Hope Deferred

By Sarah Hale

There was one thing in life Hawk Sheridan wanted, and that was to be a doctor. A few months short of his goal, he found himself in the baggage car of a train. He was kicked out of medical school and sent home packing""another dream up in smoke. Life had been one obstacle after another. Each time, he picked himself up and with God's help began again. He just didn't think he could do it anymore. His troubles were never about who he was, but of what he was. Lakota blood ran through his veins, and it was evident in his appearance. He could only get so far before someone made it an issue. Avery Stockton's life was one of deception. The only living witness to her family's murder, she lived in fear under a false identity. The killers vowed they would find her, and after seventeen years, they were getting close. Secluded in a Baltimore hospital as a nurse, Avery was under the watchful eye of her uncle Dr. Victor Stockton. When it became necessary to move Avery, there was no better place than the Dakota Territory. Hawk Sheridan had the means and the know-how to hide her in obscurity. Would Hawk be willing to help Avery when she suddenly showed up on his doorstep? Is Hawk ready for the climb of his life? Will the care of Avery stand in the way of fulfilling his dreams or destroy them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644927045

Book preview

Chapter 1

Dakota Territory, 1887

Merry Sheridan sat up in bed. The darkness was surrounding her like a cloak. Her breaths came in short bursts. Perspiration dotted her forehead. Her husband sat up instantly with her movement.

Merry, what is it? His hand rested on her cool arm.

Hawk’s in trouble. Scared eyes focused on her husband.

Thad knew all too well not to questions his wife’s intuition when it came to one of their boys. There is nothing we can do in the middle of the night except pray. He pulled her into his arms and began to pray for their oldest son.

*****

Baltimore, Maryland

Avery Stockton walked along the path leading to the back entrance of the University of Maryland Medical Center. Her thick golden hair was neatly secured under her nursing cap. Her uniform was starched. Her cape draped over the shoulders. Ruthie Martin, who worked in the laundry, had joined her, talking unceasingly. Talkativeness was the one thing Avery liked about Ruthie. Ruthie talked so much that Avery did not have to speak at all.

The two worked the night shift, ten in the evening until six in the morning. Nights suited Avery well; there were fewer people around during the shift. She could take care of her patients and perform her duties without any extra people underfoot. It wasn’t that she disliked people or even that she was shy. Avery had always been a loner. She preferred reading to talking, playing music to singing, nursing to matrimony. The last preference marked her as a challenge to her male colleagues. Avery Stockton was beautiful. How a woman that lovely had not settled down was a mystery.

I saw the new doctor talking to ya this morning ’fore we left. Another one trying to thaw the ice goddess, Ruthie was saying as they walked along. Avery gave her a side glance. C’mon, you know that is what they all call ya. Every last one of them wants to make you melt. Ruthie pulled no punches, saying precisely what she thought, and told everything she heard.

I don’t care to hear anything else, Ruthie, Avery admonished, but it did not do a bit of good.

You’ve been here two years and not one date. Ruthie was not going to be detoured.

You don’t date people you work with.

What about the pat— Ruthie was quickly cut off.

"And you certainly do not date the patients! Must we have this conversation again?" Avery turned her hazel eyes to her friend.

Ruthie’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners. I just want you to be— Ruthie stumbled and nearly fell. She was shrieking at what she tripped over.

Near the back door of the medical pavilion lay a body—a severely beaten body with a bottle of whiskey near his right arm. Ruthie continued to shriek. She was okay doing the laundry and cleaning instruments, but she wanted nothing to do with the sick or injured. Avery stooped and, placing her two fingers in the crook of the man’s neck, felt a steady pulse.

For heaven’s sake, Ruthie, stop screaming and go inside. Tell Lionel to bring a stretcher and some help. The girl stood there. Do you want to stay with him while I go? Avery knew this would be a surefire way to get Ruthie to move and move quickly. When she looked up, Ruthie had disappeared. Moments later, Lionel the night-shift orderly and Amos the night watchman arrived. They helped Avery lift the lifeless body onto the stretcher.

Through the twinkling lights of the hospital, she could see a long wound across the top of his head just at the hairline. It was oozing blood. His left eye was swollen shut. She would have to wait until they got inside to see what else was wrong with the man.

Once inside under bright lights, Avery knew one thing. The man had been beaten pretty badly. His shirt had been nearly torn off; both hands showed the evidence he had tried to fight back. There was a strange mark looking like a burn at the base of his neck. Looking at his face, she had the distinct notion she had seen him before, but where?

Removing his shirt revealed multiple reddened areas with the beginning of bruising. He moaned when she placed her hands on his rib cage. Fractured ribs, she’d bet her hat on that. She examined the man. The action was something she probably shouldn’t be doing. Autonomy was one of the reasons she liked working nights instead of days. She could do more than attend to the needs of the patient; she could be more involved. It suddenly hit her that this young man was one of her uncle’s medical students.

Go get Dr. Stockton, she said to Lionel, who had been helping her clean the man’s wounds.

But Dr. Stockton isn’t on call, Miss Avery. The man was looking at her with a warning gaze.

I know, but I believe this is one of his medical students. Lionel, please, she said with a worried look. No one could say no to beautiful Nurse Avery. Not only was she a dream to look at, she had a kind heart, a gentle expression, and a vulnerability you couldn’t explain. She also had a way of commanding any situation gracefully.

Yes, ma’am.

It did not take Victor Stockton long to arrive at the hospital. His home sat directly behind the facility, one block over. His tall stature and dark eyes made him extremely intimidating. His students reverenced him, his patients adored him, and everyone respected him—none more than his niece, Avery. He stood beside her in his crisp black suit with a white coat over it.

What do we have? he asked in his quiet manner.

He has been in an altercation, I believe. Isn’t he one of your medical students? Avery was cleaning his scalp wound when she looked up to see her uncle frown.

Hawk Sheridan, he said as he opened the boy’s eyes and shone a light on them. Working his way from head to toe, he examined his patient with a worried look. He smells like alcohol, he muttered under his breath. I never knew the boy to drink.

When he had finished his examination, he looked at the laceration. This is a very fine-line cut—more like a scalpel blade than a knife. The wound lay at the edge of his scalp. The man’s hair had been chopped as well. Places on his head were cut in different layers in a butchered way. The mark on his neck was a rope burn. There was no doubt a crime had been committed.

We need to contact the authorities, Dr. Stockton said as he removed his hand from feeling Hawk’s neck. At that moment, Hawk’s hand gripped the doctor’s wrist with great strength. "No! he said. No authorities."

Hawk, what happened? The eye not swollen shut was a cold icy pool of pitch-black. He started to sit up, but Avery laid her hand on his chest and gently tried to ease him back down. She was met with an iron slab pressing against her hot hand. She raised an eyebrow and applied more pressure. This battle ensued only for a moment as Dr. Stockton placed both hands on the boy’s shoulders. No authorities, he said, and Hawk relaxed a bit. For now, he added. Let me sew you up, and you can tell me what happened.

Avery stepped away to retrieve the instruments needed to repair the laceration. Dr. Stockton washed his hands and prepared Hawk’s face for suturing. Might as well start talking, he encouraged his patient while he began to sew.

Hawk’s eyes stayed on the ceiling. Nothing to tell. I was ambushed.

I gathered that, Dr. Stockton replied in a dry manner. Why? he asked.

A snort came from the patient. Your reasoning and deduction skills are not as astute as I assumed.

Dr. Stockton was well aware of Hawk Sheridan’s personality traits and took no offense at his retort. Avery was appalled. The emotion must have been written on her face. Looking Avery in the eye, Hawk had a remark for her as well.

Don’t tell me you missed the fact that I am an Indian. What kind of institution are we running here?

Avery blinked at the response. How dare he? And yes, she did miss the fact that he was an Indian; it never occurred to her.

That is enough, Hawk. I know you are angry but no need to take it out on Nurse Avery. He winked at his niece. Her uncle had just placed ten stitches and was only a third of the way done. Hawk never flinched through the whole process. Best tell me the story, son, so I can help you.

There was silence, and Avery thought Hawk would never tell his recollection of what happened. Finally, he spoke. I was walking home from the laboratory when I heard someone crying in the alley. The minute I stepped in, I felt the rope around my neck. I had a blindfold over my eyes. I started swinging. The last thing I remember was someone standing over me, screaming.

Was that you? His eyes penetrated into Avery; it unnerved her.

Ruthie, she croaked. A hint of a smile spread across Hawk’s face. He had once sewn up a cut on Ruthie’s finger she sustained while cleaning a glass tube. She nearly fainted twice before he got done putting in the five stitches. If Ruthie didn’t talk so much, he might have thought about courting her. He knew what side of town she lived on. She would be willing to accept his suit. She had soft eyes and a cute mouth. Her auburn hair and freckles made her very becoming. It was true she paled in comparison to what stood before him now, but Avery Stockton was considered royalty among his fellow students. He heard her mentioned frequently. The more they all talked about her, the more he did not care for her.

Avery wondered for a brief second about the change in Mr. Sheridan’s expression; when she mentioned Ruthie, he had almost smiled. Avery. Her uncle got her attention. I need more catgut. She left to get more suture material.

When she left, the doctor dropped his tone. Hawk, have you been drinking?

Hawk nearly sat up. No, sir. He was so adamant the doctor knew he was telling the truth.

Your clothes were covered in liquor.

I, I swear, Dr. Stockton, not a drop.

The doctor patted his shoulder. I believe you, Hawk. Do you have any idea who did this?

I know exactly who did this, all of them. Hawk spoke with a cold, steely tone.

Who? Victor Stockton asked. Hawk did not speak again.

Thirty-two stitches and a sedative later, Hawk Sheridan was sound asleep. Bag up his clothes and give them to me. Doctor Stockton was instructing his niece. Not a word, he added. He should sleep for a while. I will be back in the morning.

Avery went about her nightly duties, frequently checking in on her newest patient. She had one last thing she felt needed to be done. His hair needed to be cut all the same length; unfortunately, that length would have to be very, very short. Avery entered his room close to dawn. If he still slept, it might be a little easier. She gathered the supplies and went to the head of the bed. His breaths were even. Her uncle had wrapped his ribs tightly; they moved ever so slowly.

How could she have missed his ethnicity, his dark-tan skin, shiny black hair, dark eyes, and athleticism? That was it! She knew she saw him somewhere other than at the hospital. Every morning while stocking her supply carts, she would watch a man run laps around the grounds behind the hospital. He was lightning quick, and he was there every day.

At the end of his run, he always stopped at the park bench where Charlie Watson sat waiting for him. Charlie was a little slow. The townspeople didn’t bother him as long as he didn’t bother them. Hawk would always provide some form of breakfast for him and Charlie. The two would sit for at least an hour, just conversing. Charlie would miss Hawk today. She should try and make it out there to let him know Hawk wouldn’t be coming.

The commotion behind her startled her. Hawk was sitting on the side of the bed. Do they pay you to stare out the window? he asked as he stood on his feet, never staggering or stumbling. He looked a mess.

No, they don’t, but I just remembered where I have seen you before—every morning, to be exact. She pointed at the window. I can go down and tell Charlie you won’t be there this morning. She turned to the window again.

I will be there this morning, he said as he looked for his clothes.

You can’t leave, she said in her best nurse voice.

He went on as if she was not in the room. He picked up the scissors laid on the small table at the head of the bed. What were you planning to do with these?

Fix your hair, she replied with authority.

Dr. Stockton returned at that very moment. Hawk, you shouldn’t be out of bed. The physician made his way over to his patient.

I have my last term final today. I cannot and will not miss it. Hawk stood there in only his pants and taped ribs, all six foot four inches of pure muscle. They could use him in the anatomy class. Avery felt herself staring. Hawk, taking notice of her, stared back.

Doctor Stockton let out a sigh. Promise me after you complete the examinations you will go home and rest.

I promise I will take care of myself—which meant Hawk Sheridan would do what he wanted to do. Dr. Stockton produced a shirt, which barely fit. Hawk tucked it in and, with a deep breath, headed out the door.

Later that morning as Avery left the hospital, she saw Hawk and Charlie eating breakfast together. Stubborn man, she thought as she and Ruthie walked to their respective homes. She thought of asking Ruthie if she knew Mr. Sheridan but didn’t want to get Ruthie talking again. The morning walk home was the quietest Ruthie could ever be.

Seven fifty-eight, Hawk Sheridan walked into room 218 with his new haircut, given to him by his attackers, and his bandaged forehead. This was done to the astonishment of the five fellow students who had rendered the beating. They thought they could maintain anonymity by blindfolding him, but his ears would not betray him. He knew Henry Bixby, Allister Goings, James Lofton, Andrew Harrell, and Whit Charleston did not expect to see him today. He took four steps up to his seat and faced Professor Clark.

What happened to you, Mr. Sheridan? the professor asked as he leaned on his desk. Hawk stared at the man.

Nothing, sir. He eased back in his chair and prepared for the exam. Sheridan was the smartest student Professor Clark had ever had. He was also the most difficult to engage. Professor Clark wasn’t sure how the young doctor would respond and react to patients. He was told Hawk did very well in the clinical rotations. He was a mystery. Most students took the full two hours to complete the final exam. Hawk Sheridan only needed forty-five minutes.

Whit Charleston caught up with Hawk. Hey, Sheridan, what happened to you? Hawk kept walking. No, truly, Sheridan, you look awful. Hawk stopped and spoke something in his native tongue.

Care to translate? Whit was now in front of him.

Thou hast also given me the necks of mine enemies that I might destroy them that hate me. Psalms 18:40. Whit Charleston went pale.

Hawk walked on. He walked as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t a pain in the world until another student pushed the door as he was getting ready to exit. The door struck his battered rib cage. The pain dropped him to his knees; he passed out.

Dr. Stockton had witnessed the accident and came out of his office. The crowd around Hawk was mostly of the female persuasion. He shooed them away and grasped Hawk’s wrist. The motion awakened Hawk. He sat up a little too quickly, his head spinning.

I’m taking you back to the hospital, Victor said in a low steady tone.

No, Hawk replied as he struggled to his feet.

The doctor frowned. At least come to my home, where someone can watch you for a while.

The thought of walking up all those stairs to his room at Miss Dixon’s did not sound the least bit appealing. He nodded and allowed the doctor to assist him.

Avery had just gotten home from work. She had brushed out her hair and put on her nightgown and robe. She always drank a cup of chamomile tea and played her violin before retiring. It was difficult sleeping during the day. She found the tea helped a little, and the smooth motion of the violin eased her mind.

Her room was the old cook’s room in her uncle’s house. She chose the space because it had very little light and was more conducive to daytime sleeping. She had just headed into the kitchen when someone beat on the front door. It sounded as if they kicked it. Her aunt Caroline came from the upstairs, and they reached the door at the same time. Slowly opening it, Avery saw her uncle Victor attempting to help someone into the house. Hawk Sheridan was as pale as a ghost. His eyes rolled back in his head.

Help me get him upstairs or on the settee.

No, bring him in here. Avery took some of the weight off her uncle by supporting Hawk’s other side. They headed to her bedroom. It is the closest room, and the bed is turned down. It took all three of them to get the man settled into the barely big enough bed.

Caroline was not medical, but it did not stop her from helping in any way she could. She smoothed her hand across Hawk’s forehead and whispered soothing kind words. Hawk’s tense body began to relax.

Who would do such a thing, Victor? Her hand pointed to the stitched area on his head and the rope burn at his throat. Her eyes were misted over.

You two go on in the kitchen. I need to examine him.

Once Dr. Stockton had examined Hawk and was confident the boy just needed rest, he went in search of his wife and niece. He found them in the kitchen, talking in hushed tones. Please tell me the young man is going to be all right, Vic? She threw herself into her husband’s arms.

Physically, yes. He pulled his wife back and handed her his handkerchief.

But? Avery questioned.

The board is dismissing him for the altercation and the alcohol consumption.

Caroline gasped. He drinks? Victor, how could you bring him in this house? You know how I feel about spirits.

Now, Caroline, hold your horses. I don’t believe Hawk is guilty of the alcohol consumption. It is true his clothes reeked of it, but his breath did not. He denied it vehemently when I confronted him. I suspect whoever worked him over doused him with the liquor for a little added emphasis.

Can you talk to the board, tell them what you think? Avery asked.

I tried. Some of the doctors don’t care for him. It was an easy way to get rid of him. Part of the problem is Hawk Sheridan is the smartest in the class. It rubs some the wrong way. His stoic personality doesn’t help. This will crush him.

Caroline’s eyes misted again. Well, he can stay here as long as he needs. She began scurrying around, making a list of things he needed. Avery, can you— She stopped and turned to her husband. Where does he live? Miss Dixon’s chicken coop? She referred to it as the chicken coop because the rooms were so small. Her husband gave an affirmative nod. Avery, you go right over there and get some of Mr. Sheridan’s things.

Avery went to change out of her robe and gown. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, her aunt was waiting. I’m going with you, dear. I don’t care for the Dixon woman, and I think she will try to give you difficulty. Avery looked toward her bedroom. Now don’t worry. Victor is going to stay until we return.

It was a wrinkled face that greeted the Stockton women at the Dixon boarding house. Miss Dixon was wrinkled not because she was too terribly old but because she frowned all the time and was just generally a spiteful person. Avery made a mental note to pray for the woman, whose icy stare bore through her bones. Aunt Caroline pushed her way through the crack in the door. I am Mrs. Victor Stockton, and I am here to retrieve some of Hawk Sheridan’s things. He is ill and staying with Dr. Stockton and me.

I heard all about the fight and the alcohol. You’re asking for trouble with that one.

Have you had trouble with him during his stay here? Avery questioned.

Miss Dixon eyed her sheepishly. No, but I don’t ever see him. Gone before I get up and in after I go to bed—tells me he is up to no good.

That tells you nothing, Avery replied.

I’m surprised a woman as fine as you would take in that heathen. Miss Dixon directed her comment to Caroline. Avery’s heart lurched. Her mouth formed a perfect O.

Miss Dixon. Caroline Stockton’s back straightened. He will no longer be needing your wretched hospitality. I cannot imagine you receiving one more recommendation for housing before I am through with you. Please show us to his room. The old crow flinched at Caroline’s words.

Third floor. She turned and headed to the back of her house. And good riddance, she mumbled, but the Stockton women heard her.

When they reached the landing of the second story, a young woman met them. Is it true Hawk has been kicked out of school? She used a soft tone. The girl was leaning on a set of crutches, her legs in braces.

We don’t know for sure, Caroline said with a hopeful tone. Are you a friend of his, dear?

The girl blushed slightly. Yes, I guess if Hawk had friends, I would be considered one of them. The girl adjusted her crutches. His room is up there. She pointed to a rather narrow steep staircase.

Avery followed her aunt to the room. The door stuck, so it took a little force for the women to be able to enter. When the door did open, they were greeted with nothing more than a closet. A small cot sat against a wall. For the last eighteen months, Hawk Sheridan had been living out of a suitcase. The room was stuffy, and there was no window—no wonder Dixon did not see him much. This was an outrage, and Caroline was going to speak her piece. She tore down the stairs in record time.

Avery began packing what little belongings Hawk had into the suitcase. Under his cot, stacked in a neat package, were letters, tons of letters all tied with a rawhide string. There were letters from his mom and dad, Abby Lorton, Annabeth Lorton, Patience Lorton, Jamie Kennedy, Cathleen Carter, and Liddy Lapp. It was obvious they had been read and reread. Avery did not read any of the missives. She was surprised to see so many and mostly from women. She tucked the notes into the suitcase and headed down the narrow steps. The young girl was still on the platform.

Would you tell Hawk I will be praying for him? There was a touch of sadness in her voice.

Avery started to descend then turned and headed back up to the landing. What is your name? she asked. The girl had just entered her room. She turned.

Molly.

Avery got a glimpse of the girl’s room. May I see your room? Molly went further into the room, allowing Avery access. The dwelling wasn’t much better than Hawk’s and looked as if it had been remodeled from a previous existing storage closet. A little bigger than Hawk’s, it housed a bed and a small table. It had a round window, and because it was positioned at the corner of the house, it had a drafty feel.

Why don’t you have a room on the ground floor? Avery asked as she roamed around the room to look out the small window.

Miss Dixon said the rooms downstairs are for those who can afford them.

I see. Avery looked about, noticing how Molly had tried to make the room homey. This is nice. She had noticed a delicately braided wall hanging with feathers attached. It was unique. Did you make this, Molly? Avery was studying it intently.

Oh, no, Hawk made it. Avery added this to her mental file on Hawk Sheridan.

I don’t mean to sound rude, but do you have trouble climbing the stairs? Avery turned to look at Molly, a lovely girl with luxurious brown hair and lavender-blue eyes.

I do okay going down the steps if I am not hurried. The girl had a meek voice and a timid smile.

And going up? Avery inquired.

By the end of the day, I get pretty tired when walking to classes and things.

Avery nodded. I bet that’s true. I don’t know how you make it. The girl’s eyes went to the hanging on the wall.

One night Hawk saw me struggling and carried me up the stairs. Her voice faltered. He does it every night now. The knot in Avery’s stomach couldn’t be ignored. First Charlie, now Molly.

Caroline Stockton marched up the stairs. Avery, are you ready?

I’m in here, Aunt Caroline. Avery wanted her aunt to see how Miss Dixon was treating Molly. The Stocktons had extra rooms, and Avery would gladly give up her downstairs bedroom for Molly. Her lack of sleep had caused Avery to become very sensitive. She could feel tears starting to well up in the corners of her eyes.

While the women were gone, Dr. Stockton broke the news to Hawk. The young man in the bed was silent. Hawk, you need to discuss this with me. It will do no good for you to keep everything inside. Victor Stockton leaned forward in his chair to look his patient in the eye. I’m waiting. It was said as more of a plea than a request. Hawk knew the man was trying to help.

For eighteen months, I have been able to stay a step ahead of my enemies by paying attention. I never saw this coming. His words were cold and calculating.

There are other schools, Sheridan. I did get the board’s consent to release your grades so you could transfer to another school in the fall. I have connections. We will figure something out. Dr. Stockton leaned back.

Hawk turned to face the doctor. I appreciate your help, but do you think another institution would be any different?

The doctor sighed. Hawk Sheridan, student 117, wouldn’t give up so easily. He referred to the first days of school when Hawk found a way to be involved in any and every extra assignment available. Nothing deterred the boy from learning.

Oh, I’m not giving up, sir. I’m strategizing. Dr. Stockton wasn’t sure he liked the tone that came with the statement, but he left the young man to rest.

Avery unloaded the carriage. She put Hawk’s suitcase in his room. His eyes were closed, and she was careful not to wake him. She unpacked his things, gently laying his letters and a much-worn Bible near his bedside. When she chanced a peek at the patient, she found those black eyes on her. His left one was barely visible because of the swelling.

Did you read them? he asked, referring to the letters.

Absolutely not, she replied. How dare he think she would do such a thing? She almost spoke the words aloud.

I ask because most people would have. He answered her unspoken comment.

"I, sir, am not most people. I was raised better."

Better than me, I suppose you mean? he quipped with a condescending tone.

Yes, if you were to read my communications.

Then you are better than me. I would most definitely have read the correspondence of the ice goddess.

Her face went crimson, more from anger than embarrassment. I suspect you would not welcome any childish names ascribed to you. Please do not use them with me. She thought she sounded like the head nurse at the hospital. She took great pride in setting her patient to rights.

Ice goddess is hardly childish. There was a faint lazy grin from his thin lips.

Avery left the room somewhat frustrated. Her aunt met her in the hall. Avery dear, you must be worn out, working all night and staying up half the day. Do go lie down. She placed her hand on her niece’s cheek. Why, your face is warm as an oven. I believe you have a fever. I’ll have Vic look in on you when he returns.

I just need sleep, Aunt Caroline. I am fine. She noticed the scissors in her aunt’s hand. Good luck with that, she said pointedly then went to crawl into bed. But sleep would not claim her. She was angry at the pompous, infuriating man downstairs. She was also hurt. The term ice goddess bothered her.

Why couldn’t people just mind their own business? Because a woman is unmarried, something must be wrong. She chose not to date co-workers, medical students, and indeed, patients. She worked all the time, and that left no time for a social life. She could warm up pretty quickly if the right man came along. She punched her fist in her pillow and turned over.

After a few hours, Avery awoke, just in time to help put the evening meal on the table. You look some better, love. Her aunt was