Page 3 of The Heart’s Charge

“Cross that line, boy, and I’ll have you brought up on charges.”

There was no line. Just pine floorboards. But Jonah halted anyway, keeping his observation to himself despite the fact that being called boy when he was a year past thirty gouged his hide like a barbed wire blanket.

He didn’t want trouble. Didn’t have time for it.

The screech of chair legs against floorboards told Jonah the man had risen. He steeled himself for the confrontation, inhaling through his nostrils as he slowly turned to face his adversary. His father’s words played through his mind, calming his soul.

You can’t control what people say, what they do, or how they think. All you can control is what you say, do, and think. Control the mind first, son, and the rest will follow. Pain and anger narrow our vision. Take a higher perspective. Even the vilest man is made in the image of God and loved by him.

Jonah released his breath. Fancy Vest was trying to protect his wife’s privacy. He was going about it in an unacceptably degrading manner, but that was on him. Jonah wouldn’t rise to the bait. After all, he was here to protect a woman too. One who surely needed the doctor’s attention more than whoever was down the hall behind closed doors.

Slanting a glance at the fellow who stood a good five inches shorter and at least ten inches rounder, Jonah said nothing—with his voice. His eyes, on the other hand, made it clear that he wouldn’t be intimidated by insults and empty threats.

“Dr. Hampton?” Jonah called in a voice that boomed. “I’ve got an emergency. A baby coming.”

Scuffling sounded on the other side of the door.

“Old Maisy is the midwife who delivers Negro babies in these parts,” the woman with the red nose offered with a sniff that seemed to have more to do with disapproval than any ailment she was experiencing. “Ask for Tom Granger at the smithy. He’ll give you directions. Maisy can assist your wife.”

“Ain’t my wife having the baby, ma’am,” Jonah said, keeping his tone respectful despite the fact that the woman seemed determined to shoo him from the premises. “It’s a white woman my partner and I ran across in an old line shack ’bout twelve miles southeast of here. But I thank you for the information. If Doc Hampton can’t see his way to come, I’ll fetch the midwife.”

A door opened, and Jonah pivoted to see a man juggling a medical bag as he stuffed his arms into a black suit coat and made his way down the hall. As he crossed the threshold into the waiting area, he nodded to Fancy Vest. “Oscar, you can go in to your wife now.”

Fancy Vest tossed a glare at Jonah, then hurried past them.

The doctor turned his attention to Jonah. “How long has she been laboring?”

“Don’t know,” Jonah said. “Just ran across her. But she looked like she’d been battling a good while. Sweaty, tired, and waving a pistol at anyone who tried to come close. I witnessed at least two pains come over her in the five minutes it took us to disarm her and get her into a bed.”

The woman gasped behind him. “Disarm her? Who is this wild woman?”

Dr. Hampton picked up the black bag he’d set on the seat Oscar had vacated and stepped over to the red-nosed lady. “Jenny, why don’t you head on home? I’ll check on you later.”

“But . . .”

He opened the door for her. “Try a steam treatment and some nice hot soup. That should get you feeling better.”

She rose, her eyes darting between the two men, obviously more interested in the wild woman they were discussing than the recommended remedy for her cold. However, she seemed to sense the doctor’s unwillingness to continue discussing a patient in front of someone not involved with the case and reluctantly gathered her belongings.

Once she had left, Dr. Hampton turned back to Jonah. “Did you get a name?” he asked. “I know most of the expectant mothers in the area.”

Jonah shook his head. “No, but she did say somethin’ about her husband.” He searched his mind for details and found precious few. “Can’t recall the name. She was talkin’ sorta crazy-like, though. Goin’ on about angels and insisting her husband was gonna meet her at that old cabin. But there was no one there. No husband, no female relative to ease her time. Just her and that pistol. I didn’t even see any baby things. It was as if she’d made no preparations at all.”

An odd look came over the doctor’s face. “Was the husband named Wendell?”

Jonah’s memory cleared in an instant. “Yes! That’s it.”

“Dear Lord in heaven.” The doctor’s face paled. “Wendell Dawson died three months ago.”

Jonah’s gut knotted. Suddenly all the talk of angels made an eerie kind of sense. As did the pistol.

“Fern Dawson nearly took her own life after his death, so steeped was she in grief. She has no relatives here. Not many friends either. She and Wendell ran a small ranch southeast of town until his death. In her condition, she had no choice but to sell off the cattle. I thought she might keep the house, but she sold it off too, a couple of weeks ago. She’s been staying in town since, waiting on the baby to come. I thought she was making progress, that she was shifting her focus from her loss to what she was about to gain—a child. Wendell’s child. But now . . .”

His words drifted off, and Jonah’s mind made short work of filling in the dark possibilities.

All at once, the doctor’s expression firmed. “Oscar?” He yelled the name loudly enough to be heard in the next room.

Footfalls echoed in the hallway before Oscar appeared with a petite woman hovering shyly behind him. “Yeah, Doc? This fellow giving you trouble?”