As he ate, she looked around the room, surprised to be getting an unusual amount of stares. They shouldn't be staring at a contestant. These extras need to take lessons from Tate; he never breaks character.
Then she thought of his hand on her shoulder and wondered if that was just part of the script. Maybe he was told to throw in some sizzle. She giggled inside. Well, sizzle for Victorian times. She took another sip of her tea. The picture will still make a great souvenir. I hope it turns out.
She smiled his way, and he smiled back. "Would you like a bite?"
"No, I was just thinking that I can't believe our pictures won't be ready until tomorrow. Yowzers, my generation is spoiled. We can take a picture with our phones and have it on FaceBook or Instagram in a matter of seconds."
Tate didn't respond, his eyes dipping quickly to his pie, and Lalita felt as if something had shifted between them.
"You're suddenly quiet," Lalita mused after taking a sip of tea.
Tate pushed aside his plate that still held a few bites of pie. "I'm trying to decide the best course of action."
She dabbed politely at her lips with a napkin. "For what?"
"For your treatment—to get your memory back."
She squinted in thought. That is a puzzle. Why can't I remember getting into the show? "I don't know, but it seems weird that you're concerned about it. I mean, far be it from me to suggest that you don't know how to play your part—you're a master—but shouldn't you just involve me in your world? Like you did yesterday?"
All she got in return was what she was starting to think of as "the Tate stare."
Finally, he blinked and spoke. "I need to drive you to Colorado Springs."
She picked up her fork and helped herself to a bite of his pie. "Why? Won't that kind of ruin everything?"
He pulled his pocket watch out of his vest pocket and clicked it open. "No, I'm hoping it will fix everything. If we leave right now—"
"Doc!"
They both turned to see two men weaving through the tables, heading their way.
Tate rose and put out his hand to the elder, who had piercing blue eyes and sandy hair, sun crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Mr. Dickson, is there a problem?"
The man nodded, trying to catch his breath. "It's Max. A horse threw him off. William thinks his leg is busted."
Lalita leaned to see William standing behind the two men. He looked to be around eighteen, the spitting image of his father.
Tate dug in his pocket and produced a coin that he laid on the table. "Miss Torres, come. Young Max needs a bone set."
Lalita rose and followed, doing her best to keep up with the long-striding men.
***
Lalita wanted to be of help, but she just couldn't in the dress she was wearing. It made her feel as if she should be in a store window. She ran up the stairs to see what else she could find in Augusta's trunk.
Mrs. Kettler was down in the exam room, changing the sheets on the bed, so she nabbed Nellie to unbutton all the buttons going down her back.
Pulling off the dress, she caught a whiff of herself. Eww. Victorian deodorant evidently sucks. She picked up a diffuser bottle of perfume off the dressing table and gave herself a few squirts.
It felt so good to be out of all the layers, she went in the adjoining bedroom and lay on the bed in just the chemise, reveling in the breeze from the open window. Nellie crawled up and laid beside her. "What did you do today, kiddo?"
She shrugged. "Played with Arabella."
"Is that your doll?"
Nellie nodded.
"Is that what you do most days?"
She nodded again.
"Hmm, don't you have a bike or something? You should be out enjoying the summer sun." She rolled over to face her. "Playing a part in this 1890s… thing would be pretty boring after a while. Do you get to leave sometimes and go home?"
Nellie giggled. "This is home."
Lalita looked around and lowered her voice. "Is the doctor really your papa? You can tell me if he's not. Your secret's safe with me."
Nellie turned to face Lalita. "Of course he's my papa!"
Lalita's curiosity was rushing ahead of her brain. "And your mama… died?"
Nellie's brow knitted over sad eyes. "One day she went in the bathroom and didn't come back out. I knocked and knocked. When papa came home, he broke the door to pieces. She fell—"
"Well, here you are, Miss Nell." The two females jumped at the sound of Mrs. Kettler's voice. "I've been searching all over for you."
Nellie scrambled off the bed and stood facing Mrs. Kettler with her hands behind her back.
Lalita rose more slowly. "She's okay, she's with me."
Mrs. Kettler raised an eyebrow at Lalita, leaving her to guess what was running through the woman's mind. She didn't have to guess long.
"It is my understanding, Miss Torres, that you are a patient, not a guest. This room belonged to the doctor's late wife, and I imagine he'd be quite displeased to see you lying around on her bed barely dressed in the middle of the afternoon."
Lalita bit back the retort that was on her tongue. She did, after all, want to stay in the game. "My apologies, Mrs. K. I was just at a loss as to what to wear. I was going to go down to see if the doctor needed any help. Is there something simple I can put on?"
Mrs. Kettler left the room and returned a moment later carrying another dress that looked nearly identical to the one she'd taken off, only in a different color.
"What's simple about that?"
"You won't be wearing a hat."
***
"Careful, Dickson, watch the leg." Tate was carrying Max Dickson under the arms while his father, Seth, and brother carried his legs, one of which Tate had confirmed broken before they brought him in. What his father hadn't told him right away was that the tumble from the horse had also rendered the young man unconscious.
They laid the blond-haired boy on the bed, and Tate split the leg of his pants up the side. Swelling had turned his calf into a balloon, and he sent William to the kitchen to chip ice off the block in the ice box.
Tate knew the boy shouldn't have been moved before being thoroughly examined, but since his father and brother had already thrown him in a wagon and jostled him all the way through town, they couldn't do much more harm bringing him on into the house.
Probing the site of the break with his fingers, he was happy that it appeared to be a clean break. He did a quick exam of his head, finding a fair-sized bump on the back. Holding a lantern close to each eye, he found the pupils responsive.
Seth came up on his elbow. "What do you think, Doc?"
Tate stepped back and moved toward the foot of the bed. "His eyes look good, but we'll know more about his head injury when he comes to. As to his leg, we need to control the swelling." He lifted his chin toward the head. "Get behind him and grab him tight. It's time to set this leg."
Taking a firm grip on the ankle, Tate saw Lalita in the doorway just as he was about to pull. "Miss Torres, could you assist William in the kitchen with the ice and wrap it in two towels from the cabinet beside you?" He looked to Seth. "Ready?"
The man nodded, and Tate pulled hard. Max's eyes shot open and the cry from his lips could probably be heard for several blocks.
"Welcome back, Max." Tate felt the break again, and another yell commenced, followed by a string of curses.
Tate smiled. "Good boy, Max! Show us you're alive." He allowed the boy to grip his hand as he fought through the pain.
Lalita returned with the rolled up towels, and Tate took one from her hands, walking to his head. "Now, Max, there is a lady present, so we must try to control what comes out of our mouths." He gently lifted his head and laid the towel over the pillow. "Miss Torres, the other one goes on the leg."
Going to a locked cabinet, he produced a key and pulled out a blue bottle, then came back to the moaning young man. "And now for a bit of pain relief."
medicine when my head was pounding?"
"It's quite addictive, so it's best to use it only when absolutely necessary."
William reappeared while Tate was pouring out a spoonful. "I put what's left of the ice in the ice box, but you'll be needing more."
"Thank you, William, and I imagine Max would thank you, as well, if his every thought wasn't bound up in pain."
"Doc, we hate to run out on you, but we're in the middle of a big saddle order for the cavalry…"
Tate waved a hand. "Go. I still need to splint his leg, and with the head injury, he'll need to be watched for a while. Come back in the morning."
Lalita sat on the bedside stool. "Do you use plaster casts at this point in history?"
Tate scowled at her phrasing. "Yes, but not right away. Some of the swelling needs to go down first. I'm just going to immobilize the leg with splints and wrap it for now."
"Doc," Max groaned, "you must not have given me enough pain medicine. I'm still hurtin' somethin' fierce."
Tate gave his shoulder a pat. "I know, Max, and I'm terribly sorry, but that's the best I can do for now."
While Tate got the splints and bandages ready, Lalita took Max's hand. "It's going to be okay. I've seen the doctor birthing a baby that did not want to come out. He's going to fix you up, too."
Max turned his head to look at her, and he almost smiled. "Are you an angel? You sure are pretty enough to be one."
Lalita blushed, but before she could reply, Tate interrupted. "There. The laudanum is starting to do its work."
Lalita swiveled, her mouth open. "Are you saying this guy needs to be high as a kite to consider me pretty?"
Tate stopped wrapping and looked at her in surprise. High as a kite. He chuckled at this particular turn of phrase. "No, I was not saying that at all. I wasn't even insinuating that. It was the declaration, itself, that was a sign of his near delirium."
Lalita still looked hurt.
He resumed wrapping the leg. "Only a fool spouts everything he's thinking, Miss Torres."
She looked back to Max, another Seth Dickson clone, who wasn't quite asleep but was blinking excessively. "What are you thinking, Max?"
He grinned. "I'd like to kiss—"
"Max. Hush." Tate decided it best to get Lalita out of the room before Max embarrassed her further. "Miss Torres, you may want to rest before dinner. It has been another long day for you."
She rose. "Longer for you. I don't need a rest. How can I help?"
As she drew near, Tate got a whiff of a scent that seemed familiar. "Well, I… don't…"
She took a step even closer. "What are you thinking, Tate? Or are all your feelings dictated by the script."
The room suddenly felt very small. He tied off the bandage and turned to place his scissors back in their place. "My feelings are my own, Miss—"
"Lita. You called me Lita in the buggy. You jump back and forth between the formal and the… the not. 'Miss Torres' puts distance between us, but 'Lita' pops out when you forget that's required."
Tate glanced over at his new patient, who seemed to have slipped into a more peaceful place, and back to Lita's big, brown, beautiful, imploring eyes. Just like Max, he could see how pretty she was, and thoughts of kissing her easily sprang to his mind. He pushed them aside. "I apologize for using your familiar name. I…" That same scent wafted up to his nose again, and he couldn't explain the anxiety that came over him.
He stepped back. "Could you… please tell Mrs. Kettler that our patient will be needing some broth soon? Then I would appreciate it very much if you could entertain Nellie this evening while I keep an eye on Max."
Lita stared, looking thoughtful. "Sure, Doc." She headed toward the exit but turned back at the door. "I thought I had the plot figured out, but… I'll just follow your lead, shall I?"
Tate acknowledged her words with a small nod and a tight smile, then turned and blew out a breath as she left the room. His emotions were suddenly as mixed up as she was.
Around midnight, Lalita was awakened by rain on the roof and wondered how Max Dickson was doing in the bed she'd slept in the past several nights. She had been given a guest bedroom across the hall from the one Mrs. Kettler had informed her to be Augusta's.
She pulled on the lightweight robe Mrs. Kettler had found for her among Augusta's things—she'd called it a wrapper—and after having visited the bathroom, which was now right next to hers, she tiptoed downstairs and down the hall to the front of the house and the exam room.
She nearly tripped over Tate dozing in a formal, upholstered, though uncomfortable-looking chair he'd dragged in from the parlor across the hall. She didn't want to turn on the overhead light, so she turned on the small lamp on the table giving a soft glow to the room, and studied the man who she'd like to get to know a whole lot better.
Quietly pulling up a stool, she pondered what Nellie had told her about her mother while they had played dolls and jacks and pick-up-sticks and a number of other boring games—that her mama had died in the bathroom that day. That her papa had turned and carried her quickly to a neighbor's house after breaking down the door. That her mama was buried in her favorite blue dress.
A tear slid down Lalita's cheek as she thought about a little girl losing her mother so young—she knew what that was all about—and about a man losing his wife after only a few years of marriage. She looked over at Max, who couldn't be more than sixteen with a real broken leg, then thought about the baby delivery that she'd seen with her own eyes. And suddenly she knew.
This is real.
She had to admit that no one man, or even one whole TV network, could finance a whole town that functioned in every way like a real community but set in another time. It would take millions–maybe billions—to get this many people to give up everything modern for some kind of past experiment. She sucked in a breath with a new idea. Unless you're Amish. Then no one pays you; you just want to live that way.
She looked around the room, and her eyebrows did a slow lift as she considered the possibility that Manitou Springs was like an Amish community, only the folks chose the Victorian age rather than a more rustic, pioneer way of life. It's really not a lot different, except for the electricity and the extravagance. She looked back at her dashing doctor. A simpler time but with perks. She smiled, feeling confident that she had finally put the puzzle together.
Max groaned in his sleep, but the doctor didn't so much as twitch. Lalita rose to get a new towel from the cupboard to wrap around more ice. On the shelf next to the towels was the pair of red long johns that Tate had insisted she had been wearing when she had been given over to his care. She took them off the shelf and let them unfold as she held them out in front of her.
As she stared, she had a memory of Nonnie holding two blankets as Lalita crossed a space crowded with clothing, jackknives, mugs, jewelry, and a rack of 3D post cards. She remembered holding up the red union suit while Nonnie laughed as she read the butt. Then she remembered looking at a selfie she'd just taken of the two of them. They were wrapped in the blankets, but red fabric was clearly seen at her chest. And behind them was a sign that read "Summit Pikes Peak."
Lalita sucked in a breath, stumbling backwards. She ran into the arm of Tate's chair and sat down hard on his lap. Tate jumped up gasping, sending her to the floor with a thump, and Max sat up straight in bed, then howled in pain. Tate blinked and stepped toward his patient, treading on Lalita's fingers. She cried out, sending Tate jumping sideways, his hand brushing the lamp, and he yelled out with the burn as Lalita scrambled to her feet. "Tate, I'm sorry! Are you hurt?"
She reached for his hand, and Tate finally seemed to come fully awake. "Lita, what are you doing here, and why were you on the floor?"
Max had laid back down and seemed to be asleep, so she pulled Tate's hand toward the glow of the light. A red, shiny spot was already forming on the back of his hand. "I… I fell when I came down to check on you and Max. I thought maybe you needed me to watch him f
or a while. Do you have anything for burns?" She shook her head. "Of course you have something for burns, being a doctor and all."
Tate was just staring at their hands.
"Right, Doc? Something for burns?"
He looked to the medicine cabinet across the room. "Yes." He started toward it but didn't pull his hand out of her grasp. Instead he wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled her along with him.
Opening the cupboard, he pulled out a jar of salve. Lalita released him to open the jar, and swiping a bit out with her finger, she took hold of his hand again. Before she put the cream on the burn, however, she hesitated. "There's an old remedy I remember my mom using," she whispered without looking at him. Then she lifted his hand to her lips and laid a gentle kiss there.
She heard Tate take in a breath, and she looked quickly to his eyes. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
He merely shook his head.
She rubbed the salve over his hand, wrapped it with gauze, and reluctantly turned him loose.
Suddenly feeling awkward, she turned to go, but he put a hand to her shoulder. "Lita, I think I hurt you as well." He give her a sheepish smile. "What part of you did I step on?"
She lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers. "They're okay, though. Nothing broken."
He raised an eyebrow. "I think the doctor should have a look."
While he inspected and bent every digit, she told him what she remembered. "I was on Pikes Peak. I remembered at least some of it. Nonnie was there with me, and that's where I got the long underwear—in a shop at the summit. I bought them because I was cold."
Tate laughed. "That's wonderful! I had hoped that your memory would return in time. And now maybe you'll… well maybe some other things will become clearer as well."
She knew what he meant. "Yeah," she began quietly, "I realize that this whole town couldn't be part of a reality TV show. You are all living very real lives full of very real, and sometimes very painful, events."