Miss Thorne Blossoms

by Jordan Bollinger

  He gulped his milk down, smiled at her, and admitted, "I didn't realize how thirsty I was."

  The doctor looked down at the book, and said, "I love Dickens. But, I also like Jules Verne. Have you read any of his books?"

  "No, I haven't. But, that doesn't mean I don't want to."

  "I'll select one for you then, shall I?" the doctor asked.

  "Yes, please." He looked over at her, and said, "I was wondering if I might eat at the hotel tonight. At least that way I can feel as though I'm paying my way and not some charity case."

  "There's no need for you to feel that way. I'm sure you'll make good on your debts." She went quiet, and then added, "As to dinner...not tonight. Perhaps, tomorrow evening. If you get some rest tonight."

  Chapter Nine

  Frank Dunkirk walked over to where Victoria sat, sipping on some coffee, and greeted her, "Ah...good morning, Dr. Thorne. Do you mind if I join you for a few minutes?"

  "Of course not, Sheriff. Is there something I can do for you? Are you feeling unwell?"

  "No, I'm fine. I was just wondering if Kit had found anything that might give us a clue to who that poor girl was."

  "No. I'm very sorry to say she hasn't. And it isn't because she hasn't tried. I'm afraid she spends a good portion of her evening searching through the stalls of the livery stable."

  "Are you still convinced there are others—here in Manchester—being used as she was?"

  "Yes, I am. That poor child had been beaten between the two times Kit saw her, so I don't believe your theory of her being a runaway who came to town on the train is viable."

  "Yes," Frank Dunkirk sighed, "I see your point. I supposed it was just wishful thinking on my part. I mean, it is the least offensive idea."

  "Have you asked any of the storekeepers about 'Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup?'"

  "No," he answered. "I thought we'd decided to wait?"

  "I thought waiting was a better idea. But, you are the sheriff. It is up to you, in the end."

  The waitress, Ann, appeared, bearing a tray covered with a tea towel, and said, "I'm sorry to disturb you. If you'd like, I can run this over to the surgery."

  "Thank you, Ann. Perhaps you should. After all, I'm sure Mr. Stratton is waiting for his breakfast. Thank you."

  "Of course, ma'am." Then she was gone.

  "I don't mean to keep you from your patient," Frank said.

  "You aren't. Won't you join me for a cup of coffee, since Ann's taken Mr. Stratton's tray across?"

  "Well," the sheriff was hesitant, "if it's a quick one. After all, I am supposed to be working." He looked over and asked, "Has Kit stopped working for you?"

  "No, of course not. It's just she's staying at Meg Strong's, and she's become interested in much of what the shop offers. I don't believe she'll leave her life in the surgery, in favor of one of spinning or sewing, but I don't want to prevent her from exploring other options."

  "I suppose she's staying because of Mr. Stratton and the town ladies?"

  "Partly," she admitted, "but also because I don't like the idea of her staying there alone any longer—not with the saloon right across the street. Especially, since Mr. Stratton has also expressed his concern about her."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, he's staying in the bedroom upstairs and apparently he finds the saloon—and its patrons—annoying when he's trying to sleep. And from what he's told me, there are fights nightly. Kit doesn't need to be exposed to drunk and disorderly men."

  "I hadn't realized the saloon was causing so much commotion," the sheriff said, with a frown. "I'll have to speak to my deputies and have them keep a better watch on things."

  *****

  "Well," Dr. Thorne said, smiling, as she entered the surgery kitchen to find Neil rinsing his breakfast dishes and stacking them on the hotel tray, "you must feel better." Although, when she looked at him more closely, she could still see the dark circles beneath his eyes.

  "I didn't sleep much better, but I do feel healthier. I'm ashamed to say that I haven't enjoyed eating this much in a very long time. I don't cook for myself, so most of my meals are badly-made, stale biscuits, fried bacon or the occasional game, and eggs—if I have them."

  "There must be someone in town who would like a job. They could cook and take care of your house for you."

  "I don't know." Neil said. "Not only am I not sure the townspeople—and by that I mean the old biddies—would approve of that, but I'm not sure I want someone living with me."

  "Aren't you ever lonely?" Victoria asked.

  "Sometimes, but I also like my privacy. And," he continued, with a grin, "I suppose I am very stuck in my ways."

  "Ah," the doctor said, "now that's something I can understand." She laughed softly.

  *****

  Stratton had returned upstairs to lie down. Kit had breezed in with the mail, tidied the surgery, and left—taking the hotel tray with her. And, Victoria was sitting at the table in the outer room of the surgery, reading a letter she'd just received from one of her plethora of elderly aunts, still living in Philadelphia.

  Suddenly a rotund man burst through the street door, glowered at her, and growled, "Are you Victoria Thorne?"

  "Yes," she answered, deliberately adding, "I am Dr. Thorne."

  The man snorted like a pig, and said, "I don't care if you are the Queen of Sheba, did you make a complaint to the sheriff about my establishment?"

  "First, perhaps you could introduce yourself. And once you tell me who you are, you can explain what you're talking about?"

  "Don't take that tone with me, missy! You want to know who I am? Well, I'll tell you who I am. I own the establishment across the street, as well as several other buildings along the street." He sneered at her and then added, "Including this one!"

  Victoria remained calm and repeated her question. "And, who are you?"

  "I just told you," he said in a loud, cold voice.

  Before he could answer, there were footsteps—first overhead and then on the stairs. Neil Stratton's head popped out from the back hall and asked, "Is everything all right, doctor?"

  The rude man swung around, and said, "This isn't any of your concern—whoever you are." He failed to see or ignored Stratton's bandaged hand and sling and snorted again as he turned back to Victoria, who he leered at before he added, "Well, I see how this is. You have a man in your quarters. Yet, you make slanderous accusations against me and my business."

  Neil stepped forward and said, "I don't know who you are, but you'd better watch what you say about the doctor. Now, if you've finished insulting Dr. Thorne, you can get out!"

  "Yes...well, that's just it. I haven't said all I've come to say." He faced Victoria and told her, "I'm Wilfred Brumbell, and, as I said earlier, I own the bar across the street, as well as several other buildings—including this one."

  "Yes..." she said, waiting. "I heard you. I assure you, I have an excellent memory."

  "I've decided that I'm not renewing your lease. So, you'll have to find somewhere else to go."

  "Dr. Cooper told me that the lease isn't up for another two and a half years. In fact, he prepaid most of the remaining rent for this year, last fall, before he left town."

  "Well, yes. The rent is paid through October thirty-first. But, as to the remaining time on his lease with the former owner—forget it. I've never met Cooper, and I have no agreement with him. And, I certainly have no intention on entering into an agreement with an over-educated, uppity woman. So, you'll be out before November first."

  "And, if I'm not?" she asked, calmly.

  "Then I'll prosecute you to the full extent of the law." He'd turned around and was reaching for the doorknob, when he halted, looked around the surgery with contempt, before he continued, "But I wouldn't be surprised if you weren't out long before then. Who knows what might happen before November?"

  Neil Stratton spoke up, "I sincerely hope that's not a threat. Because I heard it, as well as the doctor."

  "Do I look worried?" Brumbell
snickered. Then he left, slamming the door so hard that dust sprinkled down from the floorboards above.

  Chapter Ten

  Victoria sagged in the chair she was sitting in, sighed, and exclaimed, "What am I going to do? Where can I go? I bet you anything, he'll own any possible alternatives."

  "I'm confident you'll find something," Neil told her. "After all, I'm sure this isn't the toughest obstacle you've faced, now is it?" He smiled at her.

  She smiled back, rose, and told him, "As long as you're down here, take a chair. I want to examine your stitches and put on fresh dressings." Then she stepped back into the other room.

  When she returned with a tray of supplies, she found Stratton sitting in the chair she had vacated, and scowling at the door.

  After placing the tray down on the table, she pulled a chair around to his, so their knees were touching, and untied the sling. She placed his hand on her knee and unwrapped it.

  Most of the cut was clean and seemed to be healing well, but the last few stitches, nearest to the thumb, were red and oozing. Victoria frowned and warned him, "This is going to hurt." Then she pour some alcohol over the stitches.

  "Ouch!" he cried.

  "Oh, buck up. Because I don't like the way these two or three stitches look, I'm taking them out. And then, I'm going to douse it with even more alcohol."

  "Is that absolutely necessary?" he asked, with a grimace.

  "I'm afraid so," she told him. "After all this, I have no intention of letting you lose the use of your thumb now."

  "Yes," he conceded, "I see your point."

  Once she had snipped the stitches and pulled them out, she pressed the now open cut, as gently as possible, doing her best to ignore his wincing. A small amount of pus oozed out, before it became a mixture of blood and pus, and then almost all blood.

  "Take a deep breath," she told him, before she doused the opening with alcohol.

  "Dang!" Neil cried out. "That hurts like hell!"

  "I know," she soothed, "I know. And, I'm sorry. Now, let me just put in a few new stitches, get you bandaged again, and I'll make you some fresh coffee."

  "All right. Just get it over with."

  "Should I find a stick for you to bite down on," she asked, grinning at him. "Well?" she repeated.

  She took advantage of him looking up into her face, and took a quick stitch and tied it off, before he really expected it. And then without waiting, took the second stitch. As she tied that one off and trimmed the catgut, she said, "See...that wasn't too bad. And, it's all over." She wrapped the cut with fresh bandages, before she slipped the hand back into the sling and retied it.

  "I'll just take the tray away, and then go make your coffee."

  "Aren't you going to have some?" he asked.

  "I was planning on it," she answered. "Unless a patient arrives. However, I don't want you to get over-tired. Are you sure you wouldn't rather go back upstairs for a rest, and have coffee later? I'm hoping I have something in the kitchen to give you for lunch. Kit usually keeps some broth made. Perhaps, there's some bread and cheese, as well."

  "I'll come into the kitchen with you," Neil said. "If that's all right with you?" Then as he followed her out, added, "I wouldn't say no to some tea, instead."

  "Actually, I think I'd prefer that as well, "she said, as she set the tray on the table.

  Stratton watched her as she set the kettle on to boil, before he asked, "Is there anyone here in town who might be able to advise you about Brumbell's threat?"

  She looked up from adding tea leaves to the caddy. "Well, I suppose Meg Strong. Although, I'm sure she'll either tell me to speak to Gus Gunderson, or simply speak to him, herself."

  "Gunderson...he's the man who's helping me, isn't he? If you go to see him, I'd like to come with you."

  "Certainly. Besides, you can substantiate what that awful man said."

  He reached over and covered her hand with his, and said, "I hope you know I'm perfectly willing to do that. But, I don't think for a minute he wouldn't believe you. I just wish I could think of a way to repay him. I'd have lost my stock, if he hadn't come forward."

  "From everything Meg's told me, he is just that kind of man. He seems always willing to help people. She told me how he arranged for one of his men to move out to the Hendriksen place after Miranda's husband died. Apparently, the hired man they had begun slacking off, and disappearing." She looked at him and asked, "Have you met Miranda Hendriksen?"

  "I hadn't met anyone except the banker I dealt with when I purchased the farm. I really had only been in town a couple of months before I arrived on your doorstep. I'd insisted we stop here once I found out Elise was having a baby. And once I bought the farm, Elise's relatives—the ones we were moving west with—camped on the property, even though I told them we wouldn't be going on. The baby was supposed to arrive around spring, so they figured they'd just stay until then. And, then Elise and the baby died, and spring came, and they moved on," he sighed, "leaving me alone with my memories."

  Victoria looked at him and asked, "Your livestock are being cared for, and the placed isn't left deserted. Why are you so depressed?"

  "Because, I was already behind planting any crops, before I hurt myself. I was naive enough to think they would at least help get some of my fields ready for planting.

  "I suppose I might be able to get a vegetable garden in and hunt for food. If I can manage to cut and gather enough grass from open land to keep the animals fed through the winter, I'd probably be all right.

  "The trouble is I'm not much of a hunter. I'm not even sure how much of a farmer I am. My father was a carpenter. He and my uncle had a business, and I always worked with them. I only decided to farm because Elise wanted to come west with some of her family. Then she died, and they just kept moving west."

  The doctor smiled at him and said, "Why didn't you go with them?"

  "I didn't want to go west, at all. And then, I didn't have the heart or drive to travel for months, hope to find a suitable piece of land, and then survive another winter of depravation, before I could even begin to build my life again."

  "Do you really want to farm?"

  "Not particularly, but how else can I support myself?"

  "Well," the doctor asked, "What about carpentry?"

  Neil froze, his cup in mid-air and said, "I never thought about it. At least, not since I married Elise. I did carpentry work my whole life—until I got married. But, my father was never particularly encouraging. He never seemed very happy with my work."

  "Could you build a staircase that wouldn't collapse?"

  "Certainly. I know what's needed to be done. While my father never considered my work praise-worthy, he never had cause to complain about things done incorrectly."

  "Well, it looks as though I'm going to have to have a new surgery. At the very least, I'm sure wherever I go, I'll need to have renovations made. That's a beginning.

  "Do you think you could sell the animals you have? You could make an attempt to do carpentry work. And, if things don't work out, you would still have the farm next spring."

  "I suppose I could find someone to buy my stock. After all, it's just a cow, and couple dozen chickens. I was planning on getting a sow, and perhaps another cow—but hadn't gotten around to it yet. And I'd need to keep my horse and wagon for work. And then, I'd need some tools."

  Victoria stood up, moved to the icebox, and rooted about. Eventually, she emerged with a plate of cold boiled beef and some butter. After she set them on the table, she stepped into the pantry, returning a moment later with bread and a covered cheese dish.

  As she continued gathering plates and silverware, she looked at him and said, "Maybe you could find someone to rent your place? Then you'd have a bit of income."

  "True, but if I do that, where will I live?"

  "I was hoping," the doctor began, gravely, "you'd agree to remain here. There's no reason for you not being here. After all, neither Kit nor I stay here. And, after that awful man's visit, I'm not happy
at the idea of the surgery being empty at least a third of the time."

  "Well, I can understand why. That man is evil. And, I'm willing to stay here. But," he insisted, "I'll still need to pay you rent."

  "Ah, I don't see it that way. After all, you would be providing me a service—acting as kind of a night watchman. Let's consider it a quid pro quo."

  "I'd still need money to live—for food and the like."

  "You'll have the rent from the farm for that."

  "Only if I am able to find a tenant."

  "Neil Stratton!" Victoria said, rather sharper than she'd intended, "are you always so negative?"

  When he grinned at her, she blushed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kit entered the workshop, went to where Meg Strong was doing some hand stitching, bent down, and asked, "Miss Meg, Dr. Thorne would like you to have dinner with her tonight at the hotel restaurant. And, asked, if I could drive out and ask about Mr. Gus coming, too."

  "Is something wrong?"

  "No ma'am." Kit insisted. "Least ways, not that I know of."

  "Certainly, I'll meet her. And Kit," she paused, reached for the girl's hand, squeezed it, and said, "You don't need my permission to do anything. You are staying here, and you are most welcome. However, you are working for the doctor."

  "Well...but...Eva's shown me how to spin, and even let me work on the small loom."

  "And, when you're ready, I'll teach you how to sew. That's what friends do for each other. Now, run along."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  *****

  Meg and Gus were already seated at a table when Victoria and Neil arrived at the restaurant. Gus jumped to his feet, greeted the doctor and helped her into a chair, before he reached out for Neil Stratton's uninjured hand. "Mr. Stratton, I've been looking forward to meeting you. I'm very glad to see you up and about."

  "And I've wanted to meet you. I really want to thank you for all your help. I have no idea what I'd have done without it."