One Went to Denver and the Other Went Wrong (Code of the West) by Stephen Bly Page A

called her mother.
      Then a tall door opened. A soft-burning lamp entered the room, followed by a blue flannel-robed arm and a brown-skinned, wide-eyed, wide-faced woman with long, black hair. "Señora, are you awake?”
      Pepper wanted to sit up, but her head felt as if it weighed five hundred pounds.
      “Lie still, Señora. You are hurt very bad, I think.”
      Pepper tried to wipe her eyes on the bed sheet. Instantly the woman set the lamp by the bed and began to wipe Pepper’s face with a damp cloth.
      “Who are you?” Pepper asked.
      “Oh, I am Rebecca Maria. I work here.”
      “Where am I?”
      “Why, you are in the governor’s house, of course.”
      “In Denver?”
      “Yes. Now lie still. The doctor warned you must not roll your head to the right or to the left. It could be very dangerous.”
      “What happened? How did I get here?”
      “You must have forgotten the carriage wreck. A bear spooked the horses, and your husband could not keep it in control. You were thrown out and hit your head on a rock.”
      “My husband? Where’s Tap? Where is he?”
      “Who?”
      “Mr. Andrews.”
      “You mean, Mr. Dillard? Don’t worry. He is all right. He only had a bad cut on his neck.”
      Dillard? He shoved me out of a wagon. He tried to kill me. And that was no cut on his neck.
      “Yes. Where is Mr. Dillard?”
      “He mentioned he would sit up with you, but he must have grown tired and laid down in the next room. I will go get him for you.”
      “No, that’s okay. You don’t need to . . .”
      “Remember,               do not move your head, or you will vomit again.”
      “Again?”
      “That is the third set of linens and the fourth nightgown.”
      “What?”
      “I’ll be right back.”
      Three sets of linens? Nightgowns? How long have I been here? 
      Pepper gazed at shadows flickering across the high ceiling until Rebecca Maria returned, scooting across the hardwood floor.
      “He is not there. He must have .  . . Maybe he was worried and went out for the doctor.”
      And maybe he didn’t give a buffalo chip whether I lived or died. A grieving widower could grab a sympathy contract.
      Rebecca Maria touched her forehead. “Don’t worry. I will sit up with you.”
      “I would really appreciate that.”
      “Your gown is wet. Can I get you another?”
      “It’s all right. Did you say this is my third gown?”
      “Fourth.”
      “But I only brought one.”
      “The governor’s wife had several extras. I wash them out and dry them by the fire.”
      “But who dressed me? Put me in the bed, and all? Was it you?”
      “Oh, no. I was in the kitchen when they brought you in. Your husband placed you in the bed, I think. But I’ve been the one to change you since then.”
      Oh, sure, Dillard stripped me down. What did he do? Invite all the boys in?
      “The doctor was with your husband. He is a very good doctor, I think. He looks after the governor’s family.”
      “What time is it? Is it late?”
      “It is after midnight. But you have been asleep for a very long time. I was worried you might never wake up. They brought you in yesterday evening before dark.”
      “Yesterday? Did they have the dance already?”
      “Oh, no. It was postponed because of your accident, I think. It will be tomorrow night downstairs in the ballroom. But I heard them say you will not be allowed to attend.”
      That’s the best news I’ve had in days.
      Rebecca Maria added wood to the fire that glowed in a small white rock fireplace at the end of the room. Then she returned with a fresh gown. She patiently tugged off the soaked one. After a sponge bath, she gently pulled a fresh yellow cotton gown on Pepper.
      “Is that better?”
      “Oh, yes. I can’t thank you enough. I’ve never in my life had someone help me like this.”
      “Besides your husband, you mean?”
      “Oh. Yeah.”
      Rebecca Maria