Home by Morning (22 page)

“Mayor Cookson,” she said, in a hushed voice. “Are you all right?” The look in his faded, haggard eyes was one of such loss and confusion, it went to her heart. It was a stupid question; of course he wasn’t all right. She tried again. “Are you ill?”

He shook his head. “Jessica, is there a room where we can talk?”

“Yes, I sup—” She thought of the cloakroom-turned-morgue, but that was out of the question. “Let’s find a classroom.” Catching the eye of one of the nurses, she pointed toward the door to indicate that she’d be gone for a moment. She and Horace walked down the hall until they found the empty geography classroom. Its walls were lined with maps of Europe, a world globe sat on the teacher’s desk, and the blackboard still bore a reading assignment from the last class that had met there. He waited for her to settle into the teacher’s chair, then perched on a corner of the desk, one leg dangling.

There was something bothering him, something besides his recent losses. To interrupt the awkward moment, she said, “I want to thank you for the butter and cream you’ve been leaving for me. They’re a true luxury.”

He waved off her thanks. “It’s nothing. You know, farmers get to keep enough of what they produce to feed their families, and now, there’s just me at home.”

She felt so bad for him. “I wish I could have done more. I’m so sorry—”

But he held up a hand. “That’s not why I came here, Jessica. Something is going on that you need to know about.”

She twiddled with a piece of chalk that lay on the oak desktop, waiting for him to continue.

“Adam Jacobsen asked for an emergency meeting of the town council last night.”

The chalk fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers. “Oh?”

“He wanted us to prohibit you from practicing medicine in Powell Springs one more day. At least that was how he put it.”

The colored maps on the walls swam before her eyes for a moment. She looked away from them and set her jaw to regain her equilibrium. “Really. And who does he propose to take care of all those people down the hall?”

“He said that Granny Mae could fill in until Pearson gets here.”

“Ah, yes, the elusive Dr. Pearson. I have begun to doubt that he even exists.” She couldn’t keep a tinge of sarcasm out of her voice.

He shrugged, lifting his baggy, unkempt clothes with his shoulders. “Look, I don’t know what happened with you and Adam, or anyone else. It’s none of my business. Between you and me and the wall, I wish I was back at my farm with the cows instead of doing this job. But he made some pretty harsh accusations, something about moral turp—turpentine?
Turpitude
, that was it.”

Insulted and frightened, Jessica felt her face sizzle. She couldn’t make herself ask exactly what Adam had told them. “Just what was the outcome of this meeting?”

“We voted against him, of course. We need you here. You’re doing a first-rate job.”

That he still thought so, after losing his wife and son, was very generous, in Jessica’s view. “So I have the support of the town council? They’ll defend me against this character assassination?”

“Sure, for what it’s worth. There are only two of us, me and Roland Bright. Adam is the other councilman.”

Jessica rubbed her forehead with one hand, feeling as if she once again bore the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“I hate to say it—Powell Springs is a good town—but people love this sort of thing. I guess it’s human nature. This is bound to get around. Especially now. It’ll give them something else to think about besides the war and sickness. There’s another thing you should know. Since Adam didn’t get his way, he was pretty sore. He threatened to do something else to have you, well…”

She looked up and gripped the edge of the desk hard enough to make her fingertips turn white and pink. “Run out of town on a rail? Tarred and feathered? Or does he want me executed at dawn? What do you want me to do, Mayor Cookson?”

He sighed, as if this was the very last thing he wanted to be dealing with. “I just thought you should know what’s going on. Him being involved with the American Protective League and all makes things a little sticky.”

She had feared that Adam might cause some kind of trouble. But she hadn’t thought it would be this bad. “Thank you for telling me.” Rising from the chair with as much dignity as she could muster, she added, “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into a personal matter that Adam has decided to make public. I know you have enough to worry about without this. So do I, in fact.”

He stood too. “How is your sister doing?”

“She’s regaining her strength.”

“There are hardly any families who’ve escaped this—this
thing
. Your sister’s recovery is good news.”

Jess slanted a look at the weary mayor. “Yes, it is. I can’t wait until she’s back on her feet again.”

On a siding near the train depot, five livestock cars stood under a gray afternoon sky. Wispy, low clouds grazed the nearby buttes and hills, making them appear close enough to touch. October rains had revived Powell Creek, covering its streambed with swift-running water next to the rails. Cole, Susannah, and Tanner and his nephews all worked toward getting the Braddock horses loaded. They’d been here for hours already, and they were tired and hungry. A sputtering stream of grays and duns jostled for position, hooking their necks over one another’s, rearing and balking. At least the end of the job was in sight.

“Damn it all, get that dun gelding up there!” Pop hollered from his saddle on Muley’s back.

Cole wished the old man had stayed home. He and Tanner had the situation well under control, and Pop’s bawled orders just made the horses more nervous than they were already. Everyone else simply wore harassed expressions. Susannah threw Pop an impatient look.

“I’m going to the depot office,” she called to Cole. He nodded and she brought her mare around to the back of the line. She had the manifest and other paperwork that had to accompany the shipment. In the meantime, Cole and Tanner led the last of the animals up the ramp to the railcar and slid the door closed.

Cole jumped down and shifted the ramp out of the way. “God, I’m glad that’s over with,” he said to Tanner, who nodded.

Tanner turned to the youngsters. They’d climbed onto their own mounts. “Come on, boys, let’s get back to the farm. There’s still work to be done.”

“Aw, can’t we stay in town for a while and get ice cream, Uncle Tanner?” Wade asked.

“Not this time, son. It ain’t like you two didn’t earn it, but everything’s closed down because of the influenza. I might be able to rustle up some kind of treat on the stove back home.”

Wade and Josh gave each other sidelong glances that weren’t lost on Cole. He’d heard that Tanner wasn’t much good at cooking.

“I have a better idea,” Cole said, untying his own mount, Sage, from the hitching post. “Let’s go down to Tilly’s for a round or two. It’s on me. Pop, are you game?”

“Anytime you’re buying I’m game,” the old man replied.

Cole chuckled. “You boys wait here for Miss Susannah to tell her where we are. Then go on back to the farm with her. I’ll bet she’ll find some cookies in the kitchen for you.”

“How does that sound?” Tanner asked the kids. Wade grinned, and Tanner ruffled his red hair. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The three men headed off toward Tilly’s. As they rode past the train cars, Cole noticed that his father looked almost pensive. It was most uncharacteristic of him.

“Something on your mind, Pop?”

“Twenty-seven of our best going overseas. They’re beautiful, strong horses, every one of ’em,” Pop said, glancing back at the railcars. There was a wistful echo of regret in his rusty voice. “I sure as hell hope someone takes good care of them.”

Cole gave him a searching gaze. “Yeah, so do I.” It was the first time he’d heard his father express concern for the animals that they were sending to Europe. “Men make war on each other. Animals never ask to get involved. Hell, most people don’t ask to get involved.”

As if deciding that he’d shown an unmanly tenderhearted side, Pop drew himself up as straight as his arthritic back would allow, and the moment was gone. “Well, never mind that soppy stuff. War is men’s business and men do what has to be done without a lot of whining. No matter what.”

The gibe was not lost on Cole, but he decided not to rise to the bait. It was the kind of response he’d learned to expect from his father long ago.

They passed very few people on the sidewalks as they rode through town. Powell Springs was just a scarecrow flapping in the breeze, a spavined shadow of its former self, hiding from a predator it couldn’t see. The only person standing between it and total disaster was Jessica, fine, strong, passionate Jess, who wouldn’t let anything get in the way of her cause to care for the people here. Not Adam. Not Amy. Not even her feelings for Cole.

The three men walked into the smoky confines of Tilly’s, thirsty and with spurs ringing. It didn’t seem to matter what catastrophes or current events rocked the world. The saloon was a constant with its stuffed elk heads and oil paintings, and the proprietor with a towel slung over his shoulder. Only the Olympia Beer calendar changed annually, and the wall posters occasionally, depending upon who occupied the White House in Washington in any given year.

Cole ordered a bottle of whiskey and three glasses, while Tanner and Pop settled at a table. The place was fairly quiet this afternoon; only Bert Bauer and Elvin Fowler were there. Elvin’s crutches were propped against the table where he sat. Cole wasn’t sure how he had managed to make it into town, although he’d heard that he was becoming one of Tilly’s best customers. Poor bastard, Cole thought. He could understand why the man would take up drinking.

He noticed that Tanner stiffened when he saw Bauer, but it didn’t surprise him. That grave robber had enough disreputable character traits to offend just about anyone. Cole passed the glasses around the table and poured a shot into each.

“Hey, Shaw,” Tilly called from behind the bar. “You’re exactly the man we need to settle a bet we’ve got going here.”

“Yeah? What kind of bet?”

“We’re trying to decide which is smarter, a pig or a horse. I say a horse, but Elvin is voting for the pig, and so is Bert.”

“He would,” Tanner muttered under his breath.

“Hell, boys, it’s not even a contest. Everyone knows a horse is smarter than a pig!” Pop declared.

“I knew a man who had a hunting pig, once,” Elvin said. “That hog could flush out game as good as any pointer. It’s their sense of smell.”

“I saw one trained at a county fair to choose cards from a deck,” Bauer chimed in. “It got the right card every damned time. Show me a horse that can do that.” He signaled Tilly for another beer.

“Well, those pigs aren’t going to get you home on a moonless night when you’re too drunk to find your ass with both hands. A horse always knows his way back. If you break your leg out on the range, no pig is going to give you a ride to help.”

“I saw a chicken once that could play a little tiny piano with its beak, and—”

“Damn it, Elvin, we ain’t talking about chickens, here. We’re talking about pigs and smart horses.”

The ridiculous debate began to heat up, and Cole knew Pop was in his element. Everyone had a story to tell, an example to cite. Even Tanner got involved, and he tended to be a quiet man who kept to himself. Cole shut out the braying voices and thought of Jessica, beautiful and fired with passion, lying in his arms.

Tomorrow he would visit Amy at the hospital. Not because he wanted to, particularly, but because he knew he had to. And while he was at it, he’d see for himself her progress. Right now, he tried not to think of the rotten trick she had pulled on them. But it made him wonder if he’d ever really known her at all. Given what he’d learned, he thought she’d be best suited for a snake like Jacobsen. They both pretended to be something they weren’t. He drank half of his shot and sat back in the chair to let the tension ease out of his back.

The various merits of pigs and horses were discussed for an hour or so. Lost in his own thoughts, Cole let the conversation flow around him like river water. When he bothered to listen again, he noticed it had switched to baldness.

“Did you ever see a bald Indian?” Pop asked, putting his elbow on the table. “Did you boys ever see a bald Indian?” he repeated to Cole and Tanner. “Nossir! And do you know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Because they don’t wash their hair. Those chiefs, they’re on to something. If you don’t want to go bald, don’t wash your hair!”

“I don’t know, Shaw, that doesn’t sound right,” Tilly said, flipping his bar towel over his shoulder.

Pop poured another drink and thumped his fist on the table. “Sitting Bull, now there’s a good example. They shot him dead but he died with every hair in his braids.”

Cole laughed, slapped the table, and shook his head. “That’s just a lot of foolishness.”

Pop got bristly. “What? You don’t believe me? You just take yourself on down to the library and have a look at his photograph hanging there on the wall. Do you think Buffalo Bill would put a Indian in his show that didn’t have hair?”