“No! Don’t shoot!” A woman who sat on the ground leaning back against a tree held up her palm toward Reed, then just as quickly lowered it to her swollen abdomen. “Oh, help me, Johnny.”
The man glanced over his shoulder, his indecision obvious. Reed took a chance and lowered his rifle. He couldn’t risk shooting with the woman lying so close to the man. If the thief shot him, so be it. “I’m a doctor. I can help.”
The thief eyed him as if weighing his measure then nodded and tossed his gun to the ground. “Isn’t loaded anyway.”
Reed hurried to the woman’s side and squatted. “Are you having birth pains, ma’am, or some other ache?”
She rolled her green eyes. “How should I know? This is my first baby.”
He reached for her arm then paused. “May I?”
She frowned. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her auburn hair hung damp. “May you what? Are you a real doctor?”
Reed smiled, hoping to reassure her. “May I take your pulse? And yes, I’m a real doctor—a surgeon, actually.”
“What’s a pulse? And I don’t want no cuttin’ on me.” Her gaze lifted behind. “Johnny?”
The thief lowered himself to the ground beside the woman and took her hand. Reed glanced at him, noticing immediately how thin he was up close. “Are you ill?”
Johnny shook his head and looked away.
“He don’t eat enough,” the woman said. “He’s been giving me most of the food because of the baby.”
Reed’s opinion of the man elevated somewhat, although thievery was never the answer for not having something to eat. Johnny looked to be close to his own age, and though about the same height, he was about half of Reed’s weight.
“Oh, oh! The pain’s comin’ again. Help me.”
She reached out to Reed. He grasped her wrist and checked her pulse, relieved to find it strong. Though on the thin side also, she didn’t have sunken eyes and hollow cheeks like Johnny. He took her hand and waited for her pains to subside, and when they did, she let go of him, laid her head against the tree, and closed her eyes. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Millie. Millie Jones.”
“My name is Dr. Bishop.”
Johnny’s dull eyes popped open, and he stared at Reed. His shaggy beard touched his chest and held pieces of grass on one side as if he’d slept on the ground.
“We need to get your wife out of these woods. Can you take my rifle off a ways and fire it into the sky? There are other men nearby who can help us.”
Johnny didn’t move but glanced from Reed to Millie. In light of the fact he’d sacrificed the little food he had for his wife, Reed doubted the man would run off. So why the hesitation?
“Look,” Reed said, “I know you’re the man who took that food last week, and I’m guessing you are also the thief who stole food and a horse from Tanglewood today, but none of that matters now. You’re about to be a father. Do you want your child born out here in the woods?”
He pursed his lips, lowered his gaze, and shook his head. Finally he rose and trudged to the rifle. Millie yelped when he fired into the air.
❧
“Do you see anyone yet?” Carina called to Sammy, who stood in the open window of the barn loft.
“Not yet.” The boy shook his head.
“Be careful up there. We don’t want you breaking your leg like Abel.” Sighing, Carina walked back to the porch where Susan sat in one of the rockers, mending a pair of Sammy’s pants. “What do you think is taking so long?”
“Maybe they had trouble getting the buggy through the trees. Didn’t Enoch say Reed found that couple in the woods?”
“Yes. Do you think I should check the room again?”
Susan smiled. “I doubt anything’s changed since you last checked it.”
“I don’t suppose so.” Carina sat on the top step and rested her cheeks in her hands. She wasn’t sure if she was more nervous about housing strangers in her home or seeing Reed again. What would she say to him? Would he still look at her with those beautiful eyes as if she were someone special? No one had ever looked at her like that, except maybe her mother, but she had died so long ago Carina could barely remember her.
Why hadn’t Reed taken the couple to his home? It would be far quieter there, and the couple wouldn’t have to endure her father’s curses, moans, and retching. But then again, maybe that would work in her favor, and they wouldn’t stay long. She twisted her hands together. What a gracious hostess she was.
“Stop your fretting, dear. Everything will work out.”
Carina nodded, hoping Susan was right. Closing her eyes, she muttered the prayer she’d started repeating several times a day. Help me, Lord. Give me strength.
“Hey! Someone’s a-comin’!” Sammy bounced up and down, far too close to the window’s edge.
She jumped up. “You scoot back, right now. You hear me?”
He did, and then she noticed he wasn’t looking in the direction she’d expected, but rather down the drive. She walked away from the house and lifted her hand over her eyes.
Susan came off the porch and joined her. “I thought they’d come from the other direction.”
“Me, too.” A sour feeling settled in the pit of Carina’s stomach as the wagon drew nearer. “That’s not your buggy.”
“Why, isn’t that Mr. Dean?” Susan asked. “Oh, and look, he has his children with him.” She started forward toward the wagon.
Carina followed, knowing for certain Susan wouldn’t be so happy when she learned about Mr. Dean’s last visit.
❧
Reed exhaled a huge sigh when the Zimmers’ kitchen and then the big house came into view. Mrs. Jones was going to deliver her child within the hour—he was as certain as one could be without examining her. Unlike Carina, who preferred to keep her problems to herself, his patient had moaned and groaned the whole way, grumbling about every bump and jiggle. Her poor husband had sat up front next to Woodson, who drove the vehicle. Johnny had been slouched down with his hat covering his face most of the way. Reed wasn’t certain if his odd behavior was due to his sad state of health, to avoid acknowledging his wife’s complaints, or just because he was relieved to have help for her. He’d stayed off to himself once Woodson and Enoch arrived, then had disappeared until they left to fetch the wagon, and returned with Lulu.
“Oh, is this buggy ever gonna stop? Just kill me now and get it over with.”
Reed couldn’t help chuckling. “I know you’re uncomfortable, Mrs. Jones, but I’m not about to let you die. Not if I can help it.”
“I just want this over.”
He glanced at the buildings again. Just a few more minutes, then they could get her into the house and into a bed. “What do you plan to name the baby?”
“Depends on if it’s a girl or boy.”
“Uh. . .yes, I suppose it does. And what if it’s a girl?”
Mary shook her head. “Johnny don’t want no girl. Said his papa wasn’t never partial to girls, neither. I reckon we’ll call him after his papa, Johnny.”
“Won’t that be confusing?”
She shrugged then grimaced and latched onto Reed’s arm so hard he wondered if he’d be able to use it if needed. “Oh. . .somebody help me.”
The buggy pulled to a stop, and Reed jumped down. Johnny slid off, and his knees buckled. Reed grabbed him. “Whoa there, hang on.”
Footsteps sounded behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Carina, but Will Dean met his gaze. Reed paused. What was he doing here?
“Need some help, Doc?”
He didn’t have time now to analyze the situation. “Can you help this man upstairs so he can lie down?”
Will nodded and took Johnny’s arm, all but dragging him toward the porch. “Where should I put him?”
“Ask Miss Zimmer.” Reed hated ordering the man to initiate conversation with Carina, but he had no choice.
“Follow me, Mr. Dean,” she said.
Reed’s gaze snapp
ed to hers, met, and held, like a ship tethered to its dock. Then she slipped away into the house, with his mother following.
Woodson hopped down and stood beside Reed, waiting for orders. “Help me get Mrs. Jones inside.”
A short while later, with Mrs. Jones more comfortable in bed and Johnny lying on a cot facing the wall, Reed relaxed just a hair. Betsey had recruited Woodson to lug up a pot of hot water, while Etta collected some cloths and towels for the birthing. Carina stood in the hall, staring at Millie Jones. He longed to talk to her but knew the infant’s birth was imminent.
Footsteps sounded in the hall; then his mother stepped around Carina and looked at her. “I talked with Mr. Dean and invited him to come another day when things were less hectic.”
He couldn’t tell if that was good news to Carina or not. He remembered the man stating how he was looking for a wife and inquiring after her. Had they come to an agreement already?
“Ay-yi-yi! I’m dying, I tell you.”
“Reed,” his mother called in a tone that always grabbed his attention. “Tend to your patient.”
How could he tell her that he felt too awkward with Carina standing there watching? And Mrs. Jones hardly needed a crowd. “Mother, could you assist me?”
“Certainly, son. Just tell me what to do.” She crossed to his side.
Carina’s wounded stare nearly tore his heart out.
“Mr. Jones is badly in need of something to eat. Would you mind seeing if Betsey could make some broth? I fear it’s been so long since he’s eaten well that he won’t be able to tolerate much.”
She nodded then disappeared down the hall.
Mrs. Jones’s wails made even her husband jump, but he was either too tired or too scared to look up from his bed.
Seventeen
He didn’t want her there. He’d asked his mother to help him, not her. Carina’s chin quivered.
She hurried past her fader’s door. He was the last person she wanted to see.
“Carina! What is all that caterwauling?”
She stopped. Sighed. He had a right to know what was happening. Give me strength, Lord.
She spun around and entered his room, stopping just inside the door. “I’m sorry for the disturbance, Fader. Dr. Bishop found a woman who is about to give birth, and he brought her here.”
He pushed up from his pillows, scowling. “Why here? Why didn’t he take that noisy—”
“Fader!”
Puckering up like an old turnip, he glared at her, and she glared back. At least he didn’t have any bottles to lob at her.
“Why didn’t the doctor take that woman to his own house? Doesn’t he know there’s an invalid here trying to rest?”
“The woman is very close to delivering, and our place was much closer. I will shut your door if it’s bothering you so much.”
“Fine. But I want them gone first chance they get. We aren’t running a hotel here, and we’ve had to sell off our slaves just to eat.”
“Leased, Fader. They will be returned to us when the contract expires.” She glanced around his room, checking it. Betsey or Etta must have opened his window because it had been closed earlier. The nightshirt he’d worn the past few days lay in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed. How odd that someone would have left it there and not placed it in the laundry pile. “Well, I need to be going. Do you want anything else?”
“Just some peace and quiet.” He crossed his arms, and she took a good look at him. He’d aged a lot lately. His hair was white, not the light blond it used to be, and his dark eyes looked dull. He’d lost weight. “And my whiskey.”
“I’m sorry, but we’re out, and I don’t intend to buy any more.” She backed out, pulling the door shut. As she walked down the stairs with Mrs. Jones’s loud grunts following her, she realized that her fader hadn’t been as mean as in the past. Maybe her prayers were finally working.
She thought about how Reed had chased her from the room. Well, maybe some of them were working.
❧
Reed stood at the top of the stairs and listened to Carina down below, rattling off a list of things that needed doing today: laundry, the meal items that needed fixing, how Etta was to stay upstairs and work just in case he needed something. Betsey confirmed she had the items for the meals, then Carina walked to the front of the house. He stepped back, not wanting her to see him, but she exited out the front door, never even casting a glance his way.
From the window on the landing, he watched her stride with purpose out to the barn, wearing an old dress with skirts big enough to hide a horse under. She entered the shadows and out of his view. He blew out a sigh.
“So, what are you going to do about her, son?”
He spun around. “Who? Is something wrong with Mrs. Jones?”
“For a surgeon, sometimes you’re not too smart. I’m talking about Carina.”
He swallowed hard and tried not to look surprised. His mother always was perceptive. “I don’t know. It seems like whenever I try to get close to her, she backs away. I’m not sure she doesn’t still despise me.” Voicing the thought that had chased him all week hurt more than he expected.
“I don’t believe that’s true.” She laid her hand on his arm. “She’s had a rough life, son, still does for that matter. She doesn’t know how to depend on anyone but herself.”
“So, how do I get her to trust me? She doesn’t believe that Johan started that duel. She blames me for his death, and rightly so.”
Her lips turned up in a sympathetic smile. “Give her a little time. She’s been reading the Bible, and I believe God is drawing her near.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a whole lot of time, not with Mr. Dean coming around.” Reed turned back and looked out the window. Carina rode out of the barn on Lulu’s back—riding astride. His mouth fell open. Would that woman never cease to surprise him?
“My stars.”
His mother chuckled. “Carina’s not exactly representative of your average Southern woman, is she?”
Reed had to smile. “No, she is not. That’s for certain.”
“Who’s that out there?” a deep voice called from the room across from the one the Joneses were staying in.
His mother lifted her brows. “I’ll check on Mrs. Jones and the baby and leave that old bear to you.”
“What would the good ladies of your society club think if they heard such talk, Mother?” Though he pretended to be astonished at her name-calling, Reed couldn’t help chuckling.
His mother winked and lifted her index finger to her lips. “Shh. . .”
He faced the door, steeling himself for the lambasting he knew was coming, and peered in. “It is I, Dr. Bishop. May I come in, sir?”
“What are you doing in my house again?”
“I delivered a baby last night.”
“Oh, yeah. Carina told me there was strangers staying here.”
He lifted his chin, and as the light from the open window illuminated his face, Reed could see the severe yellow cast to his chin. He stepped closer, wanting to look at the man’s eyes. “How long has your skin been so yellow?”
“What!” He raised his arm and slid back the sleeve and stared at his skin. “What do you mean? Looks fine to me.”
“Hmm. . .look at me, please.” When he lifted his head with a haughty glower, Reed lifted one of the man’s eyelids, unhappy to see the yellowing there also. “May I see your tongue?”
Mr. Zimmer surprised Reed by complying. “You’re thinner than when I last saw you. How’s your appetite?”
He fell back against his pillows as if just that small effort exhausted him. “Don’t have one.”
Reed had seen a number of patients at the infirmary in Glasgow with the same symptoms, and not a one of them got better. This was not news that Carina needed to hear. She already had far too many burdens on her thin shoulders already.
“Say, can you get me some liquor? This ache in my gut hurts me something fierce.” He crossed his arms over his th
in chest. “That closefisted daughter of mine refuses to buy me any.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. That’s between you and your daughter.”
Mr. Zimmer’s head snapped up. “You Bishops never did do a thing to help a Zimmer. Get out of my room.”
Reed moved off the side of the bed and stood. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I was hoping to talk to you about Carina.”
“What about her?”
He hadn’t planned out what to say if he ever got to talk to Carina’s father. He still wasn’t completely sure of his feelings—just that he had them—and they were strong. But God had opened an unexpected door, so he would step through. “I have feelings for her.”
Karl Zimmer wrinkled up like a prune and muttered a curse. “Over my dead body. No Bishop will ever marry my daughter.”
❧
Carina rushed up the steps. She’d forgotten her sun hat, which she’d left in her room yesterday. Her fader’s harsh words gushed out the door, stabbing her heart. She’d been right. His animosity toward the Bishops was as strong today as ever. He would never allow her to marry Reed. She spun around, her heart breaking, and rushed down the stairs. She never should have gotten her hopes up.
Eighteen
Carina held Millie’s baby in her arms, watching the quiet little boy doze. Tufts of blond hair stuck up like duckling fuzz. “What did you name him?”
With her eyes never leaving her baby’s face, she replied, “Jonathon Carl Jones.”
“Karl?” Carina’s gaze zipped to Millie’s. “That’s my fader’s name. Will you spell it with a C or a K?”
One side of Millie’s mouth cocked upward, and she shrugged. “I’ve only ever seen it spelled with a C.”
“K. It’s a K,” Mr. Jones mumbled from the other side of the bed.
Carina and Millie looked at each other, brows lifted. Then they giggled. Millie’s husband hadn’t said a thing until that moment, as far as she knew.
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