There was half a chance Miss Marks was right. He was willing to risk it. He had Wally and then Mrs. Blackwell to see to. And the longer Miss Marks argued, the better the odds were that Miss Vandersohn would recover and do fine.
“I had spells such as this when I was carrying Tommy. Getting up too fast was the worst, ’cause I’d pass right out again. You go ahead with whatever you are doing there. I’ll help her up when she is ready.”
Relieved with the offer of help, he turned back to Wally. He dipped another length of cloth into the plaster solution and applied the strip to the man’s arm, working in silence for a few minutes. He glanced up once when Miss Marks helped Miss Vandersohn to her feet and then over to a nearby chair. No issues there, so he returned to finishing the cast.
“Dr. Graham? I believe I will take my leave.”
Miss Vandersohn was at the door. She held herself stiff, with her chin up even though she didn’t look completely recovered.
“Very well, Miss Vandersohn. I’m sorry our walk was cut short. I will call on you later.”
There was a pause.
“That isn’t necessary. A bit of rest is all that I need. Perhaps I will see you at services on Sunday.”
He glanced up. Sunday? That indicated a step backward in his timetable. He’d thought they were getting along well during their walk.
At the moment, however, they were both in agreement. He had work to do and she should go back to her hotel room. “Yes. Fine,” he murmured, concentrating on wrapping the wet cloth loosely between Wally’s thumb and first finger to allow for movement and possible swelling of his arm.
Silence enveloped him after she left. He preferred silence. Preferred concentrating on one thing at a time.
Done.
“You must lie here for several hours,” he instructed Wally. “At least until suppertime. It will take that long for the cast to dry and set.” He poured water from his pitcher into the bowl and washed off the remaining plaster from his hands.
“I could use some vittles.”
At the mention of food, Nelson’s stomach rumbled.
“Ha,” Wally said, hearing the sound. “Guess you could use something to eat too.”
“I need to check on Mrs. Blackwell first.” He would have to leave his bucket and plaster mess until later. And Miss Vandersohn’s parasol leaned against the wall. She must have been in more distress than he realized.
Then he remembered Miss Marks. She’d disappeared too. Why had she stopped by? Perhaps something had gone wrong with her son. He should have inquired.
“Did you see what happened to Miss Marks?”
“She left with that other lady.”
Nelson walked to the window. The slant of shadows on his sundial indicated it was past noon by two hours. Although it didn’t sit well with him, he would have to leave Wally and go check on Brett’s wife. Hopefully, Brett had done as he ordered and made the woman lie down.
Miss Marks suddenly appeared in the shadow of Miller’s Cabinetry Shop. She strode briskly down the road toward his office. Nelson walked to the front door and waited for her to climb the steps. High color filled her cheeks and her brown eyes shone bright and clear. Her face glowed in a pretty, wholesome way. He hadn’t noticed that before, probably because she wore that ridiculous hat. She had it on now with her hair pulled back into one long loose braid. Flyaway strands of straight, dark hair framed her face.
She stopped on the porch and peeled a few flyaway strands of hair from her face. “That woman ain’t got much of a stomach, Doc.”
He felt responsible for Miss Vandersohn’s distress. “What happened?”
“She made it all the way to the hotel and then puked right in that fancy brass umbrella stand inside the door.”
“You saw her all the way back?” It wasn’t far, but still it was his place to accompany Miss Vandersohn back. He was the one who had asked the woman out.
“Well, I couldn’t very well let her go on her own now, could I? Not with the way she was weaving. She was all shades of green. Crossing Main Street, she might have got run over by a horse!”
She certainly had a colorful way of talking, peculiar and different from other women he had known. “What is it you’ve come for? Is it your boy?”
“No,” she said. “Tommy’s doin’ fine. Healin’ up good.”
“I intend to stop by and remove the sutures.”
Her chin jutted up. “Did that this morning.”
He was shocked. Nearly speechless. Her audacity knew no bounds! “You took his stitches out?”
She passed by him and walked into his parlor as if performing surgery was something she did every day. “Yes. They were itching and he was scratchin’. Figured it was time.”
He followed her. How dare she usurp his place as Tommy’s physician! She was the one who had forced him out that night in the first place. “You had no right to do that. Did you make sure to get every single one?”
“’Course I did!” She let out a huff, frowning up at him.
“And there was no pus? No festering?”
“No! Like I said, Tommy’s healin’ up fine.”
Her answer did not mollify him in the least. She had gone too far. “You have a lot of nerve taking that on yourself.”
She swallowed and glanced toward Wally, then leaned toward him, lowering her voice. “It’s like I said, Doc. I don’t have the means to pay you for comin’ way out there to see to something that I can do myself.”
She certainly could be frustrating. Money was not the issue here. “I distinctly remember telling you that I didn’t expect further recompense. Pride is a—”
Her chin jutted up again, and stubbornness sparked in her eyes, effectively halting his lecture. “I brought something for your help. I thought you might take partial payment. Guess I was a bit frazzled that night with him being injured and not thinking straight.” She turned and picked up the burlap sack from his chair and held it out.
He blew out a breath, and with it, some of his anger abated. Pride went both ways. His, for his profession. And hers, for her ability to care for her own. What was important was that they both wanted what was best for Tommy. That her son was healing was the main thing.
He focused on the sack. It wasn’t moving. A good thing. With his city upbringing, he knew nothing about livestock. Whenever a grateful patient would pay him with an animal, he’d immediately take it to the butcher’s or to the restaurant.
He loosened the cinched end and peeked inside. A jar and a loaf of brown bread—still warm from baking—nestled in the bottom of the sack. The aroma wafted up and made his stomach grumble. Reaching inside, he pulled out the jar. Once in the light, he realized it was filled with a thick golden liquid and a few light-colored particles floating within it.
“I plum forgot that I had a few more jars of honey stored up in the root cellar. This is from the best hive in the territory.”
He supposed it would be good to have around. Once he married, his wife might have a use for it. “Thank you, Miss Marks.”
“I figure a little sweetening might help your disposition.”
He met her gaze. She was serious? “My attitude is just fine.”
She cocked her head. “Well, it sure wasn’t for that young lady that skedaddled out of here. She was fit to be tied.”
The difference between the two women was a mile in each direction. One was a princess and the other—He studied Miss Marks and her beat-up hat. Just how would one describe her?
“Doc!” A shadow blotted out the sunlight that had streamed through the open door. Brett stood there again, a frantic look in his eyes.
“I’m on my way,” Nelson said. He set the jar of honey on his side table. “Duty calls, Miss Marks. Thank you for the honey and the bread.” He picked up his medical bag.
Her eyes clouded over. “What about this man lyin
g flat in the middle of the room?”
“Wally is on his own until I get back. He has to let his cast dry. He knows he must be still.” He slipped on his Stetson. “Good day, Miss Marks.”
* * *
The doctor strode off on those long legs of his and disappeared down the side road. Sylvia glanced back through the doorway at the man lying on the table in the middle of the other room. It didn’t seem right to leave him. He couldn’t look out for himself.
“You got anything to eat?” he called out to her.
She walked over to the table. He had a good twenty years on her if appearance counted. Thick white whiskers peppered his chin and his gray hair fell to his shoulders. A shiver ran through his body, big enough that she noticed it.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
She picked up what was likely his coat from a chair by the wall and laid it across his chest, tucking the collar snuggly around his shoulders.
“I’m hungry enough to eat a cow. Heard you brought some vittles.”
“What I brought is for the doc.”
“Then how about walkin’ over to the restaurant and getting that Miss Sadie to make me a plate?”
She remembered the doc had mentioned eating there. “I only came to make payment for the doctor’s help with my boy.”
He pinched his mouth together.
It didn’t sit right with her to leave this man on his own. He might get up and, after his injury, he could get dizzy and fall. That would mess up everything the doc had just fixed. “I think you better wait until Doc Graham comes back.”
“The doc could be gone a long while. Babies take their own time in coming.”
That was true. Tommy had taken nearly two days.
She touched the white cast tentatively. How long would it take to get hard? Mr. Brown’s stubby fingers looked puffy compared to his other arm and hand. Was that normal? It might not bode well.
She looked around the room, finding nothing that she could use except for the pillow under the man’s head. Doc Graham had grabbed his coat when he left or she’d have used that.
She searched through the cupboards along the long wall. In the third one, she found two blankets, refolded them and then positioned them carefully under the cast, making sure the man’s hand was the highest point. Mr. Brown grimaced with the movement.
“How’d you come to get hurt?” Maybe conversing with him would take his mind off the pain. She didn’t know if the doc had any willow bark tea and she wouldn’t feel right using his kitchen to make something anyway.
“I got in a fight with a mean old mule at the livery.”
She wiped off splatters of white plaster from the edge of the table. “I got me a mule myself. Her name’s Berta. A body should know better than to fight a mule.”
“That’s easy for you to say, but I was only doing my job. Considering that I’m the one who is hurt here, I’d think a little kindness—maybe a cool cloth to my brow—a song...”
She stopped cleaning up. Was he teasing her now? “A song?”
A smile played about his whiskered face. “Well, food is higher in my thoughts just now.”
“You don’t give up when you set your mind on something, do you?” He certainly must be feeling all right if he wanted to eat. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt. “Hold your horses and I’ll get you a little something to fill you up.”
She walked back into the waiting room, picked up the burlap bag and carried it to the kitchen. Rifling through a drawer of utensils, she found a bread knife. A few moments later, she returned to the exam room with a plate of bread slices smeared with honey.
She set the plate on his chest. “You can feed yourself with your good arm, I ’spect.”
“It ain’t gonna be easy. Will you...?”
She frowned. Just how much did this fellow expect? “I gotta clean up the kitchen.”
“Don’t rightly know how I’m going to manage. Crumbs will be everywhere. Might even stick to the cast. It could make the doc mad.”
She dragged a chair up beside the man and sat down. Then she tore off a small piece of the bread, held it out until he opened his mouth and popped it inside. A look of satisfaction came over him as he chewed it up and swallowed. “Best darn bread I’ve ever had.”
She nodded, mollified some that he thought so highly of her breadmaking.
“Ain’t you that woman who lives out south of town?”
Well, there you go. Get comfortable and the next thing the rug would be pulled right out from under. She braced herself for his censure.
“Heard you was a healer.”
She huffed softly. “If I was a healer, my Tommy wouldn’t have needed the doc’s help when he got hurt. The doc fixed him up good. Just like he fixed you up.”
“Seems like your eyes light up whenever you mention Doc Graham.”
“That’s your imagination. Now finish this up.” She stuffed the last of the bread into his mouth before he could say another word.
The front door opened and a breeze blew through the room. “You’re still here?” Doc Graham said. He walked over and studied Mr. Brown and his cast. He wiggled the man’s fingers. “How are you feeling now, Wally?”
“Better, since this nice woman has fed me.”
“I’m surprised she stayed.” He moved the plate of crumbs from the man’s chest over to a side table and then shut the cupboard door she’d left open with a solid thump. “I see you made yourself at home, Miss Marks.”
Was he accusing her of something? “He was shiverin’ and...and someone had to be here.”
Graham raised his brows.
She wasn’t chastising him—well—maybe she was. A little. He shouldn’t have left.
He frowned. “So you stayed to help?”
She hesitated. What had she done wrong? He wasn’t happy about something and it seemed to be her fault. That had not been her intent when she started across the river. His cross attitude shadowed the entire day. She didn’t analyze why it should bother her so. Most people didn’t care for her intrusion, but the doc—she’d thought that he was different. Guess not. It would be best to leave. She grabbed her hat from the wall peg and slipped it on and then threw her heavy shawl over her shoulders. “I gotta go now. My boy will be missing me.” She slipped outside and headed for her wagon.
Chapter Nine
After sending Wally Brown on his way, Nelson settled down to two slices of sweet brown bread and a thick slice of cheese. He took a bite of the bread, ready to wash it down with water, and stopped with the glass at his mouth. He’d never had such tasty bread—not in all the restaurants he’d frequented back in Boston. What had Miss Marks done to it to make it taste so good?
He wasn’t proud of the way he had treated her. His words had been less than chivalrous. His thoughts had already been on Mrs. Blackwell as he dashed out of the office and he’d forgotten to elevate Wally’s arm. Miss Marks had done exactly what was needed—finding something to support the arm and hand to keep the swelling to a minimum, and then getting him something to eat. And on top of that, she had cleaned up his mess in the exam room.
A thank-you was in order. And he should get out to her place and check on her son’s condition.
But the next day, he put Sylvia Marks out of his mind. It was a wife he needed and he had best be about it. He had only a month to decide on and court a woman as stipulated by the Betterment Committee contract. At the end of a month, when all the women lined up at church with their chosen grooms, he intended to be one of those men.
His stroll with Miss Vandersohn had been pleasant until Wally had been injured. He should call on her and inquire about her recovery. He also needed to return her parasol.
“Are you fully over your ordeal from yesterday?” he asked her when she met him in the hotel lobby.
She colored prettily, accepting her parasol back.
>
“I’m much better, thank you. However, I am mortified that you witnessed me in such a state.”
“Please don’t concern yourself with that. I see such things on a regular basis. It’s part of being a doctor.” He cringed. Telling her so this early in their acquaintance might not be the best way to advance his courtship.
“Yes...well, I’m sure your stronger constitution helps you manage it. Medicine is all so very indelicate, isn’t it? So...so messy.” She wrinkled her lovely nose as she said the last.
He’d always thought human physiology and the healing of the body fascinating, but to say so would put her off. “Would you do me the honor of trying again? Perhaps supper tonight?”
She drew back a step. “I’m afraid that I must decline.”
“Another time?”
She shook her head tightly. “Not ever.”
Now he was the one to pull back. They’d gotten along well. This came as a surprise.
“You see—things would only end up as it did yesterday. I—I really cannot stand to be around sickly, needy people. What if I caught something?” She shook her head again. “It is all rather distasteful to me. And ugly. And messy.”
He grew more annoyed with each word she spoke. Of all the selfish reasons not to help someone in need! “I’m sorry to hear that this is how you feel. I’ll take my leave and won’t bother you again.” He tipped his hat and strode out the hotel door.
His shortsightedness embarrassed him. He should have stuck to his list of requirements for a wife—namely that she mustn’t be too attractive. Miss Vandersohn—pretty and a prima donna were a terrible combination! She was the type that expected to be waited on when what he needed was just the opposite.
Surely among the brides-to-be he could find a better match. Someone who didn’t mind shouldering a little responsibility for the good of humanity.
He would just have to keep looking.
* * *
Miss Penelope Pratt was unforgettable in that she was as tall as most men and thin as a beanpole. She was also older than any of the other women who had arrived on the train. She wore her black hair pulled back in a bun so tight that it tugged at the corners of her eyes.
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