Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (9 page)

"All that and more. Our city has a long way to go, Miss St. Clair,
but she is well on her way."

"General Palmer sounds like quite the solicitor."

"He knows how to make the right deals," he said, nodding and
looking slyly in her direction. Moira had the distinct impression that
he was no longer talking about the general, but more about their dinner. They passed the wide windows of a large restaurant, the interior
a buzz of activity between servers and diners. "Here we are."

She went through the door and paused, pulling off her heavy
spring shawl as she waited for Sheriff Bannock to join her. The dull
rumble of conversation paused for a few seconds as the townspeople
considered their sheriff with a stranger at his side, but then slowly
resumed.

Moira smiled at the hostess and followed her to a table, taking
the seat that Sheriff Bannock pulled out for her. Their chicken dinner
was delicious, the best meal Moira had enjoyed since arriving in this
new city, and they were halfway through a slice of preserved apple
pie when General Palmer, and his wife, Queen, arrived. Moira knew
them on sight, having seen their portrait hanging in the Antlers
Hotel. Reid immediately rose and waited for the Palmers to make
their way through the room, stopping to greet every other table. She
could see that although the sheriff had a good twelve inches on the
general he deeply respected the man.

Her eyes went from one to the other as they shook hands. General
Palmer turned to Moira. "Well now, where did our fine sheriff find
a beauty like you?"

"General William Jackson Palmer, Mrs. Queen Palmer, I'd like
you to meet Miss Moira St. Clair, newly arrived from Philadelphia."

General Palmer took her hand in his and bowed over it. She
smiled and nodded at his wife, but the general wasn't finished with
her. "Tell me, Miss St. Clair, how do you find our Little London?"

Moira swallowed and forced an admiring smile to her face. She
had heard the founder called the Springs Little London because of
the influx of settlers from England, but she had been to that great
city, and she was fairly certain Colorado Springs would never quite
reach its stature, even with the current rate of growth.

"Your city is beautiful," she deferred. "I am in awe of your
mountains, the clean water, and my new neighbors, of course," she
said, sliding a glance toward the sheriff.

General Palmer grinned and glanced at his wife. "The more you
meet, the more you'll feel at home," he said. "My wife is here for only
a short time. We have invited several to join us tomorrow evening at
the Glen. You and the sheriff will join us."

"Oh, I-"

"Thank you for the invitation, General," Reid said. "We will
look forward to it."

"Excellent," General Palmer said. "Good evening, Sheriff, Miss
St. Clair."

They moved away, and Moira felt a bit faint and more than a
little perturbed. How dare he accept the invitation on her behalf?

"Sheriff Bannock-"

"Please, call me Reid."

"Reid, I do not believe I can attend. My brother will not allow it
without attending me himself."

"Your brother is in jail."

Moira glanced down at her pie, no longer hungry, then back
to Reid. "It was my understanding that after our dinner together
tonight, you would consider releasing him tomorrow morning."

The sheriff smiled. "You have just met the most important couple in the entire city, Miss St. Clair. Queen is hardly here anymore;
due to a heart attack a few years ago, she and the girls live back
East, for the most part. You can hardly say no to such an invitation.
If for nothing else, think of your brother. You said you are seeking
retail space. General Palmer is the man to know. You will need
timely shipments, supplies. General Palmer is the man to know.
You will need a reporter to cover your opening in the Gazette, our
newspaper. General Palmer is the man to know."

"But my brother-"

"Your brother. Perhaps it is in his best interest to keep him
longer. Perhaps another night will do him some good, remind
him that he should approach others in a different manner here
in Colorado Springs." He sat back and considered her. "And that
leaves you free to accompany me tomorrow night to Glen Eyrie,
right?"

Moira struggled to find the best answer among the options.
"Glen Eyrie?"

"The Palmers' castle, a half hour's ride away. It is lovely. You will
be enchanted."

She looked up at him, knowing he had her in a corner. She could
muster no charm. "It seems I have little choice."

"No, indeed you do not," he said with an easy smile. "But trust
me, you will not regret your decision."

She rose. "I'd like to go back to the hotel now," she said. "I must
change and return to the sanatorium to attend my sister."

He stood, unruffled by her barely disguised anger, and set his
napkin on the chair before straightening his jacket. "Then I shall
take you."

Moira wished she could deny him that, insist she see herself
back, but it wasn't safe, a woman alone in a new town, especially at
this hour. Thoughts of the three miners who had waylaid her yesterday cascaded through her mind. Swallowing a sigh, she waited while
Reid walked around the table and placed a hand on her lower back,
gesturing forward.

"Moira-"

"Miss St. Clair," she corrected crossly.

He raised his chin and studied her down the length of his nose.
"Tread carefully, my dear. This is not your town. It is mine."

Odessa awakened to her doctor unwrapping her bandages and Nurse
Packard on the other side of the bed. Moira stood in the corner and
then moved to the bed to take her hand when Odessa caught her eye.

"Is it awful?" Odessa managed to ask, despite her terrible thirst.
This morning, every muscle in her body ached, probably the result
of her fall.

"Not so awful," said the doctor kindly. "The wounds are superficial. They will heal quickly."

Odessa accepted that information with some skepticism. But it
mattered not-the damage was not something she could undo. Her
thoughts cast back to that night, the night Sam died. Her memory
had cleared, and over and over she relived those moments that drove
her to her feet and into Sam's room.

Dr. Morton studied her, watching her chest move beneath her
thin chemise, and then he bent over to listen at her mouth. He pulled
down one eyelid and then the other.

"You must calm yourself," he said with concern. "Consider
pleasant things, quiet things. Breathe in slowly, Odessa ... and now
out ... That's it. Good girl."

He rose to depart and Moira cried out, "But Doctor! Is she all
right? Shouldn't you do something else?"

He eyed her, then gave them both a warm smile. "Miss St. Clair, twenty years ago, Odessa might have perished. One in ten still die
today," he said. His words sounded callous, but his eyes were kind as
he turned toward Odessa. "But you, my dear, are in the finest care,
in the finest city for consumption care in the country. In short, it
won't be long until we have you up and on your feet. Then soon into
a saddle and on the trail with the others."

Odessa remembered Sam telling her about the long train of
twenty men and two women, many of them deathly pale, bundled and
saddled up for their morning constitutional into the mountains-part
of the sanatorium's prescription for health.

"I confess," she murmured, "it's difficult to imagine."

He met her gaze and then examined her cheeks again, turning
her chin with his hand. "Most of the patients felt the same as you
three days in. All are pleasantly surprised at what they can tolerate a week later. I find that your doctors in other places have not
demanded enough of you, and in doing so have robbed you of the
chance at proper health. Do you trust me?"

Odessa shifted in the bed, considered his question. "As much as
I've learned to trust any other doctor."

He smiled. "Fair enough. You shall soon see, Miss St. Clair, that
I am entirely trustworthy. And that you've placed your life in the
right man's hands."

"I hope you are right, Doctor."

His smile faded. "Do not rise without assistance. Today you begin
more advanced meal treatments. The sustenance will help you keep
your feet when next you wish to try." He eyed Nurse Packard. "She is
to be moved to the sunporch from one to four."

"Yes, Doctor."

With that, he was gone, already on to the next patient. Odessa
met the nurse's eye. "What happened to Mr. O'Toole? How did he
die?"

Nurse Packard raised an eyebrow and settled her covers again.
"Well, it wasn't the consumption, that's for certain. He had made
excellent progress." She looked at Odessa quickly. Clearly, she had
shared more than she had intended.

Odessa nodded and frowned, wondering if she should confide
what she heard that night. But something told her to keep silent. She
gave Moira a little shake of her head, urging her to do the same, but
her sister was frowning, thinking hard.

"What about you, Odessa?" Moira said. "Why were you on the
prowl at such a late hour that night?"

Odessa shook her head, as if embarrassed. "Delirious, most
likely. Perhaps I caught a chill, a fever even. That happened from
time to time in Philadelphia." She looked over at Moira and her sister
nodded, as if confirming her story.

Nurse Packard nodded. "Common enough among consumptives." She shook a finger in Odessa's face. "Just see to it that you stay
put from here on out or we'll have to tie you down." She smiled over
her firm words, but was there a note of true warning behind them?
Odessa could not be sure.

Bryce watched Odessa enter the sunporch that afternoon on the arm
of her younger sister. She glanced his way, lifted a hand as if she had
just remembered the bandages on her face, and then quickly looked
away. Her sister helped her into the cot, then efficiently covered her with the blankets, tucking her in so thoroughly that Bryce was sure
she couldn't move. She remained still, trying to catch her breath for
several moments.

"It's terribly cold in here," her sister complained. "Surely this
cannot be entirely edifying for the patients." Her green eyes looked
Bryce's way, and he noticed they were the exact same color as Odessas.
Like their brother's. Family trait.

"Take a blanket and wrap up," Odessa said to her. She tiredly
glanced from him to her sister. "Mr. McAllan," Odessa said. "I ... I
was most sorry to hear the news of Sam's passing. Please accept my
condolences. He seemed like a kind man."

Bryce stared at the ceiling. "Thank you, Miss St. Clair. He was."
He paused. "I gather you encountered some mishap of your own.
Are you all right?"

"Fair to middling, as my grandmother used to say," she said. A
smile briefly spread across her lush lips, but then faded. "I was up
and prowling when I was ill prepared to do so."

"Ahh. I, too, have fallen victim to the consumptive's faint."

"Yes, well, I did it quite elaborately, don't you think?" She gestured toward her swathed face.

"Quite." He picked up his paintbrush again, intent on giving the
sisters a sense of privacy, even if he could hear their every word.

"Odessa, what has come over you?" Moira asked in an undertone. "I am the dramatic one of the family."

Odessa leaned back into her pillow and closed her eyes and
sighed. "I know not. Only that being here, so narrowly cheating
death, then seeing Sam, so alone in his room ... there's an air of
madness about me. It's as if I've lost any sense of propriety."

Moira remained where she was, silent. She pulled the blanket a
bit closer around her shoulders.

"Where is Nic today?"

Moira looked down and to the left.

"Moira," Odessa prompted.

"He is seeing to business matters. Busy."

"Busy?"

"Indisposed."

"Indisposed? In what way?"

"Now, now. Don't get alarmed. It's not good for your breathing."
She leaned closer and then glanced nervously toward Bryce. "Please,
Dess. If the doctor finds I've upset you enough to send you into
another fit, he'll never let me return."