A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(50)
The young man had the grace to redden. “I, uh, had me some debts to settle.”
The gambling tent again. RJ shook his head and looked at Adam. “I’ll see that you get paid.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over it.” Adam wiped his hands. “Mike, see that you rest the remainder of the day. Come back to see me if you have any dizziness, severe pain, trouble with your vision—anything unusual.”
“To be sure, Doc.” Mike touched his fingers to his head and exited the house rather unsteadily.
“I’d best follow him back.” RJ pushed to his feet, suddenly weary to the bone. He hadn’t worked this hard since building bridges during the war. He hadn’t realized how soft he’d become, but months in the hospital would do that to a man. He’d have thought the work he’d done on the train station when they first arrived would have started to toughen him up, though. “Thanks, Adam.”
“Wait a moment, RJ.” Adam finished washing up at his basin and dried his hands. “I wanted to speak to you. I was out visiting Henry Caldwell today.”
“Is he sick?”
“No, no. But he told me something. Do you have a few moments?”
RJ hesitated, glancing out the door. “I really should follow Mike, then get back to the building site.”
“Of course, you’re right. We can talk tonight, don’t let me forget.”
RJ nodded and headed out. Who knew what other disasters the workmen might have created by now.
But no new crisis greeted him. In fact, things seemed to be progressing smoothly. The roof frame was taking fine shape—thanks to O’Rourke’s quiet direction, from what RJ could tell. He examined the work, told the burly Irishman he was hired, then spent the remainder of the day checking and double-checking the stability of all the joists and connections of the building so far. He wouldn’t move on to adding flooring and walls until he knew the frame was secure. But if progress continued on like this, they’d be well on the way to a boardinghouse soon.
———
RJ stayed at the site after his workers left, going over his plans until the twilight grayed toward darkness. Night fell sooner as autumn approached, however warm the days might be. He dragged himself up the Brownsvilles’ steps long past suppertime, every muscle aching to the bone.
“There you are, RJ.” Adam looked up from studying a medical journal at the lamplit dining room table. “Forsythia left a plate of supper for you in the kitchen. She’s upstairs putting the children to bed.”
“I’d thought just to head up myself.” RJ leaned one hand on the doorframe. His stomach rumbled, belying his words.
“Go on, don’t let it go to waste. I can tell you my story while you eat.”
Oh, right, Adam had wanted to tell him something. RJ sighed and headed on weary legs to the kitchen. The plate of ham, fresh beans, corn on the cob, and fluffy biscuits did water his mouth a bit, and he carried the plate and a glass of water to the table to join the doctor. He sank into a chair and downed the glass in one gulp.
Adam looked up from his journal again. “Long day?”
“You might say. Well, you saw part of it.” RJ sighed and stabbed a bite of ham with his fork. “You wanted to tell me something about Caldwell?”
“Not Caldwell exactly.” Adam folded his hands atop the journal. “More about his land. I remembered something he’d said once before and wanted to ask him more about it. When he first came out to this territory—he was among the earliest settlers, back before the war—an elderly Pawnee woman still lived on the large tract of land that he purchased. He lives a ways outside of town, and he owns a good portion, much of it still undeveloped. At any rate, he let her stay, acknowledging she had more right to it than he did, after all. Most of her family had died, and the few who remained had moved to the reservation, but she refused to go.” Adam shook his head. “Said she had little time left to live and wanted to spend it at home, on her land.”
“She just stayed out there alone?” RJ bit into a biscuit, drawn into the story despite himself. “In a tipi or something?”
“Pawnee only use tipis when they’re traveling on buffalo hunts, I believe. Henry said she had some sort of earth-covered lodge. He and Beatrice would visit her now and then, take her some food or supplies. Over time, their conversations got longer—she spoke some English, they learned a little of her language—and she told them much about this land that few white people know.”
RJ hadn’t thought much about what this land was like before European settlers arrived, but it had already had residents. So where were they all now? Reservations . . . whatever that meant. He hoped they were better than the prison camps Anders and so many others had endured during the war. His gut twisted at the thought.
“Anyway, one winter this woman—they called her Atika for ‘grandmother’—told them of a salt spring somewhere on Caldwell’s land. She said the waters and mud held great potential for healing all sorts of stubborn ailments and that it would draw out poison from festering wounds. Atika promised to show them in the spring, but she died before that happened.”
RJ watched the doctor, his guard rising.
Adam rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I wonder if this salt spring might help your eye. I’ve been reading about the benefits of mineral springs, and there does seem to be veracity to it. Henry has given me permission to search his land to find it.”