Mark

Carriages and horses clogged the streets and fields near Hearth and Home. Several couples left their stock with Otto at the livery and walked over. It would be a crowd. He’d questioned himself several times whether or not he needed to go to the town party. Every time, the answer was the same—no. So, why was he there with a cobbler in hand? Rhona. She hadn’t talked to him for five days. She hadn’t answered the written requests he’d left with her brother and sisters.

He patted his coat pocket and heard the faint rustle of paper. He’d done the only thing he could—he’d written her an apology, or maybe it was more of a plea. When he was leaving for the night, he would ask Edwin to deliver it to her.

He entered to the happy chatter of his friends and neighbors. “Welcome,” Eileen said. “Come in and get yourself a treat.” She steered him into an open area and quickly said, “I believe Rhona is being silly about this whole misunderstanding, but until she’s ready to give up on a thing, she doesn’t.” Eileen looked meaningfully into his eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do. I don’t have any intention of forcing my company on her tonight.”

Eileen nodded and left him at a table laden with enough food to justify calling the party a Thanksgiving feast.

He added his cobbler to the table, then selected a sandwich and a small caramel apple, the last one on a plate, and began visiting with friends. Although his back was to her, he knew the moment she said hello to someone at the party. It sounded like she was close, and though it pained him deeply, he didn’t turn around.

When she crossed his path, he simply nodded and smiled and waited until she’d moved across the room to continue on his way. It was torture.

Dancing started, and Mark stood near the door. It was time for him to leave. He couldn’t hold the one woman he loved, and he chose not to hold another. He justified that he had to get up early since there was a lot to do without an assistant. He’d stay just long enough to eat his apple. He hadn’t enjoyed one of these in years. He bit into the sweet caramel coating and the crunch beneath it. Soon the acidic taste overwhelmed the sugar. He chewed quickly as his eyes began to fill with tears. In a quick moment of discovery, he realized that it had been an onion and not an apple. He reluctantly swallowed. The strong taste was still on his tongue and cheeks. Just as well. It’s a fitting ending to my night.

He retrieved his coat and remembered the paper inside. He removed it as he approached Isla. “For Rhona,” was all he said, passing it to her before he left.

The bitter taste in his mouth subsided as he entered his shop and gathered the tack he’d need to saddle his horse. Finally on his way home, he saw a man staggering down Main Street near the city office. It wasn’t uncommon to see drunken men at night, but this one moaned and clutched his stomach in pain.

Mark dismounted and approached the man. “Do you need help? Do you need a doctor?” Mark wondered if he were witnessing another man’s death.

The man cried out in pain and couldn’t answer.

Mark picked him up and shoved him up over the saddle. He knew that wasn’t the best for someone with stomach pains, but he couldn’t carry him all the way back. Then he turned his horse around and ran with him back to Hearth and Home. Doctor JT was there. There might be something he could do.

When he reached the door, several men were standing outside on the boardwalk. “Meet me at the back,” he yelled toward the men. “Get the doctor. Bring KC too.” A couple of men went inside, and three more followed Mark, helping him get the man down and then laying him on the kitchen floor.

The doctor, marshal, and Rhona came in. “Bring him into the laundry room. We have a table long enough to lay him on,” she said.

A dying man at the city celebration was the last thing Mark wanted Rhona to see. He had hoped that she could enjoy the evening, but she hurried around the room bringing a pillow and blankets, quickly throwing them on top of the table. Then she brought gas lanterns to brighten the area.

Dr. Thomas had begun his examination. “Do you have syrup of ipecac?” he asked Rhona.

She hurried away, pulled a bottle from the pantry, and returned, handing it to the doctor. Then she went back and returned with a metal bucket.

Two men propped the man up, causing him to flail and curse. Mark wondered about the other man he’d come upon, who had died in the street and all the others as well. Were these the symptoms they’d had before passing? At least this man wasn’t dead. He had a chance. KC and Mark held his legs still, and the doctor laid the man’s head back and forced the syrup down his throat. Almost immediately he sat him up again.

“Get a chair for him,” he said to Mark.

When Mark returned, they put the man in the chair and held him up. Doctor JT took the bucket. “Thanks for your help, Rhona. We’ll take it from here.”

Mark could see in her eyes that she wanted to help if she could, but she left anyway.

“Can you get this on your own?” KC asked the doctor and the two men still helping.

“Yes. Stay close, though,” JT answered.

KC nodded at Mark, then said to the doctor, “We’ll be in the kitchen.” Mark was just three steps behind him when KC whirled around. “What happened?” he asked.

Mark told him about leaving early and finding the man a few blocks up the street. “I brought him here. That’s really all I know.” KC was quiet for a few moments, and Mark asked, “Do you think he’s like the others?”

“I don’t know, but maybe. Hope he lives. Was anyone else around?”

“Didn’t see anyone.”

KC nodded again.

In the laundry room, Mark heard the man violently throwing up. One of the men who had been helping JT came running through the kitchen, covering his mouth. He went straight out the back door and threw up himself. Mark moved closer to the laundry room to be available in case they needed his help.

The music in the other room stopped. The party must have ended. Soon, Rhona came in with another bucket and took it into the laundry room, then went back out. Minutes passed as the man inside continued to heave despite having nothing to expel.

The next time Rhona entered, her arms were full of new blankets. Edwin and Hugh were with her, carrying a mattress. They entered the laundry room. Hugh and Rhona began making a bed for the sick man. Edwin left again.

The door to the dining room eased open, and Isla walked through the kitchen. She looked at Mark. “Are you all right?” Her eyes seemed worried. “Someone said you were in the kitchen, and someone else said there was a sick man in the kitchen. It isn’t you, is it?”

The man in the laundry room began retching again. Mark shook his head and pointed through the doorway to the laundry room.

Isla looked that way. “I’m glad you’re fine. I guess I have a confession to make.” She twisted her hands in front of her. “I’ve been . . . well, I’ve always been somewhat of a prankster—hiding coins under plates and covering a table with paper among other things.”

“The onion!” Mark glared at her.

She looked down at her feet. “Yes. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“It’s fine, Isla. I was surprised.”

Edwin hurried back into the laundry room, his arms full of clean clothes. Dr. Thomas joined the men in the kitchen, and Isla excused herself.

“Is he going to live?” KC asked at the same time Mark asked, “What was wrong with him?”

“The next few hours will tell us. At first, I thought it was too much alcohol, but with all the jostling, he didn’t throw up on his own. I think he was poisoned.”

“Someone tried to kill him?” KC asked.

“Not intentionally. I think he’s been drinking rotgut somewhere. That seems likely of the other deaths, too. It’s hard to tell the difference between that and alcohol poisoning.”

“I’d like to know where he got that,” KC said.

“Before anyone else dies,” JT added. “Hopefully he can talk to us in the morning. I think you got him here in time.” JT clamped Mark on the shoulder and gave a quick nod.

Edwin, Rhona, and Hugh entered the kitchen, and the men turned their way “He’s resting,” Edwin said. “We’ll take turns sitting up with him.”

Mark followed KC to the back door. “There’s something you need to know. I’ve seen a suspicious wagon in town a couple of times. It might be the source of this problem.” He related what he’d seen and also what he’d learned from von Hemberg about the way rotgut was transported.

“The question is, does Ab Helm know it’s poison?” KC looked Mark in the eye. “Freedom of the press aside—I want to keep this information out of tomorrow’s paper. If I’m going to make an arrest, I can’t have the culprit skipping town. The saloon is closed now, and if that man in there tells me that’s where he was drinking, I’ll shut down the Frog Knees tomorrow before they uncork the first bottle. Deal?”

“Deal. I’ll be watching, though, and I’ll print a special edition with the facts as I know them after you make your move. I’d like a little more information from you to include in the article. Deal?”

KC extended his hand. “Deal.”

After the marshal left, Mark faced Rhona, who stood beside the doorway to the dining room.

“I want to talk with you when it will be more private than this, but I wanted to tell you that you can print the rest of my book.” She started toward the laundry room and then stopped. “And thank you, Mark.”

His heart leaped in his chest just to hear her voice and again when she said his name. He nodded. “Goodnight, Rhona.”

Very early Saturday morning, Mark went to the print shop. He had typeset three of the chapters to begin with and had used just one. He would only have to print the chapter as an insert to the already finished papers. He printed four at a time and worked for several hours to have them all ready. Then, when the boys who delivered the papers showed up, he put them to work stuffing the chapter inside. The paper got out a little late that day, but it was worth it to include the next episode of Rhona’s story.