Free To Everything a Season by Lauraine Snelling Page A

yanking the reins out of the rider’s hand. The rider’s horse squealed, reared high, and dumped the fellow off its back and down its rump before galloping away after its companions.
    Anner was just reaching the back door as a large man came bursting out of it. The man let out a surprised cry, more a scream, and lashed at Anner with a huge fist, then swung a large and heavy carpetbag at him. Both connected, and Anner went tumbling to the dirt.
    He lay there with no breath in him, listening to the boots running away after the horses. He desperately wanted to shout “Stop! Thief!” He desperately wanted to breathe. None of that was happening.
    From out on the street, Trygve’s voice called, “What’s going on? Who’s there?”
    Someone else shouted from what sounded like an upstairs window. Yet another voice called out.
    Anner managed a feeble “Help!” The second “Help!” was stronger.
    Here came Trygve. The sound of his voice told Anner he was in the alley. “Who’s there?”
    â€œHelp!” Anner was finally getting his breath back, sort of.
    Now Thorliff was there and someone else, and the men were lifting Anner to his feet. His neck hurt mightily, and his ribs felt like they were broken. Maybe they were. The pain was intense all over.
    â€œThe robbers . . .” he gasped.
    Now several others had arrived. “The door is standing open!” someone yelled. “They were here and they’re getting away!”
    The pain was so bad, Anner dropped down onto his hands and knees, which only made his ribs hurt much worse. His hands landed on something like paper. “Bring a light!” he shouted with the little bit of breath he could summon. “There’s money here. Bills!”
    Someone was running off with a hurried “I’ll get horses!”
    Trygve came out of the bank with a coal-oil lamp. “Who has a match?”
    Someone found a match. In the tiny flare and then the lamplight, Anner saw money lying all over the ground.
    And Lars shouted, “There! There’s one of them right there!”
    The lamplight revealed the robber who had been thrown from his horse. He had been trying to crawl away. Now he rolled to his back with his hands out. “I give up.” Instantly, two men were grabbing him and hauling him to his feet. He cried out in pain as his leg collapsed. Then he sank between them and fainted dead away.
    â€œHjelmer’s bringing us some horses,” Lars said.
    â€œNo moon. It’s too dark,” Trygve said. “We’ll never catch them. Let’s gather this money that got spilled, and someone tell Astrid and Elizabeth. That fellow and Anner here will both need attention.”
    Ever since those two women set themselves up as doctors, Anner had been fervently hoping he would never get sick. The very thought of women, young women, at that, tending to him . . . Cheeky women with no qualms about speaking out of turn. No, he wanted to go home, let Hildegunn take care of him. He said so. He protested. They took him over to the hospital anyway, against his wishes.
    They laid him out on a bed, and he found it was easiest to simply give up. If he closed his eyes and lay very, very still, his ribs hurt less. Footsteps entered the room. He turned his head to look. Elizabeth Bjorklund and Thorliff. People he did not particularly want to see just now. He closed his eyes again.
    In an accusing voice, Thorliff asked, “Why didn’t you go for help?”
    Anner did not sigh. That would have caused more pain. “I really have no answer for that.”
    â€œOh good! You’re here!” Elizabeth’s voice. “He is clutching his side. Would you undress the top half of him, please? I’ll go make certain Astrid doesn’t need me.”
    Who was there?
    Hildegunn’s voice. “Of course.” He looked at her. Yes, indeed this was Hildegunn, and her face was