Healing Hearts Page 22

  “What do we do?” Cade never had been one to endure veering topics.

  Mother had a ready answer. “You keep an eye on Dr. Blackburn. He is a little too . . . disarming. I do not trust anyone who can so easily be whatever is best in a given situation.”

  “I’ve worried that he’ll simply snatch Miriam away when no one is looking,” Paisley said. “We’ll track every move he makes in this town.”

  “It is a shame Marshal Hawking was called away,” Mother said. “I suspect he has some influence with the judge in Laramie whom Dr. Blackburn contacted.”

  “I’ll wire Hawk over in Garriotville,” Paisley said. “If he’ll send word to Judge Irwin, that might buy us a little time.”

  “Let us hope so,” Miriam said on a sigh.

  Mother met Gideon’s eye again. “Do you still have the tapestry waistcoat I sent you for your last birthday? Pairing that with your black cutaway sack coat and the pinstriped trousers you wore on Sunday would give exactly the impression we need.”

  “Wealth and influence?”

  Mother smiled. “You have to convince him to put more store in your word than in Dr. Blackburn’s. Your appearance is crucial in that.”

  “Have faith, son,” Father said. “None of us are abandoning this fight.”

  Gideon smoothed the pointed edges of his narrow, silk bow tie. When Mother had sent it a few months earlier, he’d assumed he’d never wear it. The look might be the height of fashion in the East, but appearances were kept simpler in the West.

  He made a quick check for lint or stray threads. Everything was impeccably turned out. Before coming to Savage Wells, Gideon would have been quite pleased. Now he mostly felt ­absurd.

  Miriam had grown up in much the same circles he had; she might actually appreciate the touch of elegance. She might be impressed. Or, she might find him as ridiculous as he felt.

  Mother and Father stood in the entryway when Gideon arrived. A flood of memories washed over him at the sight of them dressed in their finery. He’d attended more balls and soirees and society gatherings with them than he could count.

  “Oh, Gideon.” Mother clasped her hands. “Don’t you look a sight.”

  “I feel a fool,” he admitted. “This”—he motioned to his ­appearance—“isn’t who I am anymore.”

  “What you wear has never been ‘who you are,’ son.” She patted his cheek, something she hadn’t done since he was young.

  Father set a hand on his shoulder. “You aren’t the only one feeling overwhelmed.” He motioned with his head toward the door of the recovery room.

  “Miriam?”

  Father and Mother nodded in unison. They weren’t often united in anything. Seeing them this past week working together without their usual disagreements or tension had been shocking, to say the least.

  “Go to her,” Father suggested. “This will be a harrowing evening for her.”

  Gideon had seen for himself how nervous she was at the prospect of confronting her father. But there was nothing else to be done. The only way to guarantee that she would be free was to convince Mr. Bricks to release her.

  Gideon gave a light rap on the door of the recovery room. “Miriam?”

  A quiet “Come in” answered.

  He stepped inside. She sat on the edge of the bed, her head lowered. Her shoulders rose and fell with each breath. It was steady, which was reassuring.

  He leaned against the doorframe. “Mr. Cooper tells Mother he will have chocolate cake tonight,” Gideon said. “I, for one, am looking forward to that.”

  “Do you like chocolate—” Her question trailed off when she looked up at him. “You’ve never worn that before.”

  “I look ridiculous.”

  She shook her head. “You look very handsome.”

  He twitched an eyebrow upward. “Are you saying I haven’t ever looked handsome before?”

  One corner of her mouth tipped the tiniest bit. “That is not at all what I’m saying.” Another fortifying breath filled her frame. “I’m not certain my father will think any better of me in this borrowed dress. It isn’t the height of fashion like your mother’s gowns. The fit is just wrong enough that he will know it isn’t mine.”

  He hated seeing her struggle. She’d been strong through so many things, too many things.

  He crossed to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. “My mother once told me that confidence is the currency of high society. No matter what you profess to be, what you are perceived to be depends entirely on how well you wear your claim.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “He knows who I am and where I’ve been these past years. Your family can pretend I’m part of your world, but my father will know it is a lie.”

  He slipped his hand around hers. “My darling Miriam, we will not be pretending. My parents have voluntarily joined forces in this effort, something I have only seen them do once before.”

  “When was the last time?” She set her free hand on his arm, leaning more fully against him.

  “When I decided to attend medical school. My mother was not happy about it at first, but when she realized I meant to pursue it regardless, she began coming around. By the time I was making formal arrangements to leave, she was on my side. She and Father pulled every string at their disposal, called on every favor owed them, and before I knew it, I had comfortable accommodations and a position working as a political secretary to a very influential man so I could support myself. That they are doing so much now for you, and doing it together, willingly, tells me everything I need to know about whether or not they consider you ‘part of their world.’ They care about you, Miriam.”

  “Do you?” The question was so tentative, so uncertain. The arrival of two men who questioned her value had left her doubting her worth.

  “I love you, Miriam Bricks,” he said without hesitation. “So much so, in fact, that I find myself torn between raining misery upon the Western Women’s Bureau for the trick they played on us and sending them my profound gratitude.”

  “Go with ‘misery,’ Gideon. It will be far more fun.”

  Hearing her jest, however briefly and quietly, eased some of his worry.

  “Are you ready to slay this dragon, Miriam?”

  “I’d feel more ready if I truly looked the part. I have only a secondhand dress.”

  “That is not entirely true.” He had almost forgotten. “I’ve brought you something.”

  She sat up enough to look into his eyes. “You have?”

  “Now, don’t get your hopes too high. It isn’t anything truly fine or fancy.” He reached into his pocket. “I meant to give this to you before the social a few weeks ago, but I didn’t have the chance.” He pulled out the length of blue ribbon. “I heard you tell Hawk you wished you had a ribbon for your hair.”

  Miriam accepted it with all the care one generally reserved for fine jewelry and gemstones. “I’ve dreamed about hair ribbons.” She ran a finger down the length of it. “We were permitted so ­little at the asylum. I had to hide my sketchbook or Dr. Blackburn would have taken it. I found myself longing for the oddest things. A dress that wasn’t gray—I didn’t even care what color. Candy, which is even sillier than a hair ribbon.”

  “You were longing for simple joys, Miriam, and clinging to hope. That is a show of strength.”

  She squared her shoulders. “Dr. Blackburn did not manage to crush me after two years of trying. I can certainly survive a single dinner with my father.”

  “I know you can.”

  “Will you tie this in my hair?” She indicated the ribbon.

  “I can’t promise to do so with any degree of expertise.”

  She smiled at him. Heavens, that smile melted his heart every time. “I’m certain your mother will fix it if you do too terribly.”

  He laughed. “I am certain you are correct.”

/>   She set the ribbon in his hand, then turned her back to him. “A bow around the knot of hair, please.”

  The undertaking was more complicated than he’d anticipated, but not because of the ribbon or his ability to tie a decent bow. There was something intimate in touching her hair the way he had to in order to secure the ribbon. Loose curls flowed from the knot of hair, hanging in auburn tendrils. Her hair was soft beneath his fingers and smelled of flowers.

  “Have I ever told you that you have beautiful hair?” His hands shook as he worked at the bow.

  “No one has ever told me that.”

  He dropped his hands away. The bow was lopsided, but he didn’t know that he could keep fussing with it. This closeness had his pulse pounding and his thoughts spinning in too many directions.

  “We had best be on our way.” He stood and breathed.

  She looked up at him with nervous anticipation.

  He offered her his arm. He’d employed that gesture often enough during his society years for it to feel normal. She slipped her arm through his, and he walked with her toward the front door.

  Mother gave them both a quick perusal, then a crisp nod. “Screw your courage to the sticking place. It is time to beard the lion.”

  Chapter 33

  Miriam had been beaten down by her father’s indifference before. Facing it again dredged up so many worries and opened anew far too many wounds. But walking into the restaurant on Gideon’s arm in the wake of his parents in their finery and unmistakably regal bearing, she could almost believe that this plan could work. If confidence was indeed the currency of high society, Mr. and Mrs. MacNamara were the wealthiest people Miriam had ever known.

  Only a few people were in the restaurant when they stepped inside. Mr. Cooper, the mayor and his wife, the man who ran the bank—Miriam didn’t know his name—and the person they’d come to see. Her father was facing away from the door, but she knew him without seeing his face.

  Her mind screamed for her to run, to leave him and the danger he posed far behind. Her heart cried out for him to love her as he’d once done, to be her father again, to care about what happened to her.

  Mr. Cooper approached. He bowed deeply, something Miriam hadn’t seen anyone do in Savage Wells in the months since her arrival. “Welcome to our establishment.” His adopted accent had never made sense to Miriam. It was clearly intended to be British, but it just as clearly wasn’t real. No one in town ever commented on it, though.

  “A table for four, my good man.” Mr. MacNamara spoke with that hint of impatience all men of wealth and standing seemed to use. If she hadn’t come to know him so well in the weeks he’d been in town, she would have been intimidated.

  Mr. Cooper led them through the small collection of tables to one directly in the middle of the room. He eyed his other customers with a barely concealed look of triumph.

  “Have you nothing by a window?” Mrs. MacNamara asked. “I would so enjoy a window.” It was a demand to be reseated, but not phrased as such.

  “Of course. Of course.” Mr. Cooper jumped to accommodate them.

  Oh, yes. Gideon’s mother was quite good at this game.

  They were seated and told the offerings for the evening. Their orders were placed, and Mr. Cooper hurried off to see to their meal.

  After a moment, Gideon rose. He gave her a quick wink, then walked in the direction of the nearby table where Miriam’s father sat alone.

  “Begging your pardon, but it has been brought to our attention that you are connected to Miss Bricks.” Gideon used the same slightly superior tone as his father had. It was not off-­putting, simply an unmistakable reminder that he came from a position of influence and importance.

  “Well, I—”

  “We would be pleased if you would join us. Any connection of hers is always welcome.”

  That might have been laying it on a bit thick. Still, Father agreed. The sound of his footsteps sent waves of apprehension over her. Their last years together had been miserable. And so much depended upon this.

  Father was given a seat between Gideon and Mrs. Mac­Namara. Though she appreciated not being required to sit beside her father, the arrangement placed him almost directly across from her, where she couldn’t avoid meeting his eye.

  Confidence. Wear your claim.

  She looked at him. She dipped her head, smiled a little. “It has been a long time, Father.”

  He was not cowed, but neither did he balk. “I trust you received my note yesterday.”

  “I did.”

  His eyes darted to each of the MacNamaras in turn before resting once more on her. “I was very specific in my instructions.”

  She hadn’t anticipated him broaching the subject so directly. “I am a nurse with patients who need me.”

  “Most of the children went home today,” he answered back. “And Dr. Blackburn is anxious to have you back under his care.”

  “I have met Dr. Blackburn,” Gideon said. “Helpful during an epidemic. I was surprised that he was so unfamiliar with the writings of Semmelweis, though. If one hopes to be regarded as anything more than merely ‘competent’ as a physician, one must keep abreast of all the newest developments in medical science.”

  “Does he not subscribe to the journals?” Mr. MacNamara managed to look shocked but somehow also not surprised.

  “I suspect not.” Gideon gave his parents a look of sorely tried patience.

  “He seemed very knowledgeable to me,” Father insisted.

  “He is not unknowledgeable,” Gideon said. It was not the most flattering of praise.

  Father’s brow drew in confused thought. That was a good sign. He needed to doubt Dr. Blackburn. He looked at Miriam. “Do you know about this Semmelweis?”

  “Of course,” she answered, trying not to smile. Gideon himself had told her about the doctor and his theories of regular handwashing. “He is the foremost expert on the emerging field of instrument sterilization as a means of forestalling infection. This is part of the future of medicine. No one who hopes to successfully treat patients would ignore emerging ideas and discoveries.”

  “Hear, hear,” Mr. MacNamara said.

  Father’s expression grew more pensive.

  Mr. Cooper arrived, carrying a tray of food. He set it out on the table, with nods and smiles and repeated expressions of hope that they would be pleased with the comparatively simple fare. Mrs. MacNamara’s insistence that they look and act the part of high society gentlemen and ladies had worked as far as the restaurant owner was concerned. Mr. Cooper also owned and ran the hotel, and Miriam had interacted with him on any number of occasions, but he had never scraped and bowed this much.

  “Would you bring Mr. Bricks’s meal to our table as well?” Gideon requested. “We’ve invited him to join us.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  “And please make certain there is a slice of chocolate cake for Nurse Bricks when she has finished her supper,” Gideon added. “She seemed particularly hopeful for a slice. I do not wish for her to be disappointed.”

  “None of us would want that,” Mr. Cooper said. “After all she did for my Ginny.” He faced her directly. “Anytime you want a slice of cake, you simply come ask. You can have all you want, free of charge. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Thank you.” She was genuinely touched by the offer.

  The briefest twinkle of triumph filled Mrs. MacNamara’s eyes before being tucked away again. The praise Mr. Cooper had offered hadn’t been solicited, but it was helpful to Miriam’s cause.

  “I didn’t realize you did so much here,” Father said once the proprietor had disappeared into the kitchen.

  “She is invaluable.” Gideon spoke firmly, insistently.

  Something like a warning crossed both his parents’ faces. Apparently, subtlety was best.

  “Tell us about your family
, Mr. Bricks,” Mrs. MacNamara said. “I seem to remember my dear friend Julia Cockling mentioning a Bricks who was making some inroads into political circles in New York.”

  “Cockling?” Father sputtered. “Senator Cockling’s wife?”

  Heavens. Miriam hadn’t realized Mrs. MacNamara’s casually mentioned friend was a senator’s wife.

  “Indeed,” Mrs. MacNamara said. “Is the young Mr. Bricks she spoke of connected to you?”

  “My son,” he said. “My eldest.”

  “You must be proud of him,” she said.

  “I am.”

  Miriam tried not to let those two words pierce her, but they did. He had not once said he was proud of her.

  Mrs. MacNamara continued. “Are the rest of your children as accomplished as your eldest and your daughter here?”

  He hadn’t a ready answer. If they were truly fortunate, he was at least beginning to think of Miriam in the same terms as her older brother: accomplishment, pride, worth.

  Just as Miriam began to let herself feel hopeful, Dr. Blackburn arrived. Cold tiptoed down her spine. She tried to hide her reaction but didn’t have faith in her ability.

  He crossed directly to them. “Good evening,” he said quite pleasantly.

  The MacNamaras returned the greeting with their impeccable manners. Miriam couldn’t manage a single word.

  Dr. Blackburn addressed her father next. “My apologies for being late. I was hoping to receive an answer to my telegram, but, alas, things move slowly in these territories.”

  Father nodded. “I was invited to join the MacNamaras and . . . Miriam.”

  Why was even her name difficult for him to say? Was he so uncomfortable with her? Embarrassed?

  Dr. Blackburn looked to her with an expression of mingled worry and pity. “I hope you aren’t overtaxing yourself. With all you have pushed yourself to do lately, your strength will soon be nonexistent.”

  “My strength is sufficient,” she insisted.

  He held his hands up in a show of innocence. “No need to grow defensive. I was merely concerned. I know well the limits faced by one with your condition.”