Chapter 4 #2
Eliza shifted in the chair. “Reuben comes to town sometimes.”
“He dislikes town.”
“Yes. He makes that clear.”
Jonas nearly smiled.
The door opened before he could ask what his brother had done.
A boy slipped inside. He was thin, with dark hair that refused to lie flat and an expression of open curiosity.
Eliza pointed toward the door. “That’s Percy.”
“I’m checking on him.”
“You were told to keep guests out.”
“There aren’t any guests with me.” Percy stepped closer to the couch.
Jonas set down the tea. “You must be the boy who brought the blankets.”
Percy brightened. “I brought seven.”
“Martha only let us use three,” Eliza said.
Percy studied Jonas’s face, his gaze lingering on the scar along his jaw.
“Did a bear do that?”
“Wolf.”
Percy’s eyes widened. “Did you kill it?”
“Percy,” Eliza warned.
“No.”
The boy looked disappointed. “Who did?”
“My father.”
“Was he a good shot?”
“He was close enough to the animal that he didn’t need to be.”
Percy considered this answer, then changed tack. “Martha saved you,” he said.
“I know.”
“You’d better be nice to her.”
Eliza rose and took him by the shoulders. “He will be delighted to receive advice from you once you finish carrying in wood.”
“I’ve already done that.”
“Then you can polish the boots outside the front desk.”
“I did those yesterday.”
“Guests have continued wearing them.” She guided him into the lobby and closed the door behind them.
Jonas listened to Percy protest until their voices faded.
He reached for the tea again.
The boy reminded him of Tobias at that age, though Tobias had asked fewer questions and watched everything. Reuben had supplied enough questions for both of them.
Jonas wondered whether his mare had reached home.
If she had, his brothers would know something had happened. Reuben would follow the trail. Tobias would check the river.
But they might lose hours searching in the wrong direction. The Dalrymples did not have hours to spare, not in this weather.
Jonas set the cup aside and looked for his coat.
Someone had draped it over a drying rack beside the hearth. The pockets appeared undisturbed.
His folded land map should still be inside.
He had begun considering another attempt to reach it when hoofbeats sounded outside. A horse stopped near the front of the inn. Minutes later, boots crossed the lobby.
The sitting-room door opened, admitting Martha and a tall man carrying a black leather bag.
Snow dusted both their coats. Martha’s cheeks were red from the cold, and damp strands of hair clung to her temples.
“This is Dr. Ambrose Keller,” she said.
Dr. Keller removed his gloves one finger at a time. He appeared to be near forty, with sandy hair and a trimmed beard. His coat smelled of horses and woodsmoke.
“I’m told you have a talent for surviving poor decisions,” he said.
Jonas looked at Martha. “She told you I fell?”
“She told me you nearly drowned and now intend to ride away.”
“That part was Eliza,” Martha said as she closed the door.
The doctor set his bag on the table and opened it. Inside were rolls of linen, small glass bottles, scissors, forceps, and a case of needles.
“Let us see whether the horse is at risk of carrying you,” Dr. Keller said.
He washed his hands in fresh water Martha poured into the basin, then pulled away the bloodied bandage.
Jonas clenched his jaw as the cloth lifted from the wound.
Dr. Keller examined the cut with steady fingers. “You were fortunate.”
“It doesn’t feel fortunate.”
“The rock missed the major vessels. You bled enough to weaken yourself, but not enough to finish the job.”
He cleaned the wound while Martha held a lamp closer. The smell of blood and warm water filled the room. Jonas fixed his attention on the crack above the mantel rather than the doctor’s hands.
“You’ll need stitches,” Dr. Keller said.
“How many?”
“As many as it takes.”
Martha glanced at Jonas. “Would you like something to bite?”
“No.”
The first stitch nearly changed his mind.
By the time Dr. Keller tied the last knot, Jonas’s shirt clung damply to his back. Martha remained hovering beside the table, concerned.
The doctor covered the wound with clean linen.
“You will stay off this leg,” he said. “If the edges redden, if fever begins, or if you see foul drainage, send for me immediately.”
“How long before I can ride?”
“At least several days.”
“I don’t have several days.”
Dr. Keller closed his bag. “Your leg does not care about your schedule.”
Jonas looked toward Martha. “I need my coat.”
“You need rest,” the doctor said.
“I heard you.”
“Then this visit has been more successful than most.”
Dr. Keller spoke quietly with Martha near the door. Jonas caught the words broth, fever, and keep him here. Martha nodded, though she glanced toward the couch as though she expected him to escape while they watched.
The doctor left soon afterward.
Martha followed him into the lobby, then returned, and as she entered, lifted Jonas’s coat over one arm.
Relief loosened something in his chest.
She set it on the chair beside him.
“I assume you were planning to drag yourself to it.”
“I was considering my options.”
“You have one option.”
Jonas reached for the coat.
Martha moved it beyond his reach.
“Sit back.”
“I am sitting.”
“It looks like you’re about to not be sitting.”
He swung his uninjured leg toward the edge of the couch.
Martha planted herself between him and the door.
“If you try to walk out of this room again, I will have Percy and Mr. Talbot carry you upstairs. Then I will tie you to a bed.”
Jonas stared at her. “You wouldn’t.”
“There are fourteen guest rooms, a broken laundry wringer, an unpaid butcher, and a west wing trying to fall into the snow. I don’t have time to argue with an injured man determined to make himself worse.”
Jonas pressed his palms against his thighs and forced himself to take a deep breath. “My brothers are at our homestead east of town. Reuben and Tobias. They don’t know where I am.”
“We can send word.”
“The family I left behind, the Dalrymples, need more than a message. Their shelter won’t hold through any more of this weather. They need food, tools, and people who know how to build.”
Martha glanced toward the window. Snow continued to fall, though lightly now. She sighed heavily, and then said, “Draw me a map.”
Jonas thought he had misunderstood her. “What?”
“Show me where your brothers live. I’ll tell them what happened, tell them how to find this family you’re so worried about.”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “That was quick.”
“The road to the homestead isn’t marked.”
“You can mark it on the map. I’ve always been good with maps.”
“It crosses wooded country.”
“I crossed wooded country this morning.”
“Dragging a sled along the river trail is not the same as finding our land.”
“Then make the map better.”
Jonas looked at her hands. They were small and reddened from cold, with a fresh scrape across one knuckle.
As much as she looked like an ordinary innkeeper at first glance, she was also a woman who had pulled him, on her own, from a riverbank and delivered him through the snow to her inn.
“My brothers won’t trust you,” he said.
“I’m beginning to think that runs in the family.”
“Reuben may refuse to listen.”
“Then I’ll give him a reason.”
Jonas studied her face.
There was nothing soft in her expression now.
“You would ride there alone?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll ride alone.”
He looked toward the fire.
Every instinct told him not to send her. He did not know her, and she did not know the country around his home. The town roads became unreliable beneath fresh snow. Beyond them, landmarks mattered more than tracks.
But his leg throbbed beneath the bandage. He had not been able to cross one room.
Jonas sighed and searched the inside pocket of his coat and found the folded plat map, softened at the creases from use. A short pencil remained tucked beside it.
Martha cleared a space on the table and moved the lamp closer.
Jonas unfolded the paper. It showed the river, Willow Crossing, several surveyed parcels, and the ridgeline north of town.
He marked the Numa homestead first.
“Take the east road until you reach a split cedar struck by lightning,” he said. “The trail beyond it looks narrow, but it is passable. Keep south when it divides near the rock face.”
Martha leaned over the table, watching each line he drew.
“What if the cedar is covered in snow?”
“The trunk is blackened. You’ll see it.”
He marked the creek, the pasture, and the house. Then he drew a second route leading northwest.
“This is where I left the Dalrymples. The claim sits above Miller’s Creek. Tell Reuben to take the wagon with the high wheels. Tobias will know which tools to bring.”
Martha followed the route with one finger. “How long from your house?”
“Two hours in this weather. Perhaps more.”
“And from here to your brothers?”
“An hour if you don’t lose the trail.”
“I won’t.”
Jonas folded the map and handed it to her.
Their fingers touched.
Her hand was warm now, and he found himself almost pulling away from her in surprise. “Give Reuben this,” he said, reaching again into the coat.
He found the small notebook he carried for claim measurements and tore out a blank page. His handwriting came unevenly as he explained where the Dalrymples were and what they needed.
At the bottom, he added two words meant only for his brothers.
Trust her.
He folded the note.
Martha slipped it into her coat pocket with the map.
“I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
Jonas looked toward the windows, then back at her.
“You should take a rifle.”
“I have one.”
The answer surprised him less than it might have that morning.
Martha fastened her coat.
“Rest,” she said.
Jonas settled against the couch because, for the first time since waking, there was something useful he could do by remaining still.
He could trust her to return.