Cowboy Creek Christmas: Mistletoe Reunion

“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 was obvious.

“Howdy, Doc Boyd. Heard about the little German baby born last night?” Horace asked.

“He ain’t German. He’s Austrian,” Gus corrected.

“Same thing, ain’t it?”

“Same language, but different countries,” Marlys said. “There are different inflections in their dialects.”

Gus licked his lips at the steaming bowl Aunt Mae sat before him. “You speak German?”

“I do. I’m looking for someone to teach me Cheyenne.”

Gus squinted at her.

She seated herself and thanked the proprietress. She tasted the hearty soup. “I’m also looking for someone to install a lock on a storage pantry. Is there a local locksmith?”

“The farrier does locks,” Horace told her. “Colton Werner’s his name.”

“He’s the blacksmith who married the Austrian woman,” Aunt Mae explained.

“So, I’d find him at the livery to the north on this same street?”

“That’s the one,” the woman replied. “Speaking of newcomers, we have a new boarder. Georgia Morris is her name. She’s here to make a marriage, so she won’t last long.” She eyed Marlys. “Are you making friends in Cowboy Creek?”

Sam had asked the same question. Why did everyone want to know? While she wasn’t averse to having friends, she had simply never had the time. “I haven’t been here long enough.”

“Maybe, but you’ve stayed to yourself for the most part. There’s church service on Sundays, and this week there’s a gathering afterward. You should go. Just meet people. They’ll be more likely to trust you with their medical concerns if you’ve made their acquaintance.”

Marlys studied the older woman thoughtfully. As a doctor, she had a lot working against her, to be honest. She was a woman in a man’s profession in a man’s land. She didn’t practice conventional medicine. She had never been outgoing or personable. She didn’t care about fitting in, but perhaps giving the appearance of fitting in would make her more appealing and earn trust. Aunt Mae was genial and well-meaning, and she had no lack of helpful opinions. Marlys appreciated learning, so perhaps there was something to be learned from this woman everyone liked.

Marlys finished her lunch and thanked her landlady.

The blacksmith was a large man with a nice face and scarred hands. He listened to her explain what she needed, and told her he’d be able to do the work the following day.

She stopped at Godwin’s boot and shoe shop, and a thin brown-haired woman wearing a print dress and a white apron greeted her. “Good afternoon. I’m Opal Godwin. Can I help you?”

Marlys removed her scarf. “I hope so. My boots get wet so often, they’re never dry by the next time I go out. I need another pair.”

“It’s going to be a long winter,” the woman said with a smile. “Have a seat and I’ll draw your foot for my husband.” She knelt and unlaced Marlys’s boots. “Are you Miss Morris?”

“No, I’m Dr. Boyd.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about you from Pippa. Sorry I haven’t made it over to welcome you. I’ve been busier than usual.”

The fact that she’d meant to stop over heartened Marlys. “That’s quite all right.”

“Your boots are very well-made.”

“And comfortable. I want practical and comfortable.”

A thready high-pitched cry arose from the rear of the room. Opal placed a hand over her breast and glanced up. “It never fails. He cries as soon as I’m busy. And I’m always busy.”

“Bring him to me while you do that. I’ll hold him.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. It’s practical.”

Opal returned with a baby wrapped in a white crocheted blanket. He looked to be only a few weeks old. Marlys looked him over, even listened to his breathing and held him up to rest her ear against his chest. He flailed his arms, so she tucked him snugly back in the blanket. “His heart and lungs sound healthy. He appears to be a sturdy child.”

Opal blinked at her, and then smiled. “I was extremely exhausted while I carried him, but Richard’s a good eater and is growing.”

“You probably needed more minerals and protein in your diet. Nourishing him depletes your own reserves. Are you eating well now?”

“Yes.”

“Drink as much milk as you can. I can make a supplement that will help you, too.”

Opal appeared somewhat uncomfortable with her suggestion.

“I suppose you’ve heard things about me.”

“No, it’s just that Leah is my friend...”

“And the midwife, I understand.”

Opal nodded.

“Well, talk to her first, and then come to see me if you choose.”

Opal drew patterns of both of Marlys’s feet on brown paper and wrote on them. She showed her leather samples, and Marlys chose a supple dark brown.

“And we’ll make you a sturdy heel. Just enough to be fashionable, but not so much as to lose comfort.”

“Perhaps another fur-lined pair as well as a pair for indoors,” she decided.

Opal looked pleased. “I’ll show you the styles we have.”

Marlys chose a style, and Opal wrote notes for her husband.

Baby Richard had fallen asleep in her arms, and Marlys took a moment to admire his downy hair and tiny rosebud lips. What had Sam’s son looked like as an infant? She imagined wispy black hair and round cheeks.

“Your first pair should be ready in less than a week.”

Marlys looked from the baby to the eyes of the new mother. She remembered what Aunt Mae had said about people trusting her if she made friends. Her heart beat faster against the weight of the baby, but she opened her mouth to speak. “It’s a lot to get used to caring for a new baby, isn’t it?”

“It is, but he’s a blessing.”

“If you come by my office, I’d love to prepare a mineral bath for you. Just to relax for an hour or so. I’ll make a bed for Richard, or I’ll hold him. My treat.”

Opal’s brown eyes showed her surprise, but also appreciation. “Thank you, Dr. Boyd. I’ve heard only good things about your mineral bath treatments from Pippa.”

Marlys stood and, after another tender look at the baby, handed Richard to his mother, then laced up her boots. Maybe it wouldn’t be all that difficult to make friends. It would be nice to feel accepted—and a little less alone. “I’ll check back next week.”

“If they’re finished sooner, I’ll bring your boots to you.”

Marlys smiled and headed back to her office.

* * *

The first edition of the Webster County Daily News came off the press the following day. Sam and Israel folded, stacked and bundled papers. The sun came out as though in celebration of the big day. Accompanied by August, the three of them traveled the streets of Cowboy Creek, where melting snow formed ruts of oozing mud. Sam cleaned his boots on the iron scraper in front of Remmy Hagermann’s mercantile. He’d already made arrangements with as many stores as possible to keep a stack of newspapers until he replaced any old ones with new.

Remmy greeted him with a smile and a wave. “The first edition, eh?”

“It’s here.”

“I’m looking forward to actual news. Our last newspaperman skewed everything to make situations look bleak. We all figured it out too late. He was undermining the town for his own cause. We’re glad to have you. You’re a newspaper legend. When we learned you were coming to Kansas, I ordered a couple dozen copies of your book, and they all sold.”

“Much obliged, Mr. Hagermann.”

Remmy picked up the top newspaper and read the headlines. One eyebrow climbed his forehead. “‘Cowboy Creek’s First Female Doctor Sees Results with Progressive Medicine.’ The Boyd woman, I reckon.”

“Yes, Dr. Boyd is a most interesting woman.”

“I heard she learned Chinese medicine at a peculiar university.”

He had his own doubts about her education and practices, but he would stay neutral. “You’ll find the article about her education informative. She’s quite forthcoming about her beliefs. And statistically, the Chinese are remarkably healthy.”

Remmy glanced up from the paper and eyed Sam. “Yeah?”

“I’ll be doing another article in a couple of weeks. After reading about her you may find that many of her treatments are more logical and humane than commonly accepted practices. Cowboy Creek is growing. There’s more than one mercantile. I suppose there’s enough patients for two or more doctors.”

Remmy had opened his mercantile after Zimmerman’s and cleverly catered to women to attract a good share of customers. He didn’t argue with Sam’s reasoning. Instead he looked over the other articles. “Like I said, nice to have a paper again. Suppose I’ll run an advertisement in the next one.”

“I’ll give you a discount on your first ad,” Sam assured him.

Remmy glanced through the front window at August waiting on the boardwalk. “That your boy?”

“Yes, that’s August.”

“Works with you on the paper, does he?”

“Mostly he’s adjusting to a new school. Hannah Johnson watches him a couple of afternoons until I finish work.”

“Reverend Taggart’s daughter, the dressmaker?”

“That’s right. I was surprised when Hannah offered to take August for a few hours a week, but I’m grateful.” Sam headed for the door. “Come see me for that ad.”

Sam pulled the cart holding papers over the muddy ruts, and Israel joined them. He had taken papers to the railroad station. The three made their way north on Lincoln Boulevard, so they would pass Dr. Boyd’s office on their way back to Eden Street. August grabbed a paper, and Sam pushed open the door, which rang a bell. Israel followed.

A pleasant mixture of unusual smells hung in the air. A row of plain wood chairs lined one wall, all empty. A large rug, obviously new, covered the varnished wood floor in the waiting area.

Marlys stepped from an open doorway to greet them. “Good morning.”

August extended the newspaper he held.

“We brought you a paper so you could see the article,” Sam explained. “Israel, meet Dr. Boyd. This is Israel, my journeyman.”

Marlys leaned toward the young man. Israel removed his heavy glove and shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Doctor.”

“My pleasure. Let me grab a coin so I can pay you.”

“No, this one’s complimentary,” Sam said quickly.

“Thank you.” She unfolded the paper and studied the front page. She couldn’t have missed the caption about her practice, but she read aloud another. “‘President Johnson Proclaims a Day of Praise, Thanksgiving and Prayer.’” She glanced up at him. “It sounds like Andrew Johnson believes our country has turned a corner, politically, economically. He’s giving people permission to hope again.”

Sam nodded. “In his proclamation he talks about the abundance of jobs, crops, harmony in this country.”

Marlys read aloud, “‘I therefore recommend that Thursday, the 26th day of November next, be set apart and observed by all people of the United States as a day for public praise, thanksgiving, and prayer to the Almighty Creator and Divine Ruler of the Universe, by whose ever-watchful, merciful, and gracious providence alone states and nations, no less than families and individual men, do live and move and have their being.’”

“What does it mean, Papa?”

Sam looked into his son’s curious blue eyes. “It means even though we’ve been through a lot as a country, losing family and friends in war, that we have a lot to be thankful for. Like our freedom. So there will be one day set aside when everyone is thankful together.”

“The town is putting together a celebration. Mrs. Kendricks suggested I volunteer for the committee,” she said. “Perhaps it’s not a bad idea. I do need to meet people, so they will learn to trust me.”

“That’s good advice. I made up my mind to delve into town projects and affairs as soon as I arrived, so people learn to see me as one of their own.”

“While you’re here,” she said, “I’ve made something for you. Follow me.”

She turned and left them standing.

Chapter Four

“I’ll wait here,” Israel said.

Perplexed, Sam followed Marlys into the room behind the waiting area, August trailing behind. They followed a hallway into the first room, which held a desk, shelves lined with books and a small wooden rack on a cabinet.

She took a squat bottle from the rack and applied a dot of glistening liquid to her little finger.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“Lean toward me.”

He hesitated, but slowly leaned.

She trailed her finger under his eye.

Her closeness and touch made him unexplainably unsettled.

“I can’t promise this will completely remove that scar, but the skin growth appears new enough that this might greatly improve its appearance.”

He’d received the injury while unloading the presses and parts a couple weeks ago. Sometimes he noticed the mark when he shaved, but hadn’t paid much attention to it after the cut had healed. Apparently she’d noticed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. A surprising curl of gratification spiraled in his chest. It had been a long time since someone had tended to him like this. But she was a doctor, so he’d be foolish to read anything more into the gesture. “Smells good. What’s in this?”

“Sandalwood powder, honey, lavender, aloe plus a couple drops of other oils.” She put the cap back on the bottle and handed it to him. “Dab it on a couple of times a day.”

Their fingertips grazed as he accepted the bottle. “Thank you.”

“Our plans for Thursday still stand?”

“Yes. I found someone who knows the area to travel with us. He speaks Cheyenne.”

Marlys’s eyes opened wide. “You did? That’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re dead set on doing this. If I can’t talk you out of it, I’ll first make it safe and then make it advantageous to your cause.”

“I can’t be talked out of going.”

“I know.” They returned to the front of the building where Israel waited. “Thank you for the balm.”

“My pleasure. That should be plenty.”

He took an awkward step back, gave her a nod and turned away. Their cart was half-depleted, so Israel walked ahead, and August sat on the remaining newspapers, hanging on and laughing when they crossed the ruts.

Sam had the urge to caution him about falling off, but instead smiled at the unfamiliar sight of his boy’s gap-toothed grin and the joyful sound of laughter. His son hadn’t derived much pleasure from their relocation.

Sometimes thinking about his son’s remoteness made Sam sick to his stomach. August had been only a year old when Sam had enlisted. Upon his return Sam had been a stranger to the five-year old. Little wonder the boy had barely warmed to him, preferring his grandmother’s company and tutelage over his father’s. But Sam’s mother had done more than her part in raising and caring for her grandson. It was time she had the freedom to travel and enjoy friends. And now that they were settled in their new home, it was past time August and Sam learned to make the best of their threadbare family.

But it seemed the more he tried to draw him close, the more reserved August became. Sam was at a loss, and he prayed continually for a breakthrough.

His thoughts skipped back to Marlys, strangely pleased that she’d had the inclination to make something for the scar under his eye. He glanced at his reflection in the window of the sheriff’s office as they passed, then grabbed a paper and entered to give the lawman a copy.

Marlys was still an enigma. He’d never understood what made her tick, and he still didn’t. He needed to create a stable life for his son, perhaps marry and establish a family if God saw fit to make that happen. He’d be wise to remember she wasn’t that woman, and no attraction or friendship was going to change that. He’d already learned the hard way that hoping for a piece of her heart was futile.

But for some reason, he did value her friendship, and he felt unexplainably responsible for her. She was the smartest person he knew, but she was also headstrong and naive, and those two qualities could mean trouble. He meant to keep his guard up where she was concerned—for her protection and for his.

* * *

Dressed in sensible boots, a slim split riding skirt and a warm coat with a fur hat, Marlys approached the livery and opened the single door. November had arrived with more sun and less snow, but she’d been warned that the weather was unpredictable, so she was prepared.

Sam stood beside a shiny mahogany horse in the wide open area, wearing a suede coat and boots, with a revolver holstered to his thigh. He tightened the cinch on the saddle, patted the horse’s rump and turned to spot her. “I thought we were meeting at the newspaper office.”

“I was ready so I walked,” she replied.

“You look warm and ready for the day.”

“Amos Godwin made these boots for me,” she told him. “I ordered two pair, and he finished these warm ones first.” She glanced over her shoulder. “We will need to go back to my office, though. I have items to bring that I couldn’t carry.”

“I wondered about that. Do we need another horse?”

“I believe so.”

The door opened again, and a young man in a heavy coat joined them, spurs jangling. “Sam.” He tipped his hat to Marlys.

“Marlys, this is James Johnson, Hannah’s husband. James, this is Dr. Boyd.”

“How do, ma’am. I’ve heard about you.”

Marlys greeted the young man with a warm smile. “All good, I’m sure.”

He grinned. “You arrived in town a little too late to hear all the gossip about me and Hannah. And there were a lot of tongues wagging so I was relieved about the new topic of interest.”

“You have me curious now,” she said.

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk,” he replied.

“How much are you taking?” Sam asked her. Then, without waiting for a reply, he said, “James, would a wagon make the trip?”

“No hills or rivers,” he answered. “One creek, not too deep. A wagon will fare well.”

“We will probably need it,” Marlys agreed.

“I’ll hitch horses,” Sam decided. “And I’ll drive the wagon. You can ride ahead, James.”

Their scout headed back into what appeared to be the tack room. “I’ll help with the animals.”

It didn’t take long for the two men to have the wagon ready. Sam assisted Marlys up to the seat and climbed up to take the reins. Back on Second Street, they loaded her crates and bags from her office, and covered them with a tarp.

“I brought food, too.” She handed him a basket with a lid, and he tucked it under the covering.

The weather cooperated, with partial sun breaking through the clouds, but the air was crisp. She was glad she’d bundled for warmth and brought her scarf for her neck and face. James rode ahead as they made their way north out of town.

“No patients today?” Sam asked.

She raised an eyebrow and slanted him a glance. After the incident with the soldier, she’d had a few patients by default, and Pippa liked the mineral baths, but her waiting room was still a good place to be if one wanted quiet time.

“Was that a no?”

“There was a rush of curious people after I treated the soldier, but only a few since then. Perhaps there will be more patients tomorrow,” she said.

He gave a nod of agreement. “The piece I wrote didn’t do any harm, I hope.”

“You stated the facts,” she replied. “At least no one has applied for the assistant position, so I’m not paying a helper yet.”

He glanced up from beneath the brim of his hat, and she followed his gaze to see a hawk gliding on a current.

“From what you said earlier, though, it sounds like you’ve grown accustomed to getting by on very little. Your father cut you off financially after you called off our engagement, did he not?”

“Most definitely.”

“How did you pay for university?” When she didn’t answer right away, he said quickly, “I’m sorry. That was a rude question.”

“I appreciate forthrightness,” she replied honestly. “I worked several jobs to pay my way. I cleaned every evening for a barber. I did laundry for a family. I stayed with a statesman’s elderly mother and had a small room in her home with meals included.”

“When did you study?”

“Every chance I got. Mostly at night.”

Sam looked at Marlys, and his admiration hitched a notch higher. He’d always known she was smart and ambitious, but her fortitude and passion equaled that of the great men he’d known. The strength and determination that shone on her face made her even more striking, with her beautiful porcelain skin and winged brows a shade darker than her bright chestnut hair. Little wonder he’d been smitten with her, but had she ever felt drawn to him? She’d accepted his proposal to appease her father, but now he believed she’d never felt anything beyond a sense of duty. No man wanted to feel like an obligation.

He didn’t really blame her. They were too different. They wanted different things. He’d wanted to marry and start a family. She’d been ardent about her education and medicine. It was better she’d been strong enough to end it than to allow them to make a mistake and enter an ill-fated marriage. “And once you’d graduated, you started looking for a place to locate?”

“I shared a practice with a colleague for a time, but we struggled. Most city people who appreciated advanced medicine already had established doctors. I’d followed the articles and ads about Western locations for some time. The more I looked into the new towns, the more I saw the possibility of pioneer communities being open to new and unconventional practices. Once I had the idea, I couldn’t let go of it. I saw several advertisements encouraging brides and business owners to Cowboy Creek. I wrote the town council, and the town clerk sent me a map and a list of available properties.”

“How did you select your location?”

“Because of my need for water, it wasn’t difficult. I wanted access to the well between the bath house on Second and the laundry on First. Also it’s only three businesses in from the main thoroughfare.”

“Maybe I could include more of your personal story in the next article.”

“I forgot for a moment I was speaking to the journalist. I’ll think about it.”

“Being a journalist is a big part of who I am. Like being a doctor is an important part of who you are. A person’s passions are part of them.”