by Amelia Rose
Chapter 3
Twilight on my first day in Gold Hill found me heating foods the neighbors had brought by when they heard about the accident. I didn't manage to meet anyone. They came like brownies are supposed to do in the night, cleaning up and leaving food and going away again, because that's what neighbors do when there's an accident.
"Accident my … eye," Mr. Longren amended, seeing a note left under a Dutch oven that contained chicken and potatoes.
Together, we had brought Matthew in, his arms around our shoulders, and I had studiously not thought about what I was doing, trying to jar him as little as possible but, of course, our heights were wildly different and Matthew listed to my side, which was, at least, the uninjured leg.
"I should go home," Matthew said as we installed him on the davenport, his leg extended and propped up. "Miss Lucas, I surely didn't mean…"
His earnest face made me laugh before he even finished. "…to get shot on my first day"
He looked mortified, and more so when Hutch said, somewhat lightly, "Thought she might as well know what she's in for, did you?"
But following that was an uncomfortable silence. If I hadn't known my place or what was expected of me before, I certainly couldn't know it now. But as the sun was going down, and as I was hungry, I assumed both men were as well, and cooking would be familiar, even if all I was doing tonight was building a fire and heating foods the neighbors had brought. I took my leave of them both, glancing back as I went into the large, well-scrubbed kitchen. They were eyeing each other warily and though I thought Matthew had the most to fear, Hutch looked equally ill at ease.
I didn't try to eavesdrop and I made certain to move as came naturally in the kitchen which, given it was a kitchen I didn't know, was loud. I dropped things, bumped into things, and, once, swore audibly when my elbow came in contact with the iron cook stove. Maybe because I didn't try to be silent, or maybe because Mr. Longren was unused to having anyone else in his house, they spoke in normal voices and once I found I could overhear, I made a point of doing so.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting up. I need to get back to my house. It's no good, me being here. You have a new bride—"
"—She's not my bride yet, and you'll not get out of it that easy. Sit down, damn it, Matthew. You're going to make it bleed again. Do you ever think or do you only act?"
"You don't know what happened." He sounded grumbly, in pain, and I'd need to find a chemist or the doctor everyone had spoken of. He needed something for the pain.
"I intend to," said his brother grimly. "Was it Joseph Gibbons?"
Matthew's voice sounded surprised when he answered. "No. Why would Joseph shoot me?"
There came a sound like Hutch had punched one hand into the other. "Why wouldn't he? I've heard you've been courting his daughter."
A faint sound of amusement in Matthew's voice could be heard. "This is news to me. Are we enjoying ourselves?"
"You were shot today, Matthew. Is that a laughing matter?"
I thought that his being able to laugh at all was a good thing, but that, before much longer, I needed to go in and tell—or perhaps ask—Mr. Longren to go and fetch the doctor.
"I'm not seeing Mr. Gibbons' daughter. I'm fairly certain I'd know."
I caught a round of cheese I'd just knocked off the bench, put it back up and looked around for a knife. I'd lost all track of what I was preparing to go with the plentiful chicken and potatoes. My attention was fully on the drama going on in the sitting room.
"Matthew, I'm not joking. What … happened?"
I pumped water, added it to a pitcher, moved to put the pitcher on the big, well-used, spotless table. I needed to find a tray—Matthew couldn't be sitting up at the table—but was loathe to interrupt the conversation going on in the other room.
It suddenly turned, then, far more serious, as befit a gunshot wound, but I was sorry to hear Matthew's voice so grim.
"Jason Seth, Hutch."
After that came silence. My heart raced, because his voice was grim and because his pronouncement was followed by silence. Hutch said nothing, though I waited, straining to hear. I had no idea who Mr. Seth was, or what this had meant, and I was moving toward the door to the kitchen, the one I'd left only pushed to, when something alerted me, the smallest sound, and I whirled back around, going back to the cabinets, searching for plates, for utensils.
"We're just about ready," I said as Mr. Longren came through the door, and turned to see his face was drawn and ashen. He looked my father's age, and ill. "Are you alright?" My hands went out to him. Without thinking, I reached for him, putting both hands on his forearm.
He didn't seem to notice, though I was well aware of warm skin and the corded muscle beneath.
"Is it Matthew?" I asked when he didn't reply, and he looked up, bewildered, before his eyes cleared.
"Matthew is fine. Empty headed, but his leg isn't bleeding. The doctor will be here soon." His expression didn't change. Without admitting I'd been listening, there was nothing more I could ask.
"Shall I bring a tray for Matthew?" The kitchen was hot, stuffy from the stove and end of day as it faced west.
"Yes, of course, thank you."
I waited a beat, and when he said nothing else, said, "Could you tell me where to find a tray?"
"Hmm?" His eyes cleared then and he looked right at me. "I'm sorry, Miss Lucas. What an introduction to Gold Hill. I appreciate what you did for my brother today, and don't mean to worry you with…" He stumbled over his words. "With anything else." He crossed to the pantry and, after a few minutes of more noise than I had produced, came out holding a silver tray, which he handed to me. "Could you bring my supper out as well?"
I swallowed, thinking of eating alone in the kitchen, but truly I could use the time to think … or not think. I was tired and the conversation I had been overhearing was more worrisome than informative. I made up the tray with plates of chicken and potatoes, with biscuits, cheese, and freshly sliced apples, with glasses of water and mugs of coffee and took it into the sitting room.
Hutch Longren stood at the window, looking out toward the street, one arm up against the wall, his shoulders strong and broad. Matthew lay with his eyes closed, a curl of dark hair over his forehead, his lips parted.
I got out of there as soon as I could and, this time, I closed the kitchen door firmly behind myself.
The doctor arrived as I finished cleaning up the kitchen. He came with a buckboard and left his horse tethered to the porch rail, as if either the horse or the doctor meant to leave in some great hurry.
"Matthew Longren," he called from beyond the screened door. "What have you gotten yourself into this time?"
I hoped for an answer to be forthcoming but when none was, I let myself out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. If I learned nothing else, I could at least learn what I'd done right or wrong for Matthew's wound.
The doctor nodded to me when I entered but didn't stop what he was doing, which mostly concerned looking at the wound, gently pressing around the edges, and making "mmm" sounds. At last, he stood and I was able to see Matthew's face again. He was covered with a sheen of perspiration, looking gray and exhausted, and I was grateful when the doctor opened his black bag and removed a needle and syringe.
"Morphine will get you through the night," he said, and to Hutch, "I assume he'll be staying here."
Hutch nodded. His own face was gray and exhausted. Worry for his brother, no doubt. I hadn't heard them talking much before the doctor came and I was no more enlightened as to who Jason Seth was than I had been before.
"The sheriff will be visiting, no doubt, but with the morning," the doctor said, and administered the shot to Matthew, who had closed his eyes and kept them closed. "Now," he said, straightening, "I'd like to talk to the nurse."
I blushed, cursing my fair skin, and stepped forward. Before I could say anything, Hutch stepped forward and said, "This is Miss Margaret Lucas, Doctor Horton, my bride-to-be. She
only arrived this afternoon on the train."
The doctor tipped his head back to look at me through his spectacles, which had slipped down his nose. He was a young man, red haired and earnest, and he studied me for a moment before saying, "Quite the introduction to our town, then. I'd like to commend you, Miss Lucas. Are you a trained nurse?"
"I did very little," I said, feeling nerves flutter in my stomach. Despite how little there'd been for me to do, I'd had hours of worrying I'd done something wrong.
"What you did, you did well—cleaning the wound, which not everyone knows to do, and tying it off." He still studied me, absently polishing his glasses now on his vest.
"My mother was a nurse in Boston," I said. "During the war." When this didn't make him look away, I added, "I'm trained as a midwife."
And that, finally, made him look down at the glasses he held, his mouth tightening just a bit. Yes, I thought, there's the reaction, and maybe what he had been looking for. Was I competition? No, sir, I wasn't. I had no need to be confronted with another bullet wound, or with snakebite or illness or anything outside the realm of births but, often, my admission of my training left men uncomfortable, and now my first day was closing with the local doctor suspicious and local matrons glaring as I galloped past on my not-yet husband's lap.
So be it. I'd done what I needed to do, and wasn't one for letting propriety keep me from doing what was right.
In that minute, Dr. Horton relented. "It was in the family and it was done well, no harm and no concern."
I wasn't sure what that meant, so I merely nodded.
"He should sleep now and I will take my leave," he said. "I will see him tomorrow, and you, I presume?"
I nodded again and the doctor left. Matthew didn't open his eyes and his breathing had evened out and, when Mr. Longren touched my arm, I accompanied him back into the kitchen.
He sat at the table, strong, long-fingered hands clasped together. "I wonder if you'd make me a cup of coffee and join me?"
There were roasted coffee beans and someone had beaten the sugar and broken it out, and the stove was hot. I set about making the coffee, watching him as the last of the sun went down. He sat with his back to the kitchen window, his dark curls gleamed in the remaining light and his face was shadowed.
When the coffee was ready, I served it then took a seat beside him at the table. Once seated, I could see his features again, his bright blue eyes.
"What should I tell you about today?" he asked, his hands wrapped around the mug, despite the heat in the kitchen.
"All of it, if I'm to be your helpmate," I said, my attention focused on his hands. They were strong and rough where they wrapped around the mug.
He took a long look at me and nodded.
I didn't expect him to begin where he began. His face was serious and, from the sitting room, we could hear Matthew's breathing, heavy and pained despite his sleep.
Still, the first thing Hutch Longren said was, "This morning, I woke up knowing I'd meet the future Mrs. Longren."
I caught my breath but managed not to move. He wasn't looking at me, but rather past me at something I couldn't see. For a horrible instant, I thought he'd start with what a disappointment the meeting had been. No reason to suspect that, we didn't know each other yet, it had been a day full of incident neither of us could be blamed for.
Unless he blamed me for my actions. But I'd only been trying to help, even the doctor had said what I had done had made a difference.
Unaware of my turmoil, Mr. Longren continued. "I wanted to bring you back to the house, to show you your room." He paused, looked at me briefly, then smiled. "You've barely even seen it yet."
With a start, I realized he was right. I'd gotten one glimpse and then the riders had come. I wanted to say, There were other matters to attend to, but kept my mouth closed.
"Then, the storm. The horses. No sooner did we get here than my idiot brother…" He didn't finish that thought. "And you, just gotten here, no doubt tired."
I nodded along with him. I didn't agree with a word. He hadn't mentioned a single thing that mattered to me and, far from being tired, I felt energized and alive despite my worry.
"Now this trouble," he said, without telling me what this trouble was. He met my eyes and I got lost a little in the clear blue. "I'd understand if you wanted to get right back on that train and return to Boston."
I had. At the train station, when I first saw him, I'd felt afraid. Such a handsome man, and so much more real than my plans and daydreams had made him. I hadn't joined my friends in Boston in wondering and giggling between chores or after school. I'd attended the theater on the arm of a suitor or two, but always in the company of my sisters or we'd visited in my parents' parlor.
And I hadn't yearned for more. Learning midwifery, embroidery, reading novels, and walking through parks had been enough for me. The idea of being married, and married to a man who had previously had a wife, loved a woman, found comfort in her arms—that scared me. Starting life somewhere new, making new friends, learning whether my skills would be accepted or feared and scorned, all of it took more courage than I thought I had, and all of it without Virginia, my best friend, sister, and confidante.
So when the horses bolted and the wagon wheel broke, when the darkness of the mine yawned and the desert seemed so huge and Matthew so small and hurt, when I overheard the brothers talking of things I didn't understand but that still frightened me with their promise of unrest and mystery, I'd wanted to go home. Despite the attraction I'd felt the minute I saw him, I'd wanted to return to Boston and plead with my father to let me be the daughter who remained unwed, who cared for him and kept his house and Virginia could stay with me, my best friend and confidante.
Confidante of no confidences.
His eyes searched mine, eyes very like his brother's, and that was a concern as well. I hadn't known either of the Longrens before today but I was promised to one and needed to tread with care near the other.
"Are you sending me away?" I asked very softly.
"No," Hutch Longren said, equally quiet. "I'm asking you to stay."