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  Augusta interrupted, “Come, come, LisBeth. You’re a very normal young woman. I know you loved MacKenzie Baird as surely as I know that we are in Philadelphia at this moment.”

  LisBeth swallowed hard before answering. “Sometimes I can’t quite remember Mac’s face.” She looked out the window before continuing. “It’s only been a few weeks, and I’m losing him.” Her shoulders slumped as she added miserably, “How can I forget so quickly?”

  Augusta settled beside LisBeth and took her hand. “It happens to everyone, LisBeth. Our loved ones slip away from us, but that doesn’t mean we love them any less. It’s human to forget. And it’s part of the way the good Lord helps heal the hurt.”

  “But I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget anything. Not until . . .”

  “Until what, dear?”

  “Until I can understand it, find my way, where I belong now, what I should do.”

  Augusta patted LisBeth’s arm. “It takes time, dear. You must give it time. I know everyone has said that to you, and you must be weary of hearing it, but it’s true. In time, you will be able to bear the memories. You’ll find the ones that comfort you, and keep them close. The others will fall away.”

  Augusta stood up and pulled LisBeth up beside her, bantering gently. “Now, as to forgetting, I hope you never forget what a handsome man looks like, dearie. And if you hadn’t noticed that Mr. David Braddock is one handsome young man, I’d have had the doctor up today to check you over! I’m an old woman, LisBeth, but I’m not dead. I noticed.” When LisBeth opened her mouth to protest, Augusta interrupted her. “Yes, you’re a widow. But you’re also a very young woman, with a life ahead of her. You don’t need to feel one moment of guilt. MacKenzie Baird was a fine man. But he’s gone now, and he would want you fill your life with another husband someday.”

  LisBeth shuddered. “I’ll never—”

  “Oh, yes you will, dearie, yes you will.” Augusta insisted. “But not yet. It’s too soon. Give it time and keep your life full. Now let’s get going! There’s a lifetime worth of progress to look over at that Exposition, and I for one can’t wait to see it.”

  LisBeth retrieved her bonnet, and Augusta hustled her out the door, chattering away, “Can you believe it? They actually found a woman who could run a steam engine. They had to go all the way to Canada to find her, but not one man has a thing to do with the Women’s Pavilion!”

  They hurried through the lobby and around the corner and were just in time to crowd onto a streetcar. As they crossed the Girard Street bridge, the two women caught their first view of the twin towers of the largest building in the world, the Exhibition’s main building. The streetcar continued from Girard down Elm to Belmont, where they passed row upon row of buildings that had sprung into being solely to serve the masses of people attending the Exposition. There were hotels and restaurants, saloons and beer gardens.

  “Well, I declare!” was all Augusta could muster when confronted with the main building. It was a mountain of glass, ironwork, and red-painted wood and ran for a third of a mile along Elm Street. Inside, row upon row of elaborate walnut and glass display cases touted the ingenuity and success of the United States of America.

  “Bringing fresh water to Lincoln would be no problem at all, if we had one of these powering our waterworks!” Augusta exclaimed. She was standing before the massive Corliss engine in Machinery Hall. Lincoln had had its share of water woes, due to the saline content of much of the well water in town. The Corliss engine towered above them, producing enough power to operate thirteen acres of machines that accomplished dozens of feats from pumping water to sawing logs.

  Augusta nudged LisBeth. The engineer who operated the behemoth had laid aside his newspaper and clambered up a stairway to oil a gear. His task done, he returned to his chair and continued reading. “Just like a man. They always find a way to do things faster and better—for themselves. Why don’t they ever try to harness that power to make a woman’s work easier, I’d like to know! LisBeth, just think of it. One man, assisted by one engine, doing the work of eight thousand men! We’re on the verge of a new era in America; I can feel it with every step I take through this exhibition hall.”

  LisBeth responded with a noncommittal “um-hum” and whispered, “Aunt Augusta, isn’t that Mr. Braddock?” indicating a tall figure quite a distance away, intently examining the contents of a display case.

  “Well, now, my eyes aren’t what they used to be. Can’t say for sure.” Augusta opened her Exhibition guidebook. “Come along, dearie. We’ve miles to go before the end of the day!”

  Augusta was a mountain of energy all morning, pushing and prodding their way through the main building and Machinery Hall, then past Agricultural Hall and Horticultural Hall, to seek out the twenty-four respective state buildings arranged along a strip named State Avenue. Near noon, Augusta fairly collapsed on a shaded bench and announced, “Goodness, LisBeth. I’m plumb tuckered! And we haven’t even begun to see the state buildings.”

  “We can always take the tour on the West End Railway,” LisBeth replied absentmindedly. Once again, she had spotted a now-familiar gray silk top hat in the distance. Is it my imagination, she wondered, or has he been following us all morning?

  “Never!” came the reply. “I don’t care if they have put up signal bells and hired flagmen. That train is being run entirely too fast to be scooting about crowded grounds. Just like a man—everything for speed and no consideration for the safety of women and children!”

  “But, Aunt Augusta,” LisBeth teased. “I thought you wanted to experience all the things that could bring progress back home. Why not try it out? It might be the forerunner of an automated streetcar system for Lincoln!” I wonder if he’d follow us even then.

  The challenge was too much for Augusta. “You’re right, LisBeth. Let’s give her a try!” Holding on as if her life might be left at the next crossing, Augusta boarded the railway, and they were whisked across the grounds at the alarming rate of eight miles per hour. LisBeth watched carefully as the gray silk top hat got in two cars behind, and followed at a respectful distance as the two women made their way for the Women’s Pavilion.

  The gray silk top hat was not in view as Augusta and LisBeth walked through a doorway with the inscription, “Her works do praise her in the gates.” LisBeth felt a tinge of disappointment, but then her interest was won by the Exhibition Hall. Decorated in soft light blues, the one-acre hall had been built in the shape of a cross. At the center, a fountain sent its sprays of water toward a chandelier that hung from the cupola. The walls were lined with paintings, carved wood, and every aspect of endeavor from the hands of women.

  “Now, there’s the woman I want to meet!” urged Augusta, as they approached the engine that ran every machine in the pavilion.

  “Miss Allison, if I may ask,” began Augusta, “do you run this engine all by yourself?”

  The lady in question turned to Augusta with a warm smile. “Everything from lighting the fire in the morning to blowing off the steam at closing.”

  LisBeth noticed that the gray silk top hat was studying a marble bust across the hall. Its owner had just been greeted by someone else, and as he turned to reply, he cast a glance in her direction. It was David Braddock. He flashed a smile at LisBeth and hurried across the hall to join her and the small group that had collected to hear what Miss Allison had to say.

  A rather stout gentleman beside Augusta drew a huge puff of smoke from a cigar before asking, somewhat skeptically, “Seems a bit of a huge job for a slip of a woman, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Oh, no, sir, I don’t mind your saying so. Tell me, sir,” asked Miss Allison. “Do you have the joy of children in your home?”

  The lady on the gentleman’s arm smiled, “Why, yes, Miss Allison. We have five precious little ones.”

  Miss Allison looked directly into the man’s face and said sweetly, “Why, then, sir, your wife could certainly operate this engine herself. It’s not nearly
as exhausting as tending a cookstove, and it’s far less complicated than raising children!” The wife in question smiled appreciatively and the gentleman took the opportunity to take a few more puffs on his cigar and extricate himself from the conversation.

  A chuckle sounded from behind LisBeth, and David Braddock said, “Ladies, I see we meet again. May I escort you to lunch?”

  Chapter 9

  . . . there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.

  Proverbs 18:24

  Two days after LisBeth and Augusta departed for Philadelphia, Jim Callaway began his journey back. He had been near insanity once. Weeks on the homestead had begun to heal the darkness inside, but there were still long nights of passionate struggle and days of grief when the enemy within threatened to realize a final victory. The winning of Jim’s internal war came as Joseph Freeman nearly lost his life.

  While Jim was in the barn rubbing down the bay gelding, he heard the wagon coming. The sound was too harsh, the pace too fast, and Jim hurried outside just as the lathered team came to a grinding stop in the farmyard. Joseph was not in the wagon seat, which had broken and pitched him forward between the horses. Though tangled in the reins, he had somehow managed to lock his brawny forearms around the tongue of the wagon that separated the team. They had half-drug him along, and pieces of his clothing had been ripped away first, followed by pieces of skin.

  Brighty, the dependable bay, stood stock still, trembling, blowing hard as Jim approached. But Brighty’s usual partner had been replaced be a rangy chestnut. At Jim’s approach the chestnut tossed his head, rolled his eyes and snorted, spraying Jim with foam and kicking at the unconscious body hopelessly trapped between the two horses.

  Jim grabbed the chestnut’s halter and shook it ferociously. “Settle down!” he ordered. “Settle down!” The horse rolled its eyes again, but recognized the authority in the voice and began to quiet. As quickly as possible, Jim unharnessed the chestnut and trotted him into the barn, shutting him in a stall. Then he began to work on freeing Joseph.

  “Joseph, I can’t cut you out. I’m gonna need this harness to get you to a doctor. Hang on, Joseph, hang on.” As he talked, Jim untangled the broken body from the web of leather, and lowered him to the ground. “Your leg’s broken, Joseph, I’m sure of it.” As he laid the still form in the dust, he was sickened by the sight of a hoof-shaped indentation on the left side of Joseph’s head.

  “You’ve been kicked hard. But you’re still breathing. That’s somethin’.” Jim continued to talk, both to calm himself and in the hope that Joseph would make an effort to hear him and not die.

  “I’m putting you in the wagon now, Joseph. You just lie still. I’ll get a blanket from the house—be right back.” Jim ran for the house and came back with two tattered quilts. One he rolled up under Joseph’s head, the other he used to cover the still form.

  “I’m getting Buck now, Joseph. That chestnut’s finished for today. Does Buck know how to pull? If not, I guess he’ll learn.” Jim ran into the barn to harness the horse. “Well, Buck, do you know how to pull? Let’s see how you do.”

  The gelding nodded its head kindly and followed Jim to the wagon. He patiently let himself be harnessed in place, but when Jim took up the reins, it was obvious the Buck hadn’t pulled a wagon before. “Come on, boy, you’re a good horse. Just let Brighty lead, and you follow. We’ve got to get to Lincoln—fast!” Jim pulled to Brighty’s side, ordered “Git-up,” and was greatly relieved to see Buck follow Brighty’s lead, if not smoothly, at least willingly.

  “Thank God you’re a kind hearted old boy,” Jim said out loud. He forced himself to walk the horses out of the farmyard, giving Buck a chance to feel the harness. A moan from the bed of the wagon ended Buck’s initiation. “Hold on, Joseph, we’re on our way to help. Just hold on.” Jim urged the horses to a trot. Buck jerked and bumped Brighty, but Brighty took it in stride, and soon the horses were working together. “Brighty, I’m sorry. I know you’re worn out. But you’ve got to keep going,” Jim urged. Brighty seemed to get his second wind. He picked up the pace, and Jim talked to Joseph for the rest of the trip to Lincoln, urging him to “hold on,” promising “we’re almost there,” and “we’ll be at the doctor’s soon, Joseph.” He kept his voice level, but his heart was racing and when he pounded on the kitchen door of the hotel, Sarah Biddle saw desperation on his face.

  “Doctor!” he croaked. “Joseph’s hurt! Where’s the doctor live?!”

  “Doctor Bain is closest—down O Street, second left, upstairs.”

  Jim was in the wagon seat and gone before Sarah could get back inside to grab her bonnet Breathlessly, she shouted for Tom. “Tom! Tom! It’s Joseph. He’s hurt real bad. I’m going to Dr. Bain’s to see about him.” She was out the door in time to see the wagon disappear around the corner two blocks ahead.

  Jim had already charged upstairs to the doctor’s office when Sarah caught up. Clambering up into the wagon box and kneeling beside Joseph, she did her best to shade his face from the blazing sun while she waited for the doctor to come out. Moments passed, and Sarah finally climbed the stairs that carried patients from the sidewalk up to the doctor’s second-story office. She heard a voice raised in anger.

  “What do you mean you won’t treat him?”

  “Those people have their own healers.”

  “Joseph has no time for me to look up someone else.” Through the window in the door, Sarah could see Jim clamp a huge hand on the doctor’s shoulder.

  “You’ll treat him. Now.”

  The doctor winced from the iron grip on his shoulder but still resisted. “I don’t treat those people!”

  Jim slammed a coin onto the desk. “Get downstairs and take care of him.”

  The doctor looked at the coin. The grip on his shoulder grew tighter. He tried to shake off the hand, but Jim didn’t let go. Finally, the doctor whispered, “All right. All right. Let go of me. I’ll see what I can do.”

  The two men brushed past Sarah and descended to the wagon. The doctor pulled back the quilt covering Joseph and pursed his lips. He felt the side of Joseph’s neck and said, half-amazed, “There’s a pulse. He’s alive.”

  “Thank God,” said Sarah. The doctor looked up. “You know this man?”

  “Know him?” Sarah responded. “He’s Joseph Freeman. Owns the livery next to Augusta Hathaway’s hotel. He’s one of the first settlers of Lincoln.” Sarah thought quickly and managed to say the right thing. Added to the threatening physical presence of Jim Callaway, it assured that Joseph would receive Bain’s best—if reluctant—care. “Joseph is one of Aunt Augusta’s dearest friends. She’s away, but I know she’d be extremely grateful to you if you can help Joseph.”

  Cornelius Bain was new in Lincoln, Nebraska. His practice wasn’t proving to be as successful as he would have liked, and the good will of a prominent citizen like Augusta Hathaway would prove helpful. “Let’s get him upstairs. Be careful when you lift him. He’s lost a lot of blood. I’ll hold his leg still. You,” he added, nodding at Sarah, “hold the door. Then I’ll need water. Lots of water.”

  Jim and Dr. Bain carried Joseph up the stairs. As soon as he was placed on the hard examining table, he began to jerk uncontrollably.

  Dr. Bain announced without feeling, “Brain seizure. Caused by that skull fracture. I’ll have to treat that first, or he’ll die for sure.” The doctor raised his eyes to look at Sarah. “You got a weak stomach, girl? I could use some help, but I got no use for you if you’re going to be fainting away halfway through the procedure.”

  Sarah’s face grew red. “I’m no weakling, mister. You tell me what to do. I’ll do it. And there’ll be no fainting. Unless it’s him!” Sarah nodded toward Jim.

  “I’m staying,” Jim said matter-of-factly, and the doctor didn’t argue. He was already at work, shaving Joseph’s head.

  “Here,” he finally said, handing the razor to Sarah, “you finish this while I wash up and get my surgical tools. And you,” he said, turning to
Jim, “You hold him down if he begins flailing around again. If he does any more damage to that leg of his, he’ll likely lose it. But I got to fix the head first.”

  The doctor was gone only a few moments. Jim watched Sarah shave the last of the graying hair away, worried over how still Joseph had become. His breathing seemed to be growing more and more shallow.

  When the doctor returned, he had a small tray of ominous-looking instruments, which he handed to Sarah. After a quick incision along Joseph’s hairline, he began removing fragments of skull. The doctor used one of his instruments to lift the indentation in the skull. Miraculously, Joseph’s head regained its normal shape. Sarah looked away from the doctor’s hands only once, to stare wide-eyed at Jim. He returned her look momentarily, then they both went back to watching the doctor.

  Cutting away a pant leg, the doctor ordered curtly, “Wash his leg.” Sarah complied, gently pressing a clean muslin bandage over the worst wounds. The doctor set the broken bone and bound it between two boards. Jim watched every move the doctor made as if Joseph’s life depended on his watchfulness.

  When at last every wound had been cleaned, the doctor checked Joseph’s pulse. “Well, he’s still alive.” The doctor arched his back and stretched wearily. “He’ll need round the clock care. And he can’t stay here.”

  Jim answered, “Don’t worry, Doc. I wouldn’t leave a horse I hated with you any longer than necessary. Can I move him now?”

  “I’ve a stretcher in the back room.”

  “I’ll get Asa Green from the livery. We’ll take him ourselves.” Jim turned to Sarah. “Can you stay with him till I get back?”

  “Of course,” Sarah answered. She pulled up the doctor’s chair next to Joseph and sat down, laying her small hand over Joseph’s.