“He’s putting the stitches in your arm, Mr. Peters.”
Peters’s eyes flew open, and he studied Jefferson’s face. Jeff met his gaze steadily, which caused the young man to flush.
Peters could not speak for a moment, but then he grinned. He looked back at Charissa and saw that her eyes were dancing. “Dr. Whitman, I’d like permission to call on your sister.”
Jeff continued sewing but said, “Are you a drinking man?”
“Sir?”
“I asked if you drink.”
Peters swallowed and said, “Yes, of course, in moderation.”
“How are your morals where women are concerned?”
Charissa began to mildly feel sorry for the young man. Jeff peppered him with questions about his behavior and attitudes, and it amused her to see young Peters squirming under the interrogation.
“What’s your pastor’s name? I’ll have to have a word with him before I can give you permission to see my sister.”
Peters stared at him and shook his head. “I don’t have a pastor.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just not in my line.”
Jeff put the last stitch in, clipped it with the scissors, and said, “You can put a dressing on this now, Nurse.” Then he turned and said, “Until you have more stability, I would not feel inclined to grant you permission to call on my sister. Be careful with this arm. Come in and get the stitches out when the nurse tells you.” He left the office, and Peters stared after him.
“Do you think you’d still like to come calling on me?” Charissa smiled as she began to dress the wound.
Peters laughed. He was a good-humored fellow. “I know you are trying to put me off, and you have a rather stern brother, but I will be calling.”
Charissa shook her head. “You’ll feel differently when you recover from that laudanum you’ve taken.” She finished the dressing, gave instructions about changing it and when he should return to have the stitches out. As she left the room and turned down the hall, she ignored Peters, who called out, “You’ll be hearing from me, Nurse.”
She did not have a chance to talk to Jeff privately until later in the afternoon, when they had finished their work and were in the buggy, headed for home. Jeff was silent for a time, and then he asked, “You didn’t want that insolent puppy calling on you, did you, Charissa?”
“Why not? He’s very handsome.”
“I don’t like him.”
Charissa studied Jeff ’s profile. She did not know at what point she had begun to feel herself drawn to him. When she had first come to live with the Whitmans, she had been cautious and lifted a high wall between herself and the young doctor. He had been unfailingly kind and cheerful; he had been instrumental in making her into a different kind of woman. He had hired tutors for her, taught her the social graces, and asked her if she would care to study something about nursing and find a career there. She had eagerly accepted, and the two had worked together closely.
“Why don’t you like him?”
“He’s just not good enough for you.”
Charissa stared at him. “Which of the young men who have asked to call on me have you liked?” She well knew the answer.
Jeff cleared his throat and said, “I just want the very best for you, Charissa. You mean more to me than you can imagine.”
His words were bittersweet. She knew that she loved him, but he had no such idea about her. He was protective of her, always gentle and courteous, and there was a streak of humor in him that popped out at odd moments. He was not handsome, but that didn’t matter.
“You don’t really want him to call, do you?”
“Not really.”
Jeff nodded and heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s good. He’s not the kind of man I’d like to see you with.”
Charissa suddenly asked, “What about you?”
“What do you mean, what about me?”
“Why haven’t you ever married, Jeff? You could have married a dozen times. You’d better take what you can get—you’re not handsome, you know.” This was a familiar course of conversation for the two.
“I never thought I was.”
“No, I give you that, but you’re young, and you have a promising career. You have money. You have your moments, too.” She teased, “Even if you are a homely brute, women like you.”
“I think you’re wrong about that.”
Charissa took a deep breath and said, “I was talking with Papa this morning. He thinks you might care for Damita Madariaga.”
Jeff blushed. “We’ve been writing some.”
“And you went to New Orleans to see her twice.”
“Really I went to see Debakky.”
“Jeff, don’t lie to me. You went to see Damita, didn’t you?”
“I suppose in a way I did. She’s such a beautiful woman, but she could never care for me.”
“No, she couldn’t. She’ll never care for anyone but herself.”
“I wish you could stop feeling bitter toward her. It’s the only harsh thing I see in you, Charissa.”
“You don’t know her the way I do, Jeff. She’s selfish to the bone. She always will be.”
“People can change. But it doesn’t matter. She’d never marry a fellow like me, anyway. Why, suitors line up, begging her father for her hand.”
Charissa was weary of the conversation. She looked at the road, but her thought was, He would marry Damita in a minute if she would have him!
Charissa sat straight up in bed. The knock on her door was insistent. Throwing the covers back, she leaped up and pulled on a robe. When she opened it, she saw Jeff, dressed himself in a bathrobe. One look at his face and she knew everything. “What’s wrong with Papa?”
“He’s had a severe heart attack.”
“Is he—alive?”
“Yes, come along. He’s conscious, and he wants to see you.”
Charissa felt numb as she followed Jeff down the stairs. When she entered the bedroom and saw her father’s pale face, she knew somehow that death had entered the house. She walked over to him, took his hands, kissed his cheek, and asked, “Papa, can you hear me?”
Irving Whitman opened his eyes, and he tried to smile. His voice was very faint, just a whisper. “Daughter?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“It’s time for me to be going. I’ll see your dear mother again, and I’ll tell her what a fine girl you are and how I loved you.”
Tears gathered in Charissa’s eyes. She held his hand while he went back to sleep. She felt his pulse, and it was beating faintly and erratically. Pulling up a chair on one side, she looked at Jeff, seated on the other side of the bed. Their eyes met, and the young doctor shook his head.
The minutes passed into hours. Irving held on to life, and when the dawn had just begun, he regained consciousness. His voice was even weaker, and he reached over and took Jeff ’s hand and blessed him. “You’ve been a fine son, Jeff. No man ever had better.”
“You’ve been everything to me, Father—everything.” Jeff ’s voice was husky.
Turning to Charissa, the old man saw the tears running down her face and said, “I have to go, and I’m not afraid. Only one thing troubles me.”
“What is it, Papa? Tell me.”
“It troubles me that you don’t know Jesus.”
At that moment Charissa’s eyes were so full she could hardly see, and her throat was thick. “I’ve seen Jesus in you, Papa, and in Jeff.”
“You have? That pleases me.” He was silent, but she felt his hands squeezing hers. “It’s easy to become a child of God, daughter. All you have to do is tell the Lord that you’re a sinner, and ask Him to save you. It would please me greatly if you felt ready to do that.”
Charissa was struggling. She remembered many painful moments, and she knew she had not lived perfectly. But this man who lay dying had given her so much! She lay his hand against her tearstained cheek and sobbed. As she did, she felt the yearning of both men; she saw in Jeff ’s eyes that he was ple
ading with her.
At that moment, Charissa Desjardin knew she had to make a decision. She had reached a place in her life where she needed help. Her father would be dead. She would be without parents, and besides, she could not ignore the lives that these two men had led. She had found honor and truth in both of them, and each had always stressed that it was the Lord who made him live as he did.
And so, Charissa took a deep breath and lifted her head. She reached across to Jeff, and when he took her hands, she whispered, “Pray for me, both of you.”
She heard Jeff begin to pray, and she closed her eyes. She heard Irving praying also, and she cried out in her spirit, “Oh, God, I don’t know You, but I believe that Jesus died for me, and I have seen You in these men. I ask You to make me a different woman. Give me Your forgiveness.”
The daylight finally came, and Irving lay still in the finality of the last sleep. Jeff laid his father’s hand down and went and knelt beside Charissa’s chair. He put his arm around her and whispered, “I’m so glad that Father knew your trust in Jesus. Glad for his sake and glad for yours.”
“Jeff, I’m so—I don’t know. I’m so alone.”
“No, you have the Lord now, and you’ll always have me.”
“Do I really, Jeff?”
“Always, Charissa. I promise.”
Chapter fourteen
Damita stared at the letter, a frown on her brow. She looked up at her father, who had brought the mail in and was reading one of his own pieces of correspondence. “Papa, I can’t believe what’s in this letter.”
Alfredo Madariaga looked up. He appeared worried and weary. The past two years had put lines on his face. He was a proud man, and financial difficulties had shamed him. “Who is it from?”
“It’s from Jeff Whitman in St. Louis—Dr. Whitman, I suppose I should say.”
“Indeed? Why is he writing you, my dear?”
Damita flushed slightly and said breezily, “Oh, we’ve kept in touch since he went back to St. Louis. He came to see me twice when he was in town for business.” Alfredo had been too absorbed with the family business to notice when Dr. Whitman came by.
“I can’t think you two would have a great deal in common.”
“We don’t—except for Charissa, of course. Charissa was a slave here, but she’s an heiress now, according to this letter.”
“An heiress? How could that be?”
“I told you, Papa, but you forgot. Charissa was the natural daughter of Jeff ’s father, Dr. Irving Whitman.”
“Why, yes, I do remember you told me that.” He smiled. “It would be strange for you to meet her now, wouldn’t it?”
Damita bit her lower lip. “I may have the chance to find out,” she said, looking down at the letter. She hesitated, then said, “I never told you, Papa, but Jeff has become interested in me.”
Alfredo looked surprised. “Interested how?”
“As a suitor.”
“When did this all start?”
“He’s a fine letter writer. He wrote to tell me how Charissa was doing, and I answered his letters.”
“You don’t mean to tell me the man’s fallen in love with you by means of letters!”
“I’m not sure if he’s serious. He’s rather a shy man, but we’ve been writing for two years.”
“I’m surprised at you, Damita,” Madariaga said. He studied her for a moment. “How do you feel about this man? Surely you’re not interested in him!”
Damita looked angry, then shrugged. “The last two years haven’t been much fun, Papa. All the men who were after me when we had money have mysteriously disappeared.”
“They weren’t after your money.”
“You think that if it makes you happy,” Damita said in a strange, tight voice. “But I know better. It’s been quite an education, watching so many men who practically fought over me suddenly discover that I wasn’t such a prize.”
“You’re a beautiful woman, daughter,” Madariaga said quietly.
Damita looked at the letter for a long time, then lifted her head. “That’s evidently not enough for some men.”
“Would you be pleased if Whitman came, seeking your hand? But of course, he has not done so.”
Damita smiled and tapped her chin with her forefinger. “I’ve gotten to know Jeff pretty well over the past two years. He’ll come to see me. You can be sure of that.” She stood and smiled up at her father. “Don’t worry about me, Papa. I’ll not be an old maid on your hands!”
“Charissa, would you come into the study for a moment, please?”
Charissa had been passing the open door of the study when Jeff ’s voice caught her. Entering, she saw that an enormous pile of papers covered the large desk. The young doctor wore an anxious expression on his face, and she asked, “What is it, Jeff?”
“Come over here and sit down.” She did so, and Jeff pulled his chair opposite hers. “You look tired,” he said. “You haven’t been sleeping well since Father died.”
“Oh, I’m all right,” Charissa said. This was not exactly true, for during the six weeks that had passed since the death of her father, she had not been sleeping or eating normally. Though she had tried to conceal it from Jeff, both he and Olga knew that she had taken the death hard. “I suppose I’ll get over the loss of Papa sooner or later, but it’s difficult. You see, Jeff, I never really had anybody except Mama. Now I’ve lost both of them.”
Jeff leaned forward and put his hand over hers. “I know this is especially miserable for you, but it was a good way for him to go. He had lost interest in his professional life since he couldn’t work anymore, and he threw himself into you for the last two years. You did so much for him, Charissa.”
Charissa’s lower lip trembled, and she turned away so that he wouldn’t see. “I miss him every day,” she whispered.
“Just think, though,” Jeff insisted, “he’s with the Lord now.” He studied her face and then said more cheerfully, “And he got what he wanted most of all: to see you become a believer. It made him very happy, just as it does me.”
Charissa forced a smile. “The Lord has been good. My heart was so bitter.” Indeed, during the past few weeks Charissa had marveled at how her life had changed. Shortly after the funeral of her father, she had presented herself for membership at the Baptist church where Jeff belonged and been baptized. Then she began to study the Scripture as intently as she had studied nursing. “I can’t tell you, Jeff, how helpful you’ve been in teaching me this new way of life.”
“It’s always a joy to see someone going into the kingdom, especially a family member—a sister,” he added. He smiled, patted her hand, and then suddenly got up and went to the desk. He shuffled through the massive pile, found a certain sheaf of papers, and returned to his chair. When he sat down, he had an odd smile on his face, and his eyes were dancing. “I have a surprise for you.”
“What sort of surprise?”
“This is Father’s will. It took a little time to get it put together, and I was surprised at the size of his estate. He was a good businessman as well as a good doctor, and he made some wise investments.” He handed her the document, and she looked at it but shook her head.
“I can’t understand any of this.”
“You can understand this.” He turned over a few pages, then put his finger on a number with a dollar sign before it. “This is what he left you.”
Charissa gasped. “But—that’s impossible, Jeff!”
“It’s what’s he wanted you to have.”
“It’s too much. It should all be yours.”
“No, he left me plenty. He wanted you to have this, and he put it into a trust fund so that you’ll get a check every month. That’s this figure here.”
Charissa looked at the monthly figure and whispered, “Why, I could never spend that much money.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jeff said. “You may have a talent for it. Just think of all the clothes you can buy. You can have a new carriage and a matched set of bays. Rings,
bracelets. Whatever you want.”
“Jeff, I don’t really care for those things. You know that.”
“I know you don’t, but you can do lots of good with money, Charissa. You were talking about that mission work in Africa that you wanted to support financially. Look, you can send anything you like now.”
Charissa brightened. “That would be wonderful!”
Jeff passed his hand over his face for a moment and shook his head. “There’s one bad thing about it, though.”
“What’s that, Jeff?”
“You’ve had these young puppies wanting to call on you. They’ll be coming by the dozens, now that you’re an heiress.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
Jeff said, “I know I don’t. I was only teasing. I know you want a good, sound Christian husband, and God will send one too. Just you wait and see.”
While Jeff talked, Charissa’s mind filled with this change in her life. She thought back to just two years before, when she had been a slave, penniless, afraid, ignored, and now she was an independent woman of property. She was so busy with her thoughts, she did not notice that Jeff, after he had replaced the papers, had come back and was standing over her. When she glanced up, she saw that he was troubled. She had learned to read his moods, and she asked, “What’s the matter, Jeff?”
“You know, Charissa, you have money enough to do anything you want. You could travel. You wouldn’t have to stay here.”
He was avoiding her question, so she asked again, “What’s wrong, Jeff? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“It’s nothing bad, Charissa. It’s just that, well, I’ve decided—” He stopped, cleared his throat, and ran his fingers through his thick black hair. “I have decided to make a change.”
“What sort of change?”
“I’m going to leave my practice here in St. Louis.”
Instantly Charissa knew what was coming. “You’re going to move to New Orleans, aren’t you?”
“Why, yes. How’d you guess that? I’m going into partnership with Elmo Debakky.”
The partnership was real enough; Charissa understood that. But she also understood that he had another reason for moving to New Orleans. He’s infatuated with Damita. He doesn’t know her. He’s such a fool where women are concerned.
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