“Good night.” He waited until she had entered the hotel before heading back to his home. Things might have been different if he’d come to know her first. Perhaps he should have gone through the list of women from bottom to top instead of the other way around, but it was too late now. Now knowing Sylvia as he did, his affections were for her alone.
At his house, he stepped into a darkened parlor. He walked back to his study as a thought came to him. He removed the paperweight and picked up his list, scanning it quickly. He let out a long, slow whistle. Miss Weber had managed to pass all his requirements with a perfect score. She was even willing to wash Sylvia’s and Tommy’s ruined and mud-caked clothes. He’d been the one to prevent that. He wanted to burn them.
He should get to know her. It was the logical thing to do. It made perfect sense.
Slowly, he crumpled the note and tossed it on his desktop.
She wasn’t Sylvia. And only Sylvia would do.
“You didn’t stay for supper?” his mother asked when he entered the kitchen.
“Miss Weber declined my invitation.” He looked about the room. “It’s quiet. Where is Tommy?”
“He wanted to be with his mother. I went to collect her tray and she was fast asleep with her son snuggled in beside her.”
Disappointment washed over him. He’d wanted to see them again before they went to sleep for the night. At least he’d had a good look at Tommy’s wound. The dunking in the river hadn’t hurt the new, granulating tissue. He’d done nothing more than wrap the ankle back up with clean bandages.
“Thank you for your help today,” he said.
“You bolted down the steps and were gone before I could blink.” She brought two steaming bowls of soup over, one for each of them. “I heated this back up. There is plenty for the both of us.”
He sat down at the table. “I wish I had some of Sylvia’s bread to go with this. She makes something called molasses bread.”
“Son.” His mother reached out to palm his cheek.
He flinched. She had never done that before. Ever. The last time he’d touched her had been the day she arrived and told him the truth about his father.
“Be careful. It is obvious to me how you feel about Miss Marks. There is more there than a professional relationship.”
“You haven’t cared about what I do for years,” he said.
“That’s not true. I have cared.”
He tried to stay detached, calm—the same way that she had been toward him his entire life. “You sent me away when I was Tommy’s age and conveniently forgot about me. You’ve abdicated any right to have an opinion on how I conduct myself.”
“Your father—” She stopped at the warning look he tossed her.
“My father?”
She shoved aside her bowl, the only evidence that she was agitated. “Ellison provided for the both of us. You were fed and clothed and educated. You never wanted for anything.”
“You didn’t know what I wanted.” She had effectively silenced him after a few years of ignoring his pleas. He’d given up. She didn’t seem to realize that.
“He gave you what a father should—a name and, with that name, respect.”
“Is that why you married him? Was he aware that he was getting two for the price of one when he said his vows? That you married him for his money, his name and respect?”
She raised her chin. “You say those words as if they are poor reasons to marry.”
“No. Not poor reasons, simply not the only reasons.”
He was letting his anger get the better of him. He had never understood his parents’ relationship. He had a vague memory from childhood of them embracing, but from the time they sent him away to boarding school, they’d never had any physical contact in front of him.
He stood and walked to the window, staring out into the darkness as he gathered his thoughts. “What happened, Mother? Tell me what happened to my real father and why you didn’t marry him.”
She was silent behind him. He thought at first she wasn’t going to answer, but then he heard a strangled noise and turned to her. Her face was buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
Was this a play for his sympathy? Then, disgusted with his cynicism, he withdrew his handkerchief from his vest pocket and held it out to her. “Here. Take this.”
She raised her head. Her eyes glistened with tears and her cheeks were wet with their trails.
He tossed the cloth on the table in front of her.
Slowly, she picked it up. “Your father—your real father worked for the Revenue Cutter Service. He was a liaison between that part of the government and the Lighthouse Board.” She dabbed at her eyes. “He was an officer. We were introduced at a dance organized by the military there on the Cape.”
“Go on.”
“I—we—fell in love.”
“That night? Or did this happen over a period of time?” It was a mean, sarcastic thing to say.
She looked at him evenly. “Over the course of the next year.”
He slid back into the seat across the table from her.
“His name was Charles Gunders. He traveled a lot for his job, and each time we were apart, the deeper our love for each other grew. When he asked for my hand at Christmas, I agreed immediately. We planned to wed in the summer. I was ecstatic. I thought he was too.” She looked down at the handkerchief that she had worried into a wrinkled mess in her hands.
“What happened?”
“There was trouble at a shipping channel up north. Something about a new line of buoys being installed. He was there a long time.” She hesitated. “Then I received a letter. He wasn’t coming back. He’d had a change of heart. After that, I heard that he had asked for a transfer and moved to the West Coast.”
Nelson inhaled. “So, he left us.”
She nodded. “Not you. He did not know about you.”
“What about Ellison?”
“His family and mine were neighbors. I knew him growing up. He always felt something for me, but I—”
“I understand. You did not return the sentiment.”
“Ellison came home from the university to celebrate his graduation. I...encouraged his affections and we wed.”
“Without telling him about me?”
She sighed. “I was afraid to tell him at first, but I couldn’t go through with it. I told him a month before the wedding. He wanted to marry me despite my condition.” She met his gaze. “Ellison did love me.”
“Then it worked out well for you.” His jaw was tight.
She nodded. “For a while. But as you grew older, you looked more and more like Charles, your real father. Even your mannerisms mimicked his. It bothered Ellison more and more. You see, I couldn’t give him any children of his own.”
“So he sent me away.” It explained so much.
“He was hurting. He couldn’t stand to look at you—or me. He forbade any contact with you.”
“That’s why he didn’t want me at his funeral—or in any other part of his life.
“And why he didn’t want me going into practice with old Dr. Harney when I came home from medical school. He didn’t want a constant reminder of me so close.” It cleared up a lot of his misconceptions. “Tell me. If Ellison was still alive, would you have ever told me?”
She shook her head, her chin high. “I promised.”
“If something had happened to you, I would have never known the truth.”
His mother paced the length of the room, her steps and manner agitated. “He tried, Nelson. He really did try at first. And, in the end, he stood by his vows and took care of both of us.”
He stared at her, his thoughts in turmoil.
“It’s important that you understand this. The Graham name is respected everywhere. I want it to stay that way.”
“I haven’t done anyt
hing to dishonor the name.”
“But you may be about to.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I happened to see the paper you have on your desk. The one where you list the qualities you want in a woman that you marry. It wasn’t idle scribbling. You are considering marriage, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“The...woman you have upstairs...is not suitable to bear the Graham name.”
He had suspected that would be her attitude. “That is my decision to make. Not yours.”
She stiffened. “Well. Think long and hard before you let anything progress.”
He turned away, weary and tired of the conversation. “I’m going to bed. Good night, Mother.”
Chapter Twenty
Someone knocked on his bedroom door. Now what?
Nelson rubbed the sleep from his face and sat up. Daylight streamed into the room. “Be right out.” He dressed quickly and opened the door.
Tommy stood there. Someone was banging pots and pans in his kitchen.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Ma wants to know where her clothes are. I told her that you burned them, and she is madder than a wet hornet.”
He looked across the hall and saw that Sylvia’s door was wide-open and that her bed was made. Guess he hadn’t thought much of the repercussions. All he’d wanted to do was get rid of the muddy, wet rags. She was probably making breakfast in her nightgown. Wouldn’t a chance visitor or patient find that vision interesting!
The image amused him, but it also brought back the things his mother had said last evening. He had to agree with one thing—what he was thinking and feeling was heading into dangerous territory.
What could become of them? Really? They were two such different people. Much too different to meet somewhere in the middle. For them to be together, one of them would have to jump the proverbial river and he didn’t see that happening. Sylvia had made it clear that Oak Grove and the folks who lived here did not suit her. And he certainly could not move his office out of town and hang his shingle on her shack. It was too far for people to come when they were ailing. He would be out of business in a fortnight.
All that might be true, but it still didn’t overshadow the fact that he had fallen for her. What he would do with that, he wasn’t sure, but at least he would be honest with himself. There had been too many secrets in his life. His feelings for Sylvia wouldn’t be one of them.
The aroma of bacon and eggs and fresh coffee drifted up from downstairs. Nelson sat down on the top stair. “Hop on. We’ll face her wrath together.”
A grin lit Tommy’s face. He whooped and then climbed on to ride piggyback down the stairs.
“It’s about time you got up,” she said when they entered the kitchen. “Sit. Is your mother coming?”
He hadn’t checked, but her door had been closed. “No.” He deposited Tommy on a chair.
“All right, then. I’ll hold some food back to keep warm for her. Help yourself to some coffee.”
He was surprised that she hadn’t started right in berating him about her clothes. The shapeless nightgown that she wore covered every inch of her down to her bare toes. He poured cups for the both of them. “Looks like you are back to feeling like yourself.”
She scooped up fried potatoes and eggs and bacon onto three plates and brought them to the table. “Hungry as can be.” She sat down with them. “Thank you. I’ll be forever grateful that you came looking for me yesterday. And that you took care of Tommy and me.”
“Friends do things like that.”
She smiled slightly. “We can’t be friends. You know why.”
“I know what you told me. Doesn’t mean I agree with it.”
She huffed. “Now who is being stubborn.”
He grinned. Then he took a bite of food. “You look fetching today.” She did. Her hair was soft and shiny, a dark chocolate waterfall down her back. Everything about her was totally inappropriate and fascinatingly pretty.
That dimple appeared on her left cheek. “Good thing you think so, because unless you bring me a needle and thread and some material, this is what I’ll be wearing until I leave.”
“I’ve given that some thought,” he said, more serious now. “I have a few errands to do this morning. I need to stop by to see Mrs. Blackwell to check on her and her baby. With all that was going on yesterday, I neglected that.”
“Do you know what she named her baby?”
He shook his head. “While I’m out, I’ll stop by Miller’s and ask if he’ll make another set of crutches for Tommy. He can measure him this time and get the correct size.”
“Doc? About some clothes. I can make my own. If you will bring me back some material and needle and thread.”
“I thought I’d leave that up to my mother. She would be better at picking out a suitable fabric.”
“Oh, no! I don’t want to bother your mother.”
He had a feeling he knew why. Sylvia was very sensitive of others’ feelings. She must have noticed his mother’s reticence toward her.
“And I’ll keep a tab here of what I owe you. The honey will be coming soon.”
“Do you think I expect you to pay me back?”
“No,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I know you don’t expect that. But I can’t accept charity.”
He wasn’t going to argue with her. He was simply going to stop by Mrs. Taylor’s and have the woman come by to take measurements for a new dress. Sylvia might balk, but he would give her no choice. He wanted Sylvia to have something nice. She deserved it. Tommy did too.
“I’ll be back in an hour. If someone comes to the door—” He thought for a second and then felt a smile tug at his mouth. “Let Tommy answer it. And you hide.”
His errands took longer than expected, and when he returned to his office, he was surprised to hear voices coming from the exam room.
Abigail White, Teddy’s sister, was sitting on the exam table, her sleeve rolled up past her elbow on the right arm and the rest of her arm buried in a bowl of mud. Her cheeks had mud plastered on them too, and her left eye was slightly swollen. She was sniffling, while Miss Weber and Sylvia stood on each side of her, both speaking at once in calming tones.
“What happened?” he asked.
Abigail straightened. “Oh, Dr. Graham. I’m so glad you’ve come!”
She sounded miserable.
“I found a leak in the back of the newspaper office,” Abigail said. “You know that small room where we keep the old editions of the paper? Water covered the floor. They’re all ruined! All destroyed! So much waste!” she continued, moaning as she spoke. “So much important information—all lost.”
Her distraught answer wasn’t what he wanted. He reined in his frustration. “What about you?”
“Me? Oh, I don’t know. I’m upset, of course. And Teddy will be furious when he finds out.”
Nelson took a deep breath. This was wholly unlike Abigail.
“She bothered a beehive,” Sylvia said. “Got stung a few times. Just little ol’ honey bees. Not those big hornets. I figured egg whites or mud was the best thing for her to take out the sting. It’s what I always use when I get stung while gathering honey.”
“Good thinking,” he said, stifling a smile. Apparently, Sylvia was completely recovered from her own ordeal and was up to helping others again. “There sure is plenty of mud around.”
Sylvia exchanged a look with Miss Weber that said, See? I told you. “Got any other ideas that will help fix her up? Have you got some willow bark tea back in that kitchen?”
“Not that, but something that works as well or better. How long has the mud been on?”
“An hour at least,” Miss Weber said. “We’ve had a lovely chat.”
“Is the swelling around that eye going up or down?”
&nb
sp; Miss Weber and Sylvia drew closer to Abigail to decide, peering down their noses until they were only inches from the upset woman. “Down,” they answered in unison.
“Then I prescribe you clean it off once you are home, Miss White. I’ll prepare a paste that you can apply should the pain return.” He headed to the kitchen, where he kept his powders and pestle and mortar. While he worked, he half listened to the chatter between the three women, enjoying the lively discussion and the fact that Sylvia was taking an active part.
When he returned, he handed Abigail a piece of newspaper, the paste folded inside. “Here you go. Simply smear it over the stings if they start to bother you again.”
Miss Weber threw her shawl over her shoulders. “It’s time I got back to the hotel myself. I just came to see how Miss Marks was feeling today.”
He saw them to the door.
He turned to find Sylvia cleaning up the mess that the mud had made on the exam table and then crouching to clean a few spots on the floor. “You’re wearing a dress!” It was a pretty lavender spring dress.
She popped up quickly. “Miss Simcock had one I could borrow. She thought we looked to be about the same size.”
“It’s becoming. The color I mean.”
She flushed a pretty shade of pink and smoothed the skirt. “It’s called gingham. I’ve never had anything so fine. I feel like I should curl my hair and set a bow in it like Miss Vandersohn.”
“As long as you don’t faint like her, I think that’s a fine idea.”
Her eyes sparkled.
“Did Miss Simcock fix your hair too?”
She touched the neat little bun at the nape of her neck. “I did this part. I figured since I was in town I should clean up some. I...don’t want people talking poorly of you or your office with me here.”
“I wouldn’t let them.”
She glanced away.
Had he rendered her speechless? That was a new development.
“You can be charming, Doc. When you have a mind to be.”
She didn’t know it, but she could too. “I have something to show you and Tommy.” He’d checked on her goat while he’d been out. She didn’t know about Penny.
The Prairie Doctor's Bride Page 17
