Morning found Wyatt heading back to town earlier than necessary. He told himself he was just fulfilling his obligation to check on the strangers he'd rescued, but the knot of anticipation in his stomach suggested otherwise. His first stop was Doc Harrison's house, where he learned that the woman had been moved to Mrs. Landre's boarding house late the previous evening. Her fever broke during the night, the doctor explained.
She's still weak but conscious. Hasn't said much yet. Seems confused about where she is. Did she tell you her name? Wyatt asked.
Lillian. Lillian Montgomery. That's all we could get from her before she fell asleep again. The doctor adjusted his spectacles. The baby seems to be doing well, though.
Martha was reluctant to let her go. I'll tell you that. Wyatt nodded, oddly pleased to have names for the pair who had occupied his thoughts. Lillian and he realized he didn't know the baby's name. She didn't say, and we didn't press her.
There'll be time enough for questions when she's stronger. The doctor gave Wyatt a knowing look. You're heading over there now, I take it. Just want to make sure they're settled in properly, Wyatt said defensively. Of course, Dr.
Harrison replied, not bothering to hide his smile. Give Mrs. Landry my regards. The boarding house was a well-maintained two-story building on a quiet side street. Mrs.
Landry met Wyatt at the door, informing him that Molly Jenkins had arrived early that morning and was now tending to both mother and child. The poor woman still very weak, Mrs. Landry whispered as she led Wyatt down a narrow hallway to the back room. Barely touched the broth I brought her. But the baby took to Molly right away.
Thank goodness. She knocked softly on the door, then opened it without waiting for a response. Mrs. Montgomery, you have a visitor, the gentleman who found you yesterday. The room was small but clean with a narrow bed, a rocking chair, and a small table.
Sunlight streamed through lace curtains, illuminating the pale figure propped up against several pillows. Lillian Montgomery looked younger than Wyatt had initially thought perhaps early 20s. Her face, though drawn with exhaustion, showed delicate features and a gentle mouth. Her hair, now neatly brushed and braided, was a rich chestnut brown that gleamed in the sunlight. But it was her eyes that caught and held Wyatt's attention the same startling blue as her daughters, now filled with a mixture of weariness and gratitude.