by Ann Shorey
The boy hurried toward him. “Yes sir. Want me to lock up if you’re delayed?”
“I’m not leaving. I’ll be at my desk.” He grabbed his cane and marched to the kitchen, ignoring the patrons still seated at the tables.
When he entered, Cassie held up a plump blackberry between her thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know who supplied these, but they’re beautiful, aren’t they?” She gestured toward several baskets brimming with fruit. “We’ll have plenty for pies tomorrow, and maybe the next day, as well.”
He grunted acknowledgment. “Soon as you’re finished with those, would you please come to my office?”
Her pleased expression changed to one of surprise. She dropped the berry into a basket and untied her apron. “This can wait. What’s wrong?”
“We’ll talk in my office.”
Mrs. Fielder and Becca stared at him as Cassie walked to the doorway. From their expressions he realized his tone had been uncharacteristically harsh. Well, if they’d heard what he just heard, they’d feel harsh too. He stepped to one side to allow Cassie to precede him.
She passed him with her head held high and her cheeks redder than an unripe blackberry. He tried to tamp down his anger as they crossed the dining room and entered his office space. He knew the events of the past month had left him on edge. Maybe she’d have a good explanation. But what if she didn’t? What if she confessed an interest in Mr. Fitzhugh?
He waited until she was seated, then hooked his cane on the edge of the table and faced her. With an effort of will he kept his gaze from her soft lips.
Before he could say anything, she placed her hand on his arm. “Jacob, please tell me why you’re upset. Did I do something wrong with the customers’ pies? Leave out the sugar?” Her voice sounded hoarse.
“The pies were perfect, as usual.”
“Then, what?”
He pinned her with his sharpest gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me you went to Price City with Mr. Fitzhugh? Why did I have to hear the news from a stranger who passed through here at suppertime?”
“I didn’t go with Mr. Fitzhugh. I went with Mother, and he invited himself along to—” She paused and coughed, then cleared her throat. “To protect us on the journey. He felt the long stagecoach ride wasn’t safe for unescorted ladies.”
Hot jealousy burned through him. If the coach ride wasn’t safe, he should have been the one to protect Cassie. “Admirable.” He spun the word with sarcasm. “But why did you conceal the information?”
She sprang to her feet, hands planted on her hips. “If you recall, you stopped me right in the middle of my story this morning. You said we’d talk more later.” Her lower lip trembled. “I’ve been counting the days until I’d see you again. But I didn’t expect this! You’ve accused me of deception. I’d never deceive you—you should know that by now.”
Tears glittered in her eyes. “If you’re finished, I’d like to go home. Suddenly I feel very tired.” She darted from the room without waiting for a response. In a moment, he heard the door to the grocery slam.
Jacob slumped forward in his chair and rested his head in his hands. Why had he been so hasty? He’d dug himself into a pit and now he had no idea how to climb out.
Blinking back tears, Cassie left the store behind and strode to the corner of Third Street, then turned toward home. She would not cry. Not in public. She passed Mr. Slocum’s white clapboard house and dashed down the gravel path to her cabin. Once inside, she leaned against the closed door and buried her face in her hands. If only Jacob had listened to the rest of her account before accusing her.
Sobs shook her body. She didn’t know him as well as she thought she did. Weren’t couples supposed to discuss their differences? Perhaps their courtship was a mistake. In the morning, she’d offer to release him. No, she’d write Jacob a letter explaining the entire journey and leave it on his desk. The next move would be up to him.
She sniffled. Grabbing a handkerchief from her pocket, she wiped her eyes, then dropped the linen square on the table.
Sunset’s vermillion rays tinted the shelf where she kept her writing paper and ink. If she started the letter now, she wouldn’t need to waste oil by lighting the lamp. With heavy steps, she carried the materials to the table and sat on one of the chairs Jacob had provided when she first rented the cabin. Closing her eyes, she leaned back, the memory of his help with furnishings a heavy weight in her chest. “Things change,” her father had often said. Indeed they did.
She dipped her pen in the ink and wrote “Dear Jacob” at the top of the page. Then she crossed out “Dear” and began.
Here’s what happened when I arrived in Calusa last week: Mother’s brother was gone and she was staying in a boardinghouse. She asked me to accompany her to Price City, where Uncle Rand supposedly was managing a hotel. The stage runs to Price City three times a week, so we couldn’t leave until Friday. When the coach arrived, Mr. Fitzhugh . . .
Her throat ached from her bout of tears. She laid the pen aside and stepped outside to fill a pitcher with water from the pump in the lean-to.
Long shadows traced the yard with fingers of gloom. What a difference from today’s bright morning, when she’d been eager to see Jacob. Sighing, she carried the dripping pitcher into the cabin and gulped down a cupful of cold water, then took her seat at the table and stared at the unfinished letter. Fatigue crept over her bones. She’d finish tomorrow—tonight all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull the blanket over her head.
31
Jacob paced between the grocery and the kitchen. Mrs. Fielder and Becca had prepared and served the breakfast, and now Becca stood at the basin washing dishes. Cassie had not come to work.
He raked his fingers through his hair, cursing himself for his harsh words the night before. He’d planned to apologize the moment she arrived this morning, but as the hours ticked by worry overrode his remorse. The nine o’clock train going west left a half hour ago. What if his unfounded jealousy had driven her straight to Mr. Fitzhugh’s arms?
When he paused in the doorway, Becca turned to him.
“Since Missy ain’t here this morning, I reckon you want me to make pies today.”
“Yes, please. We have two orders to fill.”
He turned to leave, then stopped. Cassie lived alone. Someone could have noticed her on the street and followed her home. Strangers were always coming and going through Noble Springs. Although Jesse Slocum lived next door, he might not hear her if she cried out.
Jacob stared at the floor while possible scenes played out in his imagination. If anything happened to her, it would be his fault for sending her out in a distressed state. That being the case, he needed to be the one to make sure she was safe. Then he would apologize—immediately and profusely.
“Becca?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Leave the pies for now. I’d like you to accompany me to Miss Haddon’s house.”
“I don’t know where she lives.”
He clenched his jaw to prevent himself from snapping his response. “I do. I want to be sure nothing bad has happened to her and don’t want to compromise her reputation by going there alone.”
She stared at him for a moment, then untied her apron and followed him out the door.
Jacob’s steps crunched on the gravel walkway leading to Cassie’s door. Becca stayed several paces behind until he reached the stoop and knocked. Then she caught up with him and waited to one side.
After a long moment, he knocked again. Nothing moved inside the cabin. He clenched his fists. No doubt she’d left on the train, or had seen him coming and refused to open the door. He’d stepped back onto the walkway when the door opened a crack.
Cassie peered at him with purple-shadowed eyes, clutching her wrapper at her throat.
“G-go away,” she said in a raspy voice. A tremor shook her body.
His breath hitched at her ravaged appearance. “Are you injured?” He reached a hand toward her, but she backed away.
&nbs
p; “I’m ill.” Her teeth chattered. “I said . . . go away.”
Becca moved in front of him. “Let me help you, missy. You needs to be in your bed.”
Without waiting for permission, she stepped through the entrance and tucked her hand under Cassie’s arm. Jacob followed into the combined kitchen and sitting room and waited while the two women crossed into the bedroom. A half-filled sheet of paper rested on the table beside a crumpled white handkerchief.
In the next room, Becca rolled back the covers. “You lay down and let me rub your feet. Might help you warm up some. I seen people with ague before.”
“Th . . . thank you. I’m . . . so cold. Would you . . . could you get me another blanket? Mr. Slocum . . . my neighbor . . . would probably have—” Her body arched as a spasm of tremors overtook her speech.
“Just tell me where he’s at.”
Jacob dropped his gaze to Becca, who knelt beside the bed, chafing Cassie’s bare feet. “Mr. Slocum lives in the house in front of this cabin. I’ll go for a blanket.”
Cassie stared at him for a moment, then turned her head away.
His harsh words last night had wounded her more deeply than he’d thought. An apology would have to wait—she needed a doctor, now. Fear rattled him. Ague was a merciless illness that struck again and again.
“As soon as I fetch the blanket, I’m going for Doc Stewart.”
She didn’t turn her head.
Something hard inside crumbled when he spoke the doctor’s name. He’d resented the man since the day he married Rosemary. Now he realized how unforgiveness had distorted his thinking.
On his way out the door, he hoped Cassie would forgive his hasty accusations faster than he’d forgiven the doctor. When she recovered—if she recovered—he had an important question to ask her.
Jacob doubled back to the alley behind the restaurant for his horse. Doc’s office was too far to walk on his aching leg. He steered his thoughts away from the question of what he’d do if the doctor wasn’t in his office.
After dropping his cane in the scabbard, he flung himself into the saddle and urged Jackson to a gallop over the three blocks to Commerce Street. As he passed the church, he remembered Reverend French’s admonition to cast his cares on the Lord. The reverend had claimed the Lord cared for all his people.
Jacob swallowed. Lord, I don’t know how you could care for me, but I know you care for Cassie. Please help her get well.
When he rounded the corner, his anxiety eased at the sight of the doctor’s horse and buggy tied to a rail outside his office. He dismounted and fastened Jackson’s reins next to the chestnut mare’s. Cane in hand, he limped into the reception area, relieved to see there were no patients waiting.
Dr. Stewart met him at the entrance to the examining room. Surprise crossed his face, followed by a welcoming smile.
“Jacob. Is your leg troubling you again?”
“No. Seems to be healing fine.” He sucked in a breath to steady his voice. “It’s Cassie Haddon. She needs you. She didn’t come to work today and when I went to see what was wrong I found her weak and shaking. Says she can’t get warm.” He took a step closer and gripped the doctor’s arm. “You don’t suppose it’s ague, do you?”
“Won’t know until I take a look.” He raised an eyebrow. “She’s not alone, is she?”
“Our kitchen maid, Becca, is with her.”
“Good. Let me get my bag and I’ll follow you.”
Jacob settled into a chair to wait while the doctor conducted his examination. The door between the two rooms was closed. He heard Doc’s deep voice and Cassie’s abbreviated responses, but couldn’t distinguish their words.
He dipped his head, staring unseeing at the paper before him. After a moment, his eyes focused on Cassie’s handwriting.
Dear Jacob.
His heart lurched at the bold line drawn through “Dear.” No doubt he deserved the slash, but the heavy stroke cut like a sword. He scanned to the end where she’d stopped in the middle of a sentence. The temperature in the small room seemed to have risen several degrees as the shame of his behavior filled him.
He grabbed the crumpled cloth next to the page and mopped his forehead. Lord, it’s me again. Please help her to forgive me. He smoothed the handkerchief. When he folded the linen into a neat square, his thumb traveled over the letters PF embroidered in cream-colored floss on one corner.
Alarm bells rang in his head. Patrick Fitzhugh. Whatever else her letter would have said, she had his handkerchief.
Jacob stared at the ceiling. If he couldn’t mend the rift between them, he’d be responsible for sending Cassie straight to Fitzhugh’s arms. He couldn’t allow that to happen. The sight of her lying sick and helpless roused feelings he hadn’t known he possessed.
Cassie was meant to be his wife. But before he dared ask, he had to eliminate the problem that had arisen in Boston. Then his position in Noble Springs, and with Cassie, would be safe.
The bedroom door opened and Dr. Stewart joined him.
Heartened at the smile on the doctor’s face, he stood, one hand braced on the back of the chair. “Will she be all right?”
“Give her a few days and she’ll be fine. She’s got a case of the grippe.” He plopped his medical bag on top of the folded handkerchief. “I’ll bring Rosemary by this evening with some of her special chicken soup with peppers, along with an infusion of boneset. Guaranteed to help.”
Jacob grinned to himself at Dr. Stewart’s reference to an herbal remedy, recalling Rosemary’s accounts of the many disagreements she and the doctor had over such treatments when they first met.
Apparently Jacob didn’t hide his grin with much success, for the burly physician winked at him. “She’s made me a believer.” He lifted his bag and strode toward the entrance. “See you this evening.”
He responded with a noncommittal nod. Cassie had made her feelings clear. She didn’t want him there.
As daylight dimmed outside her window, Cassie pushed back a layer of blankets. “Becca, please help me get up. I want to be presentable when Rosemary arrives.”
“Doctor said you was to rest. Miz Stewart knows you’re sick. No need for you to be out from under them covers.”
Gooseflesh prickled over her when she uncovered her shoulders and arms. “Just for a minute? The chills are better. If you’ll please bring me my brush and comb from the bureau, I’ll tidy my hair. Then I promise I’ll cover up again.”
Becca raised a skeptical eyebrow, but handed her the items she’d asked for. While Cassie brushed out her tangles, Becca crossed to the next room and gazed out the window.
“Here comes Miz Stewart. My land, she’s carrying a big basket. Must have a lot of chicken soup in there.”
Cassie gathered her hair into three sections and plaited the strands in haste. After dropping the comb and brush onto the table next to her bed, she propped pillows behind her and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She’d have no trouble obeying Elijah’s orders to rest if a little thing like brushing her hair left her struggling to breathe.
Becca swung open the front door. “Come in, ma’am. Missy’s been waiting for you.” She took the basket from Rosemary’s hands and deposited it on the table while Rosemary hastened to Cassie’s bedside.
The sight of her friend brought tears to Cassie’s eyes. She’d tried all day to wall off thoughts of Jacob, but Rosemary’s sympathetic gaze sent a crack through her defenses.
“I’m so glad you’re here. This has been a horrible day.”
“Of course it has. The grippe can be miserable.”
“More than that. Jacob—” She remembered Becca’s presence, and bit off the rest of her sentence. To change the subject, she leaned forward and peeked at the basket on the table. “Do I smell chicken soup?”
“I’ll bring you a bowlful right now.” Rosemary bustled into the next room and lifted a towel-wrapped crock from the basket.
While she spooned a portion into a bowl, Becca came to the doorway. “Mr.
West said I should stay with you today, but now that Miz Stewart’s here, do you think I could go? If I get back to the kitchen before Wash leaves, he’ll fetch me home.”
“Of course you may leave.” She groped for her handkerchief and blew her nose. “Thank you for looking after me.”
“You sure now?”
The expression on Becca’s face spoke more clearly than words. She was smitten with Wash.
“I’m sure.” Cassie tried to draw a deep breath, but coughed instead.
“Thank you, missy.” Becca whisked out the door.
Rosemary dragged a chair next to the bed and then carried in a bowl of soup and a spoon, which she placed next to a candleholder on the small table.
Cassie pushed her feet toward the edge of the bed.
With gentle pressure, Rosemary pressed them back under the blankets. “Tomorrow you may feel well enough to get up and eat. Tonight stay right where you are.”
Too tired to argue, she flopped back against the pillows and accepted the bowl and spoon.
Between swallows of the spicy mixture, she told Rosemary about her trip to Price City and Jacob’s reaction to his customer’s insinuations.
“He accused me of deliberately deceiving him. That’s the same thing as calling me a liar, isn’t it?” She handed the empty bowl to Rosemary. “Before I left he asked to court me, but now I’m not sure he’s someone I should consider marrying.”
Rosemary set the bowl on the table. “Jacob’s a lonely man. He desperately needs the softening influence of a lady in his life. From what I’ve seen of the two of you at church, you’re that lady.”
“But he seemed so angry. He’s the one who stopped me yesterday morning when I started to tell him about the trip—then he got upset because he didn’t hear the whole story.” Her throat tickled and she turned her head away to cough.
“He came here today to look for you when you didn’t come to work, didn’t he? Then he went for Elijah when he saw how sick you are.”
“He probably missed his precious pies.”
