by Natalie Dean
Then everything was a lie, Sarah realized. The missionary work that had been the reason that she had decided to come West to marry him. She had wanted a purpose in life and what, she had supposed, could engender more purpose than to marry a doctor who had dedicated his life to the Lord? But it was all a lie. He was nothing but a lying drunkard who needed someone to mind his children while he continued to live as he preferred, a willing slave to the bottle. Now she was here, and his children meant more to her than they did to him, and she had no husband. Again.
“Then, I suppose, the town is well rid of him.”
“But what if he does come back?”
“I will not give up the children,” she said. Hearing the words gave life to the unspoken thought that she had been nurturing in her soul. She could not surrender those children, those brave children, to such a father.
“You have no right to them if he comes back.”
“If I am Graham Boone’s wife,” she said carefully, speaking slowly because the words were not easy to voice, “then I have a right to the children and I can protect them.”
“And who is going to protect you, Sarah?” he demanded.
They were standing very close together, with only the fencepost parting them. The darkness shielded their faces from one another. She should have brought a lantern out with her, Sarah thought. The sky was without stars or moon, only dark clouds that disappeared in the endless blackness of the heavens. Even the saloons were quiet and dark. Had she brought a light of some kind with her, Carson Harlow would not have trespassed into the regions of her life where he had no right to be.
“Love,” she said, still speaking in a slow, soft voice because she was not entirely sure of her words or even of the thoughts that were forming behind them. “Love requires sacrifice. The children shouldn’t have to make that sacrifice.”
“You think that I don’t know about love and sacrifice, Sarah?” he said, his voice rigid with emotion. “My father was a drunk who beat my mother until I was old enough and big enough to stop him from hitting her. I used to take the beatings he wanted to dish out to my younger brothers and sisters so that they wouldn’t have to suffer from his rages. I understand that sacrifice, and I’m telling you that marrying Graham Boone isn’t the way to—not the—it’s not—"
“Deputy! Deputy Harlow?” she cried out as Carson gripped the fence post. “Carson! Carson! Dr. Darnley! Come quickly!”
Carson, no longer standing, had fallen to the ground, his body sprawled upon the dirt. Sarah reached through the fence rail to touch his face. He was burning with fever.
“Dr. Darnley! Please hurry! It’s Carson Harlow! He’s come down with the smallpox!”
Chapter 15
“You need to get some rest.” Dr. Darnley spoke with the resignation of a man who knew that his words would fall on deaf ears.
“I will. You go ahead and take your rest first; I’ll wake you up in four hours.”
“He’s going to be all right,” the doctor said gently.
“I know.”
The doctor left her at Carson Harlow’s bedside. The deputy was sleeping. His breathing was less labored now; his fever had broken. The rash would appear soon, but he would recover. Dr. Darnley had vaccinated him as soon as he came in on the stretcher, murmuring incomprehensibly, his face flushed with fever.
Sarah had not neglected the other patients, but she spent every spare moment that she had tending to Carson Harlow. She told herself that it was her fault that he had come down with the sickness. She had enlisted him to help bring Benjamin Graves to the hospital. That had to have been the source. She had been vaccinated and she would not catch it, but Carson—
“Sarah . . .” Carson’s voice was weak and feeble, but she heard her name.
“Yes? Yes, it’s Sarah,” she said eagerly, leaning closer to him as she pressed the cool, wet cloth against his face. “What do you need?”
“Sarah.”
His eyes were closed. The onset of smallpox had hit hard and sudden, leaving him weak and delirious, sometimes conscious, often not. He seemed to be engaged in a conversation, and she seemed to be the person to whom he was speaking, although she was only murmuring soothing words, agreeing with him when he asked a question, reassuring him as best she could.
“Sarah?”
“Yes, Carson, I’m here. You’ve been ill but you’re—”
“Marry me?”
“What did you say?”
“Marry a lawman?”
“I—Carson?”
“Answer me!” he insisted in agitation. “Would Sarah marry a lawman?”
So he did not know that he was speaking to her. “Yes, Carson,” she answered. “Sarah would marry a lawman.”
He fell quiet, appeased by her affirmative response. Not long after, he fell asleep.
Sarah continued to sit at his bedside, even though he was asleep and did not need her now. The hospital was quiet. It seemed as though they had reached a significant point in the cases; more seemed to be on the mend, although they were still enduring the unsightly rashes and pustules for which smallpox was named.
Would Sarah marry a lawman?
It was a peculiar question, to be sure. There was nothing in their relationship to indicate tenderness on his part. She was sure that he considered her a nuisance, nothing more than a female who had gotten herself into a mess by coming West to be a mail-order bride. A woman who was afraid of frogs. A woman who liked her fancy frocks and her stylish hats. A woman who was accustomed to being waited on. Not a woman suited for the frontier.
What was making him think of marriage? Was it because she had spoken of marrying Graham Boone if she must, in order to keep the children safe from neglect and harm? Had he, in his delirium, gotten confused? That must be it, she realized as she wiped the sweat from his face. Dark stubble covered his chin, but there would be no shaving until the rash was gone. She dipped the cloth into the basin to refresh it and then squeezed the water out before placing it upon his forehead.
He was troubled in his fevered state because he had warned her that Graham Boone was a violent man. He was concerned that she would marry a man who would do her harm. Carson had made it clear that he was not a man meant for marriage. Was it because of his father? She had been surprised by the revelation that his father was not unlike Graham Boone, violent and drunk, and that he had inflicted his temper upon his wife and children. Were those past terrors returning to him because of the fever? She had seen grown men in the hospital in Charleston weeping like children at the memory of something unknown to her that had resurfaced in their minds as a result of a fever, or the laudanum used to dull the pain of an amputation. As a nurse, Sarah knew better than most that the foundation of an adult was formed by layers of experiences from childhood, with all its fears, uncertainties and trauma. Carson Harlow had his ghosts and they had chosen now to revive.
She told herself this. She could not even consider that his words might have a personal message. He was a patient with a fever. Had she not sat at the bedside of enough patients to realize that what was said in illness was a compilation of the medicine, the sickness, and that inexplicable unknown that caused the mind and the tongue to join forces in a communication which bore very little relation to the truth? She knew that, did she not? And did she also not know that she had come here to Knox Mills to marry Graham Boone. Marry him she would, if it meant saving his children so that they could grow up safe, cared for, with clean clothes and an education and a chance for a future.
Sarah leaned closer to Carson so that her words would be heard by him and no one else. “Yes, Carson, Sarah would marry a lawman.”
But only if the lawman was Carson Harlow.
On the other end of the town, Marshal Jack Walker surveyed the message that Justin Ward had just delivered. Whatever reservations Jack might have had about his newest deputy’s abilities had been put aside; with both Benjamin and Carson down with smallpox, Justin was carrying an extra load. Even though the town was subdued as
the disease raged, that didn’t mean that the jail was empty. Wary of the disease, Jack had insisted that Justin get his vaccination. He also made it a requirement for everyone that was arrested, and that notice had been nailed to signposts throughout the town.
Ike Ansonberry, still sleeping off his drunk from the night before, had protested that jail was one thing, but vaccination was another. He’d accused Jack of trying to kill him when the Marshal and Deputy Ward had ushered Ike down to the hospital so that Dr. Darnley could conduct the vaccination. Then they brought him back to the jail, where he’d continued his complaints until he fell asleep.
“Looks like Boone’s been spotted east of here,” Jack said, handing the message over to Justin.
“He’d be loco to come back,” Justin said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “My sister hears from kinfolk of the late Mrs. Boone that he’s really out to get justice, at least that’s how he sees it, against Harlow. I told Harlow, but I don’t think he believed me.”
“Then the hospital might be the safest place for him now. No chance of heroics. But it’s up to you and me to keep things under control and to keep an eye out for Boone.”
“This telegram says he has a gang,” Justin noted. “That sounds like he’s turned into a right bad ‘un. Before, he was just a drunk, someone we’d lock in the cell and let out the next day. Now he’s turned into a criminal.”
“He bears watching. Let’s make sure we ride past the Boone cabin a couple of times a day. Maybe the night, too.”
“You think he’d head home?”
“Where else could he go? The cabin is far enough out of the way that no one would notice. He’d probably be expecting Mrs. Baker to be there.”
“But Benjamin’s wife is there.”
Jack nodded, a stern set to his features. “But he doesn’t know that. If he’s drunk, he’s liable to stir things up before he figures out that Mary-Lee isn’t who he’s looking for.”
Chapter 16
“Aren’t you looking better this morning!”
Carson grinned weakly, then rubbed his whiskered jaw. “I reckon I don’t look a whole lot better with this beard growing like a tumbleweed all over my face.”
“No shaving yet. You’ve been lucky and most of the rash is on your chest, not your face. But Dr. Darnley isn’t going to let you take a razor to those whiskers until you’re clear of the pustules.”
Carson wrinkled his nose. “That sounds pretty bad, pustules.”
“If you’d gotten vaccinated when you were supposed to, you wouldn’t have to be the bearer of ugly things like pustules,” Sarah said briskly. She sat down next to his bed. “I’ll wash your face for you and get you cleaned up.”
“I can wash my own face.”
“You think you can, but you’re still weak. Be still or I’ll have to tie your hands down.”
“Since when did you become so bossy? Where’s that sweet-talking Charleston belle that used to be called Sarah Baker?”
Sarah smiled, absurdly glad that she was wearing a pink cotton dress and a pink ribbon in her hair. Not that much could be seen of the dress, since she was covered in a generously proportioned white apron, and her hair was bound back from her face so that it didn’t get in her way. But it was morning, and no one had vomited on her, or spilled anything on her, so she was feeling fresh and much more like a Charleston belle.
“Sweet talking and smallpox don’t mix,” she said, gently moving the cloth across his face so that she would not break any of the blisters on his cheeks. He was very blessed that the disease had left him relatively unscathed. There were others who would bear the scars for the rest of their lives.
“How is it now? Did many come down with it?”
“The first round have gone home. We’re still getting new patients, but not as many now. I’d say about sixty have come down with it. Varying degrees of severity, of course and those who are vaccinated, even when the disease has come upon them, will have an easier time. Vaccination once the disease has begun cannot undo it, but the progression of the disease is lessoned. Seventeen have died,” she said soberly, anticipating his next question.
“How’s Benjamin?”
“Well, he’s almost ready to go home. He thinks he’s ready now, but Dr. Darnley has convinced him that he shouldn’t go home until he won’t need nursing. He had a rough night last night; his back and chest are covered with the rash and that makes it hard to sleep. Dr. Darnley decided to give him some laudanum. He’s sleeping now, finally.”
“The kids?’
She knew that he meant Erich, Lucy, Isaiah and Ruby. “Mary-Lee Graves is minding them at the cabin. There’s no school now because of the smallpox, but she’s keeping up with lessons. They sent a note down to me, complaining that they’re the only kids in Knox Mills who are still having lessons even though there’s no school. I wrote back to tell them that they’ll be ahead of everyone else when school returns.”
Carson laughed. “Mary-Lee is a little thing, but she can take care of what needs taking care of. She’s a spitfire. So is Piper Walker, come to think of it.”
“Maybe it’s something to do with being married to a lawman,” Sarah suggested demurely.
Carson flushed. “Maybe,” he said. “I . . .uh . . . I suppose I said some pretty outlandish things while I was babbling with fever. I hope, uh, I hope I didn’t say anything to offend you.”
“Not in the least,” Sarah said with a winsome smile. “You were quite courtly.”
“I was?” he asked dubiously. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
“I was quite impressed,” she said, picking up his hand to wash it. “I’ve been proposed to before by patients who weren’t entirely in control of their conversation, but they were strangers to me, known only because I nursed. As I know you,” the smile danced across her face, giving her eyes an impish glint, “I was quite charmed.”
“Proposed?” he said. “I proposed to you?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she said, picking up the other hand to wash. “You asked if Sarah would marry a lawman.”
“Did I now,” he mused. “And what did Sarah say to that—what’s that? It sounds like gunshots!”
“It can’t be. This is a town with sickness. Who would be—"
“Go over to the window,” he ordered. “Don’t let anyone see you from outside, but look out and tell me what you see.”
Dr. Darnley had heard the gunshots too and he came over to the window. “That’s Graham Boone!” he said in disgust. “What in the name of the Almighty is Graham Boone doing back in town?”
“Get me my gun,” Carson said, throwing back the sheet and sitting up.
“You can’t go out there, you’re still in a sickbed,” Sarah protested.
“I have to go out there, it’s my job. Where are my britches?”
“They’re—Carson, please, you can’t go out there. You’re still weak.”
“It’s my job,” he repeated.
“What about the Marshal? Won’t he go?”
“If he’s not already out there, chances are he’s not in town. My britches and my gun, Sarah,” he said in a tone of voice that would not tolerate an argument.
Angrily, Sarah handed him his clothing. He pulled the trousers on over his long underwear. She handed him his shirt and he put it on, buttoning it with speed. He held out his hand.
“My gun, Sarah.”
“We saved you from dying of smallpox so that you can go out there and get shot by a drunk?” she demanded bitterly.
“I appreciate what you did,” he said, fastening the gunbelt around his waist. “You nurse because, I reckon, you see that as your job. You didn’t hold back when there were sick people, you and Dr. Darnley here rushed right into it to save lives. It’s no different for a lawman. That man out there could hurt someone, and the people of Knox Mills pay me to keep them safe.”
“Don’t get killed,” she said, her voice trembling.
He gave her a grin. Even though he was weak from being bedri
dden and his face was thinner from illness, the grin retained its devilish appeal. “Honey,” he drawled, “getting killed is not on my list of chores for today.”
“This isn’t a jest, Carson,” Sarah said. Tears formed in her green eyes.
“Honey,” Carson said, “I’m just trying to. . . we’ll talk about this later,” he said hurriedly, moved by her tears and wondering what it meant. “I gotta get out there before someone ends up dead.”
“Make sure it isn’t you,” she told him.
He turned around. “I told you, it’s not on my list of chores for today.”
Then he took off. Despite his weakness, his body was galvanized by the need to get to the center of town and stop Boone before he caused real trouble. Dealing with drunken cowboys who rode through town during the cattle drives made the marshals and deputies experienced at addressing this sort of situation, but Boone wasn’t a cowboy. He was a man who was unleashed from the responsibilities that a rational human being accepted and he had a grudge against Sarah. That made him dangerous. That he also, according to Justin, had a grudge against Carson was secondary.
“Boone!” Carson called out. “Get down off that horse!”
Graham Boone had clearly been drinking before he arrived in Knox Mills. He was swaying in the saddle looking as if he would topple at any minute. But the gun in his hand made his posture threatening because a stray shot could strike an innocent person.
“Deputy Harlow,” Boone replied. “I do believe you and I have business to settle.”
“Fine, we’ll settle it. Get down off the horse.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Boone said. “If I get off the horse, you’ll arrest me.”