A Bride in the Bargain

by Deeanne Gist

  But it was the bathroom that thrilled her the most. It had a real toilet, a tub, and pipes that brought the water in and took the water out.

  She heard a murmuring of voices, the door click shut, and Joe’s footsteps as he followed her to the lavatory.

  “Oh, Joe,” she said, still staring at the tub and toilet. “I’ve never seen anything so glorious in my life.”

  He slipped his arms about her waist and nuzzled her neck. “Hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “How hungry?”

  She glanced up over her shoulder, then felt her insides respond to the heat in his gaze. “I’m not in any great hurry. Are you?”

  “No hurry at all.” Turning her around, he pulled her against him and lowered his mouth to hers.

  The Cottage Café was no small cottage, but a large restaurant with rows and rows of long tables and benches filled with patrons. A barlike counter ran the length of one wall. Lining the mirrored shelves behind it were jars and jars of candy and confections.

  Manning the counter was what had to be a father-and-son duo, the former a handsome man with a touch of gray at his temples. He wasn’t as broad as Joe, of course, but he was a good deal bigger than most. His son looked to be following in his footsteps—height-wise, at least. He’d yet to fill out, though.

  The restaurant held none of the luxury of the hotel, but instead offered a relaxed, homey feel. Anna loved it at once. Sliding in next to a group of men at one of the long tables, she smiled as Joe greeted those around them.

  Most were professional-looking men in fancy suits, though a few were rather rough and rowdy. She eyed them, assuming they were gold diggers.

  Young women in matching black dresses with crisp white aprons poured from the kitchen and served the meal family-style, much the way she’d served her lumberjacks.

  Her lumberjacks. A pang of sorrow intruded on the moment as she watched the women laugh and tease with the men.

  Joe’s crew had all attended the wedding, of course. All danced with her. Still, she missed them already.

  She glanced at Joe. He must miss them even more, though he’d not said so.

  A woman with startling blond hair and a ready smile plunked massive platters of beef, potatoes, and bread on the table in front of them. “Eat up, fellows. Today’s dessert is almond pudding, but only for boys who clean their plates.”

  The waitress waggled her finger at them as they exchanged badinage. So much like the jacks at home. Anna sighed. When had she begun thinking of Seattle as home instead of Granby?

  The food smelled savory and appetizing. The men were careful to see that she partook first, and she quickly learned to take only what she thought she’d eat because these Californians ate almost as heartily as her lumberjacks.

  Dessert was winding down when a woman of the same generation as Anna’s mother came from the kitchen and moved down each row of tables greeting customers. She was attractive and hearty, and she lit up when she smiled.

  Anna couldn’t help but notice the difference between her and Mama. She’d been so emaciated those last few years. Was that what Anna had in store for her with the tuberculosis? Or would the southern states that had killed her father and brother be the very thing that would save her life?

  She’d not had one breathing episode all week. Her cough had subsided a bit more each day—particularly after she’d stood on the deck of the steamer enjoying the fresh air and breeze. And her headache had settled into nothing more than a slight irritant.

  This upward swing had begun before she’d even left Seattle. Was it that she hadn’t had time to notice her ailments because of all the excitement? But, no. If anything, she’d have thought the excitement would cause her symptoms to escalate, not dissipate.

  The woman now stood across from Anna. “Hello. I’m Rachel Parker. Are you new to town?”

  Joe began to rise.

  “No, no. Sit. Please.”

  Settling back down, he nodded to the woman. “Actually, we’re visiting. I’m Joe Denton and this is my wife, Anna.”

  The man who’d been behind the counter joined Mrs. Parker, slipped his hand about her waist, and pulled her against his hip.

  She glanced up at him and smiled. “Johnnie, this is Mr. and Mrs. Denton. They’re visiting from . . . ?”

  “Seattle,” Joe said, rising to shake the man’s hand.

  “Joe. Johnnie Parker. Welcome.” He smiled at Anna. “Mrs. Denton.”

  “How do you do?”

  The man may have been old, she thought, but he was still quite attractive. Especially when he smiled.

  Mrs. Parker smoothed her hand under her skirt and sat sideways on the bench across from them. “I’m sorry to hear you’re only visiting. Women are always a welcome sight around here. How long will you be in town?”

  Anna looked at Joe, then Mrs. Parker. “We’re not sure, exactly.”

  And over the course of the next half hour, Anna found herself telling the woman of their wish to go south and why. By the time she was done, the restaurant was empty and the Parkers both sat across from them, sipping coffee the girls had brought out.

  “But you don’t sound sick at all,” Mrs. Parker said.

  “I know.” Anna sighed. “It’s the strangest thing. I’ve felt almost like myself for a week now, yet we just arrived in San Francisco this morning.”

  Mrs. Parker looked at her husband. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  He raised his brows. “Woman, I have yet to keep up with what goes on in your mind. What is it you’re thinking?”

  “That doctor.” She laid her hand on his arm. “You know. The one from Kentucky who worked with that other doctor in a cave?”

  Mr. Parker nodded as comprehension dawned. “Dr. Shepard.”

  “Yes! Dr. Shepard.” She turned to Anna. “He and another doctor ran a clinic of sorts in a huge cave for people with tuberculosis. It was somewhere around Louisville, I think. In any event, they thought the constant temperature and purity of the air there would help cure their patients.”

  “Did it work?” Joe asked.

  “I’m afraid it didn’t, but Dr. Shepard studied the disease thoroughly and is considered an expert. Perhaps you could see him while you’re here.”

  Joe slipped his hand into Anna’s. “Perhaps we will.”

  Anna straightened her clothing, left the exam room, and joined Joe and Dr. Shepard in his library. Both men rose.

  The room reminded her of Doc Maynard’s place. The smell of chemicals wafted about her. Shelves lined the wall with books of all sizes and shapes. Rolls of papers protruded from pigeonholes above his desk, while the surface of it was covered with more papers, an open medical dictionary, a jar of eye wash, another of glycerin powder, and a pair of spectacles.

  “Mrs. Denton, please have a seat.” The doctor was much older than Doc Maynard. He had kind blue eyes, a bulbous nose, a gray goatee, and a severely receding hairline.

  Joe held the chair while she settled. Instead of sitting in the adjoining one, he stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. She lifted her hands to his and squeezed his fingers.

  Drawing a fresh piece of paper from the bottom of a pile, Dr. Shepard put on his glasses, dipped his pen in an inkwell, and began to write. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Denton, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you remember exactly when the symptoms began?”

  She looked up at Joe. “I don’t remember having any while I was at your house. Do you?”

  He shook his head.

  “No, I’m sure of it. I didn’t start feeling ill until I returned to town. That would have been mid-August.”

  The doctor scribbled on the page, his pen making scratching noises in the quiet. “And your complaints included headaches, coughing, and what you call ‘breathing episodes.’ ”

  “That’s right.”

  “How often do they occur?”

  “They were rather infrequent at first, bu
t have steadily worsened over time.”

  “Do you ever sweat at night while you sleep?”

  “No.”

  “Ever experience any fever?”

  “No.”

  “Any blood when you cough?”

  “No.”

  He continued to write, never once looking up. “And did the symptoms you mentioned earlier ever lapse?”

  She cocked her head. “Not until last week, no.”

  His scribbling stopped. “What happened last week?”

  Joe proposed to me. But she knew that wasn’t what he was asking. “The breathing episodes stopped altogether, and the coughing and headaches practically went away. At least until a few moments ago.”

  He looked at her over his glasses. “A few moments ago?”

  “Yes. Almost as soon as I entered the exam room, my head began to pound and I experienced shortness of breath.”

  Returning his pen to its holder, he leaned back. “How did you occupy your time while you were in Seattle?”

  “I was an assistant to the local doctor there.”

  He raised his brows. “You’re a nurse?”

  She shook her head. “No, no. I just cleaned his utensils, soothed patients, administered the chloroform. That kind of thing.”

  “You went on his calls with him?”

  “Only at the very beginning, and then only for about a week. After that, I helped with his scheduled surgeries.”

  “In his exam room.”

  “Yes.”

  “Like mine?”

  “One very much like yours.”

  “How often?”

  “Whenever he had a surgery scheduled.” Anna shrugged. “Several days throughout each week, I guess.”

  “And you administered chloroform during most of those?”

  “During all of them.”

  “And when did you quit working for this doctor?”

  “A week ago.”

  “And during that week, your symptoms steadily decreased?”

  “They did.”

  Removing his glasses, he tapped them against his lips. “I think I can say with complete confidence, Mrs. Denton, that you do not have tuberculosis.”

  Her lips parted. Surely he was mistaken. A clock on the mantel chimed three times.

  Joe slid into the chair beside her. “How can that be? I’ve heard her coughs. Witnessed her breathing difficulties.”

  “I’ve seen tuberculosis in every stage of the illness and in patients of all ages and sizes. Many times over. Your wife doesn’t have it.”

  “But Doc Maynard is very good. Well respected.”

  “Many doctors employ the ‘better safe than sorry’ philosophy. Tuberculosis is dangerous, and the earlier it’s caught, the better the chances the patient has. I think he did the right thing by recommending you take Mrs. Denton to drier climes.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “No. Drier climes won’t help cure your wife.”

  “What will?”

  “Staying away from chloroform.”

  Joe frowned. “What?”

  “For whatever reason, your wife’s body has a strong aversion to it.”

  Anna shook her head in confusion. “What are you saying, Dr. Shepard?”

  “Think back, Mrs. Denton. Were your symptoms worse while you administered the chloroform, or perhaps right after?”

  She searched her mind, then turned to Joe in wonder. “Why, yes. They were.”

  “And they began to improve that week you quit assisting with surgeries, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “At least, they did until you entered my exam room, where I performed a surgery requiring chloroform not thirty minutes before you arrived.”

  Hope began to wiggle inside her. Joe reached for her hand.

  She looked at him and smiled. “That’s right.”

  Dr. Shepard tossed his glasses on the desk. “Well, Mrs. Denton, I’m afraid you will have to give up any aspirations you have of becoming a doctor’s assistant. But as for your illness, so long as you stay away from chloroform, I think you will find your coughs, headaches, and breathing difficulties will all but disappear.”

  Moisture rushed to her eyes. “You’re sure?”

  He smiled. “Quite sure.”

  Joe squeezed her hand so hard her fingers overlapped each other. The relief and joy he felt was apparent in his eyes.

  “My illness has nothing to do with the climate in Seattle?” she asked the doctor.

  “Not a single thing.”

  “We . . . we can go back?” she whispered.

  “You most certainly can.”

  Unable to hold her euphoria at bay, she turned to Joe, then sucked in her breath.

  Silent tears trickled down his face. “You’re going to be all right.” Taking a wobbly breath, he tugged her toward him. “You’re going to be all right.”

  Smiling, she moved to his lap and let him hold her, right there in front of Dr. Shepard.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Seattle, W.T.

  One week later

  Red met them at the dock, assisting Anna onto the pier. “Welcome back, Miss Iv—Mrs. Denton.”

  “It’s wonderful to be home, Red.” She smiled. “And please, call me Anna.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that.” He turned and clasped Joe’s hand for a hearty shake. “The boys and I sure were glad to get your telegram.”

  “They were able to come back to work, then?”

  “Every one of them. And I canceled that newspaper ad.”

  They grinned at each other, then pitched together in a brief and ebullient bear hug.

  The three of them traversed Occidental Avenue, Joe helping Anna dodge the logs and drift from Yesler’s Mill. She noted that Mount Rainier had come out from behind the clouds to welcome her home. She gave it a private greeting, thrilled that she would have the pleasure of being its neighbor for the rest of her life.

  “I didn’t hire back Ollie,” Red continued. “Wasn’t sure what you wanted to do about the cooking.”

  “Oh, I’d like to cook.” She looked up at Joe. “Can I? Do you mind?”

  “That’s a lot of work, Anna. I’m not sure I want you doing all that.”

  “Oh, please, Joe. I love it.”

  He hesitated, then slipped his arm about her waist. “For now, then. But when the little ones start coming, we’re making other arrangements.”

  Blushing, she glanced at Red, but the men were already on to other topics. It was a bit early to be thinking about little ones. For now, having the house in the woods to themselves sounded like a slice of heaven.

  “Asa Mercer’s back,” Red said. “He’s reopened the university and everything.”

  Joe pulled up short, causing Anna to stop, too.

  “He’s back? He had the nerve to show himself around here?”

  Red shrugged. “Everybody’s married up to their Mercer girls, so I guess he figured all’s well that ends well.”

  “What about all the men who paid for brides and didn’t receive them?”

  Red scratched his chin. “That money’s long gone, but the boys will have a reckoning, I’m sure.”

  Anna gasped. “They won’t hang him or anything, will they?”

  Red shook his head. “We aren’t in California, Miss—Anna. Things are a bit more civilized here in the Territory.”

  For Mr. Mercer’s sake, she certainly hoped so.

  “What about you?” Red asked, eyeing Joe. “You plan on saying something to him?”

  “You’re dead right I do. The blighter owes me four hundred dollars.”

  Red looked from Joe to Anna and back to Joe. “I think you might have a hard time collecting. I mean, after all, you married the gal he brought you.”

  Joe scowled. “That has nothing to do with it.”

  “It has everything to do with it. Besides, there isn’t a person in town who doesn’t know you’d put up all you had in the world for her, ’cause you already di
d.”

  After a slight hesitation, Joe shook his head. “Well, there’s no arguing with that, I suppose.”

  “You leave Mercer to the others who never got anything for their troubles. They’ll take care of him.” Red slapped him on the back. “Now, go on before you run out of daylight. I’ve got Shakespeare all harnessed up and ready.”

  The rain started less than an hour after they’d left Seattle. The wagon’s canopy offered little protection from the moisture blowing in from the sides. It didn’t take long to penetrate Anna’s clothing, and try as she might, she couldn’t keep her shivers at bay.

  Joe glanced at her. “Don’t you think you should put on your coat?”

  She huddled inside her new wool cape. “I don’t have one.”

  “I thought I gave you fabric for one.”

  She nodded. “You did, but I haven’t had time to sew it up yet.”

  He shrugged off his jacket and laid it on her lap. “Well, put mine on, then.”

  “No, no. I’ll be fine.”

  “Put it on.”

  “But then you won’t have anything.”

  “Put. It. On.”

  “But, Joe . . .”

  He turned to look at her. Slowly, slowly. “Don’t make me stop the wagon.” His voice held a mixture of teasing and seriousness.

  She tilted her head. “And just what exactly do you think you’d do then, Mr. Denton?”

  He gave her an exasperated look. “For the love of the saints, Anna. Put the stupid thing on.”

  A breeze cut straight through her clothing. Smiling, she tucked the jacket over her shoulders. Warmth immediately encompassed her along with the now-familiar smell of cedar, which still lingered after a week away.

  The farther they went, the thicker the forest grew. Many trees had long since lost their leaves, but the conifers were still verdant. Shakespeare’s hooves made a suctioning noise in the mud, lulling her with its repetitive rhythm.

  Her eyes grew heavy. She allowed herself to close them for just a minute, then jerked her head up when her chin bounced.

  After the third time, Joe pulled her onto his lap. “Here, little robin.”