A Lady Like Sarah (32 page)

The doctor was young by Boston standards, somewhere in his early forties. Only a couple of inches shorter than Justin, he wore tweed trousers and a matching waistcoat, his white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. His dark hair was cut short as was the style, and it was parted in the middle. He was clean shaven except for his mutton-chop sideburns.

The doctor's most intriguing feature was his eyes. One iris was blue and the other
brown,
and Justin couldn't help but stare.

Dr. Myers glanced at the cluttered parlor as if seeing it for the first time, then led Justin to an equally cluttered dining room.

Used to the relatively sterile medical offices in Boston, Justin felt a tremor of apprehension. He only hoped that Ma's confidence in the doctor wasn't overly optimistic.

After clearing a stack of books off the dining room table, the doctor spread a blanket on the mahogany surface, talking all the while. "I heard about Miss Prescott," he said. "If you ask me, hanging a woman is a crime." Myers shook his head and motioned for Justin to lay Elizabeth on the table.

Justin sensed an ally in the doctor. "Miss Prescott is one of the reasons I came here today. She's not been sleeping well. I wonder if you would be kind enough to look in on
her?
Perhaps you can give her something to help her sleep."

Myers nodded. "I'd be happy to."

"I'll pay you in advance if you prefer."

Myers waved his hand. "If you can't trust a man of God, there isn't much hope, is there?" He rubbed his chin. "Any chance the lady won't hang?"

Justin released Elizabeth from the fabric confines. "Do you believe in miracles, doctor?"

"Any doctor who doesn't believe in miracles is a fool," Myers replied. "God heals, and we doctors accept the praise,"

Justin chuckled.
"Same with us preachers.
God saves, and we take the credit."

"Ah, see? You know what I'm talking about." The doctor rubbed his hands together as if anxious to get started. "Let's take a look at this little one."

Cradling the baby in his arms, Justin hesitated.

The doctor studied him from beneath a knitted brow. "I'm not used to patients coming here," he said. "I'm what you call a horse-and-buggy doctor."

"We still have those in the east," Justin said.
"Mostly in the rural areas."

The doctor gave a knowing look. "Last year, I attended a medical convention in Boston and had the opportunity to tour a doctor's office." He shook his head. "I fear the pracÂtice of having patients come to an office will one day be the norm."

"You don't think it's a good idea?" Justin asked, surprised. Boston doctors could now see more patients in a single day than they ever could in their traveling days.

The doctor gestured in disgust. "I can tell more about a patient's health by stepping into his home than all the medical equipment in the world can tell me." Pausing briefly, he conÂtinued, "Not long ago, I had a lethargic little boy and I couldn't for the life of me figure out what his problem was. One day, I noticed him eating chipped paint off a hobby horse. I don't know what was in that paint, but I figured it couldn't be doing him any good. I had his parents remove the horse and the boy recovered"—he snapped his fingers—"just like that. Do you think a doctor sitting in his fancy office would have solved the problem? I doubt it. Just as I doubt, you could do much good if you sat in church all day."

Justin felt a stab of guilt. In Boston, that's exactly what he did most days. He sat in the church office waiting for people to come to him rather than reaching out to them.

"If it will make you feel any better. . ." the doctor added. He pointed to the framed document on the wall over the paneled sideboard. "I graduated from the Jefferson Medical College in Philadelphia."

"I've heard of that college," Justin said. He was acting like an overprotective father, again, but he couldn't seem to help himself. "It's a fine college." Without further ado, he lay Elizabeth down and undressed her while Myers washed his hands in the kitchen.

The doctor returned, drying his hands on a towel. He then examined Elizabeth carefully, and she rewarded him with a wide toothless smile. "When was she born?" the doctor asked, grinning back at her.

"I'm not sure," Justin said. "I'm guessing sometime in March or April."

The doctor nodded. "That would make her four or five months old. That sounds about right. It looks like she's about to pop her first tooth."

"Really?"
Justin leaned forward for a closer look. A speck of white showed beneath her lower pink gum.
Wait till Sarah hears about this.

While the doctor wrote in a
leatherbound
notebook, Justin dressed Elizabeth. It was time for her nap, and she started to fuss.

"If you like, I can give her a smallpox vaccination," the doctor said.

"What about measles?" Justin asked, thinking of his sisÂters. "Is there any way to protect her against measles?"

"Not unless you plan to keep her locked in a room somewhere."

Justin wished he could. "Will she have a reaction to the vaccination?"

"Yes, but very mild. She'll probably run a fever."

Justin grimaced. The last thing he needed right now was a sick baby.

As if to guess his thoughts, the doctor said, "We can wait if you like. There's no immediate danger of her getting smallÂpox. We haven't had a case in more than nine months."

Justin nodded in relief. "I'll bring her back at a later date."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather see her in her normal surroundings," the doctor said.

Justin nodded. "Right now, I'm staying at Ma's Boardinghouse."

The doctor's eyes twinkled. "She'll take good care of you both. She's the next best thing to a preacher and a doctor."

Promising to look in on Sarah that very afternoon, Myers walked him to the door.

For the next two days, Justin worked like a madman, pleading Sarah's case to anyone who would listen. In the past he accepted everything that happened as God's will—even having to leave Boston in disgrace. He never fought the charges against him, never stood up for himself, never really stood up for anything. It wasn't until he thought that Indian woman meant to harm Elizabeth that he even knew he had a fighting spirit.

It shocked him to look back and realize how passive his faith had been. Convinced that God wouldn't bring Sarah into his life only to snatch her away, he was ready to fight like he'd never fought before. He now knew what it meant to put faith into action. Oddly enough, the more he battled to save Sarah, the closer he felt to God.

He dashed off telegram after telegram addressed to
Governor Roberts in Austin, and President Hayes at the White House.

He went door to door asking citizens to intervene, only to find that Owen's widow had already tried to rally the townsÂfolk to her side. Talking to Claudia Owen had obviously been a mistake. It only strengthened her resolve to place the blame for her husband's death squarely on Sarah's shoulders.

He checked the telegraph office several times a day, hopÂing for a telegram from the president, the governor, or George. He pleaded for God's help on bended knee. But the clock kept ticking, the world kept turning, and nothing he did produced any positive results.

Sarah lay on her cot wide awake. It was pitch black except for the single star that shone through the barred window high above her head.

Hold on to God, Justin told her. She tried, she really did try, but it was so hard. Doubts kept creeping in. What if God meant for her to die?

Something scraped against the outside wall. She sat up and listened.

Thinking it was a mouse or rat, she let out her breath. Then the sound came again, followed by a hushed voice.

"Sarah?"

Her heart leaped. "George?"

"
Shh
."

Arms crossed in front, she closed her eyes.
Thank You, God.
She had been so afraid she wouldn't have a chance to say a final good-bye to her brothers.

"Now listen and listen
good
," George said, his voice rough. "I want you to go to the opposite side of the cell and cover your face. We're
gonna
blow a hole in this here wall."

She covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes filled
with tears. She should have known that her brother would come to her rescue. She slid off the cot and backed away from the wall. Crouching by the bars of her cell, she covered her face.

Thoughts of Justin and Elizabeth filled her head. KnowÂing she would never see them again was more than she could bear. Was this really the answer to her prayer?
To spend the rest of her life with her outlaw brothers?
Was this what God wanted for her?

Justin's voice spoke to her in the darkness. "
Hold on to God."

"Oh, Justin," she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I'm
tryin
' to."

Brushing the moisture from her cheeks with the palms of her hands, she rushed across the cell to her cot. "George," she called.

"Hush. What's the matter with you? I told you to move away from the wall."

"Wait. I
ain't
wantin
'
to be an outlaw anymore. I don't want you
robbin
' no more stages."

"This ain't
no
time to argue. Now do as I told you, move away—"

"No," she said. "Not until you promise to give up
robbin
'."

"I ain't
promisin
' nothin'.
Now get away from the wall."

Hold on to God.
Her fingers curved into two tight fists, she gasped for air to brace herself. "No," she repeated.

He cursed. "We only got twelve hours to your
lynchin
' party. There ain't
no
time to argue."

But argue they did. Sarah tried pleading with him, but the more she begged him to give up his life of crime, the more he resisted.

"All this talk about God," he spit out. "What has God ever done for us?
Except take our ma and pa."

"He didn't take them," she said quietly. "He received them."

"Now you sound like that preacher of yours. I'm telling you God's done nothin' for us."

She bit her lip. Justin once told her that God always sent the right people when you needed them and she needed to know if that were true. "After . . . after our parents died, did anyone offer to help?"

"What difference does it make? That was years ago."

"I need to know," she said.

"There was Mrs.
Bonheimer
. She wanted to adopt you."

Her thoughts traveled back in time. Mrs.
Bonheimer
always gave Sarah candy whenever she and Mama entered the store, and once even gave her a doll made out of straw and scraps of fabric. Her life would have been very different today had George taken her up on the offer.

"Any more?" she asked.
Please let there be more.

His answer came slow. "There were job offers. Mrs.
Bonheimer
wanted me to work in her husband's shop."

"Why didn't you?" she asked.

"We didn't need
no
charity," he said. "Besides, I wasn't about to let the people who killed our parents off scot-free."

Shivering against the hatred in his voice, she ran her hands up and down her arms. So Justin was right. God
did
send the right people when you needed them.
Knowing that didn't make her any more willing to go along with George's plan.
He wasn't the right person. She didn't know how she knew this; she just did. Maybe, he never had been the right person.

"We're wasting time," he said, his voice thick with impaÂtience. "Now move."

"No," she said. "I
druther
take my chances on a miracle."

He kicked the wall so
hard,
she feared the bricks would come tumbling down on top of her. "What's all this crazy talk about a miracle? It's that preacher, ain't it? He's the one who put all these crazy ideas in your head."

Before she could answer, Jed's voice called from the distance. "Someone's coming. Looks like the marshal."

George's curses were followed by the sound of running feet. More shouts. Then silence.

Justin
fell exhausted onto the bed without even bothering to undress. He covered his face with both hands.

He had run out of time. Less than twelve hours away at high noon, Sarah was scheduled to hang. The thought cut through him like a knife.

Now, he turned over and gave his pillow a thump. He'd hardly slept since learning of Sarah's incarceration, and he knew another long sleepless night awaited him. He dreaded dawn, dreaded the thought of losing the woman he loved, dreaded the thought of facing a future without her.