Behind His Blue Eyes (16 page)

Lucinda's face brightened when a tall figure crossed the lobby. “There's Tait. Maybe now we can find out who this new dead person is.”

After pausing by the serving station to pour a mug of coffee, he continued on to their table. Settling into the chair he had occupied earlier, he sat back and regarded his wife with a knowing smile. “Let the interrogation begin.”

Lucinda swatted at his shoulder. “So? Who died?”

“A prospector.”

“When?”

“Maybe a month ago.”

“And you think it's related to the other deaths?”

“We're trying to determine that. How is your father, Miss Pearsall?”

“What? Oh.” Rattled by the abrupt change in subject, Audra made an offhand gesture. “Fine. His cough is much better, thank you.”

“I'm pleased to hear it.” Mr. Rylander continued to look at her, a bland expression in his gray eyes.

Audra finally got the message. “Well. I should go. Winnie is probably wondering where I am.” She started to rise.

“And what was that about a hospital in California?” Lucinda asked him.

Audra sank back down.

“Ethan looked stricken when Peter mentioned it,” Lucinda went on. “Horrified, almost.”

Tait smiled innocently at his wife. “Did he?”

“Surely you noticed. His face turned as pale as parchment, didn't it, Audra?”

Audra shrugged.

Tait continued to smile.

“Honestly!” Lucinda threw her hands up in exasperation. “You're keeping something from me, aren't you, Tait?”

The smile broadened. “I am, sweetheart. And if you'll come with me to our room, I'll be delighted to give it to you.”

“Tait!”

Audra felt her cheeks burn.

Tait threw back his head and laughed, which shocked Audra almost as much as his ribald comment had. She had rarely even heard him chuckle. “That was poorly done of me.” Turning to Audra with a grin that looked anything but contrite, he said, “My apologies, Miss Pearsall. But she makes it so easy.”

“Oh, hush.” His wife swatted his shoulder again. “Mrs. Throckmorton is right. You're a rogue and a scoundrel.” But the look in her eyes indicated she didn't mind in the least.

It wasn't until Audra was halfway up the stairs that she recognized how deftly Tait Rylander had avoided his wife's question.

So what secret was Ethan hiding behind those haunted blue eyes?

Sixteen

A
udra wasn't able to pose that question to Ethan, because over the next week she scarcely saw him.

She felt like she was being pulled in a dozen directions at once. Father's cold persisted, and he seemed to grow weaker every day. He was confused most of the time now, and when he wasn't calling for Mary, he was looking for Cleo. It terrified her how quickly he was failing.

She spent most of her day at the
Herald
, helping Mr. Bonet get the newspaper up and running. The printing press took up at least a third of the small space and supplies took up another third, which left little room for other furniture. Still, Audra had her own small desk, which made her feel quite proficient.

The press was a cylinder-type printer, which, although not as efficient as the newer offset presses that could print on both sides at once, was still quite innovative for a small-town newspaper. Audra wondered how, with such limited readership, Mr. Bonet hoped to defray the cost of the press and all the supplies needed, then learned through Lucinda that her husband had set up a grant for the newspaper at the bank.

“Every town should have its own paper,” she had told Audra. “It can't be considered a real town until it does.” And that was that.

Audra was glad. Putting out a newspaper was a complicated process, and she relished the distraction from her worries. Although she felt guilty leaving Father so much, she delighted in doing something creative again. It invigorated her, lifted her spirits, and gave her a much needed respite from the exhausting and heartbreaking task of caring for Father. She didn't know how she would have managed without the Abrahams.

But the nights were hard. After working at the newspaper all day then tending Father through the evening, she was so exhausted she fell into bed before it was full dark, only to be awakened by Father weeping and calling out for her mother. She comforted him as best she could, but there was little she could do. She was losing him. And that realization was a constant ache in her heart.

Thank God for dear friends. In addition to Winnie and Curtis helping out with Father, she learned Mr. Rylander and Sheriff Brodie had been putting in an hour or two each day bringing the Arlan house up to snuff. Lucinda told her Thomas Redstone and Ethan also helped out after they returned from Boot Creek, and Mr. Gebbers, the town's banker and mayor, donated money for paint, lumber, and mortar to shore up the rock chimney and foundation.

She resolved to pay them all back someday.

Peter Bonet was an exacting employer with set ways of doing things. He had been in the newspaper business for a dozen years, and seemed quite knowledgeable, although she thought he lacked journalistic objectivity. His harsh attitude toward railroads put him at odds with many of the locals, whose livelihoods depended on the success of the bridge line venture. He had shared with her the sad tale of his brother's death in a tunnel mishap, but Audra felt his resentments against the railroad might be misplaced. Railroad construction was dangerous work and any man who chose such an occupation had to be aware of the risks.

But Mr. Bonet couldn't see it that way. His anger over his brother's accident was a festering wound he wouldn't allow to heal. She felt sad for him.

Work on the bridge line and sluice continued. Even though Lucinda reported little progress in apprehending the murderer, Thomas Redstone continued to prowl the canyon, searching for clues. After a week without incident, Audra's concerns about moving away from the safety of the hotel to the more remote Arlan house began to fade. Perhaps the danger was past. Perhaps the murderer had moved on, or Thomas had scared him off. Determined to be prepared, she decided when she had time, she would talk to Lucinda or Sheriff Brodie about those shooting lessons.

The first edition of the
Heartbreak Creek Herald
hit the streets exactly one week after Peter Bonet set up his printing press. It was cause for jubilation. Heartbreak Creek was a real town now, with a newspaper, a bank, a hotel, and soon, a train depot. A town with prospects and a glowing future.

Lucinda Rylander was almost giddy with delight. “I thought it would never happen,” she told Edwina and Audra over a celebratory afternoon tea in her office the day the tracks reached the water tower at the edge of town. “Can you believe how much has happened, Edwina, since we arrived in Heartbreak Creek a year ago? Maddie is reunited with her Angus, Pru has found her calling, you've had a baby, I've gotten married, and now Heartbreak Creek is becoming a true home.”

Edwina carefully set her delicate china cup on the tray atop the table beside the couch. “I just wish Maddie and Pru were here to celebrate with us.” It was apparent by the wobble in her voice that she was on the verge of tears.

Again.

Audra had never met a woman who cried so much, although Lucinda told her such had not always been the case. “Before she had Whit,” she had confided several days earlier, “Edwina was the most cheerful of us all. Her vivacious nature made everyone want to be around her. When she smiled, we smiled. When she laughed, we laughed with her.”

So what had happened? From what Audra had observed, the sandy-haired Southerner was constantly one frayed thread away from hysteria.

Today, Lucinda looked worried, too. Setting her cup aside, she leaned forward and rested a hand on Edwina's arm. “Are you still not feeling any better?”

“Stop fussing. I'm fine.” But as soon as the words were out, Edwina's face twisted. “No, I'm not, Lucinda. I think something is terribly wrong with me.”

“Oh, dear.” Moving from her chair to sit on the couch next to Edwina, she put an arm around the crying woman's shoulders. “Tell me what's worrying you.”

Between the sniffing and dabbing and shaking voice, Audra could scarcely make out Edwina's complaints.

“I have no energy. I'm exhausted, no matter how much I sleep. I can scarcely tend the children, much less take care of the house. Declan never smiles anymore, and Whit . . .” Edwina blinked tearfully down at the baby sleeping peacefully in a basket by her chair. “If I didn't have Whit, I don't know how I would go on at all. I'm a terrible mother.”

“Don't be silly. Have you talked to Dr. Boyce again?”

Edwina waved her hanky in dismissal. “For what good it did. ‘This sometimes happens to women after childbirth,'” she mimicked in a deep voice. “‘It will eventually pass,' so on and so on. As if he would know, never having actually gone through
that ordeal. But it isn't passing, Luce. And I'm sick of it.”

“He offered no help at all?”

Edwina blew her reddened nose, then searched out a dry corner to dab at her eyes. “He gave me a tonic. It smells like a hog wallow and tastes worse than my cooking. But I dutifully choked it down. For a few days, I felt better, then I started to sink again. It's like the world has lost all its color. Ridiculous, I know, but I feel like I'm going through life with blinders on and cotton in my ears. I can't blame Declan for avoiding me. I just want things to be the way they were. For
me
to be the way I was. Do you have a dry hanky? This one is a mess.”

While Lucinda went into the adjoining bedroom for a fresh linen, Audra studied Edwina, an idea circling in her mind. An unorthodox idea. But if it brought ease to this suffering woman, why not give it a try?

Lucinda came back with a dry hanky and gave it to Edwina, then returned to her seat on the couch. “We'll think of something to cheer you.”

“Have you ever considered a Chinese cure?” Audra blurted out.

Both women looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

She went on anyway. “Mr. Bonet is doing an article on the encampment at the edge of town. I've been transcribing his notes, and I'm amazed at how self-sufficient the Chinese workers are. They even have their own medical people. Can you believe that? And their treatments go back thousands of years. They mostly use plants and herbs and such, but it seems to work.”

They continued to stare.

“Perhaps you should give it a try.”

Edwina found her voice first. “You mean go to the coolie camp and have one of their medicine men
examine
me?”

“I'd go with you,” Audra offered halfheartedly, wishing she had never brought up the idea. “Or you could take your husband.”

“Declan? Declan doesn't even believe in water witching.”

Audra wasn't sure how that signified, but before she could ask, Lucinda rose. “Let's all go. Now. Today. Before we lose our nerve. I'll even bring my pepperbox pistol, just in case.”

Edwina blinked up at her. “In case of what?”

“Never mind that. Come along. At this point, you have nothing to lose.”

The encampment was bustling with activity, and had doubled in size since the fire burned down the other camp and the tracks from the terminal at Boot Creek had reached town. The noise was almost constant—sledgehammers pounding against spikes—the huff and puff of the locomotive that ferried men and supplies to the forward work areas—the chatter of Chinese workers calling to each other in their native language.

Audra found it immensely exciting.

As she followed Lucinda and Edwina toward the maze of tents along the creek, she scanned the milling crowd of dark-clothed workers, hoping for a glimpse of Ethan. She had heard he was often at the construction site, and he was tall enough that she could have easily spotted him above the woven reed hats the Chinamen wore. She did see several men wearing Western-style clothing and dark Stetsons, but none was Ethan.

“How are we supposed to find this medicine person?” Edwina asked, dodging around a worker pulling a cart full of railroad spikes.

“We'll ask. Surely there's someone here who speaks English.” Lucinda glanced around, seemingly unperturbed by the men gawking at her. Audra suspected many of them had never seen a blond woman before.

“We should have brought R.D. He understands some of the words.”

“And have him tell your husband what you're up to?”

“Look for an Irishman,” Audra suggested. “Mr. Bonet said that because of language issues, many of the bosses on the work gangs are Irish. There's one.” She pointed to a stout man wearing a cloth hat, instead of one made of reed or beaver felt, who was directing men positioning cross ties for the rails.

“Wait here.” Lucinda headed toward him. “Sir?”

“This is embarrassing,” Edwina muttered. “I hate the way they're all staring at us. Especially that one.”

Audra followed the direction of her gaze and saw a tall man with hard, dark eyes studying them. Not Chinese. Probably Irish. With a coiled, silver-handled whip tied to his gun belt. Why would he need a whip?

“If Declan ever finds out—”

“Over here,” Lucinda called, waving a gloved hand.

Ignoring the starer, but acutely aware of those cold eyes tracking them, Audra hurried Edwina toward Lucinda. As soon as they joined her, Lucinda told them there was a medical person in the next row of tents. “I believe his name is Kim. Follow me.”

They did. As closely as they could without tripping on her heels.

The tent looked like any of the dozens of other campaign-style canvas tents issued by the railroad, except for a series of vertical symbols painted on the flaps.

Lucinda stood for a moment, undecided where to knock, then called out, “Hello? Is anyone home?”

It was absurd, really, the spectacle they were making of themselves—three unescorted, apprehensive women, surrounded by foreign men in a rough railroad encampment, paying a call on a male Chinese person who lived in a tent.

But Audra was far from laughing.

A moment later, a face appeared in the flap. Old and wrinkled, looking as surprised to see them as they were to see him. Words burst out of him. They sounded accusatory and angry, despite the nodding of his pigtailed head and a wide smile that showed an impressive number of big teeth.

Lucinda raised a hand for silence. When he complied, she asked with careful enunciation, “Are you Mister Kim?”

More smiling and bobbing, but this time, accompanied by words they could understand. “Kim. Yes, yes. Okay. What missy want?”

“My friend is ill and needs your help.”

“I'm not ill, I—”

“Kim help. You come.” Beaming broadly, he held open the flap and waved them inside.

The interior was scrupulously clean and smelled faintly of spices and dried herbs. Not surprising, since small bundles of them hung from the pole over which the canvas was draped. A low pad lay along one wall. Across from it stood chests of different sizes, many intricately carved or painted with symbols and delicate drawings. A curtain separated the front receiving area from what Audra assumed was Mr. Kim's private quarters. Other than the chests, there was no furniture.

“What missy want?”

What transpired next was even more absurd. But somehow, with exaggerated gestures and dramatic playacting, they were able to convey that Edwina had recently given birth and was now very sad and listless, and wanted Mr. Kim to give her something to make her happy again.

It was rather like that game charades, but without all the riddles and rules.

Luckily, Mr. Kim was able to get the gist of it, if his head bobbing was any indication. Motioning Lucinda and Audra aside, he stepped up to Edwina.

“See tongue,” he said, and pointed at her mouth.

With some reluctance, Edwina held out her tongue, her whole body flinching when he leaned closer to peer at it, muttering to himself.

After a moment, he stepped back. This time, instead of nodding, he shook his head. “No good. Spleen
qi
, heart blood, bad. Need harmony.”

Edwina looked from him to Audra and Lucinda, then back at him. “Harmony?”

“Harmony. Yes, yes.” Back to nodding, and with such vigor, his pigtail bounced against his back. “Spirit-mind need help. I do. You wait.”