“Killed?” That didn’t sound like Forsythia. “What happened?”
“He snuck into our camp at night and grabbed Del.” As Sofie’s eyelids drooped, Forsythia snuggled her close. “He had her by the neck and was threatening awful things. I . . . threw my knife. Pa had taught us all well, but I was the best at knife throwing.” Her voice caught, dropping to a whisper. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”
Adam stroked his beard. “You saved your sister’s life.”
“That’s what Lark says.” Forsythia shrugged slightly. “But I had awful dreams afterward. Lark prayed me through it, and it’s better now. But sometimes . . . I still see my knife sticking from that horrid man’s back.” She shuddered. “Anyway, I just thought you should know.” She glanced at him, then away.
“Forsythia.” Adam leaned forward. “If you are wondering if this changes my opinion of you or my feelings toward you, it does not. Except to strengthen my admiration for your courage. I have no doubt throwing that knife was the hardest thing you ever did. But think if you had not. Does Del wish you had held back?”
“I suppose not.” She met his eyes, vulnerability in her blue ones. “But sometimes I can’t help wondering, how does the Lord see it? Am I stained forever in His sight?”
“No more than the rest of us are. That’s why He’s given us the blood of Jesus, after all.”
Forsythia blinked hard, then let out a long, trembling sigh. “You’re right. Thank you.” She glanced down at Sofie, and her mouth tipped up in a smile. “Somebody has fallen asleep.”
The next morning, after Forsythia and Sofie had slept on a comfortable pallet he made for them on the office floor and Adam managed to catch a few hours of sleep upstairs, Lark came back to collect her family in the wagon. Sofie had coughed some in the night, but she was vastly improved, and he felt it safe to send them home.
“Feel free to send for me again. But remember, warm steam and then cool night air. The combination often does the trick.”
“We’ll remember. Thank you.” While her gaze was nothing but proper, there was something tender and new in Forsythia’s smile as she bid him good-bye.
Adam headed back inside as the Nielsens drove away, Jesse accompanying them. Lord, why is my heart tugging toward her harder now that I’ve set the brakes on this thing?
The town meeting. He’d focus on that. It was set for this evening, after all. Caldwell and Young had agreed to help lead it, and Rev. Pritchard sounded eager to attend as well. Hopefully other families would show up. He wanted to introduce himself to the town, build bridges and connections with the people, as well as suggest they start holding these meetings regularly. After all, the only way to grow a town was to develop community.
He sat at his desk to go over his notes from last night. Sofie’s forgotten cup caught his attention, sitting there with the dregs of chamomile tea still inside. He turned it, thinking of Forsythia patiently coaxing the little girl to drink. Tending to Sofie beside her last night, he’d felt the most whole he had since Elizabeth died. Actually, that was how he felt every time he worked with Forsythia.
Pay attention, man. You said you needed time, and you do.
He grabbed a cup of coffee, then forced himself to read over and edit his notes, then buried himself in a medical journal on frontier doctoring. If he was to win the trust of this town, he’d better be sure he was capable of keeping it.
A knock on his door roused him from the pages. Opening it, he found Hiram Young standing outside.
“Welcome, Mr. Young. Can I do something for you?”
“I hope so.” Hiram removed his hat and stepped inside, twirling it between his fingers.
Adam closed the door. “Are you ill, Mr. Young?”
“No—no. But I’ve got a—” The banker grimaced. “A boil that could use tending to.”
“I see. Where is it?”
“It’s, ah . . .” Hiram’s florid face reddened further. “In a place that makes sitting down a bit unpleasant, if you get my meaning.”
“Aha.” Keeping a straight face, Adam drew the curtains and motioned to his examining table. “I assure you, my practice is one of complete discretion. Please, let’s take a look, Mr. Young.”
Half an hour later, the boil lanced and dressed, he sent a relieved banker on his way.
Well. Adam washed his hands and instruments. He’d officially seen his third patient in town, if you counted Sofie. And two just this morning. Perhaps things were looking up.
Late that afternoon, as he was starting to think about getting ready for the meeting, Rev. Pritchard stopped by to have Adam treat an ingrown toenail. When Henry Caldwell followed shortly after, asking him to take a look at a spot that sometimes rubbed on his prosthetic leg, Adam folded his arms.
“You rascals are in cahoots, aren’t you? Trying to build up my practice before the meeting tonight.”
The attorney looked up innocently, folding his trouser leg back down over the prosthetic. “They’re all perfectly legitimate complaints, Doctor.”
“Indeed. Quite urgent, all of them.” Adam shook his head, but he couldn’t help but be warmed. So he did have some friends in this town.
“Well, we figured, if anyone questioned your character, we could all truthfully say we’d been patients of yours.” Henry pushed to his feet. “Simple as that.”
“Thank you.” Adam clapped his friend on the shoulder. “But I don’t need you as my defense lawyer tonight. Let me speak to the people myself.”
That night, he wondered if he’d spoken too quickly when he saw the scattered attendance in the church building and the skeptical looks on the faces of many of the families who were there. The Nielsen sisters slipped into the back, bolstering his spirits more than he’d thought probable.
“Welcome, citizens of Salton.” Mr. Caldwell opened the meeting, using the pulpit as a podium. “As
