“Let’s get you inside and comfortable,” Witt said, opening the compartment in the back of the carriage with a pop and retrieving the wheelchair. “Then I’ll start making calls. Are you in a great deal of pain?” he asked solicitously as he assisted Mead into the chair and began to push him up a ramp.
“Only when I’m jostled,” Mead replied. “I must say your method of transportation is far superior to the wagon ride Morgan took me on this morning. Is this some sort of hotel?”
“No, this is where Cara and I live. It was my grandparents’ home; of course it’s been updated and expanded over the years. Thankfully, we have a handicapped suite that was designed for my mother; you’ll be quite comfortable and well taken care of. Cara, why don’t you get our guest something to drink while I make some calls?”
Mead took in the massive kitchen with its stone surfaces, glossy wood floor and metal fixtures.
“Coffee?”
Nodding, he watched her take a tiny cup and place it into a machine that hissed until a cup of coffee appeared. She wheeled him to a strangely shaped table and placed the cup in front of him.
“So, tell me about Miss Walker.”
“She’s no longer Miss Walker,” Mead said softly, unsure of Cara’s reaction to the fact that her absent husband now had a new wife. “Morgan and Callie Mae were married last week.”
“I see,” Cara replied as the machine hissed out another cup. “I suspected something like that when I realized her death had been prevented. Apparently, there was a gun fight at Callie Mae’s saloon. Is that where you were injured?”
“Actually, this is the second injury to my leg. The first occurred when I was in the Union Army and left me with a limp and stiffness. The fight at The Duchess, that’s Callie Mae’s place, just about finished me off. Doc Brubaker did everything he could, but there’s not much hope of me walking again. Morgan said there was a chance I could get some new parts if I returned in his place. Is that true?”
“I can’t say for sure, not knowing the extent of your injuries, but it’s likely the doctors here will be able to offer some options. Of course, we’ll have to be careful to keep your identity a secret if we don’t want you held up for months undergoing extensive examination. My husband has friends in high places, and I have no doubt he’ll be able to arrange something discretely.”
“Well, so far so good,” Witt said entering the kitchen. “First thing tomorrow morning we have to be at the hospital for an MRI, CT scan and other pre-surgery testing. From now on, you’re John Doe, a young man suffering from Amnesia. The Whittaker Foundation often pays the medical expenses of indigent patients, and the amnesia will cover up any untoward remarks that might understandably slip out.
“As soon as the tests are done, we will fly by private plane to New York. I have a good friend who practices at a hospital in Hamilton that specializes in these types of cases. If it’s a simple knee replacement, we should be able to return in a day or two. We’ll hire a nurse and a physical therapist and hopefully you’ll be well on your way to a complete recovery in no time. Now how about some breakfast?” he asked, going to one of the large silver cupboards and opening the double doors.
Mead watched in fascination as Witt began to remove items from the now well-lit interior. He washed his hands and in a very short time was dicing peppers, onions and slices of ham. Adding some eggs, he hummed as he slid the mixture into a small pan and shortly served up a breakfast topped with cheese that he placed in front of Mead before starting the whole process over.
“Go ahead and eat, Mead. I won’t be but a minute making more for Cara and I,” he called over his shoulder.
“Well, all I had this morning is a couple of cold flapjacks, so thank you,” he sighed, taking a bite and savoring the flavors. “You’re a good cook.”
“I like fooling around in the kitchen. Cara doesn’t much care for cooking, so I usually do most of it. If I left it up to her, we’d be eating out every night,” he said smiling.
“Lilly, my fiancé, has been passing off the food from The Blue Bonnet Café as her own for months,” Mead told him with an answering grin. “I finally called her on it the other night.”
“Oh, I suppose that gave you a reason for providing a lesson,” Cara asked haughtily as she took her plate from Witt ignoring his darkening glance.
“Not at all,” Mead replied cordially, after wiping his mouth. “Not being able to cook is not a sin, but refusing to admit the truth about it when you’ve been found out; well, that’s a different story. The Whittaker men don’t take lying lightly Miss Cara, and as a rule we don’t tolerate rudeness.”
Cara’s mouth dropped open at the rebuke and she shot an evil glare at her husband when he laughed out loud.
“Well put, Mead,” Witt said smiling as he served himself and sat down. “I think we have a lot in common and maybe a bit we can learn from each other while you’re here.”
“I’m willing to share anything I know regarding a young woman’s proper behavior in my time anyway.”
“And I’ll bet I can teach you a few things as well,” Witt replied. “Believe me, the basics never change, but the tools of the job certainly do,” he continued with a wink. “I have a use for ginger that will turn the most disobedient young woman into an agreeable sweetheart rather quickly.”
“Oh, brother,” Cara groaned. Mead Whittaker couldn’t be gone soon enough as far as she was concerned.
CHAPTER5
1880
It was a somber group of young women that Callie Mae found sitting at a table in the barroom. Jane was playing solitaire, Marilee was working on a piece of embroidery, and Annalise was reading from a book of sonnets. Fancy sat at the piano picking out a melancholy tune with one finger.
“My goodness,” Callie Mae said breezing in and removing her bonnet. “Has someone died?”
“Not that we know of,” Jane replied with a sigh, “but even that would be more exciting than this place.”
