And now that he had a stable place to live and practice, perhaps he might speak to her about all this.
Clark met Adam before he reached his wagon. “How did your business go?”
“Well, I think.” He paused and nodded. “And yours? Did you meet with the banker yet?”
“We’ll be leaving shortly, hoping to finalize the purchase of the homesteader’s land and file for the adjoining claim all at once. First, though, I wondered if I could speak with you.”
The young man’s solemn tone set Adam’s heart to pattering, making him feel like a schoolboy gaining courage to face his sweetheart’s father.
“Certainly.” He swallowed. “Is it about Forsythia?”
“Forsythia?” Understanding dawned on Clark’s face. “Ah. Well, that’s not a bad idea. But—”
“I understand—you are her older brother, and in lieu of a father, responsible.” His words tumbled out too quickly. “Let me assure you, my intentions are entirely honorable—and as soon as I have the chance to—”
“Doctor.” Clark held up a hand, consternation in his face. “I would like to discuss Forsythia sometime soon. But I don’t have the time right now. And when I do, it—it will be as an older sister, not a brother.” His face flushed.
“As a what?” Adam frowned. The words didn’t make sense.
“We didn’t intend to deceive you for this long. But we haven’t been entirely honest with you.” The young man took off his hat, unshading a face the doctor had always thought boyishly fine-featured. But now . . . dear Lord.
“My name isn’t actually Clark. It’s Larkspur. Miss Larkspur Nielsen.”
As the words sank in, heat rose in Adam’s chest. He should have known.
It hadn’t gone well.
Forsythia could tell as soon as Lark stomped back to their wagons, yanking the bandana from around her neck.
“Get the girls and children together. We’re going to be late. I’ve got to get back into those fool women’s clothes.” Lark hauled herself up into the Durhams’ wagon, where they kept the clothing trunks, and jerked the canvas flap closed for privacy.
Forsythia stepped close to talk through the wagon cover. “How did he take it?”
“He’s not happy.” Rustling inside, then muttered frustration.
“Do you need help?”
“I just have to remember how to do up all these buttons. Britches and men’s shirts sure are easier.”
Lord, please help Adam to understand. Forsythia called to Del and Lilac to load the children into their wagon, then hurried off for the doctor’s. It would take Lark a few more minutes to be ready.
“Jesse, where’s your uncle?”
The young man looked up from mending a yoke. “B-behind the wagon.”
Forsythia rounded the corner to find Adam splashing water on his face from a basin he’d set against the side of the wagon.
He straightened, toweling his face, then spotted her. His mouth tightened under his beard. He glanced away, folding the towel.
“Doctor.” She stepped closer. “I know what you must be thinking.”
“And what’s that?” He laid the towel neatly on the edge of the basin.
“That we haven’t been honest with you. And how could we do that, with all we’ve been through together?”
He met her gaze. “Well?”
“I don’t fully know what to say.” Forsythia released a short breath. “Lark—that’s what we call her—had gone as a man before in order to rescue Anders from prison camp. And we thought it safer for her to do so again, to become Clark, than to have four women traveling alone. Surely you can see that, conditions as they are.” The man who’d attacked Del flashed through her mind, along with the memory of her own knife striking home. She shivered, rubbing her arms. Would she never be free of that image?
“I can.” The doctor nodded, but his tone remained steely. “What I cannot see is why you would continue to deceive a friend.”
“We didn’t intend to.” Forsythia raised her arms at her sides, then dropped them again. “It just—we were all so used to it by that time. And we hadn’t made it safely to our new land yet, so keeping up the ruse seemed the most natural thing. There never seemed to be a good time. . . . I’m sorry, Adam.” Her voice broke on the last word. “I mean, Dr. Brownsville. Forgive me.”
Adam sighed, and a little of the stiffness eased from his shoulders. “Forsythia . . . Miss Nielsen. I care for your family very much. I care for . . . you, more than I can say. I had intended to speak of this to you soon, perhaps even tonight. But I need some time to think. To see if I can trust you again.”
The words cut deeply. But Forsythia nodded, her throat aching. “I understand.”
“Sythia, come on.” Lark waved from across the campsite, almost unrecognizable in a calico dress and shawl, a straw bonnet tied over her shorn hair. “We’re leaving.”
“Excuse me.” Without another glance at the doctor, Forsythia hurried away.
She fought an urge to cry all the way into Salton, but by the time they sat down with the banker, Mr. Young, she’d composed herself. Only a sick tightening remained in her stomach, and not from vestiges of dysentery.
“So you are all four purchasing the half section of land from a Mr. Skinner, one hundred sixty acres of improved land with sod house and well, at one dollar forty cents per acre.” The banker’s voice droned. He glanced around the circle of sisters, all but Lark balancing a small child in their arms. “Is that correct, Misses Nielsen?”
They all nodded.
“And you have the payment for this in full?”
Larkspur reached into her reticule and pulled out a small bag. She set it on the table with a clink.
The payment from her gambling winnings. Forsythia held her breath. We’ve waited a long time for this moment, Lord.
Mr. Young grunted and pulled the purse close. Opening it, he counted the bills and coins. “Very well. All seems to be in
