by Keli Gwyn
A smile tickled the corners of her mouth. “No, you shouldn’t say such a thing to a lady.”
“But you’ll forgive me. You always do. Just like you’ll forgive me for misjudging Tommy and Timmy. Please, say you will.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
She shouldn’t allow him such liberties, but the sincerity in his voice matched that in his eyes, and she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. “Sometimes I count to three before I speak. It’s what I do when I get exasperated with Tildy. You might find it helpful.”
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”
She dipped her chin and looked at him through her lashes. “I never stay angry with you for long.”
“The storms do blow over quickly.” He grinned. “What I wanted to say that night when I showed up at such an inopportune time was that you did a remarkable job at the shooting match.”
“Hmm. That’s not what I heard.” She couldn’t resist teasing him. “My recollection is of a certain gentleman who didn’t believe a woman should be allowed to compete.”
“He did say that, but he came around.”
“That’s true. He did. After the townspeople made him see the light.”
Miles ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “The poor rascal is a mite slow at times, but he’s willing to learn.”
She studied his handsome face. His eyes were such a brilliant blue she could drown in their depths.
The back door to the mercantile opened. “Mr. R! I’m back.”
He dropped her hand, and Elenora hoped she didn’t look too guilty. She should have pulled away sooner, but his touch was warm and wonderful.
Tildy burst through the curtain and slid to a stop before them, her boots scraping on the smooth floorboards. “Mama? Why are you here?”
“I had a question for him.”
Miles tugged Tildy’s braid. “You ready to help me unload the rest of those toys, Tildy girl?”
“Mm-hmm. Guess what, Mama? A family with six children came in this morning. Since nobody else was around, Mr. R let me play salesclerk. I got to take one of every single new toy out of the crates in the back and show them to the boys and girls.”
“Six children? My goodness.”
Miles chuckled. “The shop was noisier than usual. But we won’t be seeing them again. They were on their way to Placerville where their father has a job waiting at one of the mines.”
Tildy rushed to add more information. “They all had red hair, and their names started with M. The boys were Marshall, Merritt, and Monroe. The girls were Mamie, Millie, and Mina. Isn’t Mina pretty? Lots prettier than my plain old Matilda.”
Elenora caressed Tildy’s cheek. “Matilda is a fine name, but Tildy does suit you.”
“Mrs. R still won’t use it.”
“Mrs. R? Does she let you call her that now?”
“I told her Mrs. Rutledge takes too long say, and she said I could call her Nana if I wanted, but Mr. R said that wouldn’t work.”
“Really?” Elenora did her best not to appear overly interested, but she couldn’t wait for Tildy to explain.
Miles answered. “I told her some people might choose to use terms reserved for relatives for those who aren’t, but I don’t hold to that practice. I’ve never let the Dupree children call me uncle, even though Will considers me a brother.”
“Well said, Mr. Rutledge.” He’d not only apologized. He was supporting her efforts to keep Tildy from becoming more attached to those in El Dorado than she already was.
The warmth in his smile could have melted all the blocks of ice in the soda works. “I do listen—and learn.”
“So I see.”
His clerk emerged from the back room.
“Sammy, can you keep an eye on things? Tildy and I are going to unpack those toys, and then I have an errand to run.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Rutledge.”
Miles walked Elenora to the door. “Once Tildy and I finish, I need to pay a visit to two young men. I owe them an apology. So I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Thank you—for everything.”
She crossed the street to her shop with a light step and a song in her heart. Her life had certainly taken a turn for the better recently. And from all accounts, even greater things were in store. Perhaps God did care about her after all.
No! It couldn’t be true. Elenora strangled the spray of violets at her throat. Dr. Lyle must be wrong. He had to be wrong. Tildy might have coughed a few times in the night, but that didn’t mean she had a dreaded disease.
Elenora clutched the display case nearest Miles. “I don’t understand, Doctor. Why do you think she has measles? Couldn’t it be something like influenza? I know that’s still serious, but…”
“Your daughter has symptoms that could be attributed to both. A fever, red eyes, a sore throat, and a cough. But I have reason to suspect measles. I understand a family with six redheaded children visited the mercantile over a week ago and that she spent a good deal of time with them.”
Miles fixed her with a probing gaze. “You remember, don’t you? Tildy was excited because their names all began with M.”
Of course she remembered. Tildy had talked about them all through supper that night. “What do they have to do with it?”
Dr. Lyle’s eyes filled with compassion. “There’s no easy way to say this. I received a telegram from my colleague in Placerville who is tending the children. The three youngest have the measles. Has your daughter had them before, Mrs. Watkins?”
Despite the heat, a chill crawled over her, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. She hung her head, shook it from side to side slowly, and trembled.
Miles rested a hand on her shoulder, and she took hold of it, grateful for his support. He cared for Tildy. So did Mrs. Rutledge. “When will we know? What do we do?”
“I hope I’m wrong, but we must prepare ourselves for the possibility. The disease is highly contagious. I’m putting the Rutledge place under quarantine until we know if we’re dealing with the measles. Only those who’ve had the disease can enter, and the fewer the better. Miles and his mother have had them. Have you?”
“I—” She couldn’t answer. If she did, Dr. Lyle might keep her from Tildy. “I’ll bring her here and be her nurse. There’s no sense inconveniencing anyone else.”
Miles took her other hand in his and turned her toward him. “You haven’t had them, have you? No. Don’t look away. Tell me the truth.”
Her throat grew tight, and she blinked to clear her vision, sending tears streaming down her face. They felt cool on her warm cheeks. Her voice came out faint and squeaky. “It doesn’t matter. I know what this means. She’s all I have. I can’t lose her. I need to take care of her.”
Dr. Lyle plunked his black bag on the display case. “Children generally fare quite well. She’ll be uncomfortable for a few days, but I expect a full recovery. I’m more concerned about you. The disease is more dangerous for an adult. I can’t let you take the risk of continued exposure.”
Miles released her hands, produced a fresh handkerchief, and wiped her face with gentle strokes. “Mother nursed me through my case of the measles. She’ll do the same for Tildy. I’ll help all I can. She’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
“I don’t care about myself. I need to be with my daughter. Surely you understand.”
“She needs you to stay well.” Miles spoke with the same level of intensity he’d used when he told her about losing Irene and May. “You’ve got to do everything you can to take care of yourself.”
Dr. Lyle’s tone was equally serious. “Miles is right. We’ll keep you informed, but you’re not to enter his house until the danger of contagion has passed. I’m sorry to have to be so firm, but it’s for your own good.”
No, Lord! How can this be happening? My precious girl is sick, and they won’t let me see her. I thought You cared.
Chapter 27
Elenora sank onto Tildy’s bed, picked up her daughter’s new doll, and rocked it, crooning th
e lullaby her dear girl had loved when she was little. How empty the place was without her.
Three long days had passed, but Elenora had yet to hear if they were facing measles or something else. If she didn’t find out soon, she’d go mad. Or she’d go up the hill to Miles’s place and see for herself how Tildy was doing—quarantine or no quarantine. A mother shouldn’t be kept from her child like this.
For the tenth time that morning, Elenora’s eyes grew moist. She blinked away the tears. Keep busy. That’s what Mama had said was the best way to ward off worry. Her advice was worth heeding.
Several minutes later Elenora returned the emerald-green silk to the shelf. Her fabric display had never looked better. The swatch she’d draped over the front of the bolt was the same length as those flowing from all the others. There, in an artful arrangement of eye-catching colors, was a sight sure to capture the attention of any woman in search of calico or chiffon, linen or lawn, poplin or pongee.
Aside from one stranger, not a single customer had entered her shop since the measles scare had swept through town. She’d scrubbed every inch of the place, rearranged every item, and dusted every surface. But what good did it do when no one ventured inside? Not that she could blame them for staying home. The townspeople didn’t want an epidemic. They’d even cancelled the church service that morning.
She’d opened the door to her stifling shop to get a breeze through it, noticed a few more tasks she could tend to, and busied herself seeing to them. The Lord might be angry with her for doing a few chores on the Sabbath, but she had to do something to keep her mind off things.
Elenora spied a cobweb clinging to the wall above the top shelf. She dragged a stool over, climbed up, and stretched to swipe the feather duster over the wispy strands.
“For the love of licorice, Ellie. What are you doing?”
Miles! How wonderful to hear the sound of his voice, even though it was raised in rebuke. She clutched the shelf and turned ever so slowly on her perilous perch. “I’m cleaning.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to ask if you need help? It’s too dangerous for you up there like that. Here.” He wrapped his hands around her waist and lowered her to the ground.
She longed to rest her head on his broad chest, inhale the pleasant scent of sandalwood that was Miles, and soak the front of his jacket with the tears she’d struggled to keep in check ever since Dr. Lyle’s visit.
Miles released her and paced. His face was drawn.
“You didn’t come here to wear out my floorboards. It’s measles, isn’t it?”
He ceased his pacing and reached a hand toward her cheek, pulling it back before he made contact. “I shouldn’t even be here.”
“You had to tell me.”
“I’ve been in the sickroom.” He looked toward the ceiling as if he were lifting a prayer to the heavens. Hopefully God heard his, because He certainly hadn’t been answering hers.
“How is she?”
His anguished gaze met hers. “I won’t lie to you, Ellie. I took one look at her this morning, and I knew. She’s got a rash on her face, and she’s coughing. The hardest part is seeing her lying there so listless. I miss her chatter.”
“I do, too. Dreadfully. And I’m worried about her. I know she’s in good hands, but I wish they were mine.”
“I should go. Will you be all right?”
“I’m fine.” She gave him the brightest smile she could produce.
“You’re a strong woman, but this is enough to test anyone. There are so few people out that I’m only opening the mercantile an hour each morning. Do you have enough to get by? I could loan you—”
“I’ll manage, but thank you anyway.” Under no circumstances would she accept Miles’s money. And she certainly wouldn’t tell him how lean her bank account had grown.
“The Lord’s there for you. Don’t forget that. I’ll be off then.”
He might believe that, but God seemed more distant than ever. “If you have a minute, I’d like to get something.”
She returned with Tildy’s doll, kissed its forehead, and handed it to Miles. “Would you please give this to Tildy and tell her I love her very much?”
He took the doll and left, and her knees threatened to buckle. She sank onto the stool from which he’d lifted her. Was she to lose everything that mattered to her?
Elenora sat in her tiny kitchen and picked at her slice of pie. Even the sweet taste of the peaches combined with the nutty goodness of the pecans couldn’t tempt her. Ever since she’d seen Miles that morning, she’d felt hollow, empty, totally alone. Nothing could fill the void. Not her music, the book she’d tried to read, or the dessert the hotel owner had sent over.
Tildy had the measles. She could lose her daughter to the dreaded disease. Although Dr. Lyle and Miles assured her Tildy stood an excellent chance of making a full recovery, Elenora couldn’t help but worry. Most people survived influenza, but a severe case of it had claimed Mama and her newborn son and left Pa forever changed. People died of measles, too.
Elenora left the dessert half-eaten, trudged to her postage-stamp-sized parlor, and knelt by the sofa. She’d prayed several times a day since Tildy had taken ill. Lifting her daughter to the Lord was far easier than praying for herself.
“Lord, I don’t know what to do. My dear girl’s at Miles’s place with a life-threatening disease, and I’m stuck here. I feel so helpless. I thought I could handle anything on my own, but this problem is too big for me. You’re the only One who can take care of us now. Help me. Please.”
Tears streamed down her face and splashed on her bodice. There was no stopping them. She crawled onto the sofa and wrapped her arms around her knees. She choked out the words, “Hold me, Lord,” curled into a ball, and wept. When her outpouring subsided, she gave way to exhaustion and drifted to sleep.
Hours later Elenora woke to find that the sun had set. She gazed at the waning moon peeking between the curtains she’d not yet closed. The milky wedge bathed the room with soft light. Lying on her side as she was, she imagined God smiling down on her—a bright wide smile—as she snuggled in His great big lap.
Warmth filled her, chasing away the chilly fingers of fear that had threatened to squeeze the life out of her. “Oh Lord, You are here, aren’t You? And You do care about me.”
After she’d lain in the moonlight for some time reveling in the unexpected feeling of connection, she rose, stretched her weary limbs, and went to the window. She pressed her cheek against the smooth glass, her hands splayed on either side. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Thank You, Father.”
The next morning Elenora awoke to find she was still wearing her day dress, having crawled into bed exhausted after her sweet fellowship with the Lord. After changing and performing her toilette, she fixed herself breakfast as usual, but something was different. She was different. The change wasn’t huge, but something had happened deep inside where her dearest dreams dwelt. Her worries and cares didn’t seem as heavy.
She savored the soothing scent of peppermint as she stirred her tea. God had smiled on her last night. She didn’t know what the future would bring, but she could trust the One who held her in His arms.
A plan took shape in her mind. Staying here fretting did no good. She’d never been one to shy away from problems, and she wouldn’t do so now.
Twenty minutes later, she dried the last dish, grabbed her violin, and ventured into the brilliant sunshine. Although the thermometer on the mercantile registered in the upper eighties already, she wouldn’t let the heat deter her. Now that she’d grown accustomed to the hot, dry days of a California summer, she preferred them to the humidity she’d dealt with in Omaha.
Her heels tapped a steady beat on the walkway. With each step her spirits lifted. Taking action suited her far better than moping around her place.
She reached the barbershop and rapped on the doorframe so as not to startle Abe, who sat in his barber chair behind a newspaper. “Good morning.”
He cas
t his paper aside and hopped up. “Well Ellie-nora, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect to see the likes of you here. What brings you in this mornin’?”
She pulled her violin case from behind her. “I’ve come for a lesson, if you have the time.”
He gave her an ear-to-ear grin. “You have, have you? Things’ve been so quiet ’round here lately you could hear hair grow, so I reckon now’s as good a time as any. What did you have in mind?”
Two hours later Elenora put her violin back in its case. “Thank you, Abe. I appreciate your help—and your company. I was going mad cooped up in my rooms.”
“I’m right sorry about this measles business. That girl of yours is a tough one, though. That spunk of hers will pull her through, you’ll see.”
She had half a mind to hug the older gentleman. His warm, friendly manner appealed to her and made her wonder what life would have been like if Pa hadn’t become so irascible and impossible to please after Mama died. Working with him ought to have been a joy instead of a challenge. If Mr. Grayson lived up to her first impression, he could be the mentor and champion she’d never had. He didn’t have Abe’s propensity for homespun speech she found so endearing, but he exuded the same friendliness and charm.
The barber walked her to the door. “I’ve been bendin’ the good Lord’s ear on her behalf. Yours, too. Take care of yourself, young lady.”
She left his place, marched up Main, and turned onto Church Street. With each step her resolve strengthened. Miles was sure to be angry, but she’d just have to deal with him, because no one was going to stand in her way.
When she reached his house, as clean and white as his stiffly starched shirts, she slowed. A green shade hung at a window on the upper floor. That room must be the one in which Tildy fought her battle.
To keep from making any noise, Elenora skirted the graveled path leading to the front door, careful not to tread on any of Miles’s flowers. Since the shutters at the mercantile were open, he must be there. The sound of cupboard doors closing gave evidence of Mrs. Rutledge’s whereabouts.
