The Mail Order Midwife's Secret (Wanted: Wives In The West 2) Read online

  “Oh, dear,” Clara said. “I’ve gone and said too much, haven’t I? I’ve upset you.” Doc just shook his head, as if he disapproved of the entire exchange. Clara stood up and put her arms on Millie’s shoulders, offering a gentle squeeze.

  “No, I’m fine,” Millie lied, still feeling shaken. She wanted to know the rest of the story—what happened to the sheriff afterwards? Did he ever find the Indians who had done this to his wife and daughters? But she didn’t have time to ask.

  Doc pushed away from the table, grabbed his hat and medical bag, and headed toward the door. “Let’s go,” he said to Millie, offering Clara a quick peck on the lips as he passed her in the doorway.

  Millie wasn’t expecting to leave so soon. She quickly ran into her room to get the nursing kit Doc had left there for her, and ran outside to hop in the wagon. It was a silent ride most of the way there. Millie stared out over the plains, thinking about the sheriff as she watched the sun begin to sink and the fireflies signal to one another in the tall grass.

  “He’s good now, you know,” Doc said out of nowhere. Millie turned silently to give him her attention. “He got square with the Indians and the church healed him pretty good.” Millie didn’t say a word. She waited to see if he would add more detail. He didn’t, so she turned back to the plains, now unable to discern where the dark grass ended and the pitch black sky began. In the short time she was listening to Doc, the sun had disappeared completely and left the fireflies to compete with the twinkling stars, which sometimes shot across the sky as they fell to the Earth with no light left to give.

  Rolling up into the Acre, Millie couldn’t believe how packed it was—a stark contrast to the dusty and abandoned place she’d seen the day before. Aside from a few ladies of ill repute strolling on the arms of intoxicated cowboys, Millie was the only woman in town amid a sea of rough-looking trail drivers, buffalo hunters, and a smattering of wealthy men from the area who showed up to participate in the big stakes games. Even though it was dark, the heat wasn’t very forgiving, and the scent of perspiration, horses and whisky were inescapable. She could hear the piano coming from each saloon they passed, sometimes mixed with a loud crowd of on-the-spot singers banding together to belt out a tune. Laughter filled the air in some, and heated exchanges could be heard in others.

  Doc pulled up to the calaboose, where he always kept his wagon on long nights like this. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said as he jumped down onto the ground. “We won’t be leaving until sun up.” Down the street, Millie heard a series of gunshots. Her eyes widened and she looked to Doc for clarification on what to do. “Just boys having a bit of fun,” he assured her. “They’ll come around when they need us.” He unhitched the horses from the wagon and tied them to the hitching post, in case he and Millie had to travel fast from one end of town to another. “You ride?” he asked. “Got any experience with horses?”

  “Some,” she answered, remembering the few times she’d hopped on Henry’s horse with the intention of leaving, but turned around, knowing she had nowhere to go and wouldn’t get very far before he found her.

  Just then, a single shot rang out and a woman shrieked. “Let’s go,” Doc ordered as he and Millie grabbed their bags and ran down the road to the Peacock Saloon. A crowd had gathered around a man lying in the street as Doc pushed his way to the inner circle, ordering everyone out of his way. He’d been shot in the chest and Doc instantly went to work trying to stop the bleeding.

  Millie knelt beside him, staring at the man’s face, while gently wiping the hair away from his brow as the life continued draining out of him. He turned his eyes to her, startled as if this were the first act of kindness he would ever get to experience on the last day of his life. “You’re going to be okay,” she said softly, the lie hanging between them like the stale air of the Acre. He moved his hand over to hers and held on, offering a very small smile before his eyes quit moving and his hand went limp.

  Chapter Seven

  Sheriff Lockhart arrived on the scene just as the man was pronounced dead by the Doc. The crowd parted as he walked up, giving him access to the crime scene. He expected to see a dead body, but was caught off guard to be looking directly into the eyes of the beautiful woman who stared back at him, who looked at him as if she saw deep into his soul and wanted to heal the pain of the past two years. It took him a moment before he recognized her from the picture—the woman he thought he’d be meeting Sunday at church. But in a crowd full of hardened characters, he couldn’t forget the soft features and delicate presence of Millie Wallace.

  “He’s gone,” Doc said, standing up to address the sheriff about the night’s first casualty. The man lying there wasn’t a local. He had to be passing through because Sheriff Lockhart didn’t recognize him. The crowd began dispersing, going back to their chosen saloons, and no one stepped forward to claim responsibility for the shooting. Whoever did it had probably left the scene immediately, and only a fool with a death wish would label him a murderer. John looked at Millie, expecting to see tears from the shocking event, as many delicate women would have reacted, but as he reached out his hand to help her stand, she looked nothing but stoic and strong.

  Two bar hands ran out to remove the body. It wasn’t good business to have people getting shot and dying in the middle of the street. Even though everyone knew it happened quite frequently, it put a damper on the mood to see the aftermath. “Ma’am,” said the sheriff. “You okay?”

  Millie flashed a quick, slight smiled and averted her eyes from him as she nodded in the affirmative. It was if she had stared too long and seen too much, like looking at the sun. John could tell she was shy around him. He liked that. Working in the Acre night after night, he’d been used to women who were much too forward and aggressive for his liking. Rose was shy when he first met her, too. It took him three whole weeks to get more than a giggle from her whenever he tried talking to her. But Millie seemed shy in a different way. Almost like she’d created a protective shell that he’d have to break down before she would allow him into her life.

  “Get these washed and we’ll head back,” Doc told Millie. John watched as she did as Doc ordered, gathering the medical supplies and heading into the saloon to borrow a wash bin.

  “Think she’ll hold up well?” the sheriff asked Doc Springer, curious about the fortitude of the town’s newest citizen.

  “She’ll do fine,” Doc said. “Tough one. Came here with nothing but the clothes on her back. Clara suspects she left something bad behind, but I’m not one to gossip like those hens.” Doc left the sheriff in the street, turning to walk into another saloon to wash up.

  John watched as Millie exited the saloon, a stream of whistles trailing her from the locals who’d noticed how beautiful she was, just as he had. Millie seemed unfazed at the attention. She took the supplies and started marching down the street back toward the wagon at the calaboose. He ran after her. “You don’t want to be walking down here alone,” John said, catching up to her. “Always wait for me or Doc to escort you.”

  “Okay,” Millie said softly. John turned his head slightly to steal a glance at Millie—the photograph coming to life right before his eyes. Her creamy, white hands were so soft and delicate. When he reached over to take the bag from her hands and carry it for her, his eyes caught sight of something else—a bruise circling her wrist that was already fading from blue and green into a pale yellow. Millie glanced at the sheriff and as soon as she saw where his eyes were pointed, quickly grabbed her sleeve and pulled it over the bruise. She laughed nervously and said, “So, is Fort Worth always this exciting?”

  Sheriff Lockhart turned and looked at Millie’s profile as they walked, her eyes now straight ahead. “Most nights,” he answered. “But once they start out on the trail, it’ll calm down a bit.” John studied Millie’s face—her dark hair tumbled down around her cheeks, even though it was tied back at the nape of her neck. Her eyelashes were long, and her eyes wide and alert. She had a dainty nose and light rose-colored
lips. She wore a long, blue prairie dress, with a collar that came up around her neck. He knew Millie could sense him staring at her, but he didn’t care. It had been ages since he’d felt hope for a new beginning, and he was soaking it all in.

  As the night went on, John and Millie crossed paths seven more times. With the big game happening, the brawls had been out of control. Sore losers and accusations of cheating were rampant. Most weren’t serious injuries, but a few got carted off with deeper wounds, or had to go sit in the calaboose until they could pay their fine the following morning for their behavior. Every time John saw Millie, they would catch each other stealing glances. It was hard for him to concentrate on crime when something so breathtaking was robbing him of his attention.

  At daybreak, the group of professional gamblers emerged, shaking hands and parting ways. Two of the men walked toward Millie, Doc and John, who all stood by the calaboose getting ready to head home. “Sheriff,” one of them said as he extended his hand, “Wyatt and I would like to thank you for letting us invade your small town.” The man named Wyatt had taken Millie’s hand in his and kissed the back of it as a gentle greeting, while his gambling partner addressed the men.

  “Bat,” the sheriff replied, “it’s our pleasure to host two of the greatest gamblers west of the Mississippi! Y’all come back anytime.” The two men tipped their hats and walked on toward the stagecoach.

  “Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp,” he said to Millie. You’ll come to know them. They follow the money.” Sheriff Lockhart said goodbye to Millie and the Doc as they all headed home to get ready for church. This was going to be a long day, and very hard for John. It was the anniversary of the murder of Rose and his two girls. While his heart felt heavy, it also felt equally hopeful, as if Rose herself had intervened and sent Millie to help him heal. As always, John stopped on the prairie to watch the sun rise. Thank you, Dear Lord, he thought as he focused on how blessed he was to come back from the brink of insanity after what had happened to him in the past.

  John cleaned up and put on his best Sunday dress suit. He went to the church and walked up the steps, remembering on this day, how his friends and neighbors had once carried the tiny, wooden caskets of Grace and Anna down those steps to the cemetery after their funeral, and how he had followed Rose’s casket, trying to numb himself from the pain as the feelings of rage and revenge swallowed him up inside.

  All he saw now were smiling faces and the looks of pity from those who hated what the sheriff had gone through. He walked in and sat down in the pews, next to Clara, Doc and Millie, seated right beside him. “That’s a beautiful Bible,” she said, admiring the book John was clutching.

  “Pastor Littlejohn gave it to us … to me,” he stammered, forgetting that he hadn’t yet told Millie about Rose. The Bible had gotten him through his darkest times and helped lead him back to the town that embraced him with such love and respect. Millie and John shared the hymnal sheets as they sang. He couldn’t help noticing her angelic voice. It was so beautiful and strong, nothing like the soft-spoken words that came out of her mouth in the Acre.

  The sermon that day was about forgiveness. “There comes a time when we must forgive those who have wronged us,” Pastor Littlejohn said from the pulpit. “Just as Christ forgives you for all of your sins. It can be hard to do, but not impossible. Years ago, one of our own had the insurmountable task of forgiving others for the worst possible transgression—murder. God called out to him and implored him to find it in his heart to forgive those who had taken his loved ones away.” John could feel all eyes on him, but Millie looked straight ahead at the pastor. “He struggled, but in the end, he was able to rid himself of his unforgiving spirit and walk with God along a path to a peaceful heart.”

  Chapter Eight

  After church, John approached Millie on the steps outside as she and the Springers were getting ready to head home. “I was wondering if you’d like to share a picnic with me today,” he asked. “With our schedule, it’s kind of like dinner, I suppose. Pastor Littlejohn’s wife, Mabel, always fixes me up a meal way too big for one person, so you won’t have to suffer my cooking.”

  Millie tilted her head sideways and looked at John. She was so tired from working last night, but she couldn’t let him be alone on this day. His eyes looked so hopeful. “I’d love to,” she answered, giving him a warm smile and the company he needed on a day filled with so much loneliness for him. Normally, chaperones would accompany them, but in the fledgling town of Fort Worth, Texas, exceptions were made—especially for those of such high standing character as Sheriff Lockhart.

  After she let the Springers know she’d be home later, John and Millie walked across the street to the Littlejohns’ to pick up their picnic. Mabel had hurried home right after church to pack everything for two, after overhearing the plans for the outdoor meal. She placed everything in a basket and tucked in some cutlery and napkins as well as a blanket the two could put down to rest on while they ate. “Don’t worry about returning it today,” she said. “You just take your time and enjoy the beautiful day God has given you!”

  “Thank you, Mabel,” John said. He put the basket into the carriage and helped Millie up into the seat. Waving goodbye to Mabel, he headed off to one of his favorite spots—the top of the hill by his cabin where he watched the sun rise every day.

  “Where to?” Millie asked. She glanced over at John and watched as he guided the carriage through the streets and across the plains. He wasn’t mean to the horses like her husband Henry had been. She’d hated riding anywhere with Henry because of the way he whipped the mules and yelled at them. John’s horses needed very little encouragement to do as he wanted. But he seemed to be that way with everyone. Whether it was citizens being asked to pitch in and help or criminals being told to behave, they all seemed to step in line when Sheriff Lockhart entered the picture. Were they all scared of him? she wondered. People often did the same with Henry, just to placate him so he wouldn’t cause a scene. But this seemed different—like they wanted to be in his good graces.

  “We’re heading to the top of the world,” John said, smiling at Millie and not giving away any further details. As they arrived at the spot, Millie couldn’t believe how beautiful it was. She could see forever in all directions, and the plains were awash in bluebonnets, Indian paintbrushes, and vibrant green grass. The sky was the color of a bluebird’s egg, and billowy, white clouds rolled by overhead. John helped Millie out of the carriage and spread the blanket down on a flat area right off the road.

  “It’s amazing,” she said, her breath literally taken away by the beauty of it all. “I expected Texas to be nothing but dust and heat, but this is like a painting from God Himself!” She wasn’t exaggerating. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Kansas in this light. Maybe it was because Henry’s shadow darkened it so much.

  “We sure have plenty of dust,” John laughed. “But this spot is nothing like Main Street.” She watched him carefully as he unpacked the supper Mabel had given them, and it dawned on her that she would now have to engage in conversation with him. He fixed her a plate and then made one for himself. The two sat eating in silence for a few minutes, watching butterflies land on the flowers and birds soaring overhead. It was peaceful, but at the same time there was an underlying tension Millie felt about the situation.

  “How long have you lived here?” she asked, pretending not to have been gossiping about him with Clara beforehand.

  “Well, I first moved here seven years ago,” he said, looking out over the plains. “But I just moved back about a year ago.” Maybe he didn’t want to shock her with a horror story right off the bat, but she wanted him to know he could confide in her. The only way to do that was to be vulnerable.

  “I see,” she said. “Sometimes we have to leave home—whether we want to or not.” She took a small bite of her food and wrapped the rest back up. She wasn’t hungry. It was a mix of nerves being around a man who made her pulse race for reasons opposite Henry, and the fact that she worr
ied John would inquire about her past.

  “Yes,” John said. “I couldn’t be here after what happened.” Millie tilted her head to one side as if confused, a small white lie that would give him the dignity of not feeling like he was the talk of the town. John continued on, “My wife and daughters were murdered by the Comanche tribe just West of Fort Worth. Took me awhile to find my way after that happened.”

  Millie placed her hand on John’s in comfort and sympathy. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “What were their names?” Of course, she already knew, but she also knew that sometimes not having to hold everything inside was part of the healing process.

  “Rose, Grace, and Anna,” he said, his eyes watering as he spoke. “Today’s the anniversary of that day, and I didn’t want to be alone.”

  “Of course,” Millie said. Though she’d been through a nightmare with Henry, she could imagine it would pale in comparison to the loss of true love and babies. “Would you mind if I said a prayer, John?”

  John looked up into Millie’s eyes, his own full of gratitude for her timely offer. “Of course, please,” he said, bowing his head alongside Millie as they sat on the blanket in the field where his loved ones used to roam while waiting for his return from work.

  “Dear Lord,” she began. “Please comfort John and heal the pain he feels from the terrible tragedy he experienced on this day. We know You are taking good care of Rose, Grace and Anna and hold them in Your loving arms where he will see them once again someday. Amen.”