Laurel left her office to meet the stage. She was wearing her spectacles, not because she had been poring over the accounts again, but because she had been crying and they were in aid of disguising that. She had to reach back years to recall the last time she’d wept, and it hadn’t been in the immediate aftermath of the death of her father and brothers. No, she’d been stoic then, putting one foot in front of the other, managing the day-to-day operations because she expected it of herself and believed it was what the dead expected of her as well. It was months later, perhaps as many as six, before she confronted the reality of being alone. Not on her own. That was different. She had Rooster and the other hires to help her with the station, and Mrs. Lancaster was with her by then. They shared the burden and benefits, so she never felt completely on her own even though she was solely responsible.
The hard, salty tears came when she reckoned with being alone. Her family was gone and her heart was empty. Men came calling, wanting her time, her attention, but mostly wanting the station. She appreciated the ones who said it straight out; however, they were in the minority. She’d warmed to a couple of them, flattered by their consideration and courtesy, by the words they used that she believed were for her ears alone. That was before she realized those words had been rehearsed, and before she came to her senses and remembered these callers hadn’tgiven her notice when she still had her family around. Maybe her father and brothers had driven them off, kept them from pursuing her, but she didn’t think that was the case.
No, she wasn’t wanted for who she was but what she had.
She’d never moved past that epiphany. She was well and truly stuck, and admitting it was what brought on the ache behind her eyes and caused a hard lump to form in her throat. The tears came after that, and they ran so quickly that she had to slam the ledger closed for fear of smearing the entries.
She couldn’t indulge in tears long. Someone shouted that the stage was coming, and it was the cue she needed to blink back tears and swallow the next sob. Standing, she’d wiped her face with the tail of her shirt and tucked it back in place before she started out. At the last moment, she thought of her glasses and put them back on. Now she stood ready to greet the passengers, a carefully crafted smile on her lips.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Call was helping Hank with the animals hitched to the stage. Rooster and Dillon were bringing out the fresh team. Jelly was loping along after them.
She had a warm welcome for the passengers as they disembarked, but the man carrying a black leather physician’s bag was the only one to receive an animated greeting. When he thrust his hand forward, Laurel took it in both of hers.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. “I am Laurel Morrison.”
“Yes, of course you are. Mr. Stonechurch described you very well.”
Laurel released his hand. “I’m sure he was too kind, whatever he told you, but I’m afraid he said nothing at all about you except that you’d be on the stage. If you weren’t carrying that bag, I wouldn’t know you as the doctor.”
“David Singer,” he said, tipping his bowler. He was a man without distinguishing characteristics. Averageheight. Medium build. In his middle years. His eyes were remarkable only for the fact that they had the same dark brown coloring as his hair. He wore a buttoned-up black jacket and trousers that were a little long in the inseam. His features became lively when he grinned. He had an open and kind smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes and lifted his cheeks. “I’m not sure Mr. Stonechurch knew my name before he had a personal need for my services. I understand you have a body for me to examine.”
“Not here, Doctor. Mr. Pye is at the undertaker’s. But please, won’t you have something to eat first? If not that, perhaps you want to avail yourself of the facilities. The pump and privy are around back. I’ll take you to Mr. Beckley’s after the passengers return to the stage.”
“Pump and privy it is. I wouldn’t mind a meal after I make my examination. Settles better then.”
“Of course. Would you like me to take your bag while you wash up?”
“Thank you.”
Laurel hugged it to her chest when he gave it over. “Come around to the front of the house when you’re done. Coffee? Tea?”
“Tea.”
“I’ll have some waiting for you.” Laurel waved Jelly over to show Dr. Singer the way and chuckled to herself when the boy began to pepper him with questions immediately after hello. She watched them walk away and then headed into the house to attend to her other guests.
***
Call was waiting for the doctor when he came back around the house. He waved Jelly off and put out his hand to introduce himself. “McCall Landry,” he said. “I’m—”
“Mr. Stonechurch’s man. Yes, I was told you’d be meeting me, although being welcomed by the lovely Miss Morrison was quite refreshing after being cooped in that stage. I’m David Singer.” He dropped Call’s hand. “I understand you’re the one that found the body.”
Call shook his head. “Did Mr. Stonechurch tell you that? It was Miss Morrison who discovered it.”
“Perhaps I misunderstood. You can tell me all about it in a bit. Right now, I believe there is a cup of tea waiting for me inside. Will you join me?”
“No, not right now. I have work to do, but when you’re ready to examine the body, I’ll take you there.”
“Miss Morrison already offered to escort me to the undertaker’s.”
This was news to Call, but hardly surprising given Laurel’s curious nature. “She did?”
Singer nodded. “I believe I heard her correctly.”
“Then we’ll both accompany you.”
“Very good. You don’t think she’ll want to see the autopsy?”
“I have no idea. Why?”
