“Will, please slow down.”
Without breaking his pace, he raked the mess of hair from his eyes, yet his bangs flopped back once he let go. “He told me I’d have competition.”
“Who told you?”
He sped up again. “If I leave, I can’t come back.”
Her heart plummeted. He was leaving? Stupid heart, of course he was. And she wanted him to. At least she should, no matter how she felt. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up on school because there’s another doctor in town.”
“I hadn’t figured on another doctor . . . or even more.” He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No wonder I get nowhere in business—I can’t think past today.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Of course I am.” He gestured toward her with his medical box. “You’re a smart businesswoman. You tell me what a new doctor in town means for me.”
Though the compliment should have warmed her, his scowl kept any blushing at bay. She put a hand to her chin, her thumb rubbing against the puffiness across her cheek. “Well, a new doctor would mean competition.”
“And if I left for two years . . . ?”
“He’d probably care for your patients.” She glanced back down the road toward the offending professional. She worked at the lump in her throat. “But you can’t predict everything. The population might grow more than expected.”
“No, don’t try to sugarcoat this. If I leave, I’m unlikely to find enough patients to keep me from needing a second job when I return—too much competition. And we both know how well I do at running a business.”
She quit biting her little pinkie nail. “Maybe Dr. Benning won’t last.”
“I can’t pin my hopes on somebody’s failure.” Will’s mouth twitched. “If he’s degreed, I’ll lose all my current patients to him, except family and friends.”
“Maybe he’s as arrogant as Dr. Forsythe.”
He pursed his lips. “Highly unlikely. Even so, what would keep another doctor from moving here to take his place while I’m gone?”
“So when you finish school—if Salt Flatts couldn’t handle another doctor—you’d not return? Even though your parents live here?” She’d never see him again? She pulled at her lip with her teeth.
Never again . . . Maybe he’d be interested in a second job under her employ? Surely she’d be profitable enough to hire on several people within a few years. But what man wanted to be beholden to a woman?
“How could I justify the cost of schooling only to return and make no money doctoring? I’m already doing that.” He stared down the road leading out of town. “I’d have to go farther west to find work.”
Go farther west. Growing towns in Colorado or Nevada probably needed stores. . . . Maybe not stores like the one she was stocking in Salt Flatts, but stores.
The contract she’d signed promised Mr. Raymond five years, and by then she’d be more than prosperous if nothing unexpected happened. How could she abandon a thriving dream?
She closed her eyes, trying to envision walking away from her beautiful store to go with him years from now—if he ever did feel for her enough to propose, and if she ever did feel enough for him to say yes.
She bit her lip. She couldn’t imagine leaving the store she’d just gained.
Backing out of the printer’s into the sunshine, Will held tight to his stack of papers lest they blow away, though the wind-blown hair in his eyes annoyed him. He’d have to visit his mother soon; he couldn’t afford the barber.
Now, where was the depot manager’s son? Oliver would jump at the chance to distribute these flyers for a quarter.
Will read the words one last time to make certain he could do what they promised. FREE medical examination with $15 purchase at the Men’s Emporium.
He refused to look toward Dr. Benning’s office. Once word of the new doctor got around, Will might not find anyone wanting to pay for his medical attention, but free would tempt people.
He’d started visiting people last week, asking them to pay as much as possible on their store account and to attempt to pay for past medical services. A few had already paid down their debt, and with these coupons, hopefully he’d regain enough business to deposit some profit into his personal account before Axel was caught and the store was sold. If he could just get enough to travel to school, pay for the first lecture series, and find somewhere cheap to live, he’d go.
He couldn’t sit around Salt Flatts watching Dr. Benning take his patients away one by one—he was close enough to giving up on his dream already. He’d have to find work to fit around his school schedule and pay as he went. Getting through school would take longer that way, but trying to earn enough up front obviously wasn’t working.
“Good morning, Will.” Nancy stepped in front of him, her eyes twinkling above her sunshiny smile. The sun made the red highlights in her frizzy hair more fiery than normal.
Will glanced at his coupons, again hoping they’d bring him the business he desperately needed—especially since he’d heard rumors that Eliza had recently gained a store. Why hadn’t she told him about it? “Good morning.” He thought of handing Nancy a coupon, but what would she purchase from him? She was as penniless as he.
“Would you like to come to dinner tonight, Will?”
He wedged the stack of papers under his arm in order to rub at the back of his neck. How could he excuse himself politely? A crowded sidewalk was no place to inform her he hadn’t the heart to pursue a woman when he loved another. Even if he had more chance of winning Nancy than Eliza. But she had to be told he’d decided against her. “Maybe another night.”
Mrs. Graves walked up behind her daughter. “What have you got there?”
Ah, his first taker. “A coupon.” He handed her one.
She read the flyer and perked up. “Do you have bedding?”
“Sheets and blankets and pillows.” One less after the pillow that died on a nail the day he’d touched Eliza for what he’d thought was the last time.
Mrs. Graves’ head cocked to the side. “Well then, are you returning to your store? Millie’s bedroom needs a few things.”
“I’m heading that direction.” Would Mrs. Graves expect something fancy? The Men’s Emporium wasn’t stocked with patchwork quilts and embroidered pillowcases. “Excuse me, but I see the boy I’ve been looking for.” He stepped around Mrs. Graves and ignored Nancy’s frown, leaving them both behind so he could flag down the depot manager’s son. “Oliver!”
The skinny nine-year-old turned midleap over a puddle and ran straight toward him. “Yes, sir?”
“I’ve got a quarter for you if you’ll hand out these flyers.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Stanton!” The lad grabbed the papers and ran off, shoving the first coupon into Mr. Raymond’s hands. The banker glanced at his paper, but instead of the pleased look Will expected, Hugh frowned.
Why wasn’t he as eager for a free exam as last time? Though his wife had recovered from her fever, he’d surely want her examined when the baby came.
Hugh strode up, his eyes narrowed. “Where’d you get this idea?”
Will refused to look contrite. “Eliza said we should offer deals to entice customers when business is slow.”
He glared up the street. “She told you to do this?”
What was he glaring at? Will looked behind him. Eliza was nowhere in the crowd. Too bad. He hadn’t seen her all week.
“Well, yes.”
“Excuse me, then.” Hugh charged past him.
Will waved at the man’s back. “Good day to you too, sir.” He’d better return to the store so Mrs. Graves and anyone else could spend their fifteen dollars as soon as possible. If Eliza was about to give him business competition, he hoped these coupons worked and got his business moving before her shop opened. How long might that be?
Last week he’d gone by the storefront where Lynville had told him he’d seen Eliza ushering in a shipment of crates and boxes, bu
t he hadn’t been able to see much inside. Maybe she wasn’t selling anything that would hurt his sales. . . . Maybe it wasn’t even her store, but someone’s she worked for. No one seemed to know for certain, and Eliza had practically disappeared.
But she’d tell him what she was up to soon, surely. Maybe she was too busy—and he definitely hadn’t been around to catch for chitchat. He’d been out every night for the last week and a half helping somebody with some ailment.
“Hello there.” The garbled speech behind Will increased his concerns. He turned to face Silas Jonesey, hoping he’d imagined the slur.
His friend stepped forward with a little lurch to the left, though he appeared bright-eyed and congenial. “Can’t greet me back?”
Will forced himself not to growl. “You told me you weren’t drinking anymore.”
“I haven’t touched a lick of alcohol.” He shook his finger. “You told me medicines wouldn’t help, but I found a new tonic. And it works.”
“It doesn’t work, Jonesey.” Will rubbed a hand down his face. “It makes things worse.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Are you following the tonic’s dosages?”
“Of course. It says take as needed.” He pulled out a square bottle. “See—right here.”
Will took the tonic from him. Mr. Miracle’s Elixir. “No ingredients are listed.”
“Why does that matter?”
“It matters.” Will gripped the man’s shoulder. “You need to go to the Lord for your problems, not a bottle.”
“I am. I was only trying to lighten my disposition.” Jonesey smiled as if he’d shared a great joke.
“This medicine isn’t good for you.”
Jonesey blinked as if he was having difficulty thinking, though most wouldn’t notice his behavior. “But it tastes like fruit. That can’t be bad. And I feel better.”
“Are you needing more of this stuff to feel better when the tonic wears off?”
“Well, I guess so.” He held out his hand, expecting Will to return the bottle.
Will slipped the elixir into his pocket despite his friend’s scowl. “If you knew how you were acting, you wouldn’t want this back. Where’d you get it?”
He jammed his hands on his hips. “Hampdens’.”
Will ducked his head a little to look into Jonesey’s dilated, empty pupils. “Go home and sleep. I’ll come by tonight.”
“What about my medicine?”
“It’s no better than the other tonics I told you to stay away from.”
Jonesey ran his hand across his stomach. “But I’ve felt better—like it says.”
“Trust me—sleep it off. I’ll get you something for the headache you’ll wake up with.”
“Can’t. I’ve got chores.”
“Then sleep as soon as possible. Do you have more of this stuff?”
“I just bought two more.” Jonesey pulled out the other bottles, his gaze pinned to the tonic. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure.”
He frowned and thrust the elixir toward Will. “Then bring me something better. I don’t want to mess myself up again, but I swear this helps—the doctor in the advertisement said it cured everything from melancholia to liver—”
“I believe you, Jonesey, but this isn’t good for you.” Not anybody else either, but he’d not argue that now.
Jonesey shrugged. “See you later, then.” He turned, waving at people as he sauntered back to his wagon.
Hopefully his friend would get home safely. At least he was walking fairly straight. Will marched to the Hampdens’ store and went straight for their medicinal shelf. Twenty or more dark blue bottles of Mr. Miracle’s Elixir stood at attention beside an advertisement listing all the benefits of imbibing the newest scientific cure. “Carl!”
“Whatcha yelling for?” The man’s voice spiraled down from above, where he was perched high on a ladder rearranging boxes.
“I thought you said you’d get rid of the tonics.” Will held out the offending bottle.
“But that’s a new one, and the testimonials—”
“Are misleading. Most likely fabrications rather than true stories.”
“Mr. Jonesey and Mrs. Lafferty say it helps. And the label says it’s effective for all kinds of maladies.”
Will narrowed his eyes at Carl.
“Not everyone can afford doctoring whenever they feel a little down in the mouth.”
Will simply stared. He’d already been through this with Carl.
“All right.” Carl flung up his hands. “I won’t buy any more.”
“What about these twenty bottles?”
“They’re ten cents apiece. I’m not going to dump them down the drain.”
Kathleen waddled out from the storeroom, her large pregnant belly stretching her checked brown gingham dress taut. “Good afternoon, William. Is there a problem?” She eyed her husband on the ladder.
Only for Jonesey and the other poor souls seeking relief from serious illnesses . . . or bitterness and lack of forgiveness.
Will dug out two dollars in change and placed them on the counter, leaving him with seventy-five cents. If he wanted a haircut and something to eat besides another can of beans or a jar of peaches, he had to go home Sunday. “I’m buying all of your magic elixirs.”
Kathleen eyed him but scooped the money toward her. “Are you sure?”
If he was to help Jonesey resist temptation, he had little choice. But Carl could easily order another batch. “Replace them with Dr. Ruskin’s Homeopathic Medicine, if you feel you must sell something instead of advising your customers to talk to a doctor. But nothing that says cure-all or you might as well sell whiskey.”
“Are you suggesting I sell liquor?” Carl gawked from above as if appalled, though if not for prohibition, the man would be stocking cases just like he had before.
“No, but why don’t you buy a few boxes of Stop Drinking: European Cure for the Liquor Habit? If you’re going to carry medicine, why not that?”
The shopkeeper scratched his head as if considering a counterargument. Tonics made for repeat customers—his friend wasn’t dense. “I guess it won’t hurt to try.”
Will turned back to Kathleen. “If Silas Jonesey comes in for more, point him toward the Stop Drinking pills your husband is going to order or send him to me.”
“I’ll make sure he does.” Kathleen gave him a little smile while looking askance at her husband.
Will gathered up the flimsy box of bottles Kathleen slid across the counter toward him and frowned. Could he reuse the glass for tinctures? “Thanks. And please inform me or one of the midwives of any labor signs you have. Don’t want Junior or Gretchen having to deliver their newest sibling.” He returned Kathleen’s playful smirk and turned for the door. He had to return to the Men’s Emporium before his closed doors ruined his coupon scheme.
O Lord, please bring me customers. I need to pay on the lumber I bought for the new tables. And I need to be able to eat.
The glass bottles clinked together as he walked, making him want to ring Jonesey’s neck.
Help Jonesey realize the cure for what ails him can’t be bought in a bottle. It’s your Word and the fellowship of believers that provide the strength to get over the anger of his wife leaving him. I can’t imagine losing the woman I loved, but . . .
Actually, he could. Hadn’t he been jilted by Nancy and faced losing Eliza on her wedding day?
But he’d not run to God for support then either. He’d walked around in a rage after Nancy left and almost left the county to labor as a broom maker to get far, far away from Eliza.
Swallowing hard at the wonderful sight of three men and Mrs. Graves waiting outside the Men’s Emporium, he slowed to give himself a second more to repent.
Lord, no matter what happens with my store, Eliza, or the new doctor, help me remember I’m to seek you above all, to trust in you and nothing else—even when I’m disappointed.
Chapter 18
Out of breath from marching down the road faster than the donkey carts, Eliza shoved her way into the Men’s Emporium. Sidling past a couple in the aisle, she gritted her teeth to keep from glaring at the crowd that should have been shopping in her store.
She pressed her way toward the back counter. Where was Will?
Right. He’d built a front counter. She whipped around and weaved through the less-congested left aisle.
Will’s crazy ruffled hair rose above a young couple in the corner as he climbed a ladder.
Stopping, she attempted to loose some tension by exhaling slowly through pursed lips. Otherwise she might demand he get down that instant.
How many people were in the emporium? She counted ten from where she stood. Good for him, but why today? Why’d he have to do this to her now?
Her sweaty palm dampened the crumpled paper Mr. Raymond had slammed into her hand. She crunched the wad tighter. Medical checkups? His services were of more value than he should have exchanged for fifteen dollars of merchandise. What could she offer remotely close to that? One should ask the redeemer to spend more than the price of a free item. Didn’t he understand that?
She glanced sideways and frowned. Where had these shelves come from? Surprisingly, the kitchen items were arranged outside of their boxes in neat rows. She plucked a knife off the second shelf above the floor. Did Will forget about children coming in the store? She grabbed a handful and rearranged the shelving space to put the knives higher. Finished, she moved around the price-tag signs he’d hand-lettered. She glanced down the aisle. Every shelf sported little white signs with printed prices.
“What can I do for you?” Will’s voice, lower and more charming than normal, wrapped around her neck and tickled her ear. She lifted her eyes heavenward, wanting to pretend the flyer she held in her hand didn’t exist for a second, and . . . and . . . and do what? She wouldn’t let the strangely sensuous caress of his breath distract her. She stiffened and turned around.
Ignoring his lopsided, roguish grin, she tilted her head up to meet him eye to eye. “It’s not what can you do for me. It’s what did you do to me.”
“I don’t understand.” He pulled back.
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