Dueling Hearts

by McDonough, Vickie;

  “Oh, uh. . .just sugar.” His gaze swiveled back to Carina. “Um. . .you asked about my wife, ma’am.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “She passed on just over a year ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Carina didn’t know what else to say. She had no experience in friendly conversation and had already made one faux pas.

  He shook his head and smiled. “It’s all right. You had no way of knowing.” His gaze darted to Betsey then back to Carina. He set the glass down and leaned toward her. “I know this is going to sound rash, but I came here with a purpose, Miss Zimmer. You have a. . .” His gaze darted around the yard. “Uh. . .a fine plantation, ma’am.”

  Carina tried hard to ignore his phony use of fine, found it difficult. Did he think she’d sell him her land? Didn’t he say he just got a farm?

  He ran his hand through his thick hair and stood, paced past her to the end of the porch, then turned. “I don’t need more land, Miss Zimmer. I’m a widower—a widower who desperately needs a wife.”

  Fourteen

  Reed’s gaze traveled down Market Street, taking in the changes since he was last in town. “I was so anxious to get back to Reed Springs—to be home and to see Mother when I first returned from Scotland—that I didn’t even notice the changes here.”

  Damian nodded. “New buildings shoot up around here faster than storms blow in off the sea.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh hey, the city has plans to build a new customs house straight up ahead on the other side of East Bay Street.”

  Reed looked down the long street to the far end where East Bay Street intersected it. “Isn’t that mostly marshland?”

  “At the moment. They plan to fill it in.”

  Shaking his head, Reed said, “It’s amazing what men can do when they put their heads together.”

  Damian clapped Reed’s shoulder. “Speaking of what men can do, congratulations on becoming a doctor.”

  “Thank you. I can’t say I enjoyed every minute of my studies and working long hours at the infirmary, but learning so much about the human anatomy, how to aid it in healing, and how to mend lacerations and fractured bones. . .well, it was fascinating.”

  Grinning, Damian shook his head. “You always did like tending injured animals.”

  “True, and remember that time you cut your arm and wouldn’t let your mother care for it?”

  “Right. I wanted my good friend Dr. Reed to see to my wounds.”

  Reed chuckled. “You’re fortunate you didn’t die from a blood disease.”

  Both men stepped to the side, tipped their hats, and allowed a trio of women to pass by, then resumed walking side by side. Street vendors hawked their wares, pedestrians walked along the other side of the street, some casually strolling, others striding with purpose. He loved coming to Charleston, partaking of all it had to offer, but his home was Reed Springs, and until this very moment, Reed had never realized the truth of that.

  “You can’t imagine my surprise to look up from my desk and see you standing in my office. I didn’t even realize you had returned.”

  “Did you not get my last letter?”

  Damian harrumphed. “Which letter would that be? The one I got in 1849 or the one in 1851?”

  Reed felt his ears grow warm. “I was very busy, and besides, I don’t remember receiving more than a handful of letters from you, either.” He nudged his friend with his elbow. “Whatever happened between you and that gal you wrote me about who you met on that trip to Boston? What was her name? Melanie?”

  Holding up his index finger, Damian waited while a carriage of giggling young girls drove past them. “Melody, and she’s sweet music to my soul.”

  Rolling his eyes, Reed said, “And you once accused me of waxing poetic, if I remember correctly.”

  His friend slowed his pace then turned in the open door of a café. “This is the place I was telling you about earlier.”

  Reed sniffed the fragrant air. Pastries were fresh from the oven if he wasn’t mistaken. “If the food tastes as good as it smells, we’re in for a treat.”

  “Trust me, my friend, it does. I eat here frequently.”

  They took a table near the front window, which allowed Reed to watch the people coming and going. Charleston was so different from Glasgow. He studied the café, from its tall walls of dark wood to its small tables. “So, what’s tasty here?”

  “I like their chicken and dumplings.”

  “Sounds good to me. What happened between you and this Melody?”

  Damian had always smiled more than anyone Reed had ever met, but the smile that revealed his somewhat crooked teeth now was the biggest one he’d seen on his friend.

  Reed lifted his brows. “Good news, from the looks of it.”

  Damian clapped Reed on the forearm and leaned toward him. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, considering the frisky colt I used to be, but I’m now a happily married man.”

  Reed’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at his friend, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. Damian and marriage were not two words he’d ever have used together in a sentence.

  Chuckling, his friend shook his head. “I knew the news would bamboozle you. But there’s more.”

  Reed blinked. “How can there be more? You have two wives?”

  A young woman stopped at their table and rattled off the list of items available. Damian ordered for them both while Reed sat back in his chair and studied his friend. There was definitely a maturity that hadn’t been present before. Why, his old buddy didn’t so much as wink at the winsome waitress.

  When she walked away to wait on another table, Reed leaned forward. “What else is there?”

  “I’m going to be a father come this summer.”

  Completely stymied, he fell back against his chair. “Uh. . .congratulations.”

  “Hey, hey.” Damian chuckled. “That’s about the same response I had.” He tugged at his collar. “A bit hard to take it all in, isn’t it?”

  Reed nodded. “True, but you seem happy and more settled than I’ve ever seen.”

  “I am settled. Very happy and very settled. Can hardly believe I’m going to be a father, though. All that’s a bit scary.”

  “You’ll do fine, I’m sure.”

  Damian leaned toward him. “And you’ll deliver the baby, right?”

  All manner of thoughts assailed him—of the numerous women he’d seen die as a result of childbirth, of the infants who had died. The last thing he wanted was something like that to come between him and his best friend. “I. . .uh. . .am honored you’d want me, but I don’t plan to practice in Charleston. There are plenty of doctors here already.”

  Scowling, Damian pursed his lips and stared out the window. “Where then? Will you move to a smaller town or travel out West?”

  “No, I’ve just hired two men to build a clinic at Reed Springs, up near the main road. That way I can stay close to Mother.”

  “Ah, I see. She’s still trying to get you to run the plantation, eh, and you’re still trying to avoid it.” His friend caught his eye. “Might be easier to steer clear if you don’t live there.”

  The hum of conversation and clatter of forks against plates surrounded him, as he struggled to put his thoughts to words. “I’m not trying to steer clear of my responsibility. That’s part of the reason I decided to settle there—so I can be near Mother and oversee things at Reed Springs and treat the people in the area. They need a doctor.”

  “I don’t like the fact that you aren’t going to be here to deliver my child, but I see the wisdom in your choice. So, have you had any patients yet?”

  He nodded, his thoughts shooting straight as a lead ball to Carina. Had she missed him? Or was she glad that he was no longer coming around? “Actually, yes. I splinted a man’s fractured leg and sutured a woman’s forehead.” A very beautiful, spirited woman.

  Damian crossed his arms on the table, leaning forward with an intense stare; then he pointed his index finger at Reed. “What’s that look I just
saw?”

  “What look?”

  “That goofy kind of grin that I saw in the mirror for the first few months after I fell in love.”

  How did one answer such a question? Was his attraction to Carina so obvious?

  “What woman did you sew up? Was she unmarried?”

  Reed did not want to have this conversation. Damian would take a tiny thread of information and run with it. “Just a neighbor. That’s all.”

  Damian’s eyes rolled up as if he were searching his mind, trying to remember all the people who lived near him. After a moment he looked at him again. “What woman?”

  “No one in particular.”

  “Well, does she have a name?”

  Reed nodded and watched a wagon loaded with feed sacks pass by. Wooster Grainary—with an i, rather than the correct spelling of Granary—had been painted on the side of the vehicle.

  Damian cleared his throat. “Well? The more you draw this out, the more interested I’m getting. Must be a very special lady.”

  He glanced at his friend. “It was Carina Zimmer.”

  Scowling, Damian tapped the table. “Zimmer.” Suddenly his eyes widened. “Any relation to Johan Zimmer?”

  Pursing his lips, Reed nodded. “His sister.”

  Damian fell back against his chair, looking stupefied. “Well, that certainly was unexpected. And how did that go?”

  Reed sniffed a sarcastic laugh. “She sent me a letter, challenging me to a duel.” He conveyed all that had happened, including his growing attraction to a woman who despised him. He needed to talk to another man, especially one who had gone through this whole falling-in-love-and-getting-married thing.

  “Wow. That’s some story, my friend.”

  “Yes, it is, but what should I do about her?”

  Damian’s brows lifted. “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I guess you need to figure that out. You mentioned in one of your letters that you became a believer in Christ. Have you prayed about your relationship with Miss Zimmer?” He waved his hand in the air. “I mean, with all that’s gone on in your past, I’d think you’d need a word from God before pursuing her.”

  The waitress bustled over and set a basket of sliced bread in the center of the table. She hurried back to the counter then returned with two plates of steaming chicken and dumplings. While his friend was distracted with his food, Reed marveled at how wise he seemed to have grown—from a joking hooligan to a married man and soon-to-be father. And when had God become a word Damian was so comfortable with?

  Picking up his fork, he stirred his food. He’d prayed about Carina, hadn’t he? Yes, he was certain he had, but not nearly enough. He took a bite of dumplings, closing his eyes as he savored the salty dish. One thing was for certain, if I-never-take-anything-serious Damian could find a woman, get married, and be happy, so could he.

  ❧

  Carina paced the hallway just outside her fader’s door. She’d put off seeing him for as long as she dared. The last thing she wanted to do was to make him angry again. Taking a bolstering breath, she peered inside and found him sitting up in bed, staring out the window.

  He noticed her and turned her way, frowning. His normal expression. “Well, what do you want? What have you sold off now? The back half of my house?”

  His house. Not theirs, just his. She ducked her head, wondering why she even felt the need to come visit him. “I just. . .umm. . .thought I’d see if there was anything you needed.”

  “Hmpf. It’s about time.” He lifted his head, and his scowl deepened. “What’s that thing on your head?”

  She lifted her hand, touching the cloth tied around her forehead. “A bandage.”

  “Why? What did you do?”

  Carina stared at him with disbelief. “You honestly don’t remember?”

  He shook his head.

  “You walloped her with a bottle, that’s what.” Betsey bustled through the door, arms crossed over her bosom. Carina had been so worried about seeing her fader that she never even heard her maid’s approach—and that wasn’t something easy to miss.

  “I did no such thing.” He turned his fiery gaze toward Carina. “Why didn’t you sell off that yappy woman instead of Amos? Why do you let her tell such lies against your own fader?”

  Most of her life she’d been afraid of her fader, yet she’d wanted his approval. But Betsey had been the one to hold her when she fell down, to encourage her, to teach her right from wrong. Betsey had loved her when her own fader felt nothing but disdain. Carina lifted her head. If he threw another bottle at her, so be it. “Because it’s the truth. You got angry and threw a bottle at me.”

  “Lies! Get out! Both of you. Out of my sight.” He grabbed a pillow and pitched it at her.

  Betsey hurried out the door. Carina caught the pillow and held it to her chest. She might have found the nerve to stand up to her fader, but his rejection still hurt. A parent shouldn’t hate a child for no reason. “From now on, I’ll have one of the men bring up your meals.”

  The look he shot her could have curdled fresh milk. “Get me another bottle of whiskey.”

  Carina walked over to the sofa and laid the pillow on it. This topic was bound to come up sooner or later, so it might as well be now while she was feeling so bold. “There isn’t any left.”

  “What! Why not?”

  “Because there’s no money with which to purchase it.”

  He snatched up the empty bottle hidden among his quilts and hugged it. “Sell something else. A horse. A cow. Another slave.”

  “No, Fader. I will not sell something we need just to fuel your habit. You will have to learn to live without it, as I have learned to do without so many things I need.” She spun on her heel, unwilling to argue with him.

  “Carina! Carina! You get back here!”

  She hiked her skirts and hurried downstairs. If she could have done so with her ears covered, she would have.

  “I’ll sell that woman, you hear me, girl?”

  Carina sniffed, trying valiantly to hold back her tears. She didn’t want him to have the power to upset her. She needed to be stronger than him. When she reached the bottom stairs, Betsey was there. Carina fell into her big arms and was squashed against her maid’s chest. Then the tears fell.

  “It’ll be all right, sweet child. Yo’ Betsey is here.”

  “I’ll never be able to please him.”

  “Nobody can, sweet thing. He’s got a world of hurt all bottled up inside him, and it spews forth whenever an’body goes near him, just like a mad critter. It ain’t no fault of yo’s. That man, he needs the Lord Jesus in his heart.”

  She was so tired of being strong, of being the one in charge. She endured Betsey’s jiggling, because next to being in Reed Bishop’s arms, there was no place more comforting. “What would I do without you?”

  “Hmpf. I don’t know, child, but ol’ Betsey, she ain’t always gonna be here. That’s why you gots to learn to take yo’ burdens to the Lord. He be the only One who’ll always be there for you.”

  Carina closed her eyes, too exhausted to argue. Are you really there, God? If what Betsey says is true—that You’ll always be there for me—show me. Show me that You’re real. Somehow. Some way.

  Fifteen

  Carina guided Lulu around the far edge of the largest of her three crop fields. Her fader once grew tobacco here, but the rich soil was now divided into sections of turnips, peas, carrots, and brown potatoes, which waved their greenery in the warm breeze as if greeting her. Soon she would need to plant sweet potatoes and okra. She hadn’t yet decided if she’d made a mistake to switch crops and grow vegetables, but she couldn’t abide smoking and had quickly grown uncomfortable supporting selling tobacco, even though there was money to be made in such a crop. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered something her mother had said: “If God had wanted people to smoke, He would have made their nose turn up like a smokestack.”

  That statement always set
her fader off on a tirade of how her mother didn’t appreciate all his hard work to put food on the table and a roof over their heads. Carina never understood that argument, because it was their slaves who labored, not him. He merely told the overseer what to do, as far as she’d been able to tell; then he’d visit in his study with friends, drinking, smoking, and playing games of chance. Her mother had never succeeded in getting him to stop smoking in the house, but at least Carina had. That was one thing she was proud of. When he first became bedridden, he’d fallen asleep smoking one night, and if she hadn’t checked on him as she was heading to bed, the whole house might have burned down instead of just the quilt being damaged. After that she’d refused to buy him cigars, and he was forced to quit smoking. Now that she’d refused to buy him liquor, would he become even more difficult to live with?

  She rubbed her eyes and yawned. Several times through the night, she’d woken up to the crackling of glass breaking—a drinking glass or a vase he’d thrown against the wall—and to his cries for liquor to ease his pain. Was she wrong to refuse him? Was he in real pain, or was that just an excuse to get his way?

  Sometimes she felt as if she were the parent and he the child.

  She made a clicking sound and tapped her heels against Lulu’s back, and the mare started walking again. Her injured leg had healed well and no longer seemed to bother her, but for now, Carina would keep her to a slow gait. She adjusted the skirt of her only dress to hide the calf that peeked out from under her petticoat, a dress that had extra-full skirts that allowed her to ride astride and still keep her legs from showing.

  The rapid tap-tap-tap of a woodpecker echoed across the open field, providing a sharp contrast to the slower whacks of Chester’s ax as he chopped firewood for Betsey’s stove. The early morning fog had burned off, revealing a clear sky almost as brilliant as Dr. Bishop’s eyes. She circled around the far side of the field, checking for weeds and dryness, then crossed over the ditch that connected to the Ashley River—a ditch her fader had ordered dug years ago to make watering the fields easier. One of the wisest decisions he’d ever made.