A soft gasp escaped Charlotte’s lips, but Mr. Baxton didn’t seem to notice. He barely broke his stride in the retelling, seemingly lost in the memories.
“Elliott tried to persuade his wife and daughter to jump to safety ahead of him, but just as he managed to get the door open, the carriage careened over the edge of a fairly steep drop-off. Grace was thrown clear, but Elliott and Constance were trapped inside.”
Charlotte closed her eyes against the horrific images his words created. How completely awful for Grace to have to endure something like that. And for Mr. Baxton, too.
“My brother and his wife didn’t survive the crash, and as you have seen, Grace suffers from paralysis of the legs.”
To lose a brother and a sister-in-law and then to become the sole caretaker of an injured niece—Charlotte could barely fathom the shock. Yet Mr. Baxton appeared to have adjusted rather well. And Grace obviously adored him. Respect for the man increased tenfold.
“You mentioned an appointment with a specialist today. So I assume the doctors haven’t determined if Grace’s injury is permanent?”
Mr. Baxton ran a hand through his hair, making a few stubborn locks stick out and one curl fall below his well-styled hairline. “No.” He sighed. “And we have seen far too many, if you ask me. I have a hard time being patient when doctors who are supposed to have answers don’t have any to offer me.” A growl escaped his lips. “And Grace. It’s not easy seeing the hope spark in her eyes with each new specialist we see, only to witness it being snuffed out like the gas streetlamps every morning at dawn. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Charlotte tried to put herself in his shoes, tried to imagine what it might be like if she were the sole caretaker of a child such as Grace. Would she be able to handle it as well as Mr. Baxton apparently did? He still struggled. Anyone would. But the fact that he accepted the responsibility thrust at him spoke volumes. A lesser man would have walked away.
“And. . .” Charlotte began, uncertain if she should proceed.
“Yes?” Mr. Baxton replied, his tone and expression encouraging her to continue.
“And other children? Did Grace have any brothers or sisters?”
“No.” He sighed. His eyes held such sadness. “Elliott and Constance. . .” He stopped, appearing to rethink what he was about to say. “No, there weren’t,” he finally said.
Charlotte wanted to reach out and cover his hands with her own, but she didn’t want to overstep the bounds of propriety. Instead, she put all her sympathy into her voice, hoping her eyes conveyed what physical touch couldn’t.“I truly am sorry for your loss. You and Grace both.” She placed her hands on the countertop and leaned forward. “I have a feeling God has something very special planned for that little girl.”
“Yes,” he said, regarding her with a curious expression. He tugged on the two ends of his scarf. “I admit it’s difficult trying to figure out why God would allow something so tragic to happen to such an innocent little girl. And there have been times I haven’t been the best role model for Grace,” he added with a rueful grin.
“Anyone in your circumstances would react the same way. And given the situation, I would say you are entitled to a few weak moments.” If it had been her, Charlotte would have had more than her fair share of weak moments.
One side of Mr. Baxton’s mouth turned up. The first sign their conversation was taking a lighter turn. “Why, thank you, Miss Pringle. It is a comfort to know you understand.”
Charlotte held up one hand. “I am not certain I understand, as much as I can sympathize with what you’re facing.” She clasped her hands tightly, offered what she hoped was an air of lightheartedness, and prayed he wouldn’t consider it inappropriate. “It seems all those books I’ve read haven’t been for naught.”
The genuine smile he’d worn when he first entered her shop returned. “You are correct. And whether it’s empathy or sympathy”—he stood and bestowed upon her a formal bow, his eyes twinkling as his gaze met hers—“I shall take either one. I make no qualms about particulars.”
Relaxing her grip, Charlotte exhaled slowly and quietly. She often couldn’t determine when the right moment came to interject a little humor, especially when the conversation leading up to that point had been melancholy. But Mr. Baxton didn’t seem to mind, and now they could move beyond the unpleasant memories of his recent loss.
“So.” Mr. Baxton’s voice interrupted her musings. “Now that you know all about my recent state of affairs, what do you say we discuss the object of those affairs and locate a few more books to help Grace pass the time?”
Charlotte shifted her focus and became a bookshop owner once more. It wouldn’t be easy treating Mr. Baxton as just another customer, but she’d see to his needs and allow him to take the lead.
“Yes, of course.” She joined him in front of the counter as they faced the aisles and shelves of books. “I recall the books you purchased on your last visit. But they contained a wide variety of stories and writing styles. Why don’t you tell me the types of things Grace likes? Then we shall see which of the many books will suit her interests best.”
He nodded. “Sounds logical.” Mr. Baxton cocked his head. “Let me see. I know she loved this book about island adventures, but I don’t recall the title or the author.”
Charlotte mentally scanned the list of titles she could bring to mind. “Could it be The Swiss Family Robinson by Johann David Wyss?”
Mr. Baxton snapped his fingers. “Yes! That’s the one. She spoke endlessly of it for days. I almost felt I was right there with the family by the time Grace found another book to capture her attention.”
Charlotte jotted down the title on a piece of paper. “Books do have a way of doing that to a person.” She spoke from experience. She couldn’t recall the number of times her parents had had to reprimand her and tell her to focus on her studies more than her pleasure reading. They of course had been right, and now that her school days were behind her, Charlotte could read to her heart’s content.
“All right,” Mr. Baxton continued, “we have that one book as an example. But Grace also loves reading about faraway places and adores the stories where the princess must be rescued by the handsome prince.”
“What girl doesn’t? You never outgrow that tale,” Charlotte said without thinking, as she wrote down a few more notes.
“It doesn’t always have to be a fairy tale,” he said softly.
Charlotte glanced up to see a wry grin on Mr. Baxton’s lips and a teasing twinkle in his eyes. She was tempted to allow a glimpse of her own dreams and desires but instead chose the safe and impersonal route. “You are correct. It is a timeless story that manifests itself in a variety of ways through many different lives. Just when you start to believe the happily-ever-after is out of reach, the prince makes an appearance and a satisfying conclusion is reached.”
“Which brings me to another favorite of Grace’s. She cannot seem to get enough of the stories about fighting against seemingly impossible odds and winning. It’s what gives me hope that her paralysis won’t become a permanent part of her life.”
Charlotte touched the unsharpened end of the pencil to her chin. “I have only spoken to Grace the one time, and I certainly don’t know her as well as you, but she doesn’t appear to be a girl who gives up easily.” She pointed the pencil in Mr. Baxton’s direction. “I can imagine how exhausting the visits to the specialists can become. And if she loves those stories about impossible odds, she will find a way to win over her circumstances.”
He nodded. “You are correct. Despite the repetitive cycle of disappointing news or no answers at all, Grace’s determination is what keeps me fighting for her.”
Once again, she pointed the pencil toward Mr. Baxton. “You are a constant source of strength for your niece. Do not forget that a champion for the handsome prince is just as important in the battle as the actual fight the prince must endure.”
“True.”
Charlotte straigh
tened and picked up the pad of paper. “I think I have enough information to make some recommendations.”
A few minutes later, Mr. Baxton followed Charlotte to the front, his arms laden with copies of Ivanhoe, Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby, The Three Musketeers, and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. He quickly paid for his purchases and waited while Charlotte placed them in a sack.
“Once again,” he said as he tipped his imaginary hat, “I am in your debt. Grace will be beside herself when I collect her from the specialist’s office and present her with these surprises.”
“And once again, it is my pleasure. I look forward to hearing how she liked these and which one was her favorite.” Perhaps Mr. Baxton would bring Grace again so the little girl could answer for herself. Charlotte wouldn’t mind seeing either one of them again.
After buttoning the top buttons of his overcoat, Mr. Baxton tucked the sack against him with his left arm and bowed over her hand. “Miss Pringle, I bid you good day and offer my deepest appreciation for your time.”
“You are most welcome, Mr. Baxton.” He held her gaze a moment longer, and Charlotte swallowed in an attempt to calm her erratic heartbeat. “Good day,” she managed, although her voice sounded forced to her own ears.
He turned and headed for the door, casting one final look over his shoulder and waving as he left the shop.
“Now, that man fancies you. There’s no doubt about it.”
Startled by Mr. Couper’s voice, Charlotte turned with a jolt to face him. He wore a wide grin as he stood supported by his walking cane.
“And judging from the bits of conversation I heard, I believe the attraction is reciprocated.”
Warmth crept up Charlotte’s neck, and she took a deep breath in an attempt to prevent it from reaching her face. “Shame on you, Mr. Couper, for eavesdropping,” she said without irritation. “You were supposed to be looking for books for your grandsons.”
“But I was,” he countered, holding up three titles. “And I have found them.” He walked to the counter, his expression one of pure mischief. “Can you truly fault a man who merely wishes happiness for his favorite bookshop owner?”
Charlotte pursed her lips and regarded the gentleman. How could she possibly be cross with him? In many ways, he reminded her of her father. He’d even told her on more than one occasion that he’d never had a daughter. She certainly couldn’t begrudge him some harmless banter.
“All right, Mr. Couper, I shall forgive you. . .this time,” she said with a grin.
“Ah,” he sighed as he ran his fingers over his well-groomed mustache, “if only I could be here when that young gentleman returns.” He winked. “I should like to hear the reason he gives for prolonging his stay.”
“You, Mr. Couper, are up to no good.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Miss Pringle.”
She obviously wasn’t going to win this argument, so she should probably redirect their conversation. “Shall I total your purchases for you?”
He placed the three books on the counter and nodded. “If you must.”
She gave him the amount, and he counted out the coins.
With the three books in one hand and his cane in the other, he sauntered to the door. “I expect to hear about Mr. Baxton’s return and perhaps even his niece when I next visit your shop.”
“I will do my best to oblige.”
Mr. Couper pointed his cane at her. “See that you do, young lady.” Tipping his hat, he took his leave.
Charlotte leaned back against the shelf behind her and smiled. Days like this one made being a bookshop owner a true delight.
Four
“Mr. Baxton, might I have a word with you?”
The doctor summoned Richard from the waiting room, where he and Mother sat, as a dark-haired nurse escorted Grace out from an examining room. The woman’s stark white uniform blended almost too well with the white-painted walls and immaculate marble floors.
“Grace, I will only keep your uncle for a moment. I am sure your grandmother will be more than happy to continue keeping you company.” The doctor gave Grace and Mother a kind smile, compassion reflecting in his eyes. He turned to Richard and gestured toward the room Grace just left. “If you please, Mr. Baxton?”
Richard preceded the doctor into the room and waited while the man closed the door. He’d been in a number of similar rooms, but this one possessed a warmth he’d not felt in any of the others. The color of the walls, the furniture, and the various items on the table welcomed anyone entering.
“Will you have a seat?”
Richard took one of the two cushioned chairs opposite the doctor’s desk and was surprised when the doctor took the other. The man reached for a folder on the edge of his desk and flipped it open.
“I promised your niece I would only keep you for a moment, Mr. Baxton, and I intend to keep my word.”
“So what is the prognosis?” Richard wasn’t in the mood to waste any time. “Grace and I have been through this several times. If what you have to say isn’t encouraging, we might as well get right to it.”
The specialist sighed. “I know how tiring this must be for you both. But I am glad you came to see me. As you are aware, I have done extensive research and study on the subject of paralysis. Your niece’s case is not unique.”
Richard moved to the edge of the seat. “Do you mean you have seen this before?”
“Yes, and I have seen it cured, as well.”
Finally! Richard’s heart beat faster. At long last, they might have some good news. Of course the doctor hadn’t exactly said anything one way or another.
The doctor held up a hand of caution. “I do not want what I am about to say to be construed in the wrong manner. But based upon my examination of your niece and her response to some of the more detailed tests, she has a chance at walking again.”
“A chance? Does that mean there is also a chance she might not walk again?”
“Correct. The odds are as much in Grace’s favor as they are against her. But it’s going to take a lot of hard work on Grace’s part, as well as yours.”
“We are no strangers to hard work, Doctor. I can assure you of that.” Richard pressed his palms to his knees. “Ever since the accident, we have worked daily on exercises, both of us hoping it would do some good and that one day we’d start to see results. When I am unavailable to assist, her grandmother helps in my place.” Those exercises hadn’t been easy. It nearly broke his heart to see his niece struggle so often. Not to mention how hard she tried with seemingly no improvement.
“You and your mother are to be commended, Mr. Baxton. Those very exercises can be credited with putting your niece in such a favorable position. Unfortunately, the dedication of many of the patients I see isn’t nearly as serious, nor are they as determined as the three of you obviously have been.” The doctor consulted his notes, flipping through several pages. “Because you have remained faithful in exercising even when you haven’t seen evidence of it making any difference, Grace’s muscle tone and reflexes have remained strong. Far too often, I witness atrophy of the muscles and no sign whatsoever of any reflexive response. For those patients, my prognosis isn’t as encouraging. Now, Grace does have a measure of atrophy, but that is to be expected.”
“So what happens next?” Richard didn’t want to press the doctor, but he wanted to rejoin Grace. His mother would need relief from her long day as well.
“Next, we schedule another appointment.” He closed the folder and regarded Richard with a serious look. “I will perform a handful of more extensive tests, and if those produce the results I expect, we will discuss the details of an operation.”
Richard was about to jump up from the chair. He froze at that last word. “Operation?” Just repeating it produced a sinking feeling in his gut. “What kind of operation?”
“There is no need to be concerned. Not at this stage.” The doctor’s voice held a practiced calm. “We’ll know more after Grace’s next appointment. And at t
hat time, we will discuss the matter further.” He rose, and Richard did the same. “I have a great deal of hope for your niece, Mr. Baxton. You have done an admirable job keeping her limber and making her an excellent candidate to proceed further.”
“Doctor, that is music to my ears.” Richard glanced over his shoulder toward the door. “Does Grace know? Have you said anything to her?”
The doctor smiled. “Not yet. I wanted to leave the honor to you.” He gestured toward the door, silently inviting Richard to precede him.
Richard pushed the door open, revealing an anxious Grace, who sat with her arms braced against the arms of the wheeled chair, almost lifting herself out of it in anticipation.
“Doctor, thank you again.” Richard held out his hand, and the doctor gave him a firm handshake. Richard always appreciated such handshakes as well as direct eye contact in all of his business dealings. The doctor didn’t disappoint.
The doctor gestured toward the front desk. “If you speak with my assistant, she will see that your next appointment is scheduled, and we can proceed from there.”
Richard made quick work of the appointment then joined Grace and his mother.
“What did you find out?” His niece’s anxiety was obvious in her voice and facial expression, while Mother looked bemused.
Richard stepped behind Grace’s chair and took hold of the handles, silently propelling her toward the main doors.
“You’re not going to tell me yet, are you Uncle Richard?”
He smiled as she looked up at him. “Not right now, no. We will have plenty of time to talk in the carriage on the way home.” Two attendants held open the double doors for them, and Richard nodded his thanks. “I’m afraid you will simply have to be patient for a bit longer.”
She sighed and turned around. “Very well. If you insist.”
Richard almost laughed at how stoically Grace sat in her chair. She stared straight ahead and didn’t utter a single word until they reached their carriage. The footman greeted them and assisted Mother first before helping Richard get Grace safely tucked inside. Once again, Richard was grateful for the use of his brother’s carriages and staff. The affairs of the family business might not be settled, but at least he could continue to make use of his brother’s employees and belongings in the interim.
Bound By Grace Page 4
