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* * *
Belle’s heart beat fast in her chest as she paced outside Amos’ room, wishing more than anything that Sidney was here with her. She should never have let him go without a promise that he would return, that he would be safe, and that he would do everything in his power to get back to her this very night. She prayed that God was watching over him and Leonard both as they searched for Marshall. She prayed they might find him already dead, and this would all be over.
She let out a sigh and looked around her, trying to find something to get her mind off whatever danger Sidney might right now be in. Her eyes landed on an expensive-looking vase on a side table against the wall. It was pretty, and she wondered where he’d gotten it.
Dr. Harcourt’s home was large and richly furnished. He had dedicated patient rooms on the first floor, and his second floor was reserved for his personal use. She and the others were all situated in a long hallway, off of which were three doors. It was the middle door everyone continued to stare at, for that was where Amos lay.
Victoria sat disconsolately in a corner, crying and rubbing her belly, saying that Amos had to live so that he could meet his child. Summer and Meadow both sat near her, comforting the woman as best they could.
Irene sat nearby, but she was busy keeping to herself. Since their arrival, her chin had remained tilted toward the floor, and her hands had clenched tightly together. She looked pale, and every so often Victoria shot her an evil glare, which made her pale that much more. Luckily, with her eyes cast to the floor, she missed most of the looks, or she’d have been white as a ghost by now.
Booker looked even paler than Irene. He was well past ghost and into pure snow and ice. He sat by himself in the opposite corner of the room from Victoria, his head buried in his hands. Despite Belle’s best efforts to comfort him, he could not be comforted.
“It’s my fault,” Booker muttered. “Amos pushed me out of the way. That bullet was meant for me.”
Meadow looked at him from across the room, frowning. “Don’t blame yourself.”
Victoria looked up, her face whiter than anyone’s except for the cherries steadily growing in her cheeks. Her lips pressed together, and her eyes narrowed. “Blame her if you want to blame someone,” she said, looking at Irene. There was bitterness behind her voice.
“Me?” Irene asked, shock rolling across her face, and Victoria nodded, shaking off Meadow and Summer’s hands.
“That’s right,” Victoria said, rising from her seat and walking steadily across the room. “This is all your fault. If you’d never come to this town, neither would that madman Marshall Anderson. You brought him here. If Amos dies, it will be all your fault.”
Belle’s mouth dropped open. Tears rolled frantically over Irene’s cheeks. Her lips trembled; her hands shook. She stood to go, moving quickly for the front door. Belle grabbed hold of her and pulled her back. Irene fought her grip, but only for a moment. She didn’t have strength enough to keep fighting.
“This isn’t Irene’s fault,” Belle said. “She’s not a criminal, though I know I might have treated her like one for a while when she first arrived, but I was wrong to do so.”
Victoria looked at her, angry and hurt. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her nose would not stop running. “Who would you blame then?” she demanded of Belle.
“How about the man actually responsible for shooting Amos?” Belle snapped, trying hard to keep the agitation out of her voice but failing.
She knew Victoria was in a fragile state right now and didn’t want to make things worse for her, but she couldn’t allow such unfair blame to be pressed onto Irene’s shoulders. Irene was barely able to stand without her knees buckling. She was certain the woman had already been blaming herself without any help from Victoria, and Belle would not stand for it.
Belle looked steadily at Victoria. “If you, or any one of us for that matter, had been hurt by a man, would you not blame the man for causing us pain? If Summer came to you one day after having been attacked by a man walking to the general store, would you blame her or the attacker?”
Slowly, Victoria shook her head. “The attacker,” she said in a small voice.
Belle rounded her shoulders back. “Would you expect Summer to give in to her attacker or to fight him off, even running far away from him if she had to?”
Victoria sighed. “I’d expect her to fight, and to run if necessary.”
Belle nodded. “Then you can expect no different from Irene. She did what any one of us would have done in her situation.”
Victoria’s eyes flowed with fresh tears. “I’m sorry,” she said to Irene. “I should never have said that to you. I didn’t mean it. I’m just upset.”
Irene nodded. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” said Victoria and went to her, pulling her into an embrace. The two stood that way, crying together, for a minute or two before Dr. Harcourt came out, his face serious.
Victoria gasped. “Oh, no! Is he—”
“He’s alive,” Dr. Harcourt said quickly, cutting her off. “But I’ll not mince words. He’s in poor shape at the moment.”
Summer, Belle, and Meadow surrounded Victoria, whose tears would not cease. Jack, Emile, and Booker huddled together off to the side.
“There is good news,” said the doctor, and everyone looked at him. “Amos is strong, and the bullet went clean through his chest and out the other side. That limits the possibility of infection.”
Victoria was looking at him as if she barely comprehended what he was saying. Belle thought that hearing anything other than “Amos will live” would not filter into her brain just now. It would take time.
“When will you know for sure if he’ll come out of this?” asked Booker, his voice hard and cracking, but not yet broken.
Dr. Harcourt drew in a breath. “The next two days will be critical. If he makes it through the next two nights, then his chances for survival are good.”
“Can I see him?” asked Victoria, and Booker looked on with eager interest for the answer.
“Yes,” said Dr. Harcourt. “It will do him good to hear your voice, though I must warn you... he’s not conscious at the moment.”
“I’d like to see him, too,” said Booker.
The doctor nodded. “Two at a time. No more.” He opened the door for them and followed Booker and Victoria into the room. Everyone else either took a seat or resumed pacing. Belle paced.
Where’s Sidney?
She began to picture him lying in a room much like Amos, his body bleeding. The thought made her shudder, and she fought back tears. When Sidney walked into the house a few minutes later, she thought she was seeing a ghost.
“Sidney!” she cried out and ran to him. She threw her arms around him, embracing him and kissing him and not caring what the others thought of it. They all knew her feelings for him by now, so why hide her affection?
Her body warmed against his as he kissed her back. His lips melted over hers like hot butter, his breath entering her body as he exhaled, filling her from head to toe. She inhaled his scent and her anxiety began to vanish.
He’s all right. Sidney’s all right. She repeated the words to herself over and over again. Nothing else mattered to her. As long as Sidney was safe, all was right with the world.
“Where’s Leonard?” Jack asked, and Belle’s heart stopped. She’d been so happy to see Sidney that she’d forgotten he’d not been searching for Marshall alone.
“He’s not hurt, is he?” Belle asked, alarm in her voice.
“He’s at the station,” Sidney said quickly, not wanting anyone to worry. A collective sigh of relief was let out from the group.
“Did you get him?” Irene asked. “Did you get Marshall?”
“Is he dead?” asked Meadow.
Belle knew at once by the look on Sidney’s face the answer on both counts was no. He shook his head. “We picked up his trail and followed it for a while, but then it just disappeared. There was a lot of blood loss though... I’m not sure anyone could have survived losing so much.”
Belle clung to Sidney and prayed he was right. So did everyone else in the room.
* * *
