Chapter 20

 

Jared carried the rocking chairs from the hearth area to the room and arranged them near the doorway. “We can keep an eye on him and talk, too,” he said, fetching a small pillow for the back of her seat.

She gave him a weary smile and sat. If there was one thing she didn’t want to do, it was talk. Too many things were jumbled in her mind. The last memories before her amnesia were almost too painful to think of, much less talk about. But this family deserved some answers from her. Jared and his aunt had saved her life. She owed them whatever they wanted to know.

He positioned his chair in front of her, their knees almost touching when he sat. His gaze settled on her face. “I know you’re tired. But. . .I thought, maybe since you remember. . .”

She nodded and took a deep breath. She might as well start at the beginning. “My name is Melissa Anne Harris. My parents died when I was eight and my grandfather raised me.” She swallowed hard and willed her voice to go on. “We lived in a little town outside of Wichita, Kansas, where he practiced medicine. He’d been a surgeon in the war. I worked with him most of the time. ”

Her throat began to close. How could she go on talking about him? How could she ever reconcile what she now knew? “He. . .he wanted me to go to medical school. Some schools take women, you know,” she said, eyeing his doubtful expression.

Jared nodded slowly. “Is your grandfather still alive?”

She shook her head. “No. He was killed. . .murdered about two months ago.” She wiped away the single tear that had escaped from her eyes.

He leaned forward and covered her hands with his. “I’m sorry, Missy. I mean, Melissa.”

She smiled through her tear filled vision. “My grandpa always called me Missy, so Aunt Della picked the right name.” She sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket, dabbing at the steady stream that now flowed down her cheeks.

“I should have been with him that day, but a neighbor boy was hurt and I’d stayed at the office to stitch the child’s leg.”

She paused, trying to organize her thoughts. “It was the sheriff that found my grandfather. He was lying on the road beside his buggy. Someone had robbed him and shot him in the head. They just left him there to die alone.” Her voice broke as she finished. “He was such a good man. And those people. . .”

“Did the sheriff arrest someone?”

She shook her head and swallowed a sob. “That woman. . .the one on Sunday. She and her husband,” she hesitated, the thought of accusing someone unfairly was not what she intended. But what other solution could there be? “I think maybe they had something to do with it. Maybe even. . .even killed him,” she shuddered.

He narrowed his cobalt eyes and leaned closer, taking her hand in his. “Why do you say that?”

She stared into his eyes, reluctant to share the rest. “It’s a long story, so I’ll just tell the part that matters. My grandpa’s sister, Ina, lives. . .lived in San Antonio. I was going to live with her, but received a telegram on the way that she had passed. I had hired this couple, Mr. and Mrs. Howard, who said they were on their way to south Texas, to take me and some of my things along in their wagon.”

He interrupted her. “And that was Mrs. Howard you saw on Sunday?”

She nodded and twisted the handkerchief in her hand. “Yes. I just didn’t. . .couldn’t remember who she was.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the events that happened over two weeks ago. “The day that Mr. Howard tried to kill me was the day that I found. . . .” she blinked several times, but the tears were going to come. There was no stopping them. “I found some things in their wagon, including my grandfather’s watch, and possibly his medical bag,” she added remembering the glimpse of the contents in the wagon. “That led me to believe that they were somehow involved in his death. I think that they. . . that they might have been the ones that killed him. And maybe killed some other people, too,” she added, recalling the porcelain tea pot.

Jared stood and pulled her to her feet, holding her close, his cheek pressed down on the top of her head, his fingers softly caressing her shoulders.

She wrapped her arms around him and sobbed into his chest. The first real cry she’d had since the sheriff had found her grandfather.

“I wish there was something I could do,” he whispered, holding her tighter. “If they’re still in the area, they’ll be found. If not, the sheriff will send out telegraphs warning others about them. It’s going to be alright, Missy. We’ll see that they’re brought to justice.”

She should pull back. She had to let go, stand on her own two feet. Be the independent woman her grandfather had raised her to be. But this was the first moment she’d truly felt safe since she’d lost the only family she had.

Jared was strong and honest. His sympathy for her was sincere or else he wouldn’t give it. Tears rushed in anew. She loved him. If she’d ever considered falling in love, he was the man her heart would want. And, despite her every resistance, it had happened.

She stepped back and wiped her face. “I’m sorry. . .I didn’t mean to. . .” She caught her words before they tumbled out, thankful that he had no way of knowing her thoughts. A man who declared he didn’t need a wife had no place in his heart for words of love.

His fingers brushed her cheeks and tilted her chin upward, her eyes meeting his.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get you some coffee,” he offered, his voice soft and gentle.

Avoiding his eyes, she slid back into the chair. She looked towards the bed and Mark’s face was clear in the lamplight, his chest moving in a steady rhythm with each breath. He would wake soon. Surely.