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Mac checked the harness on the last of the mules, then patted it on the neck. This would be the final rest stop for the day. A day ahead of schedule, they’d be getting back to Central City by late afternoon. He glanced at Drew who was playing with Tair. The young man wasn’t a bad sort, reminded him of one of his cousins years ago who stayed in Philadelphia when the rest of the clan moved west.
Aye, Drew and Uncle Finley’s boy, Camden, had a lot in common. Both had a lot of book learning and seemed to thrive in the city life back East. Mac shook his head. Too bad. If Drew stayed out here instead of going back to Boston when his grandfather eventually ordered him to, they’d probably become good friends.
With a pat on the mule’s neck, Mac headed to the back of the wagon.
“All right, Tair, this is the last time.” Drew threw a foot-long stick in the air. The hound chased it, leaped up, and caught it in his mouth. As he landed, the poor mutt’s feet got all tangled up.
Mac leaned against the wagon and laughed while Tair got his feet all pointed in the same direction. At last, the dog headed back toward his new friend at full speed, the stick still in his mouth. One of these days that dog was going to grow into those big paws of his. Oh no, there was going to be a collision. Poor thing had better learn to slow down, or someone was going to get hurt.
As Tair ran past him, Mac reached for the dog’s neck before he ran into Drew. He missed. “Watch it, Drew! He’s gonna run you down.”
Tair hit Drew full-force and sent both of them over the edge of the trail. Drew’s shout joined Tair’s howl.
Mac raced to the place where the two of them disappeared and scrambled down the narrow drop-off. Drew and Tair had landed on a pile of large rocks. Drew lay still, his eyes closed, his leg twisted and bleeding. The dog shuffled off to the side, holding one paw off the ground.
He squatted down by the young man and checked Drew’s breathing, then lifted each eyelid. Next he checked out the man’s arms and the one straight leg. He would leave the twisted one for last, since it was surely broken.
“I may not be a doctor, but I’ve plenty of experience taking care of hurt men.” Mac hoped his words would soothe the dog as he glanced at Drew’s face. He hoped, maybe even prayed, that Drew would rouse, but there was no reaction. “Maybe it’s best you’re still out. I need to check on this leg.”
Mac pulled his knife from the sheath attached to his belt. He slit the pant leg and slid the material apart, then let out the breath he’d been holding. Drew had a bad break in his lower leg, but the bone hadn’t cut through the skin. Blood oozed from some shallow cuts.
Mac grabbed a couple of stout branches and laid them on either side of the leg, then took hold of Drew’s lower leg. As gently as he could, Mac straightened the leg. With the cord he always kept in his pocket, he wrapped the splint tight.
Drew groaned. His eyelids fluttered. “Hurt...hurt.”
“I know. Just try and stay still while I finish checking you out.” Mac pulled the dirty shirt up and examined Drew’s chest. Bruises were already forming on the sides—maybe some cracked ribs. “Can you breathe all right?”
Drew tried to take a deep breath, but stopped and shuddered. “Hurts too...much.”
“All right. Just try and relax.” Mac stood. “I’ll be right back.”
Within the hour, as the sun touched the tops of the mountains in the west, Mac snapped the reins, and the mules pulled out, moving slowly so as not to jostle Drew too much. Tair lay in the back of the wagon next to the injured man, both of them on a bed of cut tree branches covered with bedrolls to cushion the ride back to town.
Mac rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the muscles cramping with tension. He had done everything he knew for Drew, but it didn’t seem like it was enough. The man had seemed clear-headed at first. But in the last few minutes, he’d started rambling.
They weren’t far from Central City now. If they hurried, they could be home before it turned dark. But that was the rub. If they hurried, the bouncing around in the back of the wagon could do more harm than good for Drew. But what if something was wrong with him that Mac had not caught, something that could kill the man?
Drew started mumbling again, something about a snarly creature snitching in the grass. Maybe they could move just a tad faster. Mac clicked his tongue, and the mules stepped up their pace just a mite.
Thankful for the full moon that had risen before the twilight passed into the evening dark, Mac reached the edge of town. He pulled up in front of the doc’s office as Sheriff Hoover headed toward him on his nightly rounds. Doc was walking alongside the sheriff. The two of them seemed to be having a mighty loud discussion about someone named Sadie Girl.
Well, Sadie Girl was just going to have to wait. Drew needed the doc now. Mac jumped down and opened the back of the wagon.
“Well, Mac, what you got there?” Doc peeked in the wagon. “Who’s that?”
“New businessman in town, Andrew Hollingsworth. He’s been traveling with me to get to know the miners.” Mac shooed Tair to the side, then pulled on the blanket where Drew lay.
Sheriff Hoover and Mac each took hold of the blanket and lifted. Drew started rambling again. Doc opened the door so his patient could be carried inside. Once there, Doc moved into the examining room and lit several lamps. He pointed to a table in the middle of the room, then took off his jacket and hung it on a nail. “Tell me what caused all this.”
Mac told them what happened to Drew.
All the time he talked, Doc poked and prodded, cleaned and wrapped. At last, he washed his hands and dried them on a towel. “Need to keep him overnight. You did a purty good job patching him up, Mac, but I want to check on him for the next while ’cause of the head wound.” He hung the towel on another nail in the wall. “You gonna tell his sister he’s here?”
“Aye, now that I know Drew’s going to be all right.” Mac slapped his hat back on his head and headed to the door. “When in the morning can she come by?”
“Tell her any time after nine’ll be fine.” Doc waved him on.
Bone-weary, Mac held onto the side of the wagon for a moment, then heaved himself up to the seat. Tair greeted him with a small woof. Much as he wanted to go back to the boardinghouse right now, he had two stops yet to make. First, he left his wagon and mules at the livery. They’d done a good job and earned their rest. Next, he headed over to see Drew’s sister with Tair plodding behind him.
With each step Mac took, he tried to figure out what to say to Mrs. Greer so she’d wait ’til the morning before rushing over to Doc’s. Somehow he needed to convince her, ’cause Drew really needed his rest, and so did Doc.
As he crossed the road in front of Mrs. Greer’s place, a feathery feeling ran down his neck, like someone was watching him. He stretched and shifted. Looking around, he couldn’t see anything out of place, but the feeling didn’t go away. Maybe he just imagined it. “Come on, Tair. We need to give our news, then go home.”
Wood smoke mixed with roses filled the night air around Sarah’s house. One thing about this woman’s place, it always smelled good here, whether of flowers or cinnamon rolls or beef stew.
He walked up the path to the house and realized that someone was awake. The lamps were lit downstairs, and the shadows showed someone pacing back and forth in the parlor. As he knocked on the wooden door, a baby’s screeching filled the quiet night air. Tair whimpered.
“Quiet, boy.” Mac rubbed the dog’s head.
“Who’s there?” The voice on the other side of the door quivered.
“Mac.” Something tightened in his chest. “It’s me, MacPherson.”
The door jerked open. The woman standing in the lamplight looked so unlike the lady he had seen before, Mac blinked a couple times.
Her hair half-hung down around her pale, tear-streaked face. Her shoulders slumped under a dirty dress that smelled of something that tickled his memory—something that had to do with babies. She held her red-faced baby, whose squalls sent Tair howling.
“Quiet.” Mac barked out the order as he stared down at his hound, but it seemed as if everyone and everything took it personally. The night went dead still—no crying, no howling, no insects buzzing, at least for a moment or two. Then the baby started up again. Tair lay on the porch and covered his head with his paws.
With memories of his own daughters flashing through his thoughts, Mac took the baby in one arm. With a gentle touch, he guided the woman farther back into the house.
She resisted for a moment. Her eyes widened, and she looked past him to the darkness surrounding the house.
Mac looked over his shoulder to see if he could spot what she was looking for. The baby let out another scream that threatened to deafen him. “Is something out there?”
She shrugged. “For a moment, I thought I saw someone. But I guess it was just my imagination.” The baby let out another howl. “I can’t get her to quit crying.” Mrs. Greer rubbed her hand along the side of her head and more hair tumbled down. “Should I send for the doctor? She might be sick.”
With his free hand he directed her to the sofa. She dropped wearily onto it. He wrapped his other arm around Emma and lifted her to his shoulder, then patted her back while he paced back and forth across the room.
He had seen Grandma do this many a night with one babe or another while they screamed and cried. Looking back at Mrs. Greer, he smiled. “There’ll be no sending for the doctor tonight. He’s needed elsewhere. Besides, as near as I can see, the babe only has a bit of stomach upset. Granny would say, ‘The wee bairn is only bein’ a bairn. I just have ta walk her through it.’ And she’s always right.”
***
Sarah tried to relax on the sofa. Mac had returned, so that meant Drew would be home shortly. He probably had to stop at the office and make a report or something. Stanley would demand that. No one would need to know that Helen was gone.
With each step Mac took, Emma quieted a bit more. Sarah could tell this wasn’t the first time he’d held a squalling baby. His face eased from stern lines to a gentle smile. Where had he learned to handle a child like this? Was he married? Did he have children of his own? If he did, where were they?
Suspicions crept in, but they were pushed away as he continued to move across the room. Memories floated through her mind, memories of Papa holding Drew as a baby, walking with him like Mac was doing now when Drew had an upset stomach. Memories of Papa holding her and telling her how much he loved her. Memories of Mama watching them as she held Drew, tears flowing down her cheeks. She could hear Mama’s voice from years ago as she wiped her face. “These aren’t tears. It’s my heart’s so full of love that it overflows. These are just bits of love.”
Sarah rested on the sofa, wrapped in the comfort of her memories. A whisper of sound surrounded her, the soft humming of a male voice. It didn’t frighten her. No, it soothed her spirit, unlike anything in many years. A soothing she relished and wanted to hold on to. Not the man, just the soothing peace.
***
The minutes ticked by on the clock that sat on the mantel. Mac kept pacing. His arms ached, his feet had grown leaden, and the babe’s cries had probably damaged his hearing, but his heart lightened as Emma finally nestled closer and quieted her screams. Just whimpers now. And the poor lady relaxed a mite on the sofa.
The house seemed so quiet after the uproar when he had arrived. The hour was drawing late, but thankfully with Helen and her brother in the house, he and Mrs. Greer could claim they were chaperoned, even if the housekeeper’s room was at the back of the house.
The babe felt good in his arms, like his own when they were small as this wee one. It had been so long, too long, since this contentment, this peace had filled his heart. Rumbling started deep in his chest. The baby quieted as he started humming.
After several more times back and forth across the room, Emma relaxed and drifted to sleep. Something rustled. He glanced toward the sound. Mrs. Greer rested against the back of the sofa and wiped the tears from her face with a white lace hankie.
“What’s that song?” Her voice barely disturbed the stillness of the parlor.
“MacPherson’s Lament.”
She smiled. “You have your own lament?”
“Nay, t’was Jamie MacPherson’s back in 1700. Poor boy.”
“It’s a beautiful tune. Tell me about him.” She reached up her arms.
He knew she wanted the baby, but a shudder rolled through his body. How long had it been since a woman, any woman had raised her arms toward him like that? He needed Emma for a shield, and besides, the little one felt too good in his arms. He was loath to let go of her. He sat on the sofa. “Wait until she sleeps a mite more. We don’t want to wake her now.”
The lady’s eyes, dark and shining in the lamp light, moved from her child to him. She nodded.
Another shudder, smaller this time, but just as deep, caused his hands to tremble. He felt like a callow youth. “The song...” His mind went blank for a moment as he watched her, soft and trusting, and he still hadn’t told her about her brother.
For a moment, for just a moment, he wanted to enjoy a bit of peace and sharing. He loved this story and wanted her to know about it. “It’s the tune Jamie played on his fiddle as he stood at the gallows tree back in Scotland. A haunting melody, it is. One that drew Bobby Burns to write about.”
Her eyes lightened even more. “Robert Burns, the poet?”
“Aye, that’s the one. Well, Jamie was a, uh, highwayman of sorts.” He always hated telling this part, but one had to know that part to know why poor Jamie swung from the gallows tree. “While in jail, he made up the song and sang it before the people who had gathered there. He challenged any man to play it on his fiddle, and if one could, he would give his fiddle to him. No man took the challenge, so Jamie smashed his fiddle on his knee.” Mac shook his head. “A real pity it was no one took up the dare. It might have saved Jamie’s life.”
Her breath caught. Her eyes grew wider. “How?”
“Well, the men at Banff were determined to do away with Jamie but knew there were those in Aberdeen who had appealed for his life. Those black-hearted men in Banff set the clock in the city tower ahead by a quarter of an hour and executed poor Jamie just before the pardon came.”
“Oh, no.”
“Ah, but those in Aberdeen got the last laugh, because from there after the town clock had to be a quarter of an hour off.”
“You’re joking.” The lady’s full soft lips tilted up in a most tempting fashion.
Her very sweetness was making things happen to him that shouldn’t. Tension spread through him. He had to stop his thoughts right now. “No, a MacPherson never jokes about Jamie and his fiddle.” He swallowed hard. The time had come to tell her about her brother. “Your brother...I don’t want to be the one to tell you, but there isn’t anyone else. He—”
“No.” Shaking her head, she drew back. Fear seeped into her eyes. “You left him with Stanley Snodgrass, didn’t you? You’re back a day early and left him there, right? Drew said that he would have to give a report to Stanley as soon as he arrived, or else that dratted man would be upset. Business always comes first to him and Grandfather.” Tears rolled up in her eyes as anguish marred her lovely face. Her skin turned pale. She wrapped her arms around herself as if to hold herself together, waiting for a blow, a mighty blow, to strike her.
“Drew’s had an accident, but he’s not dead. He’s over at the doctor, sleeping.”
“What—?” She blew out the air that had been trapped inside her. She took in another deep breath, then slowly let it out. “What happened?”
Mac rubbed the back of his neck. The burden of the accident rested heavy on his shoulders. “Twas my fault. Just a few hours ago, we stopped ta rest the mules. Drew threw a stick for Tair ta catch.” He could hear his Scottish brogue getting stronger, the way it always did when he was nervous or upset. “You have ta remember Tair’s still a growing pup, even if he’s big as all get-out. He came running back with the stick and couldn’t stop. They both fell down a narrow ravine. Twasn’t deep, but Drew landed on a pile of large rocks with Tair landing atop o’ him.”
“How bad was he hurt?”
“Broke his leg and bruised a few ribs. Bumped his head something fierce, too.”
Sarah started trembling, then looked around the room as if to figure out what to do. “I need to go to him.” She focused on Emma. “But I can’t take her out in the night air, not after she’s finally settled. Oh, why did Helen have to go out tonight?”
Mac grabbed the edge of her sleeve as she started to rise. He had to stop her before she took out, running into the night in this wild town. “Sit a minute and think. There’s nothing you can do right now. Doc’s watching over him tonight. In fact, he told me ta tell you not ta come over ’til after nine in the morning. Doc said he could use your help then, as he would be tired from sitting up all night with your brother.”
She dropped back down, rocking back and forth, holding herself together again. “I can’t lose him. I can’t. He and Emma are all I have. He can’t die.”
Helplessness stole his strength, as if his heart had been ripped by one of the great war sabers on the walls of MacPherson Hall that Grandda used to tell him about. Drew said this woman couldn’t stand to have a man’s hands on her, but she needed comfort now. She needed someone to hold her.
He hugged Emma with one arm, thankful the babe had stayed asleep, and wrapped his other arm around Mrs. Greer, pulling her to his chest.
For a moment she sat stiff as the board Granny used to iron her clean washing, then a trickle of tears flowed and became a river, a raging winter-thaw flood. Drew’s words about what Mrs. Greer had suffered came back to him. Who had comforted this fine lady through her life? Who had been there for her when her parents died, when her brother was taken from her, when that monster of a husband had beaten and abused her?
He held her as keening cries of utter agony escaped from her heart. Who had held her when she lost those precious babes? He slid his hand back and forth across her shoulders. No words came, but then no words were needed. Like a bad infection, she just needed to let out the poisoning pain that had been held inside for far too long.
The worn-out babe never made a peep.
Slowly, bit by bit, the keening stopped, the rocking stopped, the tears stopped. Exhaustion claimed her.
Mac called her name once, twice, but nothing. What was he going to do with a babe in one arm and an exhausted lady in the other? And his own body crying out for rest. If he could just twist around and lay her down on the sofa, then he could get Helen to look after the baby. Something tickled the back of his tired mind. Something about Helen.
As he shifted away, Mrs. Greer’s arms clung to him, her eyes still closed in sleep. “Help me. Please help me.” A cry for help she would never allow to cross her lips if she were awake. With a weary shrug, he leaned back on the sofa, drawing her close. He could let her sleep for a half-hour or so. By then she would be so uncomfortable on the hard sofa, she would surely wake, and he could leave.
Resting the baby against his chest once more, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.