The protective instinct that had spiked in John toward Eve at the breakfast table shot up another notch as he looked into the sheriff’s unreadable expression. “Have you discovered something about Eve’s identity, Sid?” The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor told him the others had left the table. He sensed Eve’s presence behind him.
“No. We even went through every piece of luggage in the baggage car but found nothing we couldn’t link to other passengers.” Disappointment tinged Sid’s tone, but his chin lifted in a determined jut. John had seen the sheriff’s stubborn streak enough to know that, like a bulldog with a rabbit in its jaws, the lawman wouldn’t let go of this case until he got a resolution. That thought brought both comfort and consternation.
“Come on in, Sid.” Aunt Clara’s bright voice chimed in from the center of the room. “Would you like some breakfast and coffee?”
Sid dragged his hat from his balding pate and quirked an apologetic smile over John’s shoulder. “Thanks, Clara, but my Ethyl fed me.” The smile vanished as his gaze slid down to Eve, now at John’s side. “I just came from the school where they took some of the injured from the train wreck. A patient there remembers seeing someone that fits your description, ma’am.” He glanced at his hands, fingering his gray fedora, and the edges of his gruff voice softened. “I was thinking that if you talked to the gentleman, it might help to bring back your memory.”
“Yes. Yes, I would like that.” The eager hope in Eve’s voice pricked John’s heart, and his desire to protect her shot up again.
Without thinking, he put his arm around Eve’s narrow shoulders. “Are you sure you’re up to this, Eve? Doc told me that some of the injuries are… really bad.” He gazed into her crystal blue eyes brimming with all the trust and expectation of a child on Christmas morning and fought the urge to pull her against him.
“Yes.” Her shoulders straightened beneath his arm, and her chin lifted in a courageous tilt. “If there’s a chance that someone from the train knows who I am, I have to try.”
“Okay.” John took his arm from her shoulder because if he didn’t, he’d wrap her in an embrace, and that wouldn’t do. He couldn’t deny the attraction he felt for Eve. Now, a growing respect equaled that attraction. Whoever this girl was, he wanted to know her better.
A brick building with a bell tower came into view, and Eve’s insides twisted. The excitement she’d felt a half hour earlier when she’d agreed to this visit evaporated. She sucked in a ragged, involuntary breath and leaned toward John on the wagon seat beside her. What if she found family members? The thought of adding to an injured loved one’s agony by not recognizing him or her pressed down on her heart like a weight.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.” John’s gentle voice as he reined the horse to a halt in front of the building almost undid Eve’s resolve.
The temptation to tell him to turn the wagon around and head back to the farmhouse rose with the lump in her throat. She swallowed it down. Whatever unpleasantness she might face inside this building was worth the chance of learning her identity. “Yes I do, John. I have to know who I am.”
John nodded, and a tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth. A look of wonder and something else Eve was not prepared to name shone in his hazel-green eyes before he jumped down from the wagon.
When he reached up and helped her down, Eve stood for a long moment with his strong hands around her waist. Their gazes locked, and for an instant, she thought he might kiss her. Instead, he put his arm around her back and turned her toward the school. “I’ll be with you every step. And any moment you want to head back home, we’ll do that.”
Not trusting her voice, Eve nodded. She drew in another fortifying breath, gathered her courage along with the folds of her cotton skirt, and headed up the grassy embankment.
Sheriff McCord, who had driven ahead in his buggy, met them at the door. Something akin to compassion flashed across the man’s craggy features, and he held out a folded square of white cloth. “It doesn’t smell real nice in there. You might want to hold this handkerchief over your nose.”
Eve shook her head. “Thank you, but the people in there feel bad enough. I don’t want to do anything to make them feel worse.”
Two steps into the building, Eve questioned her decision to reject the sheriff’s offer. A wave of foul odors smacked her in the face, and she fought the urge to gag. Rows of canvas cots covered the space devoid of desks. Only the bookcases lining the walls interspersed with pictures of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and other past presidents evidenced this as a place of learning.
“Breathe through your mouth.” John’s whispered advice and the comforting strength of his hand on Eve’s back gave her the ability to keep her breakfast down and the courage to forge ahead.
Sheriff McCord stepped to Eve’s other side. “There’s a fellow here who might have talked to you on the train. A drummer of some sort, I think.” The lines in the sheriff’s forehead furrowed deeper. “Poor feller lost a leg. They took it yesterday, so I’m not real sure if he’ll be in much shape to talk. Doc’s got him on a heavy dose of laudanum.”
Eve stifled a gasp. Was this man a relative? A friend? Whoever he was, he deserved her compassion even if she didn’t recognize him. “I’d like to speak with him if he’s able.”
The sheriff guided them through the maze of injured, many swathed in red-stained white bandages. This must resemble a battlefield hospital. The thought skittered through Eve’s mind as she tried to filter out the sound of moans and weeping. At last the sheriff stopped beside a cot where a man lay covered in a faded patchwork quilt, likely a donation from caring locals.
Reluctant to wake the dosing man, Eve studied his pallid features, partially covered by a stubbly auburn beard and mustache. Neither homely nor especially handsome, helooked to be in his midthirties. Nothing about him triggered recognition. The disappointment that realization sparked flickered out when Eve’s gaze wandered to the bottom half of the cot. Only on the left side did a long hump beneath the quilt indicate a leg. On the right side, the quilt lay flat against the cot, and Eve experienced a flash of sympathy followed by a wave of gratitude. This could have been her.
“Mr. Trowbridge.” The sheriff’s voice intruded on Eve’s grim musings. “Mr. Trowbridge, you have visitors.”
The man’s eyelids fluttered and opened to slits, which he trained at first on the sheriff. When his drowsy gaze slid to Eve, his eyes widened, and a smile straightened his mustache to a penciled line above his lips. “Well, hello, Pretty. Glad you came.” He winked. “Unless I died and you’re welcoming me to the pearly gates.” He glanced at John. “But somehow I’m guessing the fellow with you and the sheriff isn’t Saint Peter.”
“John Weston. A friend.”
Eve saw no need to expand on John’s brief introduction. Instead, she focused her full attention on the injured man. “I’m so sorry for your injury, Mr. Trowbridge.” The words blurted from her lips.
A grin stretched his mouth wider. “If I’d known losing a leg would have won your affection, I might have cut the thing off myself back on the train.”
“Then you know me?” Eve studied his features for any scrap of familiarity.
“In what sense?” His grin turned mischievous.
“Be very careful, friend.” Though measured, John’s low voice carried an unmistakable warning.
Trowbridge’s expression sobered. “You don’t remember me?”
Eve shook her head, hating the tears filling her eyes. “I don’t remember… anything.”
“I see.” Genuine concern flashed across the man’s face. “Then I reckon you didn’t come out entirely unscathed.”
Eve ignored his comment, her heart racing. “My name. Did I tell you my name?”
He shook his head, dashing her hopes. “No, I’m sorry to say our meeting was far too brief.” He gave her a sad smile. “Wasn’t able to wheedle it out of you.” His countenance brightened. “You might have told the lady sitting next to you, though.” His brow furrowed in thought. “O’Reilly. I think I heard someone refer to her as Mrs. O’Reilly.”
“O’Reilly.” Eve’s mind churned. Nothing. Then new hope bloomed among a thorn patch of concern. Could this woman be her mother or some other relative? “Did she say if she was related to me in some way?”
Grinning, he gave a wry snort. “She made it emphatically clear that she was not. At least that she was not your mother, correcting me when I made that assumption. I got the sense that you were seatmates by chance, became acquainted on the train.”
“I see.” Another hope withered, forcing Eve to blink away more tears.
“Hey, there. I’m sure it will all come back to you soon.” His voice turned kind, and Eve experienced a flash of shame. She should be consoling him, not the other way around.
“The loss of a leg is far worse than the loss of memory. You are the one who deserves condolences, Mr. Trowbridge, not me.”
“Elmer, please.” He reached his hand up to her. “Elmer Trowbridge, stove salesman extraordinaire. Nice to make your acquaintance… again.” His grin widened.
Eve took his hand, marveling at the strength of his grasp considering the traumahe’d experienced. “Until I learn my real name, I’m being called Eve. It’s nice to make your acquaintance, too, Elmer.”
“Eve. I like it. Apropos, I’d say, since they tell me this place is called Eden.” He gave a little chortle. “Just wish my name was Adam.”
John cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Trowbridge. We won’t tire you any further.” He glanced over the cot-strewn room. “Do you happen to know if the Mrs. O’Reilly you spoke of is here?”
Elmer’s head rolled against the pillow. “Couldn’t tell ya, but I do know the doc has a list of patients’ names.”
Sheriff McCord turned and headed across the room, Eve assumed, to check the doctor’s patient list.
“Thanks.” John’s tone gentled. “I’m sorry for your misfortune, Mr. Trowbridge, and I’ll be keeping you in my prayers. Is there someone, family perhaps, who we could contact for you?”
Elmer shifted his gaze to John. “I appreciate that, Mr. Weston. Never been an especially religious man, but a good word or two on my behalf would be appreciated. As for family…” He shrugged. “Grew up an orphan, but the doc has telegraphed my company. They’ll be sending someone next week to put me on a train back to Cleveland.” He quirked a sardonic grin. “Who knows? This could be the best thing that ever happened to me.” He winked at Eve. “It’ll be a lot harder for customers to turn down a cripple.” For the first time, a hint of sorrow crept into his voice.
“Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?” Eve’s heart went out to her fellow passenger.
A mischievous glint flickered in Elmer’s eyes, but a glance at John doused it. “I could use a glass of water.” He rubbed his throat. “Throat’s a bit dry.”
“Of course.” With a parting smile to Elmer, Eve followed John to where the sheriff stood talking with Dr. Callahan.
The doctor’s kind eyes regarded Eve as they neared. “I’m so glad to see you up and about. How is that head wound?” He examined the sore spot above her left eyebrow.
“It only hurts when I touch it.”
“Hmm.” He bounced a smile of approval between her and John. “Looks like Clara is doing a fine job keeping this clean. No sign of infection. Should heal completely in a week or so.” His smile faded. “I understand your memory has not returned.”
“No. Sheriff McCord thought it might help my memory to talk with folks from my train car.”
“But it hasn’t.” His rhetorical comment held no hint of question. With his arms crossed over the chest of his long white coat, Dr. Callahan tipped his head to one side and looked at her as if studying a laboratory specimen.
“No.” The defeated tone in her voice annoyed her. Something inside her hated the thought of needing sympathy, or worse, looking as if seeking it. “So far I’ve only talked with Mr. Trowbridge, and it seems I never told him my name. He does think I may have told a Mrs. O’Reilly.”
Dr. Callahan shared a glance with the sheriff, and his tone turned consoling. “I’m very sorry, Eve, but the only person listed with that surname is a Bridget O’Reilly, and she is among the fatalities.”
“Oh.” Another disappointment. Unexpected sadness curled in Eve’s chest. Even if her acquaintance with Bridget O’Reilly had been a passing one, knowing that Eve had conversed with the woman, perhaps shared a laugh with her, made her inability to remember those exchanges feel like an insult to the dead woman. She couldn’t help Bridget O’Reilly, but she could still help Elmer. “Mr. Trowbridge requested a glass of water. Do you know where I might get that for him?”
The doctor cocked his head to the left. “There’s a pump and sink in the other room. Nurses should be able to provide you with a glass.”
On her way to fetch the water, Eve waded through the cots of suffering humanity, resisting the urge to stop and ask if anyone remembered her. Blank stares from pain-ridden faces suggested that such inquiries would prove fruitless.
A few minutes later, water glass in hand, she headed back to the room where Elmer lay. Opening a door she thought would lead to the room of cots, she found herself outside the school building. She started to head back in when she heard a familiar voice: Sheriff McCord.
“I’ve made up my mind, John. I can’t take a chance on losing this woman. I promised the police chief in Buffalo that she’d be here when his man arrives to verify her identity. Frankly, I’m not sure I can trust you with that, so I’m asking the doc to commit her to the Indiana Hospital for the Insane.”