Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Opening his eyes, he looked up, trying to remember where he was. He was lying in a bed, and there was a strong smell of carbolic soap in the air. Someone was groaning, crying out something in their sleep.

"No… I don't want to go… don't make me," the voice was saying, and now there were footsteps, and the soothing words of a woman.

"It's all right, Denzel… it's just a bad dream. I'll bring you some water. Try not to get agitated," she said.

Where am I? He tried to remember what had brought him to lie here—was this a clinic? His mind was foggy, and memories were difficult to summon. Try as he might, he couldn't remember.

But you must remember something, he told himself. He tried to think what day of the week it was, what year it was, who the President was… but all to no avail. He could remember words, and put them into sentences that made sense, but everything was confused—and now he realized he couldn't even remember who he was, either.

"Help me? Is someone there? I need… please… can someone help me?" he called out, and footsteps came hurrying toward him as he opened his eyes, looking up in surprise at a woman's face looking anxiously down at him.

"Doctor Reardon, he's awake," the woman called out, and he realized he was in a clinic.

The woman was dressed in a nursing uniform—blue, with a white head covering—and she was soon joined by an older man with graying hair and bright blue eyes.

"I'm glad to see you back with us. How are you feeling?" the doctor asked.

He thought for a moment, shaking his head as he tried to remember something—anything. "I don't know how I'm feeling. I don't really know anything," he said, and the doctor nodded.

"You've had a concussion—a nasty blow to the head. We don't know what happened to you yet, but one of the nurses found you on the mountain pass earlier today. Can you remember your name?"

At the mention of the nurse, a memory was triggered, and a picture of a woman—a smiling woman, with long brown hair and brown eyes, tall and slender—floated up into his consciousness.

"Tara…" he said, and the doctor smiled.

"That's not your name; it's the name of the nurse who found you. That's a start, at least. But do you remember anything about yourself?" the doctor asked, but he shook his head and apologized.

"I'm sorry, I don't," he said. His thoughts were still preoccupied with Tara.

She had saved him. He remembered how she had hauled him up the scree onto the path and helped him onto her horse. The memory was vivid, even as the rest of his mind was clouded, and he clung to it, relieved to have something to know for certain.

"Well… we'll call you John Smith for now. And we'll do our best to help you remember. But for now, the best thing you can do is rest," the doctor said. "It's a funny thing, memory. Sometimes we forget things we've known since childhood, only for them to return when we least expect them to.

Other times, we can remember the past better than the present. Don't overthink things, though. And don't get frustrated with yourself, either. It'll come back eventually."

John—for that was now the only way he could refer to himself—nodded. It was the strangest of feelings, to have no memory for anything, and he clung to the one memory he was certain of.

"Is Tara coming back?" he asked, and the doctor smiled.

"She'll be back later, yes," he replied. "I sent her home to rest. She had a long night, and then she was out on her rounds. Finding you meant she was late getting back. But you were lucky, Mr. Smith. She's one of the best we've had—along with Katie here."

John smiled. He remembered the conversation they had had, and the way Tara had tried to keep him awake as they made their way down the pass to the town.

"She certainly seemed it. Has she worked here long? Is she married?" John asked, for he wanted to know more about the one thing he remembered for certain.

The doctor smiled. "Try to get some rest, Mr. Smith. It wouldn't do to grow too attached to someone now, would it?" he said. "You might have a wife and family of your own. Don't be too hard on yourself. It'll all come back to you. Katie can bring you something to eat if you're hungry, and drink plenty of water, too. I'll come and check on you later."

Doctor Reardon now left the bedside, and Katie went off to fetch John something to eat. He was left alone, with the realization of the truth as to what the doctor had said. He could be anyone—someone with a wife, a family, responsibilities. It was an overwhelming thought, even as he tried to dismiss it.

It'll all come back to you. A little at a time, he told himself. But try as he might, he could remember nothing, save for the pretty face of the woman who had been his savior.

***

Tara pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. It had started snowing again, and Stanley's tracks were fast being covered over as Tara made her way out of the clinic yard, turning onto the main street into the town. Freemont was quiet that afternoon, the residents keeping warm inside.

Only a handful of men were visible through the windows of the saloon as she passed. The sheriff's office lay at the far end of the street, and Tara was making her way there when a voice across the street caused her to pause.

"Tara, wait. I'll walk with you."

Turning, Tara was pleased to see her best friend Gina hurrying toward her.

Gina was Sheriff Fenton's sister, and she and Tara had grown up together in Freemont, attending the school and always in one another's company. Gina worked as a clerk in the bank, though she had ambitions to be a writer. They were almost exactly the same age, only a month apart, but Tara was the taller, though Gina's hair was longer—a fact she often liked to remind Tara of whenever they found themselves in a disagreement.

"What are you doing out? It's far too cold to be out for no reason," Tara said as Gina came and slipped her arm into Tara's.

"I was at the mercantile," she said. "Thomas had me go and buy some nails—something's broken. I don't know what. But what about you? You've not just come from work, have you? I told you, Doctor Reardon works you too hard."

But Tara shook her head and explained briefly what had happened on the trail, and how she had been later than expected owing to the need to help the stranger, now known as John Smith, to the clinic.

"And that's why I'm going to see your brother. We need his help if we're going to find out who this man is," Tara said.

"How exciting. A mysterious stranger among us. He could be anyone. Perhaps he's your mail-order… groom," Gina said, and Tara blushed.

"He's not due for a week yet. Besides, he's not a mail-order groom. We've been writing to one another for six months. I can't wait for him to arrive," Tara said.

Gina raised her eyebrows. "I still don't think it's a good idea. You don't know anything about him. You've never even met him," she said, and Tara laughed.

"But that's the idea, isn't it?" she replied. "He was so kind after my father died. He wanted to come straight away. I know I'm doing the right thing. Besides, I can't go on like this, can I? I'll wear myself out without help."

Six months previously, Tara had placed an advertisement in one of the eastern dailies. She had heard of men—and women—seeking companionship through such advertisements, and though a number of thoroughly unsuitable replies had been received, one of them had stood out as being quite different.

Kyle Patrick came from Chicago and had made money in stocks. He was looking for a new adventure and had plans to move west, perhaps purchasing land and farming it, or developing a business in one of the frontier towns. Letters had been exchanged and they had built up a rapport, such that Kyle had finally agreed to visit Tara in person.

To her mind, there was nothing strange about the arrangement. It was simply a courtship conducted by letter rather than face to face. The fact they had not yet met one another in person made no difference to her, and she was looking forward to Kyle's arrival at the end of the week.

"If he gets through, of course. It seems rather foolish to attempt a journey like this in winter," Gina said, shaking her head.

"Well… Freemont isn't the end of the world. Not anymore, at least. He'll take the railroad most of the way, then the mail coach. He'll get here. But I don't think he's the man lying in bed in the clinic."

Though Gina's words had put a doubt in her mind, and now she began to question if perhaps it was Kyle lying there in a daze. There had been something familiar about him, and he had told her she had a pretty name—just as Kyle had done in one of his recent letters.

"Well, let's hope he wakes up soon and tells you," Gina replied.

They had reached the sheriff's office now, and Tara was pleased to step in out of the cold and find the stove lit. Sheriff Fenton—Thomas to his friends, of whom Tara was one—looked up from his desk as Tara and Gina entered the cramped front room of the office. A counter separated the desk from the door, and a door behind led through into the cells.

Freemont was a quiet town, and the worst trouble it usually knew was cattle rustlers in the summer and illegal fur trappers in the winter. But Sheriff Fenton was a man who liked to keep order, and who liked to know what was going on, even if it was nothing. Tara knew he would be interested in the man lying in the clinic bed, and she proceeded to repeat the story of John Smith just as she had told it to Gina.

"How curious," Thomas said. "Do you think he's been robbed? Are you certain there was no sign of a horse? It seems strange to think he got all the way up the trail through the pass without one."

Tara thought the same, but she was certain there had been no fresh tracks in the snow—either leading up to the place where she found the injured man, or down from the Johnson ranch. At the most, it had taken her two hours to ride up to the ranch, dress Mr. Johnson's septic leg, and return. But there had been no signs of a struggle, and though the man was injured, it had seemed to her to be the result of the fall, and not due to an attack.

"He wasn't making much sense. I didn't see a horse. Or any tracks. But that doesn't mean there wasn't one. It's mystery, all right," Tara said, shaking her head.

"I'll go and talk to him once he's awake. But if his memory's gone, it won't help much, will it? I suppose we could ask around —perhaps someone's expecting a visitor, and if they haven't turned up yet… well, that's our man," the sheriff said.

"What a strange situation. It's quite exciting, really," Gina said, and her brother rolled his eyes.

"It's not very exciting for the poor man lying in Doctor Reardon's clinic. We'll look into it, though, Tara," the sheriff said. "But I can't promise I'll find you any answers."

Tara was grateful for his help. The Fentons were like family to her, and after the death of her father, they had gone out of their way to look after her. Just as Tara was about to leave, the door through to the sheriff's house opened, and his wife Tiffany appeared.

She was a pretty woman, with striking red hair falling over her shoulders in ringlets. To look at her would be to assume a fiery disposition, but she was a sweet and gentle creature, and now she smiled at Tara with a look of surprise on her face.

"Oh, I wasn't expecting to see you today, Tara. There's nothing wrong, is there?" she asked, but Tara shook her head.

"No, nothing's wrong. We've just got a little mystery on our hands, that's all," she said, and once again she recounted the story of the stranger in the clinic.

Tiffany listened with interest, shaking her head in disbelief when it came to the part where Tara had lifted the man onto the saddle.

"All by yourself? Goodness me, Tara. You should've come for help," she said.

"But there wasn't time," Tara replied. "If he'd lain out there any longer, he'd have frozen to death. If I hadn't been going that way, well…"

"And you've really no idea who he is?" Tiffany asked, glancing at her husband, who shook his head.

"None at all, it seems. We'll just have to keep calling him John Smith for now. I'll make some enquiries. But you should go home, Tara. You must be exhausted," the sheriff said.

Tara was tired. She should have been in bed hours ago, and with another night of nursing ahead of her, it was time to go home. But despite feeling tired, her mind was filled with thoughts of the stranger, and the mystery surrounding him. John Smith was an enigma, and at that moment, it really did seem as though he had simply fallen out of the sky.

"I'll walk home with you," Gina said, and Tara nodded, grateful for the company.

They said goodbye to Thomas and his wife, and Tara promised to inform the sheriff of anything she learned on returning to the clinic. She and Gina now stepped out into the chill of the afternoon. The sun was already sinking, and the temperature was dropping.

"Are you going to light the stove when you get in? It's going to be a cold night," Gina said.

"And I've got to be back at the clinic by midnight," Tara replied, yawning as she spoke. "And I still haven't seen to the animals. I left Stanley at the clinic, but the dogs will need feeding, and the hens, too. I gave Bentley his swill this morning, but that pig can eat."

"Well, it won't be long until you've got all the help you need, will it?" Gina said, raising her eyebrows.

Gina was Tara's best friend, and yet there were times when Tara felt some jealousy on the part of her friend. It was the occasional comment, a passing judgment, a raised eyebrow. Tara knew Gina was sweet on Randy Lynn, one of the teachers at the schoolhouse, but his attentions lay elsewhere—in his studies and books—and despite Gina making her feelings obvious, there had been no reciprocation. Now, with the imminent arrival of Kyle, Tara sensed a growing resentment in Gina, expressed in her quips and asides as to the manner in which their relationship had emerged.

"He might not even take to life out here. We're just… testing the water," Tara said as they walked through the snow. "His letters have been sweet, but as you've already pointed out, I hardly know him."

"Exactly. And that's what I'm worried about. He's going to arrive here, and… wait, he's not going to stay with you, is he?" Gina exclaimed, and Tara shook her head.

"No. He's not going to stay with me. He's taken a room at the boarding house. Don't worry, it's all very proper," she replied.

She had known this would happen, and she was expecting others in the town to have a similar reaction. Freemont was a small place, and news traveled fast. Kyle's arrival would be a talking point, but Tara was adamant she was making the right decision.

Not only for herself, but for the homestead, too. Her father would have encouraged the match. He had always told her she deserved to be happy, and in receiving Kyle's letters and getting to know him better, Tara was excited as to what lay ahead.

"Well, thank heavens for small mercies," Gina said. "Anyway, here we are. Do you want me to come in with you?"

They had arrived outside Tara's house, where a gate led into a small yard with steps leading up to the door. The snow hadn't been shoveled that day, and it was now lying thick on the ground.

"No, it's all right, thank you. I'm just going to light the stove and warm the place through, then get into bed," Tara said.

She wanted her own company, and she was eager to see if another letter had arrived from Kyle. When he had last written, he was just setting off from Chicago, and that had been over a week ago.

"All right. Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Perhaps we'll have some more answers about John Smith by then. I'm off to a meeting of the charity guild. I told Reverend McGuire I'd organize the Christmas food drive. There's a lot to do," Gina said, and, kissing Tara on the cheek, she hurried off through the snow.

Tara smiled and shook her head. Gina was always busy. Her heart was in the right place, but there were times when she said the wrong thing or put people's backs up. Last year, she had alienated half the town with her insistence on checking all the food donated to the charity drive, and discarding a considerable amount after it did not meet her exacting standards.

"What's wrong with my dried apricots?" one woman had asked, only to be told they were inedible—and others had shared a similar dismissal.

But to Tara, Gina was more like a sister, even as she could be exasperating at times, and Tara knew that behind the blustering fa?ade, there was a sweet and kindly soul who truly wanted to help others.

She just doesn't always go about it the right way, Tara thought as she made her way through the snow, glad to finally be home.

When she unlocked the front door, she smiled at the sight of a letter lying on the mat. It was addressed in the now-familiar script of the man she had been writing to for the past six months, and she stooped down to pick it up, warmed at the thought of reading this fresh missive from the east.

I don't care what anyone else says. I'm looking forward to his arrival . Having lit a lamp and set a match to the stove, Tara finally settled down in her chair to read the letter.