Wolf Heart puffed out his chest. “Will see. If he come back. If he too slow.”
Before she could think of a retort, he wheeled his mustang about and struck out at a gallop toward the hills and the horizon.
Exactly what did all that mean? Had the warrior happened to run across her, or had he been watching? Following her? Maybehe’d come out to see Charlie again. For all she knew, Wolf Heart could have been part of the raid that killed the farmer. He’d been with the party that killed her uncle.
She could tell the men in Weatherford about the Indian that kept showing up on her land. A posse would be more than pleased to stake out the area and wait in ambush. But she wouldn’t do that. She would not break the verbal treaty Ben had brokered between them. But what if Ben never came back?
Collar undone and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, Ben settled into the high-back chair by his father’s bedside. Ink and newsprint darkened his fingertips. The smell of carbolic acid stung his nose, overpowering the earthy aroma of steaming mullein tea on the table by his father’s bed.
“What is the news of the day?” His father scooted his shoulders farther up on the pillows. Dark circles underscored his eyes. The lung fever had broken earlier in the week, but it’d left him weak as a baby. Yesterday was the first time he could manage a full sentence without it leaving him breathless.
“The Texans finally figured out they lost the war.” Ben chuckled. “Some of them will probably still refuse to accept the fact ten years from now.”
“See, I told you.” His father raised his chin. “You’re better off away from that place.”
Ben pressed his lips together. He’d not argue with a sick man. “There are some fine people there, in amongst the hard-headed Rebs.” His chest hollowed at the mere thought of Cora. “But the fact of the matter is that eighteen months after Appomattox, the Texans finally elected a state government and ratified a new state Constitution acceptable to President Johnson…”
His father listened as Ben moved on to the rest of the headlines. In ten days, he’d receive his first month’s pay. He’d send Cora half of it. Had LeBeau set up camp on her porch once more? He shifted in his seat and crossed his ankle over his leg. If only Cora could see him in the newspaper office, where he was proficient, respected, and more than capable.
Somewhere in the cacophony of odors surrounding the sick bed, the sweet, sickly smell of laudanum invaded his nostrils and turned his stomach. The bottle wasn’t in sight today, but the doctor had prescribed it for his father along with a litany of cathartics, cupping, and bloodletting. Ben’s mouth didn’t water, nor did his hand tremble in response. Had the Lord loosened the brown liquid’s grip on him? He wouldn’t test the possibility.
Upon his arrival, he’d insisted he be allowed to stay in the guest room, not his old bedroom, where the memories of being under the influence of the poison were too strong. And he’d let it be known that he didn’t want a laudanum bottle in his presence. His mother had looked at him as if he were out of his head, but she had complied and ordered the servant girl to do so as well.
A cough wracked through his father, shaking his body. Mother rushed over with a handkerchief. Together, Ben and she held him up from the pillows. Reddening in the face, his father held the handkerchief to his lips as his chest crackled.
When he had quieted, Ben lowered him down. “You’ll better rest now.”
“I’ll rest.” His father settled against the pillows. “Knowing my boy…is here to take charge…of the paper.”
“Randolph Thorson is in charge. I’m working alongside him.” Ben wiped his palms on his trousers.
“You’ll be at the helm.” His father sipped the water offered by Mother. “When I’m better. We’ll work out…a plan.”
“When you’re better, we’ll talk.” Ben exhaled.
Mother shot him a frown.
“I’m going to check on Evelyn. She’s in the kitchen attempting to bake cookies. Baking is not her forte.” Ben turned toward the door. Best get out of the room and join his sister before his father insisted on promises.
“What of Olivia?” His father’s voice rasped. “You’ve seen her? Apologized?”
Ben stiffened. “I sent her a note. Last week, I called at her house, as you asked, but wasn’t admitted. No apology will make up for a broken courtship.”
“Broken betrothal.” His father aimed a finger at Ben. “Only one way to fix it.” His father coughed. “Keep your word to her. Marry her. You’ve got to?—”
“James, we need to talk about this another day.” Mother patted the sick man’s shoulder while shooting daggers at her son. “You’ve got to give Ben time.”
“Too much time already. Never should have gone to Texas.” His father waved her hand away. “Edmondson’s throwing his weight to Thorson. Not going to stand for the jilting of his daughter.” He sucked in, struggling for breath. “Only way to gain…control of the paper…is for Ben…to do his duty.” A powerful cough propelled him forward.
Ben hurried to his father’s side and helped support him.
Mother placed a firm hand on her husband’s back, then waved Ben away. “You’ll only aggravate him. Go find your sister.”
Ben stuck his hands in his pockets and tromped out of the room. Better to be single the rest of his life than marry a woman he didn’t love.
And since every thought of the woman hedidlove felt like scraping an open wound, bachelorhood loomed large on the horizon.
Cora thanked Mr. Miller for the letter and exited the mercantile. Thankfully, the man waited to give it to her until Charlie headed for the wagon with an armload of supplies. She rubbed her finger over the script, Ben’s writing, addressed from Pennsylvania. She’d best read the contents before showing them to Charlie.
