Firefly (8 page)

Julie knew she had blushed red from her collar to the roots of her hair.  She had to turn her back to him to push the glasses up to the bridge of her nose, though she knew they wouldn't stay there very long.

She stammered, "That…that isn't what we have to discuss here this morning."

"I didn't know we had
anything
to discuss."

He tried to tell himself that the only reason he listened to this garbage was because he was hungry and this was the best breakfast he'd had in years.

"What we have to discuss is your resuming of your duties as a physician."

"
What
?"

"I am prepared to assist with your rehabilitation and--"

"And what if I'm not prepared to be rehabilitated?" he fired back at her so sharply that she hopped a step away from him.  "I happen to like being drunk.  It's a hell of a lot better than being sober when..."

His anger lost its edge almost immediately, and he turned away from the determined stare she leveled at him over the rims of the sliding spectacles.  No matter how good the breakfast, he couldn't stay here any longer.  Controlling his temper only so he didn't sweep the tray and its contents to the porch, he set it on the railing and got to his feet.  Now he was taller than the girl, and though he had intended to use that to his advantage, he discovered he didn't like the frightened look that came into those eyes of hers.

"Good day, Miss Hollstrom," was all he said before he strode down the stairs and out toward the street.

* * *

The cemetery, with its shivering cottonwoods, was a welcome relief after the stifling heat inside the church.  Reverend Wintergarden kept the service mercifully short, extolling the late doctor's virtues in as few words as decently possible, but even with all the windows and the front door open, the church quickly became an oven when packed with townspeople in the middle of the afternoon.  The service began at two o'clock, and before half-past, the preacher issued the order to have the casket removed to the cemetery for burial.

Julie sat with Willy and Katharine in the next to front pew and didn't notice until they rose to depart that Del Morgan had not attended.  She hadn't really expected him to; he was probably down at the saloon.  She shook him out of her thoughts and ushered Willy ahead of her towards the door.

The grave had been dug in a corner of the churchyard where there was little shade, but Julie herded her mother and brother towards the back of the crowd and thereby found a cooler place under one of the trees.  She had been surprised when Katharine expressed a wish to attend the funeral, but she had not argued. And Katharine seemed to be bearing up quite well, considering she had had so much excitement the day before and hadn't even had a nap all day today.  That in itself was unusual.

With fans and folded pieces of paper fluttering to provide some breeze on this still afternoon, the mourners gathered quietly while the Reverend Wintergarden intoned the familiar service.  He was halfway through it when Julie caught something out the corner of her eye, some movement at the edge of the crowd.  She dared to chance a peek and saw Del Morgan shoving people out of his way.

What nerve!  He had scolded her and Hans that Sunday evening for disturbing him, so what did he think he was doing now?  And she had thought to reform him.  He was better off drunk and disreputable.

Horace Opper was laid to rest with no family but the town of Plato to mourn him, and they dispersed rather quickly when the token spade of dirt had been tossed into the open grave. Julie linked her mother's arm through hers and then clasped her brother's hand to keep him from running off in his good clothes.

The rosebush caught her attention though she hadn't looked for it and had in fact almost forgotten it.  And it wasn't the blaze of red blossoms that she remembered either, for only two or three half-faded blooms still hung on the canes.  Julie peered over the rims of her glasses and saw the damage done when rough, greedy hands had pulled the lovely flowers off.

And while contemplating that destruction, she saw the name cut into the polished granite marker.

"Amalia Morgan, born April 12, 1851, innocent victim of violence August 3, 1878.  Beloved wife of Delbert, mother of their son Jason, who lies with his mother now and for all eternity."

Chapter Five

By Wednesday afternoon, Willy's stitches were driving him crazy, and Julie, too.  And if the boy's complaints about the injury itself weren't enough, he continually asked when he was going to get the ice cream Morgan had promised and then failed to deliver.

"You ought to go find him, Julie, and make him buy me my ice cream," he told her while he watched her flour the chicken she intended to fry for supper.  "He did promise and he oughtn't to make promises and then not keep them."

With the back of her hand she pushed her glasses up again and dipped another piece of chicken in the egg and milk batter.

"He promised me ice cream, too, Willy, and you don't hear me whining about it, do you?"

"Well, but you don't count.  You're a grown-up, and it's all right to break promises to grown-ups."

Katharine walked into the room just then, but she did not provide a diversion from this unpleasant topic.  Though coming down a different path, she reached the same junction.

"Julie, dear, I simply cannot get rid of this headache." She wiped the back of her right hand across her forehead dramatically.  "I have taken the last spoonful of that elixir poor Dr. Opper gave me, and now I am in pain again."

"As soon as I finish here, Mama, I'll go ask the marshal to open Dr. Opper's house and I'll see if I can find anything," Julie sighed.  This morning it had been a stomach potion, and last night a sleeping powder, neither of which had been located.  "Do you know what it looked like or tasted like?  Did he give it a name?"

Katharine turned her eyes toward the ceiling and thought for a long while.

"It tasted rather like burnt sugar," she answered slowly. "Or was that the sleeping powder?  No, the sleeping powder tasted like lemon, and the stomach potion was very bitter. Yes, the headache elixir tasted like burnt sugar, I'm positive."

She smiled triumphantly.  Julie sighed again and wiped her floury hands on her apron.

"I'll go find the marshal, but I don't think we'll have any better luck this time.  The doctor never labeled any of his bottles, and I really wonder that he didn't kill anyone with the wrong mixture.  They all look alike."

"Oh, dear."

Katharine sat down at the table beside Willy and her smile melted away.

"Do you think it might be unsafe, even if you found something that tasted like burnt sugar?"

"Possibly.  I'm not a doctor, Mama, and I don't know anything about the medicines Dr. Opper gave you."

Except that they cost nearly every cent we could spare from Papa's wages and none of them really did any good
, she said to herself.

Again Katharine sank into thought, this time staring at the checkered tablecloth.

"Do you suppose that Mr. Morgan could help you?" she suggested.  "He did say he was a doctor once, didn't he?  Why don't you go find him and ask him if he'd help you look for my medicines."

Julie groaned.  She knew exactly what would come next. Already Willy's pout had turned to a wide grin.

"And then you could ask him about my ice cream, too," the boy reminded her.

* * *

Julie went to McCrory's first, where Simon and his ever-present companion sat on the porch.  Lucas waited until she had climbed the steps before he spat.

"As a matter of fact, I haven't seen Del all day, Miss Julie," Simon answered.  "I was busy unloading wagons this morning, though, so I might've missed him.  Did you try over at the Castle?"

"I'd prefer to avoid the place if I can."

"Can't say as I blame you.  Not exactly the place for a young lady like yourself."

"Is there somewhere else I might look for him?"

Lucas shifted his weight to his other foot and spat again, then drawled, "He might be to home, ya know.  He got pretty drunk last night after them folks took all the flowers off'n his Amy's grave."

"I could hardly go looking for him at his house."

Simon offered a solution.

"Winnie Upshaw sort of keeps house for him, and I just seen her go over to the post office.  You could ask her if he's home and then maybe she could go with you if he is."

"I'm afraid I don't know Miss Upshaw."

Lucas volunteered, "Can't miss her.  'Bout as high as my pocket, and 'bout as big around as Simon's cracker barrel. Talks all the time, too, and don't say nothin'."

That description was accurate to a fault.  Julie heard the cheerful, non-stop voice well before she walked into the post office and found the expected figure standing at the window.  Miss Upshaw lacked a good two inches of being five feet tall.  There was a slight indentation at her waist, but otherwise she did indeed resemble the cracker barrel in the middle of McCrory's General Store, especially as she wore a brown calico dress just the color of aged wood.

"Now, you promise me that letter'll go out on tomorrow's stage to Yuma, right, Mr. Nisely?  I don't want anything to happen to delay it, because my sister in San Francisco always worries if she doesn't hear from me faithfully every month. She thinks I'm out here in some wilderness with Apaches surrounding me and coyotes howling at my door."  She halted only briefly to turn and see who had come into the post office.  "Oh, hello, Miss Hollstrom.  How's your little brother?  I saw him come running through the trees there Monday afternoon, and he certainly--"

"He's just fine now," Julie interrupted.  She wondered how long the woman would have gone on if she hadn't broken into the steady stream of chatter.

"Well, that's good.  Of course, Dr. Morgan always was a one with children.  Why, I remember when Dennis McCrory broke his leg falling out of the livery stable loft that Hallowe'en night when him and those horrible Sanderson boys--"

"Do you happen to know where I might find Dr. Morgan now?" Julie interrupted again.  She must assert herself or run the risk of listening to Winnie Upshaw for an hour or more.  "I was told he might be at home, but I wanted to make certain first, before I disturbed him."

"He's home, all right!" Winnie laughed.  Her voice was bright, almost childish.  "I stopped by there on my way here and he was still asleep.  Last night, though, well, he was roaring in there until almost dawn, and I can't say as I blame him.  Of course, most of those people who stole the roses were new folks to town, ones who weren't here when Amy Morgan was killed, but still, it ain't right to go pickin' flowers off somebody else's grave."

Julie hesitated despite the break in Winnie's conversation.

"If he's still asleep, then perhaps I'd best wait."

"What did you want him for anyway?  Somebody else get hurt?"

Julie wished she hadn't taken off her apron, for it would have given her something to twist her hands in.  She felt awkward here in the post office with Mr. Nisely listening carefully to her every word.

"It's about some medication Dr. Opper had given my mother," she muttered.