The Doctor Takes a Wife (17 page)

A
da donned Prissy's coat, keeping the pistol within easy reach.

Sarah's gaze went back and forth from Ada to Prissy's motionless, sprawled body on the floor. If only she would move! After a few moments, Sarah finally detected the slight rise and fall of breathing in Prissy's slender shoulders. So she wasn't dead, Sarah thought, trying to take hope from that slight encouragement. While there was life, there was hope, wasn't there?

But Prissy could be dying,
a pessimistic voice within her whispered. There was so much blood seeping from Prissy's scalp and pooling onto the wooden floor, staining it. Beneath Prissy's skull, she could be bleeding to death. Would Nolan arrive in time to save Prissy, at least?

“I'm ready,” Ada said, settling Prissy's bonnet over her hair.

Why had she never noticed before how similar Ada's hair was to Prissy's? Prissy's was more vibrantly curly and shiny, but in the fading light, and with Ada's hair mostly covered under the bonnet, no one would
notice the difference. The two women were of a similar height. People were so used to seeing Sarah and Prissy together, and they would see what they expected to see.

“Let's go,” Ada said. Now that Prissy was no longer a threat to her, she had shoved one of the pistols into the waistband of her skirt. She waved the other one at Sarah. “How convenient that your precious Prissy's arms are longer than mine. It'll make it easy to conceal the pistol—but it'll be aimed at you the whole time, Sarah, never doubt it. If we meet anyone on the way out of town, and you try to tell them anything, I'll shoot you
and
them, I promise you.”

“A-All right.” Sarah stopped to take one last look at Prissy.

“She won't wake up for hours, if she ever wakes up at all,” Ada said with a cruel chuckle. “So don't imagine her telling them where you've gone. Now
move
.” Sarah sighed.
Please save Prissy, Lord. Let her live.
She started for the door, praying with every step.

Maybe Antonio would be lingering outside the stable, as he often did in the late afternoon after feeding the horses, before he went in to help Flora serve supper. He'd see them, realize it was nearly suppertime and remind Prissy that her father hated her to be late to the table. Then Ada would react in an un-Prissy-like way that would betray her true identity. Antonio would get suspicious, approach them, then challenge her. Ada would take fright and flee, despite her threats, for Antonio was tall and as solid as an old live oak.

Or maybe Nolan would arrive, just as they reached the gate. Nolan would never be fooled by Ada,
who'd been his patient, after all. He'd recognize her immediately.

But Antonio was not lounging at the barn door, nor did Nolan happen to be entering the grounds.

“You know, Ada, your outlaws would've been smarter to circle around and rob the bank after they lured the posse toward the Colorado,” Sarah remarked as they walked out through the gates, her gaze darting all around her for someone—
anyone
—who might be able to help her. But there was no one exiting the hotel or the saloon. “There's a lot of money in the bank and valuables in its safe. That's what I'd have done, if I'd been an outlaw. It sure would have been a larger prize than me. So maybe they aren't so clever, after all.”

“Shut your mouth,” Ada hissed. “My Jesse's smart as a fox. He's not just any outlaw.”

“But maybe he doesn't know how to rob banks,” Sarah suggested. “That's all right. Not every outlaw's daring enough to rob a bank.” Maybe if she could spark Ada's temper, the other girl would lunge at her and Sarah could wrestle the gun away.

“I said shut up.”
Ada's voice was definitely a snarl now. “Jesse knows what he wants, that's all. You. Teaching you a lesson is more important to him than robbing banks. He can do that any ol' time, after he's handed you over to some savage.

“This way,” Ada said, indicating the road that led south out of town, which didn't make sense if the outlaws were headed north for the Staked Plains. Sarah was about to point this out when she spotted Mrs. Patterson exiting the mercantile. The recent widow was
locking the door of the shop, but then she turned around and saw them.

“Good evening, Sarah, Prissy! Where are you headed? Warm for this early in March, isn't it? I suppose that means we'll have a hot summer…Oh, were you headed to the store for something? I could unlock again if that's the case.”

Sarah pondered the wisdom of claiming the need for sugar or some other item. Mrs. Patterson would become suspicious if Ada remained where she was standing, but Ada would never dare follow her into the mercantile.

Once again, Ada seemed to have the uncanny ability to read Sarah's mind. Sarah felt the unmistakable nudge of the gun barrel in her side, hid by the long sleeve of Prissy's coat. “Don't try it,” Ada said in a low, menacing tone.

“No, no thank you, Mrs. Patterson,” Sarah called back. “We…uh…we were headed to Mrs. Detwiler's,” she said, pointing down the road which would lead past Mrs. Detwiler's large house. “For supper. She invited us for supper. Wasn't that nice? She knew we'd be bored, especially me, what with Nolan riding with the posse and all…” If she accomplished nothing else, she wanted to imprint on Mrs. Patterson's mind which way they had gone, in case Nolan questioned her about seeing Sarah leaving. Maybe, if Sarah was very lucky, the widow would decide it was strange that Sarah was talkative to the point of babbling, a trait that had never been characteristic of her. “That
is
nice. Mrs. Detwiler's always been an excellent cook,” Mrs. Patterson called back agreeably. “All right, if you don't need anything, I'll just go
home and have my supper then. You girls have a good evening.”

Sarah felt an ache of regret as the woman waved, then turned and walked away down the side street that ran between the hotel and the mercantile.

Maybe Mrs. Detwiler would be out in her front yard, admiring the tulips coming up in her flower beds, and Sarah could make another attempt to free herself of Ada. Mrs. Detwiler's eagle eye missed nothing, but she would have to be very careful not to endanger the old woman, too.

 

“A wild-goose chase,” Nolan grumbled as they rode westward back toward Simpson Creek in the chilly March air. “They wanted us to catch glimpses of them, but not get close enough to capture them.”

“Indeed,” Nick agreed, as the two men rode at the head of the posse. Earlier, they'd catch sight of one of the outlaws, who'd gallop off, then disappear—only to be replaced by another of them springing up nearby seemingly out of the blue and running off in a different direction, over and over again. A wild-goose chase, all right—a well-orchestrated one.

“I wonder what that game was about?” Nick mused aloud. “Why not keep out of sight until they struck again, instead of leading us on a merry chase?”

“Unless they were decoying us….” Suddenly Nolan was sure that was exactly what it had been. “Nick, they
wanted
to keep us out here, trying to catch each of them in turn.
They wanted us out of town.
”

“But why? Was part of the gang going to rob the bank? Of course, that must be it. What a fool I've been
to be lured by such an obvious trick!” Nick cried. “We've got to get back to Simpson Creek!” He set his spurs to his mount's flanks as Nolan and the others did likewise.

Nolan wasn't convinced the bank had been the target, however. All at once a soul-deep dread had entered his heart, and he was certain within himself that the trickery somehow involved Sarah.
Sarah!
He'd gone haring off with the posse, trying to prove he was just as brave as any other man,
and left Sarah unprotected.

 

“Jesse?”

At first, all Sarah saw in the gathering darkness was what appeared to be an extra thick trunk of a live oak tree. Then the long, lean frame of Jesse Holt detached himself from the trunk he'd been leaning against, spitting out the unlit cheroot he'd been chewing.

“Where have you been, woman? You dillydallied so long it's dark now,” he grumbled at Ada. “Gettin' mighty cold, too.”

Now Sarah could see the shadowy forms of the horses tied to the back of the grove of trees, and heard them stamping and jingling their bits.

“I didn't know this stupid female was going to spend all afternoon in the mercantile with that Prissy Gilmore ninny, did I?” Ada whined, pointing at Sarah. “But I got her here to you. I even had to knock Prissy out with the gun. I think I killed her, but I don't care. I did it for you.” Her tone was suddenly servile, and her supplicant posture reminded Sarah of a cringing dog wagging its tail in hopes of not being kicked.
Hmm….
So Ada
wasn't quite Jesse's darling as she had boasted—perhaps Sarah could use that to her advantage.

Sarah saw Jesse's eyes narrow and sensed he hadn't liked Ada calling her stupid, or perhaps it was her whiny tone that had set his teeth on edge.

“She didn't hurt you, did she, Sarah?” Jesse asked, coming forward to peer at her.

“No, of course I didn't hurt her!” Ada snapped. “What kind of idiot do you take me for? You said not to, and I didn't. Though I surely wanted to slap her smug face,” she muttered.

“She didn't hurt me,” Sarah confirmed in the calmest tone she could manage. “But I don't want to go with you.” She had little hope that she'd change his mind now after he'd gone this far, but she had to try. “Jesse, we loved each other once, but we've each changed. For the sake of what we had, let me go. I'll walk back into town and tell them you went the opposite direction of whichever way you go. I promise I will.”

“Sweetheart, I'm not gonna do that,” he said, his tone soothing, his hand rough as he stepped closer and caressed her face. “I'm right pleased you're here, and I'm not about to let you go now.”

Sarah hadn't expected him to agree, but she couldn't help backing away from his touch.

“No, you aren't, 'cause you've got big plans for Sarah, isn't that right, Jesse, darling?” cooed Ada. “I've been telling her how you're gonna trade her to some dirty redskin up on the Staked Plains, or maybe some half-breed Mexican Comanchero. I can hardly wait to see that.”

“Be quiet, woman, or I'll give
you
to 'em for nothing,”
Jesse snapped. “Me and Miss Sarah, here, are gonna get reacquainted-like, on the way up to the Llano Estacado, aren't we? That long a ride, I reckon there'll be plenty a' time to remember why we were once so sweet on one 'nother,” he drawled, keeping a hard grasp on Sarah's chin so she couldn't look away.

His breath smelled of stale whiskey, and now, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of an empty bottle propped up against the tree trunk.

“Yes sir, if you're friendly enough, Sarah Matthews, I might forget all about tradin' you and just trade the cattle instead,” Jesse continued.

“Jesse Holt, you stop talking that way!” Ada cried. “
I'm
your woman, not her! We're gettin' married after you trade her off, you said so! And I don't share with nobody!”

“Is that a fact?” Jesse inquired, lifting an eyebrow. He sounded as if he didn't mind very much one way or the other, but a prudent person would have detected the cold menace in his gaze as he shifted it from Sarah to Ada.

“Yes, it is. You said you were a one-woman man, and I'm going to take you at your word,” Ada said, but her tone had changed to wheedling again.

“I am,” Jesse agreed. “Only you ain't the one.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he whipped his pistol from his holster and shot Ada.

“C'
mon. The boys'll be waiting for us at the hideout,” Jesse said, yanking on Sarah's arm as she stood frozen in horror, staring at the fallen form of Ada Spencer. “We're gonna settle in for the night, snug an' cozy, and then head north at first light.”

“You killed her!”
Sarah cried, for the second time in an hour, but this time she was very, very sure it was true. She'd seen the bullet strike Ada's chest. “How could you do that, Jesse Holt? Ada
loved
you. She thought you loved her. She said you were going to marry her.”

Jesse gave a harsh bark of laughter. “From what I've heard in the short time I've been back to town, ol' Ada believed quite a few things lately—she thought that Englishman was going to marry her, too, didn't she, and that she was with child by your precious Yankee doctor. Some women'll believe anything you tell 'em, 'long as it's somethin' they want to hear. Now get on that horse—we've got some hard ridin' to do, Sarah-girl.”

Sarah tried to yank her arm out of his iron grasp.
“But you can't just leave her there, lying in the dirt,” she protested. “It isn't right, Jesse!”

He stared down at her and gave her a sardonic smile. “Do you think I'm gonna take the time to bury her? I ain't done much lately you could call
right
, so there's no use startin' now. The critters'll take care of her carcass. Get on the horse now, Sarah Matthews, or I'll shoot you, too.”

 

Just as Nolan had thought, the Simpson Creek bank had been undisturbed. It was closed now for the day, and the bank president assured them that he'd seen nothing of the Gray Boys.

Nolan then gave voice to his fears about Sarah, and the posse had headed for the cottage. Filled with foreboding, Nolan jumped off his horse.

“We'll wait here till you make sure everything's all right,” Nick called after him as he pounded on the door of the cottage.

“Sarah! Sarah! Are you in there?”

Had his ears caught some faint sound within, or was he hearing things? He pushed at the door, found it unlocked and ran in, then nearly stumbled on Prissy sitting propped up against the stove, a blood-stained dish towel to her head.

He dropped to his knees. “Prissy! What happened to you? Where's Sarah? Nick! I've found Prissy! She's injured!” he called over his shoulder.

Prissy winced at his shout and favored him with a swollen-eyed gaze. “She hit me over the head. With a gun.”

“Sarah hit you with a gun?”
Could he be hearing her right?

Prissy shook her head weakly, then moaned at the obvious pain the motion caused. “No.
Ada
hit me. She surprised us here and forced Sarah to go with her at gunpoint.”

“Go? Go where?”

“She was taking her to Jesse Holt and the outlaws—said they were going to take her and the stolen cattle up on the Staked Plains and sell her to the Comanches, or the Comancheros.”

Her words struck Nolan like a blow, rocking him back on his haunches.

“Why would he do that?”
he demanded, as Nick ran in.

Prissy lifted one shoulder and winced again. “Revenge. Nolan, you've got to stop them! Hurry! You can't let them take her!”

By this time, Antonio had heard the commotion and come running into the cottage, as well.

“What has happened? The senorita, she is injured?”

Nolan jumped to his feet, overwhelmed for the moment with conflicting responsibilities. A dangerously insane Ada was taking Sarah to the outlaws, and they intended to sell her to the savages, or renegade Mexicans—but as a doctor, he had a responsibility to tend Prissy, too. A blow from a heavy object like a gun could fracture a skull.

“Nick, you've got to ride after them!” he told the Englishman. “Prissy, do you know if you were knocked unconscious?” He pulled the dish towel gently from Prissy's hands and probed Prissy's scalp with gentle
fingers, seeking and finding the swelling beneath, but no disruption of the bone.

“Just d-dazed for a moment, I think… After that, I pretended to be unconscious,” she said, and a tear trickled down her pale cheek. “I'm so sorry, Nolan! I was scared out of my wits, but I should have fought her…kept that madwoman from taking Sarah…”

“No, you could have been killed for your pains, my girl,” Nick soothed in his sensible British voice, “and then we'd have
no
idea what had happened to her. You did the right thing.”

“How bad is your head hurting? Can you see straight? How many fingers am I holding up?” Nolan asked.

Prissy blinked at the barrage of questions. “Three. Yes, I've got a headache, but if Antonio will bring me some ice from the springhouse, I'll be fine.
Go with the posse, Nolan,
don't stay here with me. Go! Every minute, they're getting farther away!”

Nolan nodded. “All right, Prissy, I will. Antonio, can you carry your mistress up to the big house, then get her some ice?”

“
Sí,
senor, I will do this,” the other man said, scooping up Prissy as if she weighed nothing. “Flora will stay with her. But it grows dark, and there will only be a half moon tonight. There are lanterns in the stable. Take them.”

Nolan locked gazes with Nick. “You know the area better—what way would they go, if they're headed northward? The road between the mayor's house and the saloon is handy—Ada wouldn't have to risk them
being seen going through town—but it runs south, not north.”

“But only a little way out of town, there's a fork that bends north,” Nick told him. “It's the only way north that's close.”

“That's likely the way, then. We'd better get those lanterns.”

Both men ran out of the cottage. As Nolan headed for the stable, he heard Nick tell the posse what they'd learned.

His brain seethed with rage and fear at the thought of the fate Holt had in mind for Sarah. How could any man contemplate selling a woman—any woman, but especially the one he'd once professed to love—to a savage? And crazy Ada—he should have had her locked in an asylum when he'd had the chance. He'd let compassion blind him, he thought angrily. If he'd done the responsible thing as a physician, realizing she was dangerous and beyond his help, they would not now be riding after the outlaws in the dark, hoping they could find them before they went very far.

How terrified Sarah must be in the hands of the insane woman, much less Jesse Holt and the pack of wolves he ran with! If Holt touched so much as one golden hair on Sarah's head, he promised himself, he'd make the outlaw wish he'd never been born.

 

If she had lain where she had first fallen, they would never have seen her as they thundered past. But after Jesse had left with Sarah, Ada had crawled with the last of her strength out of the grove of trees, collapsing at last by the side of the road. Even so they might have
missed the slight, crumpled form if the wind hadn't picked up as the posse approached and caught the edge of her petticoat, fluttering it in the breeze like a signal flag.

“Look yonder! Somethin'—somebody's layin' by the road!” one of the men in the posse yelled, raising his lantern high and pointing ahead. “I think it's a woman!”

Nolan spotted what the man had seen. His heart rose to his throat and threatened to choke him. Had they killed his Sarah here and left her body for the coyotes to find? He spurred his horse toward the body, vowing retribution against every last one of the Gray Boys gang. He'd make sure Jesse Holt strangled at the end of a rope, if he didn't succeed in shooting him himself.

He jumped off his horse, who shied at the fluttering petticoat, ran to the fallen woman and turned her, his mind going numb at the sight of the dark red stain drenching the front of her coat and bodice.

It's Ada, not Sarah.
For a moment he could hardly speak for the relief that flooded through him. Ada was dead. As long as the body he was cradling wasn't Sarah's, there was hope, wasn't there?

And then the woman's eyes flickered, and she took a shuddering breath, opened them, then blinked as she tried to focus on Nolan's face.

“Dr. Walker…f-fancy meeting y-you here,” Ada whispered. She tried to smile, but the effort resulted in a grotesquely lopsided grimace instead.

Even in the wavering light of the lantern one of the other men held high above them, Nolan could see the
ashy, waxen quality of the woman's face. Her lips were bloodless, her eyes dilated, and a trickle of blood had dried at the side of her chin.

“Ada, where's Sarah? Where have they taken her? Tell me,” he pleaded, knowing that he might have only seconds to worm the truth out of her. “I'll do everything I can to save your life, if you'll just tell me.”

Ada's slender shoulders heaved with the effort to speak. “E-everything you…can? Isn't…very much…anyone could do, is there? E-easy t' say…”

“Please, Ada,” he begged as the woman's eyelids drifted shut. Any second now she would take her last breath, and they'd know nothing more than they had before.
Please, God, give her strength to tell me, and forgive her…

“Wouldn't have…told you…till that s-snake betrayed me…chose her…instead… He shot me…”

“Holt shot you?” Nick demanded, standing beside Nolan.

Ada shifted her gaze to include the Englishman, tried to nod. “Sh-should-should've known…couldn't trust him. Not any man… Now listen, not much time…”

Nolan had to put his ear almost next to Ada's mouth to hear words that weren't so much whispered as breathed. A minute later, he closed her eyes and laid her body down again.

At Nick's direction, they sent the oldest man in the posse, the mill owner, back to Simpson Creek with Ada's body, while the rest of them rode northward into the night.

 

Jesse tied her hands together in front, then held a gun on Sarah while she mounted one of the two horses
in the grove. This horse was saddled, but bridleless, with a rope around its neck so he could lead it, but she could not direct it. The fact that there were only two horses in the grove told Sarah that Jesse had probably never intended to take Ada with them.

And he'd had to know that if he'd merely left Ada standing there and deserted her, that she'd tell others out of sheer spite where they were headed. So it was likely he'd planned all along to murder poor, foolish Ada. The thought sent icicles shooting through her veins, but she said nothing. What was the point of hearing him deny it, or worse, admit it?

Jesse struck a match against the rock and lit the lantern that had been hanging over his saddle horn, and they headed back onto the road at a lope. They rode steadily in silence until they reached the Colorado River, where Jesse stopped to water the horses. He whistled “Tenting on the Old Campground” as the horses lowered their heads into the water.

“They'll come after you, you know,” Sarah said. She didn't know if it was possible, but she had to try to chip away at Jesse's confidence. It was all she could think of. Besides, his answer would tell her whether Ada's assertion that the outlaws had killed the posse was true or not. “Nolan and the rest of the posse won't just let you take me without doing anything about it. You could still let me go, you know, and save your skin.”

“Goldilocks, by the time they figure out which way we've gone, it'll be too late.”

Then Nolan is alive. Thank You, Lord.

“Who's gonna tell 'em? Ada left Prissy with her head split open, didn't she? She's likely as dead as Ada by
now. You tryin' to make me believe there was anyone else there? You're lying.”

“There was no one else,” Sarah admitted, “but Prissy wasn't dead. I saw her breathing.” She prayed it was still true. “They'll find her—in fact, they probably have already because it was nearly suppertime. We're expected at her father's house. And when she comes to, she'll tell them you're headed north, because Ada bragged about the whole plan before she knocked Prissy out.”

Jesse's jaw hardened and he spat in irritation. “Why do women have to talk so much? Oh, well, it don't matter, even if she does wake up. We've got a long head start, and once we reach the hideout, they'll never find us.”

“And what if Ada didn't die, either?” Sarah needled. “They'll find her, too, and she'll tell the posse exactly where the hideout is, won't she? I'm sure you've taken her there. After what you did to her, she'll be delighted to testify about you and see you hang.”

Jesse's hoot of laughter sent a couple of bullfrogs plopping into the water in alarm.

“Oh, crazy Ada's dead all right. You saw where that bullet hit her. She won't be telling anyone anything. I will admit I shouldn't have wasted my time with her, though, if it makes you feel any better. I should've tried harder to sweet talk you into coming with me, Sarah-girl. You could still change your mind and be agreeable about it, you know, and if you're smart, you will.”

Sarah's laugh was mirthless. “‘If it makes me
feel
any better'? You can talk till the end of time and I wouldn't change my mind.”

He tipped her chin up and stared down at her, and Sarah froze. He could do anything with her right now, anything—even throw her tied up and helpless into the chill waters of the Colorado. She was helpless and alone.

No, you're not alone, Sarah Matthews. The Bible promises God is with me always.

“Yeah, you'd best be reconsiderin' your position before we get up to the Staked Plains. You try spoutin' off to some Comanche buck like that, and he'll decide that yellow hair would look mighty nice decoratin' his teepee. Or he'll let the squaws have you, and I hear that's worse. Either way, I hear captive white women don't live too long among the Comanches, and by the time they die, they're beggin' for someone to put them outa their misery. And if by some miracle you got back to civilization, what decent man would have you?”