Home by Morning (29 page)

Jessica watched him put on his hat and sheepskin coat, then he headed for the stairs. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at her. “You made promises here and if you don’t keep them, then you’re not the woman
or
the doctor that I’ve always thought you were.” He nodded toward the velvet box. “If you decide to stay, put on the ring. If not—well, I’ll be next door.”

Her eyes smarting with tears, she shot from the settee and said, “You might as well take it with you now.” He studied her for a long moment, then walked back to the table and pocketed the small box.

She heard his heavy tread galloping down the stairs and across the floor. The overhead bell rang when he opened the front door and closed it again.

Then he was gone.

Jessica spent a hard, sleepless night, reliving the scene between Cole and her. He had not only attacked her personal integrity, but her integrity as a physician as well. For a few hours, she wept in great, gasping sobs, punched her pillow, got up twice to tuck in the sheets, and had a glass of warm milk. Nothing helped.

At last, she kicked off the covers, got up, dressed again, and packed the rest of her clothes. Crying and exhausted, she threw things into her suitcases without a care for how they would look when she pulled them out again, wrinkled and crushed. She would get out of this apartment and out of this town as soon as she could possibly manage it. The heavy things like the books she would send for once she reached Seattle. She left a note addressed to whoever read it that told where she was going. And maybe when she got there, she’d write letters to the people who deserved a better explanation for her departure. In time, she might even write to Amy.
Might.
For now, she’d had enough of Powell Springs and everyone in it.

After she washed the few dishes in the sink, stripped the bedding, and straightened the place, she stood at the mirror and put on her hat and coat. Her eyes were puffy from crying and felt gritty from lack of sleep. She couldn’t find her gloves, as usual, but those things were the least of her problems now. She turned and took one last look at the apartment where she had spent the last six weeks. Her final glimpse was of the bedroom, where she and Cole had made love, and where, for a few hours, she had at last felt safe from the world and the mountain of crises she’d encountered over the past two years.

The front door key she put on the worktable, letting her fingers linger over it for just an instant before she walked out and closed the door behind her for the last time.

Carrying a suitcase, her doctor’s bag, and one satchel, she walked to the train station in the predawn darkness, averting her eyes as she passed Cole’s blacksmith shop. She was determined to wait outside the depot, if necessary, until it opened.

But she caught sight of the warm glow of lights from the depot windows. She left her bags outside and opened the door.

“Miss Jessica! This is a surprise.” Abner Willets greeted her from his ticket window. She smelled coffee brewing from somewhere behind him. “You sure missed some hot town meeting last night!”

“So I heard. Mr. Willets, I need a ticket to Seattle, please, on the first train available.”

The older man looked at her from beneath his eye shade, a slight frown drawing his bushy gray brows together. “You leaving us? I kind of had the feeling that you’d stay since that Pierce fella is going.” Abner still hadn’t gotten that snob’s name correct. If she weren’t so miserable, she might find humor in it. “Cole made it sound that way, anyhow.”

She swallowed hard. “No, it was always my intention to go on to Washington as soon as he arrived.”

“Huh. Well, I guess we’ll be without a doctor again, then, since Pierce isn’t staying, either.”

“What time did you say the train is leaving?” she prompted, trying to get beyond the subject, and the feeling that her heart had swelled to the size of a cantaloupe and lodged in her throat.

He consulted his schedule and looked at the wall clock. “You’re in luck. The next one is due in at eight forty-nine. We only get two early trains a week here going to Portland. When you arrive, you’ll get your Seattle connection at Union Station.” She nodded, and with slightly trembling hands, pushed the fare he quoted her under the brass grillwork that separated them.

He peered at her from under his eyeshade. “Are you all right, Miss Jessica? I know you’ve had your hands full since you got here.”

She managed a wobbly smile. “I
will
be all right, Mr. Willets. It’s true, the last few weeks have been a challenge.”

He reached under the grill and patted her hand, where it rested on the counter. “We really appreciate everything you did for us. If you’re feeling bad about those other sons of—um, troublemakers, just know that. Most of us were grateful you were here.”

She tipped her head down to keep him from seeing her tears, then walked to one of the benches to wait for her train.

Emmaline was sitting at her kitchen table, smoking her last Lucky Strike and deep in thought, when she heard a light knock on her door. Since that horrible day when Lambert had burst in, she kept it bolted all the time. Glancing at her bed to make sure it was presentable—just in case—she rose quietly and tiptoed to the window, hoping she’d be able to see who was standing on her stoop. But the angle wasn’t right.

Without making a sound, she picked up her loaded shotgun and pointed it at the door. “Who’s there?”

“Em, it’s me. Whit Gannon.” She must have been buried in her worries if she hadn’t heard his automobile pull up outside.

“You got anyone with you this time?”

“No, I’m alone.”

Still holding the shotgun by its barrel, she breathed a relieved sigh and opened the door a crack. His snow-frost hair and mustache were a comforting site.

When he saw her weapon, he smiled. “I promise I won’t make you use that on me.” She heard humor in the low rumble of his voice, but still—

“Are you here on official business, Whit?”

“No, no, Em, nothing like that. I’m not even here for
your
business. I just want to talk for a minute.”

Carefully, she opened the door and looked over his shoulder, and to the right and left. She saw nothing but the wet, gray day and the tangle of weeds in her yard. “All right, then. Come on in.”

His tall, rangy frame made the little shanty seem even smaller when he stepped inside. “First of all, I’m sorry, again, for that mess with Bauer. I should have known he was bringing me up here on a wild goose chase.”

She returned her shotgun to its spot beside the door and motioned him to her table. “I don’t blame you, Whit.” She smiled slightly. “At least, not all that much. Lambert said he’d make trouble for me.”

He settled in the chair opposite the one she took and hooked his ankle over his knee. “Well, I thought you’d like to know that he won’t be bothering you again for a long time. Later that night, he confronted the man you knew as Frank Meadows at a town meeting, and I arrested him for being drunk and disorderly, and he had possession of some valuable jewelry he couldn’t account for. He was pretty belligerent until he sobered up some in my jail cell. Finally, he admitted that he’d taken it off people before he buried them. He said it wouldn’t do them any good where they were going.”

She shook her head and picked up the cigarette she’d left burning on a saucer on the table. “God, I can’t believe I ever had anything to do with that man.”

“I’m going to have a time sorting out who the stuff belongs to. But I did find something on him that I think you can use.” She looked at him, wary and apprehensive. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of greenbacks. “There’s about a hundred dollars here. I figured you could use it more than him.”

She stared at it. “But is this—is this legal? Can you just take it without getting in trouble?”

“No, it isn’t, and yes, I can. Like I said before, this is my jurisdiction, and Bauer’s in so much hot water, I don’t think he’s going to make any fuss over this money.” He pushed it across the faded oilcloth.

She took the cash and smiled. “Thanks, Whit.”

He peered at her playfully. “Why, Emmaline, I didn’t know you had dimples,” he said.

She ducked her head for a moment, her grin widening. “They only show when I smile.”

“Then I’m glad I gave you a reason to show them off. Oh, and in case you were wondering, Frank Meadows’s real name is Adam Jacobsen. He was the minister in Powell Springs, but I think a lot of people were happy to see him tumbled off his high horse. He’s made trouble for them with the government.” He fiddled with the box of matches near the saucer holding her cigarette. “Bauer was the one who ratted on him at the town council meeting, so maybe some good came from that day.”

“Jacobsen—he told me he was a tractor salesman. I always thought there was something not right about that. I figured he was married.”

“No, not married, but not the honest man of the cloth he pretended to be.”

Em’s brows rose. “And people think what
I
do is bad.”

Whit pushed his chair away and stood up. “Well, I’ve got to be getting back. That flu business is almost over, but there’s always something going on around here. I just thought you’d like to know what happened. And to have a little money for all the trouble that husband caused you. Maybe you can file for divorce and be shut of him once and for all.”

She smiled again. “Yeah, maybe I can.” She walked him to the door. “You’re a good friend, Whit.”

He kissed her cheek, tickling her with his big mustache. “So are you, Emmaline. I’ll see you one of these nights.”

“For you, my door is always open.”

Cole noticed Muley tied up at Tilly’s hitching rail as soon as he was within a block of the saloon. Dodging puddles in the afternoon downpour, he supposed that could be a good thing. The father he knew, the one he remembered from just a month earlier, would want to relive and hash over the town council meeting.

Cole just wanted to sit in a corner and get drunk.

He’d barely slept, having spent the night tossing on the cot in the tack room, thinking of Jessica lying in her own bed just next door. A dozen times he’d almost gotten up, put on his pants, and gone over to reason with her, apologize to her, make love with her, chew her out.

There was no question that he couldn’t leave his family. Yet the feeling that she’d been right—that no one had really backed her up—had nagged at him throughout the night.

And she had made promises that she hadn’t seen through.

But that was because others had failed her. Including himself. He’d wanted her so much that when he thought she’d broken things off between them, he’d settled for what he’d believed was the next best thing—Amy. He’d ignored her hints and flirting for months, but eventually he’d given in.

Late this morning, he’d finally gotten up the nerve to tell Jessica that he’d been wrong and to beg her to stay. When she didn’t answer his knock, he’d tried the knob and found the door unlocked. After he discovered that she had gone, leaving no word but an impersonal note saying that she would send for the rest of her things, he’d walked to the side yard at the shop and began chopping wood.

Thwuck!
Why hadn’t she been willing to listen to his side of the argument?

Thwuck!
Why in hell hadn’t he seen through Amy’s maneuvering?

Thwuck!
How could he lose the same woman twice in his life?

Wood chips flew around him, some narrowly missing his eyes, and by the time he stopped, drenched with sweat and muscles screaming, he swore he’d chopped what must have been an entire cord of alder for the forge. He’d hoped he could work off the ache in his chest and the utter emptiness he felt, but he realized he could chop wood until doomsday and the desolation would still be there. But at least he’d realized what he must do.

When she finally arrived in Seattle and he had an address for her, he’d take a trip up there and ask her to forgive him. He owed her that much.

For now though, a bottle of whiskey would have to do. He planned to buy one and take it back to the shop so that if he passed out, Virgil Tilly wouldn’t put him out in the rain again. When he reached the door and pulled it open, the familiar smells hit him in face—tobacco smoke, beer, that spicy sausage that Tilly kept in the back, wet clothes, pickled eggs. Inside, as he predicted, the old timers were all stirred up over last night’s doings. They greeted him and went back to their conversation, everyone speaking loudly due to their failing hearing.

But Pop, he noticed, was sitting at one of the corner tables by himself, not really participating that much. His oiled black duster hung from one of the nearby pegs along the wall and dripped into the sawdust covering the floor. Cole lifted a hand in greeting and went to sit with him for a minute.

“I’m glad to see you out again, Pop. I figured this weather would be hard on your joints and you’d want to stay next to the fire at home.”

The old man flexed his gnarled hands. “The rain don’t help much, but I wanted to get in on the jawboning about last night.” He gave him a smile Cole didn’t often see these days. “That Jacobsen—didn’t Bauer take him down neat as you please? Like nailing a squirrel at two hunnerd yards—
bam
, right between the eyes. Who would’ve thought he was diddling Emmaline?”

“Yeah, I have to admit I wasn’t sorry to see that happen.” Cole smiled just thinking about it.

“And the poor woman, married to that bastard, Bauer—she must have been the family he claimed he was looking for when he first got here. I heard Gannon asked Winks about the jewelry Bauer stole off those dead people. Winks is practically wetting himself over it because Bauer’s trying to pin part of the blame on him. I know Winks, though. He’s got a smaller brain than a turkey, but he wouldn’t do that.” He got quiet for a minute and looked at the whiskey glass in front of him. “To rob a person who’s already been through hell…God, I can’t think of it.” He shook his head.

Cole knew it wasn’t local folks Pop had in mind.

He pulled himself from his ruminations and said, “You know, you did yourself proud at the meeting last night.”

Cole looked up, surprised. “Yeah?”

Pop nodded. “And me, too.”

He sat back and gaped at his father. He couldn’t remember ever getting a compliment like that from him. He signaled Virgil Tilly to bring him a bottle and a glass. The least he could do was share a drink with his father before he left. “Thanks, Pop.”

“Well, I guess your doctor gal has got herself a job now that snooty Pearson pretty much told us to suck rotten eggs.”

Cole waited while Tilly delivered his bottle to reply. “She left.”

“Left!” he barked, his eyes wide.

He put up a hand to get the old man to lower his voice.

“What do you mean, ‘left’?” He didn’t whisper, but the rest of the customers went on without paying them any attention.

Cole told him part of what Jessica had said last night, that she’d predicted she’d have no patients and that Powell Springs would never forgive her.

“Do you know how to find her?” Pop asked, pouring himself a drink from Cole’s bottle.

“Not yet. But her note said she’d send an address to forward the rest of her stuff to as soon as she has one.”

Pop fixed him with the same hard stare he’d used on him and Riley when they were boys. “When she does, you’d better go up there and bring her back.”

“What?” Cole couldn’t believe his ears. Of course, that was his plan, but he hadn’t announced it. “You never liked her!”

“Didn’t say I don’t like her. Said she was too smart for her own good. But she didn’t get into that fix here by herself. Weren’t you with her?”

Cole glanced away, feeling heat creep up his neck.

Pop lifted his glass briefly. “Well, there you go. If that doctor gal is the one you want, prove it to her. Make her believe you. This town isn’t going to hold a grudge against her. She’s a good woman.”

“I thought you liked Amy.” Cole poured a stiff shot for himself now.

“Bah. Too sweet to believe. No one is that perfect and nice without a reason. Turns out I was right.”

He almost laughed. His father was clumsy when it came to expressing his feelings. But Cole heard his support beneath his bluster, and that was good enough for him.

With her damp handkerchief wadded up in her fist, Jessica watched the landscape slip past the window of her train. Now and then the rain let up enough to let her see acres of farmland, tall stands of timber, and the last of autumn’s colors in the trees. But it all went by in a blur, none of it really holding her attention. She kept her face turned to the glass, trying to hide from the curious stares of others.

The train car swayed and clacked over the rails, carrying her farther north to Seattle. Some passengers wore the familiar gauze masks she’d grown so accustomed to. She’d worn hers for a while, but it made it so difficult to wipe her streaming nose that she’d given up and removed it. A few sitting near her eyed her with misgivings, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell them she wasn’t sick with influenza.