It was good her father had stepped into the doctor’s examination chamber with her, because Gretta couldn’t have given half the details of the ordeal that her father now spewed. And even in his steady voice, she could hear the fear just under the surface. It was a wonder he hadn’t suffered an apoplexy as he’d hauled her up on his horse and taken off for South Pass City. Once again, she sent up a prayer of thanks that Zeche had found them. It had to be God’s doing. How else could he have returned to the cabin in time, found their trail leading south, and even had a medicine to void the toxins in her body?
The doctor listened to it all with a furrowed brow, leaning back in his upholstered chair, his hands resting on the wooden arms, one leg crossed over the other. When Father finally finished recounting the ordeal, Dr. Evans turned to her. “And how do you feel now, Miss Michelly?”
“Much better. Weak still, but otherwise healthy.” She would omit the fact that she couldn’t even smell food without her stomach threatening to cast up her accounts.
“And your appetite?”
Although the doctor might force her to say it. “It’s…returning slowly.”
His right cheek twitched, as if concealing a smile. But then his face grew thoughtful again. “Do you remember the course of events before you took sick? Did you eat anything immediately prior?”
She squinted, trying again to recall details from that blurry time. “I came back from riding to the lake, as my father said. I think I was cooking dinner, but I can’t really remember.”
He rose to his feet. “I’m just going to do a quick examination. If you’ll lie on this bed for me.”
She followed his instructions as he poked at her skin, peered in her eyes, ears, and mouth, then used a long tube to listen to her chest, her stomach, and her back.
He scrutinized her fingers, then straightened on his seat at the edge of the bed. “It does appear a toxic substance entered your body. You said you’d been to the lake. Are you familiar with water hemlock, Miss Michelly?”
She searched her mind. “Not that I know of.”
“How about water parsnip?”
A flash of memory slipped through, and she grasped at it. “Yes. I think that’s what I gathered over the summer to use for cooking.”
His eyes widened. “Is there a chance you ingested the plant right before you became ill?”
“Maybe…” There was something she couldn’t quite remember, and its taunting was maddening.
He laid his hand on the bed beside her. “If I were a betting man, I’d say it was actually water hemlock you found and dried. It’s highly toxic and usually produces seizures and other symptoms within minutes or up to an hour of being ingested. After several hours, if untreated, the patient usually dies of respiratory or cardiac conditions.”
A cold chill swept through her body. “But I didn’t die.”
“It’s a miracle really. The activated charcoal I gave Mr. Olsen is one of the only treatments effective for that level of toxicity. It appears to have saved your life, Miss Michelly.”
She didn’t need his pointed look to feel the impact of his words. “Did it cause any permanent damage?” She almost didn’t want to know his answer, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.
His lips rolled under as he seemed to consider his answer. “I can’t make any guarantees. Most people die from that level of poisoning, so there’s not a lot of data to answer your question. I’ve read everything I could find on the topic of toxicity. It’s possible there might be sustained weakening to your heart or vascular system, but it’s also possible there will be no long-term effects. Time will tell.”
No long-term effects. The idea made her pulse rush, her hands quiver. She gripped her fingers in her lap. Part of the shaking might be from the lingering weakness, but it wouldn’t be permanent. She inhaled a long breath and released it, meeting the doctor’s look. “That’s good news. Thank you.”
He nodded and stood. “I have some medicine that will help rebuild your blood. And I’ll send more activated charcoal for you to have on hand”—he raised his brows at her—“in case you ever need it again.”
She offered a shaky chuckle. “I don’t plan to.”
The doctor nodded. “I’ll warm supper for you all. I assume you’ll be staying here tonight?” He turned a questioning look to her father.
He shook his head. “We’ll find a boarding house or hotel for the night.”
“You’ll have a ways to go before you find that. The nearest is a little town about four hours southwest of here.” He motioned toward the bed where she lay. “Miss Michelly can sleep here, and the rest of you are welcome to my floor in the front room. I’m sorry I don’t have more to offer, but at least it’s warm and dry.”
Father glanced at her, and she nodded. This was probably their best option, and the comfort of a real mattress called to her after two nights on the hard ground. He turned back to the man. “I suppose I should say thank you, then.”
As they ate dinner around the milled-plank table, Gretta forced herself to chew and swallow the beans. She knew as well as anyone that she wouldn’t regain her strength without sustenance, but the bile in her stomach still churned with every bite. It was a little better now than it had been that morning though. Something else to be thankful for.
She glanced sideways at Zeche, who hadn’t left her side since she’d exited the examination room. He caught her glance and answered with a softening of his gaze. The corner of his mouth tipped in what felt like an intimate smile.
Her heart responded with the little flutter that seemed to come every time he looked at her these days. She craved Zeche’s presence much more than this food her body needed to recover. Was he here to stay this time? Oh, Dio, let him be here to stay. She might not be able to stand it if he left again.
But what would their lives look like if Zeche stayed? Would he ask her to marry him? That’s what she wanted. The image came clearly to her now with startling force. She wanted to be this man’s wife. To stand beside him no matter what life blew their way. And maybe, at times, to hide in the shadow of his strength. What would it be like to not have to be the strong one? With Zeche sitting beside her, she could almost imagine it.
But what about her father? She couldn’t leave him alone out here in the wilderness. After everything he’d lost, including his peace of mind, she couldn’t leave him, too.
“So what brought you from Philadelphia all the way out here?” Father scooped a bite of beans.
“Escaping.”
Father halted mid-chew as he raised his brows at the doctor. Gretta herself couldn’t stop a rustle of unease in her chest. Had they trusted a criminal?
“Let the wrong man die, eh?” This from Olsen as he swallowed the food in his mouth. But he didn’t look at all worried about the doctor’s strange answer.
Evans let out a chuckle. “Not exactly. I couldn’t stand the bustle of the city one more day, so I took down my shingle and headed west.”
Father gave an understanding nod and took another bite, but Gretta cocked her head at the man. He seemed fairly normal, if a little eccentric. But in her experience, most educated men developed a few quirks along the way.
Dr. Evans caught her watching him, and his cheeks wrinkled in a knowing grin. “I grew up on a farm, you see. I missed the solitude after I established my practice in the city. I’d been studying toxicology for several years and finally decided to move closer to the source of my research.”
“Toxicolgy?” She’d heard the term from a physician friend of her father’s who used to visit their home on occasion.
“It’s the study of the nature, effects, and detection of poisons. I’ve focused my work on toxic elements appearing organically in nature—usually plants. There’s a surprising amount of toxicity in the variety of flora God placed in this part of the country.” He dipped his chin at her. “As you’re becoming aware.”
She acknowledged his reference with a tight smile. “So you study poisonous plants. What do you do with your research all the way out here? It’s not as if you can travel back to Philadelphia every other week to share your findings.” She couldn’t help a strong curiosity about his answer. This educated man spent his time in this remote land studying plants, not so unlike her father. Maybe the two of them could compare notes, even work together on projects. Would Father find his earlier enjoyment in interactions and discussions with his peers? Could that help his mental state? Surely it would.
She sent a sideways glance at her father. He seemed to be waiting for Dr. Evans’s response as much as she was. His interest had to be good.
The doctor swallowed the bite he’d taken and laid down his fork, preparing for a long-winded answer, it appeared. “There are several journals and societies to which I send my findings. And sometimes the newspapers reprint condensed versions of my articles as educational pieces.” His mouth quirked. “Probably to satisfy their insatiable curiosity about the wild west. But I’m happy to show that there’s more to this land than Indians and buffalo.”
Father had lowered his fork as well and now leaned forward to peer at the doctor. “And you’ve documented a variety of new plant species in this area? Have you seen the version of Delphinium that grows out here?”
Dr. Evans leaned forward, too. “With blue and purple flowers covering the top third of the stalk when it blooms? Yes, I’m actually in the process of studying it. One of the ranchers in the area claims it’s making his cattle ill.”
Gretta’s gaze pulled back and forth between the two men as they continued the discussion, Father’s face coming to life when he described plants and asked questions.
She glanced from the pair to the other men sitting around the table. Olsen dipped low over his plate, more focused on his food than the conversation. Zeche seemed to be watching the interchange with amusement while he ate. But as she studied him, his gaze wandered to meet hers, and he sent her a quick wink. If it weren’t for the grin touching the corners of his mouth, she might have thought she’d dreamed it.
But she couldn’t help a returning smile. This had to be good for Father. And that had to be good for her chances with Zeche.
At least she hoped so.
Zeche closed his hands around the mug of strong coffee, letting its warmth infuse him with a measure of strength. This not sleeping was becoming a bad habit. If only the thoughts that kept his mind churning would give the same energy to his body.
“Got any more of that?” Olsen’s whispered tone broke the stillness of the morning as he stepped over to the stove.
“I made this pot strong.”
A grunt was the man’s only response while he filled a mug and turned to plop into a chair at the table.
They sat in silence for several minutes letting the drink work its magic. Olsen looked a little worse for wear, his tousled hair spiking several angles and darkness shadowing the skin under his eyes.
At last he broke the quiet. “Doc up yet?”
“He went out to gather plants. Specimens, he called them.”
A snort drifted from the cup raised to Olsen’s mouth.
Zeche hid his answering smile as he pushed up from his seat to refill his mug.
“Reckon’ I’ll go see how the animals are this mornin’.” Olsen rose and turned toward the door, grabbing his coat off the hook as he exited.
Zeche probably should have seen to the horses already, but his mind hadn’t been focused in that direction. If he could get Mr. Michelly alone for a few moments today, he planned to speak with him. There was so much they needed to settle, not the least of which was securing the man’s blessing on asking Gretta to marry him.
His gut tightened at the thought of the conversation. But surely it wouldn’t be so hard. They seemed to have reached a mutual respect during the ordeal with Gretta. At least, on Zeche’s part, his esteem for the man had grown. And Mr. Michelly’s gaze now had an earnestness when he spoke with Zeche, as though he saw him as a friend. Maybe.
A shuffling from the other side of the room grabbed his attention, and Zeche turned to nod at the man occupying his thoughts, Nyx prancing beside him.
“Mornin’.” Mr. Michelly wore the same sleep-rumpled look Olsen had. “Hope that’s coffee I smell.” He gave Zeche a half-smile on his way toward the pot.
With a steaming mug in hand, Michelly settled across from Zeche. As he took his first sip, the older man’s gaze took in Zeche. He swallowed and released a deep, pent-up breath. “That’s good coffee.”
Zeche raised his own mug to his lips. “It is.” Might this be his chance? Or maybe he should wait ‘til later when he’d had time to wake up.
“What’s bothering you, son? Did Gretta have trouble in the night? I can be a heavy sleeper.”
Zeche ignored the first question and did his best to push back the memories the last comment stirred, doing his best to school his features. “I haven’t heard anything from her room. Olsen and the doctor have gone out already.”
Michelly nodded. “But you didn’t sleep well.” A comment, not a question.
Zeche shrugged. “Had a lot on my mind.”
The other man nodded, the hint of a smile touching his mouth as he raised the mug for another sip of coffee. He seemed to be in a decent mood. And who knew when Zeche would have the chance for a private conversation again? He should ask now.
Reaching for his escaping courage, he tried for a voice that didn’t quiver. He had to clear his throat to accomplish it. Just say it. “Sir, I’d like to marry Gretta, and I’d like your blessing.”