Within My Heart

by Tamera Alexander

  Rand stepped forward. “You can’t be serious. After all that Ben Mullins has done for you in recent months?” He thought of what Lyda had told him. “Ben has personally loaded and unloaded your shipments, no telling how many times. He’s arranged for countless special orders on your behalf. I’ve seen him in the—”

  “I know this is important to you, Dr. Brookston.” Tolliver looked up. “The only thing we have to determine now is how important.”

  Rachel couldn’t stop staring. No matter how many evenings she stood in this very spot and watched, it felt like her first time. Leaving her cane by the door, she crossed the porch and eased down to sit on the top step, her attention fixed on the snow-covered steeples of the Rockies. She drew her shawl closer about her shoulders, certain in this moment that heaven must exist just beyond the golden orb sinking steadily behind the lofty spires.

  A longing took hold deep inside, one both fresh and ancient, familiar yet unfathomable. Regardless of all that had happened in the past two and a half years, she had so much to be thankful for.

  She’d received word from Mr. Fossey that the board had approved her request for more time, and for more money. But the advance was only half the amount she’d requested, and the note carried a higher rate of interest. She’d signed the agreement, knowing she had little choice. Now to make good on that promise on paper, just like the promise she’d made to Thomas in her heart.

  Her gaze was drawn to the thinnest line of purple-gray sky that separated the edge of day from approaching night, and for a brief moment she almost believed that, if she sat still enough, if she looked closely enough, she might just catch a fleeting glimpse of eternity.

  The scene reminded her of a photograph Elizabeth had taken not long ago. And while part of her was grateful people who had never visited these mountains were given the opportunity to share in this land’s beauty, she also knew that no photograph would ever capture it completely. She hoped Elizabeth’s pregnancy was progressing well and wished she could share that journey with her friend. But the distance Elizabeth and Daniel lived from town made that impossible. Rachel felt a prick inside her—as did her relationship with Daniel.

  “Dr. Brookston hasn’t come yet?” Door slamming behind him, Mitch dropped down beside her on the porch step, already in his nightshirt.

  Welcoming the company, Rachel cuddled Mitch close, sharing his warmth and anticipating his disappointment. “Not yet. And remember what I said at dinner. . . . He may not be able to come after all.” And likely wouldn’t, if her past experience with doctors proved correct. Not that Rand would intentionally go back on his word, but she knew how overcrowded a doctor’s schedule could get.

  “He’ll come.” Mitch nodded. “He said he would.”

  “I know that’s what he said, Mitch, but doctors get very busy, and their patients always come bef—” She caught herself, realizing she was speaking of Rand . . . while picturing her father. Rand said he would stop by that afternoon to discuss the procedure for Ben’s surgery scheduled two days hence, and she’d made the mistake of mentioning his visit to the boys. A tad disappointed that Rand hadn’t come, she was more put out with herself for having said anything. “If Dr. Brookston doesn’t come tonight, we’ll see him tomorrow.”

  When Rand told her about Brandon Tolliver saying yes to his request, she’d hardly believed him. From her brief dealings with Mr. Tolliver—and knowing how he’d given James such a difficult time during the resort’s construction—she wouldn’t have figured the man to have a compassionate side.

  Rand had seemed pleased with Tolliver’s decision, but something else weighed on him—she could tell. She’d also sensed he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. So she hadn’t pushed.

  “Mama, kids at school are saying Paige Foster’s gonna die.”

  Rachel winced. Children had so few boundaries when it came to speaking about such things. “Paige is still very sick. Dr. Brookston says she got the worst case of it. Her fever is gone, and though she’s still weak, that doesn’t mean she’s going to die. We just need to continue to pray and ask God to make her well.”

  Mitch nodded, staring out across the mountain peaks as she’d done moments earlier. “But that doesn’t mean He will. Right?”

  Rachel felt a stab near her heart and ran a hand through her son’s hair, the sunset giving the strands a fiery glow. “I’m choosing to believe, with all my heart, Mitchell, that God is going to heal Paige. But . . . if she doesn’t get well, it won’t be because God can’t heal her. It will be because”—oh, how she wished she could give him a different answer—“for some reason we won’t understand, and that will be most difficult for her parents, and us, to accept . . . God will have decided, in His wisdom, to take her home instead.”

  Her boys knew what she meant when she used the word home. That was how she’d described where Thomas had been since the day of his passing.

  The front door creaked open behind them, and without turning, Rachel indicated for Mitch to scoot over. At the same time, she extended an arm to Kurt. “Come join us!”

  Kurt claimed the empty space beside her without getting too close. Rachel gave his knee a quick squeeze and tried to be satisfied with the fact that he didn’t pull away.

  “Why does the sky do that?” Kurt pointed.

  “Do what?” she asked.

  “Turn all red and orange. ’Cause some nights it doesn’t.”

  Digging deep in her memory, she came up woefully short of any scientific explanation, though her father would have had one. “I tend to think it’s because God likes to remind us of how creative and powerful He is. And of how beautiful heaven must be.” The colors on the horizon seemed to change by the second, red fading to orange, and orange to a dusky gold.

  Mitch looped his arm through hers. “Do you think Papa can see us?”

  How often she’d wondered that herself, at times praying he could. Then at other times . . . “I’m not sure. . . . I think he knows we miss him very, very much. And I think he also knows we’re doing all right.”

  Mitch seemed to soak up that answer, while his brother still wore a perplexed look.

  Mitch fingered one of the buttons on the sleeve of her shirtwaist. “Do you remember that one time when he took us up to the waterfall and we had that picnic? And the chipmunks got into the cookies?”

  “Yes, I do.” Rachel laughed along with him, remembering several of those picnics they’d taken with the boys. And some more intimate ones, without. Noticing Kurt wasn’t smiling, she gently nudged him. “Papa carried you on his shoulders, all the way up there and then back down, remember? He offered to carry you too”—she looked at Mitch—“but you said you were big enough to walk on your own.”

  “I coulda walked on my own if I’d wanted,” Kurt murmured, sending Mitch a challenging look.

  Not wanting to start the “back and forth” between them again— she’d already arbitrated a heated round over dinner—she hurried to think of something to say, but was spared the task when the romp of horse’s hooves signaled an approaching rider.

  She recognized him, even in the fading light, sitting tall and easy in the saddle.

  According to James, for three generations Rand’s family had owned a cotton plantation some miles north of Nashville. Yet here was Rand Brookston, in the wilds of Colorado, a doctor, and not a boll of cotton in sight. She wondered how his family had felt about that, his father specifically.

  Rand reined in by the porch, and the boys hopped down to the bottom step, eager to meet him. He greeted them each by rumpling their hair while sneaking quick tickles to their ribs. Mitch laughed, halfheartedly dodging Rand’s efforts, while Kurt only smiled, staring up at him, his expression more hopeful than exuberant.

  Hand on the porch rail, Rachel stood, treasuring the moment, yet not completely.

  She couldn’t explain why, especially after Rand had been so kind to her and the boys, but—seeing the scene now—a part of her almost wished he hadn’t shown up. As she watched him walk u
p the stairs, his gaze steady on hers while he still kidded with her sons, the reason became uncomfortably clear.

  And the problem was with her, not him.

  The tiniest spark lit inside her, the slightest flicker, and it dawned on her what it was—anticipation at seeing him again, followed by a flood of questions she wanted to ask. Had he eaten dinner yet or not? She half hoped he hadn’t so she could fix him a plate. What about the patients he’d seen that day, and his diagnosis for each, and how he planned on treating them? What about the shipment of medicine he’d been waiting on for days now? Had it arrived? Not to mention the—

  A cool wind of warning blew through her that had nothing to do with the breeze coming off the mountains. Chilled, she turned and reached for her cane, aware of Rand’s attention.

  One step shy of the porch, he paused and removed his hat. “I’m sorry I’m late.” A smile hovered at the edges of his mouth, almost there, yet not quite, his expression one of sincere regret. “Patients,” he said softly, near eye level with her. “But I guess you already knew that.”

  She remembered what she’d said to him about her father having been a physician, and read assumption in his face. He thought she was comparing his lateness as a doctor with the many nights her father had been late. He was right, of course—at least that was part of all that had been going through her mind. She just wished he wasn’t so discerning a man. She looked away.

  Maybe she could tell him the hour had grown too late and that the boys needed to get to bed for school in the morning, which they did. She could suggest they meet tomorrow at his clinic to discuss Ben’s—

  Mitch grabbed his medical bag. “I’ll carry this inside.”

  “I’ve got your hat.” Kurt didn’t wait to be asked but snatched the hat from Rand’s fingers, fast on Mitch’s heels.

  Rand laughed, looking at his empty hands. “Quite the little hosts you’ve got there.”

  “Yes . . .” She smiled. “They can be.”

  His smile faded. He watched her in a way that made her wonder if he knew all she was feeling. “Is something wrong? Other than my being woefully late.”

  “Not at all.” She glanced at her boys waiting inside the open doorway, Rand’s hat and bag in their grips, expectation on their faces, and common courtesy forced her hand. “Come inside, please.”

  She led him to the front room and gestured to the couch. “Won’t you have a seat?” Aware of the forced brightness in her voice, she tried to sound normal, but couldn’t. She also noticed Rand wasn’t sitting. “I need to get the boys to bed. Then we can get straight to business.”

  “But, Mama . . .” Kurt dropped Rand’s hat in the chair. “You said I could have some more chicken. You promised!”

  Mitch nodded. “You did, Mama. I heard it.” He pivoted to Rand. “Mama made fried chicken tonight. There’s lots left. Do you want some?”

  Before Rand could respond, Mitch retrieved the covered plate from the kitchen and plunked it down on the table beside the sofa. “It’s good and crispy.”

  “We got half a potato left too,” Kurt said. “And biscuits! You can have some milk with them. You want some milk?”

  Rachel’s face went warm. Her boys were better hosts than she was. “I’m sorry, Dr. Brookston, forgive me. I should have asked if you’d—”

  Rand held up a hand. “I’m fine, really. It’s late, and I’m sure you and the boys need to be getting to bed. I figure it’ll only take about an hour to go over the details of Ben’s surgery.” He glanced at his bag on the couch. “I’ve got some diagrams in my satchel that I’ve drawn to help illustrate what I hope we can accomplish.”

  What we can accomplish. He made it sound as though she was actually going to take part in the procedure, instead of simply handing him instruments and administering chloroform. A weariness she hadn’t noticed before edged his eyes, along with a sincerity that put her to shame. Whatever kind of relationship Rand might, or might not, be seeking with her—he was her friend. Plain and simple. But she wasn’t treating him much like one. “Have you had dinner yet?” she asked softly.

  “I’m fine . . . really.”

  Hearing the truth in his noncommittal response, she smiled, remembering word for word what he’d said to her the other night. “Sometimes, Dr. Brookston, it’s all right to simply say yes and accept the gift.”

  The slow smile he gave her threatened to fan that tiny, dangerous spark into flame. But she guarded her heart closely, ever mindful of the cost if she didn’t.

  In the kitchen, Rachel fixed Rand a plate of dinner and set it inside the oven to warm. She peered into the main room. “Your dinner will be ready in—”

  Rand wasn’t there.

  Hearing voices coming from the boys’ bedroom, she tiptoed down the darkened hallway, feeling more than a little silly. She paused outside the open door.

  “So you have a microscope too?” Mitch asked.

  “Yes. It’s an older one, but it still works well. I’ll show it to you both the next time you’re in town. Each of you can choose a leaf, and we’ll look at them under the lens.”

  “What will they look like under there?” Kurt’s voice sounded different somehow, but Rachel couldn’t pinpoint why.

  Rand laughed softly. “Very different than they look on the tree. The microscope lets you see all the details the human eye can’t detect.”

  “Details like what?” Mitch asked.

  “The veins of the leaf, and the tiny little bugs that you can’t see just by looking.”

  “Bugs?” Kurt’s voice rose with excitement. “I like bugs!”

  More soft laughter. “I like bugs too, Kurt. Wait until you see them under the microscope. It’s amazing how many intricate parts they have.”

  “Kurt’s good at catching bugs.” Mitch’s tone held quiet pride. “And snakes and mice and frogs and lizards and . . .”

  Rachel smiled at the list Mitch rattled off, her heart warming at his affirmation for his brother.

  “You guys better get on to sleep now. I don’t want to get in trouble with your mother.”

  “You’re smart, aren’t you, Dr. Brookston?”

  Rachel smiled at Kurt’s comment, knowing how rarely the boy praised anything or anyone, and wondering if Rand knew how big a compliment he’d just been paid.

  “I’ve studied a lot, that’s all. I like to read too. I learn a lot by reading.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes, remembering the stacks and stacks of books piled high in the man’s bedroom.

  “I like to read too.” Mitch sighed. “But I’ve already read all the books we have here. And Miss Stafford won’t let us take books outside the schoolhouse. She says they’re too important and might get ruined. But she let Amanda Spivey take some home.”

  Rachel gritted her teeth. That’s not fair! Miss Stafford allowing her niece to take home books while the other children couldn’t. Talk about playing favorites. Of course, Kurt had ruined a book, thereby forfeiting his—

  She heard Rand’s boot steps, and panicked. She turned, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.

  “About those books, Mitch—”

  Rand paused, and Rachel did too, her heart pounding.

  “I’ve got some books at the clinic. A lot of them probably wouldn’t be of interest to you, but I’ve got some from when I was about your age, and I’d be happy to let you borrow them. Kurt too, if he wants.”

  “You mean . . . we could bring them home with us?”

  “Of course you can. Books are meant to be read. I think that’s why writers write them.”

  Rachel could picture the smile on Mitch’s face. Rand’s too.

  “Can I ask you one more thing, Dr. Brookston?” Kurt’s quiet tone hinted at the question’s importance, and Rachel leaned closer to the door.

  “Sure thing, buddy.”

  “Do you know why the sky turns all red and orange at night?”

  Closing her eyes, Rachel leaned back against the wall, loving her younger son more than words could captu
re. Rand’s quiet footsteps sounded, only they weren’t moving toward her. She heard the creak of a bed and felt the sting of tears.

  “You mean when the sun goes down?” A short pause. “Well, it’s really all about light. You already know that light comes from the sun, and as the sun begins to set, the light has to travel farther through the atmosphere before it gets to us. More of that light is scattered and reflected and as less of it reaches you directly, the sun appears less bright. When it’s really red, like it was tonight, that’s because the air contains dust or water particles that reflect the light in all directions, making the sunset . . .”

  Wiping her eyes, Rachel scooted back down the hallway into the kitchen. She had Rand’s dinner waiting on the table minutes later when he walked in.

  He took the chair opposite hers, where she’d set his plate. “Your boys ask a lot of questions.”

  “Especially the closer bedtime gets,” she answered with a wry smile. Looking at him again, she noticed how tired he seemed.

  “Thank you for dinner. I don’t want you to think I expected this, because I didn’t.”

  “I know. And it’s no trouble. I’m glad to do it.” And she was.

  “But just so we’re clear . . .” He leaned forward, a gleam in his eyes. “Don’t think this counts for that roast beef dinner you owe me. I’m not lettin’ you off that easy.”

  She grinned.

  He reached across the table, and it took her a second to realize he was reaching for her hand. She slipped hers into his and bowed her head as he offered thanks. God forgive her, but she couldn’t think of anything but the warmth of his hand around hers. Keeping her head still, she risked a glance up at him. His head was bowed, his eyes closed, and though his lips moved, she could only stare at their hands. Whereas Thomas’s hands had been thick and rough from farm work, Rand’s were long and graceful, made to hold a scalpel.

  “Amen,” she whispered, echoing him, aware he’d let go of her hand. She drew it back into her lap.