Thursday morning, Abby appeared with a basin of warm water, soap, and a washcloth and towel. “I thought you might give this a try yourself.”
Her cheeks held an interesting pink glow as she backed away from him. Abby? Embarrassed? She had bathed him before when he was ill, but now that he was conscious, she wouldn’t help? He found a certain humor in the whole thing.
He sat up, bracing himself against the stab of pain he knew would come. It was duller than yesterday. He wrestled with his shirt, wincing once as he tried to free his arm of the sleeve. The effort exhausted him. The humor he’d found only moments before evaporated. He hated feeling weak. “A little help here?”
She hesitated at first, but then stepped closer and helped him with his sleeve. When she had freed him of his shirt, he breathed a sigh of relief and flopped down again, closing his eyes.
“Can you manage now?”
He opened his eyes. She had inched toward the doorway. Her cheeks were now definitely red. The entire situation obviously flustered her.
“What if I said I couldn’t?” The challenge slipped easily off his tongue.
She frowned. “I’d say you were lying to me.”
She reached into the water, grabbed the washcloth and threw it at him. It landed on his chest with a big sopping wet slap.
“Oomph!” He jerked, doubling over and tightening his muscles as his wound rebelled in an explosion of red-hot pain. “Abby!” he gasped. “I was only teasing!”
“As was I!” She turned and tromped down the stairs.
He lay there, letting the pain subside, a bit stunned. What had just happened? Little Abby...still full of sass, but all grown up. A slow smile stretched his cracked lips.
He squeezed the excess water from the washcloth and started in washing himself. It wasn’t the same as a good soak at a bathhouse, but he wasn’t complaining. In the end, he smelled a lot better than he had before. The activity wore him out. After that, he dozed.
A few hours later, a man’s voice put him on alert—vaguely familiar, but not Ted’s. Abby entered the room and introduced the tall, dark-haired man beside her as Doctor Graham. He examined the wound and then redressed it, satisfied with the healing.
“Thank you, Doc. For everything.”
Graham leveled a look at him. “Gunshot wounds raise a lot of questions. Since the Whites have vouched for your character, I’ll keep quiet. However, if the sheriff asks about you, I won’t lie.”
“Sounds fair enough.” Looked like he’d better get his strength back as fast as possible and get out of town before anyone else had a chance to discover his existence.
A little after the noon hour, Ted brought him a meal of meatballs and noodles in a creamy sauce. “From my wife for Abigail. I brought extra for you.”
“I think marriage agrees with you, my friend. You’ve got that satisfied look about you.”
Ted grinned. “Best choice I ever made. You might like it yourself.”
“I’m doing just fine on my own.”
“Yes. I can see that. Shot up. Living off an old friend.”
He let the jibe roll off his shoulders.
Ted tossed two newspapers on the bed. “Thought you might want to catch up on things.”
Looked like a Denver paper and an issue of the Gazette. “Thanks. Where’s Abby?”
“She’s chasing a story idea for our Christmas edition.”
Hmm. It would have been fun to tease her again, maybe ask her to read to him. “Would you have pen and paper? I need to post a letter.”
“Is that wise, my friend?”
“I’ll hold on to it. Maybe post it the day I leave for Denver.”
Ted looked at him meaningfully. “And post it from a different town?”
Right. Anything posted from here could put people here at risk. “All right.”
Ted found some notepaper for him and then headed back down the stairs to work. Russ dug into the meal in front of him. He grabbed the Denver paper. Had news of his escape reached there? The paper’s date was a week before the trouble at the mine, so it was little help. Since news had made it to Oak Grove, he would have to assume that it had reached Denver and he’d count on a harder time getting to the attorney without being recognized.
In the activity downstairs, he heard the squeak and groan of the printing press along with Ted occasionally giving direction to the boy, Jamie.
Russ read for a while, and then dozed. Then he woke and wrote a short letter to the foreman’s widow telling her how sorry he was about her husband’s death. He wrestled with whether to tell her the truth and to warn her about Johnson. After hearing Johnson’s version of the incident, she probably wouldn’t believe him anyway. In the end, he decided that the less she knew, the safer she would be. He put a few bills in the envelope, vowing to himself to send more money when he could. He tucked the letter in his vest pocket for safekeeping.
Abigail attached the large red bow to the Gazette’s front door and stood back. “How is that?”
“Better,” Patty said. “Now it looks ready for Christmas.”
Abigail blew on her hands and then stuffed them into her rabbit fur muff. “Let’s go then. Lots to accomplish this afternoon.”
Their first stop was in front of the mercantile, where they questioned neighbors who walked by about Christmas plans and hopes. Patty interviewed the children while Abigail listened and then suggested ways for her to phrase her questions for better results. The girl caught on quickly. With her outgoing personality, people eagerly responded.
“Our last stop of the day,” Abigail said as they approached Mrs. Corwin’s small house. Jamie’s mother lived almost a mile from the town. A hound lay on the porch.
Mrs. Corwin came to the door. Her red hair held streaks of gray, and her face was lined from the sun. “Oh, it’s you, Miss White...and Patty! Come in. Don’t let that fool dog in with you.”
Once inside, Abigail pulled out her notepad. “Reverend Flaherty mentioned that you’ve had items disappear lately. Can you elaborate?”
“Maybe you should ask Mrs. Eddy.” She sent a sharp look through the window to her neighbor’s house on the hill.
“That is our next stop.”
They spoke for a few more minutes and then said their goodbyes and headed to the widow Eddy’s. The dog took an immediate shine to Patty, limping along beside her.
Mrs. Eddy poured tea and set out a plate of cookies for them.
“These are scrumptious,” Patty said. “Would you share this recipe in the Christmas edition of the Gazette?”
“Why, if you think people would enjoy it!”
“Perhaps you could bake some for the Christmas Party,” Abigail suggested. “You are planning to come, aren’t you? Jamie could drive you and his mother into town.”
Mrs. Eddy’s gracious attitude soured immediately. “We don’t socialize. Not since she accused my goat of stealing her things!”
Before long, Abigail and Patty headed back to town.
“What a waste!” Patty said. “Three years and the feud is still going on. Those two could be keeping each other company, especially in the winter. Christmas is the perfect time of year to forgive old hurts.”
Abigail remained silent. How could she respond when she’d held her grudge against Russ for five years? Had she been as unbending and unforgiving as the two women? The thought made her uncomfortable.
When they arrived at the fork in the road, Patty surprised her with a brief hug before departing toward home. She was the most demonstrative girl Abigail had ever known. But the hug felt nice, and not nearly as awkward as the first time she’d done it.