Between the Raindrops

When You Move, I'm Moved

They arrived as the sky grew hemmed in dusty rose and the birds began their chorus. A fine morning if not for Emelia's clear and present displeasure. Eyes rimmed red and lips swollen from crying, she looked as if a loved one died.

Perhaps she felt like he had.

The ranch turned out to be a merino sheep operation, nestled in the foothills just north of the Upper Montana. Combination piled stone and log fences ran the lines of the property, hedging in flocks of fluffy mutton, ready for the shearing. The sheds and barns were of weathered, grey timber. The main house sat at the top of a little hill. Two stories, three windows across. A low hanging porch and deck along the side, with flower boxes loaded with herbs cluttering the railing. A stout fellow, chest like a barrel, in a brown cotton shirt dozed in a rocking chair. A pair of black and white sheepdogs picked up their heads as they approached and set to barking.

The man woke with a start and Arthur slid out of his saddle.

"Mornin' folks," the man hollered, friendly enough. He worked a kink out of his thick neck as he stood. "What brings you here?"

"Doctor Griswold," Emelia supplied, dismounting. "From Blackwater."

"Ah, welcome," he said, brightening and coming down the steps. "Mr. Leonard Payne," he said, extending his hand. He took in her appearance. "You alright, Miss?"

Emelia forced a smile to her face. "Yes, thank you. Merely a little shaken."

"Oh?"

"We were accosted on the road," she explained. "Bandits, down at the river crossing."

"Oh," Mr. Payne said. "Glad to see you came through unharmed, Doc."

Emelia looked at Arthur. "Thanks to Mr. Morgan, my escort," she said.

Mr. Payne also looked at Arthur and smiled. He nodded in vigorous approval. "A few less for the sheriff to worry about, I reckon?"

Arthur gave a single, modest nod.

"Well, my wife and I thank ya, Mister. Filthy bastards. Was their sort made my little girl a widow. Too, too young to be in such a way."

Emelia looked at Arthur, biting her rosy lip. She said nothing, but a question lingered in her sad eyes all the same and he could not meet her gaze. I don't make widows, he wanted to say. Not knowingly.

"And where is my patient?" Emelia asked instead.

"Coraline," Mr. Payne explained. "She's inside. Mrs. Fehr, local midwife you see, she started frettin' about it bein' turned 'round an' that a... well... she heard about you, Miss, and figured you'd be best if... if a...knife were needed."

"While I'm certain Mrs. Fehr has good reason to take precaution, I sincerely hope I am not required."

"Me too, Miss. Me too."

Arthur had set himself to the task of unlatching the satchel as they talked. Hoping to make things as easy as possible.

"I can manage," Emelia said, coming to his side. Arthur looked at her, blinking.

"You're good an' mad," he said. "An' I deserve every ounce of it. But this insistence on punishin' yerself in the process is gettin' downright silly."

"I am perfectly capable of carrying my own equipment."

"I do not doubt, darlin'," Arthur replied softly. "I still ain't gonna just stand here an' watch you lug these sacks up them steps."

Emelia stared at him a moment, crestfallen and miserable. Her eyes still misted and threatening tears, and he hated himself proper for it. "Alright," she said with a small nod before heading into the house and leaving him to follow.