“Are—are you an, an--angel?” Joseph felt ridiculous even saying the words. He was a scientist, schooled in facts and proof and reason. He certainly didn’t believe in angels.
Nathanial laughed. “That is the name most often associated with my kind. We are spirit, our purpose is to help you if you will allow it.” His voice became soft and infinitely caring. “You are my responsibility, now and always. My greatest pleasure is helping you.”
“But—but I don’t even believe in angels. There’s no concrete scientific proof they exist.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “You don’t have to believe in me, Joseph. I believe in you.”
“But—but why would you help me when I don’t even believe you’re—you’re real?”
Nathaniel shrugged, and there was a teasing note to his voice. “Do you always do things with the thought of a reward?”
“Of course not. When there’s a need, and if I can help—“
“Exactly.”
“But why me?”
“Why not you?”
And between one breath and the next, Joseph was alone.
He not only passed his examinations, he placed third in his entire class. And ever since then, Nathaniel had always been there for Joseph, just as he’d been tonight with Zeke. And until tonight, Joseph had assumed that Nathaniel was concerned only with the medical problems they tended to together.
“Your life is incomplete without that type of love……”
Nathaniel’s gentle reprimand echoed in Joseph’s head, and again the image of lovely Emma Walsh flashed into his mind.
Flirtatious, his head warned.
Warm, his heart answered.
Frivolous, his brain insisted.
Desirable, his body responded.
Out of the question, he told himself firmly. However attractive, Emma was a coquette who toyed with every man in sight. He’s witnessed it on numerous occasions in the store.
Against his will, he remembered the only other time he’d felt so attracted to a woman. Ruth Montgomery would never have dreamed of flirting the way Emma did.
But Ruth was dead.
In one jerky movement, he got to his feet, slopping cold coffee over his trousers.
Chalk and cheese, his mother used to say when two things were obviously opposite and not meant to be put together. Well, he and Emma Walsh were chalk and cheese.
Old Granny Simon, the ancient midwife who’d delivered half the town before she finally retired, came hobbling into the store early the next Monday, leaning on her cane.
Emma was glad the store was empty. She adored serving Granny, and she knew the old woman enjoyed the pots of tea and the biscuits Emma always served, business permitting.
The eccentric old woman was a living library reference when it came to facts about Demersville’s inhabitants.
For instance, Granny had told Emma that pompous, impossible to please Mrs. Buckley had once been the poorest little girl in town. She’d been forced to wear hand me down’s from the church bin, and children teased her for wearing their old discarded clothing. So now when she sailed into Walsh’s and treated Emma like a serving maid, all Emma had to do was imagine Mrs. Buckley as that miserable, hungry little girl, and it became the easiest thing in the world to smile cheerfully at her nastiness.
And cantankerous, dour Mr. Wallace—Granny had confided that his beloved only son had drowned in Whitefish River, and Mrs. Wallace had hung herself shortly afterwards. The tragic facts made it easier to deal with him.
So this morning when the old woman’s order was completed, Emma decided that if anyone could tell her about Joseph Gillespie, it was Granny. She made a cup of peppermint tea and put out a plate of sugar wafers.
“Joseph?” Granny smiled her toothless grin, dunking the biscuit in the tea. “I brought him into the world, and a fine big boy he was, near on ten pounds,” she said. “Born January 30th, worst snowstorm I ever remember in these parts. He was a special child, born with a caul.”
“What’s that, Granny?” Emma had never heard of it.
“It’s a veil, or a hood over the face,” Granny explained. “Only ever saw it that once, even with all the babies I brought into the world. Good luck, it is. Means they have the gift.”
“What kind of gift, Granny?”
“They can see things. Spirit like things. From the Beyond. If a babies born in the caul, it’s called an angel birth.”
In spite of the warmth radiating from the heater, Emma felt a chill run down her back. “You mean Joseph—you mean if Joseph was a woman, he’d be a witch?”
Granny laughed. “You got it backward, child. Very opposite. He has the power to keep witches and warlocks away. There ain’t no evil in those born with the caul, only goodness. Prob’ly why he’s such a good doctor, got the healin’ powers, does Joseph.”
“What were his parents like?” Emma didn’t want to hear any more about the caul thing. It sounded superstitious to her.
“Salt of the earth, those folks. Carrie, Joseph’s mother, lost three babies before he came along. Came late in their lives, Joseph did. His mama was forty-four, Philip more like fifty. Gave up hope of a family long since, they had. They was some proud of that boy, and rightly so. Smart as a whip, always a kind and thoughtful boy. A good son to them, right up to the end. Never saw a boy as tore up over losin’ his folks as Joseph was. Looked to be at death’s door hisself fer a time. There was a girl he fancied, she died about the same time as his folks did. Ruth Montgomery was her name. The typhoid took half the town that year. After that Joseph sold up and left, thought we’d see’d the last of him. But lo and behold, back he came to do his doctorin’. He came and visited me straight off, never forgot old Granny in spite of all his book larnin’. I taught him lots about birthin’ that ain’t in no books, I did. He comes and sits with me every two weeks or so, and we get to jawin’ and have a cuppa. He’s a special one, Joseph Gillespie.”
Emma understood that the women in Demersville respected and trusted Granny. They might have shunned the young doctor if Granny had spoken against him. And by respecting and honoring Granny, he’d avoided the competition and bad feelings that often sprang up between a formally trained doctor and the local midwife in a small town. And not least of all, he’d made the old woman happy and proud.
“You heard from yer pa lately, Emma?” Granny had a habit of changing the subject when it suited her.
“I had a letter just last week. He’s heading up to Canada. He asked to be remembered to you.” Emma swallowed the homesick lump in her throat. She missed her Papa something awful, but she tried never to let it show.
Granny and her father had hit it off the moment he and Emma had first driven their wagon into Demersville last July. Emma remembered every detail of that day. It had marked the beginning of a new life for her, thanks to her papa’s kindness and wisdom.
An itinerant handyman, Shawn was able to repair almost anything with the odds and ends he kept in the back of the wagon. When they passed Granny’s cottage, they saw that half the roof had been torn off. They watched as the old woman climbed a rickety ladder, holding a hammer and several shingles.
“Faith, would ya look at that now, and the woman’s seventy if she’s a day,” Shawn exclaimed, pulling the team to a halt. He asked Granny what had happened, and she explained that a windstorm the day before had wrecked her roof.
Shawn insisted that Granny allow him to fix it for her, and when it was done he refused the payment she offered, accepting instead a hearty meal for himself and Emma.
Even now, Emma’s stomach ached when she remembered the heaping platefuls of food Granny had set in front of them, and the warning glances Shawn sent her way.
They’d eaten dinner not half an hour before arriving in Demersville, and Emma almost burst as she forced down Granny’s food as well.
Papa understood pride, Emma mused. He also understood that an old timer like Granny could tell them more about the town and it’s inhabitants in an hour than he and
Emma could learn on their own in a month.
How she missed her Papa.
Granny’s quavery voice cut into her musings.
“You ever regretted stayin’ behind whilst he went wanderin’, child?”
Emma hesitated a moment and then shook her head. “I get really lonely for him. There was always just the two of us, and we were very close. But he knew I’d had enough of wandering, Granny. I wanted to settle in one place, to have something permanent of my own. We’d stayed in more towns than I can remember, but we always moved on eventually.”
It was thanks to Granny—and Shawn, of course—that she’d ended up with the store. Granny knew old Mr. Simpkins wanted to sell, the place was too much for him. And Shawn had given her the money to buy the store, with extra to fix it up and increase the stock. It cost more money than she’d ever dreamed Shawn had. Love and gratitude welled up in her heart every time she thought about it.
“It was to be yer dowry, darlin’,” Shawn had said, handing her the thick wad of bills. “But I’m thinkin’ the lucky young devil should be payin’ me for the privilege when he finally comes along, so go buy your store and a blessin’ on ya, my Emma. You’ll make a fortune, what with yer mother’s beauty, god rest her soul, and gift of gab you’ve inherited from me.”
She looked at Granny and shook her head. “It finally dawned on me that Papa would never settle down,” she said sadly.
Granny nodded. “The Irish are funny that way.” She held her cup out in her gnarled fingers for a refill. “Mighta bin different, had yer mama lived.”
“I don’t remember her at all. I was only two when she died.”
“Hard fer a girl child, growin’ up without a ma to guide her. Hard fer her to learn womanly ways, though seems you did right fine that way, Emma.” Granny cackled and winked at Emma. “Never saw any young bucks hangin’ round here when old man Simpkins run the place. Now most days a body can hardly get near this stove, what with the crowd of duded up fellers vyin’ fer your attention.”
She shot Emma a shrewd look from under her bushy white eyebrows. “Sumpin’ tells me you ain’t really got eyes fer any of that crowd. You got yer sights set someplace else, am I right, child?”
Emma fidgeted uncomfortably and wondered where her customers were when she needed them.
Granny nodded. “Joseph’s a fine man, none finer, but he’s a hard one to corral. Most of the mama’s with marriageable girls has tried everythin’ and then some to snare him, with no luck.” She leaned in close to Emma. “I’m right fond of you, gal. Seems to me you’d be good fer him, and he fer you. I’ll make ye a potion to wear round yer pretty neck. It’ll draw him like a possum to molasses.”
Granny left at last, and Emma giggled when she imagined the foul smelling “potion” Granny would undoubtedly provide. The idea of a potion wasn’t too ridiculous, though. But she had her own notion of the type of elixir that might make Joseph unbend a tiny bit and notice that she was a woman.
“Doctor Gillespie, what a lovely surprise. Do come right in.” Miss Eugenia Templeton looked delighted when Joseph appeared at her door with his bundle of flannel for Mrs. Simpson’s sheets. “Goodness, take off your coat and hat. It must be snowing again out there. Come into the parlor, it’s warm with the fireplace going. Take that armchair, it’s the most comfortable. Mabel and I were just having our late afternoon glass of sherry, will you join us?”
He’d planned to just hand over the parcel, explain what was needed, and be on his way. But somehow he found himself sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace, a small crystal glass of sherry in his hand. Eugenia and Mabel sat side by side on the velvet-covered sofa just a few feet away. Their large tabby cat sat between them, all three of them eyeing Joseph.
The Templeton sisters were in their mid twenties, dark, exotic looking women who had arrived in town two years before and set up shop as dressmakers and general seamstresses. Where they’d come from or why they’d chosen Demersville was a mystery. They’d never been his patients, so he didn’t really know them well, and he’d forgotten about them until Emma Walsh suggested them.
“How delightful, having a handsome gentleman drop in on us like this,” Mabel said in her husky voice, smiling at him from under her lashes and toying with the lace on the rather low neckline of her dress. “These long winter evenings can be so tedious, don’t you agree, Doctor? Here, let me pour you just a bit more sherry.”
She leaned forward, brushing his arm with hers, steadying his hand with her warm fingers as she poured the golden liquid into his glass from the tray on the side-table.
Eugenia was stroking the cat, slowly and sensuously, also looking up at him from under long sooty lashes. “You’ve braved the snow to get here, Doctor, now you really must stay for dinner. We have a lovely tender beef roast in the oven, much too large for just the two of us, and Mabel made her apple tart. Do say you’ll stay?”
Mabel nodded with enthusiasm. “Oh my yes, you certainly must. We simply won’t take no for an answer.”
Becoming more uncomfortable by the instant, Joseph cleared his throat. “That’s very kind of you, thank you, but I really must be getting back, I often have patients in the evening,” he fibbed. Trying not to spill the sherry on the carpet as he reached for the bundle he’d brought, he added, “I wondered if you’d sew some sheets for me?”
“But of course, we’d be delighted,” Eugenia cooed. “And if you need shirts, Doctor, we’re very good at shirts.” She seemed to be studying his body with more than shirts in mind.
It took a full twenty minutes before he made it out the door and onto the snow street. He stomped along, vexed by the coquettish Templeton sisters. They were running a business, and in his opinion their behavior was both improper and undignified.
Emma Walsh flashed into his mind. She wasn’t as overtly flirtatious as the Templetons. But he couldn’t deny that she was a very forward young woman. And damn it all, he thought of her far, far too often these days.
CHAPTER FOUR
Emma climbed the back stairs to Joseph’s house at just after eight the following Wednesday morning, her basket over her arm. Her store opened at nine, but she had no idea what time Joseph began seeing patients, so she’d come early.
And now she was second-guessing her actions. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, she thought, heart hammering. Part of her wanted to turn tail and run.
You’ve come this far, Emma Walsh, she chided herself. You might as well go through with it now you’re here.
She knocked, waited. She was trembling. She knocked again, but there was no answer. Maybe he was in his office at the front of the house. She made her way to the front, smiling at the sign on his door.
Doctor Joseph Gillespie, Family Physician.
It would be so much more fun to write, Phamily Fysician, and make everyone laugh.
The sign underneath announced The Doctor Is In, with no office hours.
As a business person herself, she knew this was folly. You had to open a business at a set time and close it firmly at another set time. Why, when she’d first taken over the store, customers expected the store to be open from dawn to midnight. She’d had to set rigid hours and adhere to them in order to get any time to herself at all. What in Heaven’s name was Joseph doing, having office hours at eight in the morning? And on his birthday, no less.
She entered the waiting room and the answer was immediately obvious. Voices murmured from behind the consulting room door. Emma sat down, taking stock of the uninviting room as she waited for him to finish with his patient.
The room sadly lacked character. It was warm enough, heat radiating from the little pot bellied stove, but the walls were papered in a drab beige stripe, the dun colored sofa screamed out for one of the bright woolen throws she had in the store, the stern pictures of someone’s ancestors were dismal, and the heavy dusty brown curtains were nothing short of atrocious.
Emma had the room stripped, repainted, and re-decorated by the time the sur
gery door opened to let a farmer out, with his hand thickly bandaged and shocking amounts of blood on his coveralls. Right behind him was Joseph, seeing the man to the door.
Emma’s breath caught in her throat. Every other time she’d seen him, Joseph was wearing a suit jacket, vest, and tie firmly in place. This morning, he’d obviously been interrupted in the midst of dressing. His white starched shirt was open at the throat, revealing soft, curly brown chest hair. His shirtsleeves were rolled back at the cuff, baring muscular forearms, and his suspenders rested on wide, strong shoulders. His pleated dark trousers hung low on narrow hips, outlining long, powerful legs.
And best of all, his long, narrow feet were entirely bare of shoes or stockings.
She’s slid her long woolen cape off, and she knew she looked fetching in her rose alpaca shirtwaist dress, it’s lacy frill clinging to her throat. She’d taken special pains that morning, especially with her hair, coaxing it into a frothy mass of curls under her beguiling little black felt fedora.
“Good morning, Doctor Gillespie.” Her voice was steady, even though her heart was fluttering. She gave him her best, wide smile.
“Miss Walsh.” He was visibly taken aback, but only for a moment. He used his thumb and forefinger to shove his glasses back up, and he’d obviously forgotten they’d progressed to first name status.
“Emma,” she reminded him.
“Emma, of course. Emma. Won’t you come in?”
Here in his office he was different than when he was in her store. He was more relaxed, more confident. Not as self-conscious. But every bit as absent minded, she thought, suppressing a giggle. She’d bet a day’s wages he’d forgotten he was only half-dressed and that he was barefooted.
“You’re at work early this morning, Joseph.” She nearly choked on the sharp acrid smell of carbolic and the coppery tang of blood that pervaded his surgery. Eeeek. He could do with a large pot of potpourri in here.
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