Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"How did you get on?" Doctor Reardon asked, peering down at the notepad where John had written out the rudiments of his conversation with Tara.

"I remembered it all, give or take a few words. It's not my immediate memory that's the problem. It's what came before I can't remember. It's like there's a veil between now and then," John replied, handing the doctor the notepad.

"Did anything more come out of it? Did it help at all? The fact you can read and write tells us a lot. You've obviously had an education," the doctor said, and John smiled.

"I might be a doctor myself, Doctor Reardon. I could be a leading expert on disorders of the mind. Wouldn't that be ironic?" he said. "But there was one thing… I had a flash of memory as I was writing. It was a memory of writing—writing a letter. I saw myself writing the letter."

Doctor Reardon appeared interested in this, and unlike John's dream, he didn't immediately dismiss the matter.

"And do you know what you were writing? Could you see the words on the page?" he asked, after having questioned John about the feeling of the memory—whether it seemed true or not.

John thought for a moment. He could see the page and the quill. The ink was black, and the writing was exaggerated, with sweeping curls to the letters. It was his writing. It looked the same as that written in the notepad. But as for what the words said…

"I'm not sure. I can see it's a letter, but as for what I'm writing, I don't know. I want to say it's to a woman," John replied.

"That's likely because you've been writing out the conversation you had with Nurse Culden. I wouldn't think too much about whether it's a woman or not. But the fact of your remembering something from beyond the veil, as you put it, means a lot," the doctor said.

John nodded. There was truth in what the doctor was saying, and yet what difference did it make? A swallow did not make a summer, and a single memory was hardly the return of the whole.

"Do you think I'll have other moments like this?" he asked.

The doctor pondered for a moment. "We'll just have to wait and see. Get some rest, and then try writing down the conversation we've just had. You might remember something more about the letter, or even something new."

He went off to see to another patient, and John was left with his thoughts—his immediate thoughts, rather than his memories. It was disconcerting. He felt like a ship adrift at sea. He understood his immediate surroundings, but as for what lay beyond, that was an ocean on every side. His thoughts turned to Tara. She had been the one to rescue him, and now she had been the one to bring back the slightest of memories. Would another conversation with her bring back more?

"Is Nurse Culden here tomorrow?" John asked when Katie brought him his supper.

"You've certainly grown fond of her, haven't you? I think she's back tomorrow, yes. But if you think you're in with a chance there, you've got another think coming," she said.

John looked at her in surprise.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and the nurse laughed.

"She's got her beau from Chicago. They've been writing to one another for the last few months and he arrived yesterday. She's certainly smitten. I've never seen her hurry out of here so quickly at the end of her shift," Katie said, shaking her head and smiling.

A sudden disappointment gripped John, along with a sense of embarrassment. He had been foolish to think Tara was doing anything more than her job, and even as any romantic thoughts had been tempered by the fact he may already be married, there was no doubt as to his growing feelings toward the nurse who had done so much to help him.

"Oh… well, I wasn't thinking about that. It's just… she's been very kind. But so have you," John said as Katie raised her eyebrows.

"It's all right, I understand. She's the one who found you and brought you back. It's only natural you form an attachment. It's better you know, though, isn't it?" she said and, smoothing down his bedsheets, left him with his supper.

But John didn't feel hungry. He felt foolish for allowing his feelings to get away from him, though he couldn't help but think just how lucky this man from Chicago was to find himself on the receiving end of letters from a woman like Nurse Culden.

***

"Goodness me, look at the place," Tara exclaimed as she opened the door of the house and stepped into the parlor.

Lamps were lit around the room and a fire burned merrily in the stove. Despite the chill of the night, the house felt warm, and there was a delicious smell wafting on the air. The parlor had been tidied—pots and pans put away, the floor swept, and papers cleared off the table and counters. Maisy was purring on a cushion, and as Tara closed the door, Kyle appeared from the pantry, smiling at her.

"You're just in time for dinner. I've just finished cleaning up," he said.

"Oh, but… you didn't need to do all this," Tara said, still hardly believing what she was seeing.

"I wanted to. Besides, I had nothing else to do today. I thought I should make myself useful. I hope you don't mind?" he said.

"Mind? I certainly don't. It's so kind of you. What are you cooking? It smells delicious," Tara said, crossing to the stove and lifting the lid on the pan.

"It's a beef stew. I had to use tinned meat, and there weren't many vegetables at the mercantile. I hope it'll taste good," he said.

"I'm sure it'll taste wonderful. And the animals?" Tara asked, for she could not believe he had done all this and seen to them, too.

Kyle smiled. "All done. Fed, mucked out, and I fixed the hinge on the stable door, too. It just needed a few screws tightening," he said.

Tara had been meaning to fix the stable door since September, and now she shook her head, smiling with gratitude for everything he had done.

"It's really so kind of you. Usually, I have so much to do when I come home, it doesn't always get done. Thank you," she said as he pulled a chair out from the table and ushered her to sit down.

"Well, I just thought you work so hard at the clinic, the least I could do is a bit of cleaning and cooking. I did it in Chicago, and I can do it here, too," he said.

Tara sat down at the table, where a clean cloth had been laid and the cutlery set out as though they were dining at a restaurant. Kyle had baked a loaf of bread, too. He served out a portion of stew, placing the steaming bowl in front of her as he came to sit opposite.

"A man who can cook. I never thought I'd see the day. My father didn't know one end of a spoon from the other. He was hopeless in the kitchen. He'd have burned water if I let him," Tara said, picking up her knife and fork.

The stew smelled delicious—fragrant with herbs and a thick gravy. The bread was soft, with a delicious crust, and as she ate, Tara couldn't help but feel incredibly lucky.

"Tell me about your father. What was he like?" Kyle said as he rose to serve them both a second helping of stew.

Tara smiled. She had fond memories of her father. He might not have been a good cook, but he'd had a heart of gold and was the kindest man she had ever known.

"I miss him terribly. Sometimes, I imagine he's still alive. I'm just waiting for him to come in from feeding the chickens or seeing to Bentley. He loved animals. He had such a way with them. It's as though they understood him and he understood them, too," Tara replied, thinking back to the night she had recounted to John—the story of her father taking care of the horse.

"He sounds like a good man. And he certainly raised a wonderful daughter," Kyle said, placing the dish of stew in front of her and sitting down opposite again.

Tara blushed. "That's kind of you to say. We hardly know one another…" she said, but Kyle shook his head.

"Oh, but we do. All the letters we wrote to one another. I kept them all."

"I kept them, too," Tara admitted, feeling her cheeks heat even further.

He reached out and placed his hand on her arm. "I really do feel so lucky to be here with you, Tara. I know it's still early, but I've got a good feeling about this," he said.

Tara smiled at him, placing her hand on his and nodding. "I've got a good feeling about it, too. I was just speaking to my friend, Gina, and… well, she didn't think it was such a good idea to write to a stranger in Chicago and have them come out here to live. But I don't agree with her. Writing to you was the best thing I ever did."

"And writing back was the best thing I ever did," he replied.

Tara was flattered. She had never received such attention before, and to have him pay her such compliments was like nothing she had ever experienced. There had been suitors, men who had shown an interest in her, but this was something else. Kyle made Tara feel special, and to return home to find the house cleaned, the animals seen to, and a meal prepared was more than she could ever have hoped for.

But more than that, Tara felt a real connection to the man sitting in front of her. He was not a stranger as Gina had suggested, but a friend, and the more she got to know of him, the more she felt as though their friendship was certain to grow into something more.

"And making the journey here. I'm still amazed you arrived when you did. It must've been an arduous few weeks," Tara said.

Kyle nodded. "That's right. It wasn't easy, but it was certainly worth it—storms, missed wagons, robbers, and that poor family, too," he said, shaking his head sadly.

Tara stared at him in amazement. "Goodness me, you've certainly got some stories to tell. Were you really robbed?" she asked, her heart skipping a beat at the thought of the fear he must have felt when confronted by robbers.

Kyle shook his head, furrowing his brow as though the memory was a painful one.

"It was a bad business. I was on the mail coach," he said, pushing his empty plate away and sitting back in his chair. "We'd just left Buryville, like you said to do in your letter. I'd changed trains and waited late into the night. There was a family there, too—a father and mother and two children—and we got talking. They were going farther west but would take the mail coach as far as Murphy's Canyon.

That's where I got my horse. Anyway, we set out first thing, the five of us riding with the mail. We hadn't gone very far out of town—five miles, perhaps—when I heard horses at the side of the coach. Someone was shouting, and then there was a gunshot."

Tara gasped. She had heard of robberies like this. Over the summer, there had been a spate of them on the eastern trail, and Thomas and his deputies had ridden out several times in pursuit of the robbers, eventually catching them about twenty miles into the prairie outside of Freemont.

"How terrible. You must've been terrified," Tara said.

"I was thinking about the children rather than myself. The driver was urging the horses on, but a mail coach can't outrun a charge, and they were shooting at us," Kyle replied.

"But what did you do?" Tara exclaimed, holding her breath, eyes wide with horror at the thought of what might have happened to him.

"I pulled down the window and fired back. Every mail coach has a set of pistols in the compartment," he said, smiling at her. "You should've seen the look in that bandit's eyes. His face was covered with a bandana, but I could see his eyes. He was about to shoot me, but I got him first. I hit him in the leg and he fell off his horse. His friend didn't too keen on pursuing after that."

Tara was filled with admiration for Kyle's bravery. It was an extraordinary tale, and had she not thought highly of him before, she certainly did now.

"You're a hero, Kyle. That family must've been so grateful to you. And the mail coach driver," Tara said.

"When we reached Murphy's Canyon, he wanted to tell the sheriff I should receive some kind of reward for bravery. But I just did what any decent person would do. The family wanted to give me money, but I told them to keep it, that I didn't need any reward for doing what's right," he said.

Tara shook her head, reaching out and placing her hand on his. "Well, you're a hero in my eyes. And I'm going to make sure everyone knows it. I'll tell Sheriff Fenton tomorrow, and—" she began, but Kyle interrupted her.

"No!" he said, his tone raised, betraying a hint of anger. "I mean… no, please, Tara. I don't want to make a fuss over it. It happened, and I'm here now. That's all that matters."

Tara nodded. "I'm sorry. I just think it's a remarkable story. I feel so sorry for that poor family, though. They must've been terrified. What was the father doing during all of this?"

"Oh, he was comforting the children. And his wife was in hysterics. It was a good thing I was there. I kept calm and did what I had to do," he said.

Tara still had so many questions, but it was getting late and she didn't want the boarding house proprietress to think anything untoward was going on if Kyle came back late.

"Well, you're my hero, and that's all that matters. But I suppose we should think about going to bed… I mean, you going back to the boarding house. I'll clear this up. You've done more than enough today," she said.

"Well… if you're sure. I'll be back first thing in the morning. Are you working again?" he asked.

"Oh, darn it… not until later, but I promised Tiffany I'd meet her at the coffeehouse tomorrow morning. That's Sheriff Fenton's wife. We always meet on Thursdays at Benson's. It's a ritual," Tara said.

She would much rather have spent the morning with Kyle, but he was insistent on her going, promising to come early to help with the animals and to see to any other jobs that needed doing.

"What did I do to deserve you?" Tara asked, as they said goodnight to one another.

Kyle smiled. "You didn't do anything. But you do deserve to be happy." Leaning forward, he kissed her on the cheek before saying goodnight and leaving Tara wondering if this was not some wonderful dream.