Desperate Hearts (22 page)

“Doc!” Emma whimpered. “Please tell me he’s not
dead.”

Doc Wilson sighed. “He’s not dead, and it’s good you’re here. Just hold his hand. He might sense your presence, and that’s
important.”

Doc leaned over to try washing away the blood, then glanced at Sarah. “I’m glad you’re here, Sarah. Keep some water hot at all times, will
you?”

“Sure, Doc.”

“Benny, make sure nobody out there in that crowd tries to come in. See if you can quiet things down out there
some.”

Benny walked out and Emma grasped Mitch’s hand, which was usually strong and firm and comforting but now simply hung limp. She kissed the back of it before pressing it to her
face.

“Mitch? Mitch, hang on. You have to hang on. I can’t go on without you, Mitch
Brady.”

She broke into sobs, clinging to his
hand.

“Make her some tea, Sarah,” Doc told the woman. “I have something I can put in it to calm Emma
down.”

“Don’t put me to sleep, Doc,” Emma told him. “I have to be here for Mitch…talk to him. I don’t want to sleep. What if he dies while I’m
asleep?”

“I won’t put you to sleep. I just want you to relax. Mitch will need you the next few days. You don’t want to wear yourself down to where you get
sick.”

“The next few days? Does that mean you think he’ll
live?”

“I’m afraid it’s hard to say, Emma. You never know with a head injury. These things can turn out fine, or he could end up paralyzed or a vegetable or…worse.”

Mitch groaned, moving his head
slightly.

“Mitch?” Emma squeezed his hand. “Mitch, it’s me—Emma. Please wake up, Mitch! Please hang
on.”

Doc leaned closer, checking Mitch’s pupils. “Sometimes a person can seem unconscious but they can hear and understand everything people are saying,” he told Emma. He looked over then at one of the miners who’d helped carry Mitch inside. He stood aside waiting for some kind of orders, unsure what to do next. “Get Emma a chair, will
you?”

“Yes, sir.” The man hurriedly brought a wooden chair over next to the cot. “Sit down in this, ma’am. You shouldn’t be on the floor there,” the miner told Emma. He took Emma’s arm and helped her up. “I’m right sorry about this, ma’am.”

Emma never let go of Mitch’s hand as she sat down into the chair. Doc Wilson managed to wash away most of the blood. “Looks like more of a crease,” he told Emma. “It’s deep, though. Real
deep.”

“Don’t let him die, Doc. Please don’t let him
die.”

Doc studied the wound. “This kind of injury can affect the brain in a hundred different ways. He could have a concussion, or maybe a cracked skull—it’s hard to say. It knocked him out the same as if somebody had clobbered him with a hammer. Blows like that can do a lot of things to the brain. I just can’t tell till he wakes up…
if
he wakes
up.”

Emma drew in her breath. “You mean…he might always be like
this?”

The doctor bent closer and opened Mitch’s shirt, listening to Mitch’s heart with a stethoscope. After a few seconds he straightened. “It’s like I said, Emma,” he answered sadly. “I don’t like to make promises or predictions. I’d rather give you the worst scenario than to promise something that might never be. His heart is strong and he’s plenty healthy, so he could recover. It’s a good sign that he moaned a minute ago, a sign he’s struggling to regain consciousness, but he could come and go like that for days, maybe even
weeks.”

“We were going to buy material for Sarah to make us some curtains,” she said softly, never taking her eyes off of Mitch. “And out of nowhere Pete stepped from the shadows in an alley and said, ‘Mitch Brady—today you die.’ Everything happened so fast then. Mitch drew his gun and pushed me down at the same time. They both seemed to fire at once, and Pete Bailey went down first. Then Mitch just laid there a minute. I didn’t even know he’d been hit till he rolled away from me. Bailey just shot Mitch…like an
execution.”

“That sonofabitch,” Sarah grumbled, filling a tea strainer with tea leaves. “I hope he dies a horrible death over there in that jail. Doc, don’t you dare leave Mitch to go help that bastard
Bailey.”

“I don’t intend
to.”

“I hope he
does
live, so we can watch him hang,” the miner
added.

Emma broke into tears again, putting Mitch’s hand to her cheek. “Mitch, I’m here. I’m here. Please wake up. Please!”

It was too much. Her mother’s death, Alan Radcliffe’s attack and his threats to have her sent to prison, her flight into a land totally foreign to her, the attack on the stagecoach and ensuing violence, being stuck in a wild, unruly town full of threatening strangers, a whirlwind romance with a wild, sometimes violent man who’d won her heart in three short weeks. Everything closed in on her, and she broke into deep
sobs.

Sarah brought her some tea, touching her shoulder. “Here, honey, drink this. And maybe you
should
let Doc give you something to help you
sleep.”

“No! I have to be here for Mitch, in case he wakes up.” She reluctantly let go of Mitch’s hand and took a handkerchief from a skirt pocket to blow her nose and wipe her eyes. She took the tea from Sarah. “Thank you.” She sipped the hot brew, taking strength from the strong beverage and the warmth of the steam. She looked at Doc Wilson. “There is nothing to do now but wait, right?”

Doc nodded. “I’ll shave the hair around the crease and clean it out the best I can, then stitch it up. After that, yes, there is nothing more I can do. He’ll either wake up and be fine, or maybe wake up and have amnesia or be otherwise mentally affected, or he won’t wake up at all. We have to pray for the first
outcome.”

Emma rose. “Then when you’re finished with him, I want him taken over to our place. I’ll take care of him
myself.”

“Emma, I don’t know if you’re strong enough,” Doc
objected.

“I am far stronger than you think.” She looked at Sarah. “You can help on occasion, can’t
you?”

Sarah smiled softly. “You know I will. And so will the other girls. We’ll all take
turns.”

Emma turned back to Doc. “You’re a busy man, Doc, and you might need the room here. And sometimes you’re out riding circuit for days at a time. You said yourself there is nothing more you can do, so like I said, I’ll take care of him. Just tell me what to do, what to watch for, how to get some nourishment into
him.”

Doc ordered Sarah to bring a bowl of water over, told her where he kept a razor, then turned back to Emma. “All right, Emma, I’ll have some men take him to your place soon as I’m done here. I have to be blunt with you, though, it might not be as easy as you think. He could have fits of vomiting. Head injuries can sometimes cause that. You’ll have to make a special point of watching for that, because if he’s lying on his back and unconscious, he’ll choke to death on his own vomit. I hate to talk about the raw parts of this, but you need to know. And you’ll have to stuff some towels under him. His bodily functions will keep working, which means he’ll urinate but can’t be moved. You’ll just have to keep cleaning him
up.”

Emma raised her chin. “I am not the wilting flower you might think I am,” she answered. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I love Mitch more than anything on this earth, and I took a vow to stand by him for better or worse, in sickness and in health, and I intend to do just
that.”

Doc Wilson nodded. “All right—but you promise me you’ll let others help out and get some decent sleep. It takes strength to care for somebody in this shape, and that means eating and sleeping. Lord knows Sarah and Ma Kelly and sometimes Randy and Len and Benny can help, and most of the whores in Alder will gladly help you out, too. Promise me you’ll let them
help.”

Emma closed her eyes. “I promise.” She sat back down, grasping Mitch’s hand again while Sarah helped Doc Wilson shave the area around the ugly crease in his scalp. Doc poured whiskey into the wound and Mitch groaned
again.

“Good. He’s feeling some pain,” Doc commented. “That means something somewhere is working.” More groans tore at Emma’s insides as Doc sewed up the open wound with a large needle and catgut. Outside, a commotion
arose.

“Go see what’s going on, Cletus,” Doc told the miner. “And make sure no one comes in here, except maybe
Randy.”

“Sure, Doc.” Cletus went outside, then returned after a few minutes, looking a bit
nervous.

“What is it?” Sarah asked
him.

Cletus glanced at Emma. “He died, ma’am. Pete Bailey. He’s dead. They’re, uh, they’re dragging his body out to the graveyard clear up the hill past town—gonna bury him right now with no
ceremony.”

Emma closed her eyes and rested her forehead against Mitch’s hand. “So much
violence.”

“Emma, this is Alder, Montana,” Sarah reminded her, “and you married a lawman. Out here it’s survival that matters. Mitch knows that. That’s why he does what he does, but I know he never wanted any of the violence to visit you like
this.”

“None of it will matter if Mitch dies.” She kissed his hand and watched as Doc Wilson finished sewing up the wound. Mitch’s forehead was turning purple. She couldn’t imagine how he would survive this, or how she would herself survive if Mitch Brady
died.

For eight days, Emma sat by Mitch’s side, terrified he would die or simply never wake up. She bathed him, shaved him, and forced food and water down his throat to keep him alive. Mostly she gave him only broth. He instinctively swallowed but gave no sign that he was aware of being fed or touched in any way. He didn’t speak, didn’t open his eyes, barely moved. The few times he did shift slightly, Emma rejoiced that he was moving at all. That meant he wasn’t paralyzed. She talked to him constantly, deciding to have pretend conversations just to keep her own sanity and in hopes that one day he would open his eyes and answer her, or at least indicate that he heard what she was saying and
understood.

People brought food, so much that Emma had to send it back with others. She had little appetite of her own and was almost too tired to eat anyway. Sarah set up volunteers who came to relieve her for three hours out of every eight so that Emma could sleep, and when she slept it was right beside Mitch, hoping he would sense she was there. Most of the time there was someone else there, too, not wanting Emma to be alone even when it was her turn to do the caring. Doc Wilson visited as often as possible, but always with the same prognosis, which was that he had no idea if or when Mitch would wake up, or what condition he would be in when he
did.

Len, Benny, and Randy took turns sitting with Mitch, and the traveling preacher came and prayed over him whenever he was in town. Judge Brody visited, as well as Sparky Thomas, the feed-store owner, and his wife, Dora. Vigilantes Emma had never even met paid their respects. Some of them paid a visit to Trudy Wiley, telling her that if she ever stepped foot in Alder, they couldn’t guarantee a crowd of angry men wouldn’t hang her, woman or not. Some of them wanted to hang her, but Judge Brody warned there was no hard evidence that the woman had actually hired Pete Bailey to kill Mitch, and because she was a woman, hanging her could worsen their violent reputation. Trudy finally sold all her stock and left for parts unknown, which was fine with the vigilantes and everyone in
Alder.

Bandages were removed, stitches were removed, and Mitch’s hair was so thick that it easily covered the scar on his scalp. Still, Mitch just lay there. Emma ached to hear his voice, to feel him hold her again. Sarah made the curtains Emma had been wanting for her windows, and Hal Wallace and David Meeks brought Emma an iron cookstove from Virginia City, taking out the potbelly heating stove and hooking up the cookstove instead. George Calus brought braided rugs for the floor and another rocking chair to set outside on the little front porch some of the men had built for Emma. Miners brought a huge supply of wood down from the mountains, and people talked about how early winter made its appearance in the Montana
mountains.

“You’ll need this wood sooner than you think,” one man told her. “One more month and we’ll be in the season where it could be seventy degrees one day and blizzarding the next. That’s how it is in
Montana.”

Emma thanked him and closed the door.
That’s how it is in Montana.
Yes, life out here was certainly different from anything an Easterner could imagine. But what surprised her the most now was how warm and caring a lot of these rugged, drunken, brawling complete strangers could be in a pinch. In places like this, people had to look out for each other, because this place and each other was all they had. In spite of how unbearable life would be if Mitch didn’t pull through, Emma knew that most everyone here would watch out for her and help her until she decided what to do next. And if Mitch remained a vegetable for life, they’d help her with him, too. She’d spoken her wedding vows not quite three weeks ago, and one of them was to stay by her husband’s side in sickness and in health. She’d stay through his sickness, no matter how long it lasted, even if it was months or
years.

Dear
God, don’t let that happen to a man like Mitch!
So big and strong and brave and blustery and sometimes just plain mean…lying here lifeless. She wondered how she would get through a long, dark winter without going crazy if Mitch didn’t wake up. She looked around their little house. All the gifts and work of others had made the one-room cabin a home in every way…except one. It needed to be lived in, in the normal way, with a man and woman settling in, eating meals together, sleeping together at night…making love and
babies.

She walked to a calendar on the wall and marked off another day…number nine. Nine days with no sign of Mitch coming around. She looked at a mantel clock sitting on a table beside her rocker, then walked over to wind it before lying down, thinking how Mitch had promised that someday they would have a bigger house with a real fireplace and mantel where she could set the clock. She could hear his voice, see his handsome smile, taste his lips, envision the look of love in those captivating blue
eyes.

Another day…another night of utter despair and loneliness. She changed into her nightgown. She’d told Sarah not to come tonight, feeling guilty for taking so much of the woman’s time and more able now to do everything that needed doing herself. She was touched by how much Sarah and some of the town prostitutes had done for her and smiled at how sometimes they argued over who got to help take care of Mitch
next.

She left a lantern dimly lit on the table, hating total darkness. After all, this was still a wild mining town. Mitch’s intimidating six-guns hung on the wall beside the door, and she knew Randy and Len took turns watching the cabin at night, just as a safety measure. After all, Alder still teemed with new arrivals and strangers. With Mitch unable to perform the role of protective husband, she was truly a woman living alone. The thought always made her want to cry, remembering the luxury of lying in Mitch Brady’s arms at night, always feeling so safe and
protected.

She crawled into the bed beside him as she’d done every night since he was shot. She constantly hoped he would sense her presence. She moved under the covers and was soon asleep from exhaustion. She woke up once, remembered hearing the clock chime two notes…2:00 a.m. She fell back to sleep, unsure of how much longer she slept before Mitch’s movement woke her. He’d turned on his side and had moved an arm and a leg around her in the way he’d always done when they slept
together.

Emma’s heart pounded harder. She turned to look at him, but his eyes were closed. Was he just sleeping normally? His breathing seemed more rhythmic, different from the shallow breathing of an unconscious man. All this time she and others had constantly lifted him to a sitting position for hours at a time while he was unconscious, heeding Doc Wilson’s warning that if they left him constantly flat, he could get
pneumonia.

Emma swallowed, daring to touch his face. “Mitch?” She spoke his name
softly.

“Hmm?” he answered
sleepily.

Emma gasped, putting her hand to her
mouth.

Mitch opened his eyes. “What’s
wrong?”

Emma sat up. “You don’t
know?”

“All I know is that you woke me up. Is something wrong?” He sat up and looked around. “When did we get curtains? Last I knew we were going to look for material so Sarah could make them for
us.”

Emma burst into tears of joy. “Mitch!” She threw her arms around him. “Thank God! Thank God!” His own strong arms came around her in that familiar embrace that enveloped her in safety and
love.

“I don’t know what the heck is wrong with you, woman, but I have a headache from hell,” he told
her.

He was back! Emma smothered him with kisses. “Just lie back, Mitch. Don’t get up yet!” she told
him.

Mitch watched her in confusion as she literally hopped off the bed and went to the door. She opened it and hollered out to
Randy.

“Randy, go get Doc Wilson! Mitch is awake and
talking!”

Mitch glanced at the clock on the table: 3:00 a.m. The door opened more, and Randy stepped inside to see for himself as Emma turned up the oil lamp, then quickly pulled on her
robe.

“What the hell are you doing, standing outside my door at three in the morning?” Mitch asked
him.

Randy broke into a wide grin. “Hell, I was hopin’ you wouldn’t wake up so’s I could steal your wife, you
sonofabitch.”

He let out a whoop and left, and Mitch stared at the door in complete confusion. He sat up again, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “What in God’s name is going on?” he asked Emma. He looked down at himself. “Why am I naked with a bunch of towels around
me?”

Emma walked over and knelt in front of him. She ran her hands over his face, down his arms, still hardly able to believe he was awake and talking. She grasped his wrists. “You were shot, Mitch, nine days ago. The bullet creased your skull and you’ve been unconscious ever since. Doc Wilson wasn’t sure you’d ever come out of it, or what shape you’d be in when you
did.”

Mitch scowled, running a hand through his hair. He frowned when he felt the deep crease. “Who the hell shot
me?”

“One of Trudy’s men, Pete Bailey. You actually managed to get off a shot yourself and you killed him.” She kissed his hand. “Mitch, when you went down, I thought I’d
die.”

Mitch just sat there a minute. “You were
with
me?”

“Yes.”

“My God, the bullet could have strayed and hit you instead! I could have lost
you!”

“But you didn’t, and you’re back in the land of the living, Mitch. That’s all that
matters.”

“Not if you’re in danger every time we walk out the door
together.”

“Don’t think about that right now. And please don’t get up or move around right away,” she asked again. “I’m scared this won’t last. Wait till Doc has a look at you. You have to be careful for a while, Mitch, till we’re sure this is going to
last.”

Mitch touched her tangled hair. “My God, Emma, what have I put you
through?”

“I’m fine. Mitch, I had so much help. So many people in this town care about you. And Len and Randy and Benny all made sure I was always all
right.”

They heard shouts and running footsteps then, and Doc Wilson barged in along with Randy and Len. They all stopped short, just staring as though they were looking at a ghost. Emma rose and stood
aside.

“He’s awake, Doc, and he’s talking normally. His memory and everything seem to be
fine.”

Mitch sat there stark naked with only a towel to hide what needed hiding, still looking confused. Doc Wilson, Len, and Randy all burst out laughing, both with relief and at the comical
situation.

“Now, ain’t you a sight?” Len
joked.

“Last time I saw you caught naked like this was when we had that shooting a few months back and I had to come and get you at Hildy’s,” Randy
teased.

They all howled until Mitch reminded them with a scowl that Emma was in the room. They quickly sobered and Randy glanced at Emma. “I’m sorry, Emma. That was a mean remark to say in front of you, but you gotta admit, Mitch looks pretty funny sittin’ there naked as a
jaybird.”

“Randy, I’m so happy to see him back in the land of the living that I wouldn’t have cared if he
did
wake up in Hildy’s bed,” Emma answered. She glanced at Mitch. “Except I would have killed him all over
again.”

They all broke into laughter again and Mitch pulled the blankets around himself. “All right, you bunch of no-goods, you’ve had your fun. Now get the hell out of my
house.”

“You gonna jump up from that bed and
make
us leave?” Len joked. “I’d sorely like to see
that.”

They all laughed again, including Emma, who sat down to the table while Doc Wilson walked up to Mitch, putting out his hand. “Welcome back, Mitch.”

Mitch’s scowl at the laughter softened some as he shook Doc’s hand. “What the hell happened, Doc?”

Doc took out his stethoscope. “Well, like Emma probably already told you, you were shot. The bullet slammed across your skull, kind of like if somebody had knocked you out with a rock or a hammer.” He stopped to listen to Mitch’s heart. “Head wounds are a funny thing, Mitch. It’s next to impossible to predict the outcome. We had no idea if you’d ever wake up at all, or what shape you’d be in when you did. Everybody has been taking turns helping Emma take care of you, and we’ve all just been waiting it out, hoping for the
best.”

“Mitch, look around,” Emma told him. “Everybody has been wonderful. We have curtains and a real cookstove and a porch with a rocking chair and…” She stopped, tears of joy choking her
voice.

Mitch turned back to Doc Wilson. “I don’t remember a damn thing about how I got
here.”

“That’s normal, but for you to remember everything else, remember all these people and all, that’s a real good sign, Mitch. You should be damn grateful to be sitting here alive and well. I would suggest, however, that you take things really slow, Mitch. Really slow.” He looked over at Emma. “Not too much physical exertion for a
while.”

They all laughed again and Emma put her hands over her face, hating them all for the embarrassment and loving them all for their fierce loyalty to
Mitch.

Randy ran outside and yelled to someone that Mitch Brady was awake and okay. Emma heard shouts and people yelling and even some celebratory shooting. She thought how only in Alder would there be people still up and carousing at three o’clock in the morning. Men and women alike came running, and Mitch scowled at Doc and Len and the others. “For God’s sake, everybody get out of here and close the damn
door!”

Len chuckled, nodding at Emma before stepping outside. “He’s back, all right,” he told her with a wink. “I just hope that head injury hasn’t made him even meaner than he already
was.”

Len and Randy walked out and closed the
door.

Mitch rubbed at his eyes. “I have one hell of a headache, Doc.”

“Let’s hope that gradually goes away.” Doc rose, putting his stethoscope back into the small leather bag he seemed always to have with him. “I’ll come back in a few minutes with a tonic that should help the headache. It’s good to see you back to your old self, Mitch. You just remember what I said. Take it easy for a while.” He looked at Emma and winked. “I’m counting on you to make sure he
does.”