Emelia reluctantly parted from Arthur that morning with an open heart and a list of flowers. Finally, he shared something of himself, of his less than idyllic past, only to breed more questions. Empathetic and instinctive, Emelia looked beyond a patient's description of their symptoms. She heard the weariness in Arthur's voice and saw the wounded, tightness around his hooded eyes. He seemed to know loss like the sharp edges of a knife and so Emelia held her curiosity in check and did not press for more.
And Emelia hoped, despite a nagging intuition that these wounds were indelible, that she would be properly equipped to mend him.
Feeling hungry, Emelia decided to go to the Silver Skillet; a slightly more welcoming establishment to ladies than the Saloon. She smelled the fresh ground coffee from the street, the fragrance of sizzling bacon and melting sugar and bread and her stomach rumbled. She entered the cafe with a smile on her face and spring in her step.
"Hello Doctor Griswold," Mrs. Davis called from her flotilla of ladies. The group of matrons commandeered a large centrally located table, gossiping over coffee and muffins. Their plumed hats a rival to those worn in New York.
Emelia smiled and dipped in a small curtsey. "Good day, Mrs. Davis. Ladies."
A little further in, Emelia spied Heidi McCourt and Elizabeth Thornton sharing a booth near an east facing window. They were closer to an age with her, though Elizabeth had recently married. They smiled when they saw her and waved her over.
"Good morning," Emelia said.
"Will you join us, Doctor," Mrs. Thornton asked. A friendly girl, even if a little sour looking, round faced and heavy in the chin. Her dark hair curled tightly, and her bangs flicking up, almost like little unfortunate horns.
Heidi seemed a perfect thing next to Elizabeth. Pale ivory and hair like fire with eyes a deep sparkling green. She smiled sweetly. "Yes, please join us, Emelia."
"I can't stay too long," Emelia warned, but she sat, not wanting to eat alone. She ordered coffee and a fried egg and biscuit. They made small talk, chatting about the weather and the new ferry to St. Denis and the Founder's Day celebrations.
"I can't wait," Elizabeth confided. "I'm hoping to convince Harold. It would be so nice to have a reason to buy a new dress."
"And get him away from the saloon," Heidi added, taking a prim sip of her coffee.
Elizabeth smiled tightly.
"So," she asked, addressing Emelia instead, "are you planning on attending the dance?"
"Dance?"
"The Spring Dance," Elizabeth explained. "Blackwater always has one the end of May."
"Oh, I do not know. Doctor Thompson usually leaves the late calls to me, so..." Emelia shrugged.
"Oh, but you have to go," Heidi said.
"I have nothing to wear and no one to go with."
"Oh, I'm sure you could find something," Elizabeth replied. "You seem to be doing much better."
"And word about town is you've been keeping company," Miss McCourt threw in.
"Keeping company?" Emelia said. Her mother and brother had maintained a vice-like grip on her social life. Mr. Sydney Talbot was only a few years older and pretty in the way a bird could be. Fine plumage and prim movements, just as she. In love with the sound of his own song. All their interaction taking place under watchful eyes within the confines of gilded cages. "No. Heidi, I've been so busy... I've written once to my mother and not at all to that man."
"Oh, come now," Heidi whispered with a sweet smile. "We friends. Aren't we? You can tell us."
Emelia blinked. "I've been on no outings and attended no dinners," she said, very confused. "I really am at a loss..."
"Oh?" Heidi smirked. "What about the tall, rugged fellow you've been spending your mornings with?"
A smile bloomed on Emelia's face. "Oh, you mean Arthur. But, he's not..."
"Yes... what's his name?"
"Arthur Morgan."
Heidi folded her hands around her cup in a contrite way. Her sugar sweet smile slipped from her face. "He's not from around here, you know," she confided and Elizabeth nodded in sad agreement.
"Neither am I," Emelia rejoined breezily, before popping a bite of egg in her mouth.
"You're different," Heidi allowed. Her bright, friendly façade appeared again. "You bring... class. We love having your sort of new. But that... drifter?" and now Heidi made a face, similar to sucking on a lemon. "The sort he rides with...?"
"And what, pray tell, does that mean?"
"Well. You know."
Emelia waited.
Heidi and Elizabeth exchanged glances. Elizabeth leaned forward and whispered. "Loud mouthed working girls and conmen and shiftless layabouts!"
"Working girls?" Emelia asked. She had not thought... Arthur lacked in polish, but she thought of how he removed his hat when first they met. Of how he offered to carry her bags and how he opened doors for her. She felt a sudden nagging pang of unease.
"And you know he's a debt-collector and a bounty hunter besides?" Heidi added.
"A bounty hunter?" Oh, she knew the debt collection. But, bounties? Emelia thought of Arthur's course edges. Of the gun always at his hip and the way he kept his face tilted in such a way that half was usually hidden under his father's hat. All worn and weathered and scarred.
"Mm hm. Lucy saw it!" Heidi insisted. "So distasteful! A little before you arrived in town, this Robert Sims fellow was set to stand trial for rape and murder and then he just... disappeared! They had been looking for him for weeks."
"And Mr. Morgan caught him," Emelia guessed. A dangerous and unstructured profession, and Emelia felt worry like a cold weight in her stomach. "Why did the lawmen not arrest this Sims fellow themselves?"
"I don't know," Heidi said with a shrug. She sipped her coffee. "He left the county? Or maybe he was too dangerous? You can ask Deputy Weaver yourself. They always send bounty hunters when it's safer to... well. You know."
"Why?"
"Oh, Emelia... sheriffs are gentlemen," Elizabeth said. "They have families and their communities to think about."
"And bounty hunters do not?"
"Why don't you ask your bounty hunter?" Heidi needled with a saccharine smile. "He's the expert. Beat Sims to a pulp! Can you imagine?"
"No, actually," Emelia replied. "He's been so gentle." A bounty hunter and a debt-collector. She knew what the work entailed. She saw the results of the vocations in the City, had to repair it even on occasion... but Arthur? The same Arthur who spoke so sweetly to his Boadicea... to her? No. She could not imagine it.
Heidi arched her perfect coppery brows. "Gentle as a grizzly bear," she declared with a simpering smile, and Emelia inhaled sharply. "He's no good, Emma."
"You don't know him," she said, finding the comparison unfair.
Heidi's smile grew to something triumphant. "So you are sweet on him."
"I... well...," Emelia stammered. "I honestly hadn't thought about it."
"He's a nobody," Heidi said, matter of fact.
"A 'nobody' who is teaching me how to ride," Emelia explained. "Among other things."
"Such as?"
"Well... to slowdown and listen. To trust in myself and stay the course... He has been absolutely wonderful."
Heidi's green eyes went wide, and her mouth formed a surprised circle. "So it is true!" she gasped.
"What? No..." Emelia faltered. "It's just lessons. He's not... we're not...."
"Are you paying him?" Elizabeth asked.
"No. He... he refused."
Elizabeth nodded. "That's how the poor keep company out in these parts, Emelia."
Heat filled Emelia's cheeks.
"They can't afford to take a lady out, proper," Heidi said. "Proof positive he's got nothing to offer."
Nothing to offer? Save for a surprising wealth of knowledge, intuition and earthy work ethic. And a kind, helpful heart... "Now, just a minute!"
"You'd be better off holding out," Elizabeth chimed in, nodding. "You want a man who can offer security. Like my Harold."
"Besides. He isn't from around here," Heidi pressed. "People won't want to deal with a doctor who deals with... his sort."
"You can enjoy a view without jumping off the cliff..." Elizabeth added.
"And you know..." Miss McCourt added, quietly. "Mayor Johns was asking around about you. In case you needed some incentive to maybe reconsider your... attachments."
Mayor Nate Johns... Now it was Emelia's turn to make a face. She had met the charismatic mayor only once, in passing, while taking supper in the Blackwater Hotel. Well-dressed and well-spoken and clearly the most important man in the room. He was connected and wealthy. He had stock in Edward's interests and the two would probably adore one another.
"He has said nothing of it to me," Emelia said.
"Well of course not! Word about town is you are involved with that drifter, silly pea," Heidi said.
Elizabeth nodded in agreement. "Poor Mr. Johns has his political reputation to consider, after all."
Emelia set down her fork and wiped her mouth. "I'll save poor Mr. Johns the risk," she said indignantly. "I'll not reject a man who has been nothing but helpful and kind on 'poor' Mr. John's account."
"We didn't mean --," Heidi stammered.
"Oh, you did," Emelia returned. "You forget where I was raised, and by whom. I know social pressure when I see it, plain as day."
"We're just trying to help," Miss McCourt stated defensively.
"Good day, ladies," Emelia said, standing from the table. "I must return to the Surgery."
"Emelia, we really meant no harm," Elizabeth tried.
The doctor sighed.
"Perhaps not...," she said, softening a bit. "I am sorry for growing cross, ladies, but... I simply have not the will nor the inclination to worry about expectations."
Emelia remained happily occupied the rest of the day. All in all, Blackwater's health issues were not as rampant as New York City. Syphilis had not riddled the ladies or boys working the Saloon and the Inn. Tuberculosis could not gain a foot hold in the dry climate. A baby with colic, a tyke with a swallowed penny whistle, treatments for gout and childhood diarrhea, a gored thigh compliments of a bull... All just the simple mess of life. And no less important.
The sun was setting, the skylights growing dim, and she knew Dr. Thompson would already be at the saloon, in his seat at the poker tables. Emelia decided to look through the reference material before returning to the Blackwater Hotel. She peeked inside his office and found it perfectly empty.
She perused the titles, checking to see if the good doctor kept anything of value. Her eyes found the fifth English edition of Henry Gray's Anatomy of the Human Body. She knew the pages intimately. Culpeper's Complete Herbal sat on that same shelf, in its old rusty brown leather casing. Emelia pulled it down from the shelf and settled in to see if Arthur's list matched up in anyway.
As she found the flowers and their documented properties, Emelia felt a pang of shame. Why had she disagreed with Arthur that morning simply for the sake of it? She knew, that all her precious concoctions came from a base source. Morphine and ether and antitoxins... all of it. Distilled and extracted from the natural world. Her wounded pride perhaps... that an uneducated cowboy could suggest something as outrageous as taking matters into her own hands.
Could Heidi and Elizabeth be right? Could Arthur's intentions run deeper, her riding lessons but a pretext to become properly acquainted? It explained his vehement refusal of payment, surely. It would certainly be the most novel courtship she had ever experienced. Not that Emelia could count herself an expert on the subject.
Emelia found Arthur the following morning, leaning casually against the stable. Relaxed as a cat in the sun. Emelia sighed, content in simply admiring him and wondering if such a man would have any interest in a prissy little know-it-all...
The way his pants fit his backside and all down the lean lines of his sturdy legs. Every piece of clothing strained in all the right places. She had not known men could be built this way, all the perfect proportions of Leonardo's sketches.
Or maybe she had been too preoccupied before, so engrossed in study and practicum and desperate to prove herself she simply left no time to notice.
"Howdy, Mr. Morgan!" Emelia sang out, trying to mimic his volume and twang. Arthur pushed off the wall and straightened, turning toward her and tipped his hat with a wide smile.
"Well, good mornin'," he drawled.
"I am sorry," Emelia said. "I did not mean to leave you waiting."
"S'all right," he said, flicking away his cigarette.
"I slept a little late," she tried to explain, closing the distance. She greeted Bella with an apple and gentle pat. "I was lost in study last night. Regarding Achillea Millefolium and Eschscholzia Californica..."
Arthur whistled low, one hand grasping his gun belt. "That was a mouthful, darlin'."
"Um," Emelia faltered at the term of endearment and blushed. She felt warm. "Those are the Scientific Latin names of the plants you told me about," she informed him, recovering enough to muster some mock indignity. "After your brilliant suggestion I decided to do some research."
"You don't say," he said with his easy charm.
"I found Dr. Thompson's copy of Complete Herbal and some of them were there. And so... I'm going to take your advice and learn to prepare some tinctures and poultices. For less serious ailments, of course."
"Oh, of course," he said, nodding sagely, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. "Know what you need then? Which ones are the, uh... achillea and... californication was it?"
She giggled.
"You would know them as Yarrow and Prairie Poppy, Mr. Morgan. Do you know where I might find them?"
"Well...." Arthur scratched at his jawline with his thumb and Emelia tracked the motion. "I can show you where to find those poppies," he offered. "They'll be bloomin' soon, I reckon. Yarrow's later but it's the leaves we want anyway."
Emelia brightened. "Oh, could you, Mr. Morgan?" she asked, hands clasped.
"Sure," he said. "An' show you how to harvest 'em without destroyin' the whole thing, too."
Oh, he was indeed wonderful. "It won't be too much trouble?"
Arthur chuckled and shook his head. "No trouble at all. Once we get you in the saddle, that is."
Arthur showed her how to saddle Bella. To make certain the blanket was free of debris and how to set all the straps and to know how to adjust her stirrups. How to check the girth and find the balance of comfort and security.
"Pinch those reins in your left hand as you mount... so you got 'em ready if need be."
Emelia pulled herself into the saddle and she adjusted her split skirts, so the fabrics draped properly. When she returned her attention to her patient instructor, Emelia found Arthur staring. She smiled down at him.
"Mr. Morgan?"
"Alright," Arthur said, clearing his throat. "You got no one here to impress. Pick up those reins... no. Like this," he corrected, and he mimicked the position. "With the reins coming out here..." and he gestured to his pinky and ring finger.
"Like this?"
"That's right. You don't wanna send yer girl a mixed signal, and this'll feel more natural after a decent time spent in the saddle. Shift 'em to yer left if you need to free a hand... but I don't wanna see you gettin' fancy 'til you know what yer doin'."
Mr. Morgan did not take a rough do-it-or-else approach with his animals. He taught Emelia, and Bella, softer cues. Starting and stopping without cruel kicks or heaving on bits. A touch of the reins against Bella's neck, the flex of her thighs. The displacement of her weight... Subtle to an untrained eye, but clear as a symphony between rider and mount.
"No slouching," he cautioned, watching her critically. "Come on, now, princess. Shoulders back, head up, like it's pulled by a sting. Don't go hollowin' out, neither. Whoa, hold up, now."
They managed to do as told and Arthur closed the distance to them with long determined strides.
"Mr. Morgan?"
Arthur reached up and braced her firmly between his large hands, one splayed flat against her stomach, the other at the small of her back to show her, and Emilia sucked in a breath at the contact and sat up straighter. "Like that," Arthur said. "Find yer balance and hold it."
Under the steady pressure and heat of Arthur's palms, Emelia looked down at him. Followed those tanned, sculpted forearms to the crisp white of his shirt. To that fascinating face; the profound scars marring his squared chin and the plush of his lips. She met his blue eyes. Never had Emelia seen Arthur's eyes unobscured as they were then, his face tipped upwards to the sunlight as he held her firm. She noticed the gold around his pupils, almost lost in the pale blue, giving an illusion of green. Central heterochromia, her brain supplied, before slipping back to the handsome sum of all the parts.
"That's it, Emma," he said, voice all husky and warm. "Remember it."
Heat flared in her cheeks. Emelia swallowed and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Morgan," she managed.
"Right," Arthur said, drawing back. He tilted his head downward, shielding his eyes. "Knowin' a thing ain't enough. You need to make it habit." He drew back another two steps and waved her forward. "Go on, now. Go."
Emelia nodded again and urged Bella onward and she blushed furiously, abundantly aware that he scrutinized her and wondering what he might be thinking. From his position in the center of the corral, barking guidance and encouragement, Arthur flexed his fingers, as if trying to shake off some lingering sensation.
She laid awake that night, thinking of blue eyes and constant, persistent reassurance. Her stomach and back ached from only a few laps of properly sitting in the gait. A good purposeful sort of pain that told Emelia, maybe, she was getting somewhere.