TakingtheHighRoad

Book7:BentonYancey

(AWesternRomance)

MorrisFenrisWesternRomancePublicationsHouse

TakingtheHighRoadBook7:BentonYancey(AWesternRomance)

Copyright2015MorrisFenris,WesternRomancePublicationsHouse

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TableofContents

Prologue

ChapterI

ChapterII

ChapterIII

ChapterIV

ChapterV

ChapterVI

ChapterVII

ChapterVIII

ChapterIX

ChapterX

ThankYou

AbouttheAuthor

BookList

Prologue

Why did life have to

besodamnedhard?

The sky showed a

color as rusty-red as the

pile of used towels, the

crumpledsheets,even the

ragrugonthefloor.Wasit

the setting of the sun?Or

the rising? Who knew?

Theonlycertaintywasthis

end of a long, exhaustive

battle—one which he’d

lost.Andlostbadly.

From the rickety

woodenchaironwhichhe

had slumped, Dr. Benton

Yancey’sweary,bloodshot

gaze sought out the

woman who’d served as

nurse.

It was a small,

overheated, airless room,

stinkingofgoreandfailure,

and her anguished

expression mirrored his

own.

“Nothin’Icoulddo,”he

muttered. Not as an

excuse,butasastatement

of fact. Using the back of

onewristtobrushtoo-long

black hair away from his

sweatyforehead,hespoke

on drearily, as if to

himself.“Toolate.Justtoo

goddamned late. Why—

why didn’t—oh, Mary…

shoulda sent for me—

sooner…”

Still inhelplessdenial,

yet her tears were

beginning to gather,

preludetoracking,choking

grief. Over a sob that

bubbled up, and then

another, she managed,

“Come on too fast, Doc.

B’sides,he—”

Her flooded gaze slid

sideways, toward the

bedroom door, significant

with fear and loathing. “—

he wouldn’t let me,” she

whispered,hiccupping.

“Jesus,” muttered

Ben.Hehauledhisbeaten,

battered body upright to

stare down at his patient.

His former patient. Dead

now, after what had

seemed a lifetime of

shrieking labor to bring

forth the scrawny, bloody

girlchildthat laydeadand

stillbesideher.

“DunnohowI’mgonna

get along without my

Clarissa,” the woman,

mother to one,

grandmother to the

second, whimpered over

another sob. And slipped

to her knees beside the

cheap iron bed, keening

withgrief.

Sick at heart and sick

at his stomach, the doctor

reacheddownto thesmall

table for the last clean

sheet,unfoldingittogently

drape over the twisted

bodies of teenager and

baby.

“Puerperal

septicemia,” was his

verdictnow.Followedbya

recounting of symptoms,

as learned at the Medical

University of South

Carolina College of

Medicine, in Charleston:

“Chills, high fever, rapid

heart rate. confusion,

shock…too late. Just too

goddamned late t’ do

anything…”

Once finally

summoned,Benhadraced

to the ugly shack in the

woods,washed thoroughly

inachlorinesolution, tried

to make the straining,

convulsing patient a little

morecomfortable,debated

whethertouseanesthesia.

Allfornaught.

Now, leaving the

distraughtwomanwithher

dead, he slowly made his

way out to a larger room

where the girl’s husband

sat stoically upright on a

bench,waiting forword.A

white ring showed around

the iris of both eyes, like

that of a wary stray dog

expectingtobebeaten.

“Lemuel,” said Ben

quietly, as he approached

with dragging footsteps.

“Lemuel, I—I’m sorry, but

—therewasnothin’Icould

do.”

Already alerted to

some kind of terrible

outcome concerning his

wife and child by Mary’s

muffled cries of grief, the

young man stiffened

suddenly, as if shot

throughbyabullet thathit

every vital organ.

“Clarissa?”hewhispered.

Wretched, Ben shook

hishead.

“But—the baby…you

saved—thebaby—?”

Another sluggish,

sorrowful head shake. He

laid a sympathetic hand

upon the boy’s shoulder,

as if a little of his own

flagging strength might

miraculously be

transferred, for support.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated,

feeling as helpless as the

family he wanted so

desperatelytoconsole.

Lemuel let out a soft

groan, then collapsed

forwardwiththeupperhalf

of his body flat upon the

scrubbed plank table. At

the sound of his rasping

sobs, in chorus with his

mother-in-law’s ragged

lamentsfromthatsceneof

horror a few feet away,

Benvisiblyflinched.

God!Hewasnogood

at offering comfort in a

time of mourning,

especially one so

unnecessaryas this.What

words might his reverend

brother have put forth?

Come to think of it,where

was thisbereaved family’s

own parson? Did they

evenhaveone?

“Leave off that

caterwaulin’,” ordered a

harshvoicefromachairin

thecorner.

Ah. The old man

spoke.

“She was your

daughter, too, Jed,” Ben,

provoked, reminded the

gray-bearded patriarch. “If

you’dletMarysendforme

sooner, at the first sign of

trouble—”

“Hell. Wouldn’ta done

nogood.Bornt’sin,diedt’

sin, that one.” He spat a

filthy wad into a nearby

spittoon.

Jedediah Blakely, last

of some offshoot religious

group that called itself

Christian in this backward

area: sanctimonious,

hypocritical, and a prime

example of why Benton

Yancey so vehemently

eschewed the trappingsof

any formal creed. If this

was what God demanded

fromHisworshippers,Ben

wantednopartofHim.

Blakely stood,

snapped suspenders up

over his dirty grey

undershirt, and kept on

complaining.“Well,thatgirl

paid the price for getting’

b’tween the sheets with

you, Lemuel Hardy, b’fore

the ink was halfways dry

onyourmarriagecontract.

Nopoint in carryin’on like

ababy,whenit’stoolate.”

“Whatwouldyouhave

the boy do, Jed?” asked

Ben coldly. “Dance a jig,

maybe? Go off singin’

down the road? He just

lost his wife and child.

Have a little sympathy, for

God’ssake.”

Flushing deep purple

with rage, the patriarch

pulled himself to his full

height and snapped, “Do

not be blasphemin’ of the

Lord’s name inmy house,

youheathen!”

As exhausted as he

was, as dispirited as he

was, Ben couldn’t let that

one pass. He clumped

across a room whose

darkness and ugliness

reflected its owner’s

character, to halt nose to

nose with the man. “What

you’vedoneheret’dayisa

blasphemy, Jed. It’s your

faultthatgirlliesdead,and

your grandchild with her.

Confess that to your God

nexttimeyougetdownon

yourknees!”

“Hmmph!”Deliberately

ignoring the wailing and

sobbinggoingon from the

two parties most affected,

Blakely glared at his

antagonist. “Easy ’nuff for

the boy t’ find hisself

anotherwife.Anyone’lldo.

Andeasieryett’gethisself

anotherbrat.Youjistgotta

throw your woman down

onthebed,andhave—”

That was when Ben

hithim.Hard.

Much later, after a

good long soak in cold

water of his injured right

hand, and then another

good long soak in arnica,

after a few hours of

restless, dream-wracked

sleep, the doctor sat

nursing a small glass of

goodKentuckybourbonat

his kitchen table. He’d

shaved, he’d bathed, he’d

putonfreshclothing.Now,

he was rehashing every

detail of his work at the

Blakelyhouse.Andfeeling

moreandmoredepressed

bythewholesituation.

“Doc? Hey, Doc, you

in there?” The back door

knobrattledimpatiently.

A sigh of resignation.

“Yeah, Adam, c’mon

through.”

The door creaked

open to admit an elderly

man whose furrowed face

radiated good humor and

good will. “I got Petronius

curried andmoved out int’

the pasture. Looked like

he’dbeenrodehard.”

“That he had, Adam.

Thanks—I shoulda done

all that myself, but I—uh.

Well.Helpyourselft’some

coffee, if you want some,

andhaveaseat.”

Limping to the stove,

the newcomer happily

complied. An extra-large

enamel mug, several

teaspoonfuls of sugar, a

can of evaporated milk to

topoff.Ashepulledouta

chair in acceptance of the

invitation,hewashumming

tunelessly.

Benglancedupwitha

half-smile and shook his

head. “Can’t figure out if

you really like coffee, my

friend, or if you drink it t’

get filled up on all the

extras.”

“Both. Gets my poor

slow ticker a-goin’. So

what’sthestory,Doc?You

get down any lower, you’ll

be peerin’ up at the sky

throughyourbootheels.”

Another sip of the

bourbon to consider, a

distant look in the dark

eyes and a tightening of

the wide, sensitive mouth.

“Lostacouplapatients,”he

admitted reluctantly, at

last. And described the

scene and the events of

theBlakelyhousehold.

“So you pasted him

one, huh? That pious ole

bastard.” Adam was not

one to mince words.

“Always treated Mary and

the girl like dirt under his

feet. Many’s the time

they’d arrive here in town,

come with him t’ get

suppliesandwhatnot,with

bruisesstillshowin’.”

“And nobody ever did

nothin’ about it,” said Ben

with disgust. Another

hearty swallow. The stuff

tasted mighty good, going

down, and he was ready

forarefill.Orwoulditbea

second? He could only

hope no one showed up

knocking at his front door,

needinghelp.

Adam shrugged.

“What was there t’ do?

Mary wouldn’t file a

complaint, wouldn’t talk t’

the sheriff, wouldn’t even

consider leavin’ the man.

Much as anybody could

feelsorry forher,sheain’t

never tried t’ help herself,

neither.”

The late morning

summer sunlight cut

through the back window,

near to blinding. Cursing

softly,Ben rose topull the

curtain shut. He intended

to get drunk. Very drunk.

And he didn’t want

anything interfering, not

evenafactorsoelemental

asglaringlight.

A slurp at the much-

dilated coffee, while

Adam’s rheumy blue eyes

surveyed the man across

the kitchen table: friend,

employer, mentor, savior.

“Whatelseisgoin’on?”he

wondered.

“Whatelse?”Hischair

creaked as the doctor

shifted position. “You

lookin’ into some crystal

ballnow?”

“Notyet.Althoughthat

might help add t’ my

income, should I set up a

booth somewheres.” A

cackleofmirththatquickly

sobered. “No, you just got

a strange look about you.

One I don’t recall seein’

before.”

Instead of responding

immediately to the half-

question, Ben held his

near-empty glass up,

swirled around its

contents, and pondered.

“How long have you lived

in this place, Adam?” he

finally got around to

asking.

“In Grayson, Indiana?

Born ’n’ raised right here,

Doc.Allmy life.Make that

about sixty years. Yessir,

thatsoundsright.”

“Sixtyyears.Huh.And

I’ve been here three.”

Three, that seemed like

sixty. Unspoken; yet the

words seemed to

reverberate across the

room. “You ever wanna

see any other part of the

country,Adam?”

Soberlynow,theolder

man studied the dregs of

hisowncup.“Kindagotmy

fill of that, Doc, durin’ the

War.SawcountryIhopet’

never see again. And you

shouldknow,afterpatchin’

me up and savin’ my laig

thewayyoudid.”

Smiling, Ben reached

over to pat the gnarled

hand resting atop the

tablecloth. “You did your

ownsavin’,AdamZantner.

You listened t’ what I told

you t’ do, and you did it.

So. I’m thinkin’ of goin’

west.Wannacomewith?”

“West?“Adam’seyes

narrowed with suspicion.

“Howfarwest?”

“California. A place

calledWhitfield,population

about 10,000. I’ve been

invited t’ serve as the

town’smedico.”

“Thatfar?”Heglanced

from wall to wall of the

snug, sunny kitchen with

an expression of disbelief.

“Well,yougotsandinyour

craw, I’ll give you that.

Whydja wanna pull up

stakes anyway, Doc?

What’s wrong with stayin’

righthere?”

“Dealin’ with Jed

Blakely was the last straw

forme,Adam.”Oneof the

doctor’s rare frowns

betrayedthedepthofsoul-

sickness he had

experienced. “I’m tired of

thehideboundviewsofthis

townanditssmall-minded,

vitriolic populace. I’m tired

ofthemiserablecolddurin’

Grayson’s winters and the

stiflin’heatofitssummers.

I’mreadyforachange.”

“And you say you got

an invite? Word of your

rabble-rousin’ reached all

the way t’ the coast, did

it?” That came with the

easy chuckle only comfort

andfamiliaritycaninspire.

“Rabble-rousin’. Huh.

You old reprobate. Only

rabble I’ve roused lately is

peoplesosetintheirways

theycan’teverbeopen to

somethin’ new. Surprised

theyhaven’t burnedmeat

thestakealready,forbein’

awizard.”

“Prob’ly afraid you’ll

set your evil eye upon

’em,” observed Adam with

a wry grin. “Ruin their

crops,killtheircattle,make

their women unfertile.

California,eh?Longwayt’

go,Doc.”

“Itsurelyis.ButIgota

coupla brothers livin’ in

San Fran, another one

down in the southern part

ofthestate,oneinVirginia

City, and another one in

theeasternpartofArizona

Territory. Thinkin’ it might

benicet’beclosert’family

inmywanin’years.”

“Your wanin’ years!”

He guffawed and slapped

his good thigh with

enthusiasm. “You ain’t but

—what, late twenties?Got

a long way t’ go t’ be

wanin’.Okay,Doc.Igotno

reason t’ stay here. So I’ll

go along with you. And I

thankyouforaskin’.”

“Good t’ hear, my

friend.” His relationship

with Adam Zantner had

becomepaternal inaway,

one close in scope to that

with his own father that

helped soothe his lonely

heart. Satisfied, Ben

leaned back in his chair,

swallowed the last of his

bourbon, and poured

another tumblerful. Might

aswell finishoffwhatwas

left. “Then I’ll write t’ this

Charles Holcomb, out in

Whitfield,andaccept.”

As early afternoon

slipped away into late, the

two men put their heads

together to make plans.

Packing up what must be

taken along, selling what

needn’t, buyingamodified

Conestogaandthreemore

horses to keep company

withPetronius, closing out

bank accounts, giving

notice to the town council,

emptying and cleaning up

hisrentedhouse.

Last, but certainly not

least, would be a visit to

theGraysonsheriff, tosee

whatcouldbedoneforthat

poor wisp of a woman,

MaryBlakely.

I

“Pretty country

hereabouts,” commented

Ben, swiveling back and

forth fromhishighpadded

seattotakeintheview.

“Prettycountrymostof

the way,” Adam agreed.

Evidently the team of

horses agreed, as they

were moving along the

powdery dirt road at less

thantopspeed.

“And mostly smooth

sailin’, for some thousand

milesorso.”

“Oh, for sure. Other

than crossin’ the

Mississippi by barge—so

fart’theothershoreIdon’t

mindadmittin’itscaredthe

williesoutame.Andsome

of that flatlandprairie,with

those damn buff’lo wallers

thatcomeneartoupsettin’

thewholewagon.Andthen

the Rockies—Holy

Hannah, them was some

mountains!Didn’t think too

much of the desert,

neither…no trees, no

grass,jistallsandandrock

andscalycritters.”

By the time he had

finishedhis litanyofwoes,

Benwas laughing. Having

left most of his troubled

moods and feelings of

malaisebehind in the land

ofreligiouszealots,hehad

thoroughly enjoyed this

journeyacrossthenation’s

midsection. He was

looking forward to a new

start,inanewstate,freeof

the restrictions Grayson

had arbitrarily imposed

uponanyfreethinkersuch

ashimself.

The wagon and team

hadbeensimpleenoughto

procure; information

concerning their upcoming

trek was not. Ben had

sought out enlightenment

from a couple of old-

timers, whose favorite

haunt seemed to be the

general store’s front porch

in good weather and the

general store’s potbelly

stove in bad. He had also

visited the town’s very

small library, to peruse an

even smaller section of

published books on the

subject.

Hisgrocerylist,added

tooveraperiodofseveral

days, included bags of

flour, sugar, coffee and

tea,rice,hardtack,bacon,

beans, dried fruit, salt,

pepper,andsaleratus.

“What else?” he

demanded once of Adam,

who was mucking out the

stable. “Any ideas of what

elsewemightneed?”

Thehandymanleaned

on his shovel to consider.

“Reckon that’s a damn

good start, Doc. If you’re

short somethin’, you can

prob’lypick itup ina town

alongtheway.Ain’tleavin’

civilization for a while yet,

arewe?”

Ben had chuckled.

“Nope. Near as I can tell,

we’llbeheadin’forCouncil

Bluffs, Iowa, and then

takin’ the California Trail

from there on. Uh. Gotta

layinastockofmyfavorite

Kentuckybourbon.”

“Yessir,” Adam,

returning to his labors,

agreed dryly. “Sure

wouldn’t wanna run outa

that. Gotta take along the

necessities,bygum.”

“Cookin’ stuff,”

muttered the doctor,

scribbling away. “Skillet,

Dutchoven, coffeepot, tea

kettle,cupsandplatesand

cutlery.Matches.Candles.

Crocks and canteens and

buckets. Soap and

washboard and sewin’ kit.

Whateverextraclothes’llfit

in. Tools—spade, axe,

hatchet. Beddin’. My

weapons and a rifle and

ammunition. All my

medical supplies. Books.

God,yes,books.”

“Not s’ many books

thereain’t roomfornothin’

else!” Adam, overhearing

this last part, called out in

warning.

“Jesus,” grumbled

Ben,consultinghis tally. “I

thinkNoahon theArkhad

t’packuplessthanthis.”

“Noah,” added the

handyman, who enjoyed

getting in the last word of

any discussion, “wasn’t

movin’ hisself clearacross

the country. Didja write

down harness on that

therepapersomewhere?”

OnabrightearlyJune

morningwhosesunshone

benevolently upon the

expedition, the two men

shookthedustofGrayson

from their feet without a

single regret. Neither had

beenblessedwithfamilyor

any long-term friends in

the area, so their leave-

taking consisted of

droppingoffthehousekey

at State Memorial Bank

andalightheartedwaveto

theGeneralStore’sporch-

sitters.

Almost immediately

upon setting out from

southernIndiana,theyhad

joinedupwithasmallband

of travelers also heading

west,under the leadership

of wagon master Seth

Woodson. Safety in

numbers, Ben had

suggested to his

henchman, and Adam

agreed. Much better

copingwith thedangersof

theroadasafactorofforty

thantwo.

Their trek had taken

them cater-corner upward

across Illinois and Iowa

withoutanymajorincident.

Except for an

infestation of gnats and

horseflies that plagued

wayfarers and stock

animals alike during the

day, and clouds of vicious

mosquitoes that attacked

after dark. Or the quarrel

that ignited between one

husbandandwifeoverher

refusal to cook another

meal in such primitive

circumstances until he

made some other

arrangements (exactly

whatthatwastobe,onthe

trail, was unspecified). Or

the run-in by one hardy

emigrant, out hunting

duringaSundaystopover,

with a full-grown panther

quite annoyed by this

incursion of alien beings

intohisterritory.

Withlivestockneeding

water, Woodson’s train

followed along the North

Platte River, from

Nebraska Territory to the

TerritoryofWyoming,here

and there adding on

another family or two. In

the high plains, swept by

never-ending wind, deep

sands had pulled at the

wagon wheels and sent

waves of dust aloft for

miles. In the mountains,

thunderstorms and

treacherous passes

abounded, both lying in

wait to snag the unwary

traveler.

From there it was on

to the Sweetwater. Near

Fort Casper, one of the

farmers headed to

northern California began

wielding an axe on

firewood too

enthusiasticallyandalmost

chopped off his own foot.

Fortunately Dr. Yancey

was there, right on the

scene,racingtotherescue

with his medical kit and

healingarts.

More mountains, over

the Green River, jogging

northwest.

By now, nearly two

months on the trail,

tempers had grown short

and nerves rubbed raw

from exhaustion, weather

extremes, discomfort, and

the sense that all of this

was simply a terrible

ongoing nightmare from

which no one would ever

awake. More and more

often, fist fights broke out

over the most trivial of

offenses; and spouses

snapped at each other

upon the slightest

provocation, with children

sometimes caught in the

middle.

A turn south into the

StateofNevada,alongthe

Humboldt River, gave the

weary travelers another

dashofhope.Atleastuntil

they came upon the Forty

MileDesert.

The wagoneers were

warned of this most

dreaded part of the whole

lengthyCaliforniaTrail.No

surcease from the sun

meant travel at night; no

drinkable water meant

filling every barrel and

every available container

to the brim prior to

departure. By 1850, more

than 900 hapless souls

hadbeenburiedalongthis

barren stretch. The

Woodson train added two

more: an elderlymanwith

consumption, and a

womanwho,having finally

reached the limits of her

endurance, turned her

husband’s handgun upon

herself.

The rest dug in and

held grimly on. Adam

looked worn to a shadow,

almost as gaunt as the

horses straining at their

Schooner’s loadunder the

cool blue moon. Good

humor had long since

disappeared from most of

the weakened, worn out

group, including Benton

Yancey.

But every journey

must eventually end, and

sodidthisone.

Reaching the Sierra

Nevadas, and then the

restful green valley farther

west, was like reaching

Paradise. Seth Woodson

chose a lush open

meadow, ringed by

Ponderosa Pine and

Douglas Fir, white alder

and cottonwood, and

bisected by a shallow

rippling creek, in which to

lay up for a few days.

Women could wash

laundry, cook more

elaborate meals, take

some leisure time for

gossip and needlework

and rest; childrenwere off

and running at play; men

went hunting, or checked

harness, or enjoyed a few

gamesofpoker.

After that, the train

splitup.Mostof thegroup

were regaining their

enthusiasm for a brighter

future, and were eager to

beontheirway.

Ben, with backside

sore and every muscle

protesting another sojourn

atop theConestoga’s high

seat, turned his team

southwest, toward the

town that awaited their

coming. Whitfield,

California: the place of his

rebirth.

It was late August,

and the air fell sultry and

sweet from a brass-blue

sky. What wasn’t scented

with summer flowers had

beenscentedwithsummer

dust. And, as he had

earlier noted, it was pretty

countryhereabouts.

He pulled his wagon

to a slow halt under the

broadbranchesofaValley

Oak, not far from

Whitfield’ssumptuousfour-

storyCoralBellHotel,and

climbed creakily down to

stretch out the kinks.

Adam, moving even more

slowly and creakily, joined

himinthewidestreet.

“Man,” he groaned,

rubbing at his posterior

with both hands. “Are we

finally here? Don’t seem

possible, after all this time

andallthesemiles.Almost

kindofaletdown,ain’tit?”

“Can’t believe we’ve

actually arrived?” Ben

grinned. “Yeah, I think we

madeit,byGod.Heresafe

and in one piece. Now I

wanna get these poor

horseswateredandfed.”

“Good afternoon,

Doctor Yancey. I bid you

welcometoourfaircity.”

The doctor turned to

meet a square, well-

muscled man, several

inches shorter in height,

with hair that had gone

extinct around the top of

his head, leaving only a

salt-and-pepper fringe

above the ears. Bushy

blackbrowssharpenedhis

wide, plain features to a

foxy craftiness, and black

eyes snapped with

interest. Not very

prepossessing. But

imposing,inhisownway.

“Good afternoon. Mr.

Holcomb, Ipresume?”Still

travel-stained and dusty,

even with a change of

clothing,hereachedoutto

shake the hand of

Whitfield’smost important,

most prominent citizen,

who had put aside

whatever important

business to come and

meethim.

. “Sure am. I reckon

that was a rare hard trip,

Doctor, all the way from

theMidwest.Run into any

problemstillyougothere?”

Given the dry heat of

this day in Mariposa

County, Mr. Holcomb,

nattily dressed in a black

frock coat and striped

trousers,nudgedhisguest

outof thesunandintothe

shade of an overhanging

tinroof.

“Nothin’ we couldn’t

handle. This is Adam

Zantner, who helped me

outeverymileofourtrip.”

“Mr. Zantner,”

acknowledged Holcomb,

withanod.“Tellyouwhat,

gentlemen. My man, Joe,

here will lead you over to

your house so’s you can

get yourself settled in and

relaxa little.Thenc’mont’

my place for supper. Say

about 7:00? We can talk

over your travel, and the

contract,andsoon.”

“Makes sense t’ me,”

Benapproved.“Ithankyou

kindly,Mr.Holcomb.”

“Charles. Just callme

Charles.Youaskanybody,

they’ll tellyouwhereI live.

Seeyoulater,then.”After

a few last-minute

directions for his

employee, Holcomb left

with a brisk stride, his

patent leather boots

beatingasofttattooonthe

woodensidewalk.

For a moment Ben

stood looking after him,

thenglancedupatthehigh

seatoftheSchooner,then

shrugged. He’d survived

thathell-wagonthisfar;he

could survive a little

farther. Climbing once

againontopandtakingthe

reins, he called down to

Adam, “You comin’ back

uphere?”

Adam flashed him a

reluctantgrin.“If it’sallthe

samet’you,Doc,IthinkI’ll

walk.”

“This way, Doctor

Yancey,” advised the

lanky, red-headed Joe,

going on ahead. “Just a

littlewaysfromhere.”

His new living

quarters, and attached

office, had been built near

the center of town, with

plentyofelbowspaceand

nativegreeneryallaround.

Clapboarded, freshly

whitewashed, neatly

landscaped, its black

shutters and sturdy porch

pillars added an air of

complacentluxury.

Stunned, Ben could

onlystare.

Adam had already

arrived and was leaning

comfortably upon one of

the wooden fence posts.

“A mite showy, you’re

thinkin’?” he asked with a

grin.

“Ahelluva lotmore’n I

expected,” Ben admitted

slowly. “And about four

times the size of what I’m

used to. This place is

downright smug, with how

gooditlooks.”

“You just get yourself

down, now, Doctor,” said

Joe, approaching the

wagon. “Here’s the key;

you go on inside. We got

youanicestableoutback,

and a corral, so I’ll get

thesehorsestakencareof.

Oh—”hecalledbackover

his shoulder, already

leading the team away,

“Mr. Holcomb sent some

victuals over, to hold you

tillsuppertonight.”

Ben tookanother look

around, from the flower

garden to the towering

trees to the neighbors—a

smaller building that

housed legal offices, on

one side; and, on the

other, another of similar

size that discreetly

advertised a tailor shop

andmen’sclothing.

“Whatdya think,

Adam?”

His handyman joined

ina leisurely surveyofhis

own. “I think,” mused

Adam, not without

satisfaction, “we done fell

onto a gravy train. Might

be nice t’ stay there for a

while.”

*************

*****

The few afternoon

hours left before their

attendanceattheHolcomb

house passed quickly. A

brief foray into the kitchen

waslongenoughtobrewa

pot of coffee. Then,

carrying their cups, both

Ben and his handyman

tookatourofthegrounds.

After sitting on the wagon

benchor,asanalternative,

a saddle, for so many

weeks, it was a pleasure

to, asAdamput it, stretch

theirlegs.

As promised, all four

horses were enjoying the

respiteintheirlargegrassy

corral,attachedtoaroomy

stable, served by a trough

of fresh water and a rack

of hay. Joe Kincaid had

parked the Conestoga

besideasmallbarn,before

unharnessing its team,

ready tobeunpackedand

emptied. Inside the barn,

Ben noticed, stood a

compact one-seater

carriage,readyforhisuse.

“Riches,” he

murmuredthoughtfully.

With his share of the

proceeds from the sale of

Belle Clare plantation in

Charleston, and his own

earnings from several

years of medical practice,

he could easily have

afforded whatever luxury

hechose.ButBen,content

tolivesimplyandwithinhis

means,wasneithershowy

nor ostentatious. He

bought only what he

needed; nomore, no less.

Thetrappingsofwealthhe

saw as completely

unimportant in thescheme

ofthings.

Itwasanarrow,deep

lot, encompassing a

couple acres of wooded

area, with the house

borderedbyawhitepicket

fence embroidered with

red ramblers. Pretty.

Picturesque.Turning togo

back inside, Ben squinted

upwardandaround.

Alittlenaggingmoil in

his gut signaled unease.

Butwithwhat,exactly,Ben

wasn’t sure. He would

have to let matters churn

forawhile, thensort them

out into some sort of

concreteorder.

“Quite a spread,” he

mentioned now to Adam,

as they took the stairs to

the porch and the front

door.

“Notwhatyou’reused

to,” came the shrewd

conjecture. “Gonna feel

comfortablehere,Doc?”

Ben surveyed his

entryway:wallspapered in

soft burgundy and cream,

parquet flooring half-

covered by a lengthy

carpet runner, a couple of

oak hall tables—one

mirrored, with hooks for a

coat rack, one not—

standing in place.

“Depends on what I’m

expectedt’payforit.”

To their left lay the

parlor, a room furnished

with settees and chairs

upholstered in rich claret

velvet, a sumptuous

fireplace painted white, a

patterned carpet stretched

nearly from wall to wall,

and incidentals such as

greenplants,nicelyframed

paintings, occasional

tables, and a panoply of

lamps.

“Reckon somebody

liked the color red?”Ben’s

question drew a guffaw

fromhiscompanion.

To the right, the

doctor’s office, complete

with a small waiting area,

twochairs,andacompact

wooden table. Another

door took Ben into the

medical section, proper:

his province. There, his

eyes widened and his

browsraised.

“Great Jumpin’

Jehoshaphat,” he

muttered.

“I dunno much about

your work, Doc,” said

Adam, craning over his

shoulder for a look, “but

thissetuplooksmightyfine

t’me.”

“Ahuh.T’me,too.”

Clean, clinical, these

quarters were as well-

stockedandwell-equipped

assomehumblehospitals.

An apothecary cabinet,

one with multiple shelves

and drawers and plenty of

counter space, occupied

most of the far wall.

Someone had arranged

everything into perfect

order, from the cork-

stoppered glass bottles of

tinctures and tonics to

rows of medical

encyclopedias to

microscope, rolled

bandages, and a military

surgicalkit.

Ben’s bedazzled gaze

swerved from the

prominently placed

examination table to a

white castered stool to

variousbitsandpieceshis

fingers were already

itching to explore. Charles

Humboldt had done

himself proud, to be sure:

placed in eye-catching

display upon a side

console lay the hand-

painted sign listing Ben’s

name, and the word

Physicianbeneathit.

“Get thee behind me,

Satan,”headjured.

Thekitchen,a sizable

room with plenty of space

for all the usual

furnishings,openedontoa

back porch; beyond that

could be seen a wash

house and an attached

shed. Directly across the

hallwassituatedthedining

room, full of light and air

and a magnificent carved

tableandsixchairs.

“Guess it’s assumed

I’ll be entertainin’ here,

huh?” was his glum

response. “I need some

morecoffee,Adam.”

Shortly they were

sprawled at the

commodiousplanktablein

the kitchen, talking over

what seemed to be a

treasure trove. Their

burgeoning friendship of

nearly three years in

Indiana had been

cemented during the trip

west, when every traveler

depended on each other

for support and aid. As

closeashehadbecometo

his handyman,Ben felt no

compunction in discussing

any subject matter.

Includingthisone.

“Looks like a mighty

bigstring,”Adamobserved

now, after a sip. “Wonder

what’sattachedt’theother

endofit?”

Ben snorted. “Yeah,

kinda what I was thinkin’.

Thisplaceisafarcryfrom

my little rented four-room

houseinGrayson,ain’tit?”

“And we ain’t even

beenupstairsyet.”

Which held, they

discovered a little later,

three spacious bedrooms

and an actual indoor

workingbathroom.

“Holy Joe!” marveled

thedoctor.“Howluckycan

youget?Thinkwe’vedied

and gone t’ heaven,

Adam?”

“I think you may be

workin’ hard for every nail

poundedint’thesewalls.”

“Well, we’ll see how

thingsshakedown.Guess

we should haul in those

crates of clothes from the

wagon and then start

makin’ ourselves beautiful

forthisconfabwithCharles

Holcomb.”

“Isheourboss?”

A shrug. “Prob’ly

s’posedt’bethetownitself

doin’itshirin’andfirin’.But

fromwhatI’veseensofar,

IsuspectCharles runs the

place.”

Beforeheleft,Joehad

thoughtfully given

directions to the Holcomb

mansion, which lay at the

outer fringes of town,

within easy walking

distance. There a man

couldhaveplentyofspace

to bend his elbows. And

anything else he cared to

bend. Knees. Rules.

Whatever.

“Where are we,

Adam?” Ben, pausing to

survey the opulence of a

Victorian house three

stories high spread before

them, wanted to know.

“Figure we fell down the

rabbit hole with Alice? Or

got ourselves int’ the

clutches of a coal baron,

morelike?”

“Prob’ly lotsa indoor

outhouses, too,”

prophesized Adam. He

was rubbernecking like a

sightseertoNewYorkCity,

staring up at skyscrapers.

“And gold doorknobs. And

marblefloors.”

Laughing, Ben

shruggedtosettleafreshly

brushed suit coat more

firmly around his wide

shoulders.“Okay,then,my

friend, let’s go beard the

lioninitsden.”

His use of the front

door brass-plated knocker

was answered by an

imposing,superciliousman

dressed as formally as if

for a banquet. “Good

evening, gentlemen,” he

greeted them in plummy

Britishtones.“Mr.Holcomb

is expecting you. Please

comeinside.”

Following into the

foyer, the gentlemen

exchangedglances,during

which Adam waggled his

brows and Ben gritted his

teeth against a chortle.

Puttin’ on airs! he longed

topointout.

Into the library they

proceeded, where they

found Charles Holcomb

enjoying a pre-dinner

brandy. Dark wood

paneling and bookshelves

filled from stem to stern

covered the walls; an

octagon-shaped poker

tablewithredfelttopstood

off to one side, and a

billiard table had been

situated near the tall

windows. A man’s room,

certainly, thought Ben,

taking in his surroundings

withappreciation.

“Ah, good evenin’,”

Holcomb greeted them,

rising from his chair with

glass in hand. “Will you

shareadrinkwithme?”

“Much obliged, Mr.

Holcomb. You, too,

Adam?”

For a half hour or so,

they sat comfortably

imbibing. Holcomb asked

intelligent, interested

questions about the

arduous land voyage from

southernIndianatothefar-

flung border of golden

California, and Ben

described the passage,

various events, weather

and circumstances, fellow

travelers. Occasionally

Adam chimed in with his

ownobservations.

In the sumptuous

dining room, over a

delicious meal of flaky

rolls, pot roast and

vegetables, and fresh

peach pie, Holcomb got

down to the nitty-gritty of

Ben’scontract.

“You’ll remember that

one of the provisions calls

foryouvisitin’theWhitfield

Orphanage once a week,

every Sunday. Just t’

check in, see how things

are goin’, make sure the

kidsaredoin’okay.”

“That provision,” said

Ben quietly, meeting his

hosteye toeye, “waspart

of the reason I decided to

move here, Charles. I like

theideaofgivin’backt’the

community.”

“Gladt’hear that.Our

local orphanage ismy pet

project, I must admit.”

Finished, he leaned back

in his chair, surreptitiously

loosened the topbuttonof

his immaculate trousers,

andsighedwithrelief.“But

youwon’tbedoin’anything

there for free, Doctor.

You’ll be paid a monthly

stipend that should cover

anyhealthcarecosts.”

Ben slid a quizzical

glance across the table at

his handyman. “Very

generous. I’m surprised

the town agreed to

somethin’likethat.”

“Ah,well, that ain’t so

much the town as me,

myself,” Holcomb assured

them expansively. “I’m on

thecouncil,yousee,and—

well, you’ll find out soon

enough…I sorta run the

place.”

“Ahuh. Thought there

wasamayor?”

A snort of derision.

“Sure. Mayor Stenton

Halliwell. You’ll meet him

in the next few days. Not

muchmore’nafigurehead,

though. But, me—I’ve got

the experience, the know-

how,and themoney t’ get

done what needs t’ be

done.”

“Do you now?” Ben

responded politely.

Another careful sideways

glance. Seemed like there

might be a serpent in this

GardenofEden,afterall.

A server slipped

unobtrusivelyintotheroom

to remove their dessert

platesandprovideasilver

service of fresh-brewed,

fragrant coffee. The drink

of kings, as far as Ben,

noticeablyperkingup,was

concerned.

“Thankyoukindly,”he

toldtheyoungman.

No, hardly a young

man. Actually, not much

more than a boy, Ben

noticed now. Second

notice took in the neat

black trousers, the

immaculate white shirt.

And the haltingwalk. Tact

and courtesy would have

decreed that no mention

be made of what might

possibly be a childhood

deformity,embarrassing to

question. But Ben had

always been known more

for his trouble-making

capabilitiesthanforhistact

and courtesy. Even here,

in a new set of

circumstances,hewasnot

about to change his

personality just to suit the

powersthatbe.

“You hurt yourself

somehow, son?” he

wantedtoknow.

Astonishingly enough,

color washed right out of

the boy’s face as if

suddenly leached away.

He shifted a nervous look

towardhisemployer. “N-n-

no,sir,”hefinallymanaged

to stammer. “Just—uh—

well—”

“I think what Roy is

tryin’ to say,” eased in

Holcomb, comfortably, “is

that he and another kid

were tusslin’ around when

they shouldn’ta been, and

he got banged up a little.

Ain’tthatright,Roy?”

“Uh—yessir.” Loaded

tray in hands, he was

already trying to back out

oftheroomwithoutanyone

makingmoreofafuss.

“Reckonhewasalittle

ashamedofhimself.Royis

from the orphanage here,

Ben, learnin’ t’ handle

someoftheworkinhelpin’

with the household, and

he’s kinda shy. Not out in

public much, you see.”

Holcomb poured a cup of

coffeeintoathinchinacup

andsippedapprovingly.

“Kinda young t’ be

waitin’ tables, ain’t he?”

murmuredAdam.

“Well, now, not t’ my

mind. All the kids there

need to learn jobs, y’

know. Which means I

coordinate schedules with

Madonna Bellini, the lady

runnnin’ the place, to get

our older children

educatedand trained,so’s

theycangetagoodstartin

life.”

“Admirable,”saidBen,

without anyemotionat all.

A few minutes’ silence,

during which he lifted his

delicate etched goblet, so

that light from the brass

chandelier overhead could

shine through the potent

amber spirits inside. “You

a church-goin’ man,

Charles?”

Asmallharrumphand

a slight shift in position.

“I’m a member in good

standin’ at the First

Pentecostal Church, just

outsidea town. Prob’ly

don’tget thereasoftenas

I should,with the press of

business goin’ on, and all,

but I do provide financial

support.”

“Iimagineyoudo.”

Holcomb tilted his

mostly bald head a little

sideways, like an

inquisitivechickadee. “You

got some reason for

askin’?”

Ben shrugged. “Don’t

mind a’tall seein’ the kids,

or takin’ care of

emergencies. Just

wonderin’ how your fellow

congregants would feel

about my attendin’ to

medical pursuits on

Sunday.”

“Doin’theLord’swork,

son,” boomed Holcomb

withawidegrin.“Justdoin’

the Lord’s work. So. You

got any other questions

about your contract with

Whitfield?”

“Reckon everything

was pretty self-

explanatory.” He fiddled

with a fork, then a spoon.

“May have a few things

crop up, as time goes on,

butIcancheckinwithyou.

Adam and I will get

ourselves unpacked and

situated over the next

coupla days, thenwe’ll be

openforbusiness.”

“Housemeetwithyour

approval?”

“Absolutely, Charles.

Quite a nice surprise,

havin’ somuchspaceand

convenience.”

“Good,good.Allofus

here wanna treat our new

doctor right. Never know

whenhemighthavetatreat

us!” Holcomb chuckled at

his own wit. “Now, I’ve

hired a housekeeper for

you. Nice widow woman,

name of Violet Langley—

member of our church, in

fact. I’ll send her over

t’morrow.”

Rearranging his

cutlery was beginning to

jangle Ben’s nerves. He

was ready forabriskwalk

back to his new home, in

thesweet-scentedevening

air, and further discussion

with his handyman who

would, no doubt, offer

plenty of strong opinions

aboutthiswholeevening.

“Oh, don’t get your

backup,”advisedHolcomb

withsupremegoodhumor.

“I see that look on your

face.Justtryin’t’saveyou

time and energy, Doctor.

You see how things go,

and, if it doesn’twork out,

why, then, you go right

ahead and find somebody

more suited t’ your tastes.

Fairenough?”

“Fair enough,” Ben

agreed after only the

slightest hesitation.

“Although I would like t’

knowhowmuchthislady’s

monthly salary will be

costin’me.”

“Not a penny. All part

and parcel of your

employment contract,

takencareofbythecity.”

By the city. He was

beginning to sense that

phrasemeantbyabehind-

the-scenes well-heeled

Charles Holcomb himself.

“Ahuh. Well, I appreciate

your takin’ so much on

yourself, Charles, when

you surely got plentya

other things demandin’

attention.” Crumpling his

napkin, he pushed back

hischairandrose,anopen

signal toAdam that itwas

timetogo.

“Glad we had us this

little talk, Doctor,” said

Holcomb, rising also to

walk his guests to the

door. “Seems like we

understand each other

prettywell.”

“It does seem that

way, doesn’t it?” Ben

agreed vaguely. “I thank

you for the fine meal,

Charles. Please pass my

appreciation on t’ your

cook.G’night,then.”

Outside, in the soft

moonlit air that greeted

them like a benediction,

Bendrewinadeepbreath,

stretched his arms,

shrugged his shoulders,

andstartedoffacrosstown

atasteadypace.

In silence for a while,

as night sounds drifted in

around them: loud music

andanoccasionalraucous

shout from one of the

watering holes on tree-

lined Main Street; the

distant cry of a coyote, off

inthesurroundinghills;the

slow plod of a horse’s

hooves and the jingle of

harness as a lone rider

cameintotown.

“You got somethin’ in

your craw?” Adam finally

hadtoask.

“Huh. Just that I’m

wantin’ t’ takeagood long

soak in the fancy bathtub

upstairs, maybe scrub

away this sense I‘ve been

sold a bill of goods. Not

surewhatI landedusinto,

myfriend.”

Another brief silence.

“Thinkin’ it ain’t all what it

appears?”

Shoving both hands

intohisbackpockets,Ben

strode along for a few

minutes. “Anything that

looks too good t’ be true

usually is, Adam, don’tcha

figure? Town’s payin’ for

this, town’s payin’ for that.

I’m just wonderin’ what

Whitfield—or Holcomb—

might want from me in

return...other than my

medicalservices.”

“Timemaytell.”

“So might a good

Pinkerton man. Reckon I

should send a letter off t’

my brother, John, over in

San Francisco, soon’s I

can. I could use some

advice.”

II

Dr. BenYancey’s first

official patient arrived two

days later. Actually, three

patients arrived together,

and it was four o’clock in

the morning when the

pounding at his front door

whisked him willy-nilly out

of his bed and down the

stairs.

“Burns, Doc!” gasped

the first man inside.

“Restaurantkitchencaught

afire, and some of us got

hurt tryin’ t’ put out the

flames.”

“Here—come in the

office,” Ben directed

briskly. The last thing any

burnvictimneedsistosee

more fire, but light was

necessary. So, after

setting amatch to several

kerosene lamps and

opening shades to first

dawn, after washing

quickly but carefully with

carbolic,hebeganworking

triage.

Fortunately, nothing

too serious—hands and

arms, mostly, and one

worker with a gouge from

thesideofhisheadwhere

a timber from the ruined

ceilinghadfallenontohim.

Application of cold water,

first,toeasethepain;then

openingtheblisters,gentle

squeezing out of

accumulated fluid, ending

up with a wrap of soft

bandages.

“What happened?”

The worst finished and

taken care of, Ben was

snipping away clotted hair

from the head wound and

abletoaskdetails.

“Grease fire at

Bundy’s Café,” answered

the spokesman of the

group, Henry Reynolds.

Hisminor injurydealtwith,

he was sitting off to one

side,observingprocedures

while trying not to wince

withdiscomfort.“We’rethe

kitchen crew—damn thing

flared up outa the blue.

Managed t’ get it put out,

b’fore therewas toomuch

damage,but—well,y’see.”

“Huh.” The injury was

cleaned and covered, the

patient dazed but

comfortable. “And is there

aMr.Bundy?”

“Mr.—? Oh. No, sir.

Mr. Mackey owns the

place.Hewas therewhen

thefirestarted,shippedall

of us over here right

away.”

Ben, by now clearing

up,nodded.“Goodforhim.

You boys live

roundabouts?”

“Boardin’ house, Doc.

A few blocks away, on

MiddenLane.”

Just then Adam

appeared, snapping his

suspenders into place,

looking only slightly less

scruffy than the

professional in the room.

“Mawnin’, Doc. Anything I

canhelpwith?”

“Ah. Always my right-

hand man. Yeah, Adam.

I’d like you t’ hitch up the

carriage and take these

boysbackhome.”

“Home?” Henry

repeated, ready toprotest.

“Can’t do that, sir. Now

thatyou’vepatchedusup,

wegottagetbackt’work.”

“No such thing,” the

doctor said sharply. He

wasbusyathisapothecary

cabinet,pullingoutasmall

drawer of supplies,

preparing miniscule glass

bottles, writing a label of

instructions. “With those

burns, not a oneof you is

gonna be worth a lick of

spitforafewdays.AndI’ll

meander over t’ the café,

later on, t’ let your boss

know.”

The three patients

exchanged wary but

resigned glances. Okay.

Can’t really arguewith the

doctor treating your

wounds.

“Now,Henry,youall

will be feelin’ some

discomfort soon, if you

ain’t already,” continued

Ben, returning with

medicine in hand, “so I’m

gonna give you a small

doseoflaudanumt’takeif

thepaingetstoobad.Let’s

see…this is Wednesday;

come back and see me

againt’morrow,allright?”

“Uh. All right, Doc.”

Henry tucked the bottle

into his pocket with one

unbandaged hand, then

reached out to clasp the

doctor’s. “Thank you, sir.

Feelin’betteralready.”

Aftertheyhadtrooped

out in Adam’s wake, Ben,

moving back to finish

clearing away, caught a

glimpse of himself in the

mirror. Chuckling, he

realized that only

desperation had kept his

victims from turning tail

and running theotherway

atfirstsightofhim.

Black hair tousled

every which way by

exhausted slumber, rich

dark stubble showing from

cheek to chin, robe pulled

oninsideoutoveraflannel

nightshirt, bare feet thrust

into slippers looking as

worn and weary as their

owner. Next time there

came an early morning

call,Bendecided,hereally

ought to lookslightlymore

presentable.

His second patient

arrived later on that same

day,justafterhe’dfinished

eatingdinner.

Mrs. Langley was

proving to be, if nothing

else, so far an admirable

cook.

Atall,dignifiedwoman

whose face never relaxed

into a smile, whose

posturenevereasedintoa

slump or a slouch, her

iron-gray hair and lined

features indicated middle

age. Per Charles

Holcomb’s instructions,

she had hired a laundress

and a housemaid to help

out. While she seemed to

possess no sense of

humor, even when

tweaked by Adam’s

lighthearted attempts at

jesting, she turned out

suchexcellentmeals,such

superlative desserts, such

unparalleledpotsofcoffee,

that both men were quite

willing tooverlookthisone

smallflaw.

It was she who

interrupted Ben’s final few

sips from his cup to

announce that Mrs.

Fairlady Halliwell had

arrivedforaconsultation.

Freshly shaved,

bathed, dressed, and

entirelypresentableat this

hour, he looked up from

perusing ads in the

Whitfield weekly

newspaper. “Ahuh. In the

waitin’room,isshe?”

“Mrs. Halliwell,”

repeatedthehousekeeper,

in the severe tone

reserved for one who

apparently didn’t yet

realize that life was no

more than a vale of tears.

“Themayor’swife.”

“Ah. The mayor’s

wife.”Nodding,Ben folded

up the newspaper and

headed down the hall.

Evidentlyapersonofsome

importance, who deserved

to be treatedwith respect.

AlthoughBentreatedmost

of his patients with little

else.

She was sitting on a

straight wooden chair

againstthefarwall,tucked

away into the room’s

shadows, away from the

window’s light. A pretty,

faded woman, all in

monochromatic beige, as

quietandunobtrusiveasa

flowerwiltedbytime.Orby

harduse.Awomanwhose

choiceof color indicateda

wish to fadeoff fromview.

Possibly to disappear

completely.

“Mrs. Halliwell,” he

said politely, deliberately

making some noise as he

approached. His

movements, as he bent

over her right handwith a

display of old-world

southernmanners,at least

drewatinyhalf-smile.

“Good afternoon,

Doctor. Thank you for

seeingmesoquickly.”

He pulled the

remaining chair closer to

sit,facingher,withinterest

and concern. “That’s what

I’m here for,ma’am.What

canIdoforyout’day?”

Instead of an

immediate answer, she

glanced around the room,

taking in its spare but

clinicalappointments,done

mostlyincleanpurewhite.

“You’re quite well set up

here,Doctor.”

So it was to be that

way,wasit?Obviouslyshe

needed some delay, and

obviously he had rushed

too quickly into the lady’s

appointment.

Thus, he pursued

some courteous and

inconsequential chit-chat,

about the pleasant

weather, about the beauty

of the surrounding

countryside, about the

townanditscharms,about

theadventuresofhistravel

togethere.

Atthat,shebrightened

just a little. “Travel,” Mrs.

Halliwell murmured. “That

seems such a wonderful

waytospendone’slife.”

“Or dangerous,”

chuckled Ben, “dependin’

on your point of view, I

reckon,andwhatyouhave

t’ cross t’ get there. You

and your husband lived

here quite a while, have

you?”

“Oh…a few years,

now.Stentonwascalledto

apply for the position of

mayor,and…”

“Called. By Charles

Holcolmb?”

“Whoelse?”

Wasithisimagination,

ordidherwordscontaina

tingeofbitterness?

“Well, then, Mrs.

Halliwell.Tellme,howcan

Ihelpyoutoday?”

For response, she

extended her left arm,

slowly and carefully, and

unbuttoned the cuff of her

sleeve to roll the fabric

away.WhatBencouldsee

of her wrist and forearm

showedswollen, reddened

flesh that looked and felt

feverish.

“May I?” As gently as

he tried to examine the

injury, she winced away

from his touch. “Mrs.

Halliwell, that’s a pretty

bad sprain. It’s a good

thingyoucamet’seeme.”

Shewas biting her lip

with discomfort and

distress. “Is thereanything

you can do? This has

rendered me somewhat—

helpless.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he

assured her, offering his

characteristic sweet and

winning smile. “We’ll fix

you right up. Just let me

getsomethingst’gether.”

Hehasteneddownthe

hall to the kitchen, where

Mrs. Langley kept a

reservoir of water always

hot, for any necessary

domestic task. This time,

bolstered by arnica, it

would be used for

fomenting the injury, to

reduce the swelling and

relievethepain.

Placingatowelacross

her knees to prevent

splattering, Ben lightly

settledherleftforearminto

theplan.Asofthissofhurt

greeted his effort, and a

startledjerkaway.

“No, no, just soak the

wrist for a little while.

There, just like that.

Exactly.”AndBenwenton

to explain what he was

doing, and why. Leaning

back into his chair, he

askedifshewerefortunate

enoughtoenjoyhousehold

help.

“I am. Are you

wondering whether I’m

merely a dilettante, sitting

in my parlor window like

some china ornament for

any passerby to admire?”

Either Mrs. Halliwell was

feeling more comfortable

withhimbynow,orthehot

water had added an edge

tohertongue.

Ben grinned. “No,

ma’am, not a’tall. Just

makin’ sure you got

somebody around t’ help

out. When we’re finished

here, I’m gonna wrap up

and immobilize this arm,

soyouwon’t beable t’ do

much.”

“Immobilize?” She

seemedstartled.

“Yes, ma’am. Only

wayt’heal.AndIwantyou

back here t’morrow, for

another treatment, and

another wrap. That work

out okay with your

schedule?”

The corners of her

mouth turned up, just a

trifle. “I will certainly have

to rearrange the hours I

spend before the window,

Doctor. But—yes, I will

come back again

tomorrow.”

Considering a

moment, the man known

more for his trouble-

making qualities than for

his tact and courtesy

decided to dive in

headfirst. “Canyoutellme

what happened, Mrs.

Halliwell?”

“Whathappened?”

The slight jerk of his

chinindicatedherinjury.

“Oh.That.Well.Uh—I

tripped.Yes,I tripped,and

I fell against the wooden

doorframe.”

A slow, speculative

lookupanddown,fromthe

serviceablebeige flowered

hat to the neat beige

buttoned boots. “Ahuh.

Tripped. Fell. Got it.”

Frustrated, he thrust his

fingers through the black

thatch that had never

obeyed the dictates of a

comb. “I can do a pretty

good job of listenin’, Mrs.

Halliwell. If ever you

wannatalk—”

“Thank you, Doctor,”

she said crisply. “I’ll keep

that inmind. It’s very kind

of you to offer. Quite

frankly, I—I had forgotten

that—that there weremen

who might still how—

kindness…”

Thewallswereup,the

bars clamped down, the

door slammed shut. Ben

could go no further. Not

rightnow,anyway.

His third patient that

day was acquired on his

return to the office. After

Mrs. Halliwell’s quiet exit,

Ben had let his

housekeeperknow thathe

wouldbegoneforawhile,

speakingwiththeownerof

Bundy’s Café. Besides, it

was a beautiful day for a

walk,andheneededsome

exercise,anyway.

No ocean breeze

here, as in Charleston, he

realized,strollingalongthe

graveledwalkandtakingin

thesights.Still,theclimate

seemed similar to that of

his boyhood home, thus

far. He enjoyed the slight

lift of breeze that stirred

thecottonwoodleavesand

cooled the afternoon’s

sultry temperatures; he

enjoyed theopennessand

friendliness of Whitfield,

the wide welcoming

streets, the shady blocks

thatmergedintowoodand

brick and stone of the

downtownproper.

It was a pretty place,

with its backdrop of green

andgoldcurves,spreading

timberland, and cool

jagged Sierra Nevadas in

the distance.Aman could

do worse than settle in

hereforhislifetime.

Busy and thriving, as

well.

Foot traffic, horse

traffic, wagon traffic all

moved briskly here and

there, conducting

necessary business,

interrupting to socialize,

then moving on. Ben

passedtheWhitfieldBank,

a pharmacy whose plate

glass window had been

painted in gold lettering, a

dry goods store, a tailor

and seamstress, The

SundryShop, a hardware,

WhitefieldPostOffice,The

Mercantile Exchange, a

smalltheatreadvertisedby

colorful posters, the local

newspaper bureau, and

thesheriff’sdepartment.

One of the cross

streetsheldBundy’sCafé,

discernible by a faint whiff

ofsmokearounditsedges.

Open, however, and

serving several patrons.

Ben tracked down Ed

Mackey, harassed but

hospitable owner, and,

over a cup of coffee,

discussed with him the

condition of his three

injuredemployees.

Relieved by the

update, Mackey informed

the doctor that he had

already brought in his

brother as temporary help

— “Lazy young sod,

anyway;it’lldohimgoodto

seewhatit’slikeworkin’in

a real job.” —and would

manage to scrape by till

“the boys” were released

forduty.

After a pleasant chat,

Ben thanked his host,

shook his hand, and

departed.Wantingtofinish

off the downtown area, he

took in the length of

several blocks, peered in

windows, greeted

passersbywithasmileora

warm“Howdy”andatipof

hishat.

He had rounded the

corner past a little bakery,

intending to continue on.

Except forunusualsounds

that reached him. Farther

on, down toward the

residential area, into an

alley. Muffled cries and

hoots of mocking laughter

and the occasional yip.Of

fear, or of pain. Then a

pop! pop! pop! and a loud

whimper.

Atthefarend, infront

ofawoodenfence,knelta

cluster of three boys,

scuffling around in the

dust, chuckling and

chortling.

“What’sgoin’onhere,

fellas?”

An immediate

scramble for position, as

the startled young

hoodlums jumped to their

feet,readytorun.

“Uh-uh,” said Ben,

approaching. “Let me see

first…”

In the bare dirt lay a

small brown puppy.

Aroundit,scatteredinpiles

of shredded paper and

burntfuses,couldbeseen

theremainsoffirecrackers.

Other than violent

quivering of the animal’s

body, and a crooked hind

leg, there was no

movement. As if it were

resignedtoitsfate.

Just as the boys,

ranging in age from ten to

early teens, gathered

force, Ben swooped down

upon them like an

avenging angel. “You

pusillanimous, putrescent,

lousy little rodents!” he

roared. And grabbed hold

of their collars, their shirt

sleeves, their hair—and

hungon.“Whatthebloody

hellhaveyoudone?”

One actually tried

indignant defense. “Hey,

wedidn’t—”

Ben flung him up

against the fence. “Shut

up, you goddamned piece

ofshit.”Likewise theother

two, with a clump and a

thump that rattled their

teeth.“Staythere!”

Bullies are never so

cowardly as when they

themselves are being

bullied.Scaredtothesoles

of their bare feet by the

violence of this madman,

theboysstayed.

Meanwhile, Ben had

knelt beside the puppy,

running a gentle, careful

hand over its trembling

form to check for injury.

Some minor bloody

gashes here and there,

easilytakencareof,buthe

didn’t like the looksof that

crooked hind leg. In spite

of a touch that was

probablyhurtful aswell as

frightening, the animal’s

onlyreactionwastheswift

grateful lap of a tongue

acrossBen’shand.

Hauling himself

upright again, cradling the

puppy in his arms, he

surveyed the line of

miscreantsstashedtightto

the wooden pickets.

“Sheriff’s office is just

around the corner,” he

informed them grimly.

“Figurin’ youalreadyknew

that, however. Get your

assesingearandmarch.”

No matter how much

the boys might have

wantedtoflee,thevoiceof

authority had spoken, and

in a loud and ferocious

tone, no less. They

marched.

Sheriff Daniel

McGowan, seated at his

desk filling out paperwork,

looked up as his door

opened to admit a motley

crowd of people, blinked,

and shambled upright.

“Good afternoon,” his

greeting was more

questionthansalutation.

“Good afternoon, sir.

I’m Ben Yancey,

Whitfield’s doctor. Nice t’

meet you, although it

woulda been better under

different circumstances.”

Still holding the little dog,

whohadburiedhisnosein

the crook of Ben’s elbow

asiftohidefromtheworld,

Ben went on to explain

what he had just

interrupted.

“Huh.” The sheriff, a

dignified but daunting tall

figure of a man, glowered

under his brows at the

boys,whohadslunktothe

oppositewall, as far away

fromthatravingmaniacas

they could get. “So. Jesse

Dunhill,” headdressed the

eldest, “in trouble again.

And now you’ve dragged

yourbrotherandhis friend

into the mess right along

withyou.”

“Wa’n’tnomess,”said

Jesse sullenly. “Jist havin’

ussomefun.”

“Yeah,” piped up the

next in line, snapping his

suspenders with an air of

defiance. “Wa’n’t our fault

that dumb ol’ stray dog

comethrough.”

Theyoungestboywas

more easily cowed by

thought of repercussions.

His straight blonde hair

stoodupalloverhishead,

andhispaleblueeyeshad

gone wide with

apprehension. “I’m sorry,

MisterDoctor.Didn’tmean

tocauseanyharm.”

“Oneofyoubrokethe

hind leg of this poor little

guy,” snappedBen. “From

whatIsaw,allofyouwere

involved, and I’ll see the

three of you behind bars

forlife.”

That got their

attention,asheintendedit

should. Fear can be a

great motivator, and the

burgeoning criminals were

well on their way to being

greatlymotivated.

“I’ll get these

young’uns to their folks,”

said the sheriff, nodding,

“and have a little talk with

every one of ’em. See

what’sa fittin’punishment.

Don’t need no vicious

hooligansinourtown.”

“Thanks, Sheriff. You

do that. Right now, I’m

gonnatakethisdogbackt’

theoffice,inthehopeIcan

fix him up. But I’ll stop by

lateront’checkwithyou.”

And that was how

Jake the little brown pup

became Ben’s last patient

oftheday,andhisdevoted

companionforlife.

III

An initial, possibly

significant visit toWhitfield

Orphanage required

something more special

than his usual summer

linen garb, or even his

preferred office dress of

shirt sleevesand vest; no,

for today, Ben chose his

Sunday-go-to-meetin’

clothes:severeblack frock

coat,blackbowtie,striped

waistcoat, and lightweight

wooltrousers.

“You’re lookin’ that

grand,” approved Adam.

Still seated at the dinner

tablewhilehefinishedoffa

piece of Mrs. Langley’s

lemon cake, he was

sneaking small bites to

Jake, curled up under his

chair.“Nervous?”

“Naw. Nothin’ more

than a house call,

multiplied a few hundred

times.” Grinning, Ben

drained his coffee cup of

its last dregs. “Hell, man,

don’t be feedin’ that little

guy such rich food. Y’

knowhe’sinthishouseon

sufferance, anyway. Mrs.

Langleypitcheda fitwhen

shefoundhiminmyoffice

yesterday.”

“Somethin’ about no

filthy animals indoors,

wasn’t it?” A nonchalant

shrug,thenagentlestroke

along Jake’s furry back,

using his stockinged toes.

“You done a good thing

that day, savin’ this feller,

Doc.”

With Adam’s ready

assistance, Ben had set

and splinted the puppy’s

brokenlegandcleanedup

theslightcutsspreadover

his thin, starved body.

Since then, a steady

supply of food and love

was already beginning to

transform thepitifulwretch

intoacheerfulcompanion,

who happily clomped the

plaster cast around as his

belovedmaster’sshadow.

“Yeah, I think so.

Sheriffcomedownhardon

thoseboys, too.They’llbe

paintin’ and whitewashin’

everypublicbuildin’ in this

town for the next three

months.”

“Badkids?”

“Noooo,..don’t seem

likeit.Justleftontheirown

toomuch,andnotthinkin’.”

“You’doughtasuggest

t’thatMr.Holcombthathe

build some kinda shelter

for stray critters,” said

Adam, for whom animal

care was not only his

lifelong work but his

passionaswell. “Andthen

setthemboyst’cleanin’up

andclearin’out.Thatmight

make ’em see things in a

diff’rentlight.”

Ben decided he

shouldprobablyjustempty

out what remained in the

coffee pot into his own

cup. Once Mrs. Langley

returned from church

services, she would brew

upanotherbatch,anyway.

“That’s a good idea.Need

t’stopbywithmyreportin

a couplea days, keep him

uptodateonhowthings’re

goin’.”

Adam’s chair creaked

as he reached for another

slice of the cake, left

temptinglyondisplayinthe

center of the table. “Well,

meand Jakewill be takin’

our leisure on the front

porch whilst you’re gone,

Doc.Got us some serious

snoozin’t’catchupon.”

“Ahuh.”Laughing,Ben

turnedtosethisemptycup

in the sink. “Think maybe

I’ll join you, you ol’

reprobate, once I get

back.”

For this afternoon’s

visit, the stylish carriage

had been hitched up to

Petronious andwas ready

for use. Another glorious

late summer day, with

sunshine just pouring

downinbuckets,andbirds

singing their little hearts

out in joyous song. As he

trotted along, Ben

wondered if such fine

weather might not get a

little boring sometimes,

and whether Whitfield

residents might

occasionally long for a

goodthoroughgullywasher

ofastorm.

Boringweatherornot,

he found himself whistling

as they trotted along. So

far, he’d been able to

satisfactorily handle what

had come along. After

several visits to his office,

the three Bundy’s Café

burnvictimshadrecovered

and returned to work; and

Mrs.Halliwell hadstopped

by twice more for the hot

water and arnica

treatments, which had

served to improve the

condition of her sprained

arm.

Hmmm. Mental note.

Musttakethetimetomeet

her husband, the mayor.

Wonder if there are any

other local dignitaries I

needtopayhomageto?

As for those

delinquent boys—Ben

shook his head, newly

annoyed. Privileged sons

of two of Whitfield’s

foundingfamilies,andwell-

to-do, besides, he could

onlyhopetheywouldlearn

their lesson after some

gruelingpublicservice.

Whitefield Orphanage

had been built ten years

ago, in what had been an

open field to thewest and

south. Now the town had

grownuparoundit,sothat

it stood surrounded by

residential areas and

other,offshootbusinesses:

a funeral home, a livery

stable, a granary, and so

on.

Eventuckedoutofthe

way, far from the main

route of traffic, the place

was an imposing edifice;

and Ben surveyed it with

respect as he climbed

down from the carriage

and loosely wrapped

Petronious’ reinsarounda

hitchingpost.

“Doctor Yancey, how

good to meet you,” said

the lady who served as

administrator, when he

wasusheredfromthefront

door down a hall and into

her office. Rising from

behind a substantial desk,

she came forward to join

him in an informal seating

arrangement near tall

sunny windows. “Please,

do sit here, Doctor. I’m

Mrs. Madonna Bellini, in

chargeoftheorphanage.”

“Mrs. Bellini.” Ben

accepted the shake of a

surprisinglyfirmhand.

Dressed in what he

supposed was her own

Sunday best, of navy

shirtwaist, cameo brooch

at the collar, and full

flowing skirt, she was a

petite woman, not much

overfivefeet.Herhairand

browswerethethickblack

of her ancestry, rich

espresso threaded now

with gray, lively black

snapping eyes, and a

humorous expression.

Which one might expect,

given her task of dealing

with some hundred or so

youngresidents.

While they chatted

together, with Ben gaining

some history of the

establishment, its daily

routine, and the director

herself, a young lady

slipped into the room from

a side door. She was

carrying a modest tray

filled with china ware and

accessories.

“Ah, Jessamine, my

dear,” Mrs. Bellini

welcomedherwithawarm

smile. “Thank you so

much.DoctorYancey, this

is my trusted aide and

friend, Miss Jessamine

Lassiter.”

“Miss Lassiter.” He

rose easily to greet her

with a small bow, then

resumed his seat once

she, too, had settled

gracefully onto the settee.

“Mrs.BelliniandIwerejust

discussin’allthatyouhave

goin’onhere.”

Like her superior,

Jessaminewasdressedall

in navy, except for a pure

white collar that had been

starchedand ironedwithin

aninchofitslife.Seeingit,

the good doctor stretched

his own neck slightly in

sympathyforwhatmustbe

the scratchy stiffness

around such a lovely

throat. Although she didn’t

seemtomind.

Tiltingherheadalittle,

asiftobetterscantheman

opposite, she sent him a

smile as warm and genial

as Mrs. Bellini’s, a minute

ago. One that came near

to melting his bones.

“From the south, I see.

Which part, Doctor

Yancey?”

God, she was pretty.

No. More than pretty.

Beautiful,withthatwidow’s

peakoflustrousblackhair,

confined neatly in a net,

face like an angel’s, and

eyes more purple than

blue. He hadn’t been so

taken with a woman

since…well,since…

“Dr.Yancey?”

“Uh.” A mental shake

to recover from the effect

of her presence. They

must think he was daft,

woolgathering while at

their very first encounter;

were they wondering, too,

ifhewereevencompetent

to attend their charges

here? “Sorry. Just thinkin’

about a case…Uh.

Anyway. Yes, Miss

Lassiter, I hail from

Charleston. Just rode int’

townaboutaweekago.”

“Charleston?My,what

a long trip thatmust have

beenforyou.”

Recovering, he

managedtogrin.“Morefor

myhorses,ma’am,andthe

friendwhorodeinwithme.

But, you—you’ve been

hereawhile?”

“Tea, Dr. Yancey?”

Mrs. Bellini had leaned

forward to pour from a

plainwhitepot intoequally

plain white cups. Nothing

extraordinary. Just

serviceable. “And please

do sample from our

selectionofpastries;Cook

does a marvelous job of

providing sweets for all of

us.”

As Jessamine leaned

forward to offer the plate,

her fingers accidentally

brushed his. Only great

restraint prevented him

from leaping out of his

chairwiththeelectrictingle

thatresulted.

Down, you horny ol’

half-witted bull moose!

Whatthehelliswrongwith

you?

“Yes, Doctor, I have

been,” she answered the

question he had asked a

hundredyearsago. “Since

I was about three, wasn’t

it,Madonna?”

“Indeed.” The director

frowned at past memories

of past wrongs. “Jessie’s

parentswereunfortunately

—um—killed, in a tragic

accident.”

She raised thickblack

lashes to meet his

interested gaze.

“Murdered,” shecorrected.

“My parents were

murdered, as you well

know, Madonna. Even if

you are trying to be

tactful.”

For a moment Ben

simply surveyed the girl,

liking what he saw. “What

happened?”

“My father owned a

ranch up in the foothills.”

Jessamine paused to sip

at her tea, remembering

bits and pieces from a

bloody time gone that no

child should ever have to

remember. “Someone

wantedit.Theyrodeinone

night—a band of

unknowns—shot my folks,

drove off our stock, and

burnedthehouse.”

“Leavin’youthere—all

alone, in that unholy

mess?” His tone and

expression registered the

horror he felt grinding up

againsthisbreastbone.

“For a while. Even

now, in memory, I catch

flashes of red—flames, I

guess, that I sawshooting

up into the night sky; and

noise…so much noise.

Yells. The thunder of

horses.Then—nothing.”

Ben managed to

swallow the last of the

cookie that tasted dry as

dust in his mouth. “You

musta been scared outa

yourwits,”hesaidsoftly.

“I was.” Her gaze slid

sideways to the director.

“ButMadonnarescuedme.

Shesavedmylife.”

“Terrible,terrible,”said

Mrs.Belliniwithashudder.

“Jessie’s mother was my

friend,andI’dheardtalkin

town that somethingmight

happenthatnight.”

“So she came riding

out,asquicklyaspossible,

towarnus.”

“Except—I was too

late. Too late.” The words

echoed across the room

like a graveyard knell. “I

could only grab up Jessie

and come tearing back

here.”

“Here?” Ben glanced

aroundtheroom.“Thought

thisplacewasn’tsetup till

tenyearsago.”

Carefully Mrs. Bellini

poured another cup of tea

for each, offered cream

and sugar. “It wasn’t.

Jessamine came to live

with me; through a local

lawyer, I petitioned the

court, and custody was

granted to me almost

immediately.”

“You probably put the

fearofGodintothistown,”

saidJessaminewithaglint

in her astounding eyes.

“Not one single person

wanted the welfare of a

three-year-old orphan

restingonhisconscience.”

Stretchingouthislong

legs, Ben gave thematter

some thought. “And the

ranch?”

“Theranch?”

“You said your paw

hadaranch,andsomeone

wanted it.What happened

totheranch?”

“Oh. It was sold.

Shortly after—

everything…”

“Sold?But—was it for

a fair price?Did you have

a lawyer lookin’ out for

your interests? Who

boughttheplace?B’cause,

whoeverdid, is prob’ly the

—”

“My goodness,

Doctor.” Mrs. Bellini put

down her empty cup and

abruptly rose, concluding

their conversation. “How

did we wander off onto

such a depressing

subject? Here we are,

nattering on about things

from the distant past that

don’t even concern you.

Soboring,whenyoukindly

stoppedbytointerviewour

children.”

“But,ma’am,”puzzled,

Ben began an automatic

protest,“youbarelystarted

tellin’—”

From her position

behind the director,

Jessamine, unseen,

quickly shook her head.

No. Not now. Let it go for

themoment.

Hell.Anothermystery.

Was this town built on

mysteries?

“Jess,mydear,please

ringthebellandassemble

allthestudentsintheMain

Hall.”Beaming,Mrs.Bellini

turned to slip her arm

throughBen’s. “Comewith

me, Doctor. We have a

table and chairs all

arranged for you, and

records of everyone’s

historyready,ifnecessary.

Thisshouldn’t take longat

all.”

It probably wouldn’t

have, ifnot foracoupleof

complicatingfactors.

The children, ranging

inagefromtoddlerhoodto

late teens, stood in quiet,

respectful rows, neatly

groomed and dressed,

awaiting his attention. For

themostpart,theywerein

good health and

apparently well-fed,

answering his gentle or

teasing questions

promptly, if a trifle

subdued.

Too subdued, for

Ben’s liking. But maybe

that was the way of most

orphans, left on their own

without familyor friends to

care about them. Ben

wouldn’t know; he had no

experienceinthisfield.But

he’d better start learning,

fast.

“Hey, Roy, my man,”

he called out,

acknowledging the boy

who had served as waiter

at Holcomb’s mansion.

“Youdoin’okay?’

What thehell?Didhe

seem that much of an

ogre, to elicit this sort of

response? Because the

lad’s face had set into an

expression of stolid

endurance, and he looked

ready to run—or cry. A

quick nod, and he

disappeared behind the

others.Stilllimping.

Most of the children

hadbeenexamined,talked

to, and released by now,

leaving just a few with

minor injuries tocheckon.

Instead of rushing out of

the hall, whooping and

holleringattheprospectof

freedom, they departed in

an orderly line. No

scuffling,noshoving.Both

Mrs.BelliniandJessamine

hadpickedupthetoddlers,

he noticed with approval,

cuddling and coddling

before they could cry

because the strange man

hadbeenpokingatthem.

Two more boys, in

theirearlyteens,hadbeen

hurt: one with a twisted

arm,theotherwithablack

eye and discolored cheek;

an older girl wore purple

bruises around her throat,

justabovethewhitecollar.

All were considered

accidents,accordingtothe

children themselves and

Mrs. Bellini, in answer to

the doctor’s casual

questioning.

Understandable, certainly,

in a rough-and-tumble

world of stable work and

scullery chores. Even

plausible.

But Ben finished up

his consultations and

treatments with an

increasinglyheavyheart.

“They finish their

schooling here,”

Jessamine, watching him

pack up his medical bag,

volunteered. “A fine

education, I assure you,

Doctor.”

“Ahuh. Have t’ take

your word for it, Miss

Lassiter.” Snapping shut

the catch, he turned to

face her. “And puttin’ ’em

outt’worksoyoung—how

does that figure int’ future

plans?”

Stiffeningathis tone,

shedrewbackandreplied

somewhat defensively, “At

the age of twelve,

depending on their

maturity and suitability,

each child is installedwith

aprospectiveemployer for

an hour or two every day.

Wemonitor their situation,

individually,andmakesure

everything is as it should

be.”

“With the purpose

bein’—?”

“To learn a trade,

Doctor Yancey. For their

future.Orwould you have

these children go out into

the world with book

learning but no practical

skillstoearntheirway?”

Backing off, though

still unconvinced, Ben

smiled and held up both

hands. “Peace, Miss

Lassiter. Sorry, I didn’t

meant’soundlikea judge

and jury as t’ your

methods. You’re a very

able second-in-command

aroundhere,ain’tyou?”

Mollified, she returned

his smile. A dimple, he

noticed now. One dimple,

charminglydisplayed.

“I try to be. I owe

Madonna a debt I can

neverrepay,soIdowhatI

canforher.”

“Ahuh.” Leaning back

againstthetable,hefolded

his arms over a nicewide

chest and crossed one

ankleupontheother.“You

plan on spendin’ your life

here,then,asshehas?”

A faint peony color

roseoverhercheekbones.

“Uh.Idon’t—well,howcan

Ihaveanyideaaboutthat,

when—?”

“Doctor?” Mrs. Bellini,

who had taken both tired

toddlers to the nursery for

a nap, was rushing back

into the hall, a trifle

breathless under her

corset stays. “Doctor, one

of my girls has just been

taken ill. I wonder if you

could—?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Ben grabbed up his case

in preparation. “Lead on,

I’llfollowyou.”

Upstairs, rooms for

the orphans had been set

up in dormitory fashion,

separated of course by

gender. Several chambers

arranged for the older

ones,severalmore for the

younger. Cheerful, clean,

bright,smellingoffreshair

and laundry soap and

sunshine,eachspaceheld

some eight or ten single

beds, with plenty of

furnishings: wardrobes,

desksandchairs,cozyrag

rugs, booksor a few toys.

Even a couple vases of

fresh flowers from the

garden.

If only all such places

couldbesowellcaredfor,

reflectedBen,takinginthe

surroundings.Asmuch for

thespiritasforthebody.

“Here, Doctor.” Mrs.

Bellini beckoned him

towardthefarwall.“Thisis

Matilda—Mattie—Jamison.

Shewaswithusinthehall,

but when she returned for

the hair ribbon she’d left

behind,shefainted.Oneof

theothergirlsfoundheron

thefloorandcameforme.”

“Hello, again, Mattie,”

said Ben with the ease of

manner that comforted

patientsand familiesalike.

“Sorry t’ hear you’re not

doin’sowell.MindifItake

alook?”

She was a thin,

washed-out girl of about

fifteen,lyingflatonthebed

with a coverlet spread

across her knees. At the

doctor’s approach, she

opened her eyes with

visiblereluctance.

“Things still spinnin’

aroundonyou?”heasked

sympathetically.

A noisy swallow, and

a slight grimace. “Kinda.

And I feel—I feel awful—

sick…”

“Mrs. Bellini. Got a

basinhandy?”

After she had bustled

away, Ben continued

speaking gently, soothing

and calming, doing all the

quick unobtrusive things a

doctor does: pulse and

heartbeat, temperature,

gentlepressurearoundthe

diaphragm,andsoon.The

information he garnered

provided no hint as to

cause.

With the director’s

return, however, and the

readiness of an enameled

basin, Mattie decided to

empty her unhappy

stomach.

Retching, apologizing,

shedding tears only to

retch some more, Mattie

finally laybackagainst the

pillow, exhausted and

wrungoutfromeverypore.

Out in the hall, Mrs.

Belliniusedafewvaluable

minutes for consultation.

“Not the cholera?” came

the worried question from

one who had had

experiencewith thatdread

disease.

“No, ma’am, not

cholera,” Ben asserted

resolutely.“Ithinkit’sjusta

temporary indisposition,

and you’ve probably dealt

with that sorta thing as

much as I have. For right

now, keep Mattie cool, try

t’ get some liquids in her

whenyoucan,and just let

her rest as much as

possible.”

Aglancebackintothe

room relieved some of

their concern, for the girl

had slipped off into sleep

asifnothinguntowardhad

happened.

Medical bag in hand,

Ben laid an encouraging

hand on the director’s

forearm.“I’llstopbackover

here again t’morrow, see

how she’s doin’,” he

promised.“But ifyouneed

me for any reason, just

sendword.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Gratituderanginhervoice

and shone in her eyes. “I

appreciate your help. As

you may see, these

childrenareallverydearto

me.”

A slow, intent look

down, fromthecenterpart

in her hair to the toes of

herneatlyshodfeet. “Yes,

Mrs. Bellini. I do see that.

Shall I send Miss Lassiter

upnow?”

“Oh, that would be

helpful.Thankyouagain.”

He found her, as he

had hoped, busy with

several of the younger

childrenintheoutdoorplay

area.Hisexplanation, in a

few concise sentences, of

what had happened,

caughtherbysurprise.

“Oh, poor Mattie.

Possibly something she

ate,youthink?”

“Possibly,”saidBenin

a noncommittal tone. He

had a very good idea of

what was going on, and

anything she might have

eaten had nothing to do

withit.

“Very well. I’ll go

upstairs rightaway.Thank

you,Doctor.”Herslim,cool

hand slipped into his with

the firm shake that he

appreciated, and she was

gone.

Petronious welcomed

him back to the carriage

with a reproachful roll of

the eyes and a hungry

whicker.Timetoleavethis

place behind. He was

readytoshedharnessand

reinsforarollinsomenice

soft grass. Or, failing that,

dirt.

Hitched up and

heading back to home

base, Ben was lost in

reverie.This, that,and the

other thing racketed

around through his brain:

little odds and ends that

didn’t seem to tie together

yet somehow must.

Questions. Mysteries.

Maybespendingsomefree

timeonthefrontporchwith

AdamandJakewouldhelp

everything settle into

place.

IV

Life in his new digs

shook down into a

comfortable routine. With

thatall-importantfirstweek

under his belt, Ben stood

ready and able for any

emergency that might

comealong.

He and Adam had

completely unpacked the

Conestoga, storing away

theirclothingandpersonal

items, lining up books on

an expansive shelf in the

parlor, adding leftover

gunny sacks of staples to

those already neatly

stocked in Mrs. Langley’s

pantry; and Adam, during

his rambles around town,

had found a buyer for the

big wagon. Someone who

actually wanted to leave

this pleasant place for

greener pastures, farther

west.Imaginethat.

Visits to his infirmary

continued, as hoped for.

Mrs.Halliwellhadcomeby

forafinalsoakandwrapof

her injured arm, and Ben

hadcalledinatBundy’sto

check on his burn victims.

As a testament to his

competence, his caring,

andhis expertise, allwere

healing nicely and doing

well.

During the course of

his usual office hours, he

had treated one young

man for a cut on his arm,

gained after chopping

wood on his small farm;

another forabumpon the

head, acquired from a bar

fight;anotherforabunged-

up knee, suffered in a fall

offhishorse.

He had also made a

couple of unexpected

follow-up calls at the

orphanage, to see how

Mattiewasfaring.

“Why, but—Doctor—”

Madonna Bellini greeted

him with confusion and

astonishment. “You’re

here?”

“I am.” He was

surprised by her surprise.

“Toldja I’d be back, Mrs.

Bellini. Surely you didn’t

forget?”

“Well, no. I just—I

couldn’tbepositivethat—”

Pressedforsomesort

of clarification, she

confessed that the town’s

former physician attended

here on Sundays only,

according to his contract,

nomatterwhatmighthave

befallen its youthful

residents in themeantime.

Come hell or high water,

he wasn’t taking care of

any orphan kids that

happened to get

themselves intosomekind

of scrape at any other

time,be it abroken legor

convulsions or a fall down

thewell.

“Dr. Morton was quite

—um—emphatic on that

point,” said Mrs. Bellini

almosttearfully.“Sowegot

used to the idea that his

charity extended just so

far,andnofarther.”

Charity? Had his

predecessornotbeenpaid

by the town (or, more

realistically, Charles

Holcomb) for his work at

the orphanage, just as he

himselfwas?Whateverthe

reason for such

unprincipled, unchristian

behavior, and despite his

own experience with a

world less kind than most

inhabitants looked for it to

be, Ben felt a jolt to his

solarplexus.

“Andwhere is thisDr.

Morton now?” he asked

with no hint of his shock

andanger.

“Well—gone, of

course. I don’t know

where.” She spread her

hands in the universal

gesture of Beats me.

“Gossipspreadthatheand

Mr.Holcombwereinvolved

in a terrible quarrel, and

shortly after that Dr.

Mortondisappeared.”

“Ahuh.” Ben mulled

that over. Disappeared.

Interesting. Not an

auspicioussignforanyone

who crossed the town’s

leader.Asudden imageof

spiders and webs flitted

throughhisbrain,andBen

blinked to clear it away.

“So.How’sour littleMattie

thismorning?”

Mrs. Bellini’s

expression brightened as

she preceded him into the

hallway. “She had a little

spell earlier, but she

seems fine, now. Tired,

which is to be expected if

she’s coming down with

something; and paler than

usual.”

“Well, ma’am, I’ll just

have a bit of a chat with

her. Private-like, if you

don’t mind, so she won’t

beembarrassed.”

“Certainly.I’lljust—um

—” her voice trailed away

as Ben clumped up the

stairs where Mattie was,

upon thedirector’sadvice,

resting,withathincoverlet

andabooktoread.

He emerged some

timelater,troubledinspirit,

to bid good day to Mrs.

Bellini.

“Your able lieutenant

—Miss Lassiter,” he

pausedtodigress,“haven’t

seen anything of her

around. You keepin’ her

busy,huh?”

“Mondays are when

we re-stock our supplies,

Doctor. Jessamine and

one of our older boys,

Walter, have taken the

wagon to Fields

Mercantile. Was there

something you wanted to

discuss with her? I can

passonamessage…”

Ben was already

shrugging back into his

linen coat, preparatory to

departure. “Naw. Thanks

anyway.I’llstoponbackin

acoupladays,Mrs.Bellini,

checkuponMattie.”

His confidential chat

with the girl had yielded a

disconcerting mixture of

tears,pleas,and justplain

closed-mouth

stubbornness.Shebegged

for time.Only a little time.

And Ben, as her doctor,

wasforcedtoconcede.

HandymanAdamwas

living a life far more

luxuriousthanhehadever

expected. If his bedroom

on the second floor of the

doctor’s home didn’t

provide as much privacy

ashadhislittleshackback

in Indiana,hefeltperfectly

willing to sacrifice solitude

for the spaciousness and

conveniences of this

modern house, complete

withcookandlaundress.

“Man, I do appreciate

nothavin’ toparkmybare

backside on the splintered

boards of a rusty ole

outhouse,” he confided to

Ben one morning over

breakfast.

Jake,havingwornoff

some energy during an

earlywalk,nowlaysnoring

softlyunderthetable.One

of his favorite spots.

Another was the center of

Adam’s bed. He, too, was

beginning to grow

accustomed to the good

life.Clearly,helikedit.

Ben, chomping away

on a slice of sourdough

bread, rolled his eyes at

the handyman’s comment.

“Now, that’s an image I

couldadonewithoutseein’.

So you’re sayin’ you’re

getting’ spoiled by this

indoorbathroom?”

“Hell, yes, I am; and

not ashamed t’ admit it,

neither.Ain’tyou?”

“Ashamed?”

Adam gave him a

disgruntled look. “Spoiled,

Doc.Spoiled.”

A chuckle, while he

reached for another

spoonful of their

housekeeper’s superlative

jam. “Yeah, I am. You

figure t’ be in hog

heaven?”

“Close enough. Ain’t

cookin’ no meals, ain’t

washin’ my own drawers,

ain’t sweepin’ up no dirt.

And when you got

somebody smart as Mrs.

Langley runnin’ things, it’s

a damn good deal all

around.”

The chuckle morphed

into a widespread grin.

“You get her t’ crack a

smileyet?”

“Not yet. But I’m

workin’ on it, and we’re

close.Onlygivemetime.”

Only give me time.

He’d just heard that

phrase,inawholedifferent

connotation, and with far

different results. The

thought pricked him with

sadness. “Where is the

lady,anyway?”

“Hikedherselfofft’the

general store. Guess she

heard there was a load o’

fresh peaches s’posed t’

come in, and she wanted

her name put down for a

bushel.”

“Ahuh.Freshpeaches

sound mighty appealin’.

Adam. You doin’ okay

here, seriously? Got

enough goin’ on, takin’

care of the hawses,

whatever handyman jobs,

andsuch?”

Adam’s smile

contained the sweetness

ofanangel.“Thankyoufor

askin’,Doc.ButI’mfineas

frog’s hair. Best thing I

coulda done, comin’ along

westwithyou.”

“Good t’ hear. Well.”

Ben put down his napkin,

pushed his chair away

from the table, and rose,

yawning, to his feet. All of

which activity stirred the

sleeping dog to life.

“Reckon I better go take

care of some business I

been plannin’. Here, my

friend.” A shove of his

plate sideways. “Since I

know you’re gonna be

feedin’ that little pup

anyways,youmayaswell

give him these leftover

pieces of ham. Better for

his stomach thanall those

flapjacks drownin’ in

syrup.”

Ofthosewhomightbe

considered Whitfield’s

dignitaries, Ben had

alreadymetandconversed

with several. There was

Charles Holcomb, the

powerbehindthethrone—

depending on who

occupied said position;

Sheriff Daniel McGowan,

seemingly a no-nonsense,

upright sort of man, who

followed through with

stated goals; Mrs.

Madonna Bellini, a caring

and capable woman who

served as director of the

WhitfieldOrphanage.

That left a few others

stilltoconvenewith.

During their supper

last week, Holcomb had

invited Ben to the next

town council meeting, in

late September. A good

opportunity then, the

mogulfelt,tobeintroduced

to some of the local

officialsontheirownhome

turf.Rubelbowswiththose

makingtherules.

Ben planned to get a

headstartonthatprogram.

“Good mornin’,” he

saidcheerfully.Closingthe

glass-centered door

behindhim,hecrossedthe

room to approach a

massive oak desk by the

far wall, and the man

barricaded behind it. “I’m

Ben Yancey, recently

signed on here, as the

town physician. Wonderin’

ifImighthaveafewwords

with themayor,perchance

he’saround.”

The secretary rose,

reaching out for a brief

handshake. “Welcome,Dr.

Yancey. I’m Clarence

Toussaint, Mayor

Halliwell’s assistant.

Please,haveaseat,while

I go checkwith him about

appointments.”

Left to his own

devices for a fewminutes,

as Clarence, a tall, thin,

sparrow-like man in his

forties, knocked at the

innerdoortoanotheroffice

beforeslipping inside,Ben

loungedback inawooden

armchair, crossed one

ankleover theother thigh,

andsurveyedtheroom.

Nice digs. Must be a

fair amount of treasure in

thetowncoffers,toprovide

for the sumptuous wood

paneling, the thick wool

carpet underfoot, the

impressive collection of

baroque framed paintings.

Anything smacking of

ostentation always

aroused Ben’s suspicions

of an ulterior motive, and

thisplacecertainlyshowed

asostentatious.

“Dr. Yancey? Won’t

youcomeinnow?”

Another ostentatious

room,thisinnersanctumof

an office—with an

unobtrusive door leading

out, that had just softly

clicked shut. Evidently a

visitor, making himself

scarce, who wished to

remainunknown.

“How do you do,

Doctor?” The man

standing near the far

window turned, out of the

sunandintotheshadow.“I

offer you a belated

welcometoourfaircity.”

“Thank you, sir.” It

was left for Ben to

approach, to offer a

friendlyclasp.

“I should have

stoppedoveratyouroffice

longago,” said themayor.

Indicating an off-to-the-

sidearrangementofchairs

around the fireplace,more

inviting than the formal

setup put together with

desk and bench, he

preceded his guest. Or,

rather, he walked slowly

and stiffly, with a decided

hobble.

Spreading the hem of

his linen coat about him,

Bensettledontotheplump

upholstery. Interesting. A

club foot. Not quite the

man he would have

expectedtoseemarriedto

Fairlady Halliwell, but

certainly strangermatches

have been made. The

mayor, a spare-framed

manwith receding reddish

hair and wire-rimmed

spectacles, seemed more

suitedfortheretiringlifeof

someone’s accountant

thanthatofaglad-handing

publicofficial.

“Iappreciateyourcare

of my wife,” Halliwell

continued after amoment.

“She had hurt her arm

rather badly, but she

praisedwhatyouhaddone

for her—the soaking, and

theimmobilization.”

“Ah, yes. The sprain.

She said it had been

caused by a fall off her

horse?”

Themayor nodded. “I

do remember her telling

methat.Shelandedonher

side, and the injury was

quitepainful.”

Horse, or doorframe,

which was it that caused

theaccident?Atleasttheir

useof a fall asanexcuse

wasconsistent.

“Well, I’m glad I was

ablet’help.Justcallonme

anytime. So, tell me,

Mayor,howlonghaveyou

beenrunnin’Whitfield?”

“Oh, hardly running

the place—town council

does that. I’m more of a

figurehead, really.” The

chair joints creaked a little

as he shifted, much as,

Ben figured, the man’s

own joints must creak on

occasion. “And we don’t

stand on ceremony here.

Feel free to call me

Stenton.”

“Much obliged.

Whoeverisincharge,they

seemt’bedoin’afinejob.

Clean streets, fine variety

of businesses, contented

and busy populace.Why,”

Ben grinned, “from where

I’m livin’, you can’t even

hear any bar fights goin’

on,oranyloudmusicfrom

thesaloons.”

An appreciative

chuckle. “Well, now,

Doctor, if you find you’re

missinganyofthat…”

“ReckonIcanmanage

somehow t’ restrain

myself.”

Another half-hour or

so passed by in

pleasantries, mainly about

Whitfield, the orphanage,

anylocalnews,andsoon.

Eventually Ben got to his

feet,thankedthemayorfor

hishospitalityandhistime,

and made a leisurely

departure.

His next stop was

Field Mercantile, across

the street. Wandering up

and down each aisle, he

approvedofthelayoutand

setup—not that he knew

anythingaboutthesubject,

really, other than what

appealed or didn’t appeal.

Big, light-filled windows;

items laid out in orderly

style, clean and dust-free;

an interesting selection

that invited attention and

touch.

“May I help you, sir?”

a solicitous clerk asked at

hiselbow.

“Ahuh.Justfigurin’out

what I need, uh—Davy…”

asheglancedattheyoung

man’s name badge. “Tell

you what: while I think

about it, wonder if I might

havea fewwordswithMr.

Burton. Just t’ say hello

andchewthefat.”

“Mr. Burton?” A

doubtful expression. “Well

—uh, I can go ask if he’s

free,Mr.—?

“Doctor. Doctor Ben

Yancey,newintown.”

Immediately the

expression brightened into

genuine effusion. “Oh,

Doctor, welcome! You

helped out my brother,

Jackson, already. Last

week, the fire at Bundy’s?

He said you done a fine

job, made him take a few

days off week, give him

some painkillers and

such.”

“I remember him, of

course,” Ben said gravely,

nodding. “A brave lad.

Burns can be monstrous

hurtful at first, and then

itchy while they’re healin’.

How’s Jackson doin’ by

now?”

“Good, sir, real good.

Doesn’t think there’ll even

be a scar. You keep on

lookin’atstuff,Doctor,and

I’llgohaveawordwithMr.

Burton.”

Frank Burton

appeared so quickly that

Ben had the sneaking

suspicion he’d been lying

in wait somewhere,

eavesdropping,until itwas

time to appear. A big,

genial, florid-faced man,

with a bush of brown hair

andeyebrowstomatch,he

exuded friendliness and

goodwill.

“Hello, there, Doctor

Yancey.” He held out a

meatyhandtoshake.

Goodman tohaveon

your side in a fight, Ben

reflected, studying the

shop owner who

overtopped him by half a

foot or so. And Ben was

not a small man, by any

means.

“C’mon back t’ my

office, and we’ll palaver a

bit. Glad t’ meetcha, Doc,

and not in a professional

way.” His hearty laugh

boomed across the aisles

and reverberated off the

walls.

Bynowitwascloseto

noon,andBurton’sofferof

acupofcoffeecameasa

much-appreciatedhiatusin

Ben’s busy morning.

Followingthepatternofhis

visit with the mayor, less

than an hour ago, the two

men discussed the town’s

doings, the orphanage,

anylocalnews,andsoon.

“So I understand

you’re president of

WhitfieldCouncil.”

“I am,” assented

Burton, leaning back to

lace his fingers across a

comfortable expanse of

midsection.“Iam,indeed.”

“Well—doin’ that, and

runnin’ a thrivin’

business…must take up a

lotta responsibility and

time.”

“Oh,nots’much.The

placeprettymuchoperates

on its own. I’m just

somebody t’ complain to

onoccasion:afigurehead.”

“A figurehead,”

murmured Ben. Another

one.Damn.The townwas

just chockfull of

figureheads. “Ahuh. Must

be the mayor, then, who

makesallthedecisions.”

“He does have that

position. So, Doc, I’m

hearin’mightygood things

about your work so far.

You done settled int’ your

house, gettin’ all cozy and

such?”

A final sip from his

cup, and Ben could climb

to his feet as a prelude to

departure. “I am. It’s a bit

grander than I’m used to,

but I’m willin’ t’ move up

the ranks.” Laughing, he

reached out for another

handshake. “Speakin’ of

the house, I reckon I’d

better get back to it, in

casesomebodyneedsme.

Thanks for your time,

Frank.Goodt’meetyou.”

He had just reached

the front door when it

opened, bell jangling, to

admitJessamineLassiter.

Wasever timingmore

auspicious?

“Miss Lassiter,” said

Benwithobviouspleasure.

Ifhe’dbeenwearingahat,

he would have tipped it.

“So you’re out and about

t’day? And lookin’ mighty

pretty,b’sides.”

The swift color had

flooded up into her

cheekbones. His fingers

curved over hers, curved

around the doorknob, so

that she was held fast.

“Doctor Yancey,” she

acknowledged.

No formal orphanage

uniform today; she was

wearingasubduedplaidof

dark blue and beige,

completewithwhitecotton

lace collar and cuffs. The

lightweight dress fabric

floated and swayed over

modest hoops like the

clean lines of a handbell.

Her outfit was topped off

by a charming little straw

skimmer trimmed by silk

roses, putting one inmind

ofasummergarden.

Far from being a

fashion maven, Ben could

only guess that this outfit

was much more simple

thanmost he had seen in

town, suitable for running

errands and fielding

orphanagework.Simpleor

not,shewasbeautiful.She

wouldbebeautiful inarag

picker’statters,hethought,

surveying her with a

bemusedsmile. Intelligent,

too; and caring, and

sensitive,and…

“Are you shopping for

anything in

particular?”Jessamine

asked, looking up with an

unconscious flutter of

lashes.

Sure am. And I think

I’vefoundit.

“Oh, just checkin’ out

thelayoftheland.Meetin’

people. Gettin’ on

everybody’s good side.Or

maybe just bein’ a pain in

the—uh—backside.”

“Ah.Andyou find that

necessary,doyou?”

“I like knowin’where I

stand. So are you back

here replenishin’ your

supplies?”

“Excuse me,”

interrupted a heavyset

matron, who was

attempting to enter the

store but finding her way

blocked.

Embarrassed, Ben

released his clasp and

stepped back with an

apology.

“Hmmph.”Withasniff,

theladylookedhimupand

down and then barreled

herwaythrough.

Jessamine tactfully

waiteduntilshewasoutof

earshot before releasing a

tiny giggle. “That’s Mrs.

Burton.Frank’swife.Used

to having her own way,

and doesn’t take kindly to

anyonebeinginthewrong

place at the wrong time.

Well, Doctor, a few items

on my Monday’s list were

unavailable, so I’ve come

tosee ifadeliverycanbe

made.”

“Ahuh.” His gaze was

traveling from her eyes to

herlipsandbackagain,as

slow and sensuous as a

sweetcaress.

Jessamine’s blush

deepened.“Dr.Yancey?”

GoodGod.What was

he doing, mooning over

this innocent like a sick

calf?

Jerking out of his

mental trance, Ben

nodded. “And how is

everything at the

orphanage? Is Mattie

feelin’better?”

“Mattie.” She glanced

around, as if checking for

bystanders, and lowered

her voice. “She was sick

again,alittlewhileago,but

she seems to have

recovered. It comes and

goes. Some sort of

unusualmalady,Doctor?”

“Uh—no. Not so

unusual.I’llstopoverthere

later this afternoon, see

what’sgoin’on.”

Hiscasualacceptance

and easy compliance

relievedherownconcerns.

“I’m sure Madonna will

appreciate that. Thank

you.”

“Forwhat?”

“For not making light

of a situation that has us

worried,” she answered

frankly. “I’ll let you go,

then. Good day, Doctor

Yancey.”

Once out in the open

again, and away from the

mercantile’s somewhat

stifling atmosphere of too

much of everything, he

meandered on toward the

city park and found an

empty bench where he

could take in the sights

fromadifferentangle.

Several boys raced

by, rolling a hoop with

laudable success. They

were being chased by a

dog barking with

excitement and a younger

boy whining because he

couldn’t quite keep up.

Farther away, a woman

dressed in black, with

white apron and cap, was

pushing a perambulator

along, singing in a soft

voicetoitsfussyoccupant.

Across the small pond,

where several ducks

happily splashed, stood

two formally dressed

gentlemen, engaged in a

spiritedconversation.

Ben stretched his

arms along the top of the

bench, slouched down to

the tip of his spine, and

rested his head back with

eyes closed, enjoying the

kiss of the sun.Toomany

details, allmixed together,

that needed to be sorted

outandcategorized.Fora

whilehe just let themmix.

Then he gathered himself

together and headed back

home for the carriage and

hismedicalbag.

Another private

conversation with Mattie

Jamison at the orphanage

yielded no fresh results.

She was up and about,

tending to garden work

and looking fairly fit,when

he arrived. But his

suggestion—no, his

recommendation—thatshe

speakwithMrs. Bellini fell

on deaf ears. In fact, the

girl’s reaction was almost

alarming.

“Mattie, Mattie,” he

soothedfromthemiddleof

arowofpolebeans,“calm

down. I’ll go with you, if

you like. But you really

can’t—”

“You don’t knowwhat

Icanorcan’tdo!”shesaid

fiercely. Her fingers were

clenched so tightly around

the stem of a plant that

several of its branches

snappedoff.“No!”

Ben sighed. “All right

for now, Mattie; I’ll abide

by your wishes. But,

soon…”

Hewasonhisway to

Mrs. Bellini’s office when

Jessamine intercepted

him.

“Well. Hello again.”

His tired face lit upwith a

smile. “Were you able to

get those deliveries

made?”

“I was, Doctor, thank

you for asking. Could you

comewithme,please?I’ve

discovered someone else

yououghttosee.”

Allbusinessagain;no

lightchitchatwhenmedical

care must take

precedence.Straightening,

he shifted his bag to the

other hand. “Certainly,

Miss Lassiter. Lead the

way.”

Justoutsidethestable

door,proppedupagainsta

hitching post, they came

upon the orphanage’s

second patient of the day:

Nicholas, a wan, stringy-

muscled boy of about

twelve, who managed to

pullhimselfuprightasthey

approached.

His manner was

neither subservient nor

fawning but rather defiant.

“Huh. Toldja not to tell

anybody,” he sneered at

Jessie.

“Huh yourself,” she

sneered right back at him.

“You’re in pain, Nick, and

thedoctorshould lookyou

over,aslongashe’shere.”

Setting down his bag,

Ben reached out for a

careful handshake. “Got

yourself bunged up

somehow,didja,son?”

“WhatifIdid?Ain’tno

concernofyours,isit?”

“Nicholas!”Jessiewas

aghast. “You keep a civil

tongue in your head while

you’re talking to us. Now

tell Dr. Yancey where

you’vebeenhurt.”

Slowly, sullenly, the

boy with straight coarse

hair thecolorofstrawand

eyes darkened by

resentment indicated the

leftsideofhisthinbody.

Theywerealonehere,

in thedapplingshadeofa

wide sycamore, with a

couple of horses

whickering in the nearby

corral and crows cawing

off in the distance. Not

ideal conditions for an

examination, by any

means,butBenwouldtake

whathecouldget.

“Okay if I check you

over?”

Taking silence for

assent, he unhooked the

boy’s coveralls and lifted

his loose shirt. Bruises.

Lots of bruises. And a

painful struggle with each

breath in and out. Ben’s

careful, gentle fingers

moved over the chest and

midriff, searchingoutwhat

heknewtobewrong.

“Cracked ribs, Nick.”

The doctor had already

snapped open his satchel

to reach unerringly for

necessary supplies. As he

worked, he explained.

“Gonna wrap these

bandages around you, to

kinda hold things t’gether.

That’ll give you some

support while everything

heals. Don’t want you

gettin’pneumonia,son.”

“No work at all,

correct, Doctor?”

Jessamineput inas if she

alreadyknewtheanswer.

“Absolutely not. Well

—that is, unless you got

schoolworkyou’redoin’at

thistimeofyear.That’sthe

only kind you’re allowed.”

Finishingup,Benchuckled

a little. “You’ll haveta take

itrealeasyforsometime.”

The boy’s rebellious

attitudehadmellowedwith

suchunexpectedcareand

concern. “But Mrs. Belllini

won’t—”

“Don’tworry,I’llspeak

t’Mrs.Bellini, fill her inon

my plan for treatment.

Afraid it’s prettymuchbed

rest for you, young man.

And I’ll be back here

t’morrow t’seehowyou’re

doin’.”Apause,whileBen

put things away and shut

the case. “Mind tellin’ me

what caused this?” he

askedcasually.

“Uh—I fell—?” His

suddenly expressionless

gaze met the girl’s; some

sort of significant

communication passed

between them, however

wordless.

“For the last few

months,Nicholashasbeen

apprenticed to our local

smithy,”Jessamineslipped

in, smooth as cream.

“Learning a trade he’s

been interested in. But

yesterday he lost his

balance, as they were

shoeingabig stallion, and

he was caught by the

hooves.”

“Indeed,” said Ben,

looking from one to the

other.

She nodded. “Yes.

AndNickthoughthewould

befine,butIfoundoutjust

a little while ago that he’s

been hurting a lot, and

afraidtosayanything.Silly

boy,”sheaddedfondly.

“Ahuh. I can see how

thatmighthappen.”

Holy Hannah. Would

he get the straight of any

story from any person in

this place? Or did

everyonebendthetruth to

fit their own

circumstances? No

stallion’shooveshaddone

that damage; the bruising

and cracked ribs were

man-made, sure as

anything.

“Well, then, Nick,

c’mon up t’ the main

buildin’ with me, and we’ll

have us a little chat with

Mrs.Bellini.Thenwe’llget

you t’ bed with some

laudanum for that

discomfortyou’refeelin’.”

V

Several more

uneventful days passed

by.

AlthoughMrs.Langley

ruled the household with

anironhand,ononeissue

she had had to concede:

the indoor presence of a

littlestraydogwiththecast

on his leg. Jake had

adopted Adam as his first

favorite master (with Ben

his close second) and

could be heard thumping

happilyacrossthewooden

floorsaftereither;or,better

yet,seenoccupyingoneof

their accommodating laps

duringdowntime.

With summer weather

stillsobalmyandpleasant,

muchofthattookplaceon

thewidefrontporch,where

pots of blooming plants

hung from rafters and

others climbed up the

whitewashed fence and

others yet spilled out and

over a rock garden. Color

and fragrance and

serenity: Ben felt it almost

as a mild shock, upon

every homecoming, and

began to wonder how he

hadmanagedtoliveforso

long without this uplifting

senseofpurpose.

Besides the usual

retinue of patients at the

house office—one elderly

man complaining of

rheumatism; another sick

with a racking cough; the

young wife of the station

masterinherfirsttrimester

of pregnancy—Ben made

a flying visit to anoutlying

farm, where one of the

vaqueros had been gored

byabull.Everyafternoon,

as his schedule permitted,

he called upon the

orphanage, to examine

Nicholas,whocontinueda

slow recovery; andMattie,

who remained adamantly

silent.

Asmuchsolicitudeas

he felt for the children

there who needed his

services, it didn’t hurt that

he justhappened tobump

into the lovely Miss

Lassiter every time.

Always busy, always

attending to supervisionof

staff or clerical

bookkeeping work or

dealing with tired and

lonely and heartsick

youngsters; yet always

withafewfriendlyminutes

to spare, to talk about

inconsequentials, to smile

and simply enjoy each

other’scompanionship.

Ben often wondered,

but had not so far found

nerve to ask, whether

some other man in this

thriving little metropolis

had caught her attention,

whether she was seeing

anyoneonaregularbasis.

Hewasn’t sure hewanted

toknowtheanswer.

Hehadreturnedhome

laterintheweek,afterone

of these visits, to find

Adam waiting for him on

the verandawith a printed

missive, nicely sealed in

anenvelope.

“Broughtbysomefella

namedQuincyMcClennon,

said he’s Mr. Holcomb’s

right-hand man,” reported

Adam, without any

expressionatall.

“Is he, then? Hi, ya,

Jake.” The doctor stooped

torufflethedog’searsand

pathiswrigglingbackside.

“Iknow,Iknow,thatcastis

inconvenientasallget-out,

ain’tit,evenbein’changed

once already? Couple

more weeks, anyway, big

guy, and we’ll see about

gettin’ it cut off for good.

Sowehadavisitor.”

“Yep. Reckon you

could call him that.”

Adam’s opinion of this

McClennon character

couldn’t have been lower,

sinceheofferednotaword

ofcriticismorcompliment.

Wonderingjustwhatit

was that had put Adam’s

nose out of join, Ben

plopped down on the

wickerchairnexttohisand

accepted thenote to read.

“Huh. Just an invitation to

another supper, up t’ the

Holcombmansion.Wonder

how many of these

goldarnedthingsI’llhavet’

goto.”

Adam chuckled.

“Nothin’ in your contract

aboutthat,huh?”

“Notapeep.Hell.And

it’s t’night. Sure enough

wouldratherstayhereand

shoot the breeze with you

for awhile,my friend.”He

rose, stretched both arms

wide,yawned,scrubbedat

the unruly hair that would

not be tamed. “Well, duty

calls,soIreckonI’dbetter

get cleaned up and hike

myself away. You got

anythinggoin’on?”

“Well…”

Benhadpausedatthe

door,expectant.

A grin, half-sheepish,

half-triumphant. “Asked

Mrs. Langley—Violet—if

she’d be interested in a

mealnothome-cooked,for

achange.Sowe’reheadin’

out to Bundy’s Café later

on.”

“By God,” said Ben,

chortling.“Yougotthelady

t’smile,afterall.”

A quick bath and a

change of clothing slightly

improved the doctor’s

mood, so that he was

feelingalmost jovialbythe

time he trotted Petronius

uptoHolcomb’sfrontgate.

Before he had even

finished swinging down to

the ground, a boy

appeared, todischargehis

responsibilities.

“Well, hello, there,”

Ben greeted him, handing

over the reins. “Walter,

ain’t it? From the

orphanage?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take your

horse, now, sir, if you

wanna go on inside.

MasterHolcombiswaitin’.”

Ben frowned.Master?

Didn’t that just smack of

slavery, and theplantation

life he had left behind?

“Well, Walter, Petronius is

gettin’ long in the tooth,

and set in his ways. You

got some comfortable

accommodationsforhim?”

“Oh, sure do. A big

corral, plentya fresh green

grass,waterin’troughnew-

filled.He’llbefine.”

“Okay, then. Uh—

Walter—?”astheboywas

turningaway.

“Yes,sir?”

“Kinda late for you t’

be out and about, ain’t it?

Pastyoursuppertime.You

alwaysworktillthistimeof

night?”

“No, sir. I mean, yes,

sir. I mean, sometimes,

sir.”Befuddled,Walterwas

shifting back and forth,

fromone foot to theother,

plainly uncomfortable

about having to answer

questions. “Just when the

master has got somethin’

special goin’ on. Can I go

now,sir?”

Ben waved a hand in

dismissal. Another little

thought began niggling

away in his overactive

cerebrum. One not so

pleasant, as a prelude to

thiseveningout.

“Doctor Yancey,” said

a disembodied voice as

the front door opened to

hisknock.

Same supercilious

butler, same uppity

attitude, same imperious

formalwear.Fitting for the

likes of New York City,

perhaps, or London. But

here?

Involuntarily Ben

snorted as he tossed his

hat to the man. Who,

though surprised, quite

ably caught hold, right out

of the air. “Hell, Jeeves,

withthatarm,you’doughta

sign up for the San

Francisco Eagles baseball

team.”

Hewashalfwaydown

thehalltothelibrarywhen

the words came floating

behind him, in a slightly

peeved tone, “My name,

sir,isBarrington.”

“H’lo, Charles,” he

said more as an

announcement than as a

salutation. His mood was

rapidly deteriorating from

jovial to testy, given those

random thoughts ping-

ponging from brain cell to

brain cell. Maybe he

wouldn’t last long in this

paradiseonearth,afterall.

“I decided not t’ stand on

ceremony and let myself

in.”

Holcomb, seated in

his favorite over-padded

chair,seemedamused.“Of

course, Doctor. I would

haveexpectednothin’less.

C’mon,sitdown.Catchme

uponwhatyoubeendoin’

lately.Oh—pouryourselfa

hefty drink, there. Got no

doubtyoudeserveit.”

OveraWaterfordlead

crystal glass full of

excellent brandy, the two

men carried on their

conversation inabusiness

matter: one gives, one

takes—not too little, not

too much. Careful. Wary.

Testing the waters. No

matterhowaffableastring

ofwords,underlyingmight

be all sorts of rampant

emotion.

Until Ben decided it

was time to throw caution

tothewinds.

“Iseeyouhavealotta

helparoundtheplace.”

Holcomb shrugged.

“Got a big spread here,

Doc.Ittakesalottapeople

tokeepthingsrunnin’.”

“Kids. Maybe doin’

some hard things, or

dangerous things, they

shouldn’tbedoin’.”

From across the

expanse of the low table

between them, where sat

thecutglassbrandybottle,

Holcomb narrowed his

eyes. “They’re all

supervised,” he answered

shortly. “Watched over,

while they learn a trade,

gettin’readyforjobsinthe

future.”

“Indentured, then,”

said Ben. “Like slave

labor.”

Holcomb bristled.

“Lookahere,youngman, I

spend a lotta time and

money helpin’ out over

there at the orphanage.

You go ahead and ask

Madonna about my

financial contributions. I’m

just helpin’ set these kids

up in somethin’ they can

dotherestoftheirlives.”

“Ahuh. Noble of you.”

Ben’s lip curled. “Anybody

else around Whitfield

teachin’ these orphans

whattheyneedt’know?”

A sudden sucked-in

lungful of air, as if to slow

an angered heartbeat and

stifle aroused impulses.

Bencouldsometimeshave

that effect on people,

especially while riding a

wave of righteousness.

Then his host made a

conscious effort to seem

conciliatory.

“Thatsoundsabitlike

demagoguery, my friend.

Not the sort of thing to

discusshereandnow,nor

over the supper table.

Speakin’ of which, let’s

head on int’ the dinin’

room, see what my cook

hasfixedforust’night.”

What the cook had

fixed was a pork roast,

simmering in spice and

juice;andBen,realizinghe

might as well be hanged

for a sheep as a lamb,

plungedinwithgusto.

Once again Roy was

there to clear away after

each course, and to bring

in a coffee tray after the

mealwasfinished.

No halting gait this

time, Ben quickly noticed.

Not a permanent

deformity, then; perhaps

trulydueonlytothescuffle

Holcombhadalludedtoon

hispastvisittothehouse.

“Youdoin’better,now,

son?”heasked inaquiet,

non-carryingtone.

The boymight just as

wellhavebeenpokedwith

a red-hot sword, for his

start of confusion.Prickles

of apprehension rode up

and down Ben’s spine at

the look of fear on Roy’s

face: white-rimmed eyes

thatinstantlyslidsideways;

trembling lips; hands that

shookenough to rattle the

tray.

Of course Holcomb

waswatching. As a hawk,

flying high overhead,

watches its prey weaving

forsafetythroughmeadow

grass. “Well, go on,

answer the man,” he

orderedsharply.

“Uh—yes, sir. Yes,

sir,” Roy proclaimed, “I’m

doin’ just fine, sir. Thank

you,sir.”

“All right, be off with

you. Let us enjoy our

coffeeinpeace.”

Benwasstirringsugar

into his cup with more

force than necessary, so

that the spoon clinked

noisily against the

porcelain rim. “I s’pose

they fake injuries, too, for

the attention,” he

suggestednonchalantly.

Holcomb grunted.

“Oh,hell,allthetime.Then

you just gotta take ’em in

hand.”

“Ahuh.Everybodyelse

onstaffingoodhealth?”

“Now, Doctor,” a

deliberatelyplacatinggaze

fromtheheadofthetable,

an appeasing tone,

“whydja wanna mix int’

somethin’ ain’t none of

yourconcern?”

Clampingdownonhis

own burgeoning anger,

Benseethedinternallyuntil

he was forced to loosen

the brown bow tie that

suddenly seemed too tight

around his throat. Now is

notthetime,cameasilent

warning from somewhere.

Gather your forces, first.

Let prudence prevail for

once,youhot-headedfool.

By eight o’clock Ben

was ready to leave this

mansionwith itsmysteries

and its uncomfortable

atmosphere of pain and

distress. He was, in fact,

feeling a little sick at his

stomachashethankedhis

host, made his farewells,

and climbed into the

saddle. Petronius, sensing

hismood,didnocavorting

onthewayhome,butheld

to a slow sensible walk

thatallowedthinkingtime.

The status and

conditionof theseorphans

was worrisome, eating at

his insides like a flock of

crows pecking a corpse.

How many were involved

in whatever was going on

here? What were their

ages,andthestateoftheir

health?Whatperilous jobs

were they being forced to

perform?

All questions that

could provide no answers.

Not yet, anyway. Ben

meanttodojustthat.

Duringhisvisitstothe

mansion, he’d spied a

couple of housemaids,

radiating fear, scuttling

away from both the butler

andHolcombhimself,asif

by hiding no unwanted

attention would be drawn.

He’d seen children

laboring in thegardenand

the outlying field, handling

equipment they had no

business handling. He’d

served as first-hand

witness to some sort of

damage done toRoy, and

to Nicholas. How many

others,andinwhathorrible

ways?

These were

youngsters: innocent,

defenseless youngsters,

quite possibly being taken

advantage of, and with,

apparently, no one to

speakoutontheirbehalf.

Untilnow.

As he rode through

the heart of town, several

businesses stood open

and hustling even at this

timeofnight.Severalwell-

lit saloons, of course, with

musicbangingloudlyaway

and hearty laughter

ensuing; the newspaper

office, setting late type for

an early morning edition;

andthetelegraphoffice.

“Good evenin’,” said

Ben, opening the door to

the accompaniment of a

jangly bell overhead.

“You’re keepin’ overdue

hours,ain’tcha?”

From a corner of the

small room, its employee,

wearing a green visor

against the light, glanced

up,clearlynonetoothrilled

by the interruption. “Yeah,

got some last-minute stuff

to send. Something I can

helpyouwith?”

“I’m Doctor Ben

Yancey.Wonder if Imight

shipoffatelegram?”

“DoctorYancey?” The

man surged upright,

messages put aside to

reach out for a cordial

handshake. “I’m delighted

to meet you, sir. I’m

JerusalemTalbot,butmost

folks just call me Sal.

Fairlady Halliwell is my

sister.”

Good God. Was

everybody in this town

related toeverybodyelse?

Or had he just had the

good fortune to stumble

upon those families he’d

beenabletohelp?

“Well,Sal, delighted t’

meet you, too. Haven’t

seenMrs.Halliwellinafew

days, so I’m hopin’ that

means things are on the

mend.”

Talbot frowned,

shifted to glance around

theroomasifexpectingto

finditsuddenlypeopledby

invisible beings, and

grimaced.“Well,shewould

be,sir,if—”

“Ahuh,” said Ben into

thesuddenpause.“If—?”

Anothergrimace, then

a reluctant, regretful head

shake. “No. Never mind,

Doctor.Fairladyjustneeds

to take better care of

herself,that’sall.Here,this

is the form; just fill it out

and give back tome, and

I’ll be happy to send your

communication straight

off.”

One more puzzle

piece. Best to leave this

onealoneforawhile.

“Much obliged, Sal.

Backinacouplaminutes.”

His letter of ten days

ago, sent to John the

Pinkerton Man via

stagecoach in what was

promised tobe “fastmail,”

hadgarneredno response

as yet. Tonight’s missive

would be more urgent, as

well as more cryptic.

Because Ben suspected

thatverylittletookplacein

Whitfield without Charles

Holcombbeingawareofit.

And possibly involved,

everystepoftheway.

Sowhatwouldbesent

was a reminder as to

wanting to hear about the

situationwithanold friend

and ended with “Your

lovingbrother,Benton.”

There.If thatdidn’tdo

it, nothing would, mused

Ben, returning to the

darkness outside and a

swing back into Petronius’

saddle.

“Your loving brother.”

Used from early teenhood

on, at one time or the

other, by each of the ten

brothers as code.

Occasionally to keep

parents from delving into

their sons’ planned

mischief; often, during the

War, to keep the Union

and / or the Confederacy

fromknowinganypersonal

arrangements;lately—well,

notatall, lately.Hehoped

John would remember.

Andrespond.

If nothing else, the

signature of his full name

shouldbringfamilialtroops

a-runnin’.

VI

“Doctor! Dr. Yancey,

come quick! Please, Dr.

Yancey!”

Sobs, cries, frantic

poundingatthefrontdoor.

ThenoiseyankedBen

from his exhausted

slumberwiththeforceofa

hurricane wind, and he

tumbled out of bed and

downthestairswithalmost

thesameamountof force.

Jake, instantly aroused,

hadbegunbarkinglikethe

good watchdog he was,

which in turn aroused

Adam.Within seconds the

wholehousehold,including

Mrs. Langley, was alight

andawakened.

“Miss Lassiter!” Of all

the people in the world

whomighthaveshownup

at this ghastly hour, she

wasthelasthewouldhave

considered. “What is it,

what’shappened?”

Forjustamomentshe

stood stock-still, stunned

and disbelieving.

Jessamine was fully

dressedforthisemergency

excursionintothenight;he

was half-naked in a short

nightshirt, feet and hairy

legs bare, unshaven face

showing the effects of

worry and imported

brandy.

At Mrs. Langley’s

appearance from the

kitchenarea,thegirlfound

hervoiceagain.

“It’s Mattie. Oh, dear

God, it’sMattie. She—she

—”Unabletogoon,Jessie

broke off with another

involuntarysob.

Bencouldonlyguess.

His heart plummeted to

somewhere amidships,

andhisveinsrancoldwith

slush.“C’monin.Youhave

a carriage? Good. Let me

get dressed and grab my

things, and we’ll go see

whatcanbedone.Jess—”

Now he paused, dreading

to ask, needing to know.

“Isshestillalive?”

“Barely. Just barely.

Oh, Ben, what could have

—” she broke off, eyes

fillingwithtears.

“Notnow.Later.Jess,”

he realized then, holding

her arm, “you’re in shock,

you’re shakin’ all over.

Mrs. Langley, please pour

this girl a brandy while I

getready.Yes,Iwanchat’

drink it; every last drop.

Doctor’s orders. Adam—

dunno when I’ll be back.

Manthefort.”

The carriage might

haveheldonly twohuman

passengers,astheypelted

away, but the interior was

crammed full of black

insentient beings: worry,

and anxiety, and

recrimination. Shoulda

talkedt’Mrs.BelliniwhenI

had the chance. Shoulda

nipped this in the bud.

Shouldatoldherwhatwas

goin’on.Shoulda,shoulda,

shoulda…

Much as the director

had tried to keep things

quiet at the orphanage,

enoughstudentshadbeen

awakened either by

muffled commotion or by

intuition that it would be a

hard job getting everyone

settled down again, once

the excitement of the

unknown had been dealt

with.LeavingJessamineto

escort the doctor inside,

Mrs.Bellinistartedupstairs

torestoreorder.

Mattie had been

moved to the infirmary,

and there she lay, on a

single cot, two o’clock

lamplight casting a soft

glowoverthewhitewaxen

features, the motionless

form, and the blood. The

redgore,everywhere.

“Jesus,” muttered

Ben. Bending down to

check for a pulse, he

glanced over his shoulder

at Jessamine, still shaky

but determined. “Where

wasshefound?”

“In the flower garden,

her—her favorite place.

The ground was—”

Jessamine hissed in a

breath between her teeth,

“—the ground was

soaked…wet…”

“Okay. Don’t think

aboutthatnow.”

“Nicholaswentlooking

for her,” she babbled on,

unabletostopnowthatthe

vents had been opened,

“andthenherushedtoget

me. We were able to find

enoughpeopleto—tocarry

herinside,here.”

Althoughhecontinued

speaking with her, Ben’s

attention was focused on

hisunconsciouspatientas

he began a cursory

examination. “I figure a

knittin’needle.”

Nodding, Jessamine

gulped down a sob. “So—

soMadonnatoldme.”

The victim’s heartbeat

wasweakandthready,but

atleaststillviable.Evenin

the dim light, some faint

movement could be seen:

analmostimperceptiblelift

of the breast, a flicker of

theblue-veinedeyelids.

“No, by God,” Ben

suddenly rasped out,

furious at the fates that

decreed such suffering.

“Notanotherone.Thisain’t

gonna happen again.”

Tearingoff his coat, ready

to take action, he pulled

back Mattie’s coverlet to

reveal a thin scarlet-

stained nightgown. Then

halted short, looking up.

“You know what

happened, doncha? You

know why she’s

hemorrhagin’likethis?”

“I—I believe so,” she

whispered.

“Ahuh. Think you’ll be

ablet’stayonwithmeand

helpout?”

Her words gathered

strengthevenasherspine

straightenedandset.“Yes.

JusttellmewhatIneedto

do.”

“Good girl, Jess,” he

approvedquietly.“First,go

findyourselfanapron.This

isgonnagetmessy.”

What seemed like an

eon of time crept by,

during which Ben’s work

proceeded briskly,

efficiently,but temperately.

Clean sheets were torn

into strips, then folded as

pads to stop the bleeding;

blankets were heated by

the kitchen fire to add

warmthtothesmallchilled

body.

If Jessamine were

shocked or disgusted by

whatwasbeingdone,she

hid it well. In fact, she

showed a real propensity

fornursingthatbodedwell

for the future. However,

Ben sent her out of the

room while he was

conducting an internal

exam. Even absorbed as

he was, he knew this

gently-raised young

woman could handle only

so much of an infirmary

nightmare.

Dawnwaspaintingthe

sky with pale brushes of

pink and gold when Ben

finally declared limited

success. Whatever might

have been left inside the

girl’s limp form had been

scraped out and cleaned

away, and the slow drain

of blood loss had at last

been stopped. While

Mattie was nowhere near

out of the woods yet, at

least the situation was no

longer as dire as it had

beenafewhoursago.

Both he and

Jessamine were slumped,

exhausted and spattered

withgore,onchairsbeside

the cot when the director

slipped inside, almost

terror-strickenbywhatshe

mightfind.

“Still alive,” reported

Ben with a weary smile.

“Touch and go, still, but

she’s got a fightin’ chance

now.”

Mrs. Bellini’s dark

eyes filled with tears that

overflowed with

heartrending slowness.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she

whispered. “When I saw

her, earlier, I—I truly

fearedtheworst.”

“Sit down here,

Madonna.” Jessamine

patted the chair beside

her. “I know you’re tired,

andwornoutwithworry.”

Obeying, because her

legs no longer agreed to

holdherupright,sheasked

abouttheprognosis.

“A long recuperation,”

said Ben frankly. “A lotta

bed rest, a lotta fluids, a

lotta good rich broth to

rebuild her strength. You

knowwhathappenedhere,

doncha?”

“I’m afraid—I’m afraid

I do.” The thin, work-worn

handshadtwinedtogether

until the knuckles turned

white.

“Mattie Jamison was

pregnant, Madonna. That

was the cause of the

morning sickness, and the

fainting spells. Iwanted to

tell you, to discuss what

could be done, but she

beggedmenotto.”

“Oh, dear God,”

moaned the director,

deeply distressed. “That

poorchild.”

“She wouldn’t tell me

anydetails,”Bencontinued

in a low, intense voice.

“Goddamnit,shewouldn’t

eventellmewhothefather

was.”

Jessamine shivered.

“You believe she was—

shewas—”

“Raped?Yeah,Idamn

well do.” Frustrated anger

rumbled up through Ben’s

chest and into his throat.

“Dunno who attacked her,

butImeant’findout.Then

I’mgoin’t’thesheriff.”

“Oh, but, Doctor—”

The beginning of an

automatic protest, with

thought of the scandal

brought down upon a

once-fineinstitution,thena

ragged sigh. “Mattie came

tousonlyayearorsoago,

after her mother died of

consumption. She was

onlyjustbeginningtosettle

in, to—to trust me…and I

failed her. Lord above, I

failedher.”

“We both failed her,”

said Ben heavily. “I

shoulda done more, right

at the beginnin’, once I

figured out what was

wrong. Well, she aborted

the pregnancy, and I think

she’ll live. Butwhat shape

she’ll be in, once she

recovers,isyett’beseen.”

Eventually itwas time

to clean up, to discard all

the soiled wrappings, to

gather together what had

been thrown aside. While

all that was being done,

the Whitfield Orphanage

daily routine began,

supervisedbyaveryquiet,

very introspective

Madonna Bellini: the

children rose,washed,ate

breakfast, and proceeded

totheirchoresorstudies.

“There’snothin’moreI

can do here at the

moment,Miss Lassiter, so

I’m headin’ back t’ my

office. Can you continue

watchin’overMattie?”Ben

wanted to know, as he

slipped on his rumpled

coat and settled the

sleeves. “Yes? All right,

then. Here’s what I want

yout’do—”

“Jess.”

“Huh. Beg your

pardon?”

“Jess,” she repeated

patiently. “That’swhat you

calledme, in the stress of

the moment a while ago.

Can you not go on doing

that?”

The smile that

bloomed on his lined,

stubbly face might have

been the sun, breaking

throughrainclouds.“Bless

you, child. Jess it is, then.

Mattie needs to be kept

absolutely quiet andwarm

fromheadtofoot.Heatthe

quilts, as I showed you,

and wrap her up well. I’ll

checkbacklatert’day.But,

ifyouneedanythingbefore

then, send somebody and

I’ll get here hell bent for

leather.”

Her beautiful blue

eyes, ringed by shadow,

crinkled with a faint show

ofamusement.“IpromiseI

will do just that, Ben.”

Then, on a more somber

note, “You’ve saved her

life,youknow.”

“Ahuh. The two of us

t’gether saved her life.

What she’ll dowith it after

this will be up for grabs.

You get yourself some

sleep in between times, y’

hearme?Doctor’sorders.”

“Is that the threat you

usewheneveryouwant to

get your way?” Another

crinkle.Benlikedseeingit,

verymuch. “That goes for

you, too, Dr. Yancey. You

desperately need some

rest. Because you look—

um—”

“Yeah, I know. Like a

friggin’ train wreck,” he

saidglumly.

“Very tired. Go home

now, Ben. And—thank

you.”

“Jess.”

She turned.The room

was very still, other than

the barely audiblewhisper

of breath from their

unconsciouspatient,anda

murmurofvoices from the

wing above. Better yet,

theywerepracticallyalone.

Roughly he swung a

muscular arm around

Jessamine’s waist and

pulledher tightagainsthis

chest where she clung,

paralyzed by

astonishment, as he bent

hisheadandkissedher.A

lengthy, sweet, draining,

and incredibly erotic kiss

that set his pulses

pounding and stirred new

lifeintobeing.

Finally, reluctantly, he

releasedher.

“You’re welcome,”

Bensaidhuskily.

Satchel in hand, and

with a bounce in his step,

he was on his way to

Madonna’soffice fora few

last words when he found

her door closed. No

matter. He would see her

when he returned. Except

that someone was

speaking inside the room,

and he recognized the

gravellytoneofthevoice.

Intrigued, he paused

and quite boldly

eavesdropped on the

conversation.

“She’s too old,”

Charles Holcomb was

saying.“Forhere,anyway.

Time to move her on to

greenerpastures.”

“What exactly does

thatmean?”

Ben had to give her

credit. Considering the

gamut of emotions that

musthaveoverrunherfrail

frame during the past

horrendoushours,shewas

holding up fairly well. A

calm, rational response to

a snide, oafish directive.

He applied his ear more

firmlytothedoor.

“A better place in life.

Mine.”

“Youcan’tbeserious.”

“I am absolutely

serious, Mrs. Bellini.

Haven’t you learned by

nownottocrossme?”

A sigh, then the

scrape of a chair and a

tearful tone. The last of

MadonnaBellini’sreserves

waswearingoutfast.“She

has beenwithme since—

since she was only three.

She’slikemydaughter;no,

she is my daughter. And

youpromised—”

“I promised what? To

leave her alone?” An ugly

gnome of a laugh. “And

you believed me? You

actuallybelievedme!”

“At the time,” said

Madonna stiffly, “I thought

youwere aman of honor.

But you shame yourself,

and you shame all who

mustassociatewithyou.”

Silence foramoment,

a silence so charged with

tension and unspoken

demands that Ben,

listening, was about ready

to break down the locked

doorwhenHolcombspoke

again, in a low voice so

twisted by depravity and

malevolence that it was

almostunrecognizable.

“She’s mine. You’ve

held ont’ her all these

years, groomin’ her t’ give

me when the time was

right. Well, that time is

right, now, and I’m ready,

now. Make up whatever

storyyouwannatellheras

t’ what’s goin’ on. But I

want that girl atmyhouse

soon, hot and pantin’ and

readyforuse.”

Another pause, and

thenthefinalthreat:

“It’s either that, or it’s

int’ the streets and flat on

herback.”

In the few seconds it

took for Holcomb to grind

his way across the floor

and throw open the door,

Benhaddisappeared.

VII

After dealing with a

fewminorcomplaintsathis

office—a child with an

earache, another whose

bee-stung hand had

swollen to a size even his

lackadaisical mother

considered unsafe, an

elderlystoreclerk troubled

by boils—Ben had

managed to sneak in a

coupleofhoursof restless

slumber on the

chesterfield. Guarded,

during naptime, by two

watchdogs: Adam and

Jake.

Rising afterward,

feeling half-drunk on lack

of sleep and emotional

turmoil, he had immersed

himself in cold water, put

on fresh clothing, and

returned to the orphanage

to findMrs.Bellinikeeping

watch in the infirmary.

Jessamine was, she

informed thedoctor, finally

asleep in her room, and

she would thank him to

leaveherthere.

“Sure enough,” said

Ben agreeably. Now that

he had at least taken the

first step in laying down a

proprietaryclaim,hecould

wait a while to see her

again. And to hell with

Charles Holcomb, and all

his claptrap of taking her

away. Just because Ben

practiced medicine didn’t

meanhecouldn’thandlea

gun. And damned well, at

that.

Matilda Jamison still

lay unconscious, deep in

an untroubled sleep that

no one would disturb.

However, a faint show of

color had washed up into

her cheekbones, and the

chill was slowly seeping

awayfromherbones.

“Full recovery, do you

think?” asked Mrs. Bellini

quietly.

“Dunno for sure,” said

Ben after his cautious

examination. “No more

bleedin’.Nocrampin’.And

no fever, which means

there shouldn’t be any

infection. We’ll just go on

hopin’, Madonna, and

takin’ things one day at a

time.”

She curved a gentle

hand across the girl’s

brow, as if sending good

thoughtsandblessingsher

way. “Sleep well, little

one,” shewhispered. “And

comeback to us soon, so

wecanmakethisright.”

Packing away what

few instruments he had

used, Ben picked up his

satchel and motioned the

director to the door. “Any

other casualties I need t’

see while I’m here?” he

askedwhimsically.

Drawing in a deep

breath, she shook her

head. “Amazingly, not at

themoment.”

“Nicholas doin’

better?”

“Much, thankyou.Per

your instructions, we

removed the bandages

once he felt more

comfortable, and he’s

movingaroundmorefreely

now. Oh, yes, yes—”

anticipatinghisquestion,

“—he’s still on bed

rest most of the day. An

excellent chance to

enhancehisreadingskills.”

Ben did admire

courage in a woman, and

this one had it, in spades.

Not one word about her

earlierprobably frightening

confrontation with Charles

Holcomb, not one word

asking for aid or advice.

She shouldered her own

burdens,thisone.

Hisnextvisit,earlythe

following afternoon, found

Mattiesemi-awake,though

stillasgroggyasifshehad

swallowedchloroform.The

three of them sat down

with her, Ben, Madonna,

and Jessamine, to speak

with her, try to garner

information,andmostofall

togivereassurance.

“I’m—sorry…” the girl

breathed.“I’mso—sorry…I

worriedyouso—”

“It isn’t the worry,

Mattie, dear,” Madonna

assured her from a chair

beside the bed. She had

takenoneofMattie’scool,

limp hands into both of

hers,asiftoreturnenergy

and function. “I only wish

I’d known—what was

happening with you, so I

couldhavehelped.”

“We wouldn’t have let

you go through this alone,

Mattie,” added Jess. “We

would have worked it out,

somehow. All this—you

could have—” her throat

worked to produce the

words, “—you could have

died.”

Their patient turned

her face away, into the

pillow.“WishIhad.”

“No.It’sovernow,and

you’llgetbetter.Lifewillgo

on.”

“But theonewhohurt

you will still be around,”

Ben interjected bluntly.

“Unless you speak up, so

hecanbechargedandput

ontrial.”

“Charged? Trial?” Her

eyesblurredwithtears.“In

public? In front of

everybody?”

“Mattie,canyoutellus

who—”

“No,” she moaned.

“No, no, no. He’ll kill me,

he said he’d—kill me, if I

told…”

Near-hysteria is not

recommended for anyone

recovering from grave

injury. Ben exchanged a

look with the two women

and shook his head. Not

now; not for a while. The

girl needed time, and they

must see that she was

givenit.

Ben was standing in

the office, clearing up a

few details with the

women,whenJoeKincaid,

the helpful Holcomb

employee fromearlydays,

hastened up the steps of

the orphanage and inside

thedoor.

“Glad t’ see you’re

here,Doc,”heblurtedout.

“Got someone hurt out

here.”

Anotherpatientforthe

infirmary.Thiswastwelve-

year-old Betsy Farrell,

bravelytryingtostiflesobs

of pain from her scalded

hand.Sittingthegirldown,

Benexaminedthedamage

and began immediate

triage. Clean cold water

compresses,gentlewraps,

laudanum for discomfort.

Along with medical

science, quiet

reassurances and

questions meant to

distract.

“Somethin’ got tipped

over on you, Betsy?” he

asked,workingaway.

“Hot—h-h-hot water,”

sheburbled.

“Andwhatwassucha

little thing as you doin’,

messin’ around with hot

water?”

Jessamine, holding

the child’s free hand as

somemeasure of comfort,

looked troubled. “She

works in the kitchen at

Holcomb Mansion,

Doctor.”

“Works at—

Goddammit!” he muttered

underhisbreath,soasnot

tosoundanyscarierforan

already terrified

adolescent. “Ah.Therewe

go, Miss Farrell, all done.

Startin’t’hurtless,isit?”

Wide-eyed, tear-

stained, she managed a

smallnod.

“You’vebeenamighty

brave patient, young lady.

If you were in my office

right now, I’d give you a

peppermintstick.Sohow’s

aboutifIjustoweyouone,

and you can collect on it

nexttimeIcomeby?”

A faint and wobbly

smileinreturn.

“Okay, I’m gonna

leave now, b’cause pretty

soon that nasty ole

medicine will kick in, and

you’ll start gettin’ tired,”

Ben told her. “So I’d like

MissJessieheret’getyou

int’ a nightgown and let

yousleephereinthisbed,

allbyyourself.Thatsound

okay?”

An apprehensive

glance from Jessamine to

Madonna and back to the

doctor.“Okay.”

“Good girl. Jess?” He

sent her a significant flash

oftheeye.

“Of course,Doctor. I’ll

take care of her. Thank

you, once again, for being

here when we needed

you.”

He essayed a slight

bow. “Just doin’ my job,

ma’am. I’ll come back

later.”

While Jessamine

stayed behind to help the

little girl settle into bed,

Mrs. Bellini walked with

Bentothedoor.“Ifearthe

troubles of the orphanage

have been monopolizing

your time lately,” she told

him, distressed. “Surely

you must have other

patientstosee.”

“I do, indeed. But

thingsseemt’bebalancin’

out okay.” In a sudden

burst of sympathetic

feeling, he reached out to

pat her upper arm in its

covering of plum-colored

moiré. “Get some rest,

Madonna. You can’t carry

the world on your own

shoulders.”

A vague but

appreciativesmilesenthim

onhisway.

“Hell, you’re off and

gone somewheres more’n

you’re here anymore,”

grumbled Adam as a

greeting, when he finally

returnedhome.

Thatreactioncameas

asurprisefromtheusually

unflappable handyman.

“Andyou’resoundin’ likea

jealous wife,” pointed out

Ben,splashingawayatthe

kitchen sink over Mrs.

Langley’s vociferous

objections. “What put the

burrunderyourtail?”

“Oh, man, I’m sorry,

Doc. Damn leg’s been

botherin’me,andit’smade

meatrifletesty.”

“A trifle?Whooee.Go

on int’ the office, you ole

ringtailed hooligan, and

let’shavealook.”

“Naw, itain’t thatbad.

You just got home, you

prob’ly wanna eat and put

yourfeetup,andI—”

“Adam,” said Ben

sternly.“Git.”

The leg that he had

kept from being sawed off

by a colleague—and an

incompetentone,at that—

after Adam’s return from

the War now felt feverish

and swollen over the ropy

muscles. With Adam

naked from the waist

down, plunked upon the

examiningtable,Benused

touchandvisiontofindout

whatwasgoingon.

Suddenlyheburstinto

laughter. “Why, you damn

fool,you.”

“Nothin’ like makin’ a

patient feel comfortable,”

complained Adam.

“What?”

Hands on hips, Ben

steppedbacktosurveyhis

friend. “Did you dress up

forthatsupperoutwithour

housekeeper?”

“Well, natcherly I did,”

he said crossly. “Whadja

think, I’d take a lady

somewheres in my

overalls?”

“Then you must be

missin’ somethin’.”

Grinning like a baboon,

Ben extended one palm,

across which lay a black

elastic band bordered in

gray.

“Mysockgarter!”

“Damn straight.

Somehowthethingworked

itswayupyour leg,above

the knee, tight as all

getout, cuttin’ off your

circulation.”

“Jesus Christ,” said

Adam, awestruck. “Coulda

cut off some other things,

too.”

Ben gave him a

curious look. “You didn’t

evennoticeitwasthere?”

“Now,Doc,youknowI

ain’t got much feelin’ in

that leg, as bad hurt as I

was.”

“Hmmph.Well, reckon

you owe me again, Mr.

Zantner. I just saved your

life.”Asheturnedaway,so

that his patient could pull

on his clothes, he

muttered,“Mightbeagood

reason t’ take a bath

more’nonceaweek,too.”

After a quick but

satisfying supper—her

talentsinthekitchenbeing

oneofMrs.Langley’smost

endearing qualities—Ben

took himself back to the

orphanage. He wanted to

followupwithNicholas,he

needed to follow up with

Mattie, he absolutely had

to follow up with Betsy.

And, most of all, he

planned to follow up with

Jessamine. Maybe they

could wedge in a few

minutes of spooning in

theirmoonlitflowergarden.

After this many trips

back and forth, Petronius

could almost travel the

road in his sleep, without

anydirectionfromadriver.

“Miss Jessamine is

out seein’ to the garden,”

reported the teenagedboy

whoansweredhisknock.

Ah! She must have

read his mind, all across

themiles.

“Her and Mrs. Bellini

went there t’ sit and relax

forawhile.”

Damn. That wasn’t in

thecards.

Leaving his satchel

behind,Bensteppedoutto

the rear of the rambly

building and cut across a

swathe of lawn to where

the scent of lavender and

roses and creosote bush

was pulling him. Not

moonlit yet, just the last

watercolor hues of a late

summerdusk,withslanted

rays of sunshine gilding

whateverittouched.

“She was deliberately

hurt,” came Jessamine’s

voice up ahead, from the

center of the cultivated

area.

Ben stopped. An

eavesdropper once again,

destined to hear things he

probably shouldn’t hear.

Nevertheless, he slowed

hisbreathingtolisten.

A low murmur from

her companion that

evidently roused

exasperation.

“No, you can’t tell me

that. I spoke with Betsy.

She’s terrified of being in

thathouse,Madonna.She

wants to run away and

nevergoback.”

“I know it isn’t easy,

but—”

“Easy!” Jessie burst

out. “Charles Holcomb

found her in the scullery.

When he tried to—tried to

touch her where he

shouldn’t, she pushed him

away. That’s when he

tipped the boiling water

over her hand. My God,

Madonna, the man is a

monster, an absolute

monster!”

“I certainly can agree

withthat,”saidthedirector

in saddened tones. “So

many wrongs, so many

hurts,somuchevil…”

Jessamine’s words

were filled with bitterness.

“He owns this town and

everyone in it. Just

knowinghe’saround,todo

whatever he wants to do,

makes my skin crawl.

Evidently all he needs is

to spend money, and he

canbuyoffanyopposition.

And the worst part is that

no one will stand up to

him.”

“Oh, Jessie, Jessie,

I’m so sorry all this is

happening.”

“Madonna.” She

sounded curious and

puzzled, all at once. “It’s

hardlyyourfault.We’veall

let him get away with the

veryworstofcrimes.”

“That’s because he

has too much power.

Anyone who tries to fight

himsimply—disappears.”

A rustle of fabric

indicated movement from

one, or from both. “I

sometimes wish I had

taken care of this myself,

back when you first came

to me. That would have

prevented so much

heartacheandbloodshed.”

“What do you mean?

Is there something from

that time that you’re not

tellingme?”

“Hewants you, Jess.”

That sounded like a half-

stifled sob. Surprising,

from the quiet, capable

Mrs. Bellini. “He told me

it’s time you leave here,

and he’ll take you to the

Mansion, under his wing.

ButIcan’t let thathappen;

Iwon’tletithappen!”

“Nor will it,” asserted

the girl stoutly. “I’d shoot

the man first. Damn his

mangy hide! Look,

Madonna, with all the

horrible things that man

has done, I’m taking

precautions.”

Anotherrustleoffabric

withmovement,acreakof

the bench, and a shocked

“Ooooh—!”fromMadonna.

“Jessie,mydear—aknife?

You’veactuallystrappeda

knife to your ankle? But—

that’s so dangerous!What

if—whatif—?”

“What if Iwerecaught

by him, unarmed and

defenseless? At least this

way I have some sort of

protection! And it’s a

beauty,isn’tit?”Jessamine

said with a ring of pride.

Possiblyadmiringherown

foresight,asmetalscraped

against leatherandbuckle

snappedoverhasp.“Isent

Walter to Fields

Mercantile, with money to

buy it for me. And, with

Walter’s help, I’ve been

practicing some moves.

You’dbe surprisedat how

goodI’vegotten.”

“That things could

havecome to thispass…”

was her mournful, half-

whispereddemur.

“Not formuch longer,”

Jessamine declared. “Oh,

Madonna, how did our

lives get to be so

complicated?”

“Evenin’, ladies,” said

Ben, approaching with a

deliberate crackling of

leavesandgrassunderfoot

towarnthem.

Jessamine shot up

like a firecracker. “Ben,

youcameback!”

“Well, sure, Miss

Lassiter,” he grinned.

“Wannahavea lookseeat

my patients one last time

b’fore I hit the sack. Nice

place you got back here,

with all these flowers and

such.”

She crinkled her eyes

withamusementathim, in

theway hewas beginning

to cherish. “It’s our little

getaway spot, mine and

Madonna’s,whenthingsat

the orphanage get to be

toomuchtohandle.”

“Seemst’meyou’dbe

here twenty-four hours a

day,inthatcase.”

Rising gracefully, with

a swish of her skirts, the

director managed to

produce a smile. “It isn’t

quite thatbad,Doctor.But

I think Jessie and I have

been able to settle our

nerves somewhat by now,

after this very exhausting

day. Come along, let’s

have a cup of coffee and

some biscuits in the

kitchen, and then you can

visit your patients once

more.”

If he spent as much

time in physical activity as

he did in mulling over the

latest disquieting

developments, Ben

mused, hustling Petronius

along back home an hour

or so later, he could

probably have qualified as

a contender in the ancient

Olympic games. With

Charles Holcomb

apparentlyinvolvedinmud

and muck up to his

armpits, it was time for

doing,notthinking.

Along that line, what

the hell had happened to

hisbrother,John?Noreply

tohisfirstletter;noreplyto

his urgent telegram. Had

theman fallenoff the face

of the earth? Ben was

beginningtofeeldownright

peeved. If he could have

spared a few days, he’d

haveheadedwest,tracked

down his errant sibling,

and pounded lumps in his

head.

But of course he

couldn’t spare those few

days; that was the

problem. Not with patients

needing daily care at the

orphanage and Holcomb

running around like a wild

man bent on murder and

mayhem.

What was a poor

country doctor to do,

anyway?

He would soon find

out.

The sun had set and

soft twilight had

encompassed the town,

rollingsoftshadowsacross

from street to street.

Childrenwerebeingcalled

infromplay,protesting,for

bath time and bedtime,

and shopkeepers had

closed up till tomorrow.

Lamps had already been

fired up in most of the

houses, one of whichwas

his.

There, three horses,

tailsflourishingandmanes

flouncing,stoodtied to the

hitchingpost.

VIII

“Wahoo, it’s about

damn time you dragged

your lazy ass home, you

worthless ole son of a

gun!”wasthegreetingBen

received as soon as he

crossedthethreshold.

His first impression

was that the parlor had

beentakenoverbyagang

of outlaws and horse

thieves. His second

impression was that the

room was overfilled by a

bunch of big black-haired

black-browed men. His

third was that it was

neither. His brothers had

arrived.

Ben’s heart warmed

andoverflowedatthesight

of them as they came

crowding around to back

slap and hand shake and

harangue. John, the

Pinkerton Man, from San

Francisco; and the twins,

Travis and Thomas, both

important landownersnear

San Juan Capistrano,

along the southern

California coast, and both

U.S.Marshals.

He had a minute to

wonder about the reason

forallthisfirepowerbefore

the boys began badgering

him for food and coffee,

becauseithadbeenalong

hardridethisfareast,and

they would appreciate

somehospitality.Just then

Adamappeared,withJake

thumping along at his

heels, and Mrs. Langley

behind them, carrying a

tray.

Chaos. Just like old

times.

Once things had

quieted down, with plates

of sandwiches and the

coffee pot nearby, the

housekeeper escaping by

the skin of her teeth, and

Adam invited to join in the

confab, Ben was able to

catch upwith these noisy,

raucousbrothers.

“Can’t believe you all

left your wife and kids t’

come trekkin’ here, just

b’cause I was lookin’ for

help.”

“Hell, yeah, you can

b’lieve it,” said Travis, the

moreoutspokenofthetwo.

“You’ddothesameforus,

wouldn’tcha?”

“Huh. Maybe. Dunno

Depends on how serious

yourtroublewas,Ireckon.”

Travispunchedhim.

“Ouch! Lay off, damn

it. So what’s the news

farther west? Everything

goin’good?”

John, who had taken

up residence in the most

comfortablechair,nodded.

“Twins are fine, and

Ceceliaisduetodeliverin

another month or so. San

Franciscoisagrandplace;

I’m feelin’ it was the best

thingIeverdid,movin’out

here from Boston and

settin’ up my own

business. And gettin’ to

meet my wife, too, of

course.”

Earthenware cups

were clinking as Thomas

moved things around in a

search for sugar. “Well, I

had the farthest t’ come,

gettin’ here, and I just

about had to hogtie Liz to

makeherstayhome.Gotta

sendheratelegram,lettin’

her know what’s goin’ on,

whenIgetachance.”

“And the ranch?” Ben

asked. “The Catamount,

right, out in Arizona

Territory?”

“Workin’ out well, so

far.Gotapartnershipgoin’

with Liz’ half-brother,

Cochinay, while her paw

eases back some. But

Trav here has got some

interestsgoin’onnearSan

Juan.”

Leaning back against

the chesterfield’s sturdy

upholsterywhilehesipped

at the blistering coffee,

Travis described what

would be a half-interest in

theCondorRanch, thanks

to his own wife’s

inheritance.“Yeah,meand

Rosie really like the area.

Got a lotta family and

business ties roundabout.

But then President

JohnsoncededtheGrizzly

Bear to me, so we’re

lookin’ int’ runnin’ that,

too.”

Ben pursed his lips

intoawhistle.“Soundslike

all of you have got your

handsfullwithpersonallife

and professional deals.

Makes me even more

grateful that you all took

timeaway t’ headonover

here,justb’causeIasked.”

“Aw, don’t make no

nevermind.We get bored

aftera fewweeksof sittin’

around countin’ cows,”

saidTravis,chuckling.“Or,

in John’s case,

greenbacks.”

“SoI reckonyou’reall

plannin’ t’ spend the

night?”Adaminterjectedat

thispoint.

“Betcher boots,”

Thomassaid.“We’llgoout

pretty soon and get the

hawsesunsaddledandput

up in that fancy stablewe

spied behind the house.

ThenIwantsomethin’else

t’ eat. Been ridin’ so long

my belly is rubbin’ up

againstmybackbone.”

“Bunch of namby-

pambies,” grumbled John.

“Complainin’ all the way

here,whinin’ about it bein’

too far and the weather

was too dry and they’d

take a good glass of

whiskeyanyday.”

“Whiskey? Hell,” it

wasBen’s turnnow, “Igot

some imported brandy

herethat’llcurlyourhair.”

“Imported brandy?

How’s come I never got

offered that?” Adam

soundedoffended.

For some time the

parlor rang so loudly with

male laughter and male

boorishness and male so-

called humor that poor

Mrs. Langley, trying to

sleepinherbackbedroom,

pulled a pillow over her

ears in a vain attempt to

shutoutthenoise.

At last, as the clock’s

hands were making their

way toward the witching

hour, things got seriously

downtobusiness.

“You got yourself one

whale of a mess here,

brother,” John finally

started it off. Earlier,

getting comfortable once

their mounts had been

taken care of, he had

pulled off his boots,

stacked his stocking feet

oneovertheotherontoan

upholstered ottoman, and

laced his fingers together

behindhisheadwithasigh

ofrelief.

Leaning forward to

pouranothercupofcoffee,

Ben couldn’t help

agreeing. “Sure as

shootin’, I know that. Just

findin’thetipoftheiceberg

about this reprobate,

Charles Holcomb. Smooth

talker,getsawaywithalot.

Tillyoupinhimdown.”

“You asked me t’ do

some diggin’,” continued

John, “and I did. In depth,

which is what took me so

long.AndwhatI foundout

was so damn unhealthy

that I didn’t wanna tackle

this, justyouandme.SoI

broughtintheMarshals.”

Ben scowled. “What

could be worse than what

I’ve already found out

here?”

“Jesus, man, you talk

about the tip of the

iceberg?Youdon’thavea

clue.”

“We talked about the

orphanagehere,andwhat

you suspect, right?”

Thomas picked up the

refrain. “Well, multiply that

by a dozen times or so,

and then you can begin t’

imaginetheeffect.”

“Adozentimesorso?”

Ben sounded as

bewildered as he looked.

“What thehell ishedoin’?

From what I’ve found out

onthis level,Holcombhas

taken some of the kids

from the orphanage t’ be

educated invarious trades

—kitchen work,

blacksmithin’, farmin’, and

so on. Can’t see much

wrongwith that,except for

—”

“White slavery,” said

Travisquietly.

“What?”

“It’s been a lucrative

business for him, son,”

John advised. “That’s how

he got t’ be so filthy rich.

That’swhyhecanbuyand

sell anybody in this town.

And this is how he’s

workedit.”

After the war ended,

withsomanymendeador

about to be, children

became the ultimate

victims. Both sexes, all

ages, healthy or not, they

were left abandoned,

alone, bereft of family or

friends.Mostofthemwere

takeninbythisorphanage

or that.Maybe thesewere

the fortunate ones.Maybe

not. Especially after

Charles Holcomb worked

out his scheme and put it

intoaction.

“The places set aside

for these throwaway kids

got t’ be filled t’

overflowin’,” explained

John. “Toomanyorphans;

notenoughrooms.”

“It sounded like a

goodplan,t’startoffwith.”

Travis reached for the last

ham sandwich and took a

bite before continuing. “A

welfareprogram,calledthe

Orphan Train Movement.

All these city kids with no

place t’ go were shipped

farther west, t’ foster

homes, where they were

auctioned off like cattle.

Families split up. Some

young’uns were nothin’

more than indentured

servants.”

“And that’swhere this

this rat, Holcomb, come

in.”

He contracted with

crowdedorphanagesalong

the Eastern coast to take

healthy, sturdy childrenoff

their hands—for a fee.

With Quincy McClennon

overseeing the operation,

those children were then

transported west into

Holcomb’s greedy hands.

If any proved to be more

frail thanexpected,orsick

for whatever reason, they

disappeared.

Ben managed to

swallow whatever was

tryingtomakeitswayback

up from his outraged

stomach. Suddenly that

ham sandwich wasn’t

tasting so good, after all.

“Disappeared?”

“Some of ’em may

have been able t’ get

away,”saidJohn,watching

his brotherwith sympathy.

He had felt the sameway

himself, putting this report

together.

“And some—might

not. Almighty God in

heaven,”Benmuttered.

“Oh, he did get these

kids to learn trades, all

right. Good trainin’ for the

future, y’ know. And once

they were ready, he sold

’em off to the highest

bidder. Some, here in the

States;others,overseas.”

Fury was boiling up

through Ben’s veins with

theforceofhotlava,ready

to explode. Unable to sit

still any longer, he

suddenlysurgedtohisfeet

andbegantopace.

Even Adam, who had

survived such unending

abominations during the

War,lookedsick.Hisclasp

tightened slightly over the

dog sprawled across his

lap,asifforprotection.

“That was the boys,”

Travis went on. “Now, as

forthegirls…”

“Christ,” gritted Ben,

alreadyguessingwhatwas

tocome.

“Ahuh. Average-

lookin’girls,nothin’special

—why, they got t’ be

indentured servants, as

well. Housemaids, cooks,

laundrywomen,andsoon.

Buttheprettyones—”

“Sentaway.”Thiswas

Thomas again; as always,

the twins played off each

other, finishing thoughts

and sentences as one.

“Sold.Some tobrothelsor

gentlemen’s clubs, where

they got t’ finish out their

miserable livesaddictedto

drugs or drink or bein’

someman’ssextoy.”

Stillpacing,Benraked

his fingers through the

overlongthatchofhairasif

to pull it from his head.

How to absorb and

comprehend such horror,

the evil that oneman can

concoct and then inflict

uponinnocentvictims?

“Youokay,brother?”

“Yeah. In a minute.

Justdoesn’tseempossible

that—”

“After I read this, I

went outside and damn

near puked up my guts,”

confessed John. “Felt so

damn dirty and disgusted

that I couldn’t kissCecelia

foraweek.”

“No? What reason

didjagiveher?”

With a sheepish

expression,Johnrubbedat

anoilstainon thekneeof

his trousers. “Told her I

had a cold, didn’t want it

spreadin’t’her.”

“We ain’t come t’ the

last yet.” Thomas,

determined to finish this

once and for all, and then

ready to carry the fight

forward in a quest for

justice,remindedthem.

“GoodGod!Youmean

there’smore?”

“Auctions.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ben.

“You mentioned that

already.”

“No. This one is

special. Really special.

When Holcomb comes

across an exceptional

woman,onesobeautiful it

—well,itmakesyourheart

stand still—then he sends

out a drawin’ of her t’

everyonewho’s interested.

And they bid. And the

highestbidder—wins.”

“The next auction is

set in a week or so.

Private,by invitationonly,”

John informed him. “At

Holcomb’smansion.”

“And here’s a picture

ofthewomanhe’splannin’

to sell.” Quietly, soberly,

Thomas unfolded the

paperpulledoutofhisvest

pocketandhandeditover.

Ben’smouthwent dry

as dust, and his heart

began hammering like a

kettle drum gone berserk.

Suddenlyshakyhandsthat

wanted to crumple the

despicable paper into a

wad, chest that had

tightened under bonds no

one could break, insides

that were roiling with

nervous energy: shock. A

tiny rational corner of his

brain pinpointed shock,

anddemandedbrandy.

“Brandy!” he croaked,

andlungedforthebottle.

“Hey,Ben—”

“That’s Jessamine…

Jessie. At the orphanage,

theassistant,thegirlIlo—

like. A lot.” Another hefty

gulp of thewarm soothing

stuff,thenathird.“Areyou

tellin’ me that that filthy

piece of shit Holcomb is

plannin’t’—t’actually—”

“Fromallwecansee,”

assentedTravis.

Slamming the brandy

bottle back onto the table,

Ben pulled himself

together and erect. “Then

we gotta stop him,” he

said.Assimpleasthat.

John laughed. “Well,

o’ course we haveta,

brother.Andwewill.”

“But not t’night,”

added Travis. “Bed us

downsomewhere,Benton,

my boy. I need to catch

someshuteye.”

That was worked out

easilyenough.Thetwinsin

the spare bedroom, John

in with Ben. After another

raid on the kitchen, to

sample a lemon cake left

on the sideboard and

several more slices of

leftover ham, guests and

residents alike finally

settled down. Too much

coffee, too much fatigue,

and an over-stimulated

imagination kept only Ben

awake longer than usual,

staringupat thedarkened

ceiling.

Downstairs, Mrs.

Langley listened to the

silence,relaxedeverytight

muscle, and gave thanks

to God above for long-

overduepeace.

Until the snoring

started. Enough to rattle

every windowpane from

hithertoyon.

Tomorrow, Mrs.

Langley vowed, grabbing

her pillow oncemore, she

would start looking for a

houseofherown.

*************

**

Early next morning,

shetookpityonthem,after

all. How could she not,

these four handsome

strapping young men—

well, and one worse-for-

wear older one, limping—

with boyish charm written

onto every feature? They

crowded around her

kitchen table, discussing

plans and options, while

she played short-order

cook, frying bacon and

potatoes, slicing bread,

preparing omelets. Where

did they manage to stash

somuchfood?

Finished at last, the

brotherspulledthemselves

away from temptation and

began packing what they

wouldneed.Johnbentlow

over Mrs. Langley’s hand,

pressed his lips to her

palm, and thanked her

profusely.

“Not only for this

deliciousmealyoufixedfor

us,” he assured her. “But

for puttin’ up with us and

allournoiseandcarryin’s-

onlastnight.Iknowitmust

nottabeeneasyforyou.”

“Why—why—you’re

entirely welcome, Mr.

Yancey.” The

housekeeper, not often

flustered, had trouble

putting twowords together

inresponse.

“And now—I’m sorry,

ma’am, we’re leavin’ you

withanawfulmesshere.”

Ten years of hard-

lived life just slipped away

whenshesmiled,untilshe

was almost pretty. “Don’t

worry a thing about it. He

—” a tilt of the iron-gray

head towardAdam, “—will

behappytostayandwash

dishesforme.”

“I’m s’posed t’ what?”

squawkedAdaminprotest.

“Oh, just deal with it,

you ole cockatoo,” sniped

Ben, passing him in the

hall. “Other’n takin’ that

dog out t’ walk, what else

d’youhavet’do?”

The grumbling went

on,inbitsandpieces,until

itwasabruptlyshutoff,like

a pump that stopped

pumping. Probably by the

redoubtable Mrs. Langley

and a wooden spoon,

brisklyapplied.

Bellies full, clothes

fresh and clean, bodies

somewhat rested, the

brothers saddled up their

horses, added the packs,

andclimbedaboard.Itwas

a new day, full of

challenges, and the

Yanceys were ready to

meetit.

*************

**

“H’lo, Barrington, my

man,” said Ben as the

Holcomb frontdoor swung

open to reveal the butler,

standingsmack-dab in the

way to bar entrance.

“Lookin’foryourmaster.Is

heanywherearound?”

A sniff of disapproval

from the overlong British

nose,whichhedidsowell

at lookingdownfrom.“No,

DoctorYancey,heisnot.”

“Ahuh. Got any idea

whereheis,then?”

The servant’s narrow

eyes shifted from his

visitor, pushing forward as

an in-your-faceforcetobe

reckonedwith,tothethree

tall, stalwart specimens

behind him. Each in

westerngearofsombreros

and boots, flannel plaid

shirts and faded denim

trousers;eachbuckledinto

an impressive array of

weaponry—Colt .45’s that

meant business.

Barrington’s stoic mask

slippedalittle.

“Hedidn’tsay.”

“Tookoffwithouttellin’

his main house boy?

Bullshit.You’rejusttryin’to

coveryourass.”

Ben’s aggressive

stance finally made

headway, as the butler,

cowed, fell back a step or

two. “No, Doctor, I truly

havenoidea.Heleftquite

early this morning…hours

ago.”

“Then you won’t mind

if we have us a look

around,” suggested Travis

pleasantly.Andflashedhis

badge.

“Oh.” For once

Barrington had nothing

more to say. However, he

waswise enough tomove

aside before he could be

trampled by four resolute

and righteous Yanceys on

thewarpath.

The three lawmen,

handguns drawn,

scattered; Ben remained

behind long enough for

further questions. “Your

boss say anything about

me?”

“If he had, it’s hardly

any of my concern. You

Americanroughnecks—”

“We like things fair

and square and

aboveboard, us

roughnecks. Which is

more’n Holcomb ever has

done. So what did he tell

you?”

A pause, while the

servantgaugedthelookin

his accuser’s eye against

the distance to the front

door—which had been

effectively blocked. “Mr.

Holcomb said,” the

plummytonesbegan,“that

he had had you and your

family thoroughly

investigated before ever

inviting you to begin work

here. I believe he

mentionedplanningto—ah

—‘turn you’ with enough

cashtolastalifetime.”

“Huh. Fat chance,”

sneered Ben. “We

Yanceys don’t turn. We’re

just roughneck Americans

thataway. So he prob’ly

was informed the minute

mybrothershittown?”

“To the precise

minute,” Barrington took

great pleasure in

disclosing.

“You expectin’

anybody t’ stop by in the

nextweekorso?”

The long nose

quivered. “I haven’t been

so informed yet by—

aarrgh!”

Ben’s strong right fist

fitperfectly into themiddle

of Barrington’s gut; with

plentyofforcebehindit,all

theairwasdrivenfromthe

butler’s diaphragm in a

giant whoosh! and he

toppledoverbackwardlike

asawed-offponderosa.

“Oh, damn it.Damn it

all!” grumbled the doctor,

ruefully shaking his

damaged hand. Hadn’t he

learned anything from

making that samemistake

afewmonthsago,backin

Indiana? Crap. Well, he

was feeling hellbent to

beat the shit out of

somebody, and this

arrogant bastard had

walked right into it. The

toeofhisbootnudged the

fallen man’s ribs. Not

gently. “Who’s gonna be

showin’ up here, and how

soon?”

Several minutes of

high-toned British

expletive-laden misery

limped by, until Barrington

wasabletowheeze:“Bank

—rollers. Business—

tycoons.Oldmoney,super

—rich. Due—this

weekend.”

Another nudge of the

hard-toedboot,lessgently.

Almostakick.“Why?”

The butler, huddled

into a fetal position to

protect his soft middle,

sent the flash of a

malevolent grin upward.

“You know—this much

already…so you know the

—reason…”

Plain brute American

cuss words could beat

their Anglican cousins any

day. Letting loose with a

stringthatblisteredtheair,

Benhadyankedhisquarry

to a sitting position and

was in the process of

snapping cuffs around the

man’s wrists when his

brothersclompedbackinto

themainhall.

“Unless Holcomb is

hidin’ out on the grounds

somewhere, your English

toady spoke the truth,”

reported John. “He ain’t in

thehouse.”

“Found some mighty

scared kids hidin’ in the

kitchen, though,” added

Thomas. “Told ’em we

were shuttin’ down this

operation for good, that

they should hook up a

surreyandget themselves

back t’ the orphanage,

lickety-split.”

Benwasglaringdown

at the manservant,

considering the efficacy of

onelastgoodkick.Butone

of his brothers drew him

back. “No use thumpin’

him any more when he’s

alreadydown.”

“Huh. Howdja know

whatIwasthinkin’?”

Travis grinned.

“Woulda done the same

thing myself, son. C’mon.

Let’shaulthis’nbacktothe

hoosegow.”

Sheriff McGowan

acted far from pleased

whentheimpromptuposse

rode intoWhitfield to drop

off their vociferously

complaining prisoner.

“Don’tmuchappreciatethe

idea of outsiders doin’

work inmy town,”he flatly

stated.

“Then you shoulda

done it your own self,”

Travis said sharply.

ShovinghisU.S.Marshal’s

badge directly under the

sheriff’snose,asevidence

of his authority, he then

demanded to know if

McGowan was aware of

the criminal element

operating in “his” town,

and, if so, why he hadn’t

stoppeditlongago.

WithBarrington safely

situatedinajailcellwhose

sizeandcleanlinessfellfar

below his standards, the

sheriff collapsed in his

office chair like a balloon

suddenlyburstofair.

“Money changin’

hands,” John accused,

leaning forward over the

desk.“Lotsamoney.”

“Hell,” snorted

Thomas. “Speak it plain,

brother.Bribes.”

“Your little empire is

fallin’ apart, Sheriff,” Ben

toldhim,seething.“Builton

the backs of children.

Helpless, vulnerable

children, without nobody t’

look after ’em. You rotten

pusbucket.”

Travis, already on his

way toward the door,

paused.“Betterstickclose,

McGowan. There’ll be

plentya detective work

from here on, diggin’ int’

everything Holcomb

touched,findin’outwhoall

was involved, pullin’

t’gether all the financial

records.Itwon’tbepretty.I

suspectyou’re in thisup t’

yourneck,myfriend.”

“Got a few lawmen

and judges in our hip

pockets,” added Thomas.

“Oh—and another fella.

Maybe you’ve heard of

him? President Andrew

Johnson.”

As the Yancey team

stompedoutthedoor,they

could hear a long low

groan of distress from the

soon-to-be-defrocked

officialleftbehind.

“Well, that’s a good

first step,” commented

John,oncetheyhadtaken

Barrington’s four-legged

transport to the livery

stable and climbed back

aboard their own mounts

forareturntohomebase.

“Satisfyin’,” Thomas

agreed.

“Not a’tall,” snapped

Ben,neveronetohidehis

feelings. “I still wanna go

kick that rat bastard in his

double-dealin’balls.”

Trotting easily along

beside him, John sent his

brother a look of

amusement. “That’ll come

soon enough, son. Did I

tell you we’ve got a full

contingent of government

lawyers and accountants

on their way here right

now? Man, pretty soon

we’ll be rippin’ the lid off

thisplace.”

“At the moment, we

justneedt’makesurethat

Jessamine is all right.

Been worryin’ about her

sincelastnight.”

From the other side,

Travis laid a reassuring

hand on the doctor’s

forearm. “Know just how

youfeel,fella;beentherea

timeortwomyself.Reckon

we’d oughta go check on

hernextthing,then.”

Theywereforestalled.

At the house, they

found Adam and Jake

waiting on the front porch,

along with a nervous,

excitable Walter from the

orphanage.

“Doc!” The boy

exploded down the steps

to greet the riders as if

shot from a gun. “She’s

gone,he justcome inwith

agunandtookher!”

IX

The trail would be

easy enough to follow.

Apparently, Holcomb, for

all his reputed wealth and

the rough-and-tumble

ways he had used to

acquire it, was a novice

when it came to dealing

with the physical actuality

of any plan. Minions and

well-paid henchmen had

always served his every

whim, which included

takingthebruntofanyfall.

Charles Holcomb

didn’t have a clue how to

proceed from here. Other

than to run, and keep on

running until he could

reach help—the sheriff,

perhaps, or the mayor, or

thecouncilpresident.

Odd, that he would

suddenly be so

disoriented, when, for all

his life, survival meant

rapid-fire thinking and

rapid-fire action. And he

had excelled at both.

Otherwise how would he

haveattained thepinnacle

uponwhichhenowstood?

Possibly this dilemma

had been caused by

awareness of imminent

danger.

Possibly by sudden

fearoftheunknown.

Possibly by the stab

wound in his gut, which

was gushing fresh blood

likeapigatslaughter.

“You goddamned little

bitch,” he cursed, and

cloutedheragain.

Hisarrangementshad

been made and events

moving forward, just as

successfully as so many

times in the past, despite

the arrival last night of

Yancey’slawmenbrothers.

No matter. They might

suspect anything, but they

had no proof of

wrongdoing or even of

criminal acts. He’d been

quite careful about that,

overtheyears.

With the connivance

of his faithful manservant,

Barrington, and the aid of

his trusted lieutenant,

Quincy McClennon,

Holcomb had proceeded

with organization of the

auction.With the star and

only attraction being

Jessamine Lassiter, of

course, whose likeness

had already been well

received by a number of

potential bidders, anxious

to get on with it. They

wouldbeginarrivingat the

endofthisweek.Holcomb

neededtokeepJessamine

tucked away somewhere

safeonlytillthen.

Which wouldn’t have

been a problem, if not for

that damned interfering

Yancey gang. Instead of

taking a few days to

observe, to interview, to

wander around like the

dunderheads most public

officials seem to be, they

had jumped right in and

started causing problems,

before he’d had a chance

tocompletehissetup.

Waiting now, hidden

behind the orphanage’s

flowerbarricadeinthepale

pink lightofearlymorning,

hespatintothedirt.Atthis

rate,Jessiewouldproveto

behislastconquestinthis

area. Thanks to Dr.

Yancey, Holcomb would

be forced to close up his

business here and re-

locate elsewhere. Far

away.

Assaulting and

abducting the girl should

have been effortless,

should have been simple

andsmooth.Waituntilshe

appeared in the vegetable

plot, as she did every day

about this time, knock her

over the head, and drag

heraway.

Shouldhavebeen.

Plans can so quickly

gowrong.

She was bent over a

patch of turnips, getting

ready to pull what was

needed,when he grabbed

her from behind.One arm

wrappedlikeaheavyband

aroundherwaist,theother

hand covered her mouth

before she could utter a

screamoracryforhelp.

Andthenshebithim.

Sheactuallyfoundthe

nervetobitehim,forGod’s

sake! His hand still bore

thedeepindentationsfrom

her teeth, and hurt

besides.He’dslappedher;

she’d kicked backward. In

the ensuing struggle she

jerked free longenough to

whip a shining steel blade

from somewhere around

her ankle and shoved it

straight into him as he

lungedtowardher.

“Aaargh!” A choked

gurgle of white lightning

pain,andblood.Bucketsof

blood.Gallonsofblood.Or

soitseemed.

Spurred on by agony

and rage, he rapped her

alongside the head with a

chunk of wood, and, just

like that, she dropped, flat

andsilentasastonefalling

toearth.Quicklyhebound

her wrists together, then

herankles,trussingherup

likeaChristmasgoose.

Jessamine was a

slender thing, and he was

a big burly man, easily

able, in normal times, to

heftheroveroneshoulder

and haul her away. But,

unconscious, her weight

hadgonecompletelydead,

and, too, he was

hampered by the knife

woundinhismiddle.

Gruntingandgasping,

working as quickly as

possible before someone

stumbled upon them,

Holcombdraggedher toa

copse where two horses

waited. Somehow he

managedtothrowherover

the saddle of one. Then,

tearing a big chunk out of

her dangling skirt, he

padded the fabric inside

his shirt to stop the

bleeding. And they were

off.

Now, here he was,

paused in the foothills of

the Sierra Nevada range,

east and north of town,

withnowayout.Hehadno

food, no water, and

certainly no medical

supplies for the knife

wound thatwas just about

bringing him to his knees.

Pain. Blood. Cold, in the

summer’s heat. Shortness

ofbreath,inthethinnerair.

All thanks to his

unconscious captive, who,

he was able to tell by her

faint movements, was

beginningtorevive.

Holcomb staggered

toward her, grabbed her

hair with one hand, and

jerkedherheadupenough

thatshecouldseehimand

recognizehim.

“Puta!” he swore, and

slappedheragain.

Hanging upside down

over the back of a horse,

especially for an extended

period of time, is a most

uncomfortable and

eventually a dangerous

position. Jessamine

struggled, discovered tight

bonds, tried to speak. At

this point pride gave way

to the need for survival,

andshewouldbeg forher

life if necessary. She

would agree to any

indignity, to any shame;

only let her upright with a

clear head and freed

hands!

“Ain’t so proud now,

areyou?”hehuffedather.

Twisting her head

sideways against the

leather fender of the

saddle, Jessie tried to

catch his attention.

“Please…” she croaked.

“Up, please. Let me—

ride…”

“Uh. Think I’m a

complete—jackass, girl

—?”

She closed her eyes

against the dizziness

swirling her away into a

worldofdarknessandfear.

“Please, Mr. Holcomb,”

came the feeble whisper.

“You—likedmeonce;can’t

you—can’t you like me—

again?”

“Never—liked you.

Wanted you. Big

difference.”

Distressed,

discouraged, realizing just

how desperate was her

situation, Jessamine bit

herlip.Then:“I’m—sorry…

I hurt you. But you—you

startled me, and I was—

afraid…”

Silence, while he

considered. Or fell over

dead from her attack,

whichever came first.

Feeling as if her veins

were about to burst from

fire and brimstone, she

was rapidly losing interest

inherfate.

And thenshebecame

aware of his knife sawing

away at her bonds, both

wrists and ankles. With

superhuman effort she

managed to slither down

fromthesaddletolandina

littleheaponthedry,dusty

earth.

Time was endless

while the sky spun and

circledaboveher, andher

senses and heartbeat

gradually returned to

normal. When she could

finally open her eyes

without feeling the pull of

sickness, she breathed a

soft word of gratitude that

hehadgivenherthismuch

mercy,atleast.

“For now,” he rasped,

sinkingontoarocknearby.

“We’ll get goin’ again—

soon…tieyourhands,then

but—let you ride. Jesus!”

he burst out, clutching his

chest in agony. Fresh red

oozedfromhistornfleshto

mix into the drying rust-

coloredgorealreadyshed.

Too much, too much.

Shehadn’t recoveredvery

well, after all. Jessamine

closed her eyes, turned

her head with its own

bloodywound tooneside,

and gave herself over to

darkness.

*************

*****

It was Benwho spied

the dagger, a slim wicked

little blade soiled now by

thedampearthuponwhich

it had fallenand theblood

stilltacky-wet.Butwhothe

blood belonged to was

more than anyone could

tell.

“Hers,” he saidwith a

heavy heart. And

explained to those around

him—his three brothers,

Madonna, and young

Walter—how he had

overheard her comment

about needing protection.

“Protection!” he repeated

bitterly. “And Iwasn’t here

t’giveittoher!”

“No, you weren’t,”

agreedJohn.“Youwereoff

doin’yourbesttofindher.”

The director, lips

tremblingandstancenone

too steady, reachedout to

touch his arm. “Please,

Doctor.Ben,youhaveto—

youmust—”

He wrapped his

fingers over hers. “I will,

Madonna. Take care of

your students, and we’ll

takecareofthis.”

Thethreelawmenhad

lost none of their tracking

skills.At that, the trailwas

plainenoughtofollow:two

horses,walkingslowlyand

carefully, their hoof prints

showinguphereandthere

indentedintopowderydust

or, occasionally, flattened

grass; anddropsof blood.

Someonewasstillhurt,still

bleeding.

Out from under the

trees, across an open

expanse, along a narrow

meandering creek, and

into the foothills. Until,

finally, with hope building,

Ben spied the two horses,

silhouetted against the

brightnoondaysky.

“There!” he shouted,

and took off like a rocket,

letting his big gray quarter

horseeatupthedistance.

She was lying on the

ground, still as death and

covered in gore, as he

flung himself out of the

saddle beside her. “Jess!

Jessie, open your eyes,

sweetheart. Look at me,

andtellmeyou’reallright!”

While he worked

franticallytorestorethegirl

to life, his brothers took in

the scene and the half-

conscious Holcomb

slumped beside the

boulderfromwhichhehad

collapsed.

“You still breathin’?”

asked Travis casually,

poking him with one hand

as if the man were cake

batter being tested for

doneness.

Holcomb opened one

eye. “Somethin’ you’re—

lookin’for—?”

“Oh, hell, yeah.

Information. You got it, I

wantit.”

“Ain’t—happenin’,

Yancey.”

“I can wait. What

happened?”

The eye opened

again: red-rimmed,watery.

“Bitch—knifedme…”

“Huh. Wouldn’t doubt

but what you deserved it.

Hey,Ben, how’s your lady

doin’?”

“Movin’ a little,”

reported Ben with obvious

relief. “Can’t see where

she’s been hurt, though.

All this blood… Head

wound,prob’lyconcussion,

gottaget that cleanedand

wrapped; rope burns

around her wrists from

bein’ restrained…ankles,

too,fromwhatIcansee.”

“What’sonherclothes

ain’t from her, Ben,”

Thomas told him gently.

“It’sfromhim.”

The doctor flung one

quick glance sideways, at

what would end up being

his second patient of the

day. “Damn. What a little

fightersheis!”

“Anddon’t—youforget

it,” murmured his first

patient, from under his

questinghands.

“Jessie!”

Carefully she opened

her eyes, violet black-

lashed eyes looking

straightupintothoseofan

adoring dark brown. “I

knew—Iknewyou’dcome,

Ben. I knew you’d—find

me.”

His big tender hands

cradled hers. “Till the end

of time, darlin’. Which

meansforever.”

Much later, the party

made ready for a return

trip to Whitfield. Ben had

bandaged Holcomb as

best he could, under the

circumstances, with the

caveat thathewouldneed

medical care with

antiseptics and bandages

oncesettledinhisoffice.

The same would hold

true for Jessamine,whose

head wound had been

checkedandwrappedwith

another torn fold of her

skirt. As wobbly as she

was,Benrefusedtolether

ride her own horse; he

establishedher tenderly in

front of him, so she could

use the support of his

ready and willing broad

chest as they jogged

along, rest against his

warmshoulder.

The three remaining

clan members, pacing

behind with a mounted

Holcomb in tow,

exchanged knowing

glances. Every brother

thus far had worn that

same sappy expression

just before he’d set up

housekeeping with the

womanheloved.

It was about time for

anotherYanceywedding.

X

Several months were

needed to collate and list

allthedetailsofHolcomb’s

far-flung enterprises, to

gatherinformation,tobring

a few matters to a

satisfactory close while

otherswould,ofnecessity,

drag on for years. For the

moment, Whitfield’s jail

wasprovidinga temporary

holding cell for Holcomb,

McClennon, Barrington,

McGowan,andothers.

The government team

of investigatorsdiscovered

that Ben’s predecessor,

Dr.Morton,hadbeenshot,

killed, and buried by

Quincy McClennon, under

Holcomb’s direct orders,

because the doctor had

finally had enough of

criminal doings and

refused to go along any

longer.

The mayor’s wife,

Fairlady Halliwell, had

fallenvictimtoanumberof

accidents in the past few

months.Far fromenduring

the torment of spousal

abuse, she had been

mistreated every time by

Charles Holcomb, himself.

Her weak-spined husband

had, upon Holcomb’s

demand,turnedheroverto

him for a one-sided affair,

the cost of which enabled

Stenton Halliwell to keep

hisofficialposition.

The young girl from

the orphanage, Mattie

Jamison, who had almost

diedastheresultofaself-

inflicted abortion, had

worked in the Holcomb

Mansion kitchen for some

time. There, alone and

unprotected,shehadbeen

accosted byHolcomb in a

back hallway and violently

raped, which had resulted

in her pregnancy. Sick,

hurt, miserable, she had

been ready to take her

own life rather than live

with the stigma of her

employer’sattack.

Themultipleinjuriesto

multiple childrenhadbeen

deliberately inflicted by

those from whom they

were supposedly learning

a trade, both as

punishment and as

warning.

The ranch belonging

to Jessamine’s parents

had been quickly

purchased, after their

mysterious murders, by a

shell corporation run by

Holcomb. He wanted the

land, thewater rights, and

themineralrights,andhad

killedherfamilytoachieve

it.

Itwouldtakeateamof

bookkeepers many a

sleepless night to

straighten out all these

twistedaffairs,andattempt

torightallthesewrongs.

ButWhitfieldwouldgo

on.With Holcomb and his

corruption eliminated, it

would rise above the

sludge, elect newofficials,

see the culprits hauled off

toprison—orhanged.

Meanwhile, Ben

intendedtostayrighthere.

He liked the community

and the people; he felt he

could do real good in this

place;andhehadfounda

home. And, not soon

enough,awife.

Holcomb’s Mansion

wasbeing refurbishedand

reborn into an adjunct of

the original orphanage, to

benamedMadonnaBellini

Children’s Home. The

Yancey Corporation,

consisting of ten board

members, unanimously

voted to fund the whole

operation as a good-will

effortfortheentiretown.

Healthychangeswere

made, satisfactory to all.

Childrenwould be given a

choice of trade or higher

education, and whatever

employment was provided

was also paid for. Monies

were deposited directly

into accounts set up for

eachchild, tobegivenout

upongraduation.

The wedding of

Jessamine Barclay

Lassiter and Benton

JosephYancey tookplace

in the newly established

chapel of the Children’s

Home,onacrispsparkling

falldayinearlyNovember.

The scent in the air and

the color of the leaves

reminded visitors of a

Midwesternappleharvest.

“Could the bride be

any prettier?” asked Liz of

her husband, only half-

humorously.

Radiant in a gown

embroideredwith loveand

white silk from bodice to

hem, Jessie spoke her

vows proudly, confidently,

her voice sprigged by joy.

Several of the young

orphanage residents,

talentedwiththeirneedles,

had sewed hundreds of

tiny seed pearls over the

full hooped skirt in a labor

ofaffectionandrespect.

“Sure she could,”

whispered Thomas.”She

couldbeyou.”

Whichwas,ofcourse,

theperfectresponse.

Under the sweet

fragrant spell of lavender

and lilies, the Rev.

Nathaniel Yancey was

delighted to perform

ministerial duties for his

nervousbrotherandabout-

to-benewsister-in-law.

“I nowpronounce you

husbandandwife,”hetold

them both with a broad

smile, in the age-old

ending toonechapterand

the beginning of another.

“Kissher,Ben!”

Farther back in the

small chapel, young Rob

Yancey grimaced. “Holy

Cow,” he muttered to his

father. “Seems like there’s

always somebody gettin’

married. How many more

ofthesethingswillIhavet’

goto?”

His stepmother,

Goldenstar, glanced his

way with raised brows; a

couple of his aunts sent

him reproving stares; and

his father and nearby

uncles snorted with

suppressedlaughter.

Leaning slightly

sideways, Matthew

whispered, “Didja see that

look you just got from the

womeninthisfamily?”

Wary, Rob nodded.

“Ahuh.”

“Happens a lot, son. I

thinktheyallputupwithus

Yancey males, on

sufferance, and they

wannamakesureweknow

about it. So just deal with

weddin’s,b’causewegota

few more t’ go yet. And

understand that, one of

these days, your turn will

come,too.”

TheEnd

ThankYou

I hope you enjoyed this

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Morris

AbouttheAuthor

Morris Fenris was born

into a poor family in the Fiji

Islands.Thankstohisowngrit,

determination and the support

of his loving parents, he was

able to embark on a journey

thathasseenhimattainagood

education and work in many

partsoftheworld.

Morris has been writing

sincechildhood,drawingonhis

experiences in life and

emulating the styles of his

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