Cowboy Creek Christmas: Mistletoe Reunion. Cheryl St.John

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      “I’m going to check on Little Deer and two other children, and then we can head home,” Marlys said.

      They were headed back toward Cowboy Creek by midmorning. The ride home didn’t seem as long as the trip getting to the encampment. Marlys was justifiably satisfied with the experience. She had told She Knows that she would come again to bring her herbs and to learn about the roots and leaves the medicine woman used.

      She offered to pay Sam and James, but both refused.

      “Thank you, James,” she said as the two men unloaded crates at her office. “I couldn’t have made the trip without you.”

      “I’m glad I joined you.”

      “Perhaps you’d be willing to spend a few hours teaching me more Cheyenne?”

      “Sure. I can meet whenever you want.” He mounted his horse and headed for the livery.

      “You owe two days for the wagon,” she said to Sam. “I’ll pay.”

      “I’ll let you pay for that,” he replied.

      She took money from a metal lockbox and gave it to him. “Thank you for agreeing to go. And for taking the night away from August. I’m not much of a cook, but maybe I could take the two of you to supper one evening.”

      “That would be nice.” He tucked the coins in his pocket.

      * * *

      News of her trip to the Cheyenne camp spread through town that week. When Marlys stopped at Booker & Son general store for supplies midweek, the skinny young man behind the counter held up one hand. “How.”

      She gave him a puzzled frown.

      “You heap big Injun doctor? Need something to smoke in your peace pipe?” He laughed heartily at his own joke. “Don’t see why you’re wasting your time with them anyway.”

      She narrowed her eyes. “What’s your name?”

      “Eugene. You’re the lady doctor, right?”

      She held her irritation and asked, “Who is the owner of this establishment?”

      “That would be Mr. Booker.”

      Mr. Booker came out of the back, where the portly man had apparently overheard her question, and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “I’m Abram Booker. What can I do for you?”

      “Young Eugene here seems to think it’s humorous to disparage potential customers.”

      He turned to his employee. “What have you done now, Eugene?”

      “I was just havin’ a little fun with the lady doc.”

      “I didn’t find it fun or funny at all. And I can just as easily take all my business to Mr. Hagermann’s. He’s always respectful.”

      Mr. Booker clenched his jaw. The store owner’s face turned red, and color crept all the way into his thinning hair. “Apologize to Dr. Boyd, Eugene.”

      Eugene didn’t appear very pleased to submit to the demand. He lowered his chin to his skinny chest and held his body tense. Through tight lips, he said, “I’m sorry, Dr. Boyd. I didn’t mean no offense.”

      “I accept your apology, Eugene. I strongly advise you to consider your words before speaking. It’s my belief that we have much to learn from other cultures, and when people respect one another, the exchange of information benefits everyone. You might find it ironic that I treated sick Cheyenne children with a Chinese remedy. Those children didn’t seem to mind when they got better.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “Eugene, go sweep the back room now,” Mr. Booker instructed him. “What can I help you with today, Doctor?”

      “I’d like to order an array of jars, similar to something you would use to display candy.”

      “I can show you what I ordered for my own use.”

      Abram Booker was helpful and courteous, and she didn’t see Eugene again while she was in the store.

      Her next stop was to pick up the second pair of boots she’d ordered at Godwin’s. Opal was pleased to see her. “I want to accept your offer for a mineral bath,” she said. “What would be a good time? I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

      “Any time is a good time,” Marlys replied. “Come right now if you like.”

      “Well...” Opal glanced around the small boot shop. “Let me just check with Amos.”

      Her husband was pleased to see his wife take time for herself and waved them off. It was a short walk to her office, with Opal carrying the baby, and Marlys let them in and put wood in the stove to heat water. It didn’t take long to fill one of the tubs.

      “I’ve never seen bathing tubs like these,” Opal told her.

      “They’re made deep and yet narrow, so the entire body can be immersed without using as much water as a larger oval tub takes.” Marlys added oils and minerals and dissolved them in the water. “I’ll take the baby and sit just outside. We’ll be fine.” She showed Opal the towels and told her to relax and take her time.

      “Well, Richard, we’re getting to be friends, don’t you think?”

      The bundled baby opened his eyes at her voice but soon closed them again. He squirmed a bit, and instinctively, she bounced him in her arms until he stilled. She’d been around more babies in her short time here than in her whole prior life. It was reassuring that after all the death and sorrow of the brothers’ war that civilization was now replenishing itself. It didn’t take a scholar to understand the psychology of bringing their country back to life with a new generation.

      She felt a grave responsibility to the children, to August and all of these little ones. She had knowledge to share, skills to teach, and she needed to impart as much as she could—to leave her mark on history and make a difference.

      She’d always been a hundred percent confident of her choices. She was still confident she’d been true to herself and her ideals. But a barely discernable question rose in her thoughts. Was she missing out on something? Would she eventually live to regret she had turned her back on relationships, on friendship, on marriage...on Sam?

       Chapter Six

      Rather than eat at the hotel again, Sam prepared a meal of sliced ham and boiled potatoes for himself and August. They sat at the tiny table in their long one-room quarters behind the newspaper office, and Sam said grace.

      “I miss Grandmother,” August said.

      “I know you do.”

      “Why couldn’t she have moved to Kansas with us?”

      “She has her own life to live, son. She has friends, and she likes to travel.”

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