Waiting for Morning (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series)

by Margaret Brownley

  Lula-Belle set a pile of freshly laundered clothes on the foot of Molly’s bed, the feathers on her hat snapping in the air like flags at sea. “You can thank your lucky stars that he’s only fourteen or she’d have him married off by now.”

  Molly’s gaze settled on Caleb, whose dark eyes never left her face. His back ramrod straight, he looked distant.

  It took enormous effort to shift her gaze back to Aunt Bessie. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined Donny having any sort of normal life. Certainly not one that included marriage.

  “He won’t be fourteen forever,” Aunt Bessie said, as if age were the only consideration. “I can’t wait to tell him that you’re awake. He’s been so worried.”

  “How’s he doing, really?” Molly asked.

  “Unless I miss my guess, he’s busy beating Sam at chess.”

  “I didn’t even know he could play chess,” Molly said. Between working and caring for him, she barely had enough time to teach him the necessary skills of reading and writing. Little time had been left for fun except for an occasional game of checkers.

  Lula-Belle rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky Bessie doesn’t teach the boy to gamble.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sakes, Lula-Belle. Just because I won a bet doesn’t mean I gambled.”

  Caleb raised his eyebrows. “You won a bet?”

  Aunt Bessie got all flustered. “Not exactly. Some of the men in town were betting on how long”—she gave Molly a sheepish glance— ”you would last as Miss Walker’s heiress. Most didn’t think you’d last more than—never mind that. I said you’d last more than two months and won even though I didn’t put a single penny in the pot.”

  “It still sounds like gambling to me,” Lula-Belle insisted with a stubborn look.

  “Well, it’s not!” Aunt Bessie gave a self-righteous nod. “It’s not gambling if you plan to use the money for the Lord’s work.” She indicated the box on Molly’s lap. “Open it.”

  Molly slid the ribbon off and tore away the paper. “Oh, bonbons!” she exclaimed.

  Aunt Bessie beamed. “They’re my favorite.”

  Molly took the lid off and pulled out a foil-covered chocolate.

  Caleb watched with knitted brow. “I don’t think you should be eating sweets yet.” He looked and sounded every bit a doctor.

  Aunt Bessie elbowed him. “I guess you haven’t heard. Bonbons are not just your ordinary sweets. They’re good for whatever ails you.” She leaned over and helped herself to a chocolate treat.

  Molly offered one to Caleb but he declined. Glad to have something to do besides avoid Caleb’s gaze, she carefully peeled away the foil and tossed it toward the wastebasket and missed. Caleb stooped to pick it up.

  She took a tiny bite of the luscious confectionary, letting the chocolate melt in her mouth. “Hmm,” she said, smacking her lips. “I do believe they’re my favorite too.”

  Aunt Bessie looked pleased and turned to Caleb. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”

  Caleb stood looking at the foil wrapper in his hand. “I’ve gotta go,” he said in an abrupt voice. He grabbed his hat from atop the chest of drawers and literally ran out of the room.

  Molly stared at the door. Oh, Caleb. If only things could be different . . .

  Aunt Bessie gave a knowing nod. “A lovers’ quarrel, eh?”

  Molly felt her cheeks grow warm. She wasn’t about to admit to Aunt Bessie or anyone else what she and Caleb had discussed. “No, it was . . . nothing like that.”

  “We should go.” Lula-Belle stood and gave her sister a meaningful look. “We don’t want to tire Miss Hatfield.”

  Aunt Bessie looked about to answer but thought better of it. “Very well. But we’ll be back.”

  Chapter 33

  Throttle wide open, Caleb raced along the bumpy dirt road toward the Trotter farm. “I love you too.” He pushed the thought away only to have another take its place: “I can’t be that woman.”

  Drat! He couldn’t think about that. Not now. He had a patient, a very sick little boy who needed his full attention.

  Wheels spinning, he turned onto the Trotter property and parked. As if to protest Caleb’s heavy-footed driving, Bertha backfired and Magic barked in response.

  In the distance Mrs. Trotter hung wash on the clothesline strung between the house and barn.

  “Stay,” he said, pointing at Magic. He jumped out of his car and sprinted across the yard.

  Mrs. Trotter greeted him with a wary frown. “Dr. Fairbanks.” Her hand froze on a half-hung pair of trousers. She looked tired and pale as the bedsheet flapping in the breeze.

  “I didn’t expect to see you.” Her lips trembled. “I hope you aren’t bringing more bad news.”

  “On the contrary. I believe I may have misdiagnosed Jimmy’s illness.”

  She let go of the newly washed trousers and they hung precariously from a single clothespin before dropping to the ground. She didn’t seem to notice. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I don’t think he has leukemia. I think he has lead poisoning.”

  She stared at him, her face suffused with confusion. “But how—”

  “I have reason to believe there’s lead in that foil ball he carries around with him. If that’s true, it could be what’s making him sick.”

  “The foil ball? The one made from bonbon wrappers?” She stared at him in disbelief. “But how is that possible? Wouldn’t other people get sick from eating those sweets?”

  “Most people discard the wrappers and they don’t make spitballs out of them.”

  Miss Trotter made a face. “I’ve scolded him for that filthy habit but he persists.” She placed her hand on her forehead as if to calm her thoughts. “You . . . you really think that’s what’s wrong with him?”

  “We’ll know for sure soon enough. I’d like to talk to him. Is he home?”

  She nodded toward the house. “Inside.” Leaving her basket of wash behind, she led the way, calling to Jimmy the moment they reached the front porch.

  Caleb followed her into the house. Mrs. Trotter opened a door leading to another room in back. “Jimmy!”

  Jimmy appeared rubbing his eyes. It was midafternoon but he was still dressed in his nightshirt. It was obvious he’d been sleeping.

  “Hello, Jimmy,” Caleb said.

  Jimmy gave him a squinty-eyed look. “Hello, Dr. Fairbanks.”

  Caleb bent over, hands on his thighs. “I wonder if you would be kind enough to fetch me your foil ball.”

  Jimmy glanced at his mother as if to check her reaction before turning back to Caleb. “Why do you want it?”

  “I’ll explain when you bring it to me.”

  Jimmy left the room and Caleb straightened.

  Mrs. Trotter wrung her hands together, lines of worry on her face. “May I offer you something, Dr. Fairbanks? Some lemonade?”

  “No, thank you.” Caleb was too wound up to eat or drink. What a day it had been. First Molly had opened her eyes and told him she loved him. Now this. God, don’t let me be wrong about what’s causing Jimmy’s problem.

  Jimmy reappeared and handed Caleb the foil ball. It was at least six inches round. “You must have eaten a lot of sweets to make a ball this size.”

  “I didn’t eat them all,” Jimmy said. “I collect foil from other kids.”

  Caleb examined the crushed foil. The ball smelled of chocolate. “Why? What do you plan to do with it?”

  “I’m making a ball just like the ones on my trade cards,” Jimmy replied with obvious pride.

  “Trade cards?” Caleb looked to Mrs. Trotter for explanation.

  “His uncle used to play for the Cincinnati Red Stockings and every Christmas he sends the children baseball trade cards.” She shrugged. “I’m afraid he’s filled Jimmy’s head with all kinds of fanciful tales.”

  “The ball has to be at least nine inches round,” Jimmy explained, his usual dull eyes almost as shiny as the foil sphere in Caleb’s hands. “Otherwise it’s not a baseba
ll. Soon as it’s big enough, I’m going to make me a baseball bat.”

  “I see.” Caleb hated to spoil the boy’s fun but it couldn’t be helped. “The problem is, I believe there’s something in the foil that’s making you sick.”

  Jimmy gave the ball in Caleb’s hand a dubious glance. “Is that what makes my stomach hurt?”

  “I’m afraid so. That means you can’t play with foil or make spitballs anymore.”

  “But if I don’t have a ball, I can’t play baseball.” Jimmy’s lip quivered and his eyes grew moist.

  “I’ll make a deal with you, Jimmy,” Caleb said. “You promise to stay away from foil and I’ll buy you the best baseball I can find.”

  Jimmy’s face brightened. “Really?”

  Caleb smiled. Jimmy’s health problems were far from over, but with God’s help, he would recover. “Really. Now go and wash your hands. And be sure to use lots of soap and water.”

  Jimmy turned to leave the room, but his mother stopped him and hugged him tight, tears rolling down her cheeks. He wriggled free and she called to her other children. Almost instantly five more freckled faces peered anxiously at their crying mother.

  “Quick!” Mrs. Trotter said, motioning to her oldest girl. “Go get your pa. Tell him we have good news.” She turned to her youngest. “Jimmy, wash your hands good now, you hear?”

  Caleb stuffed the foil ball into his black bag for testing and pulled out a vial of Iodide of Potassium. “Give him a few drops every four hours.” Jimmy’s mother took the vial from him and slipped it into her apron pocket.

  Harvey Trotter stomped into the house and tossed his straw hat onto the hat rack. “What’s all the racket?”

  Mrs. Trotter grasped her husband’s sleeve. “Dr. Fairbanks thinks that Jimmy might not have leukemia after all.”

  Harvey turned to Caleb, his sunbaked face suffused with hope. “Is this true?”

  Caleb nodded. “I believe he has lead poisoning.” He quickly explained about the foil ball. “Lead poisoning is serious but I think we caught it before it damaged any vital organs.”

  Harvey beamed from ear to ear. He looked completely different from the tortured man Caleb had spotted entering a saloon the day before.

  “Well, I’ll be.” He pumped Caleb’s hand like the handle of a dry well. “We’re mighty obliged to you, Doctor.”

  Mrs. Trotter clasped her hands to her chest. “Praise the Lord.”

  Harvey looked at Jimmy, who had just returned to the room. He threw his arms around the boy. “Praise the Lord.”

  He then hugged his wife, and all six children huddled around their ma and pa.

  Caleb drove away from the Trotter farm grinning. The blazing sun barely held its own against the warm glow radiating from inside him. “Whoopie!” One hand on the wheel, he pumped the other in the air. Thank You, thank You, God!

  Jimmy’s problems were far from over. If Caleb’s latest diagnosis was correct—and he had every reason to believe that it was—the boy would still have to be monitored carefully. There could be lingering effects, but he had a good chance of living a full life.

  Caleb needed this good news. Only God knew how much. He needed a reminder as to why he became a doctor in the first place. He’d lost three patients during the past week: one from a gunshot wound, another from a rattlesnake bite, and one an infant. It was the kind of week that brought a man to his knees and made him question his very reason for being.

  “The town needs you and you need a wife who puts your needs first.”

  Even the bumpy road couldn’t distract him from the pain that accompanied thoughts of Molly. He recalled the night they stood in the moonlight surrounded by cattle. He shared his dreams for the future and she made him believe that even building a clinic was possible. If she was by his side.

  “That woman can’t be me.”

  He jammed his foot hard against the gas pedal and Bertha sped up. She bounced and spewed and rattled and roared, but not enough to shake away his troubled thoughts.

  Chapter 34

  Molly walked around the hotel room touching the bright bouquets and reading the messages attached to each one. So many kind words, so many said prayers. Such an outpouring of love.

  The Bible said not to judge but that’s exactly what she’d done. After being banned from her father’s funeral, she wanted no part of church or its people. Would never have attended Cactus Patch Church had Caleb not insisted. And even then she’d attended with a closed heart instead of open arms. A few misguided deacons had kept her away physically on that long-ago day, but she never should have turned away spiritually.

  God, forgive me. She wiped away her tears and continued reading the cards.

  Many names she didn’t recognize, but one she did. Or rather she recognized the stunted handwriting. Mr. Washington had written down the lyrics to a song he’d written for his newly organized choir.

  The first stanza read, “Put God first and everything will be all right. Put God first and you’ll never know another night. Put God first . . .”

  She set the card down. Simple for you to say, Mr. Washington. For as long as she could remember, her first thought upon waking was Donny. He was her last thought at night.

  Brodie said unlearning a horse was harder than training it. The same was true of people.

  Caleb burst through the door, startling her. “You’re up.” Before she could say anything he added, “I have good new. I was right about Jimmy.” He lifted the box of bonbons from the bedside table and shook it. “Has lead poisoning.”

  Confused, she stared at him. That didn’t seem like good news to her. She already knew someone who died of lead poisoning. “Is he going to —”

  He shook his head. “It’ll take awhile for him to recover and the lead may have lingering effects, but I believe we caught it in time.”

  “Oh, Caleb. How wonderful! His family must be so relieved.” She clasped her hands together. “But how does a child get lead poisoning?”

  “It was these.” He tossed the empty confection box into the wastebasket. “Jimmy saved the foil and even made spitballs out of it.”

  She touched a hand to her forehead. “That day in church, he spit a wad of foil at that old man.”

  He nodded. “Watching you peel away that foil made me think of it and I did some research. I sent a sample to a colleague in Boston for testing, but I’m willing to bet it’ll come back positive for lead.” He grinned. “Just think, had you not been thrown from a horse, I might never have figured out what caused Jimmy’s illness.”

  Molly’s mind whirled. “Aunt Bessie deserves the credit, not me.” The dear lady’s gift turned out to be more valuable than gold. Molly couldn’t believe the way things worked out—amazing. God’s work? She smiled at how easily God’s name came to mind. Perhaps putting God first wouldn’t be as hard as she thought.

  “It seems like a day of discovery,” she said, her voice soft.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been reading my get-well messages.”

  “Words of wisdom, no doubt.” He held her gaze. Unspoken words seemed to hang between them as if strung upon an invisible rope.

  “Caleb, what you said . . .”

  He shook his head. “I know that Donny is your main concern and I had no right to put you on the spot while you’re recuperating. As a doctor I should have known better than to upset you. I apologize. It . . . it won’t happen again.” He pulled a watch out of his vest pocket. “I have a patient to see in”—he pressed the clasp and the cover sprang open—”exactly ten minutes.” Closing the watch case, he slid it back into his pocket and turned to leave.

  “Wait!” she called. He spun around to face her, his expression closed—a stranger’s. “I—I—” He looked so withdrawn—professional, cold even. He looked nothing like the man who had declared his love for her.

  The words she wanted to say died before reaching her lips. “I need a bath.”

  “I’ll tell the clerk at the front desk.” He hesitated. �
��Miss Walker covered the cost of this room with enough money left for expenses until you recover.”

  “Miss Walker did that? But why?”

  “One of the advantages of being her heiress, no doubt,” he said, his voice curt.

  He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. She wondered if she only imagined him pausing outside the door before walking away.

  Molly lay in bed and stared at the sunbeam pouring in the infirmary windows. She’d spent a long, sleepless night and greeted the morning with more than a little relief.

  Caleb’s words kept running through her head. “I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you wearing that ridiculous purple hat and pointing a shotgun at me.”

  When had she first known she loved him? For some reason it felt as if she’d loved him all her life. She’d fought her feelings, denied them, pretended they didn’t exist.

  Put God first and everything will be all right.

  Even her feelings for Caleb?

  She closed her eyes and poured her heart out to the Lord. She’d been wrong about so many, many things. She judged all churches cold and judgmental like the one in Dobson Creek and she’d been wrong. She was also wrong—perhaps even arrogant—to think she knew what was best for Donny and that she could take care of him without help. But her worst mistake of all was putting God last and not asking Him to guide the way.

  Falling in love with Caleb? Was that wrong too?

  She jumped out of bed, hurriedly dressed, and battled her curls into a tidy bun. A loud chugging sound announced Caleb’s arrival in town. She raced to the window and her heart leaped with joy. Bertha backfired and she laughed. Caleb glanced her way and she lifted her arm to wave, but he quickly dashed into his office, Magic at his heels. Had he seen her? She didn’t think so.

  She turned from the window and the room began to spin. Better get a bite to eat. She had no intention of falling on her face when she told Caleb her decision to follow her heart.

  After eating her fill of flapjacks and nervously gulping down two cups of coffee in Miss Lily’s Café, she felt better except for the butterflies in her stomach.