She had nothing to complain about, other than missing her home and husband. He stopped by often, little good it did. Niall refused to let her hug him or even approach, only telling her of the new cases of rubella.
He’d blow her a kiss, surprising considering the gloomy, bitter man she’d met only two months before. After that, he’d say, “You have my heart,” before heading off.
No, nothing to complain about. Except, Reverend Potter moved about the house with a tense frown, often talking to no one but himself. Old Mick, New York, Milly. These words surrounded him like a fog he couldn’t escape.
Dorcas swore he’d never acted like that. “Not in all our twelve years.” She scowled worriedly while watching her husband’s retreating back. “He’s not a tellin’ me, seein’ as I’d blab. Can’t help it.”
Alice had clamped her lips tightly shut at that remark. How she wanted to say that there was a difference between can’t and won’t. Rather than start a fight, she silently prayed for them both.
A commotion in the hallway pulled her out of the front room.
“Yer gonna have to heft ‘im up those stairs. Spare room’s up there. Though what Mrs. Doctor will say ‘bout him bein’ in her room I don’t know.”
Putting the blanket she was knitting aside, Alice moved to the open doorway. She saw only the back of two men ascend the stairs as they carried the feet of someone either hurt or ill.
Alice stopped to watch her hostess. The harried woman clenched her hands while staring sadly after the men. No lust over this possible tidbit of gossip lit her face.
“Who is that, Mrs. Potter?”
As if waking from a trance, the woman startled and whirled to look at Alice. “A group o’ good men brought the reverend home. He’s been dinged up bad. Needs us both, I be thinkin’.”
The last few words were tossed over her shoulder as she moved to the kitchen. Forgetting her cane, Alice limped after her to see the woman put rags next to a slightly steaming basin of water. “I’ll be needin’ laudanum for ‘im, as beat as he is.”
With a shake of her head, Alice stopped her. “I need to see if he’s conscious before we give him any. We don’t want him to never wake up.”
Dorcas blanched, plopping down suddenly in a kitchen chair. Moving to the woman, Alice placed a hand on her shoulder, standing silently by her.
“What’ll I do if he don’t pull through this?”
Not able to answer that, Alice focused the woman on the here and now. “We need to hurry up to your husband. We have to tend him.” Hopefully she could do something for the man, since Niall shouldn’t come into the house and possibly expose her to the measles.
Being a doctor’s son, he’d suffered through the usual childhood ailments. Red measles, German measles, chicken pox, mumps. He’d had them, but Alice hadn’t. Her parents carefully kept their only child away from sickness. Not a benefit to her now as a nurse.
Dorcas carried the basin while Alice did her best to climb upward, maintain her balance, and carry the rags. The two days of rest had helped, giving her the energy to make her way to the patient
Seeing him, Alice hurried to lay a few of the rags under his head. It was true that head wounds bled profusely, but this flow of bright red went beyond that. He’d been badly clubbed. She didn’t know by what. It didn’t matter since knowing wouldn’t help her treat him.
Laying the remaining rags on the bed next to the minister, Alice urged Dorcas to bring the basin close. “Set it here on the floor and very gently start washing the gouges.”
Dorcas flinched at the last word. Pale and trembling, the woman obeyed Alice, sitting on the edge of the bed to lean down more easily. She dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and dabbed at the huge wound near her husband’s temple. He didn’t so much as twitch when she touched it.
Not a good sign. Alice needed Niall. Or at least his advice.
Heading to the top of the stairs, she called down. “Is anyone still here?”
Paul O’Hanlon’s red head became visible at the bottom. “What you need, Mrs. Doctor?” His mouth twisted as he said her nickname.
She ignored his sarcastic bite, using her professional tone with the odious man. “Please fetch my husband. Tell him I need to speak with him about the minister.”
A deep groan drew her back to the room, stumbling to it as fast as she could. When she entered, right away she saw the minister’s eyes. Opened wide and staring at something unseen by the women, his gaze showed terror.
Gasping, she heard two sounds—o and h. Separated, like the sounds were when a person said Paul O’Hanlon’s last name.
That man would be cold enough to beat the minister and then help carry him home. But did he?
Chapter 11
Niall didn’t come. Paul O’Hanlon returned, to check on the minister he told Alice. Oddly, he wouldn’t meet her eyes when he told her that.
In between carrying the message to Niall and his return, Paul had changed. No longer cocky, his pale face made his red hair catch fire. Like holly berries against a bed of snow.
His last words shook her belief that he’d harmed the minister. “Keep the doors locked.”
Alice opened her mouth, but he shook his head and hurried out the front. His shoulders hunched like he fled from a beating. Nothing made sense.
Somehow, Milly Murphy was at the heart of this. Alice took that for granted since the woman seemed to be the center of most things that stirred up this small town.
How was Milly the key
