Tamera Alexander - [Timber Ridge Reflections 02]

by Beyond This Moment

  She spoke in a high-pitched, singsong voice, and Molly's hunch as to where Amanda had inherited her dramatic flair was confirmed.

  Molly managed what she hoped was a pleasant countenance. "That's so thoughtful of you, thank you. Dr. Brookston said I'm not contagious anymore, but I'd hate to take the chance of-"

  "oh.. " LuEllen stepped closer. "I'm not worried about that! I trust Dr. Brookston's judgment implicitly."

  Seeing no other alternative, Molly made a welcoming gesture. "Then, won't you come in, please?"

  "I'd love to. Thank you!"

  LuEllen Spivey breezed past her, and Molly was surprised she wasn't dragged along in the woman's wake. She closed the door, reaching deep for hospitality she didn't feel.

  "Where do you keep your plates, dear?"

  It took Molly a second to realize what Mrs. Spivey was suggesting. And another to shake off the odd feeling of the woman calling her "dear" She guessed they were right around the same age. Ahh ... the plates are right behind you, in the cabinet on the left." A piece of warm apple pie didn't sound half bad, actually. And it smelled delicious, which she already knew it would be from the piece James had shared.

  Minutes later, seated at the table, Molly listened as Amanda's mother began with the latest news in her own household, then went into a dissertation of everyone else's business in town. Molly couldn't have gotten a word in even if she'd tried, which she didn't. But if ever she needed news spread quickly around Timber Ridge, she knew whom to tell.

  "My daughter informs me that you've decided to put on a Christmas drama this year, Mrs. Whitcomb. A first for our new school:"

  "Yes, that's right:" Molly had only mentioned it to the class once, December still being so far away. But, of course, Amanda Spivey would have keyed in on the word drama. She hoped to get several of the parents involved in the production, to foster relationships but also to help ease her own workload for such an event. "We'll host it at the church building, since the school isn't large enough to hold everyone:" She pointed to her plate. "Your pie is delicious:"

  "Thank you so much. Will the whole town be invited, do you think?"

  Molly nodded. "I've already spoken with Sheriff McPherson, and he said the town council thought it was a wonderful idea:"

  "Well, I completely agree!" LuEllen took a bite of her scarcely touched pie. "And I am hereby volunteering to organize the ladies' sewing circle at church. We'll make all the costumes" She reached over and patted Molly's hand. "So that's one less thing you have to worry about when the time comes:"

  Molly's smile came easily this time. "How kind of you, Mrs. Spivey. Thank you."

  "Don't you mention it, dear. Mr. Spivey and I appreciate what you're doing for all the children in town:" She laid her fork down. "Every afternoon last week, Amanda came home"-she made a talking gesture with her hand-"giving us all the details. She says that classes are going splendidly."

  Molly thought she detected a false ring to the woman's tone but couldn't be sure. In case Amanda had told her mother the truth-and looking across the table at LuEllen's oversweet expression, Molly was certain now that the girl had-she decided to be more forthcoming. "I'm not sure I'd use the term `splendidly' quite yet, Mrs. Spivey." She laughed softly. "But at the beginning of every school year, there's always a phase where the students and teacher are getting to know one another. I'm certain things will only get better from here on out:"

  "I'm certain of that too:" She rose from the table. "Well, I'll let you get back to writing your notes:"

  Molly glanced behind her at the table by the couch and saw her box of stationery and the stack of envelopes. Then quickly looked around for anything she might not have wanted LuEllen Spivey to see, not that it mattered now.

  LuEllen paused in the doorway. "Just bring the pie tin to school whenever you're done. Amanda will bring it home."

  "I'll do that. And thank you again for stopping by, and for the pie:" Molly started to close the door.

  "Oh-" Mrs. Spivey raised her hand. "One last thing.... How do you envision the Christmas drama, Mrs. Whitcomb?"

  "How do I envision it?"

  "Yes, from the standpoint of each student's involvement."

  And then it became clear-the reason for Mrs. Spivey's visit. Molly felt like she'd been blindsided. She should have seen this coming. She hadn't given much thought to choosing parts, but she wasn't about to admit that to LuEllen Spivey, thereby inviting her to step in and plan every detail. "I'll give the students more information on the auditioning process when the time comes. I'm sure Amanda will let you know."

  Mrs. Spivey grinned. "I'm sure she will! You're so organized and have everything planned. Now you be sure and enjoy the rest of that pie. I made it especially for you."

  "I will." Molly attempted moderate enthusiasm. "As soon as I saw it, I was eager to taste your creation again. Sheriff McPherson shared a piece with me the other day, so I already knew how good your pies were.

  LuEllen's smile stretched wider, if that were possible. "Sheriff McPherson? Shared a piece of my pie with you?"

  "He did. And he said yours are the most delicious apple pies he's ever had" No harm in passing along a compliment. Molly grinned as Mrs. Spivey's face flushed red. Yet another woman, it would seem, who had fallen under the good sheriffs spell.

  "Well, isn't that kind of him.... He's such a good man."

  "Yes, he is." Molly took care to keep her tone neutral.

  LuEllen leaned closer. "Don't you dare tell him this, but I'm working hard to find him a good woman. Someone who's as kind and gentlehearted and deserving as he is. And who will make a good sheriff's wife for this town." She winked. "I know I haven't found her yet, but I will!"

  Mrs. Spivey waved as she drove away in the wagon, and Molly returned the gesture, staring after her, quickly reaching the decision that it would be best to keep LuEllen Spivey at arm's length at all times, but definitely remain on the woman's good side.

  23

  sing the step stool, Molly situated herself on the end of the patient table, watching Dr. Brookston pull down the shades on the windows. "I've brought a list of questions with me:" She slipped the paper from her reticule. "I hope you don't mind:'

  He smiled at her over his shoulder. "You don't know how refreshing that is, Dr. Whitcomb. Most patients tell me they had something they were going to ask me. Yet once they get here, they can't remember what it was."

  "It's a rather long list, I'm afraid. I've had a lot of time to think in recent days." She reread the questions again, knowing they revealed not only her lack of knowledge in this area but her lack of friendship with women as well.

  Considering how well she felt today, she could hardly imagine that only one week ago James had found her by the outhouse. She'd rested and recuperated, following Dr. Brookston's orders to a T, and was eager to face the challenge of teaching again.

  Along with taking time to contemplate her coming months of pregnancy, she'd also spent time reviewing her lessons, as well as each student's strengths and weaknesses, which had become apparent during that first week. And she had an idea for restructuring class in a way that would, theoretically, allow her to maximize the use of her time, as well as that of her students. Now, to put her theory to the test come Monday morning.

  Dr. Brookston silently read her list, nodding. "Excellent questions, Dr. Whitcomb. You have been doing some thinking. We'll address each of these before you leave today."

  "Thank you, Doctor"

  "One thing you didn't address, however"-his gaze held understand- ing-"and it's not imperative that you decide right now, but I'd like you to be considering ... who might assist you during the birth. A woman you would be comfortable with and who could be a comfort to you. There are a couple of ladies in town who have assisted me in deliveries before. Belle Birch being one of them. And another lady from church, Jean Dickey. I'm sure either of them would be happy to help you, if you'd like:"

  Molly nodded, appreciating his forethought and attention to detail. It bo
ded well for his care as a physician. In answer to his suggestion, someone immediately came to mind, and she already felt certain of her response. Who better than Rachel to assist her, who had already been through this twice herself? She would ask her the next time they were together.

  "If you'll go ahead and lie down now, Dr. Whitcomb:" Dr. Brookston gently held her elbow as she leaned back, then took time to explain everything before he started his examination.

  Molly had harbored more than a little apprehension as she'd anticipated this first appointment, but soon discovered that had been time wasted. Dr. Brookston's gentle bedside manner and the ease and humility with which he communicated not only his procedures but also his findings helped put her at ease.

  After the examination, Molly smiled as he helped her sit up. "I'm curious, Doctor. That day you nearly drowned me in the stream, how did you know I was with child?" She didn't know quite how to phrase the rest of her question. "Was it the ... swell in my ... tummy?"

  He laughed softly. "I wish I could say it was due to my acute powers of observation, but I'm afraid it wasn't anything like that. When I arrived, your fever was escalating. You were restless, talking to yourself. I couldn't understand what you were saying, at first. You kept holding your stomach, and I thought you were going to be sick. Then ... I heard what you were saying:' He leaned toward her. " `Don't take my baby,"' he whispered. "You said it over and over, `Please, don't take my baby."

  Molly's eyes burned, and she looked down to see her hand sheltering the child in her womb. Her affection for the precious life inside her had been slow in coming, and still wasn't void of all regret, but she truly did love this baby-her baby. And then it occurred her...... I imagine that must have sounded odd for you to hear me saying that:'

  "Not at all, Dr. Whitcomb ... under the circumstances:"

  Seeing the compassion in his eyes, she realized what conclusion he'd drawn. God had allowed her "husband" to die recently, so she had been begging for the life of her child.

  Dr. Brookston patiently answered all of her questions and assured her again that there was nothing she could have done to prevent the fever from spiking. "I'd like to see you once a month, which is more often than normal, granted. I'm not expecting any difficulties with your pregnancy, but I'd like to keep a closer watch, if you don't mind:'

  Encouraged, and not wanting to be late for her appointment with Belle Birch at the general store, she thanked him and opted to take the street instead of facing the throng of Saturday shoppers crowding the boardwalk.

  "Mrs. Whitcomb;' a man said, tipping his hat. "Glad to see you out again, maam.

  She returned his greeting.

  "Morning, Mrs. Whitcomb;' a woman said seconds later.

  Molly could hardly take five steps without people welcoming her back to town. By the time she reached the Mullinses' store, she wondered how she could have ever felt so lonely earlier in the week. She spotted Belle waiting for her in a curtained doorway toward the back. "Hello, Mrs. Birch. I hope I'm not late:"

  "Not at all. You're early." Belle grinned, and held her gaze a little longer than necessary. "I've got your dresses hanging right in here:" She retrieved them from a hook. "Go ahead and slip on the first one, then I'll be in"

  Curious over how Belle looked at her sometimes, Molly stepped into a side room, closed the door, and slipped on the first dress. She hadn't known Belle Birch was a seamstress until Belle brought a meal by earlier that week. It had come up during conversation, and Molly had commissioned her then and there to make two new dresses. Belle had borrowed one of her gowns to use as a pattern, and Molly had intentionally chosen one that was especially roomy through the bust and waist.

  "I'm ready, Mrs. Birch." She admired Belle Birch's handiwork in the mirror on the wall. "Gifted with a needle and thread" was the only way to describe the woman. The simple black day dress buttoned up the front, but the detail work-the tiny black beads sewn onto the collar and around the wrists and accenting the bodice-was exquisite.

  Belle returned, pincushion in hand.

  "You outdid yourself, Mrs. Birch. This is absolutely lovely!" And far nicer than anything she had expected.

  "I'm glad you're pleased, ma'am." Belle's smile bloomed. "Now, hold still while I fit it to you:" Her gaze lowered. "What did I do wrong here?" She gathered the extra fabric at Molly's waistline, frowning. "I cut this way too big for you, ma'am. I'm so sorry."

  "Oh no, it's fine. I like it like this:"

  Belle huffed a soft laugh. "Like what? Big enough where you can 'bout walk right out of it?" She reached for a pin. "I'll just take the waist up about an inch or so on each side. That'll still give you plenty of-"

  "No, please, it's fine:" Molly stayed Belle's hand on her waist, softening her insistence with a smile. "I've lost weight in recent months-" Which was true, even after becoming pregnant. "But I'm already gaining that weight back. Especially with the way I've been eating this past week. Which reminds me-that stew of yours was delicious:"

  Belle's frown smoothed. "You liked it?"

  "Liked it? Right after you left, Sheriff McPherson stopped by to see how I was. I told him about our visit and what you'd brought, and I just cried:"

  "You didn't;' Belle whispered, her dark eyes sparkling.

  "I'm afraid I did. I was an emotional mess" Molly laughed along with her. "I'd been feeling a bit lonely, and the first week of school hadn't gone as-" She caught herself, uncertain how much to reveal. But Belle seemed so genuine and kind. "To be candid with you, it hadn't gone as well as I'd thought it would. I was exhausted and disappointed, and you bringing your stew. . " She sighed. "Well, it felt like a taste of home:"

  Belle's eyes went moist. "That's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me, Dr. Whitcomb. Thank you, ma'am."

  Molly felt herself tearing up too and was surprised when Belle laughed.

  `Aren't we a pair?" Belle shook her head. "Look at the two of us, standing here cryin' over stew."

  Molly gave her hand a squeeze. "I nearly had to arm-wrestle Sheriff McPherson for the last slice of your corn bread:'

  "Is that so?" Belle raised a brow, a glint of mischief accompanying the gesture. "My guess is that he would've let you win, ma'am."

  Too late, Molly realized that what she'd said could easily be misconstrued. "When he came by, Sheriff McPherson hadn't eaten yet, so I asked him to join me. That's all:"

  Belle stared, a smile tracing her lips. "You don't have to offer explanation to me, Dr. Whitcomb:'

  But Molly felt as though she did. "Sheriff McPherson and I are friends, Mrs. Birch. He's a very kind man, but he doesn't treat me any differently than he treats anyone else:"

  Belle nodded and began adjusting the hem of the dress. "Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say."

  Hearing the doubt in Belle's voice and knowing the woman meant no harm in her teasing, Molly decided that further protest would only make her appear defensive. Which didn't serve her purpose, or James's.

  When Belle finished the fittings, they walked outside to the boardwalk together.

  "I'll have the dresses ready for you by midweek, ma'am. I'll leave them here at the store:"

  "Would you like the other half of your payment today?" Molly reached into her reticule. "I can-"

  "No, ma'am. When the dresses are done is when I get paid my other half. Thank you, though:"

  Molly sensed Belle looking at her again, as she had earlier. Feeling they'd formed enough of a friendship, she posed the question gently. "I hope you won't think me forward for asking this, but ... I'm wondering.... On occasion, I get the feeling that ... you're staring at me. Though maybe I'm imagining it:"

  Belle looked away, sighing. "No, ma'am. It's not you imagining it. It's me. I try not to stare, but it's hard not to. I'm sorry." Wistfulness softened her features. "You're the spittin' image of the woman whose husband owned me when I lived back in Tennessee:'

  Molly stared. No matter how hard she tried, the words wouldn't come, not seeing the depth of emotion in Belle's face
.

  "She was a real good woman, Dr. Whitcomb. She taught me how to read and how to write. But as good as she was-and as innocent-her husband was just as wicked:'

  Heaviness settled over Molly, and thinking of Elijah, she thought she understood what Belle meant but wasn't saying.

  "So that's why I sometimes stare at you, ma'am. I'm sorry for doing it."

  Molly took hold of her hand. "There's no need to apologize. I'm just sorry that I remind you of something so painful."

  Belle tightened her grip. "What was done to me was wrong, and God's heart broke ... each time. But I could never be sad over what came out of it. I love my son with all my heart. My husband does too:" Unshed tears glistened in her dark eyes. "That man who owned me did me wrong." She shook her head. "But God, in His great mercy, He worked it for good. Like He does, in time, for those who are His and who love Him. So when I look at you, ma'am, it's not pain I'm feelin: I'm thankin' the Lord for standin' beside me through those dark times, when I thought I was alone"-she smiled-"but never was:'

  Molly was halfway through town on her way home, her thoughts still with Belle, her tears barely dry, when she heard someone calling her name.

  "Signora Whitcomb!"

  She didn't have to look to know who it was. She waited until he drew closer. "Angelo Giordano!" she said with an Italian accent, and he beamed. She asked him how he was, but as he answered, she drew her own conclusions. She tried to convince herself that he'd gained some weight, but the thinness of his arms lent little evidence of that. And the sallow look of his skin didn't either.

  "Did Sheriff McPherson find you a job?" she asked in his native tongue.

  "Si, signora." He spoke quickly, and twice she had to encourage him to please talk more slowly-Parli lentamente.

  James had indeed helped find him a job, which was encouraging. Angelo worked at a ranch outside of town, mucking stalls and baling hay. It was hard enough to imagine the boy lifting a pitchfork, much less hefting bales of hay.