Sweet Forever Read Free

fetched his mule-drawn wagon full of lumber down to Ohio Street then carried the woman up to his wagon.
    Dear Lord, please just let her live.
    As gently as possible, Jacob laid her on the two-by-sixes in the wagon bed. He climbed to the wagon seat and slapped the reins down hard onto the mules’ backs. “Heyaa!” he yelled, urging the animals to a quickened pace up Broadway toward Main-Cross Street.

Two
    A strong smell of camphor caused Rosaleen to jerk awake. She blinked and the image of a man came into focus.
    “Ah, there you are.” The tall, dark-haired man smiled as he waved the offensive-smelling bottle in front of her nose.
    Where was she? How had she gotten here? Confused, she cast quick glances around the room. A large green cabinet sat against one wall. Corked bottles holding varying colors of liquids and powders crowded on four shelves behind the cabinet’s glass doors.
    The man picked up a trumpet-shaped object from a side-board. “I am Dr. Morgan and, with your permission, I’d like to check the strength of your heartbeat.”
    Rosaleen nodded her assent, and he pressed the broader end of the instrument against her chest while holding the small, ivory-colored end to his ear.
    “Well,” he said, laying aside the instrument, “other than some bruising and exhaustion, I can find no injuries.”
    “Wh–where am I?” Disoriented, Rosaleen attempted to rise from a large, leather-upholstered chair.
    A woman she hadn’t noticed before gently restrained her. Dark brown curls peeked from beneath the white cotton cap framing the woman’s pleasant face. “You’re all right, dear. You’re in Madison, Indiana, in Dr. Ephraim Morgan’s office. I’m his wife, Becky Morgan.” The kindness in the woman’s soothing voice helped to quell Rosaleen’s anxiety.
    Sinking back into the chair, she submitted to the pressure of Mrs. Morgan’s gentle grasp on her shoulders.
    “You’ve been through an awful ordeal, but you are safe now.” The woman’s bright blue eyes conveyed assurance above an encouraging smile as she smoothed the white starched apron covering her blue calico day dress.
    Still trying to make sense of it all, Rosaleen paid scant attention when the doctor’s wife walked to a side door. Opening it, Mrs. Morgan spoke quiet, unintelligible words in a summoning tone.
    “How did. . . How did I get. . . ?” Rosaleen murmured. Suddenly, it all flooded back into her consciousness with dizzying speed. The explosion. The fire. Bill.
    She remembered the sun’s warmth on her face and a man with light hair. Donovan? No. Donovan was dead. Had she been visited by an angel? Do angels really exist?
    “I found you on the riverbank. Thought you. . .hadn’t made it.” The voice that answered her fractured question belonged to the figure of a second man who’d just entered the room.
    Following the sound of his voice, Rosaleen blinked again as the man moved from the glare of the window.
    Dressed as a common laborer, he wore a pair of black wool work trousers and a white work shirt. The shirt’s sleeves, rolled above his elbows, revealed tanned, muscular arms. His vivid blue eyes, so like those of the woman who’d comforted her, peered intently into her face. It was his hair, however, that helped untangle her snarled memories. A shock of thick, light hair framed his tanned features.
    Her “angel.”
    “Do you have any family we should contact?” The man took a step nearer.
    For a moment she sat mute, gazing at her rescuer. “Family?” The stern features of Wilfred and Irene Maguire swam before her eyes. “No.” She heard the word leave her lips on a sad whisper. “I have no family who cares for me.”
    “No husband?” The blond young man shot a quizzical glance at her gold wedding ring on her left hand.
    “Dead.” Tears sprang to Rosaleen’s eyes at the awful memory of Donovan slumping over the card table, his blood spreading a maroon stain across its green felt top.
    “Others survived the