A Bride in Store

by Melissa Jagears

  “I should have checked her more thoroughly earlier this week, exerted more effort to read through my books, at least gone to Dr. Forsythe to ask—”

  “No, Will. Stop. I don’t blame you for—” The sudden hot pain behind her eyes abraded her words. Tears spilled out despite blinking repeatedly. “I need to lie down.”

  Will released her arm reluctantly. “If you need me for anything, you’ll let me know?”

  She nodded halfheartedly, so he’d leave without asking more questions. No matter how badly she wanted to invite him inside to hold her while she cried, she’d never have the right to be curled up in his arms—not now that she’d made her choice. “Good-bye, Will.”

  Will leaned against the front counter. The flurry of business created by his coupons had dissipated, leaving him time to think between customers again. Though thinking wasn’t exactly welcome at the moment. He’d stayed up late last night reading, trying to figure out what he’d missed with Mrs. Lightfoot. When the words had clustered and mixed together so much he couldn’t continue, his mind strayed to Eliza.

  This week he’d walked her home from work each night. And each time she’d been unusually quiet and standoffish. He tried to convince himself she was simply grieving, but she likely realized as well as he that their chosen vocations made them incompatible.

  What a generous gift Mrs. Lightfoot had given her, definitely something Eliza shouldn’t surrender to slog after him while he cared for sick miners or bedded down in cattle towns farther west. Because that’s what he’d most likely have to do to make a living doctoring, degree or not.

  The door opened and Mrs. Graves bustled in. “Good afternoon, Will.”

  He hadn’t the heart to talk about how not good the day was, and Nancy’s mother had never been adept at making his day brighter. “Mrs. Graves.”

  “I’ve come to pay down on my account as you asked.” She pulled out her purse. “And let you know how wonderful I’m feeling.”

  He did try to give her a smile. “I’m glad the powders are working.”

  “Oh, they did some, but Dr. Benning has assumed my care, and what he gave me yesterday has lifted my spirits overnight.” She leaned closer to whisper. “And took care of that troublesome rash thing.” She leaned back and studied him. “But I do still have your medical coupon, so could you come by to fix Mr. Graves’ ingrown toenail? You could do that easy enough.”

  Right. Relegated to insignificant, not-so-pleasant medical drudgery . . . though that’s all he should be doing without a medical degree.

  “I hope you don’t mind my going to Dr. Benning now.” She shoved $3.50 toward him. “He’s got your bedside manner and Dr. Forsythe’s knowledge—the best of both in one.”

  And there went Will’s hope of returning to Salt Flatts to doctor someday. “You need to do what’s best for you, Mrs. Graves. But maybe you’d want to save the coupon for a future visit for your granddaughter?”

  “Oh no, Dr. Benning will visit Millicent if necessary. Unless you want more involvement in that little girl’s life, that is.” Mrs. Graves’ eyes twinkled. “Nancy wouldn’t mind seeing more of you. What better way to get over past misunderstandings than to spend time together talking?”

  Just what he needed. So now instead of listening to Mrs. Graves drone on about every imaginary symptom she’d acquired, he’d become her matchmaking project. Even after he’d told Nancy he wasn’t looking to court anyone at the moment.

  However, he’d honor his coupon. “How about I see Mr. Graves tomorrow night?”

  “All right.” She waved out the window at a lady passing by. “Are you going to the dance next week? It’s for a good cause. Nancy hopes to see you there.”

  Or rather her mother did. He scratched at his arm. “I can’t go.”

  She gave him that disappointed-parent look. “You should reconsider. Available young ladies aren’t often available for long.”

  Thankfully, Mrs. Graves exited without waiting for him to reply.

  Maybe he should get to know Dr. Benning. He wasn’t opposed to working under a doctor who was qualified. Being an apprentice in Salt Flatts would be easier than going to medical school, but then he’d just be here longer, watching Eliza from afar.

  If he couldn’t stay and doctor here in Salt Flatts, where Eliza would now permanently reside, why stay, why toy with courting her? A single woman in this town would draw interest from many men if she wasn’t claimed. What if she started sparking with someone he knew before he left?

  Lynville Tate and Micah Otting walked through the door with big smiles on their faces.

  Lynville. Will scowled. What if she took up with him?

  “Why do you look so down in the mouth, William?” Lynville leaned against the counter. “I bet a twirl around the dance floor would cheer you right up. Don’t you think so, Micah?”

  Had Mrs. Graves prodded them inside to convince him to attend the dance with Nancy?

  The butcher’s eldest son smiled. “We’re helping raise money for the Millers, so—”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have much to donate.” He’d only managed to tuck a few bills back into his new leather pouch yesterday. He pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and handed it to the men. He couldn’t afford to part with the coin, but the Millers certainly hadn’t chosen to have lightning burn down their barn either.

  “That’s enough for one ticket.” Lynville pulled a paper stub from his pocket. “But not for a first dance. Those go for five. As do the last dances.”

  “A ticket for a dance?” Since when had they gone back to dance cards and such?

  “Well yes, I figured you’d heard. Sarah, Nancy, and Eliza volunteered to dance all night to raise money—that’s what we’re in charge of coordinating. So which girl you want to take a turn with?”

  “Now hold on. Do you have these girls’ permission to sell them for tickets?”

  Lynville huffed like an affronted bull. “Of course we do. They were happy to oblige. Besides, we can’t have you hogging Nancy. There’s only so many single ladies in Salt Flatts.”

  Eliza had agreed to dance with other men all night long—after their two kisses last week? Will swallowed against his dry throat. “I don’t like this.”

  Micah shrugged. “Of course you don’t, but us other fellas don’t exactly like how Nancy will probably turn us down at every dance, waiting for you to fall back in love with her, so now we get a shot to win her—and for a good cause too. What’s a more fun way to donate than taking a girl for a spin?”

  “Besides, Eliza’s been walking around in a gloomy cloud lately.” Lynville lifted his hat a bit to scratch at his hairline. “She needs a man to cheer her up. If we hadn’t concocted this paid dance thing, she’d have likely sat out or not come at all. And that’s no way to get over Axel.”

  Right, because an ostracized bearded lady’s death had nothing to do with Eliza’s mood. He glared at Lynville. Not that he wanted the man to be sensitive enough to win Eliza’s heart, but he ought to be a little more understanding. “How many dances are you selling?”

  “Now, that’s the spirit,” Micah said, thumping the counter. “As many as we can. How many you in for?”

  “Surely you mean to let them rest.” He couldn’t afford to keep Eliza dancing all night, and judging by Lynville’s wide grin, he and Micah had reserved some tickets for themselves as compensation for setting things up.

  “Of course we do.” Micah winked. “We want them in a good mood for all their dances—otherwise it’d be no fun.”

  A night of watching every man in town dance with Eliza was not his idea of fun.

  Micah flipped Will’s silver dollar in the air. “So who do you want to dance with?”

  “None of them.” He rubbed at the ache emerging between his brows. “Just give the coin to the Millers.”

  “Well, aren’t you a stick-in-the-mud.” Micah pocketed the dollar. “You can’t butt in on their dances though, since everyone else is paying.”

  “I don’t
plan on going.” He couldn’t imagine holding Eliza in his arms for a few agonizing minutes, then handing her over to someone else, knowing he couldn’t take her back into his arms after the dance and keep her there forever.

  “Suit yourself.” Lynville tucked the ticket stubs back into his pocket. “See you around.”

  As soon as the men left, Will busied himself with straightening the shelves to avoid thinking about some stupid dance. However, the longer he fiddled with the merchandise, the harder it was to keep from running after Lynville and Micah and handing over every last coin in his purse.

  Could he work for Eliza as her husband, knowing she couldn’t quit to focus on mothering because he’d ruin the store while she was otherwise occupied?

  Could he give up doctoring—what he’d believed all his life God wanted him to do?

  And if Eliza traipsed west with him, she’d face hardships she’d never have to endure as a shop owner.

  Were his feelings for Eliza enough to commit one of them to a life they didn’t want?

  Maybe his feelings, but not hers.

  Years apart if he attended school would help them figure out whether being together was more important than their vocational dreams, but he wouldn’t ask her to wait, preventing her from finding someone here. He sagged against the shelving. Lynville and Micah wouldn’t have a hard time selling dance tickets for any of the ladies. Plenty of successful Salt Flatts men whose feet were firmly planted in Kansas soil wanted a wife.

  The tinkle of the bell forced him up front.

  Dr. Forsythe stood by the counter, wiping his forehead.

  He ought to scan his medical volumes for a condition that caused exorbitant sweating. Perspiring that much couldn’t be normal.

  “Good, you’re here.”

  Will scratched his temple. Dr. Forsythe rarely dropped in. “Can I help you find something?”

  “Did you hear Kathleen Hampden had her baby late yesterday?”

  “No.” He smiled. “Did you catch the babe or did someone off the street get dragged in for that privilege?”

  “Carl alone attended.”

  Will huffed with appreciation. Carl could evidently come through when necessary.

  Dr. Forsythe dragged himself to the chair by the checkers table and groaned as he lowered himself into the seat. “However, the baby won’t survive.”

  Will blinked. “Did Carl do something wrong?” If he felt guilty over losing his baby sister, how terrible would Carl’s pain be if he’d caused his son’s or daughter’s death?

  “No, nothing Carl did. I’ve actually never seen anything like it before.” Did a tear glisten in the doctor’s eye or just sweat? Dr. Forsythe pulled out his rag again. “Benning has, but not quite like this . . .” Dr. Forsythe cleared his throat and looked far off. “You should attend Mrs. Hampden now.”

  Will lowered himself in the chair beside him. “If you and Dr. Benning don’t know what to do, why do you think I would?”

  “Of course you can’t do anything, boy. It’s the woman who thinks someone can. And for some reason you calm patients enough to listen to reason.” He stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. “Though there’s no need to reason with her. She’ll find out soon enough.”

  Will moved his tongue around his suddenly dry mouth. “What’s wrong with the baby?”

  “I don’t know.” The man stood abruptly, knocking a few checker pieces onto the floor. “I need to get to Fossil Creek.” The man barreled through the other chairs and out the door.

  If Dr. Forsythe wasn’t lording his medical knowledge over Will by expounding on a patient’s affliction in unsympathetic detail . . . something was terribly wrong.

  Hurrying to the back for his medical box, Will tried to push away the dread of having to hold another dead baby in his arms.

  Lord, let Forsythe and Benning be wrong. Because if they aren’t, how can I help?

  But he would help any way he could—his heart wouldn’t allow him to do otherwise. He stopped at the front counter to get his keys.

  The longer he stayed in Salt Flatts near Eliza, the more miserable he’d be later. No use asking Dr. Benning to take him on. He couldn’t continue pursuing Eliza knowing they’d never be together, and the more attached he became, the more tempted he’d be to give up on his vocation.

  Could he really go? Give up on Eliza and move away from his family forever? Eliza had only recently stolen his heart, so that ache would likely dull in time, but his parents and siblings? Nettie?

  He’d be happy staying in Salt Flatts forever . . . if it didn’t require ignoring what God had for him to do—and that would be doctoring somehow.

  He flipped the Closed sign. If only Axel would return so the store could be sold. Regardless of Axel’s conviction, he’d probably come out with something—and then he could leave.

  Maybe he should just leave the sign flipped over permanently and let Pa deal with things for him if Axel was captured, leave immediately for wherever people needed medical help desperately enough to retain an unlicensed doctor.

  No. He couldn’t do that to Pa.

  Will rubbed his temples. He didn’t want to live in Salt Flatts with Eliza any longer knowing he could never live with her there forever.

  Chapter 22

  The Hampdens’ store was dark, but the doorknob turned without difficulty. Will expected the sounds of mourning or chaos, but a stillness blanketed the air.

  A child talking in hushed tones grew louder as he threaded his way to the back room.

  Amongst crates, merchandise, and other inventory clutter, Gretchen stacked blocks and Junior played with a carved horse. Eliza sat beside them on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, her face tense, eyes red and glistening.

  She looked up. “Will?”

  “Yes . . .” How it would hurt to converse with the woman he loved but now knew he’d never marry. To see her hurting but not hold her in his arms.

  He cut his eyes toward the back stairwell but could hear nothing from the apartment above. “I assume their parents are upstairs?”

  She nodded, her throat muscles struggling to swallow.

  Squatting beside her, he ruffled Junior’s hair, then smiled at Gretchen until they resumed playing. “It’s that bad?” he whispered, taking in the lines surrounding the eyes she wouldn’t turn toward him.

  She nodded again. “They want me to take the children to the boardinghouse, but Junior doesn’t want to go until they can kiss the baby . . . good-night.” Her voice trailed off, her lip quivered. “We’ll go eat soon and come back to say good-bye.” A solitary tear escaped and ran down Eliza’s face.

  His heart ached to pull her against him, but he had to go upstairs. “Will you be all right?”

  “Don’t worry about me.” She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, attempting a surreptitious wipe at the tear struggling down her cheek. “You need to help Kathleen.”

  “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, considering how I failed Mrs. Lightfoot.”

  “Don’t.” She shook her head fiercely. “It’s not your medical knowledge or lack thereof they need.” She hastily swiped at her eyelids, then ran her tongue across her lips as if to unseal them. “It’s the peace that comes with you, Will. The other doctors leave when their weaknesses are exposed, but you know you’re weak and seek God’s help. And He’s the only one able to do anything good right now.”

  “Then Kathleen doesn’t need me, but rather God—”

  “You won’t abandon her like Dr. Forsythe or Dr. Benning did when they realized their inability.” Eliza’s intense whisper made Junior stop playing with his toy horse, but she overlooked the boy’s troubled expression. “That’s why she needs you.”

  “But Carl—”

  “He needs you too.” She rubbed at her nose and sniffed.

  “Are you hurt, Liza?” Junior frowned as he pushed up off his stomach.

  “No, child. My nose is just running.” She turned wounded eyes toward Will. “I can’t talk anymore, bu
t I’ll be praying. When we return, I’ll see if it’s all right to bring the children up.” She gripped his arm. Was she trying to find strength or encourage him with a squeeze? Maybe both?

  He reached over and smoothed the hair near her temple, refraining from placing a kiss against her hairline lest the gesture loose the tears rising in her eyes.

  She turned away and scooped up a fallen block. “Let me help you, Gretchen.” She cleared her throat—probably to rid her voice of its warble—and handed the baby the red rectangle. “We should go eat now.” She hoisted Gretchen and held out her hand for Junior.

  Will pulled in a steadying breath. He waved to the children as they left the storage room with Eliza, then forced himself toward the stairs.

  He knocked on the three-room apartment at the top of the landing and announced himself. Nobody responded, so he opened the door a crack.

  Carl sat in a chair, staring out a window that faced the brick wall across the alley. The waning afternoon light slanted into the room but didn’t chase away the deep shadows or the heavy weight of sorrow infusing the apartment.

  “Carl?” Will stepped inside.

  The man limply turned his head, his eyes empty. He shrugged and returned his vacant gaze to the window.

  “I’m here to see your wife and baby.” He closed the door gently behind himself.

  Carl nodded once but said nothing.

  “Can I do anything for you?”

  The man blinked, completely dry-eyed.

  Without knowing what was wrong, how could he talk Carl through whatever grief had struck him dumb?

  Will padded across wooden planks to the inner room where he’d delivered Gretchen, leaving his friend wrapped in the silence he seemed to want. The door stood slightly ajar, the low hum of a woman’s voice filtering through. He gripped the doorknob, widening the crack a little. “May I come in?”

  No answer but the low notes of “Brahms’ Lullaby,” though the tune was stilted and slightly off-key.

  Propped against an iron headboard and pillows, Kathleen tore her eyes off the overly large bundle she clutched to her chest. Her face mirrored Eliza’s. Eyes red and wet, lips pursed and trembling—yet she didn’t stop humming the wooden notes except for a sharp intake of breath to start the refrain again.