“You mean my medical practice?” Robbie asked.

  Ander nodded. “Yes. It will be more of an infirmary for the benefit of the ranch hands and their families.”

  Robbie frowned. “Non-profit, also?”

  Ander pushed his plate back and wiped his hands on his napkin. “Why? Do you expect a salary?”

  Libby gasped at his tone. Did he expect Robbie to work for free as if this was only a hobby?

  Robbie, however, did not appear perturbed. “No. Our current financial situation seems to be sufficient.”

  Ander and Taron exchanged a look before Ander spoke again. “Good. As I was about to say, Taron and I will get some of the men, before castration and branding of the calves begins, to arrange the east wing to your specifications.”

  Robbie’s eyes brightened. “That would be wonderful. Thank you, Taron!”

  Robbie seemed oblivious that Ander had done all the talking. And maybe his tone had not been as rude as Libby had thought. She sighed. Taron obviously had not told Robbie that Ander was the sole owner of the ranch.

  As much as she wanted to, it was not Libby’s place to tell Robbie — that was up to Taron.

  Ander was as good as his word. The very next morning, a couple of ranch hands went to work to make the structural changes Robbie requested. It only took a couple of days for them to finish, and then Libby and Robbie cleaned and set up the wing for the infirmary. Robbie seemed happy it would be used for those residing on the ranch, but she told Libby that the townspeople would also be welcome. Robbie craved the work of helping others, more than any type of recognition, and set out eagerly to get the infirmary ready.

  And after a few days, the infirmary had taken shape under Robbie’s capable hands.

  Libby wiped away the last of the dust and glanced around at their efforts. Robbie’s books, hauled on the covered wagon, lined shelf after shelf, and Robbie had already ordered more with Taron’s blessing.

  Libby wondered at this. Did Ander control the money as well as the land? Perhaps Taron had a source of income she wasn’t aware of. And surely he received a salary for working on the ranch? Her curiosity got the upper hand.

  She arranged the ink blotter and various sundries on the desk under Robbie’s watchful eye before she spoke. “How did the Babbitts make their money?”

  Robbie had been so caught up in the moment that her eyes remained unfocused. She blinked, shook her head, and then shrugged. “Taron said his people have been in America from the beginning.” She laughed. “Perhaps they came over on the Mayflower.”

  Libby tilted her head. “Yes, but other families have been here that long ...”

  “And are not rich? I’m not sure Taron and Ander are very wealthy. They own a lot of land and their family accumulated a lot of things, but Taron is always careful with his spending. He told me his grandfather was a furniture maker and was very frugal, and he also tries to be.”

  Libby nodded her head. “Another thing I was wondering — it seems odd that if the family was so well established out east, that they traveled west.”

  Robbie lifted one shoulder. “Who knows? Perhaps his grandparents wanted adventure.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “My parents traveled west to give me the opportunity to be a doctor. Perhaps my husband’s grandparents were doing the same for their children.”

  But another question baffled Libby. “If the Babbitt brothers are so wealthy, why didn’t they retain a better lawyer than Mr. Bradford? And aren’t most wealthy people given leniency? Would the rich have been thrown into jail like that?”

  Robbie studied her for a moment, her eyes serious. “I said their money seems tied up in the land ... I’m not sure they have readily available cash. Besides, the Feeble Creek sheriff was corrupt.” She shuddered. “That was a terrible time in our lives, and I don’t want to re-live it.” Robbie shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her desk, moving items around that Libby had already arranged.

  Libby fell quiet and decided to mind her own business, but her thoughts returned to Robbie. She had a matter of weeks before delivery and sometimes babies arrived early. Robbie had yet to mention getting the nursery ready.

  Libby decided to nudge her, applying what she hoped was gentle pressure. “Now that we’re done here, we can begin on the baby’s room.”

  Robbie widened her eyes and shook her head. “It can wait.”

  “Not much longer. If nothing else, you at least need a cradle for the baby.”

  “No. We can make do.”

  Libby was stymied but only for a second. “The baby has to have some place to sleep.”

  Robbie sighed and sat down in the new wooden desk chair. “My mother had several miscarriages before I finally made an appearance. And then several miscarriages after that. What if the same fate awaits me? I’d rather not think of the baby until it arrives, and then I’ll send Taron to town for a cradle.”

  Libby giggled. “Are you sure you want Taron to pick it out?”

  “The general store probably doesn’t have much of a selection. He can get whatever they have.”

  “You could commission someone to build it.” She drew in a breath. “What if the man who carved the stairs is still alive? And what if he doesn’t just carve but makes beautiful furniture.” The pleasure she felt coursed through her, and she clapped her hands together. “He would do an amazing job.”

  “That’s a lot of work for a cradle that won’t be used very long.”

  “But you’ll have other children, surely? And the cradle could be passed from generation to generation.”

  “Well, I suppose...” Robbie folded her hands on her desk. “If you can, find out if he’s still alive and able to make it.”

  “Thank you!”

  Robbie’s eyes widened. “Why are you thanking me?”

  “I might meet the man who did the carvings!”

  Robbie laughed and shook her head. “You have a great appreciation for art.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I’ve barely had time to think about anything but the study of medicine my entire life. I regret I’ve missed out on so much.”

  “Yes, but then you wouldn’t have made a great doctor.”

  Robbie laughed again. “I haven’t even started practicing yet. Let’s hope I’m at least competent. That will satisfy me. And on days I’m not too busy, perhaps you can explain why art is such a joy to you?”

  Libby wasn’t sure that was possible, but she promised Robbie she’d try.

  Chapter Five

  Libby bounded down the stairs the next morning, expecting to find Taron and Ander in the dining room. They usually ate early, at the break of day, and then left, often not returning until late in the evening.

  Bowls of hominy and plates of biscuits, sausage, bacon, and eggs lined the side table in the dining room for them to help themselves. No one had yet arrived downstairs.

  Libby ignored the bounty and poured herself a cup of coffee in a porcelain cup with matching saucer and took it outside onto the front porch. The sun rose in the east, across the river, and she took a seat in one of the rockers to enjoy the show.

  Taron opened the door and walked outside.

  “Good morning!” she said brightly, glad it was not Ander.

  Dark circles under his eyes indicated he’d not slept well. “Robbie’s not up yet,” he said, almost apologetically.

  Libby noticed Robbie enjoyed sleeping in, but she was pregnant and needed her sleep. Taron didn’t sit but stood near her rocker, his gaze in the distance. His nearness made her well aware of him. He’d taken the time to shave and smelled of the soap he’d used.

  She set the rocker into motion. “It’s so beautiful, I could get used to sitting here every day.”

  Taron smiled. “No reason why you can’t.” He sighed contentedly.

  “I won’t be able to once the baby arrives. It will make a big difference in my life.” The baby would keep her tied up inside most of the time.

  He nodded and smiled. “I’m sure it’ll make a difference for all of us.”

  She stopped the rocker and leaned toward him. “Speaking of the baby, I have a question ...”

  “Yes?”

  “Who carved the rails on the staircase?”

  His lips twitched with some emotion, and then he frowned. “As a matter of fact, Ander did.”

  “Ander?” Her mouth gaped open, and she made a physical effort to snap it shut.

  Taron stuck his hands in his pockets and walked over to one of the posts and leaned against it, his back to her. “Yes, he did all that when he was only ten. He can do almost anything he puts his mind to.” His voice was flat, matter-of-fact, with no inflection.

  Was he jealous of his brother? Surely it should be the other way around.

  Libby took a sip of her coffee and gathered her thoughts before she spoke. “Does he make furniture?”

  Taron laughed harshly and shook his head. “No, nothing so prosaic. He crafts furniture.” His laughter continued but lighter this time as he turned to face her. “My grandparents were furniture makers. We all learned the trade.”

  “All?”

  “My father, my uncle, even my aunt, and my brother and me.”

  “So you could make the cradle?”

  “The cradle? For the baby? Me? No. I hate carpentry, probably because I’m so bad at it.”

  “But Ander could?”

  “I suppose he could, but we’ll be busy. Neither of us will have time, and I’m not sure he would do it if he could. We were gone so long and have a lot of catching up to do, and we’ll start working the calves, tomorrow as a matter of fact.”

  “Working the calves?”

  “Castrating and branding.”

  “Oh.” She was sorry she asked.

  “We’ll be gone about a week, as a matter of fact, maybe two weeks. It’s a busy time.”

  The sun shone behind him, and she looked away from the brightness. “I’m sure Robbie will miss you.”

  “And speaking of Robbie, I’d better wake her. The day’s half gone.” He smiled and went back into the house.

  The coffee had grown cold, and she walked to the edge of the porch to pour it out. Ander, a carver — no, more a sculptor, a craftsman. Why would he waste such a talent? Shaking her head, she entered the house to refill her cup.

  Ander and Taron left the next day before sunup. For a change, Libby and Robbie got to the infirmary bright and early, although it seemed nothing was left to do. All, at least everything Libby could help with, was completed. She watched Robbie putter about, and she thumbed through the medical books until someone knocked on the outer door of the infirmary.

  “Is that my first patient?” Robbie asked, an excited smile on her face, her eyes shining.

  As Robbie rushed around, moving objects even though everything was in perfect order, Libby grinned. “I’ll go see.

  For convenience, Robbie’s office was near the door, and it only took a moment to answer and escort the visitor in. Libby wished she could have warned Robbie, but there was no chance.

  Robbie, seated behind her desk, rose and came forward to meet them.

  “Dr. Rutherford, this is Sylvia Lindsey.”

  Robbie blinked at her for a second. “Is this a professional visit?”

  The girl, who appeared younger than Robbie, certainly not yet twenty, smiled to show a set of even white teeth. “No, I’m perfectly well, thank you. I’ve heard so much about you and thought I’d come introduce myself.”

  The girl’s beauty awed Libby, and even Robbie seemed flustered. The girl’s flawless skin, rosy cheeks, and slim figure made Libby wonder why Taron had broken the agreement with her and her father.

  “And you’re Miss Lindsey. Of course! Taron has mentioned you.”

  “All good, I hope?”

  “What else?” Robbie answered. “Please have a seat. Would you like coffee or tea?”

  Sylvia took a seat and waved off the offer of refreshment. “I only stopped in for a minute. I must get back to pack. Poppa and I are traveling to Virginia to visit my grandmother.”

  At a closer glance, Sylvia showed signs of stress, with dark circles under her eyes, and pale skin. Sylvia had sought to cover the circles with makeup and wore rouge. Father would be appalled!

  “How nice!” Libby said, to prevent herself from clicking her tongue in disapproval over the makeup. “How long do you plan to stay?”

  “Oh, indefinitely. Poppa may allow me to remain with my grandmother if I find it to my liking.”

  “Then this may be a permanent move?” Robbie asked, casting Libby a glance.

  “Yes, perhaps. We’ll have to see. May I ask, is Taron ... Mr. Babbitt around? I hoped to speak to him before I left.”

  When an expectant look sprang to the girl’s eyes, Libby’s heart constricted. “Taron and the other men have gone to work the calves,” she explained.

  Sylvia nodded sadly. “Please give him my congratulations ... on his marriage, and best wishes to you, Mrs. Babbitt.”

  “Please call me, Robbie.” Her voice gentled as if she sensed the girl’s pain. “I’ll tell Taron you called.

  Sylvia rose to her feet. “Thank you.”

  Robbie extended a hand, and when Sylvia took it in hers, Robbie placed her other hand on top. “It was such a pleasure to meet you. Have a safe journey.”

  Libby escorted her out. When she returned, she couldn’t help exclaiming, “What a lovely girl!”

  Robbie had resumed her seat behind the desk. “She seemed very nice, but sometimes looks can be deceiving.”

  “Yes, I suppose. If you don’t need me, I’m going to look at the artwork in the west wing.”

  Robbie nodded and waved her away. Libby left, eager to seize the opportunity to explore — there were still parts of the house she’d not seen. She headed into the west wing where even more artifacts adorned tables and hung on the walls down the long, wide hallway.

  She brought her sketchbook with her and searched until she settled on a bowl decorated with geometric shapes. The hallway, at least five feet across, gave her plenty of room to kneel and study the bowl. After a minute, she set to work sketching. Her sketch was barely begun when the sound of voices disturbed her work.

  She lifted her head and stilled her hand. A man’s voice, too muffled to distinguish, came from one of the rooms. All the men on the ranch were supposed to be branding cattle. Had one returned? Or maybe it was Walter. She’d seen little of him lately but knew Taron gave him odd jobs to keep him occupied.

  She rose from where she’d been kneeling and padded down the hall softly. The idea occurred to her that it could be an intruder.

  As she drew nearer to the room the voice came from, she slipped into the room next door. This, a setting room it seemed, had furniture draped in sheets. Carefully, silently, she moved to the connecting wall and pressed her ear against it.

  The thick walls, covered in an ornate raised-design wallpaper, did not allow her to distinguish whose voice she heard. However, a few words, spoken a bit louder, were distinguishable — missed, gone, wife, no problem, so glad, home. She caught her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  Could it be Taron? She filled in the missing words. I’ve missed you while I was gone. My wife is no problem. I’m so glad to be home. She pushed her ear harder against the wall, straining to hear more words.

  But words no longer drifted to her. Instead, she heard moaning. She jumped back in horror.

  And the next words penetrated the wall. “I’ve missed you.”

  She gasped in recognition. Anita! And, if so, from the man’s words, it had to be Taron!

  She ran from the room and down the hallway, stopping only long enough to scoop up her sketch book.

  Her throat ached, her heart broke. Poor Robbie! And about to have a baby!

  Chapter Six

  Libby returned to her room and paced around. Had that really been Taron in the room with that woman? She must be mistaken. But if it was ... what a ... what a ... She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. As a preacher’s daughter, she brought every thought under subjection.

  Ha! No, she didn’t. Taron was a cotton-picking, bull snot, son of a ... She breathed harder, her hands shook, and she plopped down on the bed. Her eyes narrowed, puckering her forehead to such an extent that shards of pain spread to her temples. She might as well think it! If that had been him, he was a cotton-picking, bull snot, son of a bucket head!

  She held her head, throbbing from the anger she felt. Libby found herself on her feet again, stomping around the room, her body moving of its own volition. Robbie needed to know what her husband was up to. But could she be certain it was Taron?

  She needed to calm down and think. Robbie would wonder what was going on. She gasped when a thought hit her. What if Anita heard? Would she fly up the stairs to silence her? Libby gasped again. What if Anita had seen her fleeing? What if Anita heard her and stuck her head out the door and watched Libby scoop up her sketchbook? What if Anita knew she had heard them? Libby shuddered, heat flooding her cheeks at the thought.

  That vixen! Robbie pregnant and Anita goes after her husband. When they’d first arrived, Anita had run out of the house, flinging her arms around Taron. How long had that been going on? For a while, obviously.

  It was a mess ... a big mess of horse manure. After she and Robbie had settled in so nicely and gotten Robbie’s office ready, they would have to pick up and leave.

  Would Taron try to stop Robbie from leaving? A tingle of excitement traveled down her spine, and she threw back her shoulders. He’d stop Robbie over her dead body!

  Walter would help, surely, but he was no match for Taron, but with Libby’s help, they could ... well, do something.

  Maybe she should write Father a letter. He’d know exactly what to do. Libby would have to be strong for Robbie, rein in her emotions, get her agitation under control. Her pacing slowed, and she took a seat in the chair facing the window. The peaceful view calmed her, reminded her God was in charge.

  It wasn’t her decision to make, none of it, but Robbie’s. Yet her mind returned to the problem, swirling around and around different scenarios. Should they wait for the birth of the baby? Traveling again, across rough terrain, so close to delivery, and after such a shock, might not be advisable.

 

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