CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
"Ah, good," Carrie thought. "No fever. Still a bit pale, but that's to be expected." Carrie carefully adjusted the intricately hand-stitched quilt so that it came just to the top of Ben's shoulders.
Such a handsome man, even injured and fast asleep!
Carrie looked away, suddenly overcome by the impact of seeing a man she'd always known to be strong and vibrant now lying closer to death than anyone wanted to admit.
I won't let it happen. That's all there is to it. I forbid any more unpleasantness to happen to this family!
Carrie thought back to her conversation with Alyssa, rehashing every possible scenario they'd invented and analyzing each probable outcome.
It still feels like the right thing to do . . . The only thing to do. I only hope Adam will forgive me.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It was an unusually warm day in Virginia City for the time of year. Nervously, Mercy smoothed the skirt of her rust-colored dress with her fingertips. She'd explained to Mr. Reichert that she'd been directed to his attention by Mrs. Brighton regarding the teaching position in Virginia City. She had answered each of Mr. Reichert's queries with accurate information and impeccable grammar. Her appearance was exemplary and her demeanor was that of a well-trained teacher and disciplinarian.
This position was an excellent one: one that would provide for Danny, Mary and AnnaLynn as well as herself; one that would present challenges for her as a growing, learning teacher; one that would open the door of opportunity to meet Adam's family and share with them the last months of his life and the details of his final days.
"I have one final question, Miss Kinkead," the kind man said. "If the school board approves your application, how soon would you be able to start?"
"Well, Mr. Reichert, I would need to make arrangements for the younger two of my children, but I don't foresee a problem there. You see, my landlady, Mrs. Brighton, has expressed a willingness to care for them should I acquire employment here in Virginia City."
For the first time during the lengthy interview, the temporary head of the school council made notes and comments fastidiously on several sheets of paper. Mercy sat stiffly, her hands on her lap, anxiously twisting a small patch of the fabric of her skirt as he repeatedly dipped his pen into the small inkwell on the desk. She listened as the tip scratched against the paper and tried desperately to assess his words from the movement of the pen. When he finished, he thanked her for her time and graciously walked her to the door. She apologized, again, for approaching Mr. Reichert at a time when he was obviously worried about his injured friend. His response left her dazed and shaken beyond belief.
"Thank you for your concern, Miss Kinkead," Mr. Reichert said. "Ben Cartwright is a strong man and this whole town is praying for his speedy recovery. I will be in touch as soon as possible. Good day."
Mercy felt her life's blood draining from her face. Somehow, her hand found the edge of the door frame and without realizing, she clutched it, the sharp edges pressing into her flesh. Her mouth hung open and after a moment, a tickle rose in her throat as she inhaled the dust of the busy street. She coughed once, then again, the motion jolting her weakened knees.
The street was crowded with buggies and buckboards in motion, men and women talking and laughing and the faint sound of music from the saloon around the corner. The swish, swish of a broom in the hands of a nearby merchant sounded a backbeat against the rocks that several young boys were tossing against a wall. The whistle at the Gould and Curry mine resonated between the tall buildings as it blew the noon hour.
All around her, life sped forward, while for Mercy Kinkead, time stood still. Her cheeks reddened as her heart pounded against her chest. The sounds of the city grew in her head to an earsplitting volume, dwarfed only by the throbbing of her heart. Then suddenly, there was complete silence. Deafening silence. The world around her marched on as if nothing else mattered. She watched the movement, the progress of life going on without her as she stood motionless in that black silence, alone with the realization that just days before she had unknowingly stood face to face with Adam's father and brother.
Little Joe. It was Little Joe . . . and his father . . . Adam's pa.
It was an unusually warm day in Virginia City for the time of year. Nervously, Mercy smoothed the skirt of her rust-colored dress with her fingertips. She'd explained to Mr. Reichert that she'd been directed to his attention by Mrs. Brighton regarding the teaching position in Virginia City. She had answered each of Mr. Reichert's queries with accurate information and impeccable grammar. Her appearance was exemplary and her demeanor was that of a well-trained teacher and disciplinarian.
This position was an excellent one: one that would provide for Danny, Mary and AnnaLynn as well as herself; one that would present challenges for her as a growing, learning teacher; one that would open the door of opportunity to meet Adam's family and share with them the last months of his life and the details of his final days.
"I have one final question, Miss Kinkead," the kind man said. "If the school board approves your application, how soon would you be able to start?"
"Well, Mr. Reichert, I would need to make arrangements for the younger two of my children, but I don't foresee a problem there. You see, my landlady, Mrs. Brighton, has expressed a willingness to care for them should I acquire employment here in Virginia City."
For the first time during the lengthy interview, the temporary head of the school council made notes and comments fastidiously on several sheets of paper. Mercy sat stiffly, her hands on her lap, anxiously twisting a small patch of the fabric of her skirt as he repeatedly dipped his pen into the small inkwell on the desk. She listened as the tip scratched against the paper and tried desperately to assess his words from the movement of the pen. When he finished, he thanked her for her time and graciously walked her to the door. She apologized, again, for approaching Mr. Reichert at a time when he was obviously worried about his injured friend. His response left her dazed and shaken beyond belief.
"Thank you for your concern, Miss Kinkead," Mr. Reichert said. "Ben Cartwright is a strong man and this whole town is praying for his speedy recovery. I will be in touch as soon as possible. Good day."
Mercy felt her life's blood draining from her face. Somehow, her hand found the edge of the door frame and without realizing, she clutched it, the sharp edges pressing into her flesh. Her mouth hung open and after a moment, a tickle rose in her throat as she inhaled the dust of the busy street. She coughed once, then again, the motion jolting her weakened knees.
The street was crowded with buggies and buckboards in motion, men and women talking and laughing and the faint sound of music from the saloon around the corner. The swish, swish of a broom in the hands of a nearby merchant sounded a backbeat against the rocks that several young boys were tossing against a wall. The whistle at the Gould and Curry mine resonated between the tall buildings as it blew the noon hour.
All around her, life sped forward, while for Mercy Kinkead, time stood still. Her cheeks reddened as her heart pounded against her chest. The sounds of the city grew in her head to an earsplitting volume, dwarfed only by the throbbing of her heart. Then suddenly, there was complete silence. Deafening silence. The world around her marched on as if nothing else mattered. She watched the movement, the progress of life going on without her as she stood motionless in that black silence, alone with the realization that just days before she had unknowingly stood face to face with Adam's father and brother.
Little Joe. It was Little Joe . . . and his father . . . Adam's pa.
It was an unusually warm day in Virginia City for the time of year. Nervously, Mercy smoothed the skirt of her rust-colored dress with her fingertips. She'd explained to Mr. Reichert that she'd been directed to his attention by Mrs. Brighton regarding the teaching position in Virginia City. She had answered each of Mr. Reichert's queries with accurate information and impeccable grammar. Her appearance was exemplary and her demeanor was that of a well-trained teacher and disciplinarian.
This position was an excellent one: one that would provide for Danny, Mary and AnnaLynn as well as herself; one that would present challenges for her as a growing, learning teacher; one that would open the door of opportunity to meet Adam's family and share with them the last months of his life and the details of his final days.
"I have one final question, Miss Kinkead," the kind man said. "If the school board approves your application, how soon would you be able to start?"
"Well, Mr. Reichert, I would need to make arrangements for the younger two of my children, but I don't foresee a problem there. You see, my landlady, Mrs. Brighton, has expressed a willingness to care for them should I acquire employment here in Virginia City."
For the first time during the lengthy interview, the temporary head of the school council made notes and comments fastidiously on several sheets of paper. Mercy sat stiffly, her hands on her lap, anxiously twisting a small patch of the fabric of her skirt as he repeatedly dipped his pen into the small inkwell on the desk. She listened as the tip scratched against the paper and tried desperately to assess his words from the movement of the pen. When he finished, he thanked her for her time and graciously walked her to the door. She apologized, again, for approaching Mr. Reichert at a time when he was obviously worried about his injured friend. His response left her dazed and shaken beyond belief.
"Thank you for your concern, Miss Kinkead," Mr. Reichert said. "Ben Cartwright is a strong man and this whole town is praying for his speedy recovery. I will be in touch as soon as possible. Good day."
Mercy felt her life's blood draining from her face. Somehow, her hand found the edge of the door frame and without realizing, she clutched it, the sharp edges pressing into her flesh. Her mouth hung open and after a moment, a tickle rose in her throat as she inhaled the dust of the busy street. She coughed once, then again, the motion jolting her weakened knees.
The street was crowded with buggies and buckboards in motion, men and women talking and laughing and the faint sound of music from the saloon around the corner. The swish, swish of a broom in the hands of a nearby merchant sounded a backbeat against the rocks that several young boys were tossing against a wall. The whistle at the Gould and Curry mine resonated between the tall buildings as it blew the noon hour.
All around her, life sped forward, while for Mercy Kinkead, time stood still. Her cheeks reddened as her heart pounded against her chest. The sounds of the city grew in her head to an earsplitting volume, dwarfed only by the throbbing of her heart. Then suddenly, there was complete silence. Deafening silence. The world around her marched on as if nothing else mattered. She watched the movement, the progress of life going on without her as she stood motionless in that black silence, alone with the realization that just days before she had unknowingly stood face to face with Adam's father and brother.
Little Joe. It was Little Joe . . . and his father . . . Adam's pa.