by Amanda Cabot
As the front doorbell tinkled, Elizabeth rose and entered the waiting room, smiling when she saw the patients who awaited her. Memories were wonderful, but patients paid the rent.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Seaman. Hello, Louis.” A quick appraisal told Elizabeth that the reason for their call was not acute.
The thin woman whose son had needed her care on their last visit managed a smile, although it seemed forced. Perhaps Elizabeth’s assessment had been faulty and one of the Seamans was more ill than she’d believed. “Call me Laura, please.”
“Certainly.”
“I’m glad to see you’re still here.”
Elizabeth knew her expression revealed her surprise. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
A flush rose to Laura Seaman’s cheeks. “I know it’s wrong to listen to gossip, but I heard some ladies at church saying that Mr. Nordling is courting you and before we know it, you’ll be married.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m not planning to marry, but even if I were, I’d still be a doctor. My patients are important to me.”
“Then Mr. Nordling isn’t courting you.” Laura appeared almost disappointed.
Elizabeth shook her head again. “We’re friends.”
As Louis started to fidget, his mother laid a cautionary hand on his head. She lowered her voice, as if whatever she was about to say was confidential. “Doc Worland is wrong.”
Elizabeth refused to ask what the other doctor had said, but she had no need, for Laura continued her story. “He said it was only a matter of time until you killed a patient and were run out of town.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she tried to control her anger. She shouldn’t have been surprised by Dr. Worland’s comments. She’d known that he considered her an enemy. But his claim that she would kill a patient set her blood to boiling. There was a huge distinction between failing to save a patient and killing one. The former happened to every doctor at one time or another, despite their best efforts.
“I have not lost any patients,” Elizabeth told Laura Seaman, “and if I do, it will not be for lack of trying to save them. But, tell me why you’re here today.”
“It’s Louis.”
Bending down to his level, Elizabeth spoke to the boy. “How is your ear?”
“Good.” He tugged on both earlobes, as if assuring himself that they were still attached.
“It’s not his ear,” Laura explained with a worried look at her son. “His throat seems to hurt. I’m worried that he might have diphtheria.”
Though the number of cases had not become an epidemic and had, in fact, subsided over the past month, Elizabeth would not discount a mother’s instinct that something was wrong with her child.
“Let’s take a look.” She led Laura and Louis into her examining room. “You remember my table, don’t you, Louis?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Let’s get you up there.” As she lifted the child onto the table, she couldn’t help hoping that Laura did not have to carry him often, for the boy was heavy for his age. A woman as thin as Laura should not be lifting so much weight.
“I need you to open your mouth as wide as you can,” she told Louis. The boy complied, revealing a throat that bore no sign of illness. Elizabeth saw no redness, nor was the diphtheric membrane swollen or irritated. She laid her hand on Louis’s forehead, checking for fever, but found none. “I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs,” she told him as she pulled her stethoscope from a drawer and inserted the plugs into her ears. A minute later, she turned to Laura. “I wish all my patients were as healthy as your son.”
“Are you sure?” Though Elizabeth had expected relief, she was faced with disbelief. “I know something is wrong. Louis was rubbing his throat yesterday. I was sure it was diphtheria.”
“Would you tip your head back, Louis?” Elizabeth demonstrated the position she wanted. When he did, she pointed to a small scratch on the boy’s neck. “Perhaps that’s why he was rubbing it. It may have hurt or itched, but now it’s almost healed.”
Laura flushed. “Lloyd was right. I’m being silly to worry so much. It’s just that Louis is our only child.” As Louis took the candy Elizabeth offered him and scampered into the waiting room, Laura shook her head slowly. “Oh, Doctor, I wish I could have another baby.”
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. She’d been foremost in his mind for weeks, ever since he’d decided to begin the temporary courtship, but the kiss they’d shared had changed everything. He shouldn’t have done it. It hadn’t been part of the plan, but when they’d stood side by side watching the sunset, Elizabeth had been so beautiful, her smile so sweet, that he hadn’t been able to resist the allure of her lips. And now . . . Sunrise, sunset, and all the hours in between, he couldn’t stop thinking about Elizabeth and how soft and sweet her lips had been, how right it had felt to hold her in his arms.
This was a temporary courtship, Jason reminded himself sternly, its only purpose to protect Elizabeth. It wasn’t as if she were eager to marry. She’d made it clear that she was not. It wasn’t as if she were the kind of woman he intended to marry. She was not. And yet, there were times—more times than he could count—when he wondered whether he’d made a mistake. Not the kiss. He’d never call those moments when their lips had met a mistake. No, if there was a mistake, it was in believing that a temporary courtship was a good idea.
When he heard the office door open, Jason felt excitement course through his veins at the prospect of a visit by Elizabeth. But the heavy footsteps told him he was mistaken, and he bit back his disappointment when he realized that his visitor was Nelson Chadwick.
“Good afternoon, Nelson.” Though he was tempted to murmur the platitude that it was good to see him, Jason did not, for his normally calm client appeared anxious. Nelson’s face was pale, almost gray, and his hands were clenched.
“This is not a social call,” the owner of the lumberyard said as Jason ushered him into his office. “I need your legal expertise.”
“That’s my specialty.” When his attempt at levity failed to rouse even a hint of a smile, Jason’s concerns deepened. This was not like Nelson. Jason waited until his client was seated before he pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. “What can I do for you?”
“I want to divorce Tabitha.”
No preamble. No explanation. Just the bleak statement. Jason was not surprised by either the curt delivery or Nelson’s intentions. There had been numerous signs that the Chadwicks’ marriage was in trouble. While Jason didn’t know all the details, he surmised that Nelson had been blinded by Tabitha’s youth and beauty and was now paying the price. It was an unfortunate situation, for marriage, Jason’s father had insisted, was sacred, ending only with death.
Jason tried not to sigh at the realization that the reverend would not have been pleased that Jason was about to help Nelson sunder ties forged before God.
Keeping his voice as even as if he were discussing nothing more important than the color of Nelson’s shirt, Jason asked, “Is your wife aware of your plans?”
“Not yet.” Nelson twisted his hands together, his distress evident. “I want the papers drawn up before I talk to her.”
Unspoken was the fact that Nelson was dreading that particular discussion. It must be horribly painful to contemplate ending a marriage. Jason couldn’t imagine voluntarily leaving Elizabeth. He blinked at the thought that had popped into his brain, then forced his attention back to Nelson. “What are you prepared to offer her?” As Nelson spoke, Jason took notes. At least while he was writing, his mind did not wander.
When he finished, Nelson summarized, “Tabitha will have enough money to live on.”
“But she won’t be wealthy.” Jason had handled only one other divorce, that of a cattle baron from his wife, and that settlement had been considerably more generous. Nelson had never struck him as a stingy man, but perhaps the obvious pain Tabitha had inflicted had left him disinclined to offer a liberal settlement. It was Jason�
�s responsibility to caution him. “Since you’re the one asking for the divorce, your wife may demand more.”
Nelson appeared surprised. “Like what?”
“The house.” The Chadwick mansion was worth a considerable sum, even this year when the cattle barons’ fortunes had plummeted and several had been forced to sell their homes for less than they’d paid to build them.
Though Jason had thought Nelson might protest, he reacted as if Jason had suggested he cut out his heart and hand it to Tabitha on a platter. “Never! She can’t have the house. That’s where I plan to live with my next wife.”
“You intend to remarry?” Though he tried, Jason knew he had not succeeded in masking his surprise. He’d thought Nelson would be gun-shy after one failed marriage.
“That’s what this is all about.” Nelson leaned forward, bracing his arms on Jason’s desk. “I want a wife who values me for myself, not the money I lavish on her. I want a wife who loves me.” He looked Jason in the eye as he asked, “Is that too much to expect?”
“No.” It was no more than any man would want, no more than Jason himself wanted. “You sound as if you’ve found that woman.”
“I have.” For the first time since he’d entered the office, Nelson’s face relaxed, and his eyes shone with happiness. “She’s not like Tabitha. She’s honest and caring.”
“Do I know her?”
Nelson chuckled as he shook his head. “Probably not, but you will, once we’re married.” He leaned back in his chair, apparently once more relaxed. “I may even ask you to be my best man.”
Jason was intrigued as much by the change in Nelson’s demeanor as by the mysterious woman’s identity. When he’d entered Jason’s office, Nelson had appeared downtrodden, but now his face had regained its normal ruddy hue, and his head was once more held high. Whoever she was, the woman appeared to have Nelson under a spell. “So, who is she?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see. She doesn’t know I’m planning this. It didn’t seem right to say anything until I was free. That’s why I’m in a hurry.” Nelson leaned forward. “I’ll pay you extra to rush the divorce.” He looked like a young boy, counting the days until school ended.
Jason shook his head. “There’s no extra charge. I’ll have the draft for you at the beginning of next week.”
And maybe then he’d learn who’d caught Nelson’s eye. Jason could only hope that it wasn’t another young woman who cared more for Nelson’s money than for him.
“I’m home, Gwen.” Elizabeth smiled as she hung her cloak on a hook near the doorway. As usual, Jason had accompanied her from her office. It had become part of their daily routine, and though she couldn’t speak for Jason, it was the best part of Elizabeth’s day. They’d walk and talk and enjoy their time together. One day when it had rained, he’d held an umbrella over them both. It was a simple act, nothing more than a courteous gesture, but it had made her feel cherished and protected. And that feeling, that wonderful feeling, had turned an ordinary day into something extraordinary.
It wasn’t courtship, though. Elizabeth knew that. If Jason had wanted to court her, he would have told her of his intentions, asking her permission. But he had not. That meant it was something else. For want of a better word, she continued to call it friendship. An unusual friendship, to be sure. A friendship that included kisses and touches.
Today Jason had come to her office a few minutes earlier than usual and had helped her don her cloak. A month ago Elizabeth might have thought it was her imagination, but there was no doubt. His fingers had lingered on her face, caressing her cheek. The memory of the warmth they’d engendered still coursed through her veins, raising the question of his intentions. If he wasn’t courting her—and she did not believe he was—why was he so attentive, so loving?
“Gwen?” Elizabeth dragged her thoughts back to the present. If Charlotte or Abigail were here, she might have asked them, but there was only Gwen, and Elizabeth already knew Gwen’s views on the subject. The woman heard wedding bells every time the wind blew.
Where was she? Though Rose was playing in the parlor, Gwen was not in the kitchen, and there were no signs of supper preparations.
Looking up from the doll she’d been dressing, Rose said, “Mama’s in the bedroom. I think she’s sick.”
Gwen was never ill. At least she hadn’t been since Elizabeth had moved into the apartment. When Elizabeth had arrived, Gwen had welcomed her as both a friend and a doctor, though she’d boasted that she rarely needed the latter. Today was different. Concerned that her friend might have contracted something serious, Elizabeth rushed to the room Gwen shared with her daughter.
Elizabeth’s worries increased when she saw that Gwen lay on the bed, fully clothed. She hadn’t even removed her shoes, though the blacking would stain the quilt. That alone was cause for alarm, but there was also the stench. If she hadn’t known better, Elizabeth would have said that Gwen had been drinking whiskey. That was improbable. There were no strong spirits in the apartment, and even if there were, Gwen would not have drunk them. She’d once told Elizabeth that liquor would never cross her lips. There had to be another explanation for the sour smell.
“What’s wrong, Gwen? Are you ill?” Elizabeth approached the bed, recoiling slightly when she realized that the foul odor was emanating from her friend.
Gwen placed her hands on the bed and struggled to a sitting position. Her head lolled to one side before she made a visible effort to straighten it. “Nothin’s wrong. I jush . . . just,” she corrected herself, “took a little nap.” There was no ignoring the fact that Gwen’s words were slurred. “My head felt like it was going to esplode.” She shook her head, wincing at the motion. “No, that’s not right. Esp . . . exp. That’s it. Explode.” The silly smile that accompanied her word erased the last fragment of doubt. Gwen was drunk.
“What happened, Gwen? Where did you get the whiskey?” And why did you drink it? Elizabeth wouldn’t ask that now. First she needed Gwen to be sober.
“Whiskey? I don’t drink whiskey. You know that.” The words were so slurred that Elizabeth could barely understand them.
“Then what have you been drinking?”
“Jush my medicine.” Gwen waved a hand toward her bureau. Elizabeth’s heart sank when she saw three blue bottles lying on their sides, two standing next to them. Though the labels looked familiar, she walked to the bureau to confirm what she feared.
“Patent medicine.” And one of the worst. On the day when he’d delivered a diatribe about the potential dangers of patent medicine, Elizabeth’s professor had used Lady Meecham’s Celebrated Vegetable Compound as an example. “It does no good,” he’d declared, “but it can do definite harm, especially if ingested in any quantity.” Judging from the empty bottles and her condition, Gwen had done that.
“Oh, Gwen, why did you drink it?”
Gwen held her head in both hands, her lips twisted into a grimace. “I’m fat,” she said. “No man would ever look at a ball of lard like me. I had to do shom . . . something.”
Elizabeth wondered how long her friend had been trying to lose weight. The only time Elizabeth had been aware of Gwen eating less had been the picnic at Minnehaha Park, but it was unlikely that had been the beginning. She must have been clever and had reduced the size of her portions at home. Though she never finished before Elizabeth and Harrison, Gwen could have been eating slowly. There would have been no reason for Elizabeth to notice that, just as she had not noticed smaller serving sizes.
Elizabeth sighed. The combination of little food and an increased dose of patent medicine with its high alcohol content would explain Gwen’s current state.
“You’ve got to stop,” she said firmly. “Don’t you know, patent medicines can kill you?”
Gwen looked up, her expression as contrite as a naughty child’s. “Truly?”
“Truly. It’s dangerous.”
“But it sheems . . . seems to be working. My clothes are looser.” Gwen tugged on her waistband,
showing Elizabeth that it was no longer straining at the buttons.
“That’s because you’re eating less, not because of that awful concoction.” Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of what Gwen had ingested. “You need to trust me, Gwen. You should not be drinking Lady Meecham’s or any other tonic.”
“Could it really kill me?” Though her eyes were bleary, there was no disguising the fear in them.
“It could.”
There was a moment of silence as the words penetrated Gwen’s clouded brain. “If I died, what would Rose do?” Gwen began to sob. “I can’t leave my baby all alone.”
“That’s why I’m going to throw the rest of these away.” Elizabeth picked up the two unopened bottles. “Rose needs you, and so do I.”
Though Gwen gasped, perhaps appalled by the thought of the money she’d wasted, she nodded. “All right. I’ll find another way to be thin.”
“I’ll help you,” Elizabeth promised. She would do more than that. She would watch Gwen carefully. Some doctor she’d proven to be! She hadn’t even noticed potentially dangerous changes in her friend’s behavior. She’d been so caught up in her own life, in the wonder of Jason, that she had paid scant attention to Gwen. That would stop. Immediately.
19
Elizabeth quickened her pace, knowing she was a few minutes later than normal this morning. For the first time since she’d arrived in Cheyenne, she had made breakfast. Gwen had offered to do it, but Elizabeth hadn’t needed a medical degree to see that her friend was in no condition to cook. Gwen admitted that her head hurt, and she complained of her stomach feeling queasy. Both were understandable, considering the quantity of alcohol she had consumed. What concerned Elizabeth more was Gwen’s mood. Though she clung to Rose and refused to let her out of her sight, she would barely look at Elizabeth. If Elizabeth had had to diagnose the cause, she would have said shame. And that shame, she suspected, was greater because Elizabeth was her friend as well as her doctor.
