Sweetwater (Birdsong Series) (4 page)

“I’ll try. By the way, Emily was looking for you earlier.
She thought you had already left the hotel. Do you want me to let her know
you’re still up here?”

Just thinking of his dear Emmie, made Blake feel better.
“No. I think I’ll go in search of her.”

There she was, right where he expected to find the light of
his life—sitting in the dirt. Blake chuckled to himself. Only Emily
Falkenrath could look so utterly beautiful, with rich, black earth smeared
across her hot cheeks. Her ebony hair had fallen out of its carefully executed
chignon, clinging to her long neck, and trailed down her back. Unfortunately,
she had forsaken her
too tight
boy’s
clothing, for the traditional cotton gingham dress. However, with it clinging
to her luscious curves, it looked anything but traditional. Blake stood there
admiring the curve of her waist and hips, the plumpness of her breasts,
demurely hidden inside layers of cloth. Occasionally, a stiff breeze would
lift her skirts just high enough for him to catch a glimpse of her trim ankle.
Blake was still admiring his goddess, in the garden, when she looked up at him.

“You always seem to be popping up when I least expect it,
Doc. Can I help you with something?” she asked, as she wiped the backside of
her hand across her wet forehead.

Embarrassed at being caught staring at her, once again,
Blake shook his head. “No. I just wanted to thank you for your attention,
last evening. I’m afraid I was a mite confused, for a while. Hope I didn’t
say anything to offend you,”
or embarrass
me,
he
thought
.

Emily placed the spade in the ground and got up and walked
over to the good-looking doctor’s side. “Would you like some lemonade, Blake?
I’m tired and hot, and these Kansas summers can be brutal.” She placed her arm
through his, and without waiting for his answer, led him into the darkened
kitchen.

“Ooh, this is nice,” she sighed. “We’re alone now, Blake.
You can talk freely. Why don’t you tell me what really happened last night?”
She took two glasses down from the cupboard and hefted the heavy pitcher of
cool lemonade and poured.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Blake kept his eyes on the
glasses, trying to avoid the piercing blue eyes that were probing his face,
delving for answers.

Pulling a chair up close to the doctor’s, Emily asked
quietly, trying to coax a response from the reluctant man. “You were a boxer,
weren’t you? Before, I mean. Before you were a doctor, you were a
purgalist
, weren’t you?”

Blake chuckled. “I think you mean,
pugilist
. Yes, darling. I used to fight professionally. I made a
good living from it, too.”

“Why have you kept it a secret? It’s legal, isn’t it?”

His usually warm, brown eyes darkened to a black
void—an emptiness that Emily didn’t recognize. It was a tortured,
remorseful blackness, she thought, brought about by tremendous pain. She had
seen the same eyes on the faces of the settlers that had crossed the vast
plains, only to lose everything they had. Regret? Despair? Hopelessness? It
was all there.

Instinctively, Emily took Blake’s hand and noticed it was
shaking. Gently squeezing it, she ran her thumbs up his wrist, stroking
firmly, forcing him to relax.

“What happened? Tell me.”

Blake was quiet for some time, almost to the point of Emily
thinking he was not going to answer her question. They sat in the silence of
the kitchen, occasionally taking slow sips of their cool drink, when finally,
he cleared his throat, and buried his face in his hands, covering his eyes from
view. He could not face her scrutiny.

Emily could barely make out what he had to say; it was so
muffled.

“Dennis O’Shea was his name, and as good as any other man in
the ring. He could have been American Lightweight Champion. He beat Carroll,
you know . . . and Andy Bowen.

“I was coming up, as well. I didn’t need the money, but I
craved the excitement of the crowds. It was a powerful drug to me, Emmie,
hearing them shout out my name. I gloried in it. The only problem I had was
that I didn’t know when to pull back. If my opponent remained standing, I kept
pounding at him. I was too damn ignorant to see, or just too blind to care,
that while he may still be on his feet, he was finished. I won the majority of
my bouts by knock outs.”

Emily heard a sob caught somewhere down deep in Blake’s
chest. How could her gentle friend have enjoyed inflicting so much pain on
others? He was a healer. She couldn’t offer any words of comfort; what he was
confessing, sickened her.

Blake sat up and looked directly at Emily. He was
devastated by the revulsion he saw in her face, but he had no choice but to
tell her everything. “It was O’Shea’s last fight. After our match, he was
planning on taking his wife and babies back to England, where she had family.
He made his fortune and he wanted to go back and buy some land. Dennis was a
good chap.

“We exchanged a lot of violent blows in the first nine or
ten rounds. He gave as good as he got, I can tell you. It wasn’t until the
fourteenth round that he began to tire. I don’t know why I didn’t just give
him the damn match. It would have been so easy, Emmie. It made no difference
to me if I won or not. In the end, I guess I’m just not the type to give up.

“I feinted to the left and hit him hard in the neck, then an
awful blow to his chin. Dammit, he should have gone down then. An uppercut
sent him reeling across the ring, but still he stood on his feet. Any other
man would have thrown in the towel, but Danny wanted desperately to win his
last fight.

“Dennis landed some terrific blows to my stomach and ribs,
breaking four of them, but still I would not stop my assault. Sometimes, at
night, I imagine I hear his wife’s cry for the two of us to stop.” Blake
stared off into space, still seeing two men beating the life out of one
another. It was a horrible scene, and he was clearly devastated by what had
transpired.

“My eyes were swelling closed, his nose was bleeding all
down his chest. He struck my jaw hard enough to lift me off the mat. God, how
I wish I’d gone down. Then I sent one final smashing blow to his chest, and
the match was over. I was declared the winner.

“We shook hands. I can see Dennis smiling through all the
blood, and saying if he had to lose his last match, he was glad he lost it to
me. I felt like a champion.”

Blake pulled his hands through his hair in some futile
attempt to cope with his pain. His voice was strained and barely audible as he
proceeded. “Just as Dennis took his tearful wife into his arms, he collapsed
against her, shuddered, and took his last breath. The stubborn Irishman died
at our feet, practically in his wife’s arms. My final blow to his chest was
fatal.”

Blake returned his eyes to Emily, knowing what he would see.
“I’m a killer, Emmie, and that’s the truth of it.”

Tears were streaming down her face. She felt his pain and
his eternal regret. It was difficult for Emmie to defend his actions, but she
knew it was all just a tragic accident. “No, Blake. It’s terrible that such a
thing happened, but you both knew the dangers of what you were doing. I know
his wife knew. She didn’t blame you, did she?”

He shook his head. “No. She was very brave and very
forgiving, and that made it all the worse. Meg left New York and went back to
England, taking Dennis’ body with her. She told me he liked me and he would
not want me to suffer. Ha! I’ve been to hell and back. I’ll
never
forgive myself. That’s why I
became a doctor. I needed to try to make up for his death in some small way,
but I can never truly make up for taking his life. His children will never
have their father back.”

“You’ll never find peace, Blake, until you find a way to
forgive yourself. I don’t blame you. I’m shocked by this terrible story, but
only because I know you to be so gentle and caring. What you did last night
was justifiable. Please don’t worry about that.”

“Oh . . . that bastard had more coming to him than what I
did to him. What worries me is that I have no recollection of the beating. I
lost control of myself, Emmie, and that could be dangerous. If I hadn’t been
pulled away from him, would I have killed him?” His eyes were filled with
questions.
Could he have killed again?

“Yes. I believe you would have. But if I’d had a gun, I
would have killed him, as well. Whiskey pulled you off, just before he put his
boot on the man’s neck. He would have killed him if Dora hadn’t pushed him
off. She was slicing a beef roast and carried her cleaver up the stairs. The
look on her face made my blood run cold. I could read her mind and saw her
grip tighten on the handle of that cleaver. What do you think she was capable
of, Blake? That man is quite fortunate to be alive, in more ways than one.
Now, let’s get this
other
problem of
yours out of the way, once and for all.”

Wrinkling his forehead, Blake was trying to figure out what
she meant. What other problem did he have? “Help me out here, Emmie. My
head’s a little fuzzy. Did I do something else? What are you referring to?”

“Just this,” she whispered. Leaning over, she placed one
delicate hand on each side of the doc’s face, and pulled him toward her. She
opened her lips just enough to capture his own and sent shock waves throughout
his entire body.

Emmie kissed him.

He returned her kiss with a deeper and more passionate one
of his own. How many times had he dreamed of this moment? He heard her moan
with pleasure. This kiss was opening the door to so many emotions that he had
been holding at bay. His entire body reverberated with desire for this
beautiful woman.

She tasted of sugared lemons, and her lips were soft and
lush, just as he had always imagined. Blake kissed her thoroughly, coaxing her
lips apart, and gaining enough room for his tongue to enter her moist mouth.
It startled her.

For a moment, Emily opened her eyes and stared into the warm
depths of Blake’s sweltering gaze. He was a master of the kiss and she
luxuriated in it. Tingles spread up and down her spine. She was aching in the
most unusual places. Emily reveled in the dance their tongues performed,
creating a yearning in her so strong, she was afraid of what she might allow.

“Stop, Blake. We mustn’t go further,” she said,
breathlessly, as his hands continued to roam freely over her back. “Please.”

Reluctantly, he pulled back from her, just far enough to
look into her flushed face. “Did I do something wrong, darling?”

Emily sat up straighter, pulling back beyond his reach.
“No. I just don’t do this sort of thing, and I am at a loss as to why I
instigated this particular episode. I am not interested in a love affair, Doc.
Perhaps, I just wanted to make you feel better.” She was chewing on her
bottom lip, showing her insecurities.

Blake laughed. “Well, I did enjoy it, but I doubt I feel
better at this precise moment.” His body was aching and his blood was on fire.
“Did you enjoy it at all?”

She smiled. “It was obvious that I did take pleasure in
it—maybe too much. I don’t have time for a man, Blake. I need to
somehow get my farm back, and I don’t have the slightest idea as to how to go
about it. Until then, I cannot allow myself to be distracted.”

Scooting his chair back, the doctor stood up and addressed
Emily somewhat gruffly. “So be it, ma’am. That’s my cue to leave you to your
business. Thank you for listening to me lament. I would consider it a
personal favor if you would keep what I told you here, today, in confidence.
Once people become aware of my past, they will think differently about me.
Good or bad, it will make a difference.”

Emily stood, “Naturally, I won’t say anything, but you need
to come to grips with the guilt. It’s like a cancer, Blake, and it will ruin
the rest of your life and the life of the ones you love. I know.” With a
swish of her skirts, she retreated back to her gardens.

How could she know, Blake asked himself? Someday, Emily
would have to confide in him, just the way he had opened up to her. She had
her own story to tell and he would be there for the reveal. But for now, he
had sick folks to see and a primal yearning to conquer.

Cassie had grown reclusive in the days since her attack.
She remained inside the hotel at all times, never venturing out. She dressed
demurely with no accessories to highlight her youthful loveliness. Her hair
was pulled tightly back and secured with many pins, not allowing one stray curl
to escape its confines. She still smiled, and even laughed, but the tinkling
gaiety in her voice was absent.

Dora was concerned for her little
woman-child
.

On Wednesday, the mayor’s wife, Trudy Anderson, rushed into
the hotel, as excited as a new bride. “Can we put up these posters, Miss Dora?
There’s going to be a dance this Saturday, at the Hall, and just everybody’s
going to be there. Musicians from
Denver
are going to be playing,” she squealed. “Can you imagine? All the businesses
are contributing food and drink and I know you’ll be most generous, seeing as
how you own the
most
successful hotel
in Kansas. May I?” She spoke so rapidly no one could get a word in.

“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat, girl,” Dora shouted. “Slow down and
take a breath. May you what?”

“The posters! Can I hang the posters in your hotel?”

“Absolutely not, Mrs. Anderson,” Patty declared, aghast at
the prospect of pieces of poorly printed paper pinned to every surface within
eye level. “We run a refined establishment, not a saloon. However, we will
gladly place small, tasteful cards in the dining room, on the center of each
table. Naturally, I will design them, myself. Will that be satisfactory?”

Impressed and slightly intimidated by the sophisticated
woman standing before her, Trudy nodded. “Why, yes, ma’am. That would be
perfect. I should have thought of that, myself. Thank you, Miss Patty. I’ll
be on my way, now.” She gave a little curtsy and turned back to Dora. “You
needn’t inform anyone of what you’re contributing. With the reputation you
have, I know it will be simply
magnifiquets!
”

Patty laughed aloud at the mayor’s silly and pretentious
wife, practicing her French on the poor ignorant townsfolk.
“Oui. Magnifique!”

Dora looked surprised as she watched the chubby woman strut
away. “I didn’t know Trudy spoke French.”

“She doesn’t,” Patty giggled.

“You know, Patty, this might be good. Maybe we can get
Cassie out of her bad humor by getting’ her all gussied up and takin’ her to
the dance. I’ll get Whiskey to escort us. Will you be a goin’?”

“Someone has to stay here, Dora. You can tell me all about
it. Right now, you’ve got a menu to plan and I have silly little cards to
design. Hop to it, sister,” she laughed. Patty would not mind staying home.
After all, she had no one special in her life, but Emily . . . now that was a different
story.

*

“Doc, it really itches bad. Don’t know what I got into, but
I’m about to lose my mind. You got to do somethin’.” Whiskey was almost in
tears.

Dr. Donovan carefully examined the big man’s back and waist.
“Have you been out in the woods or in the tall grass?”

Whiskey shook his head. “Nah, Doc. I ain’t been no where,
but here.”

A soft breeze blew in through the open windows of Dr.
Donovan’s office, and carried with it a delightful fresh scent, giving Blake an
idea.

“Whiskey . . . you sure do smell good, almost divine.” He
watched the old man turn colors. “Are you washing with a new soap or rubbing a
new lotion on your pretty face?” he teased.

“Just something . . .” he mumbled.

“Speak up, man. I can’t hear you,” the doctor insisted.

“Dora fixed me up with some fine smellin’ Frenchy soap. She
likes it and so do I. Just ‘cause I look like a hermit, don’t mean I have to
smell like one.”

“Well, ordinarily, I would agree with you, Whiskey, but in
this particular case, I think it would be wise for you to go back to your old
lye soap. The perfumes in that soap are causing the rash and it will only get
worse. Tell Dora that a man is supposed to smell like a man. Of course, you
can try the fine milled soap I use. Emily seems to like it.” He grinned.

Whiskey’s eyes lit up and he smiled from ear to ear. “So,
it’s that way with the two o’ you, is it? Well, I’ll be a skunk’s uncle.
Never saw that comin’. No sirree. Congratulations, Doc . . . You got some of
that soap o’ yourn, I could try?”

“Sure.” Blake reached into a drawer and grabbed a large bar
of store-bought soap wrapped in yellow tissue paper. Before he gave it to the
old man, he had one more thing to say. “Don’t mention this conversation to
Emily. She doesn’t know that she likes me, yet. I’m waiting for her to
discover it, for herself.”

“Whatever you say, Doc. Hee, hee. You gonna give me that
thar soap you’re a wavin’ around?”

Blake laughed and tossed it to his friend.

“You bringin’ Emily to the dance? Dora and me are goin’.”

“Tonight, after dinner, I’ll bring it up and see how she
feels about it. She seems to think she can’t spend her time having fun. With
Emily, it’s always her farm, her land, or getting even with someone. What’s
got into her, Whiskey? She wasn’t always like this.”

“Dora told me that, one day, Eve took all the gals out to
her favorite place for a little relaxation. Emily saw the farm and she’s been
dreamin’ of it, ever since. Don’t think nobody lives there. She sure was hurt
when she learned she couldn’t buy it.”

“Yeah, well, owning land isn’t everything. I got me a
little piece, not too far from here, and I haven’t been there but once in my
entire life. Maybe if I had a wife and family, I might want to live there.
Right now, it doesn’t mean much to me. Do you think Emily would be interested
in it?” Blake asked, hopefully.

Whiskey shook his head. “Nope. She’s got her heart set on
that one farm in particular, and no other one will do. Thanks for the soap,
Doc. Gotta go.” Whiskey put the soap in his pocket, and set off whistling.
He felt pretty good about life, once again. It had been a long climb back from
heartache, but thanks to Dora, he’d arrived.

It was Saturday, and the hotel guests were excited about the
dance. Many of the ladies had brought their party dresses, and now they would
get the opportunity to wear them. Dora was beside herself with all the extra
cooking and the getting ready. She wanted to look real nice. After all, she’d
be going with Mr. Bernard Allen.

Cassie was slowly getting ready, as she had no real
inclination to go. She was afraid people would look at her and stare, or talk
behind her back. She was also nervous being around young men. No longer was
she a total innocent. She had an idea what went through their dirty minds when
they complimented her on her pretty dress or her tiny waist. Her stomach
tightened into knots at the mere thought of it, and she felt as though she was
going to be sick. Her hair wouldn’t stay in place and her dress, she felt, was
too revealing.

“Why do I have to go?” she cried, as she pulled furiously on
the bodice of her lovely dress, threatening to tear the lace trim. She was
clearly miserable.

Patty was walking past the young woman’s room, when she
heard her anguish. Tapping on the door, she stuck her head inside. “Cassie?
Can I be of some help? Are you having trouble getting dressed?”

Cassie turned around and her cherubic face crumbled. “Oh,
Patty,” she sobbed. “Look at me. Do I look like I’m ready for a dance?
I can’t go.
I just can’t.” She pulled
one more time on the dress, completely shredding the delicate material. As if
on cue, a big curl fell down across one eye, causing her to cry all the more.

Patty ran in and took Cassie in her arms. “Darling, you
don’t have to go if you don’t want to. No one is going to force you. Please,
sweetheart. A dance is supposed to be fun and make one happy, not miserable.
I’m staying here, and if you want to help me, you can stay here, as well.”
Patty gently ran her hands up and down Cassie’s narrow back, as if she were
still a small child. “Hush, darling. Don’t cry.”

Cassie sniffed a couple of times, and then turned her big,
watery, lavender eyes on Patty. “You’re wonderful, Patty. Nothing ever upsets
you. What are you doing here in this dirty little town?” She sniffed again,
followed by a hiccup.

“Oh, it’s a very long story and not too interesting. I just
needed to be on my own for a while. My whole life was planned out for me from
the time I was born. I have found freedom living here, and I love it. So . .
. are you going or staying?”

Taking a deep breath, Cassie nodded. “I’m staying.”

Patty smiled at the courage her young friend was displaying.
“Very well. I’ll inform Dora that I need you here. Come downstairs after
you’ve repaired your face and your hair. Oh . . . you might want to change
your dress.” She winked at the smiling girl before she left the room.

By the time Patty arrived downstairs, practically all of the
guests had departed for the Hall. The only other person there was Dr. Donovan.
He was very attractive, all dressed up for the dance. Of course, he was
always handsome, whether he was wearing a plaid shirt rolled up at the elbows
or a fine black coat and white shirt, like the one he wore now. His dark blonde
hair was worn a little too long, but it was always clean and inviting. A
stubborn curl was always threatening to spill down over his forehead. His best
feature, Patty thought, was his mouth bracketed by a pair of deep dimples. He
was always ready with a smile. His lips were smooth and well formed. She had
often times wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips and run her
tongue over them. Patty sighed, as she imagined what it would be like to be
loved by such a man.

“Hi, Patty. Is Emmie about ready to go?” His rich baritone
voice was music to her ears.

“Emily? Is she going? She said nothing to me.” Patty was
surprised.

“I asked her and she didn’t say no. I just assumed she’d
want to go. After all, she can’t work in those blasted gardens at night.”

Patty laughed. “Emily doesn’t need an excuse to refuse you,
Doc. She just won’t come down. You could go up and check for yourself, I
guess. I wouldn’t say anything—especially if I didn’t see you go up.”
Her eyes glistened in delight. If she couldn’t have the fair doctor, then by
golly, she wanted Emily to enjoy his company.

“Fine. I’ll do that.” He ran toward the stairs, taking
them three at a time, passing Cassie on her way down.

“Where was he going in such an all fired hurry? He didn’t
even say hello,” the young girl complained. She didn’t like being ignored.

“He’s going to try and coax our Emily into going to the
dance with him. I wish him luck. It’ll take a heap of persuading . . . By the
way, we didn’t see him climb those stairs, did we?”

Cassie giggled and shook her head. “Who?”

Blake stood outside, in the hall, drumming up the courage to
knock on Emily’s door. What could he say to convince her to go with him? He
really had no idea. His plan to get Emily to fall in love with him, wasn’t
working. Of course, he had to admit, it wasn’t much of a plan. As he
continued to stand there, trying to think of just what to say, the door
suddenly opened, catching him by surprise.

“What the he . . .?” he gasped. “Oh, hello.”

“Dr. Donovan. You have the very bad habit of popping up, at
any given moment, without being invited. What can I do for you, now?” Emily
asked unsmilingly, as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“How did you know I was out here?”

“I could smell your soap,” she grinned. She’d been talking
to Dora.

“Miss Emily,” he said formally. “It would be my great honor
to escort you to the dance, this evening. May I?”

Blake looked so uncomfortable and unsure of
himself—Emily had to snicker. Putting her hand up in front of her mouth,
she managed to stifle the urge to laugh. He seemed so sincere.

“I’m flattered to receive your kind invitation, but I do not
plan to attend the dance. Thank you for thinking of me. Anything else,
doctor?”

Taking a step inside the doorway, Blake nodded. “As a
matter of fact . . . yes. Were you going out, just now?”

She shook her head. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to
comprehend his next move.

Very quietly, he pushed the door closed with the heel of his
polished boot. Smiling, he said, “Emmie. I’m tiring of this game we’re
playing. You know I am sweet on you and I believe that you are attracted to
me, though you protest. You are of an age, which allows me to be honest and
direct. We belong together, Emmie. The kiss we shared was proof of our
compatibility. I want to get to know you much better, darling. Give me the
chance.”

Emily stood as if she was carved from stone. As much as her
heart told her to give in to her emotions, her good sense told her to stand her
ground. What was more important? A farm of her own, to live on until her
death, or a quick relationship that could end in disaster? “You are direct,
doctor. Being of an age,
all of
twenty-three, I might add
, does not entitle you to liberties, sir. While
the kiss was amazing, and I did find it utterly wonderful, I still have no
interest in forming a relationship with you or anyone else. I don’t need a man
in my life. All I want is my farm. If you could get it for me, then I would
be extremely grateful.”

Blake put his hands on Emily’s delicate shoulders and held
her tightly, wanting to shake some sense into her pretty head. “That farm!
That’s all you ever say,” he shouted. “Nothing could be that important. You
are wasting your life and mine, too. I could give you a farm and much, much
more, but honestly, your obsessive desire for that farm is disturbing. It’s
not healthy. Don’t you want children, Emmie? Don’t you care for me at all?”

She twisted away from the doctor’s firm grip, and walked
over toward the window. Looking down, she could see a little girl of about
three, sitting on the hotel’s lush, green lawn, rolling a ball. The child was
so sweet and happy playing there. Emily couldn’t remember ever having been
happy as a child. Her childhood was a nightmare and something she ran from.
Tears formed behind her eyes, and then she felt strong hands around her waist,
turning her gently away from the happy scene below, and toward him.