Page 26 of Mail Order Mercy

“Albert.” Her voice broke on his name.

His eyes found her. “I came back,” he whispered.

Dorothy crossed the room and dropped to her knees beside the cot. “You had better continue doing so. Do you hear me? I have had enough men go to that mill and not come back whole.”

Albert tried to lift his hand. Dorothy caught it between both of hers, cold fingers and all. “Do not send me away,” he murmured, not fully awake now. “I know I made a mess of it. The book. Henry. All of it. But do not send me away from you.”

Dorothy bent closer. “Albert, no one is sending you anywhere.”

Dorothy remained beside the cot while the mill office filled and emptied around them. Men brought more blankets. Everett sent for Belle. Someone set a kettle on the stove, and someone else tracked mud across the floor until Everett told him that saving a man’s life did not excuse ruining every board in the building.

Albert drifted in and out of sleep. Each time his eyes opened, they searched until they found Dorothy. Only then did the tightness leave his face.

Belle arrived carrying a basket of dry cloth, a jar of salve, and the firm conviction that every man in the room had done everything incorrectly. She pressed the back of her fingers to Albert’s forehead, examined the swelling along his hip, and made him move his toes.

“Nothing feels broken,” she said at last. “That does not mean he will enjoy tomorrow. He needs warmth, broth, and watching through the night.”

“I will watch him,” Dorothy said.

Belle glanced at her wet hem and pale face. “I expected you would.”

Everett arranged for two men to carry Albert home on the cot. Dorothy walked beside him with one hand curled around the wooden rail. At the cabin, Clara opened the door before they reached it. Ella stood behind her with Grace in her arms, and Tommy pressed against her skirts.

“We heard there was an accident,” Ella said.

Dorothy nodded because her voice had abandoned her on the road.

“Papa Albert?” Tommy whispered.

Albert opened his eyes. “Still here.”

Tommy burst into tears.

The small cabin became a puzzle of bodies and furniture. The men carried Albert inside and settled him on Dorothy’s bed because there was nowhere else to put an injured man. Ella moved the table. Clara gathered blankets. Tommy followed every instruction while crying too hard to see what he was doing.

Dorothy sat beside Albert and helped him drink warm broth. His hands shook around the cup, so she held it for him. He tried to protest once. She gave him a look that made Ella turn away to hide a smile.

“You may command tomorrow,” Dorothy told him. “Tonight you will obey.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you will stop saying that as if I amuse you.”

“I would never risk it in my condition.”

Her laugh broke in the middle and became a sob. Dorothy set the cup aside before she spilled it. Albert reached for her, but pain caught him and turned the motion into a grimace.

“Do not,” she said. “You have already been struck by one log today. I may use another if you tear something reaching for me.”

“There she is,” he murmured.

“Who?”

“My wife. I have missed her.”

Ella quietly gathered the children and took them to her cabin for the night. Clara resisted until Albert promised he would be present for breakfast. Tommy made him promise twice. When the door finally closed, the cabin felt larger and much too quiet.

Dorothy changed the cloths at Albert’s hip and shoulder. Bruises had already begun to spread beneath his skin. She worked carefully, conscious of every breath he tried not to take too sharply.