Healing Hearts

by Sarah M. Eden

  “My only relevant ‘condition’ is hunger. Something I mean to reconcile momentarily.”

  Dr. Blackburn sighed sadly. He turned his gaze to the others at the table. “Many never move past denying their limits. It is, perhaps, the most tragic part of my area of specialty: helping people who are too far gone to realize they need help.”

  Father nodded minutely.

  “I am not certain to what you refer,” Gideon said. “Miss Bricks spent unending, grueling hours of effort calling upon a deep store of expertise and ability to save dozens of lives, but she certainly understands that every person has limits to their endurance under such conditions. She has rested as needed and as able.”

  Dr. Blackburn’s lips pulled tight. “I am not unaware of your fondness for her. I haven’t the luxury of letting my judgment be colored by such things. Too much depends upon my willingness to do what must be done.”

  Another nod from Father.

  “One must wonder how much of what you do must be done and how much you simply enjoy doing,” Miriam inserted. “That is an error no doctor can afford, but too many allow.”

  “Do not grow hysterical, Miriam,” he answered with slow emphasis.

  How she hated that word. Only female patients were ever labeled “hysterical,” and only when they objected to his inhumane treatments and biting rebukes.

  “He knows what he is about,” Father said, motioning to Dr. Blackburn. “Not many doctors have dedicated their lives to tending those who . . . who are like you, whose minds are a danger.”

  “My mind is not—”

  “He said you would deny it.” Father rose. “Those most in need of treatments for the mind don’t know that they are in need. It is part of the problem.”

  Dr. Blackburn set a hand on Father’s shoulder, a gesture of support that Miriam didn’t believe for one moment to be sincere. The doctor could be whatever the situation called for. He could convince almost anyone of almost anything. He lied as easily as most people breathed.

  “We won’t disrupt your meal,” Dr. Blackburn said. “Carlton and I have a few things to discuss.” He motioned Father to the opposite side of the room. Before walking away, he met Miriam’s eye. “I expect to receive word from the judge in Laramie soon.”

  She kept her expression neutral. Even when the men were settled at a different table, she didn’t let her posture slip. They would be watching. She would not allow them to see her as anything but strong.

  “Do not give up hope, sweetheart,” Mr. MacNamara said. “We knew this would not be fixed in a single evening. We have planted seeds, just as we wished to.”

  Mrs. MacNamara smiled. “Indeed. I am entirely hopeful.”

  Miriam tried to smile. They were hopeful, which was good, but she was not. They were up against two men Miriam knew far better than they did. Her father was both vain and easily persuadable, and Dr. Blackburn knew precisely how to manipulate people like her father.

  Only one thing had grown more certain over the course of the evening: she was running out of time.

  Chapter 34

  Only four children remained at Gideon’s house by noon the next day.

  “It is admirable that you are so willing to work,” Dr. Black­burn said as Miriam stripped bedding from one of the now-empty sickbeds. “But the crisis has past. There is help enough without you.”

  Gideon accepted the rolled pile of bedsheets Miriam handed to him. “On the contrary, Blackburn, medical training is still very valuable. I am certain you know the dangers of scarlet fever do not disappear the instant the rash does.”

  Miriam had adopted the strategy of not speaking to Dr. Blackburn, of keeping her head held high and going about her work. She knew he was right, that her assistance was not actually necessary during the final stage of this epidemic. Gideon could easily see to the task of burning linens and rags and scrubbing furniture without her. But the chores granted her time to formulate a strategy.

  She had spent much of the night pondering, lying in the quiet stillness of the recovery room, where she’d been staying, knowing Dr. Blackburn and her father were at the hotel. She would not have been safe there.

  In those long hours of darkness, she had accepted the reality of her situation. She had no choice but to run again. But she needed to be smart about it this time.

  She would not keep her same name or profession or credentials. Anonymity was her only hope. Disappearing was the only way she could protect Cade and Hawk and Paisley and, most of all, Gideon from the consequences of her refusal to return to the asylum. It was the only way to save her own life.

  “Are you here, Doc?”

  Andrew. Thus far they’d managed to shield him from Dr. Blackburn’s attention. How would they now with both men in the same house?

  “I’ll speak with Andrew,” Gideon said. He gave Miriam back the armful of linens. “Will you add this to the pile downstairs?”

  She walked alongside him, grateful for the buffer he provided. Were she alone with Dr. Blackburn, the haranguing would be ceaseless, provided he didn’t physically restrain her and drag her away. Though he maintained an almost impeccably civil demeanor around everyone else, she knew it would disappear if they were alone.

  Andrew hurried past the foot of the stairs, toward the kitchen. “Barney, you have to stay here so Doc can talk to you.”

  Mr. Bell was there as well? What had happened?

  Gideon asked the question before she could. “Has something happened to Mr. Bell?”

  “He keeps saying he needs to find his dog. He’s wandering all over, and I can’t stop him.” Andrew wrung his hands, his neck craning to watch the kitchen door, then back to Gideon, then back at the door. “He keeps calling me ‘Mister,’ like he doesn’t know me at all.”

  He likely didn’t. Mr. Bell’s mind was slipping away faster and faster all the time.

  Dr. Blackburn pushed past them all. “Allow me to be of assistance, MacNamara. This is my area of expertise.”

  “Be that as it may, I am this man’s doctor,” Gideon said. “I will see to his care.”

  Dr. Blackburn dipped his head in acknowledgment, though the movement was stiff. The veneer was growing thin. “I am at your disposal should either of these men need someone versed in the care of lunatics.”

  Andrew swallowed hard. “I am not a lunatic.”

  “Those who are seldom realize it.” Dr. Blackburn’s eyes hardened the way they did when a patient was inconveniencing him. “You would do well to track down the other one before he lands himself in trouble.”

  “‘The other one’ has a name.” Miriam ought to have bit her tongue, but she’d kept quiet for two long years. Hearing him dismiss the struggles of yet another human being was too much. “His name is Barney Bell. He founded this branch of the Omaha National Bank. He held the respect and good opinion of a great many people. And while he has grown confused and lost, he has never caused anyone any trouble.”

  “As always, you twist my words.” Dr. Blackburn produced a look of empathetic discontent. “Lashing out at me because your life has not played out as you wish has never accomplished what you seem to think it will.”

  “I do not do that,” she insisted.

  He lowered his voice along with his brows. “Do try to stay calm. A fevered mind will never function correctly. Once you are back at the asylum, you will benefit from the calm I have created there.”

  He demanded calm at all costs, and his patients paid the price. Most he broke with neglect, but those who truly upset his ordered world, those like poor George, he medicated into unnatural silence. Miriam was well aware that she had toppled his haven more than anyone else had, having proven that he did not have ultimate control over her, and he meant to break her for it.

  Andrew, who normally avoided speaking to strangers, especially combative ones, stepped directly between Dr. Blackburn and Miriam. “She d
oesn’t have to go with you. We’ll not let you take her.”

  Miriam felt a wave of warmth at his show of courage. If not for Dr. Blackburn’s presence and her doubt that Andrew would appreciate it, she would have hugged him.

  “She needs the help I offer,” Dr. Blackburn said. “You and your friend—Mr. Bell, was it?—could likely benefit as well. We could make room for you.”

  “No.” Miriam spoke quickly, sternly. “They do not need anything you have to offer. Their doctor will not certify them in need of it, and their families will not sign them over.”

  Dr. Blackburn turned to her. With his back to the others, his façade slipped entirely. The sheer, unmitigated hatred in his gaze sent her back a step.

  Gideon slapped Andrew on the shoulder. “Let’s go find Mr. Bell.”

  “What about him?” Andrew nodded toward Dr. Blackburn.

  All manners once more, the horrid doctor turned back to the others. “Do not worry over me. I have arranged to take my midday meal with Mr. Bricks. We have become good friends.”

  With that pronouncement, Dr. Blackburn strode to the front door, stepping out without a backward glance.

  To the closed door, Andrew said, “I am not a lunatic.”

  “He is a terrible person, Andrew,” she said. “Please do not put any store by the things he says.”

  Andrew shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. His head stayed down as he moved toward the kitchen himself. “I’m going to help Doc find Barney.”

  “I am sorry about Dr. Blackburn.”

  He didn’t reply but simply shuffled out. Dr. Blackburn’s vitriol had wounded such a sweet-tempered man. Inflicting agony was second nature to the doctor.

  She dropped her armful of linens out of the open parlor window onto the pile below, returning a few times to repeat the task with more sheets and rags. Once all the linens were burned and the furniture scrubbed to a blinding shine, they could no longer argue that she was still needed.

  She pulled the window closed, wincing at the pain the motion sent through her shoulder. It had healed enough to be out of its sling, but it was still tender. She moved toward the kitchen, meaning to slip out around the back, but the sound of Gideon’s voice in the dining room stopped her.

  “We can put off Blackburn for a while, but only if we push the boundaries on a few things.”

  “We can only do that for so long,” Cade said. “There are consequences for flouting the law. Pais and I, Hawk, you, Andrew, likely your parents—we’ll all quickly find ourselves in hot water.”

  “I won’t abandon her,” Gideon said firmly.

  “I wasn’t suggesting that you should, only warning you of the battle we’re facing.”

  “And the cost,” Gideon added.

  The cost. Miriam would not allow them to pay for her freedom with their own. She would not.

  Fleeing truly was her best and only option. She would escape Dr. Blackburn’s clutches, and he would leave Savage Wells and stop harassing the people she cared for so deeply. She would prefer not to be on her own while her arm was still healing, but hers was not the only life at stake. She would do what she had to.

  She hurried up the stairs, meaning to fetch a scarf she’d seen in a bureau drawer. The nights were chilly; the scarf would be helpful. What else could she gather quickly? A bit of food. If she was very quick and very careful, she could grab some clothes from her hotel room. She’d have to make do with what she could easily carry. At least the weather was being cooperative; making this flight in the winter would have been catastrophic.

  Rupert was awake in the room when she walked in. “Howdy, Miss Bricks.”

  “Howdy to you, Rupert. How are you?” She tried to hide the franticness she felt.

  “Why couldn’t I go home today?” he asked. “The others did.”

  “You’re not well enough yet.”

  He was more alert, though. Had more life. “Can I send my parents another drawing?”

  “I think they would like that.” She pulled her sketchbook from her apron pocket along with her last remaining pencil. “Find an empty page and draw your picture. Give the sketchbook to Dr. MacNamara when you are done, and he will give your drawing to your parents.”

  “You don’t want to keep your book?”

  She shook her head. “No. Give it to him, only to him. There are things in there he needs to see.” Bits of herself, her past, the people she had known. So much of their time together had been marred by the secrets she carried with her. He deserved to see the truth. “Will you make certain he gets it?”

  “’Course I will.” He was already bent over it, flipping for a blank page.

  Miriam kissed the top of his bare head. “I love you, sweet Rupert.”

  He just laughed.

  She slipped the scarf from the bureau, made a quick check of the Clark children, who were engaged in a game of Jacob’s ladder. They were all improving quickly. She could leave with a clear conscience where they were concerned.

  She hurried back downstairs and strode into the dining room where Cade and Gideon were. “Sorry to interrupt. Did you ever find Barney?” she asked Gideon.

  He nodded. “Paisley and Andrew took him home. It seemed best.”

  That was a relief. “Would it cause you trouble if I rested in the recovery room for a while? I’m so tired I could sleep for days.”

  “Of course,” Gideon said. “Rest as much as you need to.”

  It was the answer she’d hoped for. No one would think twice if they didn’t see her for the rest of the day. It’d likely be midmorning tomorrow before anyone began to wonder.

  “Thank you for all your help today,” Gideon added, taking her hand as he’d done so often. “Rest well.”

  “I will do my best.” Oh, how she wanted to throw herself into his arms, to cry out all the fear and uncertainty she felt, to kiss him one last time. But doing any of those things would tip her hand, and she didn’t dare risk it.

  She slipped from the room. She snatched up a basket in the kitchen and filled it with every bit of portable food she could find. Knowing Cade always watched the street when he was at Gideon’s house, she slipped out the back door. She would take a longer route, but avoid detection.

  She moved carefully up the hotel stairs to the room she’d avoided while Dr. Blackburn and her father were in town. With effort, she kept her mind clear of even a thought of what she was about to do. She would fall to pieces if she wasn’t careful.

  An extra dress, her one nightgown, and a few underthings went into her small carpetbag. Bringing her trunk and other belongings would only slow her down. A carpetbag and a basket of food. She could move quickly with only those two things.

  She counted out the remainder of what she owed for her room and left it on the bureau.

  There was little else to be done. She could make no goodbyes. Neither could she delay any longer. She hurried down the empty stairs and out the back door of the hotel. If she kept moving, kept going, she would be far away before anyone noticed she was gone.

  She carefully made her way toward the east of the building and behind the hotel, making her journey in the opposite direction.

  Savage Wells had begun to feel like home these past weeks. If only she’d had more time to prove herself to the rest of the townspeople, she felt certain she could have built here the new life she’d dreamed of in the dark confines of Blackburn Asylum. She could have been free.

  There was nothing to be done now but escape. Again.

  She’d left people behind before, people she’d cared about, but running had never hurt this much or this deeply. Life, in all its cruelty, had left her no choice.

  Chapter 35

  “I have arranged for Miriam and me to take tea with Mrs. Endecott,” Mother said. “She speaks very highly of Miriam and, when I told her Mr. Bricks was in town, she was eager to meet him a
nd tell him what a wonderful daughter he has.”

  Gideon didn’t know whether to be encouraged or worried. A preacher’s wife speaking well of Miriam couldn’t hurt, but Miriam’s father speaking ill of her to Mrs. Endecott would only hurt Miriam further. She had endured so much. She had looked entirely exhausted when she’d gone to lie down the afternoon before. She likely wasn’t still sleeping—twenty-four hours had passed—but Gideon suspected she needed the peace and quiet. He didn’t mean to disturb her.

  Father stood at the front window, watching the street outside. He’d taken to doing that during the day, not with the ominous air Cade and Hawk assumed when keeping an eye on the town. Father’s was a mien of pure curiosity. He enjoyed Savage Wells.

  “William, are you listening at all?” Mother pressed.

  He turned around. “I think your tea idea is genius. I’ve talked with the men of the town council, and they mean to invite Mr. Bricks to join them for their weekly game of horseshoes.”

  “Horseshoes?” Mother scoffed. “How is that going to impress him?”

  Father shook his head. “The purpose of the invitation is not to make him think Savage Wells is a bastion of high society, but that his connection to Miriam has benefits, even this far from home.”

  Gideon held up his hand, stepping between them. Chances were high that they’d descend into their usual bickering, and he hadn’t the patience for it.

  “There is an aspect of this I don’t think either of you have considered,” he said. “Spending this much time with the people of this town—who will most certainly discuss Miriam—increases the chances that something Mr. Bricks says will reveal to them her health issues and her recent institutionalization. At this point, the town is not aware of either.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Mother said.

  “Neither had I.” Father rubbed his chin with the pad of his thumb. “Do you think they would turn on her if they knew?”

  “They might have two weeks ago,” Gideon said. “But she saved the lives of their children. I wouldn’t be surprised if they renamed the town after her.”