Firefly (27 page)

"I have some stew left over from yesterday, more than we'll eat.  Would you like me to bring some over for you and Mr. Burton, or is Miss Upshaw planning to provide your meals today?"

"No, Winnie's busy at the house.  I hadn't given much thought to lunch.  I'm sure Mr. Burton would be very happy to have some of your stew, and I know I would.  That includes some of that fresh bread I warned you about, doesn't it?"

He was teasing, very gently, but his smile soon brought hers out of hiding.

"If I get myself back to work, some fresh butter for it as well," she laughed.

Her laughter did not last, however, for as soon as she had left his kitchen, her thoughts and fears returned.  By the time she reached her own porch, her forehead was creased with worry.

If Morgan knew about her and Ted, then Hans must have told him.  No one else could have.  Katharine knew, of course, and Wilhelm, but they were as sworn to secrecy as Julie herself, for the same reasons.  Willy had never been told, but Hans knew, and Hans, as Julie had learned, was cruel enough to expose her.  Cruel enough, her conscience tried to reason, but why would he do it?  She could come up with no reason and finally forced herself to accept Morgan's curiosity about Willy's birth as nothing more than what he had said.

The dough was ready for the oven, and when she had set the loaves in to bake, Julie took the last of the laundry outside.  She took down what was dry and hung up what was wet, but she could not get the nagging fear out of her mind.

Morgan knew something.  Or at least he held some very strong suspicions.  Julie hadn't missed his hesitation or his caution in the way he phrased his few queries.  He was clearly looking for something other than just her mother's medical history.  Was it something about Julie herself?  And why would he care?

Del Morgan still mourned his wife and still loved her as he had when she was alive.  As for that kiss Saturday night, it was nothing but an overflow of good feeling at having saved a man's life.  If he had wanted
B
but she refused to follow that line of thought.

Katharine, who had not been in the kitchen when Julie returned from Morgan's, now sat at the table with a cup of fresh tea.  And the mail.  She must have walked to the post office, something she had not done, not alone, in the last nine years.

"A letter from Uncle Max, in German of course," Katharine said.  "
Godey's
, with at least three dresses I want."

Julie shrugged.  She had more important things to worry about than a letter from her father's uncle and a fashion magazine.  She quickly forgot them both and tended to her chores.  There was butter to churn from the cream Hans had brought her yesterday, and ironing, which she hated only slightly less than scrubbing floors.  Beds needed to be made, though Katharine had already done the dusting.

When Julie sat down at the table to begin churning, Katharine had resumed her page by page perusal of the new
Godey's
.  The pages flipped in accompaniment to the rhythm of the churn.

"You ought to begin thinking about your wedding dress," Katharine remarked lazily.  "If you want something elaborate, you'd best start soon.  Working for Dr. Morgan doesn't leave you much time to sew."

"I wasn't planning to have an extravagant gown, Mama.  The weather will still be warm, so I thought perhaps just a simple summer dress in white muslin, with some lace maybe."

"That would be nice.  I'm sure Hans won't mind.  He'll be happy just to see the long wait over."

"Yes, I'm sure he will," Julie agreed, thinking of the woman from Nellie's.  Then she remembered why she had gone to see Morgan in the morning.

Katharine continued to chatter, about dresses and accessories, about hats and shoes and gloves, about lace and ribbons and all the things a mother should discuss with a daughter about to become a bride.  But Julie hardly heard.  She didn't want to hear.  The more her mother talked about the coming event, the more Julie wanted to call it off.  She could not help reliving that horrible scene of a man striking a woman and dragging her away.  Julie felt almost as if she had been the one slapped in the alley and so rudely possessed.  So strong was the anger she felt rising within her that she found relief when Wilhelm walked up the steps for lunch.

After the meal was over, she washed the dishes with Willy's help, then finished the beds and excused herself to join Morgan.  She did not notice, in her haste, how her mother smiled when she watched her daughter snatch off her apron, smooth back a few loose strands of hair, and dash out the front door.  It was a smile of almost complete satisfaction, of self-congratulation, of triumph.

*   *   *

Thaddeus Burton sat propped up in bed, his chest and belly covered by a voluminous nightshirt.  Morgan settled a legged tray over the man's lap and then Julie placed the plate of stew and several slices of bread on the invalid's table.

Burton drew in a long, deep breath.

"Sure smell's good, Miss Hollstrom.  Been a long time since I ate this kinda food."

He looked pale, faded like washed-out flannel, but his appetite was good, and his sense of humor intact.

"Just take it easy," Morgan cautioned.  "This'll build up your strength and maybe we can have you up and out of bed tonight."

"I sure hope so.  I gotta get to Prescott Friday."  He took a big spoonful of stew, chewed it with the enjoyment of a man who had only eggs and soup yesterday, then smiled broadly at Julie.

"Tastes even better'n it smells.  And I guess I gotta thank you along with the doc here for savin' my hide."

She blushed, but didn't stammer when she told him, "I'm really just an extra pair of hands.  Dr. Morgan tells me what to do, and I follow his orders.  But you're quite welcome, Mr. Burton, both for the help I rendered the other night and for the stew."

While Burton ate, Morgan led Julie into the kitchen, where he had made fresh coffee, weaker than usual.  When he offered her a cup, she took it and actually drank some.

"What are we going to do today?" she asked.  "I can start cleaning the upstairs, if you like."

"I think we can let that go another day or two.  Besides, I have other tasks for you today that won't wear you to a nub."  He had seen the laundry she had done this morning, and he knew the washing wasn't the worst of it.  "A load of supplies came in on this morning's stage, so you can put them away for me.  Do you know how to check items received against the list that I ordered?"

"Yes, but then what? Surely that won't take all afternoon."

"It won't.  I'm sure we'll have a few callers, too.  And you can help me put my sign back up."

"Your sign?"

"Winnie found my old shingle last week and had it spruced up for me.  I was going to surprise you, but I got busy this morning with Mr. Burton and with another small emergency."

"Was it serious? Why didn't you call me?"  Julie asked, worried that something might have gone wrong.

Morgan bit his tongue, angry that he had let that information out.  He hadn't intended to tell her at all, which was precisely why he hadn't sent Nellie for her when the brassy-haired madam brought in the girl with the black eye and swollen lip.

"It wasn't anything I couldn't handle on my own.  I knew you were busy yourself."

He felt relieved when she didn't press him for details.  Nellie had lied, saying the girl had fallen down the stairs that morning.  The cut on her lip was half healed, and an eye doesn't blacken in a matter of hours.  She'd been beaten up by a customer, probably Saturday night.  Nellie, knowing Morgan was busy with the shot-up stranger, must have waited until Monday.

He shouldn't have kept the information from Julie, he told himself.  She'd soon see enough of the girls.  And Julie Hollstrom didn't seem the type who needed much protection from the cruder aspects of life.  Burton's half-naked body hadn't shocked her sensibilities.  But it wasn't the impropriety of Maude's profession that kept Morgan from discussing the case.  It was what he knew about Hans Wallenmund.

He was about to change the subject entirely when Burton called from the other room to announce he had finished his lunch and wanted some more.

Morgan stood, gesturing to Julie to remain seated and drink her coffee.  He took the tray and dishes from his patient while explaining that he didn't want the man overdoing it yet.  He promised as much as Burton could eat for supper, but one serving of lunch was enough.

"Well, you tell that Miss Hollstrom she sure is a damn fine cook."  Burton's voice carried through the house, as though he wanted Julie to hear for herself.  She smiled privately at his compliment and tried desperately, but as unsuccessfully as ever, not to blush.  She soon learned that his voice boomed naturally.  Even when he dropped it to what he probably called a whisper, she heard every word.

"Hey, doc, before ya go, kin I ask somethin'?  I ain't meanin' to pry, but I couldn't help seein' that little girl that come in this morning with her face all banged up.  Did somebody do that to her?"

Morgan, in the doorway with his back to the hall, said something too quietly for Julie to understand.  She thought from the tone of his voice that he reassured his patient there was nothing to worry about, or to worry about his own injuries before someone else's.

"Well, like I said, I was just wonderin'.  I know I look like a big mean bugger, but there ain't nothin' makes me madder'n seein' a girl, even one like her, git beat up by a man.  If you say she just fell, well, I'll believe you.  She sure looked terrible, though."

A thousand explanations for Thaddeus Burton's words came to Julie, but she rejected them all.  Maybe she hadn't had on a green dress this morning, but the patient with the small emergency must have been the girl Hans hit outside the general store Saturday night.  Recalling the incident, Julie doubted a single slap had done the damage Burton had seen; Hans must have beaten her later, in the privacy of her room at Nellie's establishment.  Julie felt that pain herself, and the helpless horror of the girl forced to submit.

Morgan carried the tray to the kitchen and set it on the table.

"Do you want to do these dishes now, before they dry, or let them go for a while?"  he asked.

"I'll just run them home.  I left the dishwater for them anyway."

But as she stacked the silverware on the plate and reached for the cup, Julie's fingers trembled.  Burton's big voice, so full of concern, echoed in her ears, and her eyes could see nothing but those shadowed figures in the pale yellow light of Simon McCrory's lantern.  The cup, containing a mouthful of stale coffee, slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.

Julie's nerves shattered with it.  She gave a little cry of surprise, then fell to her knees.  She picked up the scattered pieces of pottery, keeping her head down to avoid Morgan's seeing her uncontrollable tears until she could stop them--somehow.

"How clumsy of me!" she managed to laugh as Morgan handed her a towel to blot up the spill.  She rattled the remnants of the cup in her hand to cover the sound of a sniffle.

Oh, God, she
had
been crying.  He saw the droplets on her lashes now.  But the brave face she presented to him told him she did not want her weakness acknowledged by anyone but herself.

In her normal tone of voice she said, "I couldn't help but hear what Mr. Burton said about the little girl.  Was she hurt badly?"

Thaddeus had indeed said "little girl," though both he and Morgan knew he hadn't meant a child.  The physician was relieved to find such a convenient falsehood come to his rescue.  He took the fragments of coffee cup from Julie's hand and dumped them into the nail keg by the back door, then helped her to her feet again.  There was a stain of coffee at the knee of her skirt.