"I'm not sayin' what he did was right but they damn near killed the boy," a familiar voice echoed from Doctor Robertson's private office.
Cordelia halted in front of the practice door, closing it softly behind her. She held a basket filled with cold tongue, sour pickles and biscuits for her father's lunch. Hannah had been in the same gray mood as the previous day. Reluctant to ask about the situation, Cordelia had offered to drive herself into town and bring her father his lunch. Jim had recently taught her how to drive their wagon. He hadn't come to see to the horses that day. Cordelia dreaded seeing him again, unsure of what had happened to the captive Hatfield who had shamed the McCoy sister.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Wall," her father replied evenly, "But I don't see what that has to do with me."
"Not you, Elias. I don't want to intrude on your affairs, I just want to warn you. The McCoy woman who keeps house for you, you shouldn't have any trouble from her. Just keep an eye on Randall McCoy's son."
Cordelia froze as the men walked out into the office. Judge Hatfield met her eyes and looked away with a grimace. Her father plastered a smile on his weathered face.
"Dee, I didn't know you were dropping by today," he exclaimed a tad too brightly.
Cordelia frowned. "I brought you your lunch. Judge, is your nephew well?"
Judge Hatfield blinked up at her. "What do you know about it, Miss Robertson?"
She shrugged and set the basket on the table. "Only a little."
"He's safe now. My brother went to fetch him last night only just in time."
"You knew, Cordelia?" Her father clucked his tongue. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"I didn't know anything for sure, just whispers I heard from Jim and Hannah."
"You sure do hear a lot of whisperin', don't you, Miss Robertson." Judge Hatfield gave a dry chuckle as he set his hat on his white head. He passed by her towards the door. "I'll be saying good day then."
"Please tell me, was Jim McCoy among them who was holding your nephew?" she asked tonelessly.
"Yes, he was." Judge Hatfield opened the door. "Jim isn't a bad sort like his brother, Tolbert. But I feel it would be wise if you stayed away from him just the same."
Once they were alone, her father sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I didn't realize what a strange place this was when I brought you here. Perhaps we never should have come at all."
Cordelia's posture snapped straight and she clenched her teeth, marching past him into his office. "We had no other choice, father."
The bright blue autumn sky gleamed against the window pane, a shaft of sunlight highlighting the open log book on her father's desk. She unpacked the basket, the biscuits still warm from the oven. Her eyes strayed over to the book. Numbers were scribbled down the page cataloging business expenses and their balance in the bank. The debts were growing higher and the balance thinning out. Cordelia had known it would happen eventually as they wouldn't be making the same living they had in a prominent eastern city. Some of their patients had even paid bills in corn, ham and eggs. But the dip in their savings was steep. It scared her.
Doctor Robertson came around the side of the desk and Cordelia focused on the basket again. He snapped the book closed and tucked it into his desk. Reaching out, he picked up a biscuit and took a bite.
"No matter what the Judge says, we can't let go of Hannah Macon. Her cooking is exceptional. Don't you agree?"
Cordelia nodded without looking at him. "Yes, but what about Jim McCoy?"
He sank into his chair, rubbing his hip with a wince. "Has the boy ever made you feel...uncomfortable?"
Cordelia shook her head. "He's always behaved gentlemanly."
"Yes and he does his job well. He's a hardworking, honorable young man. That's all I need to know. Not all this funny, backwoods business about family feuds," he chuckled. "Why don't you sit down and eat with me, my dear?"
Cordelia gave a vague smile and shook her head, turning to leave. "I'm afraid I don't have much of an appetite."
Her father coughed and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. "I'm afraid I will be home late again this evening. If you want to eat supper and have Hannah leave some food for me, I'd be much obliged."
Cordelia nodded. It was the second time that week he had come in late. The first time, she had met him at the door. She had paced for hours, praying he hadn't had another episode and was drugged up asleep in his office or worse, fallen off his horse riding home. However, he had come in clear eyed but weary. Alcohol was on his breath but he wasn't drunk. He said he had a case at the local saloon and he was too tired for supper.
Cordelia waited again that evening for him, unwilling to go to bed until he was safe home. This time he trudged in with his face red, his speech slurring. She rarely had seen her father drunk. He excused himself and went to bed without dinner.
It was already November and still no letter had arrived from the senator's son in Massachusetts. Jim had been polite but avoiding her eye since the incident with the Hatfields. Even Hannah was withdrawn as the weather turned damp and dreary with late autumn fog. Uneasiness crept over Cordelia. The more often her father came in drunk and sullen, the more convinced she became that things would only get worse.
