get them.” Dr. Barrows helped Thomas out of his trousers and took a good look at the leg. He nodded, gesturing to an area larger than a serving tray, deep purple and hard to the touch. “A broken bone would be warm and the swelling would not be as localized. Your son had a very close call.”
He wrote quickly on a piece of paper and handed it to Mrs. Bradford. “I am leaving morphine for the pain, if needed. These are instructions for his care. I will give them to Mrs. Anderson and she can prepare the first compress. I will return in the morning to check on the leg.”
Thomas began to sit up and thank him but the doctor waved him back down. “Rest as well as you can. I will see you in the morning after I check on Marco again. I can show myself out.”
Mrs. Bradford rearranged the soft blanket over Thomas and knelt by the edge of the bed. Her dark eyes were wet with unshed tears. “Oh, Thomas. How did it happen? You are always so careful.”
He turned his head to her and managed a small smile. “I suppose I needed a reminder to stay out of the way, Mother.”
“But were you distracted? Was the horse wild?” She gripped his hand with both of hers and stroked his fingers.
“One of the carriage men was discussing the damage from the storm.” He paused, listening to the gale winds buffeting the house. He was thankful they had no large trees very near. Their large plot of land included two good sized chestnuts, but they were far from the house. “Did you hear the oak went down at Bellevue?”
His mother’s eyes went wide at the news. “That tree must be hundreds of years old. Mr. Ransom said the other day, when I met him in town, that he wanted to get a man out to cut off a weak branch.” She shook her head, wisps of dark hair falling from the soft bun. “He’s one of the best gardeners around. When he says a tree is ill, it is true.”
“They said it went through one of the rooms.” Thomas could say the words now without fear, even though the pain in his leg was making him breathless.
His mother put a hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. “Was anyone― Did they―?”
“No one was hurt. But when I heard the news, I turned from the mare I was checking to listen. She had been skittish in the barn, but the wind made it all the worse. I wasn’t close enough and brushed her rump.”
“Stay close, or stay back,” his mother said, her lips tugging up at the corners. “That’s what your Pa always said.”
Thomas nodded, his eyes closing for a moment. He did not want to rely on the morphin
e but if the cold compress did not provide relief, he would not sleep a wink tonight.
His mother brushed a hand over his hair. “I’ll ask Mrs. Anderson to make hot broth. You still have to eat.”
He listened to the force of the wind outside. A storm this serious in the fall did not bode well for an easy winter. Allie’s face sprang to mind and he felt a smile touch his lips, despite the throbbing in his injured leg. It had been quite a day. Full of some of the best and worst moments.
That kiss was definitely one of the best.
Chapter Fifteen
Thomas was ready to go stark raving mad. He had been bored out of his mind for the past four days and would welcome a visit from Louise Lloyd. On second thought, he was not quite that desperate. He picked up another book and tried not to fidget.
His mother glided into the sitting room, her face a mask of careful politeness. “Miss Hathaway is here to see you, Thomas.”
Thomas sat up immediately and closed his book with a snap. He felt a smile spread over his face and worked to appear as normal as possible.
Allie stepped in behind his mother and seemed to bring the sun with her. Her hair waved gently around her ears and as she removed her hat, she ran a gloved hand over the light brown curls. The weather had turned chilly and her cheeks were slightly flushed, a perfect match to the pale pink dress that draped her frame. He couldn’t help for one moment remembering how she felt in his arms, soft and warm.
“Mr. Bradford, I brought you a few cookies from Mrs. Gibson,” Allie said, coming to stand near the foot of the couch. Her eyes swept up and down the length of his leg, which was wrapped and rested on the cushions.
“If I had known Mrs. Gibson would send cookies, I would have made sure to be injured more often.” He reached out to take the basket from her hands and gave her a wink. He almost laughed out loud at how quickly her cheeks turned a deeper pink. Allie was a strong, independent woman who blushed like a girl and he loved it.
A maid brought over a chair for Allie and she thanked her with a smile, then perched on the edge. His mother settled on the chair near him and took up her needlework. She glanced once at Allie and smiled, then proceeded to give them as much privacy as she could muster.
All The Blue of Heaven (Colors of Faith) Page 21