Chapter 20

Anything a Good Cup of Tea Couldn’t Heal

Juliet poured boiling water into the tea pot. She watched the tea leaves fully unfolding and turning from black to brown. Preparing tea always calmed her. Not that she cared for cooking or other household aspects at all, she had never had to anyway, but brewing tea was an entirely different matter. Making tea wouldn’t get you dirty, make you smell unpleasant or stain your fingers. Besides, she loved tea, and to make a perfect tea, in her opinion, you needed a passion and a determination the average domestic wouldn’t sport. Making perfect tea was a master’s task. A soothing, reassuring, calming ritual. And she needed some calming right now.

This whole incident had been just incommensurate. She had no cause to ride through wild territory; she had no cause to wade through mud holes (and she shuddered at that thought); she had no cause to tend to bloodied, dirtied men, harbouring inappropriate thoughts (she shuddered again, but for completely different reasons); she had no cause to having dealings with the worst sorts of criminals; and she most certainly had no cause to enjoy at least parts of all that immensely.

At least she had survived. Miraculously, she had survived unscathed, unharmed. It was quite notable how a day planned out for pure amusement could turn into a near catastrophe so easily. Just like the day all those years ago, when all she wanted to do was to have a day out punting on the Cam with Henry…. No. She would not think of that now.

What was it that Mr. Goodman had said on her first day in Virginia City? This is a wild country with rough people. Rough people. Well, she had met some of them today. Really, this whole burglar business had been a perfect nuisance. And that nonsense with the gun. How could it be that she, who had lived in the Wild West for nearly four years now, did not know how to handle a gun? She would have to ask Adam for help with that. Or maybe Hoss. Hoss seemed to be very understanding. And very patient. And she wouldn’t get distracted from his explanations of how to use a gun by looking at his hands.

Juliet closed her eyes. Hmm, Adam had the most beautiful hands…. She remembered washing his long fingers, his arms and, well.

She opened her eyes and looked down at her own hands that not so long ago had done things that would distract her mind for many days to come. She shook her head and, in a flash, remembered the men in the great room, waiting for a hot drink.

Just get on with the task at hand, she thought. They all had to do their tasks. Ben Cartwright had washed away the bloodstain on the floor in front of the dining table; Joe had been sent to Virginia City to deliver both the dead and the surviving outlaw to the sheriff and Hoss had been charged with tending to the horses. Juliet’s offer to prepare some tea had been accepted with gratitude. Somehow she suspected everyone was happy to have her out of the way for some time. She knew she was an intruder today, and she desperately wished herself somewhere else.

Finally the tea was ready. Exactly the right shade of red-golden brown. Juliet poured the brew through a strainer into the preheated porcelain pot and arranged the teapot, cups, sugar and milk on a tray. She straightened her shoulders, smoothed some stray strands of hair from her face, gathered up the tray and headed to the great room. Mr. Cartwright and Hoss, who apparently had finished the task of tending the horses already, were now sitting at the coffee table by the fireplace, their faces restless. Like her, they were anxiously waiting for the doctor’s return to the main room and his news about Adam. Juliet harrumphed awkwardly. With all her high class education she had never been prepared for situations like this. And as usual when she didn’t know what to say, she resorted to literature.

“As Thomas de Quincy says: Tea, though ridiculed by those who are naturally coarse in their sensibilities will always be the favourite beverage of the intellectual,” she announced when she carried the tea tray into the living room. Ben gave her an irritated glance but said nothing in return.

Juliet cringed. Wrong quotation, Juliet, once again. She had the decency to look embarrassed. “Well, never mind…” She set the tray down and poured three cups.

Ben stood. “Excuse me, Miss Heatherstone, I think I’ll take my tea outside. I need some fresh air.” He clearly was on the edge.

Juliet smiled faintly. “I understand. Of course you are…excused.” She gave him a graceful nod. Ben took a tea cup and, with a last vexed glare at Juliet and shaking his head, he made his way outside. Juliet gazed after him. He appeared much older than the last time she had seen him.

Juliet busied herself with the tea again and added milk and sugar. She handed Hoss a cup and sank next to him on the settee. Her eyes fell on a book on the table and she reached for it as if it were a lifeline.

“Shakespeare’s Sonnets,” she read the spine.

“I found that in Sport’s saddlebag. It’s one of Adam’s favourites. Thought he might like ta have it later.”

“I’m sure he will, Hoss.”

Juliet put the book back. She took her own tea cup in both her hands and buried her face in the upcoming steam as if she was trying to warm herself. Or maybe she was only hiding her tired face, Hoss mused. “You were very brave with them outlaws, Miss Juliet,” he said hesitantly.

Juliet snorted very un-ladylike. “Scared to death would describe it better.” She set her cup on the coffee table and studied her fingers. “Couldn’t even find out whether or not the gun was loaded,” she mumbled.

“Well, ya held them off until the cavalry arrived,” Hoss tried to cheer her up. “And you did a good job nursing Adam.” He blushed.

“Thank you, Hoss. I only did what everyone would have done.”

“Not ev’ry lady…” he trailed off, embarrassed. “Did yer mother teach ya to look after people?”

Juliet studied her fingers even more intently. Then she closed her eyes and heaved a deep breath. She seemed to come to a decision. “My mother couldn’t teach me, Hoss,” she finally said. “My mother died when I was very young. I don’t have any memories of her.”

Hoss looked at her in amazement. They had something in common, after all.  “My mama died when I was only a baby, too,” he said with a bit more excitement than would be decorous, but Juliet didn’t seem to mind. “She was shot with an arrow in an Indian raid.” When Juliet remained silent, he asked, “How did your mother die?”

She looked up, surprised by his blunt question. “Well, we don’t have any Indians in England, Hoss. But we do have humid and drafty old manor houses. My mother died of pneumonia.”

“You lived alone with yer pa then?”

“Not exactly, Hoss. My father wasn’t without help. We had attendants, and Miss Westlake, my governess, of course…and Henry’s tutor, Mr. Melville.” Her face lit up, and she smiled reminiscent. “Hugh Melville…he was wonderful! He allowed me to attend Henry’s studies when I wasn’t occupied otherwise. He always made us write stories. He loved to read stories, he said. But, oh, he was so strict about grammar and spelling. He wouldn’t accept a poorly written story or one with too many mistakes. I owe him so much. Without Mr. Melville I would never have had the heart to start writing professionally. He encouraged me to keep on writing after he resigned and Henry went to Cambridge.”

Hoss had never heard her talk so freely. He understood, though, that this was special. Juliet was offering him…a present? He wasn’t quite sure how he had qualified for being presented with such a gift, but he felt he had every right to be proud about that.

“And this Henry fella is the brother, you was talking about earlier?” He didn’t know why, but he wanted her keep talking.

Obviously he had touched the wrong subject this time. The smile fell from Juliet’s face, and she gave Hoss a stern glare. “Drink your tea!” she ordered rather brusquely. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared blind-eyed into the nowhere. Hoss got the distinct feeling she wasn’t in the room anymore, but somewhere in a world of her own, a happier world of old mansions and admirable teachers and mysterious brothers. He decided it was better to leave her there since it seemed to give her some comfort, and so he silently sat next to her and tried to get down his progressively cooling tea without choking, contemplating the fate of his own brother, who was still being treated by the doctor in the upstairs bedroom.

It was only moments later when both Ben and Doctor Martin returned to the living room, although from different directions. Ben set his cup down on the table, watching the doctor making his way down the staircase.

“How is he, Paul?” he blurted even before the doctor had reached the bottom of the stairs.

“He’ll be alright, Ben.” Doctor Martin seated himself in the red chair next to the fireplace and gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Juliet. He looked at three pairs of expectant eyes and continued with his bulletin. “He lost a lot of blood, and lying in the wetness for indefinite time didn’t do him any good, either. But the bullet didn’t hit anything vital, and I got it out without problems. So it is the usual: Keep him warm and resting, feed him as much liquid as he can manage to make up the blood loss, and look out for any signs of a fever. With all this mud you were telling me about, we can’t be sure there won’t be complications. But you did a very thorough job cleaning him, Miss Heatherstone, so he might be lucky.”

“So he will be fine then, Paul?” Ben managed to sound relieved and anxious at the same time.

“Barring infection, he will be back on his feet earlier than I would like him to get up,” Doctor Martin replied reassuring. “Make sure he stays in bed for at least ten days, Ben. I don’t want those stitches to break open!”

“We’ll tie him down if we have ta, doc.” Hoss looked as relieved as his father.

“I’d like to see you try,” Juliet gave her sarcastic input.

The men laughed at that, and Ben stood and made to head upstairs.

“Just a moment, Ben,” Doctor Martin held him back. “He wants to talk to Miss Heatherstone first.”

“What in tarnation—I’ll go and see my son whenever I want to. You can join me, if you wish to, Miss Heatherstone.”

“Ben, he expressly asked me to send up Miss Heatherstone first. Alone,” the doctor all but pleaded.

“I can’t see why—”

“I better go and see what he wants,” Juliet interrupted. “I’ll be back in a spell.”

She rushed out of her seat and up the stairs before anyone could hold her back, taking a cup of freshly poured tea and, after a second of hesitation, Adam’s book with her.

“Paul, what the—”

This time it was the doctor who interrupted. “Ben, sit down!” His voice was nearly as imperious as Miss Heatherstone’s, and the combined effect of having two people ordering him around and being relieved that his oldest would be fine made Ben eventually obey.

“I just don’t understand why Adam wants to see her first.” Ben sounded nearly like a hurt child.

“I guess he wants to thank her,” the doctor said. He leaned to Ben and gazed at him intently. “Ben, he would still be lying out there in the dirt, if she hadn’t come looking for him. He’d be dead by now, do you understand that? It is only due to her and Hoss that Adam’s still alive.” He shook his head. “It was touch and go, Ben. But they did all the right things at the right time.”

“Then I should be thankful, too, I assume.” Ben pondered on what the doctor’s words were implying. Touch and go, touch and go, he mentally repeated over and over.

Everyone’s heads jerked up when they heard raised voices from the upper floor.

“Dignity?” That was Juliet. “And exactly how much dignity do you think there is preserved by a wounded man in a mud hole anyway?”

Adam’s answer was muffled, no wonder considering his weakened state.

“Well, I didn’t put you there either!” Juliet again.

Just as before Adam’s voice was too low for them to understand the actual words.

“Oh, now am I to suppose you’d rather have died than….” Juliet’s retort trailed off.

Ben strained his ears, but he didn’t hear anything more. He gazed at the doctor in puzzlement. “What’s going on there?”

Paul Martin chuckled. “Oh, I have a very vivid idea about that!”

Ben got up from his chair. “What on earth—”

Paul held his hand out to stop him and said, “Sit down, Ben, everything is alright. Just give them a bit of privacy. They need to…talk.”

Ben shook his head about the doctor’s odd inklings, but grumblingly sat down. What was going on up there?