The Accidental Lawman (27 page)

I’
ve asked her to marry me.

A man can only ask so many times.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Amelia was innocently dusting and straightening the vials and jars on her apothecary shelves, paying no attention to the men at all as their conversation drifted through the open window. Not until the topic became Hank’s marriage proposals did she realize they were talking about her.

Her first reaction was to leave the room. Natural curiosity compelled her to stay. Then she heard Hank tell Brand he was in dire straits.

Then she heard him confess that he had finally accepted the fact that she was serious in her refusals. He was finally convinced that she was never going to change her mind and marry him.

Amelia set down her dust rag and escaped through the house, all the way back to Evan’s room because it was farthest away from the men on the porch.

The room was neat as a pin, though there were ink-stained fingerprints along the top hem of the sheet. If she
couldn’t scrub them out, they’d serve as a constant reminder of the man who’d recovered in this room. Hank’s writing implements were neatly lined up in the apple crate, his mail all sorted and stacked.

She sank down heavily on the end of the bed and felt the mattress sag beneath her weight. She sat there with her hands folded in her lap, staring down at them. They were work worn, tanned by exposure to the sun. Not the hands of a lady, that was certain.

Her thoughts drifted back to what Hank had just said. She
had
persistently refused his proposals, but certainly not because of the reasons he’d given Brand. He might not be able to walk on his own yet, but once he healed, she expected him to get around just fine.

And how in the world would she have any idea that he was nearly broke? Or that he’d gambled everything he owned on the newspaper? What made him think that his financial status would matter to her in the least?

Admittedly, she hadn’t been acting like herself since Evan died, but she would never be the kind of woman who would marry a man for worldly gain.

She thought of all the weeks Hank had been laid up and unable to solicit for advertisements or ferret out news stories.

She won’t have me.

Oh, Hank. You deserve so much more. Someone prettier. Someone young enough to give you lots of babies—not a plain, old, left-at-the-altar spinster like me.

Marry me, Amelia.

She pressed her hands to her cheeks, wondered if the preacher had taken his leave yet. Was it safe to return to the front room and finish her task?

Help him. You have to help him.

The notion slammed into her out of the silence.

She’d stitched him up, doctored and nursed him for weeks now. She’d found the strength, with God’s help, to forgive him. Hadn’t she done enough? How could she help him now? She couldn’t lend him any money. She didn’t have two bits to rub together most of the time.

She didn’t know how or where to begin to save the
Gazette
. She wasn’t a gifted businesswoman, obviously. If she was, she wouldn’t be living hand to mouth.

She sat in silence a few moments longer thinking about her lack of business savvy and suddenly thought of Laura Foster. Laura earned a far cry more than a dozen eggs, a side of ham or a host of bartered donations. She’d made a success of her boardinghouse right from the beginning.

Getting to her feet, Amelia paused for a moment before the oval mirror above Evan’s old dresser. She tucked a strand of contrary hair back into her long braid and studied her reflection.

Maybe she wasn’t as fancy a woman as Hank deserved, but she had been comely enough to attract his eye in the first place. He was fond enough of her to offer marriage—not once but a good half-dozen times over the past few days.

She might not be as young as some men preferred a new bride to be, but she was educated and she had a profession—albeit without a diploma to prove it.

She might not be rich, but she’d always put food on the table and paid the taxes. That had to count for something.

She closed her eyes and whispered, “Lord, I know I don’t deserve to ask You for anything after what I’ve done, but I need Your help and guidance. I’m not asking for myself. I’m asking You to show me a way to help Hank. Amen.”

Amelia opened her eyes and shrugged at the woman
in the mirror. “I’ve got to at least try.” The whispered pledge became a promise.

She found Hattie in the kitchen and asked her to fix some lemonade for the men on the porch. Then she grabbed her straw hat and plopped it on her head.

“I’ll be back shortly, Hattie,” she said. “If you need me, I’ll be at Mrs. Foster’s.”

She’d been closeted in the front parlor at Foster’s Boardinghouse for a good thirty minutes and now Amelia watched as Laura Foster looked over two duplicate lists lying in the middle of the butler’s table in front of the settee.

“It might seem like an awful lot to accomplish in a short time, but with help, we can do it.” Laura’s confidence was astounding.

Amelia took the list Laura handed her.

“It does appear daunting,” she agreed. “But I’m afraid I can only stall Mr. Larson for another week. After that he’ll be well enough and more than anxious to move back to his own place. We have to have everything finished before he moves out.”

Amelia couldn’t help but notice the dimple that appeared in Laura’s cheek whenever the woman smiled. “Isn’t there a little something you could slip into his food?” Laura asked. “Some herb that would set him back a bit without doing great harm?”

“Why, Mrs. Foster!” Amelia pretended shock.

“Call me Laura, please. I’m just teasing you, of course.”

“I suppose I’d better get back.” Amelia slipped the strings of her reticule over her wrist.

“And I’ve got to plan this week’s menus,” Laura admitted. Then she added, “I’ll have Rodrigo round up
Ricardo. I think he’s out hunting. That boy’s been moping around ever since Mr. Larson was wounded.”

Amelia folded her list and tucked it inside the reticule as Laura walked her to the door. “Thank you so much for all your help, Laura. I wouldn’t even attempt this without you.”

“You could manage, I’m sure. Drop by day after tomorrow and we’ll chat again.”

Amelia wasn’t halfway down Main Street when Jenson Addler reined his horse in beside her.

“Miss Amelia? You doctorin’ again? Please say it’s so.” The weathered cattleman shoved his hat to the back of his head, revealing a forehead that was ten shades paler than his sunburned face. The man was in his early forties and had ten children. She’d delivered six of them.

Amelia shaded her eyes as she tipped her head to look up at him.

“I guess I am, Mr. Addler. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, it ain’t me, ma’am.” He blushed and shook his head as if the notion of her doctorin’
him
was plum loco. “It’s Justin, our youngest. He’s busted his arm and my wife wants you to set it proper like.”

She could have said no, could have extended her self-imposed exile and isolation a bit longer, but the heartache and darkness that had caused her to turn a blind eye to her fellow man had receded. As soon as she realized there was no way she could refuse Addler’s plea, she felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her heart.

Amelia smiled, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

“Follow me home, Mr. Addler. I’ll collect my bag and ride out to the ranch with you.”

Once word was out that Amelia was treating folks again there was a steady stream of patients at the door. It
was almost as if they’d saved up every ache and pain until she was willing to see them.

More often than not that week, she was forced to leave Hank in Hattie’s capable hands. It wasn’t long before he turned cantankerous whenever Amelia said she was going to pay a call on one of her patients.

On Sunday morning, she announced that she and Hattie planned to leave him home alone for two hours while they both attend Sunday service. It was the first time she’d been to church since Evan died. Hank looked surprised at first, but then he smiled.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” he told her. They had him situated in a comfortable chair, his writing implements and papers close beside him.

“I don’t want you walking around on your own. All you need to do is fall and bust your noggin open. Will you promise me you’ll stay put right here in the front room?”

She settled her Sunday hat on her head. He raised his hand and wiggled his hand to the right until she straightened it.

“You’re always complaining that there’s too much noise to work around here,” she reminded him. “This will give you some time alone.”

“Well, there has been a lot of commotion ever since you started dispensing cure-alls again. Folks are always knocking on the door.”

“I thought you
wanted
me to join the living.”

“I wanted you all to myself. I wanted you to say you’ll marry me, but it doesn’t appear I’m going to get my way,” he mumbled.

She turned on her heel and hurried out the door to catch up with Hattie.

The congregation was just as surprised to see her walk
in as Hank had been by her announcement. Her cheeks flamed red-hot as she made her way up the aisle to her usual seat near the front. Hattie scooted in beside her.

It felt good to sing hymns along with friends and neighbors. As they sat through Brand’s sermon, Amelia fought to calm her nerves. How had Hattie borne public humiliation after the Comanche attack? How had the woman suffered the stares and whispers? The speculation? The condemnation? How had she lived through it all and gone on?

Thinking of the challenges Hattie had faced, thinking of the scar beneath Hattie’s bonnet, Amelia promised herself she’d do well to show half as much courage.

She began to listen to the words of Brand’s sermon. It was as if he had chosen the topic just for her, as if he was speaking to her heart when he read from Colossians, “‘Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, long suffering; Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, if a man have a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye.’

“In other words, bear with each other. Have compassion for one another. Forgive one another as Christ and His Father forgive you.” He closed the Bible on the lectern, looked out over the crowd and paused. Then his gaze met Amelia’s.

“Before you leave today,” he announced to the congregation, “one of our members has asked to address the gathering.”

Amelia’s heart began to pound so hard that it nearly drowned out Brand’s introduction.

“Amelia, please come forward.”

She felt as if her head was stuffed with cotton.

“I don’t…” In her moment of panic, she turned to Hattie and grabbed her hand. “I can’t do this.”

“You
can
do this. Get on up there.”

“What if I faint?”

“Just remember, you’re a fighter, not a fainter.”

Amelia took a deep breath and pushed herself up off the pew. When she reached the lectern, Brand gave her an encouraging smile and stepped aside.

She took a deep breath and remembered what Hattie just said.

You’re a fighter, not a fainter.

She decided it would be best to get right to the heart of the matter and not dillydally. “I’m here to apologize to all of you.” She let her gaze slowly drift over each and every face, slowly, which helped her to remember them as individuals and not a mass of strangers packed together staring up at her. She looked into the faces of women whose children she’d delivered. She saw those children tucked into the pews beside them, some of them a decade old now. There were men she’d treated, too. Not as many as she would have liked, but times were slowly changing. Perhaps the day would come when it made no difference at all that she was a woman in a man’s profession.

“Many of you offered help and sent condolences after my brother died, but I turned away from you. I refused your kindness and your sympathy. I turned away from God, too. But thanks to Reverend McCormick and Hattie Ellenberg, who were patient and strong willed when I needed it most—and above all, thanks to God—I have found my way through the darkness and back to the light and the living again.”

A murmur passed through the crowd.

“For that, I’m here to ask your forgiveness.”

“You got it, Miss Amelia.” It was the butcher who shouted from the back row. Titters of nervous laughter filled the church. When she saw many heads nod in agreement, the vision of all those familiar faces wavered as tears filled her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you all so very much.” Then she took a deep breath and added, “Now I must ask you all for the help you offered me before.”

O
n the very next Friday at noon, Hank was dressed, packed and ready to move back to the newspaper building—but Amelia wasn’t at home to bid him farewell.

She’d hurried off somewhere before dawn. Not only was she still gone, but Joe had arrived an hour earlier to pick up Hattie. The woman had been all packed and excited to be going home at long last.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for me, Hattie,” Hank told her, not surprised when she protested.

“It weren’t much,” she said. “I just pitched in to help out Amelia.” Then she winked, “That and chaperone.”

Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. He had noticed her hovering in doorways and treading the hall with a heavy foot lately. How many times, he wondered, had she overheard him propose to Amelia? How many times had she heard Amelia turn him down?

“I thought she’d be here to say goodbye.” He knew he sounded like a petulant child, but at this point he didn’t much care.

Hattie shrugged. “I’m sure Amelia will stop by your office and see how you’re fairing. She’s good about following up with patients.”

Just a patient was all he’d ever be to her now.

He glanced out the window and saw Rebekah and the children in the back of the wagon. They waved to him from the street as Joe headed up the front walk.

Hattie gave him a hug and wished him well. Joe pumped his hand and told him not to be a stranger. He couldn’t tell them he might be leaving soon.

He tried to pass the next solitary hour writing, but the relentless tick-tick-tick of the clock on a shelf behind Amelia’s dispensary counter kept interrupting his thoughts.

Each time he heard someone ride past the house, he would put down his pen and wait, hoping it was Amelia. Finally at five minutes to twelve, Harrison Barker arrived earlier than planned, ready to load Hank into his buggy and drive him home.

When the storekeeper walked through the front door, he handed Hank a shiny hickory cane.

“What’s this?” Hank tested its weight and strength before he slowly rose and tried it for support.

“Ordered it special for you,” Harrison told him.

“Well, thank you, Harrison. That was mighty thoughtful.”

“No problem at all. I added it onto your account.”

“Well, thanks for thinking of me, at least.” He hoped he could settle his account when it came time to leave.

“Hey,” Harrison said, changing the subject, “rumor has it you found a new sheriff.”

“Someone inquired. I’ve invited him to come to town. All I have to say is that even if no one approves of the man, he’s taking over.”

“We’ve all gotten a little bit tired of hearing you gripe about the job. What are you gonna do with all that time on your hands?”

He would have time on his hands now, that was certain. More idle time than he’d ever bargained for. Even if he could afford to stay, if he could afford to pay Ricardo to help run the press and deliver copies of the
Gazette
around town, advertisements would still have to be solicited and stories written.

There was no hope of finishing his novel, sending it off to a publisher and making money off it anytime soon.

Harrison helped him outside, down the stairs and into the buggy before he ran back for Hank’s things and loaded them up.

Harrison jumped up onto the buggy seat and took the reins into his hands. “Ready?”

Hank scanned the street in both directions. Main Street was ominously quiet. Even more so than usual. If Amelia was rushing back to say goodbye, he would be able to see her.

“Is that everything?” Harrison asked.

“Everything but Amelia.”

“Sure, let’s go.”

Hank sat on the high-sprung seat beside Harrison and payed little attention as the man guided the buggy along Main Street. It wasn’t until they were pulled up in front of Foster’s Boardinghouse that he realized they’d driven two blocks past his building.

The first thing Hank noticed was an abundance of extra rigs and horses parked on the street around the establishment.

“What are we doing here?” Hank asked.

“Mrs. Foster’s organized a little gathering and invited me to stop by. When I told her I was picking you up, she said to bring you along.”

“I’m really not in the mood, Harrison. How about you drive me back to my place and come back alone?”

“I hate to disappoint her. Besides, she said you might pick up something newsworthy.”

“It’ll be a while before I’m ready to work on another edition.” If ever, he thought.

Harrison climbed down from the buggy seat without a care in the world for Hank’s request. “Come on. I’ll help you down. Hand me your cane so I’ll have it ready.”

“I really don’t want to do this.” What Hank wanted was to get back to his own place and sulk.

“I know you don’t, but do it for Mrs. Foster. You really don’t want to hurt her feelings, do you?”

Hank thought of the young, vivacious blond widow who never seemed to have an unkind word to say about anyone.

“I’m really not up to it.”

“All you have to do is walk in and say hello. You might get a front-page story out of it.”

Hank didn’t have the heart to tell him that more than likely he’d be shutting down the
Gazette
sooner rather than later. He sighed heavily, making certain Harrison heard. When he realized he was being ignored, he gave up, handed over the cane and struggled out of the buggy.

“Five minutes,” he told Harrison.

“Ten at the most, if you’re not comfortable,” Harrison agreed.

They walked up the front porch steps, no little feat for Hank at this point. Harrison used the door knocker. It was a few seconds before anyone answered. It was Laura Foster herself who ushered them in.

Hank thought the house awfully quiet for a gathering of any size.

“Everyone is out back.” She led them past the staircase and down a long central hall. They walked beyond the communal dining room where she served guests their meals, then out onto a covered veranda that bordered the entire house.

The first thing Hank noticed was that the backyard and carriage house drive was filled with people. This was no
small
gathering, as Harrison had made it out to be.

Inwardly, Hank groaned when he imagined making small talk with half the town. Trestle tables covered with fancy linens and place settings were set up beneath canvas awnings that provided shade from the relentless sun.

As soon as Laura opened the back door, everyone in the yard fell silent. Harrison followed her across the porch, and then Hank stepped outside. He paused at the edge of the porch, cane in hand, and was contemplating how to negotiate the steps when someone started singing, “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow,” and everyone followed suit.

It was a second or two before Hank realized he was the object of attention. Momentarily stunned, he scanned the crowd. Hattie, Joe, Rebekah and the children were there. Timothy and Mary Margaret Cutter, too. The Reverend McCormick was front and center. At a table on the other side of the yard sat Charity. The McCormick children suddenly appeared from beneath one of the tables, paused for a second to stare before they dashed off toward the outhouse at the back of the property. Familiar faces of ranchers and merchants, townsfolk and homesteaders made up the crowd.

Everyone he knew was there.

Everyone but Amelia.

Laura Foster was waiting for him at the bottom of the porch steps looking as pleased as punch.

“What’s going on?” he asked her.

Harrison made certain Hank cleared the steps without mishap.

“Aren’t they here yet?” Harrison whispered to Laura.

Her gaze flitted over the crowd. “They’re sorting things out in the carriage house.”

“Excuse me,” Hank tried again. “What is all this?”

“Let’s get you seated before you fall down.” She took Hank by the arm and led him over to a chair at a nearby table. Brand was already there.

“Anything I can do to help?” the preacher asked her.

Hank couldn’t help but notice the way McCormick smiled at the comely widow.

He’s smitten.
Hank silently wished his friend better luck in love than his own.

“Would you mind bringing Mr. Larson a glass of lemonade, Reverend?” Laura blushed a lovely shade of peach. She looked more than relieved when Brand hurried away to do her bidding.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked Hank.

“I would be if I knew what was going on.”

“Folks wanted to express their appreciation for you risking your life to rid Glory of the Perkins Gang and for taking on a job you never wanted in the first place.”

“I didn’t—” He was embarrassed beyond measure. “I don’t deserve—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand and leaned close enough so that only he could hear. “Don’t be modest, Mr. Larson. Folks need a hero as much as they need to feel useful and generous. Don’t take that away from them.”

He certainly wasn’t hero material, he knew that much, but Laura’s plea kept him from protesting. He suddenly realized that any public salute for his taking on the Perkins Gang explained perfectly well why Amelia wasn’t present.

Just then, Brand returned with a tall glass of lemonade and handed it to him.

“They’re ready,” the minister told Laura.

She nodded, beaming with excitement. She clapped her hands until she had everyone’s attention.

“Everybody take a seat. Gents, let the ladies and children sit first. Anyone who doesn’t find a place at a table can sit on the benches around the edges of the crowd. First things first, I’m going to turn things over to Reverend McCormick.”

Laura was as poised at addressing the crowd as anyone Hank had ever seen. Her voice was well modulated and carried a sense of command. There was nothing shy or retiring about her and, indeed, with her fair skin and curly blond hair, her angelic beauty was unheralded.

Brand stepped up to take over. “I’ll make this short and sweet. After all, it’s not one of my sermons.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd and everyone quickly settled down.

Brand turned to Hank.

“Hank Larson is a man of few words in life, but many words on paper. He stepped into a job he didn’t want and he’s done it as well as anyone here could ask. He set aside his own needs and wants and put himself in harm’s way more than once while doing his duty. He’s a living example of what folks should strive to be—an everyday man who goes a step further than he has to for the benefit of all. He’s proved to be more than an asset to this community. He’s proved to be a good friend.

“The cornerstone of our community is the faith we have in God, in each other, and in this land we’ve all come to love. But our faith is often tested in life, and Hank here has proved he can stand up to the test.”

Hank was already so stunned that he didn’t really comprehend what the minister was leading to when Brand said, “Hank, we owe you our thanks. We tried to come up with a way to show our gratitude that we hope will help the most.”

Before Hank could even begin to thank Brand for his kind words, to thank everyone for gathering in celebration, there was a commotion near the carriage house that drew his gaze as well as everyone else’s.

The carriage house’s double doors opened wide enough for Amelia to step out into the sunlight. When he saw her, everyone around them faded away.

She was wearing her pink and yellow calico gown. Her hair was unbound, but flowing free around her shoulders. The simple style allowed her natural curl to spring to life. The sun picked up rust highlights and set them ablaze.

The minute Amelia stepped out into the sunlight, her eyes met his. Her gaze never wavered as she crossed the yard.

It wasn’t until she drew near that he noticed she held what appeared to be a folded newspaper and then he noticed Ricardo trailing behind her. The youth was toting a tall stack of papers that he began to distribute to the guests.

“For you.” Amelia handed him the pages.

“What’s this?” He couldn’t quite believe what he saw.

“It’s the latest edition of the
Glory Gazette
.”

He stared at the banner, then into her eyes. They were bright with excitement.

“How?”

“Everyone helped.”

“Look it over,” Reverend McCormick encouraged. Hank had forgotten Brand was still standing nearby. He’d forgotten everything and everyone but Amelia. Now he was holding his newspaper in his hands and he’d had nothing to do with publishing this “Special Commemorative Edition” of the
Gazette
.

“Sit beside me,” he urged, relieved when she slipped into the empty chair next to him without protest. Brand, Laura and Harrison took their own seats at the head table. A glance around the crowded tables assured Hank that for the time being he was not the center of attention. Everyone was content scanning the pages of the newly printed
Gazette
. Some were reading aloud.

“Where did all these stories come from?” Hank scanned the headlines. Many brought a smile to his face, others elicited outright laughter.

Farley Temple Grows Texas’s Biggest Turnip

Bankers to Celebrate 50 Years of Marriage

Church Sewing Circle to Auction Quilt

New Line of Seed at the Mercantile

Little Mellie Ellenberg Rolls Over

Charlie Scout’s “Necklace of Gold Teeth”

Some stories were short, others quite lengthy.

“We held a contest,” Amelia explained. “Harrison and Brand helped put the word out that anyone could enter. They dropped their entries off at the mercantile. Then Laura, Brand and I chose the ones we thought would be the most interesting. There were so many that we couldn’t put them all in this edition and have it ready by today, so we saved them and thought you could use some for the next issue.”

His gaze kept drifting back to Charlie Scout’s “Necklace of Gold Teeth” and wondered if the story went into any detail about where those gold fillings might have originated.

Page two was mostly filled with recipes submitted by readers—something he’d never thought of doing, but he liked the idea. There were recipes for everything from dumplings to squirrel pie and one for liver pudding.