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“The post office is in the mercantile. I’ll deliver this to Mrs. Billings and be right back. That will give you time to finish your letter.”

She finished with a few lines about her safe arrival and Josiah’s wedding, sanded the sheet, and folded it inside an envelope.

“It’s nearly supper.”

Eden glanced at the window. She’d lost more of the day than she’d realized.

June caught the direction of her gaze. “Jesse will survive an hour without you.”

“I know.”

The answer came easily. Believing it required more effort.

As they walked to the mercantile, June told her about Marmee’s gathering that evening, where several women meant to compare what they’d heard of the strangers asking after the south crossing. Whit would attend, but only after they’d made their own notes.

“Marmee says the men have been asking the wrong people,” June explained.

“She’s probably right.”

“Will you come?”

Eden wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I’d like to, but I promised Jesse I’d be there when he wakes up.”

“Then tell him where you’ll be. He might surprise you.”

Eden doubted Jesse Pickett would welcome an evening devoted to women discussing Silas Rusk in a parlor. Still, she had given her word to return, not to remain at his bedside until someone relieved her.

She thanked June and crossed toward the clinic alone.

Bass stood near the front steps, hat pulled low over his brow. When he saw her, he straightened.

“Jesse’s been asking for you.”

“Oh?”

“Wanted to know if you’d sent your letter.”

“I have.”

Bass reached for the door then stopped. From inside came a sharp crash.

He was through the doorway before Eden reached the steps.

Nate stood in the sickroom entrance. A chair lay on its side beyond him, and something had shattered on the floor.

“I told you to wait!” Nate said.

“I didn’t ask!” Jesse shouted back.

Bass shouldered past the table.

“Bass,” Eden called.

He halted, though his attention remained on the back room.

“Let Nate handle him.”

“That’s my brother.”