Chapter Three

      “The soldiers are unable to accompany me,” she continued. “They said I’d need an escort.”

      “Indeed you will if you persist with this plan. If you don’t mind me asking, why do you want to go there?”

      “I want to see if they need medical attention.”

      “They’re Cheyenne, Marlys. They have their own medicine.”

      His use of her given name startled her, and she looked at him more closely. His ebony hair had a disheveled look, as though he’d run a hand through it recently. His furrowed brow showed only concern. He had a half-inch-long curved scar on his cheekbone under his left eye that she hadn’t noticed before. It was still pink, as though it was fairly new.

      “That’s another of my reasons for wanting to meet them,” she admitted, tucking the receipt into her pocket.

      He nodded, but his look of censure remained. “It wouldn’t be safe. Relations between the Army, the settlers and the Indians are touchy. There are entire regiments assigned to protection when those provisions are delivered. It’s not unusual for the Sioux to try to steal goods from the Cheyenne.”

      “I don’t have anything to steal, and they have no reason to fear me.”

      “That’s naive thinking, doctor. You don’t want to land yourself right in the middle of unexpected danger.”

      She gave her head a little shake. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

      “You’re a bullheaded woman.”

      “Which is why I will ask for a guide at the hotel and the sheriff’s office if you don’t have any better suggestions.”

      “You’ve made up your mind you’re going.”

      “I have.”

      “I’ll find a scout and go with you, then.”

      “You?”

      “Is that so hard to imagine? I spent the whole of the war in the Army. How about you? Do you ride well?”

      “I do.”

      “When would you like to go?”

      “Thursday?”

      “I’ll meet you here at seven, then.”

      * * *

      Ben’s sergeant was with him when Marlys returned. “Is Private Cross able to be moved to the hotel?” he asked. “I will engage another private to stay with him.”

      “Mr. Cross should be fine as long as he keeps his weight off that foot for at least another few days. I have crutches he can borrow until then, so he can get around unassisted. I’ve learned they have two small rooms on the ground floor, so ask for one of those.”

      “I have to admit I wouldn’t have believed how good his foot looks in only a few days if I hadn’t seen the difference myself.”

      “He was fortunate,” Marlys replied. “Nothing was broken, and his friends got him here quickly.”

      “He was fortunate you were the doctor they brought him to.” He took bills from a flat purse on his belt and handed them to her.

      “You already paid me,” she said.

      “Even this amount is inadequate for your services. He will be back with the regiment soon. He may have been forced to leave the Army had you not healed his foot.”

      “God created the body to do the healing itself. I simply treat the symptoms in a manner that best advances the process.” She accepted the payment. “Thank you.” She gathered Ben’s belongings and ushered them to the door.

      A minute later, she patted the cash in her pocket. She now had the time and the funds to have some additional work done to her office. First thing she would do was find someone to install a secure lock on her medicine pantry. Many of her tinctures and oils could be harmful if used improperly. She gathered the laundry and headed out. After dropping off yet another heavy bag, she paid to have it delivered, then carried her clean clothing items to the boardinghouse. After putting them away in her temporary room, she found Aunt Mae bustling about the kitchen.

      “Hello, dear,” the short, round woman said with an easy smile. “There’s certainly a lot of talk in town today, and you’re the topic of one choice tidbit.”

      “The soldier’s injury, I presume,” she said.

      “Yes, that.” She sliced two loaves of bread in deft strokes. “How is the fellow doing?”

      “Quite well. His sergeant just took him to the hotel to finish recuperating.”

      “And have you heard all the talk about Quincy Davis’s mail-order bride?”

      Marlys puzzled over that one. “Wasn’t he the previous sheriff who was killed?”

      “Precisely. But unbeknownst to everyone, he’d sent for an Austrian bride, and she arrived ready to give birth. Leah, the midwife—do you know her?—attended to her, and the blacksmith married her on the spot so her baby would have a name and a father.”

      That seemed like a hasty decision, but she addressed the medical aspect. “Is she faring well?”

      “Seems it was touch and go for a long while. Doc Fletcher couldn’t be reached.”

      “Someone should have sent for me.”

      “Leah’s a competent midwife.”

      “I’m sure she is.”

      “Stay for lunch as long as you’re here. I made a hearty soup and this warm bread. You skip too many meals, and they’re included in your rent.”

      “Thank you.” She carried the basket of bread to the dining room, where the boarders were just settling into their places.

      Old Horace was probably in his seventies, and wore his long gray hair in a tail down his back. Gus Russell had a white beard and was probably about the same age. In summer the two of them played horseshoes in the lot behind Booker & Son. Sunny days in winter afforded them afternoons on a bench in front of the mercantile. They knew all the comings and goings of the residents and newcomers. Though they often contradicted each other, their friendship