by Janette Oke
“Now, about that medication,” Belinda began, but Jackson stopped her with a chuckle.
“In my hurry to pick up a very attractive young lady, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten to bring it,” he said. Then he added quickly, “I’ll be sure to bring it with me when I come to check Mrs.
Stafford-Smyth in the morning.”
“So . . . so you will be coming again tomorrow?” asked Belinda shyly.
“Luke and I went through all the patient files, and Mrs.
Stafford-Smyth is one of the patients that we agreed I will take,” answered Jackson simply.
Belinda nodded. “And the . . . the directions for giving the medication?” she prompted.
“Very straightforward—nothing other than one tablet morning, noon, and night—with water.”
Belinda blinked. Hadn’t Jackson indicated complicated instructions when he’d mentioned the new medication earlier? Or had she imagined it?
Jackson was talking about his desire to help bring culture, in some small measure, to their town.
“It would be so enriching and relaxing,” he said, “to attend a play or a concert now and then,” and though Belinda had never had the pleasure of either, she quite agreed.
“It would also help young suitors, such as myself,” Jackson went on with a knowing smile. “What is there now to offer a young woman except a walk in the fresh air or a ride in the country?”
Is Jackson thinking of courting someone? He couldn’t mean me!
Belinda’s thoughts rushed frantically through her mind. To cover her confusion, she tried to make a little joke with, “Well, there are the school programs each spring.” She was very relieved when they laughed together and Jackson, as far as she was concerned, completely changed the conversation.
“Mr. O’Connel seems like a fine young man.”
“Yes,” agreed Belinda innocently. “He is.”
“Is he from the area or did he move in?”
“He grew up here. Went to our school, in fact. But I guess thet was before you came. He was ahead of me. He left to go off to work fer his uncle down state.”
“Was he just paying a visit in the area when—?”
“Oh no. He’s back to stay.”
“What does he do?”
Belinda thought it was nice of Jackson to be so interested in Rand.
“He’s a builder,” she replied. Thinking of the fine house Rand had built for the Kirbys made her eyes brighten. “He built the most magnificent house,” she continued enthusiastically. “He had a fella come and help him with the most ornate parts—the gables and fancy trimmin’s an’ all—but he built most of it himself.”
“Is it the building or the builder that makes your eyes shine?” Jackson asked softly.
Belinda flushed. “Maybe . . . maybe it’s just the lamplight reflectin’ in my eyes,” she countered. Then she responded truthfully, “Rand is a good friend.”
“Just a friend?”
“Of . . . of course,” Belinda answered.
“Nothing more? Because, if you have an understanding . . .” Jackson spoke softly and left the sentence dangling.
“We have no understandin’,” Belinda offered quietly, though she did wonder why it was necessary for her to explain this to Jackson. She noticed his look of relief. He nodded and smiled at her.
“Then,” he said with mock formality, “since there is nothing else for one to do in this small town, may I escort you for a walk in the soft-gathering twilight?”
Belinda smiled at his playfulness and fell into the mood of the moment. “Thank you, kind sir,” she answered and accepted his proffered arm for a leisurely stroll back to Luke’s house.
Dusk gathered about them, making the dust and grit of the little town less noticeable. The scent of the garden flowers drifted out on the hint of a breeze, caressing the senses with feelings of warmth and goodwill. Belinda breathed in deeply. It was good just to be alive on such an evening. She was glad Jackson was back, that she had been out for dinner, and that the lovely evening was perfect for a walk.
They were nearing Luke’s house, carefully picking their way along the wooden sidewalk, when they turned a corner and almost ran into a figure in the semidarkness.
“Excuse me,” a voice said, and Belinda recognized Rand at once.
“Rand!” she exclaimed without thinking, and his head abruptly came up.
“Belinda,” he returned with equal surprise.
“I didn’t expect to—” she began.
But Rand interrupted her brusquely. “Obviously not.”
What does he mean by that? she found herself wondering.
But Jackson was saying, “Miss Davis kindly consented to be my dinner guest.”
“So I was told,” Rand retorted.
“Have you been visitin’ Luke?” Belinda asked, feeling her question quite a safe one, but to her amazement Rand answered that query curtly also.
“No. I was not calling on Luke.” Then he added more quietly.
“I went to see his sister.”
“Oh! I’m . . . I’m sorry I wasn’t home. I . . . I didn’t know ya were plannin’ to call. I . . . I . . .”
Rand seemed to soften then. He turned to Belinda with apology in his voice. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have jest taken it fer granted. I jest never thought . . . had never . . . never concerned myself with . . . with makin’ plans ahead before.”
It was true. Rand had been accustomed to dropping over casually whenever his busy schedule would allow. If Belinda should happen to be busy with a patient, he would visit briefly with Luke and then go on back to the boardinghouse.
“But I see,” went on Rand, “that from now on, I’ll need to make my plans known.”
He spoke to Belinda, but his eyes never left the face of Jackson. Belinda felt very uncomfortable and uncertain. What is happening here? she wondered.
Then Rand tipped his hat and bid them a good night, and Belinda felt Jackson’s hold on her arm tighten as he guided her carefully over the uneven boards of the sidewalk.
SEVENTEEN
Looking for Answers
“I’ve missed you around here, Belinda,” Luke said as he entered the office the next morning. Belinda was gathering her things before departing for her day of nursing at Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s hotel room.
Belinda smiled at her older brother. “I’ve been missin’ you, too,” she said honestly. “Fact is, I feel thet I haven’t seen much of any family fer some time. I’m lookin’ forward to Ma’s birthday supper.”
Belinda noticed the slight frown that creased Luke’s forehead.
“Can’t you make it to the birthday dinner?” she asked quickly.
He tried to smile at her. “I’ll be there,” he said simply.
Belinda’s eyes were still full of questions, and Luke reached out and laid a hand gently on her carefully pinned hair. When she had been a little girl, he used to muss her curls, she remembered, but he did not muss them now—he must have decided she would have too much work pinning it back up.
“Sorry to be so . . . so obvious,” he said. “It’s just that family dinners aren’t what they used to be.”
“Ya . . . ya mean Arnie?”
Luke just nodded.
“Have ya . . . have ya seen Abe recently?” Belinda asked.
“It’s just getting worse all the time.”
“And Arnie still—?”
“I haven’t talked to Arnie about it since I promised Ma I’d—” Luke stopped abruptly. He was silent for a few minutes and then continued. “It’s not just Arnie. It’s the whole family. Have you seen Ma and Pa lately? They both look like . . . well, like old, worn-out people. They look like they don’t sleep nights or . . . or even eat properly.”
“I don’t think they do,” said Belinda, her voice full of grief. “Last time I was home I heard them talkin’ in their room in the middle of the night, an’ . . . an’ when it came to mealtime, Ma mostly just pushed things back and forth on her pl
ate.”
“I worry about them. I took out some tonic to them, but I’ve no idea if they are taking it or not.” Luke shook his head. “I worry, but worrying doesn’t help. I pray . . . but I feel like my prayers are getting nowhere.”
Belinda looked at her brother. His young shoulders seemed to sag beneath the heaviness of the load. For an instant she thought of trying to talk some sense into Arnie herself, but she quickly dismissed it. She wouldn’t know what else to say and, besides, Ma had promised Arnie that no one would bring up the matter again.
“Wish I could get out to a few of the special meetings.”
Luke’s statement surprised Belinda. “Special meetin’s?”
“You hadn’t heard? They have a revivalist coming to the church. It seems like it’s just what I need. I feel—”
But Belinda interrupted, her eyes shining. “Thet’s it! Thet’s it!” she cried. “We need to get Arnie out to those meetin’s. Can’t ya see? If Arnie would get things in his life straightened out an’ let God lead him—then God could talk to him about young Abe, an’ the family wouldn’t need to. Oh, Luke, this whole thing— this whole tension and the heartache of Ma and Pa—it could all be straightened out if only . . . if only Arnie would let the Lord show him what to do.”
Luke nodded thoughtfully.
“Oh, Luke! Let’s pray and pray some more until Arnie goes,” she pleaded.
Luke put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze.
Belinda’s excitement was infectious—or maybe it was her faith.
“Yes, let’s pray,” Luke agreed.
“So how was your dinnah with that new young doctah?”
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth asked Belinda forthrightly.
Belinda felt the color rise in her cheeks but kept her back turned and her hands busy with morning duties. “Very nice,” she answered evenly.
“Did you know that the young gentleman—the builder— stopped by heah a few moments after you had left last night? Said he had come to walk you home.”
“Rand?”
“Yes—that Rand. He seemed terribly disappointed when we said you’d already left. Said he’d stop by your place a little latah in the evening.”
Belinda wondered why Rand had been telling her his personal plans, but then she couldn’t help but smile. With the direct questioning of Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, he very likely had little choice in the matter.
“He seems like a nice young man, also,” went on Mrs.
Stafford-Smyth.
“Also?” echoed Belinda.
“Well, the young doctah. Both of them seem like fine young men. I don’t know how I would evah make the choice if I were you.”
Belinda frowned.
“But girls have changed since the days when I was being courted,” the frank woman went on. “Why, I knew a girl back in Boston—she had three beaus all at once. She went with one to the opera, one to church doings, and the other out boating each Saturday afternoon. Managed all three of them—just as slick as you please. She said she enjoyed all of the activities, but the church-go-ah would nevah be seen at the opera—and the opera-go-ah didn’t care for open air and sunshine, and the boat-ah refused to darken the door of a church. ’Course it was a bit difficult for her to arrange her days so that the one didn’t meet the othah, but—”
But Belinda turned to her with flushed cheeks. “I’m afraid you have this all wrong,” she said firmly. “The two young men in question are friends—both of ’em. I went to school with ’em as a . . . a child . . . and have no reason not to keep up their friendship. They are both fine young men, with high principles an’ moral conduct, and I don’t need to sneak around an’ . . . an’ . . . assign different days of the week or . . . or appropriate activities fer . . . fer . . .”
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth did not seem at all taken aback by Belinda’s defensiveness and out-thrust chin. The lady smiled demurely. She seemed to enjoy seeing Belinda a bit worked up over something.
Mrs. Stafford-Smyth simply said, “You needn’t defend your actions to me, my deah. I understand perfectly that you look at things a bit differently than your young men do.”
The phrase “your young men” bothered Belinda, and she was about to tell Mrs. Stafford-Smyth so when there was a gentle rap on the door. It opened and Jackson stepped into the room. In his hand he held the bottle of medication he had promised to bring. He greeted them both cheerfully and handed the bottle to Belinda with a friendly wink. She felt her cheeks grow even hotter and turned to the window to let in a little of the morning sunshine and fresh air. Jackson moved on to the bedside of the patient. Soon the two were engaged in jovial banter, and Belinda, with attention diverted from her, was able to regain her composure.
“While you are here I’ll slip down for Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s breakfast tray, if I may?” Belinda said to Jackson. When he nodded his agreement, she smoothed her white apron over her full skirts and left for the kitchen. She was glad to get out of the room. But even away from the sharp eyes of Mrs. Stafford-Smyth and the smiles of Jackson, she felt ill at ease. What if . . . what if Mrs.
Stafford-Smyth was right? What if both young men really did see themselves as suitors? Belinda enjoyed their company—their friendship, but she had no intentions of letting it go beyond that.
Not with either of them. Surely they didn’t think . . . ? But Belinda shook her head in frustration and confusion. She did wish that men weren’t so . . . so presumptuous.
That night Rand arrived at Luke’s with a box of nicely wrapped candy and an invitation for supper the next Saturday night. Belinda smiled her thanks, but she really wished she could refuse the gift. She liked candy, but she did not want it from Rand. She wanted only his friendship—the outings and the long, quiet talks and his listening ear. Why . . . why did he need to go and make things difficult?
The next morning when Belinda arrived at Mrs. Stafford-Smyth’s room, she saw a pretty bouquet of flowers on the bedside table. She smiled at the elderly woman.
“Flowers,” Belinda commented. “Isn’t that lovely—someone has brought ya a nice bouquet.”
“Not so,” said the elderly woman with a mischievous smile.
“Read the note.”
With a puzzled frown Belinda moved to the bouquet and picked up the piece of paper beside it. To the busiest little nurse in town, it read. How about dinner on Saturday night? J.B.
Belinda’s face burned with anger and embarrassment. Why would Jackson go and do such a thing so . . . so publicly? Why involve Mrs. Stafford-Smyth, who already was suspicious of his intent? Belinda’s chin lifted as she moved to pull back the heavy drapes and open the window. Things are getting out of hand, she thought, and she didn’t like it one little bit.
Belinda turned down both Saturday-night dinner invitations. It was easy to come up with an excuse. She was going home to her ma and pa. Never had she felt a need to escape more than she did on that occasion. Never had she been so relieved to lay aside her traveling hat and pull up a chair in the quietness and peace of her mother’s kitchen.
“You look tired, dear,” Marty observed as she served the tea.
“I am. A bit,” admitted Belinda. She sighed deeply and reached up to loosen the combs in her hair, letting the heavy, long tresses fall down about her shoulders. “It’s been a long, long time since Mrs. Stafford-Smyth was brought to us,” she observed.
“But I thought she was doin’ much better.”
“Oh, she is. She doesn’t even need constant care now. We had a cot moved into the room, an’ Mrs. Mills is able to sleep there at nights. And we are able to go for her meal trays, an’ she can sit up for longer periods. She really is doin’ jest fine . . . but I . . . I guess the strain of it all might be catchin’ up with me.”
“How much longer?” asked Marty.
“She’s talkin’ daily ’bout going home now. I don’t think we’ll be able to keep her much longer.”
“Will she be able to travel alone?”
Belinda looked carefully
at her mother. “She’s . . . she’s asked me to accompany her,” she answered slowly, watching for Marty’s reaction.
Marty took her time in responding. “An’ ya think ya’d like to.” It was more of a statement than a question. Belinda’s mother knew her daughter well.
“I . . . I thought it would be a nice change. See a bit of the country. I’ve never been east before, and I . . .”
Belinda wished she could bring herself to say openly that she needed to get away . . . needed time to be able to think. The two young men in her life were crowding her, making her feel she was being pushed into a corner. She wanted to get away to where she had room to breathe. But Belinda said none of those things.
“I think it would be good fer ya,” said Marty, tiredly pushing a stray strand of hair back from her face. “Days I wish I could jest do the same,” she admitted.
Belinda turned a concerned face to her mother, then reached out a comforting hand and touched her cheek. “Luke an’ I are both prayin’ . . .” she told Marty, “prayin’ thet those special meetin’s might turn things right around. God can, you know.
Arnie can still—”
“It’s more than jest our young Abe. Luke was right ’bout ’im, of course. The arm has gone bad. But it’s . . . it’s beyond thet now.
Sometimes I look at Arnie an’ I see such pain in his eyes I can scarcely stand it. I think he is hurtin’ far more than thet boy.”
“He still comes to church?” Belinda asked. Since being so busy and having so few weekends at home, she had been attending the church in town rather than the one out near the farm.
“Oh yes, he’s there. Doesn’t take part in anythin’, though. Jest sits. I sometimes wonder iffen he’s even listenin’.” Marty sighed deeply.
“Is he still angry with Luke?” asked Belinda.
