Everyone raised their cups.
“To Dusty and Mo,” Clay said.
“To Dusty and Mo,” the others repeated, as one.
From the back of the room, Duff began to play Amazing Grace. The first sound was from the drones, then, fingering the chanter, Duff began playing the haunting tune, the steady hum of the drones providing a mournful sound to underscore the high skir-ling of the melody itself. It was so beautifully played that it took on the aura of a prayer, and when he finished, Father Sharkey, the Episcopal priest who had performed the wedding ceremony said, “Amen.”
“Amen,” the others said.
Awhile later, Dr. Thomas Doyle Whitman, Tom’s father, came over to talk to the bride and groom.
“You’re sure now, Tom, that you don’t want to come back to Boston to practice? I know the chief of surgeons at Mass General and I’m pretty sure I can get your old position back.”
Tom laughed. “Since you are the chief of surgeons there, I’m sure you can,” he said. “But I like it here, in Fort Worth. I only hung out my shingle two months ago, and already I have built up a pretty good practice.”
“But, son, Texas? You are giving up Boston for Texas?”
Tom recalled something that someone had told him on the train, the first day he came in to Texas.
“Well, Mister, I’ll tell you true, you ain’t goin’ to find any place better than Texas. And any place in Texas you decide to stop, is better than any place else.”
“What?” his father asked, confused by the response.
Tom put his arm around Rebecca and pulled her closer to him. “This is where I want to be, Dad. And this is where I intend to stay.”
The elder Dr. Whitman chuckled, and shook his head. “Then I won’t try and talk you out of it,” he said. “But when the children start coming, you won’t forget about your mother and me up in Boston, will you?”
“I won’t let him forget—Dad,” Rebecca said.
“I saw the baby you delivered in the barn on Christmas Eve,” Tom’s mother said. “What a beautiful child he is.”
“It wasn’t Christmas Eve, it was Christmas morning,” Rebecca corrected. “Emanuel is a true Christmas gift.”
“I’m proud of you son. I don’t know of another surgeon in the country who could have done that.”
“I had help,” Tom said.
“I know, you had Rebecca and the others with you.”
“No,” Tom said. He pointed up. “When I say I had help, I mean I had help.”
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.