Margaret Brownley (38 page)

“Lucy, it’s Doc Myers. Your father’s been injured.”

She yanked the door open. “Is he all right?” she asked in alarm. She could barely make out the doctor’s silhouette, or the dark form of her father slung over his shoulder.

“I think so,” the doctor said, brushing past her. “He fell and hit his head. Jake said he’d been drinking heavily.”

Her first instinct was to deny it, even though the smell of whiskey permeated the room. By his own admission her father hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since that long-ago night at the river.

“We need a light,” the doctor said, bringing her out of her inertia.

Hands shaking, she lit a kerosene lamp. If anything happened to him . . . memories of her mother flooded back.

She picked up the lamp and led the way to her father’s bedroom. The doctor laid him on the bed, then hurried out to fetch his leather bag.

She sat by her father’s side and pressed her hand on his forehead. His hair was matted in blood, his skin ashen. What was taking Doc Myers so long?

The doctor’s footsteps preceded his voice. “He has a concussion, so we’ll have to watch him carefully.” He set his black bag on the dresser.

Eyes rounded, she continued to gaze at her father. “Like mama,” she said. Her mother had been thrown from a horse but the injuries were similar.

Doc Myers dropped a hand on her shoulder. “Not like your mother,” he said. “A man can handle tremors to the brain far better than a woman can. Men have stronger neck stems and backs. He’ll no doubt have a headache from the alcohol and injury, but he’ll live.” He turned toward the dry sink and poured water from a pitcher onto a cloth. He then proceeded to clean her father’s head wound.

Caleb appeared at the bedroom door looking disheveled and sleepy-eyed. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Papa,” Lucy explained. “He’s had an accident but he’ll be all right.”

“I need alcohol,” Doc Myers said, pointing to his bag.

Caleb crossed to the dresser and reached for a bottle of medicinal whiskey.

“Would you like to do the honors?” the doctor asked.

Caleb shook with anger. “I’m not going to be a doctor,” he lashed out. “I don’t want to be anything like you.”

Doc Myers took the bottle of whiskey from Caleb, unscrewed the top, and poured some on his cloth. “I once had to tend the wounds of a man convicted of killing three lawmen,” he said. “It wasn’t easy. But a doctor has to put his personal feelings aside and do what’s right by the patient. That’s what it means to be a doctor.” He held out the alcohol-soaked cloth.

Caleb hesitated for a moment before taking it in hand. He then approached his father’s side and gently dabbed at the wound on his forehead.

Her father moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He looked dazed. His lips moved but his words were no more than muffled sounds.

Standing by Caleb’s side, Lucy reached for her father’s hand. “You had an accident, Papa. But you’ll be all right.”

He didn’t try to speak and she had no way of knowing if he understood her.
Dear God, please watch over him
.

Caleb stepped back. “I . . . I don’t know what to do next.”

The doctor studied him. “Then go back to the beginning. What is a concussion?”

“A concussion is an injury to the brain caused by a severe blow,” Caleb replied.

“And what complications can occur?” Doc Myers asked.

“A blood clot can put pressure on the brain.”

“And what would be the treatment for such an occurrence?”

“Trepanning,” Caleb said. His voice grew stronger, more confident as he went on to describe the medical procedure. “You have to cut or drill into the skull to relieve pressure to the brain.”

Annoyed that Doc Myers would use her father’s injury to teach a lesson, Lucy was about to protest when she noticed Caleb’s expression. His mind focused on the intricacies of brain trauma, he no longer looked angry. Instead his face glowed with eagerness.

“Excellent,” Doc Myers said. “And do you see anything that indicates trepanning is necessary in this case?”

Caleb leaned over the bed to examine his father’s head and check his pupils. “No, sir.”

“What treatment would you prescribe?”

“Bed rest and observation.”

Doc Myers turned to Lucy. “I leave the patient in good hands.” He picked up his leather case and left the room.

Lucy followed him to the parlor. “Are you sure Papa will be all right?”

The doctor turned to face her. “I wouldn’t leave if I thought otherwise. Try to keep him awake as long as possible.” He hesitated. “I know you think poorly of me and you have every right to feel that way, but I had nothing to do with Barnes’s disappearance.”

She studied the doctor as she never had before. He had a kind face, gentle but sad eyes. “I believe you,” she said. “I . . . I had no choice but to tell Monica about what happened.”

He nodded. “She came to see me and . . .” He shook his head in disbelief. “She still wants to be my wife. She said she’s not marrying the boy of twenty years ago, she’s marrying the man I’ve become.”

Lucy’s heart leaped with joy. “I’m so happy for you both.” Most of all, she was proud of Monica.

He stood perfectly still. “I thought the man we now know as David Wolf had died the night we put him on that boat, and I hated myself. More than you’ll ever know. My guilt is what drove my wife away. She couldn’t live with my moodiness and self-loathing.” His eyes grew moist. “Thank God he lived. It’s a miracle.”

Just hearing David’s name filled her with such pain she quickly changed the subject. “You and Papa used to be friends,” she said. It was before her time but she’d heard talk around town.

He nodded. “Guilt can do terrible things to a friendship. We couldn’t bear to look at each other after that night.”

“Maybe things will be different now,” she said.

He smiled. “Maybe so.” He started to leave but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Thank you . . . for everything. Caleb planned to give up medicine.”

He patted her hand. “God has given Caleb a great gift. It would be a shame if he didn’t use it. He’ll make a fine doctor someday.”

She pulled her hand away. “He wants to go to medical school but I’m afraid financially that may be out of the question.” She doubted that even selling her mother’s paintings would provide enough money for tuition, board, and books.

“I hope to be of assistance in that regard. I would like to pay Caleb’s medical school expenses.”

Lucy stared at him, not sure she’d heard right. “You want to send Caleb to medical school?”

He nodded. “If your father will let me. I’ve already discussed it with Monica and she thinks it’s a fine idea.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she gasped. Could this really be happening?

He winked at her. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m doing it as much for Rocky Creek as I am for Caleb. For myself. Don’t say anything to him. I want to speak to your father first. Make sure he doesn’t object.”

After the doctor left, she sent Caleb back to bed and sat next to her father’s side. Color had returned to his face. He looked slightly confused, his eyes unfocused, but whether from the alcohol he’d consumed or the concussion, she didn’t know.

“Get some sh-sh-leep,” he slurred.

It was the first he’d spoken since the doctor brought him home, and she was encouraged. “Doc Myers said I have to keep you awake,” she explained. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

He groaned and touched his head. She sat quietly by his side while he gazed at the ceiling. How long she sat there, she didn’t know. At times she thought he’d fallen asleep and she’d have to lean over him to check, but always she found him staring into space, and she couldn’t begin to guess what was going through his mind.

At long last, he turned his head to look at her. The redness had left the whites of his eyes, but his lips were dry and cracked. She filled a glass with water from a pitcher. Sliding one arm beneath him she lifted his head to drink.

Head back on his pillow, he spoke. “Crankshaw told me ’bout his . . . offer.” He spoke slowly, drawing out each syllable as if each word required his full concentration. When she made no reply, he added, “I ’spect you’ll jump at the shance to run . . . run . . . run a newspaper.”

At one time that might have been true, but not now. Now the only thing she wanted was to be with David. To love him and be loved by him.

He waited for her to say something and when she didn’t, he quirked an eyebrow. “Did you hear what I thaid?”

“I heard, Papa. I can’t run a newspaper if it means marrying a man I don’t love.” Now that Doc Myers had offered to pay for Caleb’s education, one very big burden had been removed from her shoulders. The main thing now was to collect enough money to rebuild the church.

For a long while he said nothing. His eyes drifted shut and she gently shook him.

“I’m not thleepin’,” he said. “Jus’ thinkin’.”

“About what?” she asked.

“I’ve decided to s-shell . . . sell some of your mother’s paintin’s.”

“We already talked about this, Papa,” she said. “I won’t let you do that. I’ll get the money for the church.”
Somehow.

“I’m not talking about the church.” He spoke as if he had rocks in his mouth, but he persisted. “I don’t know how much they’ll fetch, if anything. I hope it’s enough for a down payment on the newspaper. It’s what your mother would have wanted.”

She couldn’t believe he seriously considered selling her mother’s artwork to purchase a newspaper business. Was this his way of showing approval for her work? She wanted to think so but deep down she feared it was only the alcohol speaking. Chances were he wouldn’t even remember making such an offer once his head cleared.

For the longest while neither of them spoke. Her father was the first to break the silence.

“I’ve not been a very good father . . . to you and Caleb. I thought I sent a child to his death and I was consumed with guilt.”

Alarmed by the look in his eyes, she tried to calm him with a hand to his forehead. “I don’t think we should be talking about this now. Your head—”

“Forget my head.” He pushed her hand away and she could see him struggle to get his words right. “All these years . . . I didn’t feel worthy as a father or a man. As a result, you suffered. Both you and Caleb suffered. Your mother would still be with us—” Something like a sob escaped him. “Let me do this for you.”

Lucy didn’t know what to say. Her dreams had been big, but never so big as to imagine owning her own newspaper. What editorials she could write! What photographs she could print! The townsfolk deserved so much more than what the newspaper had offered in the past. They deserved honesty and truth.

“Why so sad?” her father asked.

His question surprised her until she realized why the thought of owning her own newspaper gave her no pleasure. Not if it required selling her mother’s paintings. But that wasn’t the only reason. Without David, she doubted anything could bring her joy or make her smile again. Still, she couldn’t altogether discount her father’s offer. Now that Caleb’s future was assured, the money would help pay for the building of the church and maybe even repay the doctor for his kindness.

“Tell me, child, what is it?” he prodded.

“I’m in love with someone,” she said. It didn’t seem like the time or place to confess such a thing but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “I’m in love with David Wolf.”

Her father stared at her for a long while, his eyes suddenly alert. “Do you know what you’re in for?”

“He didn’t harm Barnes, he didn’t.”

He lifted his head off the pillow. “I was referring to his mixed blood.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t care about that.”

“You should.” He laid back and closed his eyes. “It doesn’t end, does it? The boy on the boat comes back to steal my daughter’s heart and another generation will suffer because of that one long-ago night.”

“Papa, don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“I want you to be happy for me—”

“Happy? Because my daughter has chosen to love a man whose blood can only bring her misery?”

“Why does it have to be that way?” she cried. “Why do we have to be judged on things we have no control over?”

With a sigh her father seemed to cave inward like he had nothing left inside. “I don’t know the answer to that,” he said weakly. “I only know that we are.” His voice faded away and, alarmed, she leaned over him.

“Papa?” His eyes were closed. She shook him gently until he stirred. Oh, why did she have to tell him about her feelings for David tonight, of all nights?

After a long silence, he opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “There’s somethin’ I need to do,” he said, “but I can’t remember.” He frowned as if straining to think. “I’m supposed to meet someone—”

“It’s after midnight,” she said. “Whoever you’re supposed to meet can wait.”

He dozed off and she shook him again until he opened his eyes.

It was nearly dawn before she decided to let him sleep. Promising herself to wake him in an hour’s time, she walked out of his room. Fearing she would fall asleep, she wrapped herself in a quilt, made herself a cup of tea, and sat on the sofa, her camera on her lap.