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Emily's Trials

By Henry McLaughlin

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Chapter 1
Abilene, Kansas 1885
“Miss Peyton, you gotta come quick. Your Pa’s been hurt. Bad.”
Startled, Emily gouged the legal document with her pen, ripping the paper on her desk in half.
“Deputy?” Matthew Quick’s presence registered in her mind, his words in her heart. “Father’s hurt? What happened?”
Cold, blustery wind and rain blew around the drenched figure in the office doorway. The papers on her desk tornadoed past her ears, scattering on the floor.
Quick snatched her shawl from the hat tree in the corner. “Don’t rightly know, Miss.” He stepped behind her and held the garment open. “Doc says for you to come. Now.”
“All right. All right.” Emily pressed her fingertips to her brow, squeezed her eyes tight, and inhaled. She drew the shawl close about her and tied her bonnet, pulling the brim low against the wind gusting through the still-open door. Father, you have to be all right.
She cast her eyes toward heaven. Nope. No help there.
She strode out into the dim early afternoon light. Quick followed, closing the door behind them.
The deputy hurried to match her pace, keeping between her and the street as she quick-stepped the boardwalk to Doc’s office.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Like I said, Miss Emily, I don’t rightly know. Jed Abbott found him where the road forks on the way to his place. Said it looked like some of the road washed out, and your father’s carriage tipped over the edge into a gully.”
Emily shook like an aspen in a hailstorm. She rubbed between her eyes. This can’t be happening. Father can’t be hurt.
The sound of running feet on the boardwalk behind them made Emily stop and turn, ready to scoot against the storefront to her right. Terrence McCarthy skidded to a stop on the slippery boards. “Emily, I just heard about your father. Do you know if he’s all right?”
The warmth and compassion in Terrence’s hazel eyes comforted her. “I don’t know.” She nodded at Deputy Quick. “We’re on our way to Doc’s now.”
“Do you mind if I come along?”
A frown whiffed across Deputy Quick’s face.
“Please,” Emily said. “You know you’re always welcome in our family.”
They reached the end of the boardwalk. The side street in front of them was a morass of mud, rain, manure, and who knew what else. Terrence touched her elbow.
“Allow me.” He scooped her into his arms. “Ready?”
He darted off the boardwalk and through the squishing muck and wind-driven downpour. Looking over Terrence’s shoulder, she saw the deputy’s coal-black eyes smolder. His cheeks reddened above his tangled, mousy brown beard as he followed them.
Terrence set her down under the overhang of the corner building
He tipped his hat. “Forgive me for being so forward, but I couldn’t allow you to walk in that slop.”
On any other day, she would have laughed and teased. Today, his gesture touched her, easing the pain of the unknown. She touched his arm, the briefest brush on his leather coat. “Thank you, Terrence. That was noble of you.”
Terrence on one side and Quick on the other matched her stride for stride.
“Doc told me to fetch ya,” Quick said. “So, I’ll come along to make sure you get there in one piece and dry as possible. Any carryin’ of damsels oughta be done by one who’s not courtin’ another.”
The deputy’s eyes reminded her of a foal seeking a treat.
“Don’t fret, Deputy,” Terrence said. “Priscilla understands that Emily and I are just friends.”
“Deputy Quick, Terrence.” Emily’s voice flared. “We don’t have time for this nonsense. My father may be dying.” She marched off, leaving the two in her wake.
***
Doc Everett’s office occupied the middle third of the block, with double doors opening into a waiting area. Inside, Jed Abbott stood at the window, a white mug in his hands.
“Is my father in there?” She headed toward a door to the left of the Franklin stove that struggled to cast the dampness out of the room. Sweat beaded on her forehead in the humid air.
Jed set down his coffee mug. “Yes, he is, Miss Emily. Doc asked me to have you wait out here ’til he sends for you.”
Emily slowly turned a complete circle, unable to focus on anything in the room. Her hands twitched, seeming to have minds of their own, seeking something to latch onto. Nothing. Her rock lay on the other side of the wall. Inaccessible.
Fists clenched, she inhaled, and willed her heart to slow. Deputy Quick handed her one of Caroline Everett’s delicate China cups filled to the brim with coffee. Its warmth radiated into her cold palms and gave her hands something to do. When she lifted the cup to her lips, it rattled against her teeth. She lowered it without sipping. Terrence picked up an Afghan from one of the chairs and slipped it around her shoulders.
“Mr. Abbott, how did you find my father?”
Abbott shuffled toward her, his shoulders hunched, slate gray hair shaggy and curled. “I went lookin’ for him when he didn’t show up at my place first thing this mornin’ like he promised. Thought somethin’ might’ve happened to him in the rain.”
He ran a large, gnarled hand across his mouth and gulped his coffee. “Found him just after the fork to my place. His rig was turned over, and he were under it.” He swiped his eyes. “I thought he was dead, Miss. He twern’t moving. Looked like my granddaughter’s rag doll, legs pointin’ funny. I knew they was broke. He had a big gash along the side of his head too.” A shuddering breath rasped in the man’s chest. “I got him in my wagon and brought ’im here as fast as I could.”
Emily imagined her father splayed in the mud, limbs akimbo, rain soaking him. She rubbed her forehead.
The treatment room door drew her attention. “How long has he been in there?”
Abbott shrugged. “Doc and Miss Caroline’s been working on him ’bout fifteen minutes, I reckon.”
Emily closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Father left after breakfast for the Abbott farm with papers for Jed. He wanted to get there and back before the clouds dumped their early spring rain. The clouds didn’t cooperate. Rain started within an hour after he left and, at mid-afternoon, hadn’t stopped.
A scream pierced the door separating her from her father. Emily’s cup shattered on the floor and coffee splattered her tan dress. She bit her knuckles to keep her own scream silent.
Terrence’s arm encircled her shoulder.
Deputy Quick slid a chair behind her and helped her sit. “Want me to fetch Pastor Dalton to come pray?”
Emily shook her head, biting back the retort simmering in her mind. Why bother? Praying didn’t help when Mother left.
Another scream. This one faded into a moan before the silence returned.
Emily stared at the puddle of coffee on the carpet. The shards of the cup looked like icebergs in a muddy, green ocean. The deputy knelt on one knee and picked up the pieces, depositing them in a trash box next to the stove. He dabbed up the coffee with his handkerchief.
Emily closed her eyes, remembering her father’s kiss on the top of her head when he left this morning—the reminder she was still his little girl. The one concession she allowed him into her womanhood. Now, she wished she were a little girl again, curled in his lap, burying her head in his chest, inhaling the sweet aromas of his pipe and law books. Safe and secure.
She shuddered. Those days were gone. These were her days now.
What would the next ones bring? 

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