One True Love (2 page)

G
asping, Copper sat upright when cold water hit her face.

Pairs of expectant eyes formed a circle above her.

“Sorry to startle you, Miss Wilson, but you passed out.” Harold's wary expression looked as if he thought he'd be taken to the woodshed for the hostile act. Black smoke pillared skyward, and folks came running. Benjamin Fowler was first on the scene, shouting orders to stay back. A bucket brigade formed and men and women rushed back and forth from the school well and the river to try to save the burning building. The timber went up like dry chaff; nothing could be done other than to stand back and watch the demolition.

Harold helped Copper to her feet and she collapsed against the boy. “I can't stand, Harold. I've injured my ankle again.”

Overhearing, Fowler ordered Harold to carry the new schoolmarm to her room at the Widow Potts's. Anxious parents gathered children into wagons to cart home.

Mr. Matthews stepped forward to speak a word to Copper, who was leaning heavily on Harold's arm. The fifteen-year-old was a strapping kid, bigger than most men and reportedly able to more than hold his own when working with the men.

Howard Matthews's expression reflected his deep gratitude. Copper had already heard that Howard's devotion to his grandchildren was legendary. “Miss Wilson, my grandchildren tell me that you went back into that burning building to rescue them.”

She brushed his praise aside. “It was nothing. I didn't know until now which two children it was. I just thank God I was able to find Emily and Mackey in time.”

“It may be a small sacrifice for you, but it means the world to me. Those children…” He bit his quivering lower lip. “You have my deepest gratitude.”

Copper wanted to comfort him, but the white-hot pain radiating from her ankle rendered her speechless.

Harold nodded. “I've got to get the teacher to the Widow Potts.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her the short distance to the Potts house.

Finally she lay on her bed in the widow's house, the familiar stench of Mrs. Potts's snuff and strong scented lavender filling her nostrils. Harold quickly excused himself as if he was extremely uncomfortable in a lady's private setting.

Eloise Potts fussed about, removing Copper's boots.

“Is my ankle swollen more?” Copper asked, picturing the injury now the size of a July watermelon.

An audible gasp escaped the widow. “It's…oh my dear.”

Sinking back to the pillow, Copper closed her eyes. The
oh my dear
answered her question.

“We must send for Dr. Smith immediately.”

Poor Dr. Smith. He'd been treating the ill from the wagon train, looking after Willow, traveling back and forth from Blackberry Hill and Thunder Ridge. The poor man must be exhausted, and now he would once again be summoned to Beeder's Cove.

Copper was torn between fear, not wanting to see the injury, yet curiosity, wanting to know what it looked like. Surely it was a simple wrench—an added nuisance to the one that she'd endured the past month. “Is that necessary? It's just a sprain and it was healing nicely until I turned it again getting the children out of the schoolhouse.” Another sprain wasn't going to make her swoon.

The widow sank to the side of the bed. “It is far more than a sprain, my dear. I'll send someone immediately to fetch the doctor, and get a cold compress. Meanwhile, you rest and I'll fix you a nice cup of hot tea.” She disappeared, and Copper lay back on the pillow. Drats. One more delay, and delays seemed to have become the norm with her. She couldn't be off her feet long. If she'd broken a bone this time, the doctor would set it and she could get around on crutches. Teaching didn't require her to be nimble. Harold could chase down the unruly ones, and…An unwelcome thought occurred to her. What if the schoolhouse had burned to the ground and she was out of a job yet again?

Ever since the war ended, it had been one thing after another. Everyone thought the end of the war would mean a fresh start. But who knew fresh starts were so hard to keep?

 

By late afternoon the doctor arrived. Copper managed a proper apology, and the good man brushed her chagrin aside.
“You Timber Creek gals sure attract your share of trouble,” he teased. “Now what's this about the ankle? I thought the injury was healing nicely.”

The widow explained about the morning fire, and Copper turned the ankle.

“How bad was the fire?” Copper asked.

“Burned to the ground, I hear.”

Her greatest fear realized. At least none of the children was hurt, but this would mean more delays in starting school. Copper winced when the doctor gently stretched and twisted the injured foot. His expression changed from congenial to serious. The change was not lost on Copper. It was not a good sign.

“Broken?” she guessed.

“My dear woman, in all my days I don't believe I've ever seen a bone more…” He closed his mouth.

Broken
. That meant more weeks of hobbling around.

“No, I don't
think
the bone is broken. Not exactly—I'd venture it's severely twisted and jammed out of place. Perhaps I can snap it back…”

She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “Do what you must.”

The doctor placed his left hand on her leg, about halfway to her knee. Then he gave a gentle, soft twist to her foot. Copper, barely able to stifle a scream, gave a long, slow groan. “That's very tender, isn't it?” the doctor asked. Copper could only nod, fighting off nausea.

He sighed. “I fear that I am going to do more damage.”

Beads of sweat trickled down her temple. Never had she endured such pain. “What will we do? We can't leave it like this.”

“No,” he mused. “We most certainly can't leave it like this.”

While he was making up his mind, she needed reprieve. “The pain…can you give me anything for this miserable pain?”

The doctor folded the sheet over her injured foot. “I have laudanum.” He opened his satchel and brought out a small brown vial. “Open your mouth.”

Copper obeyed, and he administered a few drops under her tongue. “This should help you rest.”

“What about the foot? Does it need to be set right away?”

“Set—uh…” He absently patted her arm. “You rest. We'll talk later.”

For once Copper didn't have the energy to argue. The radiating pain hurt like blue blazes, and all she wanted was release.

By the time the widow ushered the doctor out of the room, she was already drowsy.

Weeks of hobbling around on crutches. She sighed. An evil cloud hung over the women of Timber Creek.

A dark, oppressive fog that refused to budge.

 

Laudanum.
Copper didn't fully understand the medicine, but she grew to love its effect. From the first dropperful the pain lifted and she floated in a blissful haze where faces and voices drifted in and out. Widow Potts had more company than any one person Copper had ever known.

Every few hours—or maybe days, Copper was never certain—hushed whispers filled her bedroom. Some voices she recognized, like Benjamin Fowler, Dr. Smith. Cold encompassed her fast.

Another time the Matthewses—Mackey and Emily's mother, father, and grandfather—were back, expressing gratitude for Copper's heroic actions.

A man's voice, Howard Matthews's, penetrated the fog. He sat beside her bed for the longest time talking. Just talking. His words floated in her mind and she knew he was speaking of how he loved his grandchildren, Emily and Mackey, how they were the reason for his existence.

With regularity the laudanum was offered, and she obediently opened her mouth and accepted the powerful respite.

In her dreams—and the drug did create the strangest dreams—Audrey came to visit. The young woman held her hand and cried a bit, but then said everything was going to be fine. This curse they were under must lift sometime.

Copper recalled smiling and saying something—she had no idea what, but as long as the medicine worked, she wasn't persuaded the curse was such a bad thing.

And then the drug's effect would lift, and she would orient to her environment—unfamiliar surroundings now. She was lying in the back of a buckboard. Caleb Gray held the reins, and Eli and Audrey sat beside him. Snow fell from a leaden sky.

Snow in October? That couldn't be right. The laudanum was nice, but soon she would have to regain her sense and have the foot set before the bone refused to knit together. The thought caused her to sit straight up.

Audrey whirled on the buckboard seat. “Lie down, Copper!”

“Audrey? What's happening?” The haze wavered, and the
alarm jarred her. This lethargic state had gone on for too long. Something was amiss…

Audrey climbed into the wagon bed and Copper spotted the small brown vial of elixir.

“No…” She pushed the dropper aside when Audrey tried to open her mouth. “Stop! What's happening to me?”

“Just lie back. You're fine. We'll have you out of the snow very soon.”

“Snow? It doesn't snow in October.”

“Around these parts it appears the weather can do what it wants.”

Now that was a definite grumble in Audrey's voice, and Audrey rarely grumbled.

“Lie down, Copper!” The sharpness was so unlike Audrey's patient nature.

Copper lay down.

“Open your mouth.”

“I don't want to…” She choked and spat as liquid seeped down her throat. “I
demand
to know what's going on and where you're taking me…”

Oh drat. Fuzzy objects were starting to take on familiar colorful edges. Caleb. Even if Audrey had taken leave of her senses, he would help her. “Caleb, please help me. Fetch me a pair of crutches so I can get up and move around…”

“I surely will, Copper. The moment you're ready for crutches you'll have them.” He turned to look over his shoulder, and she realized she'd never seen such a grave expression on this man's features. “You have my solemn promise.”

“Eli…” she pleaded, sinking lower and lower into the medicinal bliss.

“Rest, Copper. You'll have your crutches. I'll make them myself if need be.”

“Promise?”

“You have my word.”

Eli was a sterling craftsman. And he loved Audrey. The warm woolly feeling allowed her to relax. Suddenly she stirred.

“Where are the children?”

“Children?” Audrey turned to look at her.

“My class. How soon can we resume school?”

“Soon.”

“They've found a new schoolroom this quickly?”

“I believe I've heard talk of using the town hall until they can rebuild.”

“The town hall. It doesn't have a blackboard.”

“The school board will work it out. Now you rest.”

Well, she couldn't teach without a blackboard. Mr. Fowler would have to come up with something soon. Warren still had to answer the question about who said what during the Revolutionary War. At the moment she had forgotten the answer—for that matter, she'd forgotten the question. She opened her mouth to catch a fat snowflake.

Snow. In early October. How very strange even for the Texas panhandle.

H
ell hath no fury like a woman in pain. That wasn't Scripture, just the plain truth. And then the nightmares started.

First, Josh Redlin, the wagon master from the stricken wagon train that had been forced to stop in Thunder Ridge, appeared. Oh, she recognized
him
straightaway. His deep timbre rumbled above the other men. Vaguely she recalled his taunts.

“What
is
your name, Miss…?”

He'd known her name. He just lov
e
d to aggravate her.

Around her, hushed conversations were going on, and then the voices would drift off, in a sea of pain.

Then Redlin would be back, only now he wouldn't leave. He hung around, his voice prominent above the others, bossing her around.
Lie still
.
Drink this
.
Go to sleep
.
Wake up
.

He wasn't her keeper. If she had the energy she'd tell him.

Then she awoke bundled like a Christmas goose in thick blankets, racing through the night in some sort of fancy carriage. The laudanum wore off long enough for her to question her surroundings, and then there was a man—an elderly man—Mackey and Emily's grandfather? This man would wrap her blanket more snugly and speak words of encouragement, of comfort.

The nightmares never let up, they just rolled like an angry sea one after the other after the other…

 

“Wagons roll!”

Roll 'em out, roll 'em out, roll 'em out…
echoed through Copper's mind.

“Now love, you're going to be better very soon.”

Copper opened her eyes to see Adele fussing over her blankets. Adele? She had been part of the wagon train that had left for Colorado more than a week ago. What was she doing here?

The medicine. Copper must be dreaming. She closed her eyes waiting for the images to fade, but they didn't. Adele sat beside her in a rocking chair, calmly knitting what looked to be baby booties. Copper's bleary gaze roamed the overhead canvas. Her body absorbed the lurch and sway—she was in a wagon. Going where? She struggled to sit up.

Adele laid her knitting aside while pushing her back to the pallet with a strong hand. “It's good to see that you're back with us.”

Back from where? “Where am I?”

“Just lie still, honey. You've hurt your ankle real bad. You're on your way to Fort Riceson to see the best doctor money can buy.”

Copper's first thought was she must be on the way to the poorhouse because she didn't have the money for doctors—and since when did a sprained ankle deserve such fuss? Pain radiated up her leg, and she bit her lower lip. “I don't have the money for a doctor.”

“The bill is paid in full,” Adele said. “You don't have nary a worry.” Yet the woman's anxious countenance suggested otherwise. Adele was usually all smiles in the worst of times, and if her pinched face was any indication, these were awful times.

“The children?”

“All safe as little buggers in a tree stump. You did well, dearie. That fire could have caused a lot of grief. Why, Howard Matthews has ordered that you be treated like royalty.”

“Howard Matthews?”

“Little Emily and Mackey's grandpa. Now there's a grateful man. You saved the two most precious things he has on this old earth, and he means to repay you, he does.”

Slowly images returned. The fire. Screaming, terrified children. Choking black smoke.

The schoolhouse was gone. Copper closed her eyes. She thought she'd left trouble well behind when she left Thunder Ridge, but it seemed it only followed her to Beeder's Cove.

She swallowed against a dry throat. “I'm thankful there were no serious injuries.”

“Except for you. You injured that ankle fiercely getting Mackey and Emily to safety.”

Bit by bit it all came back. Panic. Pain. Incredible pain. “I didn't break the ankle; it was sprained and I turned it again, that's all.”

“No ma'am. That's not all.” Adele's eyes gentled. “Honey, you've hurt it real bad, and we're on our way to see a doctor the elder Matthews served with in the war. Seems this man can work miracles, if there's one to be had.”

But the bone
wasn't
broken. That much she remembered—yet the pain the likes of which she'd experienced couldn't come from a mere sprain.

“Couldn't Dr. Smith set the bone?”

“No, the injury is far beyond his experience. Howard Matthews says no one's touching that ankle until Dale Dyson has a look-see.”

“Dale Dyson?”

“The doctor that served with the elder Matthews's company before he retired from the cavalry. The doctor and his family are at the fort now.” Adele reached for her needles. “Funny how Howard Matthews comes from a long line of moneyed folks, but he spent his life—or most of it—in service to his country. Some people are pure gold. You know?”

The wagon hit a rut and Copper winced. Her thoughts cleared enough to know she was with the wagon train…

Oh dear heavens
. Josh Redlin. That
had
been his voice she'd heard.

Adele frowned. “Ah now, you're having some real pain. It's time for more medicine.”

“No…I can't think when I take the medicine, Adele.”

“And why would you be needing to think?”

“Do Willow and Audrey know about my injury?”

“Land yes. Audrey spent the past two days at your side.”

“What about school? The children have missed so much because of the rains, and now this?”

“Yvonne filled in while she was gone. The young widow ain't a teacher, but she can follow Audrey's lesson plans and keep the Thunder Ridge young'uns in order. I'd imagine she welcomes the diversion what with her losing her husband so recently. Audrey returned this morning.” Before Copper knew it, Adele wedged the laudanum between her dry, cracked lips.

She involuntarily swallowed. “How far to Fort Riceson?”

“Forty or so miles, but you're not to worry. I'll be with you,” the older woman promised. “Won't be the same as having Willow and Audrey, but I gave my word that you'd not want for a thing. And Howard Matthews will hold my feet to the fire if I don't do my job.”

So another unwelcome chapter in my life
. Copper mentally sighed. More never-ending hours of living in a drugged haze. Then the ankle must be set…or fixed…or whatever this Dr. Dyson would do, then allowed to knit before she could make the long trek back. It was entirely possible that Audrey would marry Eli Gray during her absence, and Copper wouldn't be there to participate in the nuptials. Hot tears rolled from the corners of her eyes.

“Now now, lovey.” Adele patted her arm. “You're blessed to have such good care. Don't be borrowing trouble when you don't want to have to pay it back.”

“It seems like everywhere I turn despair is waiting to greet me.”

“What, dear?”

“Trouble. It's become my second nature.”

“Ah.” Adele nodded as the wagon hit a deep pothole. “A body does have its share.”

 

When Copper next opened her eyes she could see daylight peeking through the slit in the back canvas. Lingering smells of fried fatback and coffee permeated the air. From the sounds of things, folks were breaking camp and preparing for another day's travel.

Adele poked her head through the canvas opening. “Oh good. I was hoping you'd be awake. Can I bring you some tea and maybe a biscuit?”

Copper's stomach felt as empty as a big spender's pocket. She couldn't remember her last meal.

“A cup of tea would be nice.”

Giving a nod, Adele dropped the canvas lining into place.

Hazy, Copper dozed while she awaited the drink. Her mind had yet to fully grasp her situation, and perhaps that was good. She might go mad if she fully comprehended her condition. Dr. Smith could wrap a simple injury, but it seemed Copper couldn't do anything simple. She thrived on complications. If the injury required special treatment from this Dr. Dyson, then she could indeed be in for a long recovery. Where would she find the funds to pay—yet hadn't Adele said Emily and Mackey's grandfather had ordered her care? She wasn't clear on that—and why would a stranger bother with her? She'd have to ask Adele to explain that when she was thinking straighter. This fuzziness was driving her insane!

She closed her eyes and the nightmares began.

The back canvas parted, and Josh Redlin stepped inside the wagon carrying a steaming cup.

Just the sight of that man sent her into spasms. She shook her head, warding off the nightmare.
Go away!

“Mr. Redlin. Don't you think it's a little reckless on your part to stall out here so close to town? You could infect everyone here. Have you not considered the prospect?”

He turned cool eyes on her. “Sorry—I didn't catch your name.”

“I didn't throw it.”

The sick could use some nourishing broth, he'd said, looking her straight in the eye as though she wasn't working as hard and fast as she could to care for his ailing folk.

“Adele said you thought you might be able to drink a little something.”

Oh dear Lord, spare me this horror
. But the dream refused to lift. She could hear that man's voice as if he was standing in the wagon not fifteen feet away from her. He was either in her nightmares or he was actually there to torment her in person. From the hour he'd stopped that wagon train on the outskirts of Thunder Ridge with all those dead and dying people, he'd been a burr under her saddle.

Suddenly her thoughts were shockingly clear.

Heavens to Betsy
. It wasn't a dream. He was here. In this wagon.

She hesitantly cocked one eye half open. There he stood, grinning like Asa Jeeters's old jackass after a meal of green grass.

“Miss Wilson. So we meet again.”

With a groan, she clamped her eyes shut. Nightmare. That's all it was, and she would awaken any moment.
Wake up Copper! Open your eyes!

She cautiously lifted an eyelid, then shut it.

This could not be happening.

Lord, I've endured it all—everything you've sent my way this past year. The war, the heavy rains, and Willow's injury. More rain. And mud. And burying parlors. But this is too much. I cannot go on. Take me now—no wait. Forgive me for my sins—those I know about and those I'm not aware that I committed. Okay. Now. Take me.

She waited. The scent of hot tea filled the wagon.

Okay. Now. Let's go.

“You're tea is getting cold.”

Squeezing her eyes shut tighter, she pleaded. “Please…I beg you. Go away.”

He sat down in the rocker, still holding the cup. “Now Miss Wilson. How can you be so thoughtless? Here I held up the wagon train until you could meet up with us, and you're still put out with me.”

“Why would you hold up the wagon train?”

“When your foot was in more trouble than Dr. Smith could handle, Howard Matthews thought immediately of Dr. Dyson, who was in Fort Riceson. Since they knew the fort was on our way to Colorado, they thought to see whether we'd be willing to take you along. Of course, we'd already left Thunder Ridge. So we waited until you could catch up.”

He continued. “If they'd had a better way—any other way, to get you there this time of the year, believe me when I say I would have found it for them. But they didn't, so drink your tea and listen up. I don't ordinarily speak to a woman in this tone, but even sick and flat on your back, you're not like most women. You're like a bad rash that won't let up, so here's the deal. There is no way in Hades that I'm going to take your abuse all the way to Fort Riceson. You will stay with Adele,
and mind your manners and guard your tongue. I'll get you to the fort, see that you're made as comfortable as humanly possible, and I'll do this without one of us point-blank shooting the other—on the condition that you stay clear of me.” He set the tea in her hands. “Now drink this, and go back to sleep.”

“Why I…I…why…”

He pointed a finger. “I've been known to leave a body off at the nearest town if they give me trouble. Do you understand me, Miss Wilson? The delay has set the train back by at least a week and we're trying to outrun bad weather. We're doing you a favor. Accept it.”

She opened her mouth to challenge him, then clamped it shut.

He nodded. “Just want you to know the rules. Now drink your tea.” He got up, parted the canvas, and stepped out of the wagon.

Well, of all the unmitigated gall. He couldn't talk to her in that tone. She set the cup on the floor and threw back the quilt. She'd tell that man a thing or two. She swung her feet to the wagon floor and her head swam. Pain shot through her right ankle and the wagon spun in haphazard circles.

Falling back to the pallet, she fought hysteria. Josh Redlin? She would be subject to that…that brute until she was otherwise able to manage on her own?

That was sacrilege. She wouldn't stand for it. She would escape—find another wagon train going through Fort Riceson.

She would! She honestly would. The very moment she got enough strength to get up off this pallet.