Thankfully, the Grant ranch was only four-and-a-half miles from Cheyenne, not too far from Crow Creek. As Spark trotted slowly along the trail, Daniel leaned forward and held onto his mane, trying to keep balance in the saddle. He felt groggy and dizzy and realized Tommy had been right to send him on his way home. Maybe another shot of whiskey wouldn’t have hurt he thought, then sighed.
He knew he was better than this. But seeing Mr. Williams’ family weep was like ripping open an old wound. He remembered receiving the news of his own father’s death, and he’d just broken down. His father had been given the finest medical care available, but he got sicker until there was no hope.
His father was gone.Where was God?Daniel thought.Where was God when he needed Him most?Why had his father not been healed?
This was not how he imagined his life to be. He remembered that he used to be happy once and had everything a man could ever dream about—a beautiful, loving wife and son. As if taking his wife wasn’t enough, that same God had taken his father, too. All he had wanted was a wife to come home to, and be welcomed by—his wife and their son, and now he had no one. He felt completely alone.
He missed Mary Jane more than anything and would give anything to see her one last time. Knowing that her death could have been prevented if only he hadn’t insisted she go to the bank that day, she would be alive. he closed his eyes as guilt washed over him. It was his fault, he was responsible.
God could have protected her but didn’t. Wasn’t she always faithful, too? She didn’t deserve to die. She was a God-fearing faithful believer, just like his father had been.
The anger and burning ache inside his heart scorched his very soul, and not even whiskey could douse it—nothing could. His eyes felt heavy and started to close. Stubbornly, he forced them open, fighting until sleep won over and everything went dark.
***
Daniel woke up, startled and disoriented, feeling someone shake him roughly. He heard a voice, an older woman’s voice, from a distance.
“Wake up, Daniel!” He heard. Elizabeth Palmer call, her voice strident. “You were out cold. You’ve been to the saloon again, haven’t you?”
“Quit shaking me!” Daniel protested and slowly sat upright, blinking a couple of times. Taking in his surroundings he saw his disapproving housekeeper with her hands on her hips. Spark, Daniel’s amazing horse, had brought him straight home to the ranch. He dismounted, swatted Spark’s flank, and stared at the Mrs. Palmer. “Elizabeth, why were you shaking me?”
“You were out cold, and you smell a tad of whiskey,” Elizabeth sighed. “I was worried about you.” She closed her eyes and exhaled. “First you go out to the clinic, say you’ll go to town and bring more wheat flour. Hours later, Here I am, still waiting.”
He felt guilty that he worried her so much. Although she looked annoyed, her light blue eyes looked a bit teary.
Without skipping a beat, she continued, “Now, here you come without the flour looking like a confused inebriate.” Her voice was stern with a hint of disgust. He didn’t blame her. He deserved her scolding.
He looked at her face etched with worry as well as annoyance. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” Daniel said softly. “It is no excuse, but today was hard.”
She pressed her lips together and asked, “It was Mr. Williams, wasn’t it?”
Daniel nodded and avoided her gaze.
“Daniel,” she said gently. “You are a doctor, but you cannot save everyone. Your father understood that; it’s an unavoidable fact of practicing medicine.”
“Don’t talk about my father,” Daniel tensed up, his jaw clenched as he tried to hold in his anger. “I should be able to save everyone!” He looked at her and saw pity on her face. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want anyone to pity him.
“Oh, Daniel …”
“I’ll get the flour tomorrow,” he promised. “I need to go to the clinic.”
His steps were heavy, and his heavy boots echoed on the floorboards as he made his way to the kitchen.
“Where is the whiskey, Elizabeth?” Daniel demanded, annoyance in his voice. “You didn’t chuck it out, did you?” He opened and closed every cupboard in the kitchen. One cupboard door was loose and tumbled to the floor.
Elizabeth lifted her palms into the air. “Now, see what you’ve done! I told you it was loose.”
Seeing her frustration, he remembered he was supposed to get more hinges and screws, but he’d forgotten. After he left the clinic, he had taken what was supposed to have been a quick stop at the saloon; he had spent the rest of the day there.
“I’ll sort it out tomorrow,” he said muttered, feeling the heat of guilt as he picked up the cupboard door from the floor. The wood was still good, a strong oak that his father cut years ago. The entire ranch was made by his father’s hands, and Daniel intended to restore it to its former glory.
The house felt warm since Elizabeth added more wood to the brick stove. She rattled the cast iron pots and skillets hanging from hooks on the walls until she found the one she was looking for.
“Hand me a large knife, please?” Elizabeth asked pointing toward the table with the drawer that held the utensils. She stood at the far end of the rustic oak island table near the stove and Daniel was closer to the cooking utensils. He wiggled the drawer open, found the knife, and handed it to her.
Elizabeth had helped his father raise him. She became a motherly figure—much more than a hired housekeeper.
“Will you check on Matthew?” Elizabeth asked, looking up at him. “I put him down a little while ago, and I imagine he’ll wake up soon.”
