SIXTEEN
ADAM LEANED BACK from his desk and tried to relax. His office and examining room looked like there had been a savage raid on the place, leaving no survivors. He’d had little time to put away the books he pulled from the study to allow space for Nichole’s bed. All the volumes lined one wall like a narrow unstable bench. Remains of the carpentry work for Dancing’s casket littered the floor of his once spotless examining room along with soiled sheets and discarded bandages.
The day had been endless. After Bergette said he wasn’t a man because he didn’t want to make love to her, she refused to speak to him. Mrs. Jamison informed him he’d have to pay for Rose, though she was cooking for everyone. She also hinted he look for another place if he planned to continue treating whores or allowing them to die beneath her roof. She didn’t come right out with an open threat, but her words sounded more like Bergette’s than the ailing landlady’s.
Charles and Lily thought themselves above Rose and offered little help in the kitchen, only ample advice. To Adam’s surprise, Rose held her own with them, taking on her share of the work and no more. She might be yes-ma’aming Mrs. Jamison, but she was a scrapper in the ranks.
To make the atmosphere more hectic, the deputy had been by three times trying to wrangle a confession out of everyone including Sister Cel. He seemed convinced that since Dancing died there before dawn, someone in the house was responsible for Mole’s worries at the saloon. The deputy proclaimed himself a close friend of Mole’s and swore to catch the culprit. But Mole had his share of enemies. The doctor was far down on his list to “make pay.”
Deputy Russell also reported the stage robbery was officially blamed on a small band of outlaws in the area. Since there were no living witnesses, the deputy planned to let the stage line worry about the crime. He had all he could handle investigating Mole’s break-in… and of course, Dancing’s death, though he didn’t see how Mole could be involved in the crime since he wasn’t even present when the woman died.
Looking into the blackness beyond the window, Adam tried to put the pieces together. One thing he couldn’t figure out was that the nun did show signs of being guilty when Russell questioned her. She ran and hid every time the deputy knocked and refused to answer his questions. If the idea hadn’t been so outrageous that an old nun would commit the crime, the deputy might have taken her in for a night in jail.
And Nichole. Adam rubbed his forehead, trying to push away the headache. Since she slapped him that morning after he’d kissed her, she hadn’t said more than a few words to him. Not that he blamed her. She probably thought him both a fool and a coward. How could he explain to her that fighting just wasn’t in his blood any longer? Maybe it never had been. All he’d ever wanted to do since he could remember was to be a doctor and help people.
He guessed that she wanted him to challenge Mole, maybe even kill him for what he’d done to Dancing. He knew she would have enjoyed hearing him yell back at Bergette this morning. Or maybe she wanted him to prove he was a man and accept Bergette’s offer to go to bed?
Adam wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Nichole had believed him to be the perfect man and he’d let her down. Her dream of what he was like was just as unreal as his old dream of marrying Bergette and being happy. He wished he could convince Nichole that the perfect man didn’t exist any more than the perfect life did. They were both dreamers caught in mourning a loss made of vapor.
Moving to the porch, he leaned against the railing and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the night… the faraway tinkle of a piano, voices drifting on the air too thin to be words, and horses. He’d grown up with the sound of horses always in the background. His father had been magic with the animals. People said he had a gift.
Adam chuckled. What Nichole longed for was not one man, but several rolled together in one form. She wanted his brother Daniel’s goodness, and Wes’s hardness, and his… his what? What was it Nichole saw in him?
Voices from the balcony above interrupted his thoughts.
“I don’t care if we are hundreds of miles from home, Lily, if you disappear on me again, you’ll be looking for your own fare back to Indiana.” Bergette’s voice was high with anger.
“But I only went to the telegraph office.”
“Don’t bother with excuses. Now that they’ve hired a cook, I expect you to be more timely with your duties.” Bergette’s voice seemed to pop through the air like dry lightning. “Go get my bath ready while I have a few words with Charles.”
Adam looked up, as if he could see through the wood and onto her balcony. Footsteps, probably Lily’s, moved away.
Bergette’s voice was little more than a whisper and the words were unclear as she addressed Charles. Adam thought he heard her say, “see that it’s done.”
“Tonight?” Charles’ voice was hard with anger.
“Tonight,” she whispered. “I expect you-”
Adam turned back into his office suddenly not wanting to eavesdrop. He didn’t care what she had to say, nothing about her interested him.
“Doc?” Nance Edward walked in eating a hush puppy the size of his fist. “You busy?”
“Nope,” Adam answered.
“Good, ’cause I got a question.” He finished off the cornbread roll and wiped his hands on his overalls. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Adam did his best to look thoughtful. “What makes you ask?”
“Oh, I’m asking everybody. Sister says there’s no such thing as ghosts except for ‘the Holy,’ of course. Mom says she has to live with one every day of her life. Rose told me she slept with a ghost once, but when I tried to ask a few questions, she give me a hush puppy and told me to get along.”
“And now it’s my turn,” Adam said. “But first, what got you to thinking of such a question?”
Nance leaned on the desk. “I hear things, you know, better than most. Some nights I hear walking late in the night and I know it ain’t Nick, ’cause she don’t make no sound when she crosses the house. I sleep right by the door in Mom’s room so nothing passes that doesn’t usually wake me. Whoever it is walks up and down the stairs sometimes with slow steps, sometimes fast like he’s in a hurry.”
“Well, I don’t know about ghosts, Nance, but next time you hear someone walking, get up and see who it is. Maybe we have a sleepwalker, or an unwanted guest.”
“Or a ghost,” the boy added.
“Or a ghost,” Adam agreed. “When you find out, if you think it’s trouble, yell real loud and I promise I’ll come running. I’ll leave my door open a few inches so I can listen.”
Nance grinned. “I’ll do that. Maybe we’ll catch us a ghost from the fort. I heard Mom tell Miss Bergette that this house was a barracks once. She said, ‘If these walls could talk,’ whatever that means.”
“Should you be eavesdropping on others?” Adam asked, feeling a little like a father.
“I got nothing else to do.” Nance shrugged. “I have to listen to a bushelful to find a pea that’s interesting.” He grinned and disappeared around the corner before Adam could ask more.
Adam laughed. The boy did seem to be everywhere in the house.
Looking back, Adam remembered the outline of someone he’d seen moving through the house one night. Could that have been Nance’s “ghost of the old fort?” Now there were so many people living under one roof, he’d be surprised if there was ever a time day or night that everyone was asleep. The house he’d once thought so big was fast becoming claustrophobic.
Lifting a book, Adam stretched back in his chair and opened to the first chapter. By chapter four, his headache had grown worse. He twisted out the lamp and propped up his feet, thinking he’d rest his eyes for a while before trying to finish the volume.