“Figured you’d be makin’ a beeline to find Miss Burton,” Gabriel, looming up in the sweet gathering semi-darkness, chuckled. “D’joo two get everything talked out?”
“For the moment,” Letty answered, as Reese clambered upright to greet the doctor on a level footing. “I apologize for taking possession of your property, Gabe, but we needed some time away from everyone. And
Reese was able to find me without any trouble.”
“Oh, I imagine this here boy has a homin’ button for you installed in his head by now. Gettin’ hungry? It’s after 7:00 and I need some vittles. Whyncha come along with me to the Sarsaparilla?”
Letty was learning. She glanced up at her betrothed, questioning. He shrugged and nodded.
“All right, then,” said Gabe, pleased. “Just lemme go inside and clean up first and then we can head on over. On the way, I’ll tell you all about a patient I’ve been worried about for the last couplea days. You’ll find the case interestin’, Nurse Letty.”
Rising from the swing’s wooden seat, Letitia brushed off her skirt. “Is it something with which I can help?”
“You could, except that what I feared was diphtheria has turned out to be just a bad headache and fever. The fellah is makin’ a miraculous recovery, as we speak.”
Chapter Seventeen
NOW BEGAN THE WAITING time.
San Francisco’s marshal, Hiram Westley, took several days to reply to Paul’s brief telegram. He thanked the sheriff for his diligence in capturing an elusive criminal, way out in southern Texas, assured his fellow law officer that he would immediately look into the case pending against young Cole Forrester, and very much appreciated the fact that this miscreant was safely cooling his heels behind bars (fat chance).
Reese, once this news was reported to him, had glumly shoved both wrists together and held them forward, in an attitude of surrender.
“What’s all this?” a surprised sheriff wanted to know.
“Lockup. Me bein’ so dangerous, and all, reckon you’d be wantin’ to haul me in off the streets and into a jail cell.”
Paul snorted and waved him away. “Get outa here and go do somethin’ constructive.”
It is difficult to be patient under trying circumstances, when the world may fall down around your ears at any minute. It is difficult to remain optimistic about an uncertain future, and to remain hopeful that the dreams you once had might still come true.
Fortunately, upon young Reese’s arrival in Turnabout, he had been blessed with the unexpected support of a whole loyal cadre of kith and kin. The slightest dip of his mood (which rarely happened, as he had also been blessed with an equable and accepting temperament), and someone was always available to buck him up.
To prevent his brother from dwelling too much on the momentarily unfixable, Ben put him to work at the mercantile. There, Reese was proving to be an able lieutenant, having both prior experience and business acumen. More to the point, he was well-liked by the customers and staff.
Ben had cannily made the important announcement early one morning, knowing full well that the news of his and Reese’s relationship would spread through town like wildfire. He would keep his chosen “Barclay,” as a slight added firewall protection against repercussions; anyone having the audacity to question why the dissimilarity in their surnames would be met with a blank stare. An expression and attitude with which Ben was not only quite comfortable, but quite practiced.
Meanwhile, the statement emphasized that Jimmy would retain his title of assistant manager; Reese was just an ordinary employee, and was to be treated as such.
However, with mayoral duties calling him away from the store more and more frequently, Ben felt quite confident in the knowledge that his brother would be helping to man the fort.
An added help was his bride-to-be. After consulting with Dr. Havers, who had earlier mentioned various remedies to lessen the effect of scar tissue, she had purloined his entire supply of lavender oil. The concoction was to be massaged into the affected area several times a day, without fail, and she would be, Letty assured him, delighted to take on the responsibility.
She had set up shop in the Forrester kitchen (the current catch-all and gathering place), since Reese, upon his brother’s insistence, had given up lodging at the Drinkwater and moved into the spare room upstairs. While Reese deeply enjoyed her ministrations, he complained loudly and frequently about smelling like a goldarned French bawdy house.
After she had suffered through several sessions of this flagrant verbal abuse, Letitia tightly informed him that they could certainly stop using lavender, if its fragrance upset him so. They might use raw honey, instead. And he could endure the consequences. Or the juice of fresh lemons, did he care to pay for them. Even apple cider vinegar, whose odor, were he to recall, could be as pungent as the inside of a livery stable.
From then on, the complaints were made neither so persistently nor so vehemently.
He drew the line at allowing her to apply tinted rice powder over the visible scar.
“Dang it all, woman,” he expostulated between his teeth, pulling away from fingers already prepared with jar and puff. “I thought you claimed you didn’t mind seein’ my symbol of bravery, that it didn’t bother you a’tall.”
“It doesn’t,” she assured him in like fashion. “But I understand there might be some slight interest by less-than-reputable outsiders, due to a certain wanted poster, which specifically notes this defect in your otherwise handsome appearance. Or am I mistaken?”
With a sheepish grin, he backed down. “No. At least not about my handsome appearance.”
The date of November Fifth was fast approaching. As was mid-April, for different reasons, though not so quickly. With their men engaged in the usual occupations, the Burton ladies took some time for themselves and upcoming events.