She should refuse it. But that could create more problems. Arthur might decide to deliver it himself. He’d surely heard that Ben had left again. The whole town had probably been tongue-wagging since the fight. She pulled it into her hand as Charlie rounded the corner. “Thank you for your service. I’ll get a coin?—”
“Doc says I’m not to accept money from you.” The messenger tipped his hat.
A paper cut nicked her finger as she slid the envelope into her apron pocket. Would the words also slice?
She dismissed Charlie’s questions and went about her day. Evening found her pacing the kitchen, the unopened envelope on the work table. Arthur would have nothing good to say. She’d be better off burning it. But what if he was threatening action against Ben for the fight? With a shudder, she picked it up and sat down on the back stoop to read in the growing dusk.
Two pieces of paper fell out, one in Arthur’s hand. An embossed engraving headed the other—Keely’s Apothecary. Her stomach tumbled. No. It would not say what she feared. It’d be conjecture only. With a trembling hand, she read Arthur’s note first.
For your own sake, Cora, I pray that you will heed Mr. Keely’s words. I have included them with this missive so you might read them yourself in his own handwriting. If you have any doubts, you may question the man yourself. He sent this to me the day after the fight.
You might want to ask yourself if this could be the reason that Mr. McKenzie was so quickly overcome with jealousy and rage at the café. He would have likely broken my nose and worse with further blows if it were not for your intervention. My words to him about the medicine were truthfully spoken. He’d beg for it if he had to. In the end, laudanum rules him. His feelings for you will always be secondary.
Write to me when the blinding scales of infatuation fall from your eyes and you’re ready to listen to reason.
Yours,
Arthur
Her breath caught in her throat. She threw the poisoned letter on the ground and stood. It was a lie. Whatever Keely’s letter said, Arthur must have twisted it. Arthur was jealous andbitter, set on revenge. Ben hadn’t partaken of laudanum for over four months. He or the Lord had broken its hold on him…
Ill to her stomach, she paced. Keely’s note lay on the stoop, beneath the open envelope flap. It didn’t matter what it said. Did it? Knees wobbly, she crept to the step and sank down, whispering a prayer before she unfolded the letter.
Doctor LeBeau,
You asked that I inform you if your patient, Mr. Benjamin McKenzie, stopped into purchase any laudanum. Two days ago, on Thursday, about half an hour before the fight, Mr. McKenzie entered my establishment, looking sickly and used up. He asked to purchase a small bottle of laudanum. I sold him four ounces. His hand trembled as he paid. In my estimation, he was a man in desperate need of his medicine.
At your service,
Mr. Howard Keeley
The paper slipped from her fingers. Nausea rolled through her. She ran for the outhouse, stumbling over a root in the twilight. The door banged against the wooden side as she entered the hovel and emptied the contents of her stomach.
The letter didn’t make it true. Arthur could have paid the druggist to lie. Would Mr. Keeley really do that? She wiped her mouth on a handkerchief as she drifted back to the house. Laudanum had lost its hold on Ben months ago. Then why had he purchased it?
He’d been desperate on Thursday. He’d lost the cattle and blamed himself for it. Hadn’t Arthur warned her weeks ago that hard times could lead a man to succumb to the cravings? Although Arthur’s word wasn’t one to be trusted regarding Ben, hadn’t she seen the same with her own father? He’d abstain for a week or two or even a month or two, but then a disappointmentor a hardship would come, and the alcohol would call him back like a siren. The alcohol always won.
A slight moan slipped through her lips. She clapped her hand over her mouth. Ben was not her father. She repeated it to herself. Ben was not her father. A shiver rattled through her. No. She would not believe it, not without further proof. She gripped the wall of the well to steady herself.
When she’d confronted Ben in the loft after the fight, he’d claimed he’d failed her. He’d been ready to pack up and head to town to await the stagecoach with plans to return East to earn money for her. What if he had failed in a much worse way than losing the cattle? What if he’d broken his word and used the medicine? Back slidden off the edge of a cliff?
Three days later, Cora sent Charlie to the other side of the ranch with Jack to collect raspberries. Her doubts had gotten the best of her. She trudged up the steps to the stable loft with an armload of Ben’s newly laundered clothes. Her lungs deflated as she opened the door and stood on the threshold.
He’d left the place in order. Bed made, chairs pushed in, dirty clothes picked up and given to her. A corner of the empty carpetbag poked out beneath the bunk. His two books, Dickens’sGreat Expectationsand James Fenimore Cooper’sLast of the Mohicans, stood on the short shelf, no Bible in sight. He’d likely taken that with him.
She had no right to search the room. But the contents of the letters had gnawed away at her peace and her trust. So here she stood, ready to cross the line.
Chickens clucked in the yard. Just as long as Charlie stayed away until she was done.
Slowly, she ambled into the room and laid the folded clothes on the end of the bunk. If Ben had purchased the medicine, he’d likely taken the bottle with him. However, if he left it, and she found it, she could see if he’d opened it and taken any. Maybe he’d bought it but thought better of it afterwards. If she found the bottle, she’d have evidence, either reassurance or devastation.
Her gaze fell to the worn floorboards by the rag rug. the spot where the other bottle had fallen and spilled the day he’d knocked the spoon from her hand. She’d never witnessed such desperation before. It was as if the very scent of it would poison him. On his hands and knees, he’d worked to scour every droplet from the floor. She cringed and hugged herself. He’d fought to stay away from it. Why would he purchase it again?
She sank down to sit on the bunk. Did she really believe he could have it in his possession and not partake of it? And who knew if there might not be other bottles hidden in his room from other missteps.
Had love blinded her to the truth? Alcohol won every time with her father. How could she think it was any different with Ben, only with a smaller bottle and a different label? Except Ben was trustworthy, dependable, generous, strong, determined, committed to his word… He was all of this and more. And yet, if the bottle gained the upper hand, its poison would taint every drop of his soul.
Cora dropped to her knees and dragged the carpetbag out. The trunk at the foot of the bed was next. He didn’t have a lot of possessions. Her search took less than half an hour and included the windowsill, loose floorboards, and beneath his bedding. No trace of a bottle. There was only one surprise, a slender leather briefcase tucked beneath the horsehair mattress.
