Bluebonnet Belle Page 23

  “Don’t think, don’t waver,” she repeated, going over in her mind the endless hours of practice. The proper way to hold the gun: use both hands, sight carefully, squeeze the trigger slowly—don’t jerk! Make the pretense look real.

  Half an hour before dawn, Burgess loomed before them. April took in the sight with her heart hammering against her ribs.

  A small glen just outside of town awaited the dueling parties. By the time they approached, the sun, not yet risen, had begun to pinken the sky. One other carriage sat beneath the trees when Gray pulled the team to a halt.

  “Who’s that?” April whispered.

  “My guess is the doctor.”

  April swallowed, her mouth as dry as cotton. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Take deep breaths.”

  Gray lifted April from the carriage. They walked toward the glen, his arm strongly supporting her.

  “If I kissed you right now, would you read anything into it?” he asked.

  She knew he was trying to distract her. “Probably.”

  “Then I won’t.”

  A tall, thin man in a black suit stood in the center of the glen.

  Their feet crushed the dry, frozen grass; the man turned at the sound of their approach.

  “Miss Truitt?”

  “Yes.”

  He extended a bony hand. “Dr. Reginald Smith. I am here to render my services.”

  “Th-thank you. This is Dr. Gray Fuller, my second.”

  The man tipped his hat. “A fellow physician. Pleased to make your acquaintances.”

  The two men chatted in muted tones as April turned in a circle, memorizing the site. A place where she might soon lose her life. What folly had brought her to this point? Had she completely lost her mind? Henry was not worth one minute of her life. Why, the cad had not even called on her to apologize for his deplorable behavior. She’d seen nothing of him since she’d broken the relationship.

  The sound of an arriving conveyance caught April’s attention, and the knot in her stomach tightened. Grace Pruitt’s carriage, with Henry at the reins, bowled into the glen.

  Seeing him with his “intended” made April realize how very real this was. Real and terrifying. Tears filled her eyes and blinded her. Somehow, she’d been hoping, praying, that Grace wouldn’t go through with it. She’d hoped—prayed—implored it was a hoax, a humorless farce. But it wasn’t. She felt Gray’s hand on her shoulder.

  Grace was here. April was here. It was real.

  Climbing out of the carriage, Henry spoke briefly with Grace, then turned and walked in her direction.

  As he approached, his eyes were guarded. “April—I’d like a moment with you.”

  “I don’t believe we have anything to say to one another, Henry.”

  “Dearest, if you only knew how sick, absolutely sick, I am about this. I assure you, I can explain—”

  “Henry,” she interrupted.

  He paused. “Yes?”

  “Were you seeing Grace at the same time you were seeing me?”

  “Well…yes, but I can expla—”

  April walked away. She’d heard all she needed to hear.

  Gray turned as she came to stand by him. His gaze searched hers inquisitively.

  “He wants to apologize.”

  “Did you accept?”

  “Pffft.”

  “I need to speak to the rodent for a moment. Anything you want to tell him?”

  “Nothing that Grandpa would let me say.”

  Gray nodded, then left.

  Miller’s Glen, in another time, was a lovely site. A place where lovers met to tryst, where promises were given and feelings exchanged. Hundred-year-old oaks bent to form a splendid canopy during summer months.

  A light breeze sprang up, fragrant with the smells of winter: faint hints of wood smoke, of the pungent dry leaves underfoot. The sky was dawning a magnificent blue.

  Would she ever embrace this kind of day again? Would she ever sit in her favorite chair on the back porch and watch the sun set, walk in the falling rain, eat one of Datha’s wonderful dinners? She prayed so. That would mean that both she and Datha had survived—that God had extended them yet more grace.

  Tears clouded April’s vision, and she blinked them back. Gray wasn’t going to see her cry and neither was the enemy. She’d had every opportunity to call this off, and she hadn’t, or couldn’t.

  A stream rippled nearby, a haunting accompaniment to the drama about to take place. As the sun began to peek over the treetops, a mist rose from the glen, shrouding it in privacy.

  In a few minutes it would be over.

  April watched the sun rise, feeling surreal. This might be the last dawn she would ever see. Not that she’d seen that many. She was usually asleep.

  If she lived, she’d do better. She’d watch every sunrise for the rest of her life, no matter how early.

  “April?”

  She turned at the sound of Gray’s voice. “Yes?”

  “It’s time,” he said. She focused on the box in his hands. The pistols.

  Nodding, she willed her feet to move. They were heavy with dread. “I’m coming.”

  She avoided Henry’s eyes and steadfastly refused to look at Grace. She kept her eyes toward the ground, allowing Gray to steer her into place in the middle of the glen.

  “Ladies, are you ready?” The attending doctor’s voice seemed unusually loud in the silence.

  “Seconds? Prepare yourselves.”

  April looked up into Gray’s eyes. His hand was steady as he reached out and grasped her shoulder tightly. “God be with you.”

  Everything moved in slow motion, and April felt such despair that she was shaken to the very core of her being.

  She glanced at Gray, who now stood off to the side, expressionless.

  The doctor’s hands moved to her shoulders, aligning her against someone’s back—Grace, it must be Grace’s back. He gave them both a nod.

  “Present the weapons.”

  Gray presented the pistols, letting Henry and the doctor examine both to make sure they were alike, properly loaded and in suitable condition. They gave no indication that anything was amiss.

  “Miss Pruitt, make your choice.” There was a rustling of cloth. “Miss Truitt…” The doctor paused, glancing up, as if he’d made a blunder. “That is your name? Truitt?”

  Swallowing, April nodded.

  He glanced at Grace. “And yours is Pruitt?”

  April was relieved to learn that even Grace was quaking. Her voice sounded uncertain and faraway.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He looked at Henry, Grace’s second, his eyes sizing him up. “Truitt and Pruitt. Interesting. Ladies, take your pistols.”

  The gun felt much heavier than when she’d practiced with it, but April grasped it with both hands, holding it upright. The doctor began to count off the paces.

  Gray’s words echoed in her head: Turn quickly on the count of ten and fire. How she wished she was still shooting at bottles and cans!

  She felt her knees weaken. Quickly, on the count of ten…

  “One.”

  Keep the gun up, squeeze the trigger….

  “Two.”

  Slowly. Squeeze it slowly….

  “Three.”

  Don’t jerk. Whatever you do, don’t jerk.

  “Four.”

  Why didn’t you accept Gray’s kiss? So what if you read something into it?

  “Five.”

  “Six.”

  What had he meant by that? What was she supposed to read into it?

  “Seven.”

  Back out. Right now. Throw the gun down and run. So what if Grace came to Dignity? She’d fight her there.

  “Eight.”

  “Nine.”

  If you’re going to do it, do it now!

  “Ten!”

  Whirling, April fired. Two shots rang out, then smoke mingled with the gray mist, engulfing her, muffling Gray’s shout of agony.

  Clos
ing her eyes, April sank slowly to the ground, waiting for the pain to take her.

  The fear that Grace would be unethical and bring her own weapon had come true.

  April lay rigid on the ground, afraid to move, afraid to die, certain blood was pouring from a gaping wound. Please, God, let me go quickly and mercifully. She wasn’t any good at dying; she was reasonably sure of that. If she went quickly, Gray would be spared the humiliation of watching her wither in agony, blubbering a coward’s lament as the life oozed out of her.

  “Miss Truitt?”

  The attending doctor knelt beside her. At least she wouldn’t die alone. “Tell Grandpa I’m sorry….”

  “Miss Truitt!”

  “Don’t prolong my suffering, please.”

  “Get up. You’re not shot.”

  “But the bullet…it…”

  “Doctor!” Henry’s voice rang out. “Over here!”

  “He’s hit,” she heard someone say.

  April rose slowly to her feet, slightly light-headed. Numb. She was numb. She couldn’t feel anything. No pain. Lifting her head, she looked around. Grace was still standing, but Henry was kneeling over a figure on the ground.

  “Gray!” Shock seized her. Gray was lying prone on the earth, holding his calf while the doctor leaned over him.

  Apparently, Grace’s shot had hit…Gray? Racing to where he lay, April fell to her knees. “What happened?”

  “Miss Pruitt shot him,” the doctor said gruffly. “Said that all along—women should not duel. Someone’s bound to get hurt.”

  “Oh, my goodness…” April bent down, patting his cheek. “What have I done?”

  “Help me get up,” Gray choked out.

  “Oh, dear!”

  “Miss Truitt fired at the same time Miss Pruitt turned,” the doctor explained, tearing Gray’s pant leg and clapping a pad of cloth against the bleeding hole in his calf. “Fortunately, Miss Pruitt is an even worse shot.”

  Henry was on the sidelines, comforting an obviously distraught Grace. April watched as the man she’d once thought was the love of her life walked away with his arm around another woman.

  “Gray, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry—”

  “Just get me to the carriage.” He reached for her hand, struggling to climb to his feet.

  Laughing and crying at the same time, she leaned toward him, intending to give him a hug, but knocking him to the ground.

  As he fell to his back, she landed on top of him, giggling.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny—watch the leg!”

  “Me.” She giggled, her laughter subsiding as she lay on his chest, his big, broad, wonderful chest, gazing at him in wonder. “I’m alive. I’m alive!”

  His gentle camaraderie and subtle wit managed to come through in spite of his pain. “I’m bleeding, and you’re laughing.”

  Getting to her feet, she held out her hand. “Come on, we need to get that wound taken care of.”

  “What? No vegetable compound?”

  She leaned closer and kissed him—a very thorough kiss that Francesca would resent. But at the moment gratitude—and something deeper—made the opportunity irresistible.

  A faint light twinkled in the depths of Gray’s eyes when their lips parted. “That was nice—almost worth taking a bullet for.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The doctor loaded Gray into the carriage. April climbed aboard and picked up the reins.

  “Can you drive a buggy?” he asked, grimacing as he maneuvered his injured leg inside.

  “Fortunately, I drive better than I shoot,” April assured him.

  “Ah, thank God for small favors,” Gray said.

  “I’ll go straight to the doctor’s office—”

  “No, you’ll go directly to Dignity.”

  “But your leg—”

  “Will heal better there. Besides, I’ve got patients to see. Datha needs attention.”

  “All right.” April grinned, relieved. At the moment all she wanted to do was go home, give Grandpa a grateful hug and kiss the ground.

  Being alive was indeed beautiful!

  Flora Lee was sitting beside Datha’s cot when April helped Gray into the office.

  Seeing the doctor’s predicament, she immediately got to her feet. “What happened to you?”

  “A little accident,” he grumbled, sitting down. “Think you can help me with this?” he asked April.

  “If you’ll tell me what to do.”

  “How is Datha?”

  “Quiet,” Flora Lee said, sitting again. “She woke up a couple of times, but I’m not sure she knew who I was or what’s happened. I tell her she’s all right, just like you told me to do, and I talk to her. That uppity boy’s been here, doin’ the same. But she don’t seem to know where she is.”

  Frowning, April went to kneel beside her chair. Rarely would she argue with an elder, but Flora Lee’s animosity toward Jacel had to stop—for her granddaughter’s sake. “Flora Lee, I know you don’t approve of Jacel, but is it necessary to refer to him as ‘uppity’?” Jacel deserved her respect. “Datha loves him very much, and when she’s better she’ll resent your sarcasm.”

  Turning her troubled gaze on April, Flora Lee said, “But he is an uppity man. I don’t like him.”

  “I know you feel that way now, but in time you’ll have to learn to get along with Jacel or you’ll lose Datha. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it….” Her tired eyes rested on Datha, lying so deathly still. “If I come to it.”

  “She’s young and strong, Flora Lee. She’s going to pull through this,” Gray told her.

  “Yes, my girl’s strong,” the woman murmured. Turning back to her granddaughter, she softly hummed the same lullaby Jacel had hummed earlier, a haunting melody April had heard since she was a child. A tune, Flora Lee had told her, she’d sung in the fields as a young girl.

  Gray oversaw April’s efforts as she cut his trouser leg off at the knee, cleaned and dressed his wound. She clenched her teeth when he flinched at the sting of antiseptic. Somehow Grace had managed to shoot him in his left calf, but the bullet had gone completely through, which was good, he told her.

  “Wrap it snugly,” Gray instructed, holding one end of the gauze as she maneuvered the other.

  When she was through, she saw that his face was pale and sweat glistened on his brow. “I think you need to lie down.”

  “I need to check Datha first.”

  “You said yourself that there’s nothing more you can do but wait, try to keep her fever down and rouse her enough to take nourishment. Flora Lee and I can do that. But if something happens to you,” she said, taking his arm and urging him out of the chair, “we’re all in trouble.”

  Gray tried to protest, but she could see he didn’t have the strength.

  “You go on up and rest a spell,” Flora Lee said agreeably. “Me and the uppity boy can see to Datha.”

  Sighing, April realized her efforts to change the older woman’s attitude had fallen on deaf ears.

  Helping Gray up the outside staircase, she unlocked the door to his living quarters with the key he gave her. Her eyes swept the out-of-character furnishing.

  She helped him across the room, and he sank down onto the bed, then attempted to remove his boots.

  “Well, when you’re married, you’ll have to convince your wife to let you have some say in decorating,” April said as she helped him with the task. Tossing a boot in a corner, then another, she watched as he fell back across the bed.

  By the time she returned from the stove with a cup of steaming tea, Gray was lying beneath the sheet.

  “Drink this. I put some honey in it.”

  He managed to push himself upright and take a couple of sips of the hot liquid before lying back. “I’m sorry, I’m suddenly very tired.”

  “Then rest,” she said softly. “If you’re needed, I’ll wake you.”

  She stood holding the cup, watching him drift off to
sleep. Over the weeks his hair had grown longer until it now nearly covered his ears; his strong jaw was marked by a day-old beard. He was pale, too pale. He’d lost more blood than he wanted to admit.

  Lifting the sheet, she checked the bloody bandage. Guilt ripped through her. Gray was in this condition because of her stupidity. She’d made a grave mistake putting her trust in Henry, against the advice of Grandpa and Beulah. Yes, she’d be more sensible in the future.

  She owed Gray more than a simple “thanks.” Until he was fully recovered she would see to his every need and do whatever she could to keep his practice running smoothly. It was the least she could do.

  Gently settling the sheet around his leg, she slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  The following week, April split her time between taking care of Gray and watching over Datha.

  When Riley heard the doctor had been wounded, he was upset until April explained it was purely accidental and wasn’t thought to be serious.

  “A hunting accident?” Riley scratched his head. “Didn’t know he hunted. When does he find the time?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” April said without bothering to correct him. “You know men—I guess he makes the time.”

  Riley walked off grumbling. “Wish Datha would get back. Flora Lee’s making gravy, and I’m not supposed to have it.”

  By the third day, infection set into Gray’s wound. A fever kept him rambling, half out of his head, leaving him weak and incapable of arguing with her.

  April saw to his care and even doled out advice to patients who needed it. By now Grandpa had come to see how Gray was feeling. When he found April there, she was forced to be inventive, telling him she was working as a volunteer nurse. Gray was her first patient.

  Grandpa went away mumbling under his breath.

  When Mary Rader came to the office demanding her tonic, April was stymied.

  Mary, almost hysterical when she found out Gray was indisposed, insisted that April wake him.

  Running upstairs, she roused Gray out of a deep sleep to ask him what he gave her.

  Staring at her wide-eyed, he muttered something that resembled “pinkhamsgoofycompound.”

  April mulled the garbled words over in her mind. Mmm. Pinkhamsgoofycompound? A light suddenly clicked on in her head. Pinkham’s Goofy Compound! He had been doling out Lydia’s tonic to his women patients!