The Brides of Chance Collection Part 13

"A physician, not a phrenologist!"

"Ah, you're displaying remarkable stubbornness-which is confirmed here, by this region of the brow."

"She can be a mite stubborn," Bryce allowed.

"I'm going to be more than a little stubborn if you don't turn loose of me."

"Women are wont to be emotional. Here, the prominence over the seat of emotions tells me she's often overwrought. My, my. Here, over the area of spiritual enlightenment-an area of concavity."

"That's about where she got the lump when Logan brained her." Bryce leaned forward.

"Concavity means it dips in, not lumps out." Miriam wrenched loose. "Sir, to pretend education, discipline, and salvation cannot overcome natural formations of the skull is heresy. I-"

"What is going on here?" Gideon shoved through the knot of men who had congregated and pressed in around her. His eyes widened as he caught sight of her with her hair in disarray.

"We was just trying to be sure the doc got a chance to make sure Miriam's in her right mind." Three more screws clinked on the ground by Bryce's foot.

"A doctor? Good. It would be better if you did this inside."

"He's a quack, Gideon." Miriam tried to twist her hair back into a decent arrangement but had no way of making it stay since the doctor had done something with her hairpins.

"She's overwrought and stubborn, just as I determined," Pendergast p.r.o.nounced in a stentorian voice. The men around them nodded and murmured agreement.

Gideon tucked her by his side. Miriam dared hope he'd see reason, but her hopes disappeared the moment he started walking her toward the house. "It'll only take a few minutes, and it'll make me feel better to know you're all right."

Pendergast trotted on their heels. Gideon didn't just seat her. He kept hold and sat on a bench, dragging her along without any hope of escape. Pendergast kept his opinions to himself and made important-sounding hmm and aah sounds as he wiggled his fingers across her head.

Miriam shuddered. "Gideon-"

"It's okay, sweet pea. He'll be done soon. You don't have to be scared." Gideon looked up. "Well, Doc? What do you think?"

"For being a woman, she has reasonable intellect and strong domestic swayings. Science never lies, and it's plain as can be she's spiritually lacking and a woman of dubious virtue. I-"

Gideon let out a roar and bolted to his feet. "You ought to get your head examined if you think that opinion holds any weight here. You're no doctor; you're a charlatan."

"You owe me fifteen cents for my services."

Gideon tucked Miriam behind himself. "You're conducting business on the Lord's Day?"

"Well, sir, the laborer is worthy of his hire."

Paul stood in the open doorway. "Gideon, the men are hungry. When's Miriam going to serve up lunch?"

"As soon as this charlatan stops insulting and swindling her."

Miriam watched as half a dozen men stormed through the house and carried Mr. Pendergast away. Gideon tilted her face up to his. "Well," she said brightly, hoping to evade more than just a second of eye contact, "that's over now."

"He needed to get his own head examined, Miriam. You're the sweetest, most special woman any fellow could ever meet."

She forced a laugh and pulled free. "That settles that. If ever a real doctor comes by, he'll need to check you, because you're definitely not in your right mind!"

Nothing is going right. Nothing. Miriam let out a sigh and decided to take a walk as the girls napped.

Since she'd learned about the brothers drawing straws, everything had seemed to fall apart. Sunday, the so-called doctor declared her to be a woman of no virtue. Monday, she'd burned what should have been a tender roast. Yesterday, the ammonia she wanted to use to wash windows spilled and left the main house reeking. Today, Ginny Mae bit Polly's arm, and Polly whacked her little sister back hard enough to leave a mark on her cheek. Getting both of them settled down for a nap drained the last drop of Miriam's patience.

The cedars beckoned her. Their scent would be a treat, and Miriam needed to indulge herself. She grabbed a pail and walked along the same path Gideon had led her along when they took that stroll-just before she'd learned the truth. Unhappy with that realization, Miriam sidestepped and wandered off a few yards and sauntered along a route of her own choosing.

Sunlight slashed in dusty beams from the treetops. The scent of cedar and pine filled the air. Beneath her feet, pine needles crunched and twigs snapped. Miriam's steps lagged. She occasionally picked up a pinecone to use as a fire starter for her cottage's potbelly stove.

It felt good to have a few minutes to herself. What once had been a comfortable, happy arrangement now felt strained. Monitoring each word she spoke, each casual touch or glance so it wouldn't carry a hint of interest or flirtation-that drained her.

Miriam knelt to harvest dandelion leaves-one of the few things around the ranch she knew were edible. I'm like these. I'm hearty. I can thrive here. She plucked a top that had gone to seed and upended it to reseed the patch. I'm not going to blow away. I'm setting down new roots here.

As she walked, she kept the cabins in sight. She couldn't be gone for long. Again, she crossed the path she and Gideon walked. Her heart twisted. A n.o.ble man, he was willing to marry though he felt no tendresse for her. Why, G.o.d? Why would these feelings for a man fill my heart when all he feels toward me is fraternal concern and obligation? How am I to deal with this?

After picking more dandelion greens, Miriam headed back toward the house. As she pa.s.sed the spot under a cedar where she and Gideon had paused to talk on their stroll, she couldn't resist. Miriam picked some wildflowers and an armful of pretty leaves to put in her cottage. They would be a reminder to herself that she could find beauty and pleasure here-even as a spinster.

Miriam left the bucket by the pump in the yard and peeked in to make sure the girls were still napping. Peacefully slumbering as they were, she decided to prop open the door so she could hear them, then went to the garden to do some work.

Awhile later, Daniel startled her out of her musings by striding through the rows of vegetables. "How dim-witted can you be?"

She blinked up at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"The bucket by the pump is your doing, right?"

"Yes. Why?"

"It's full of poison oak." He jabbed a finger toward the bucket. "Go get rid of it and change before you get near my daughters. If your clothes brush them, they'll get the rash. I won't have you harming them."

"Daniel, I'd never knowingly hurt Polly or Virginia." She headed toward the pump to dispose of the leaves.

"Dump it far away," he called. "The last thing we need is you planting that stuff close by."

By the time she got back, Miriam knew she'd gotten herself into a peck of trouble. Her hands, wrists, and face all started to itch and tingle. At first, she told herself it was just her imagination, but the feeling grew worse.

Daniel sat in the doorway to the main house, using a whetstone to sharpen knives. He didn't even bother to glance up. "Go change your gown. It has to be boiled, else it'll make my girls get the rash."

She got into her cabin, shed her dress, and looked at herself with dismay. Hairline to throat, wrists to fingertips, she was covered in a fine red rash that felt fiery as could be. The cool water from her pitcher didn't help-if anything, it made the itch intensify. Afraid her stockings or petticoat might also carry the rash, she changed every last garment before going back to care for the girls.

Polly hunkered down beside Daniel on the porch, chattering like a magpie. She looked up, and her eyes widened. "Auntie Miri-Em, you is funny!"

A lady does not scratch. Miriam clasped her hands in front of herself to resist the nearly overwhelming urge to abandon her manners. "Yes. I do look odd."

"Go back to your cabin." Daniel concentrated on the edge of the knife he continued to slide along the whetstone. "We can manage just fine without you."

She didn't want to admit defeat, but Miriam couldn't stand the horrid itch much longer. She slipped back into her cottage and cried.

Hours pa.s.sed, and she thought about making supper. Standing by the hot stove would amount to pure torture. Nonetheless, the girls and men would need to eat. Perhaps she could make sandwiches just this once....

A single, solid thump on her door sounded. "Miriam. Open up."

Gideon. Of all the people in the world, he's the one I least want to see. She cleared her throat. "No."

"Dan's minding the girls. Something's up."

"It's nothing."

"If it's nothing, then come on out here." She could hear his boots scuffle in the dirt. "I want to show you something."

"It'll have to wait."

"I'm not going to shout through this door anymore. Now get yourself out here."

"I'm not one of your kid brothers, Gideon. You cannot order me around."

"Hey, Gid!" Logan's voice interrupted their odd disagreement. She ardently hoped Logan would draw him away.

"What?" Already irked, Gideon's voice carried a distinct edge.

"Is Miriam gonna be okay? Dan said she got it bad."

"Got what?"

"Oh. I thought you knew. Dan said-"

Unwilling to be spoken about and well aware the secret was out, she yanked open the door and snapped, "I was an idiot. There. Now leave me alone."

Chapter 16.

Gideon whistled under his breath. Red blazed across Miriam's face, but it owed more to rash than embarra.s.sment. He studied her face, her throat, and looked down at her hands. She'd kept them clasped behind her back, and he suspected she wanted to hide the full extent of her exposure.

"Aw, sweet pea. You tangled with poison oak, didn't you?"

"So Daniel said. I had no notion what it was."

He heaved a sigh. "It's wild. Grows all over."

"And you never mentioned it to me?"

If glares could kill, Gideon reckoned he'd be pus.h.i.+ng up daisies about now. "I'll go fetch some milk and churn it. Mama used b.u.t.termilk on us whenever we-"

"I'll churn my own b.u.t.termilk."

"No." He pointed at the bed. "You go have a rest. The salt from sweat only makes the rash itch worse."

She gave him a horrified look. "Are you implying I sweat, Gideon Chance?"

He had the sinking feeling whatever he said, it would only make matters worse. He opted for escape. "I'll be back. Leave your door open so your cottage has lots of fresh air-"

"So I won't sweat?"

Figuring he'd be signing his own death warrant no matter what he said, Gideon left. Her door was shut when he returned, and he couldn't help chuckling. Feisty as could be, Miriam wasn't about to show any weakness, and this wasn't really anything more than a bout of misery. He drummed his fingers on her windowpane.

The yellow curtain swished to the side, and a slate appeared. "Leave me be," he read aloud.

The slate disappeared as the curtain swished back down.

"All right, Miriam. I'll leave you be..." He paused, then tacked on, "u-t-t-e-r-m-i-l-"

The door opened. "You are a nuisance, Gideon." The fire in her green eyes turned into a twinkle. "And a terrible guide. I'm holding you responsible for this tragedy."

"You couldn't have gotten this from where we went on our stroll. I know for a fact that path's clear as can be."

"You should have made sure nothing poisonous was around the property, and you certainly could have warned me about it."

"We try to keep it hacked back, but you must have gone off the path." Her mouth opened in a perfect O that could have denoted either shock or guilt, but Gideon didn't want either, so he hastily added, "Truth is, no one's sure exactly how many variations there are of the pesky stuff."

Her speckled brow creased. "Then how do you avoid it?"

He stuck his bandanna into the gloppy b.u.t.termilk and dabbed it on her cheek. "You do your best. Other than staying where things are cleared, just remember a saying: *Leaves of three, let them be.' It seems many of the varieties of poison oak bear three leaves to the stem."

"Now you tell me," she muttered. He nudged her chin with his thumb so he could get to her throat, but she resisted and claimed, "I can take care of myself. Just tell me how long I'm going to itch."

"Can't say." He refused to stop. Dipping the bandanna back into the b.u.t.termilk, he recalled, "My last episode lasted about six days. I have water in the wash kettle comin' to a boil so we can dunk your dress."

"If that works with the clothes, why wouldn't a hot bath take away my rash?"

"Because that would make life too easy." He daubed her nose. "Life out here is never easy."

Miriam had been trying to find things to occupy her time since Gideon decreed she wasn't allowed to do anything for the next week. As dreadfully as she itched and as horrid as the rash looked, she didn't exactly mind that order the first two days. In fact, adding a cup of baking soda to the big galvanized tub was the only time she got any respite.

Gideon brought over the green paisley material and the lace he'd bought in town for her. Her hands hurt, but she st.i.tched on the dress so she wouldn't be tempted to scratch.

"Miriam?" Paul leaned against her doorjamb. "Got any good ideas on what to make for supper?"

"What about some corn chowder?" She gave him explicit instructions and fully expected to have him return to review them a time or two. Judging from the food the men had been fixing the last few days, Miriam decided their survival bordered on the miraculous. No matter what the dish, they managed to botch it somehow or another.

She sat at the little drop-leaf desk in her cottage and finished writing another letter to her cousin. Delilah had managed to send her a note last week, and Miriam invited her to come for a visit whenever she'd like to. It shouldn't cause a problem if she accepts. Delilah can stay here in my cottage with me.

After she pasted shut the envelope, Miriam looked out her open door and waited until she spied the next Chance to pa.s.s by. "t.i.tus?"