PRELUDE TO LOVE
The campfire burned with an orange glow. The roasted rabbit smelled good as it sizzled over the fire.
“Are you hungry?” Claire asked Billy.
“Starved. I only have one plate, knife, and fork, but we can make do. Here is a canteen.”
Billy removed the rabbit from the spit and placed it on the plate Claire held. “Ain’t no delicate way to do this,” he said, cutting the meat It was so tender that it fell apart. “Give it a minute to cool, then dig in.”
She took a bite, and chewed for a moment before murmuring her approval, “This is so good.” Claire chuckled and Billy glanced at her, puzzled.
“What?”
“I was just thinking about what my mother would say if she could see me eating with my fingers.” Claire rolled her eyes. “I can hear the lecture now. But you know, it’s fun doing things you’re not supposed to.”
“I take it you’ve always done everything the right way.”
Claire smiled. “Pretty much.”
He reached for another piece of meat and shrugged. “Sometimes you learn from doing things the wrong way.”
“But I’ve never been given the chance,” Claire said. She licked the grease off her fingers. “Are you going to teach me the things I need to know?” Her voice was so soft that Billy found himself looking at her mouth and saying his thoughts out loud. “I’ll teach you anything you want to learn.” Her eyes glistened. “Anything?”
“Anything,” Billy replied.
Good, Claire thought. She just didn’t know how to ask him to teach her how to love....
Copyright © 2002 by Brenda K. Jernigan
First published by Kensington
2012 Published by Brenda K. Jernigan - at Smashwords
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Until September
Brenda K. Jernigan
Until September is dedicated to Star Helmer who saw the glimmer of a storyteller. With her encouragement and training,
I saw the dream come true.
Thank you, Star.
A special thanks to Ute Hickman for letting me use her name and providing the German for this book.
In Memory of
My mother, Bonnie Dittman, who died much too young of breast cancer. A portion of the proceeds from this book will be donated to HOSPICE, so they can help those who can’t help themselves.
Prologue
He’d been drunk for three damn days.
Billy West lay on a small cot, staring at the cracks in the white ceiling, willing himself to remain perfectly still for fear his head would explode at any small movement He wondered what he’d gotten himself into this time.
He’d done some stupid things in his life, and he had a real bad feeling that this one ranked right at the top. Problem was he was none too sure what he’d done or where in hell he was.
The sound of someone in the distance, swearing, followed by the jingle of keys gave Billy a clue. He bet if he turned his head slightly he would see bars and, more than likely, he’d be on the wrong side of them, but the effort was just too much, so he went back to counting the cracks above his head ... anything to stay conscious.
Billy felt lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon rut after the wagon had run over him a couple of times. He managed a slight smile at that thought.
There had been happier days. Billy remembered when he thought he’d known it all as he left the safety of his sister’s and brother-in-law’s ranch. Now he was forced to admit he hadn’t known nearly as much as he’d thought.
Unfortunately, he had to learn everything the hard way. The next time he chose a friend, he would damn well be careful. No more trusting. If he ever bumped into Bad Jae Green again, he’d skin the man alive and enjoy every minute of it.
“You look like shit, kid!”
Billy winced at the loud voice intruding on his misery. He recognized that voice. And he knew it wasn’t a voice that would go away.
“Are you going to lie on that cot and feel sorry for yourself all day?” Brandy asked.
Shit, Billy thought. Bad enough Thunder was going to see him like this but now his sister was here, too! And she didn’t sound too happy. With a great deal of effort, Billy sat up, grabbing his head to stop the throbbing as the sheriff unlocked the cell and ushered Thunder and Brandy into the cell.
“Call me when you’re done,” the sheriff said on his way out of the room, his keys chiming like church bells to Billy’s ears.
“I thought you were old enough to take care of yourself,” Brandy started, “but I’m beginning to have second thoughts. Don’t you remember what it’s like to live with a bunch of drunks?”
Billy peered at his sister through eyes that felt like sand. It appeared Brandy was getting worked up because she’d started to pace the room, while Thunder casually crossed his arms and leaned against the window bars. He knew his wife would try to get her anger out of her system. Billy had learned that about her a long time ago.
“Now look at you—” Brandy stopped and glared at Billy for a moment “You’re no better than they were.”
Billy knew she referred to the gunslingers he’d lived with before Father Brown had taken him in. When they got all liquored up, they would beat him, and he’d been too young to defend himself. Thank goodness, they had all been killed, and he had been sent to the orphanage. Finally, Billy said, “You’re getting mighty worked up, Sis.”
“You’re darn right I am! I didn’t bring you halfway across the country for you to end up like this.” She threw her hands up and sighed. “And smelling of rotgut.”
“Well, Jae Green swindled me and ran off with all the money I’d saved for the past year!” Billy’s voice grew louder as his temper returned. He staggered to his feet and then reached for the wall so he wouldn’t fall. “And you know what that leaves me? Absolutely nothing.”
“We’ve had nothing before, Billy.” Brandy’s soft voice took some of the anger out of him.
“This is different ’Sides, all I did was start drinking. Come to think of it, why am I in this stinking place?”
Thunder straightened and said, “You’re in trouble, kid.”
Billy frowned as he looked at his brother-in-law. “For getting drunk? When did that become a crime?”
“Since you busted up the saloon and took a horse that didn’t belong to you,” Thunder answered.
“Do you think I’d still be here if I’d stolen a horse? I’d be in another county by now.”
Thunder shrugged. “Probably not, which is what
I pointed out to the sheriff. If he is going to accuse you of being a thief, he needs the evidence. So I got him to drop the charges,” Thunder said.
Billy grinned. “It pays to have a lawyer in the family.”
“And I paid the saloon for the damages,” Brandy added.
If it were possible to feel worse, Billy did. He’d let down the two people he loved most. And he had nobody to blame but himself. When he left the ranch, his parting words had been ... “I am going where the wind blows me. ” Well, this time it had blown him in the wrong direction. But he vowed that things would change.
“I’m obliged. I promise you’ll not have to bail me
out of jail again,” Billy said, meaning it, and watching as his sister smiled her approval.
They had been through a lot together back in Independence, Missouri. He and Brandy had been orphans and Father Brown, the priest who’d been keeping them, had died. Billy had felt pretty low then, too, especially when they found out they were losing their home, and would have absolutely nothing. That he and Brandy had survived at all was a miracle.
He realized now that he’d been acting as if life didn’t mean anything to him when he knew damn well it did. He was a fighter, not a quitter.
“I got a proposition for you, kid,” Thunder said, breaking into Billy’s thoughts. “I have been doing some legal work for a gentleman named Ben Holladay. He’s known as the Stagecoach King, and he’s thinking about extending his line into Denver. I mentioned you, and Ben said that if you were good with a gun, he could use a good man.”
Billy straightened slowly so he wouldn’t jar his throbbing head. “What do I have to do?”
“First, let’s get you out of here and cleaned up. Then I’ll take you over to meet Ben.”
Maybe this would be a new beginning, Billy thought.
He needed something... and it damn sure wasn’t a drink.
Chapter One
Fairhaven, New York
Claire Holladay’s heart beat fast.
“Calm down, Claire,” she whispered to herself. “Everything will be all right. You’re just letting your imagination run away with you.”
It was a cold winter’s day and she sat rigid in the cane back chair, waiting for Doc Worden to return to his office. It was the waiting that had made her nervous—not that odd look on Doc’s face during the examination.
It was just nerves. That’s all.
This had been an unusually cold New York winter, or so it seemed to Claire. The wood in the old potbelly stove crackled and popped as warmth spread throughout the room. But today she couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Her hands were like ice, and she rubbed them together.
She rose and moved over to the inviting warmth and held her hands out a few inches from the stove to warm them. She glanced around the room. How many times had she been in this familiar office?
Too many to count.
However, some things never changed. This office was one of them. She liked the familiar feeling she got every time she entered the room. The medicine smell, the old brown desk.... She stepped over and looked at the desk. A small “CH” had been carved in the corner of the wood by a brave child of ten. She could remember it as if it were yesterday. She had wanted to give Doc Worden something to remember her by.
Claire had figured that she’d be walloped for that little stunt, but punishment wasn’t forthcoming. Instead, her family had just carefully scolded her the way they always did when she did something wrong. Because of “her condition” they always treated her with kid gloves. It was almost as if she didn’t exist.
She was different.
Claire frowned.
She didn’t’ want to be different. She wanted to be normal.
A tickle started deep in her throat. She coughed and coughed and finally eased down upon the chair to catch her breath. She held her chest as she took a deep breath and reached for the glass of water that was on the edge of the desk. She carefully took small sips of water until the spasms were under control. At least, this time she didn’t have to take any medicine. Once again, she was the prim and proper Claire Holladay.
A child crying in the next examining room caught Claire’s attention. She smelled the ether just before the child’s cries faded into a whimper, followed by silence. Claire hoped it was nothing serious because she knew firsthand what it was like to be sick.
Looking back at the old brown desk, she noticed how messy it was. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t ever remember all the papers being in order. And the groups of brown bottles which sat in one comer must have been there for the last ten years.
It was a shame when a doctor’s office felt like home. She sighed. The waiting was making her nervous.
The doorknob jiggled before the door swung open, and Doc Worden came into the room. He’d shed the brown tweed coat that he wore in the winter. His white shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and a stethoscope hung around his neck.
Instead of taking his chair as he normally did, Doc Worden ambled over to the desk and leaned back against it He folded his arms across his chest, then looked at her over wire-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose. “Sorry I took so long. It seems Mary Ann tripped and cut her knee.”
“Oh, that sounds painful.”
“She’ll be fine,” he said in an offhand manner, as if his mind were elsewhere. He drew in a deep breath as he rubbed his chin. Claire noticed that he seemed to be fascinated by his shoes, for he had yet to look at her.
And he was frowning.
A knot started to form in Claire’s stomach. Doc Worden was taking much too long to talk about the pains she’d been having in her chest. What was he having such a hard time saying? And why wasn’t he looking at her?
“I thought I could do this,” he said finally in an odd voice.
Claire swallowed hard. “D-do what?”
Slowly, Doc Worden brought his head up and his gaze settled on her. He had the kindest eyes, the eyes she’d learned to trust. He ran his right hand through his hair and finally said, “There isn’t anything else I can do for you, Claire.” He sighed.
“I—I don’t understand. You have always taken care of me.”
Reaching over, he took her hands in his soft, warm hands. “I know. But the truth is, I cannot make you well. I’ve tried for a very long time. But Claire, you’re going to die!”
Claire gasped. She jerked her hands from his and gripped the chair for support. She felt as if all the blood had left her head, leaving her lightheaded. “I-I I’m going to die?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
This is not fair! she wanted to scream.
“I am afraid so, child. Consumption is a strange disease that we don’t understand. You know how much you cough at times, and you have told me you have night sweats. I expect violent pains over your left chest will be next. When you start coughing up blood....” He paused, and she could see that he was choked up. He looked as helpless as she felt. “The only thing I can do is to give you opium in the form of an atomizer spray to relieve your coughing. And maybe if you stay in bed....” He didn’t bother to finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. Claire knew....
He kept talking, but she had tuned him out. Who wanted to stay in bed all the time? She felt like her body and mind were separating. None of this should be happening.
She should be hysterical.
She should be weeping.
But all she could feel was this cold empty feeling inside her as if somebody had sucked all the air from her lungs. “How long do I have?” she finally managed to ask as she pushed herself to her feet.
“I-I’m not sure. Perhaps until September,” Doc Worden said and handed her a new bottle of medicine.
Claire nodded. Then she stood and hugged the doctor. His arms wrapped around her in a strong hold. Somehow his hug said it all. He was saying goodbye to her.
“Thank you for all you’ve done.”
When Doc Worden released her, he nodded, with tears in his eyes.
Claire gave him a small smile before heading for the door. She had just touched the doorknob when he said, “You take care of yourself, and remember when the pain gets too bad, I’ll give you more opium.”
She turned back, tears brimming in her eyes as she said, “I will take care ... until September.”
Five days later, Claire sat by the window looking at the large icicles that hung from the eaves of her upstairs bedroom. There was a very large one in the center of her window.
The numbness she’d felt for the last few days had started to lift and a weird feeling she couldn’t put her finger on remained.
Her family had wept when she’d told them. Then they’d lo
oked at her with such sympathy and pity that she had finally broken down and wept, too.
After two days of crying, her tears finally dried. She had wept for all the things she would miss.
She’d never get married ... never have that little house and children. She cried for the injustice of it all. She was too young to die. But finally she stopped feeling sorry for herself and dried her tears, swearing that from this day forward she’d never cry again.
Claire summoned the courage to tell her fiancé, David Ader. They had been engaged for two years. He had wanted to wait until he had his mercantile store running properly before they married. She shut her eyes and remembered two nights ago when David had come to the house.
“Claire,” David had said as she’d entered the parlor. “I haven’t heard from you in over a week, so I’ve come to see if everything is well.” He placed his hat on a chair then stepped closer to her. He took her hands in his when she finally stopped in front of him, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. He was dressed in his usual no-nonsense plain brown suit.
“No, everything isn’t all right,” Claire said.
“Well, you do look a bit peaked, my dear. It isn’t that dreadful cough of yours, is it?”
Claire looked at him for a long moment. “Yes, David, it is my cough.”
“I hope you have asked Doctor Worden for more of your medicine. It always makes you feel better.” David loosened his bow tie, frowning. He finally said, “You wouldn’t believe what a day I had.” He reached for her hand. “You should come down to my store more often, Claire, and not stay in the house.”
As usual, he had only listened to her for a moment before he started talking about his business.
“I’m going to die!”
David let go of her hand, taking several steps backward to put some distance between them.
Until September Page 1