Ginny Aiken

by Light of My Heart

  Although Eric knew Letty would never acknowledge it, the rejection of Hartville’s respectable society and her clinic’s failure were not the worst things that could happen to her; not even was contracting a disease. The possibility of revenge by the seamier elements loomed over her. She was, after all, trying to close down a lucrative industry.

  The memory of a struggle for a pistol between father and son made a sudden return. The father had died hours later, and the son told the sheriff it had been an accident. Since the family was above reproach, no one questioned his account. The mother died of a stroke not long after, and the boy kept the father’s suicide a secret.

  Eric pushed the past aside and focused on the present. He’d called a meeting of the town council in his front room. The men had agreed with him. The best option was to close the brothels and jail the women who didn’t leave town in the five days the council ordered. Eric had reported those facts, no matter what Letty thought.

  Discomfort struck him, especially at the thought of Regis Tolliver’s self-righteousness. Everyone knew he kept Lily LaRaine, Bessie’s main competitor, in business almost single-handedly. Yet he’d been among the first to stop by the newspaper and complain about Letty doctoring the girls.

  How could Eric dig himself out of the hole he’d dug? First, he’d gotten close to Letty. Then when he’d started falling in love with her, he’d failed to keep her out of something so foul that now her safety wasn’t certain. Finally, his fears had driven a wedge between them, and he now missed her sunny presence.

  Besides, how dare she write that offending epistle on the very typewriter he’d lent her? To think she would use something that held the memory of their first kiss to defy him in a public verbal duel!

  The office had another typewriter, and he could respond in kind, but he didn’t want her response to it in tomorrow’s issue. He didn’t put it past her to charm Ford into doing just that. He had things to say that couldn’t be said in public. He’d have to answer privately and hope her common sense prevailed.

  Heavy footsteps alerted him to someone’s arrival. He knew it wasn’t Letty. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Ford.”

  “Come in, come in,” said Eric, glad to see someone who could fetch him the typewriter. “What brings you back today?”

  Ford’s hat landed by the door. His brown coat fell a few feet farther into the room. His jacket flopped over the back of the chair that Anna Sauder, the housekeeper, had placed near the bed. Finally, Ford’s ancient black tie puddled in a thin stream of tired silk at his feet.

  “I heard rumblings in town today,” the reporter said, rubbing the inked side of his nose. “The Swartleys seem to have another dupe.”

  Eric sat straighter. “Did you hear who? Maybe we can stop the swindle and even follow those swine to their source.”

  Ford’s finger crammed his spectacles closer to his blond brows. “I hate to say anything, seeing you’re hurt and can’t go anywhere, and I can’t be sure of what I heard, but I did hear it, and I got worried—”

  “Enough. I understand you don’t want to deliver bad news, but I’m not on my deathbed. Tell me. Who’s their target?”

  “Slosh.”

  “Slosh? Horace Patterson?”

  The spectacles fell onto Ford’s lips. Another stab of his index finger squashed his bushy eyebrows behind the glass. “I heard Slosh, and I told you Slosh.”

  Eric swore.

  Ford flinched.

  Eric apologized.

  Ford scooped up his spectacles from where they had landed on top of his tie.

  Eric cursed his leg and Slosh’s inability to stay sober and keep his trousers shut. With the Swartleys’ money, the man was sure to invest in spirits and time with one of Bessie’s girls instead of in the care of his five needy children.

  The one he couldn’t curse, however, was the persistent doctor who would surely view this development as further evidence of male weakness and debauchery.

  “Well,” he finally said, “why are you still here?”

  Ford bounded up. One arm of his spectacles flew off his ear and curved over his white-gold hair. He replaced it behind his ear and shoved the glass circles up his nose again. He bent to retrieve his tie and lost his spectacles altogether.

  “For goodness’ sake, Ford, keep track of your things, will you?” Eric rarely lost patience with his friend, but with five children about to lose their home, he couldn’t tolerate wasted time.

  Ford donned his coat, rammed on his hat, and stuffed his tie in his pocket. “I’m on my way,” he said. At the doorway, he paused. “Just where do you want me to go? And do what?”

  Eric laughed. Ford’s clumsiness was legendary, and it felt good to laugh again after days of pain. “Follow Slosh. Become his best friend if need be. Just don’t let him out of your sight. Don’t give the Swartleys a chance.”

  Against his better judgment, he added, “Go tell Dr. Morgan what we suspect. She’ll want to keep an eye on the children. You can also tell her the stitches in my leg should probably be removed.”

  As Ford left, Eric leaned back into his pillows, frowning. He’d just decided it was best not to see Letty again, yet at the first opportunity, he’d summoned her to his side. He couldn’t wait until she stormed back into his life.

  He wouldn’t need to write that response, after all.

  Humming “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” the hymn Mrs. Stone played at the end of Sunday’s service, Letty refused to think of Eric. She meticulously swept corn kernels into a heap in the middle of the kitchen floor and decided to resolve the matter of her poultry today.

  She remembered the day she’d tried to catch a chick with her strainer. A bittersweet smile curved her lips. Eric had captured the chick and handed it to her.

  She sighed. Each time she tried to pretend they’d merely had a disagreement, her eyes would well up and all her attempts at normalcy would fade. It seemed she was the sort who loved once, deeply and unwisely. Eric still lived in the past, clinging to the ghosts of Martina and their son. He viewed Letty as a new version of his dead wife. She’d come to symbolize a second chance to do what he should have done back then.

  While Letty would never discount Eric’s love for his wife and son, she knew that if two years hadn’t been enough for him to start moving toward the future, then his wounds went too deep for her love to heal. His rejection of God’s love and healing power didn’t bode well for his recovery, either. As a doctor, she’d learned to fight the power of pain and death, but she’d also learned that there came a point beyond which she couldn’t fight on. The ghosts of Eric’s past lingered at that point. They were the wound she couldn’t heal. Only God could heal his heart.

  Even though she brimmed with love and yearning, she could never stand in for another woman. She needed more than to be Eric’s expiation.

  A question hovered in her mind. Eric had told the story of a family’s destruction rather coldly, but he’d stood ramrod straight, as though braced to ward off an attack. Could that be what lay behind his vehemence against the girls? Could that have been his family? Was he the youth who’d lost it all?

  Surely not. She hoped . . .

  And she missed him. Since their argument, Letty had spent her free time with Daisy and the typewriter, with Mim and the Stones, and with the Patterson children, hoping to lure Suzannah out of hiding. A former schoolmarm, Mrs. Stone had deemed Mim’s untutored state unacceptable and had developed a curriculum for the girl. Bright as the sun, Mim soaked up knowledge and begged for more. The girl had found a home and now flourished in the Stone’s unconditional love.

  Although Daisy spent an hour a day in Letty’s kitchen on the typewriter, she returned to Bessie’s each time. Encouraged by the girl’s tenacity, Letty prayed she would soon decide to change her life.

  And Randy, the dear, visited often, each time bringing clothes for the girls. Thanks to her bounty, when Daisy came to visit these days, she was modestly dressed and looked as pretty and wholesome
as any other girl her age.

  Letty dumped the corn kernels back into the chickens’ box and washed her hands. During the noon lull, she checked the supplies in her medical bag. One never knew when a child would make its entrance into the world, and then, pity the unprepared physician.

  In the examining room, she refilled a remedy pellet tube. The others she checked were full, as were the Mother Tincture vials she kept in the bag. The bandages, though, had run low, and she replaced them. As she closed the bag, she heard a yell outside.

  “Dr. Morgan!” a familiar voice cried. “An accident.”

  Bag in hand, she rushed to the door and opened it wide. Ford, looking more disheveled than usual, was racing toward her house.

  “Excellent,” he cried. “You’re ready. We must go to East Crawford Street.”

  “Ford, please, what’s happened?” she asked, hurrying behind him. “I need some details.”

  Ford said nothing and trotted on.

  Aware of his alarm, Letty fought her own fear, hoping to soothe him and learn what lay ahead. “Who’s hurt?”

  He slanted a glance her way, but kept up his brisk pace. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he rammed his spectacles back up to the bridge of his nose. Letty lost her patience.

  “Ford, I’m a doctor! Someone needs treatment, and it must be a child, a woman, or someone Dr. Medford and his friend won’t treat. Just gather your wits and tell me something, anything.”

  “Slosh.”

  Ford spoke too softly for Letty to be sure. “Who?”

  “Slosh,” he said, louder. “Slosh fell off a horse.”

  Letty pursed her lips. “Drunk again, I presume.”

  “Of course.”

  “How badly?”

  “Wasn’t moving.”

  “Breathing?”

  “Didn’t stop to check.”

  “Bleeding?”

  “Puddle on the ground around his head.”

  Letty worried her bottom lip. It didn’t sound promising. Those poor children. What would they have to face next?

  “Was there a fight?” she continued. “Is anyone else hurt?”

  Ford shook his head. “He’d gone celebrating and borrowed a horse. Drunk as he was, he lost his balance and slid right off. That’s all I saw.”

  “What did Horace Patterson have to celebrate?”

  Ford gulped again. “He came into some money today.”

  “Slosh?”

  “Yes. The Swartleys swindled him. He sold his claim and shack for pocket change, then ran to Bessie’s for whiskey and a harlot.” He blushed right up to his white-blond hair. “Beg pardon, Dr. Morgan.”

  Letty waved acceptance of his apology. “The Swartleys?”

  Then she remembered one of Eric’s editorials. It recounted the plight of poor ranchers and miners who’d sold their property to these Swartleys, hoping to move to town and take advantage of the prosperity they hadn’t achieved. They soon realized the money they’d made wouldn’t buy them shelter, and jobs weren’t even plentiful.

  Glancing at Ford, she noticed his eyes, wider than ever behind his round lenses. She followed his gaze.

  As they approached the group in the street, Letty saw garishly garbed women mixed in with the men gaping at the ground. She tried to see the object of their scrutiny but couldn’t see through them all. She came closer, made her way to the center of the circle, and noticed the onlookers’ silence. Bessie Brown, decked out in purple satin and black lace, stood over Slosh, her fist sealing her mouth.

  Ford had told the truth. Blood turned the street dirt into a dark red halo around Slosh’s head. Before Letty reached his side, she knew her haste had been in vain. The gash on Horace Patterson’s head was more abuse than he could take.

  Caroline, Steven, Amelia, Suzannah, and William were all alone now.

  13

  After she’d taken care of all the pertinent details, Letty went to the livery for her buggy, then dropped her satchel on the floor, got in, and hugged her middle. It had been one of the worst experiences of her life, but she’d done for Slosh what had to be done and what no one else would do.

  Eric would more than likely kick up yet another fuss. Without conferring with him, she’d called on the undertaker, made the necessary decisions, and had the man send the bill to the newspaper.

  She couldn’t in good conscience have left Slosh on the street, and no one would foot the bill for a decent burial. Since Eric had such a proprietary interest in the goings-on in town, he could take care of this as well.

  Letty got Prince moving. Telling the children they were now fatherless wasn’t something she relished doing, but someone had to, and aside from Eric, she was the only one who cared enough to do so compassionately.

  The bright spring day presented a conflicting backdrop to this latest tragedy. A man consumed by thirst for whiskey and guilty pleasures had left five innocents alone in a harsh world. Ford had said that Slosh had used the money the Swartleys paid him to clear his tab at Bessie’s, then he’d spent his change buying a round of drinks for the establishment’s patrons.

  Now Letty fretted over how long the Swartleys might wait before claiming their purchase. What would she do with the children then?

  “You can do all things through Christ who strengthens you,” she said to bolster herself. Somehow she’d manage. She’d wanted those children from the start, and perhaps now she’d have the opportunity to do all she longed to do for them.

  At the Pattersons’, she found a shiny black carriage tied to the spindly cottonwood in the front yard. She would have thought the only Hartville residents who could afford such a luxury were Dr. Medford and the banker, and they wouldn’t come here.

  It seemed crime paid well indeed. Evidently, the Swartleys were offering little time for the children to find a new place. The closer Letty got, the more alarmed she grew, for in the yard she also saw the Pattersons’ bedraggled settee face down in the dirt. A table lay next to it, two legs broken. Steps away, a stained feather mattress leaked its stuffing onto the ground.

  Letty urged Prince to a stop by the fancy carriage.

  “Please, mister,” she heard Caroline beg, anger and anguish in her voice.

  Letty picked her way to the defective porch. “Caroline!” she called. “Where are all of you?”

  Silence reigned. Then, “Up—upstairs, Dr. Miss.”

  “I’m on my way.” She only made it halfway up the creaky stairs before seeing the gaunt male at the top landing.

  “We—ell, what we got here?” His nasal twang ruined the attempt at a drawl.

  “Dr. Letitia Morgan,” she said. “I came to see about the children. Who are you?”

  The man’s oily smile sent revulsion crawling through Letty’s innards. “Egbert Swartley, at yer service.”

  She couldn’t avoid shaking the extended hand, and its clammy feel turned her stomach yet again. She pinned Swartley in place with a glare. “I gather you bought Horace’s property.”

  “Yes, ma’am, and I come to kick the bra—help the children move.”

  Letty narrowed her gaze. “No need, Mr. Swartley. I’ll take over now.”

  “Oh, no, no, no, missy,” he answered, his tone turning a tad menacing. “This here’s my house and land now. You don’t tell me what I can or can’t do here. They’re going, and they’re going now.”

  Angry and frightened, Letty dredged up bravado. “As I said, I will take over the children. I’m sure,” she added, “the Hartville Day’s reporter will be more than happy to write a piece on how you threw five orphans out on the street.” Not that Egbert cared. Still, she continued. “I doubt your . . . er . . . associates would appreciate an unfavorable report, now, would they?”

  Egbert swallowed hard. He pulled a handkerchief sporting a gaudy purple S from his pocket and mopped his brow. He shoved it in place but left the embroidered corner flapping.

  “Seein’ as I’m so good-hearted,” he said, attempting to swagger down the stairs, “I’ll give you and them kids
an hour to git. I’m taking me on a ride this fine afternoon, but when I git back, you and them had best be gone. This is my place now.”

  “Is it, now, Mr. Swartley? I wonder in whose hand the world really is.”

  He slammed the door in response.

  Letty went the rest of the way up the stairs. “Come on, now, Caroline. We don’t want to be here when he returns. I need everyone’s help.”

  Caroline popped her head out from a doorway off the short hall. Amelia peeped out below her chin. Steven peered around his sisters, wearing a cautious expression. In the other doorway, a sweet new face appeared. Suzannah.

  If Letty made a move toward the little girl, she would most likely scare her back, so she addressed the others. “Where’s Willy?”

  “Sleepin’,” muttered Steven.

  “Even Swartley didn’ wake ’im,” added Amelia, admiration in her voice.

  Caroline frowned. “He’s got a cough.”

  “Oh, dear. Again? Still?” Letty asked. “Let’s let him sleep, then. It’s best, since we have so much to do.”

  Egbert Swartley had broken the news of their father’s demise to the children. Although their relative lack of sentiment didn’t surprise Letty, it did sadden her.

  Soon, they’d loaded the children’s meager belongings onto her buggy, and she urged them inside. Steven and Amelia went gladly. Letty gathered the baby, concerned about the rattle in his chest. She’d see to that once she had them home. Caroline, however, a few feet outside the house, stared back at the place with haunted eyes.

  Letty’s heart broke. She had to distract the girl. “Since Suzannah doesn’t know me yet,” she said, “could you please bring her to the buggy, Caroline? We must leave. That dreadful man will return any moment now.”

  Caroline started toward the house, but before she reached the porch, Suzannah, blond pigtails swishing over her shoulders, appeared in the doorway, clutching something to her chest.

  “Wait,” Letty whispered. The older girl stopped. She watched her younger sister walk across the porch, down the sagging steps, and onto the dirt yard. Letty held her breath. With her free hand, Suzannah clung to a fistful of her threadbare, red-faded-to-pink calico dress.