13

Shannon saw the difference in her patient immediately on Friday morning. The good days were over, at least for now.

“Are you in pain?” she asked Alice as she placed the breakfast tray on the table beside the bed.

“No,” the woman answered—but it was a lie. Her dark eyes gave her away.

“You’ve overdone.” Shannon placed her hand on Alice’s forehead and was thankful to find she wasn’t feverish. “Did you stay up late last night with your supper guest?”

“No. Sheriff Dickson didn’t stay long after we finished eating. And truly, we did nothing but sit at the table and eat and talk.” She forced a smile. “And laugh. The sheriff is quite entertaining.”

Shannon wasn’t fooled. Talking and laughing could be exhausting to the infirm. She’d seen that in the hospital. She should have warned Matthew something like this could happen. She should have demanded that he not have guests in his home. But his sister had done so well these past few days, it had been easy for all of them, Alice included, to forget that she was dying. It had been easy to begin to believe her improved appearance and increased strength would last and last.

“Are you able to sit up and eat something?”

This time Alice didn’t try to pretend. “I’m not hungry. Maybe a little later.”

“You should take some laudanum. It will help you sleep.”

“Not yet,” she replied softly. “It muddles my head so. I think I would like to spend some time with Todd and his puppy instead. They always cheer me up.”

Shannon wanted to refuse the request but found she couldn’t. “For a short while. Then you must eat and rest.”

It took only a few moments for Todd to answer Shannon’s call.

“Your mother wants to see you,” she said when he appeared at the bottom of the staircase.

She didn’t have to tell him to bring the puppy, for Nugget was right on the boy’s heels as he came up the steps. The two of them were inseparable. Shannon understood that Todd had found comfort in the pet in a time of upheaval. So much had changed for him. His father was gone and would never return, killed on the battlefield. He was living in a strange house in a strange town, far from the place of his birth and all that was familiar. He was living with an uncle he’d never met before arriving in Grand Coeur, and—in a town where women were scarce and children even more so—he had no friends his own age to play with.

On top of everything else, did he understand his mother was dying?

She watched from the doorway as Todd settled onto the chair next to the bed and took Nugget into his lap. The smile he’d worn as he’d darted up the stairs vanished, and in his eyes was the answer to Shannon’s question. Yes, he knew his mother was dying. Even at his tender age, he could tell there’d been a change in how his mother felt.

And all of a sudden he went from being a playful boy to being solemn and careful. A little man, shouldering responsibilities he shouldn’t have to shoulder.

“Tell me what mischief you and Nugget have been into this morning,” Alice said softly.

Drawing a deep breath, Shannon turned away from the scene and went downstairs. She made note of the time. She would give them fifteen minutes together and then insist Alice eat and sleep. Or at the very least sleep.

For both their sakes.

Matthew was alone in the office when the two men entered and strode toward the counter. One of them was tall and fair and looked to be near about Matthew’s age or a few years younger; he sported a thick mustache and looked too clean to be a miner. The other was shorter, older—in his forties, most likely—and had dark hair and beard.

“Can I help you gents?” Matthew asked as he rose from the chair behind the desk.

“Yes,” the younger man answered. “How much to send a telegram to San Francisco?”

Matthew pushed paper and pencil across the counter. “It’ll cost you a dollar, if you don’t want to say much.”

The two men exchanged a brief glance. Then the older fellow picked up the pencil and began to write while the younger dropped a couple of fifty-cent pieces onto the counter. Coins had become a rare commodity since the beginning of the war, and in towns like Grand Coeur gold dust was a more common way to pay. Matthew picked up the two half-dollars and rolled them over in the palm of his hand while waiting for the message to be written down.

It was a brief one, addressed to a Frank Thompson on California Street, San Francisco: Conditions excellent. Encourage you and others to join us in Grand Coeur without delay. Advise of arrival date. Mack Patterson.

“And when there’s a reply,” Matthew said, looking up from the paper, “where can I reach you, Mr. Patterson?”

“Best send that information to Mr. Burkette here. He runs the livery at the north end of Montgomery Street and can be found more readily than I can.”

Joe Burkette? This must have been the man his sister had told him about. The one who’d invited Shannon to go on a buggy ride tomorrow. The man who, according to Alice, was competing with Matthew for Shannon’s affections.

He felt an instant dislike for the good-looking fellow with the pale-gold hair and mustache. “I’ll see that any reply goes to Mr. Burkette.” He slid the pencil behind his ear.

Courting Miss Adair hadn’t seemed an immediate priority to Matthew, what with Alice feeling so much better. But this was the second time in five days that he’d found himself concerned another man might win Shannon’s interest before he could make a case for himself—first Jack Dickson and now Joe Burkette.

With a shake of his head he pushed away the troublesome thoughts.

After sending the telegram, he returned to the desk to finish entering figures into a ledger—not his favorite task in the office, but he made sure it was done right. He and William Washburn were responsible for the shipments of treasure out of the Grand Coeur Wells, Fargo office, and he didn’t want there to be any question about the accuracy of the records.

He’d just closed the cover on the accounts book when the door opened and William and Ray came through the doorway, returning from their early supper break.

“Still quiet in here, I see,” William said.

“I sent a telegram.” Matthew rose from the chair. “That’s all the business there was while you were gone.”

“Unusual.”

“Least there hasn’t been any of the trouble the sheriff was expecting.”

“Not yet, anyways.”

Matthew went for his hat. “Guess I’ll head on home.”

After nearly three weeks in Grand Coeur, folks in town had begun to know Matthew. He was greeted on the street by a merchant standing in a shop doorway; Mrs. Treehorn, who was hurrying home after closing her dress shop; and Jack’s deputy, Horace Vale, riding down Main Street on horseback. He returned their greetings with a touch of his fingers to his hat brim, but his thoughts were once again on Shannon. He didn’t have to worry about Jack going after the pretty daughter of the reverend because Jack hadn’t met her yet—and wasn’t likely to since he didn’t attend church services. But this Burkette fellow . . . The Southerner was another matter. He was taking her for a buggy ride.

What would Matthew do if Shannon liked Burkette more than she liked him? Which wouldn’t take a lot, to be honest. The two of them hadn’t gotten off to the best of starts, although he believed matters had improved since she’d been looking after Alice and Todd.

Time to get serious, however. Beginning right now.

He opened the gate to the small yard and strode up to the front door. When he entered the house, he discovered Shannon standing at the bottom of the stairs. She looked especially pretty in the forest-green dress she wore today. It complemented the perfection of her pale skin and the fiery color of her hair. No wonder Joe Burkette wanted to take her for an afternoon drive in a buggy. Any red-blooded male would be attracted to her.

Well, two could play at that game.

He gave what he hoped was a charming smile. “Good evening, Miss Adair.”

She didn’t smile in return.

In an instant, he understood. “What’s wrong?” His eyes darted toward the top of the staircase.

“Your sister’s had a difficult day.”

He looked back at Shannon. “Do I need to go for the doctor?”

“No.” She shook her head. “He’s already seen her.”

“It’s that bad? I should have been here. You should have sent for me.”

“It was the doctor’s day to visit, Mr. Dubois. I didn’t send for him.

And there was nothing you could do for her, even if you had been at home. She is weakened. That is all. It isn’t . . . it isn’t her time yet.”

Her words were true enough, he supposed, but they did little to ease the guilt that washed over him. Guilt because he hadn’t been there when she needed him, as had been the case for too many years.

“I’ll go up.”

Shannon lifted a hand as he moved toward her and the staircase. “Eat your supper first, Mr. Dubois. Alice is sleeping now.” She glanced toward the kitchen. “I believe Todd is waiting for you.”

Matthew didn’t think he could eat at the moment, but Miss Adair probably knew better than he what was best for his sister. But Todd?

Matthew wasn’t sure he would ever know what the boy needed from him. He felt ill equipped to face him, to guide him, to raise him.

“Stay and dine with us,” he said, desperation seeping into his voice.

“I’m not sure that I—”

“Please, Miss Adair.”

“Well—” Uncertainty fluttered across her face, then disappeared. “I suppose it would be all right. I’ll need to let Father know.”

Relief was instant and strong. “I’ll ask Sun Ling to stop by the parsonage on her way home.” Not wanting to give Shannon a chance to change her mind, he strode toward the kitchen to speak to the cook.

Why on earth did I agree to stay?

It was all quite confusing. While she didn’t dislike Matthew Dubois as she had when they’d first become acquainted, neither was he anyone she wanted to befriend. After all, they were much too different, if only because he had little sympathy for the cause of her beloved Virginia.

She’d come into this home to nurse Matthew’s sister and to keep an eye on his nephew. It was a charitable act. Nothing more. She was performing her Christian duty while putting her nursing experience to good use. Compassion. That’s what she felt toward Matthew Dubois. He was a man in need, and she’d responded to that need as God would have her. With compassion.

With her silent question answered to her own satisfaction, Shannon turned and climbed the stairs to check on her patient one more time. She found Alice sleeping, just as she’d told Matthew. She was glad of it too. Alice had resisted taking a dose of laudanum until late in the afternoon, and there’d been no doubt in Shannon’s mind—or in the mind of the doctor—that her pain had been severe today.

For a moment, Shannon saw herself standing in the temporary army hospital some miles from Covington House. It seemed she could still smell the blood and the sweat and the fear that had surrounded her every day. She could hear the moans of those in pain, those for whom there had been too little laudanum—or, more often than not these days, none at all.

And with the memory came a sudden gratitude that her father had been called to the West and brought her with him. Perhaps she was terrible and selfish and shallow, but for the first time she realized she was glad to be far removed from the battlefields and the hungry and the wounded and the dying.

Matthew called her name softly from the bottom of the staircase. She took a step back from the doorway. “I’m coming, Mr. Dubois.”

Those first minutes seated around the dining table felt awkward to Shannon. She wasn’t sure why Matthew had pleaded with her to stay. But with the way he glanced at Todd again and again, worry in his eyes, and with the way Todd glanced toward the staircase again and again, fear in his eyes, she finally understood. Both of them, the boy and the man, needed to think of something besides the woman upstairs and how their lives would soon change when she was gone.

Shannon’s heart went out to them, and she sent a quick prayer up to heaven, asking how she might help them.

Dearest Katie,

A full week has not yet passed since my last letter, but I am having trouble falling asleep and so I put pen to paper. I hope that this will reach you eventually, and I hope against hope that I will receive a reply from you soon.

My patient that I wrote you about last time, Mrs. Jackson, took a turn for the worse today. She was in pain and trying valiantly not to let her son or her brother see it. I suppose I thought this kind of bravery belonged only to the Confederate soldiers I once cared for, but I was wrong. Alice Jackson is every bit as courageous as the young men I tended in the army hospital.

I confess that I was also mistaken about Mr. Dubois. No man who cares so much about his sister can be all bad. Yes, he is misguided in his opinions about the war, but I suppose I cannot fault him for that. The fighting does feel far removed here in Idaho Territory. Even I sometimes find it possible to not think about the war for lengthy periods of time.

Above all, Mr. Dubois is a man out of his depth when it comes to his nephew. He has spent all of his adult life driving coaches for Wells, Fargo, never staying in one place for very long. Now he suddenly finds himself guardian to a young boy and is unsure of the future. I could see it in his eyes tonight as we ate supper.

I was determined to take his and young Todd’s thoughts off of Mrs. Jackson, if only for an hour. You would have been proud of me, Katie. I entertained them with every story I could think of about our friends and neighbors in Virginia before the war began. Especially the funny stories. Like the one about Mrs. Samuels and the frog. (Remember what happened at their ball the year I turned eighteen?) I do believe I succeeded in my efforts, for they did laugh.

Tomorrow I am going for a buggy ride with Mr. Burkette. Without a chaperone. (Would Father have allowed it if we were still in Virginia and war had never come? Things are so very different now.) It will be my first opportunity to see the area beyond the town, including a mining claim. I am quite curious to see the gold that comes out of the waters in these mountains.

Please give my love to your mother.

Your devoted friend,
Shannon Adair