by Lisa Gregory
Cal watched him until the door closed. He slid down in bed until he was lying down. He pulled the sheets up high around his shoulders, burrowing into the softness of the down mattress. Then, suddenly, tears came out of nowhere like they sometimes did at night. He buried his face in the pillow to muffle the sounds, and he cried.
❧
Luke went downstairs to the kitchen. Sarah was sitting at the table with a glass of lemonade before her. She looked up at ham and smiled. "Would you like a glass?"
"That'd be nice." He sat down at the table while she poured him the last of the lemonade from the pitcher.
They sat for a moment in silence, sipping at their drinks. There was a comfortableness, a rightness, between them that hadn't been there in a long time. "I was proud of you this evening," Sarah said quietly, "the way you stood up to George Jackson,"
Luke's lips curled into a sneer. "He ought to be horsewhipped."
"Yes." Sarah paused. She stared down intently at her glass as she methodically ran her thumb and middle finger down the sides of the glass over and over "Luke... I... I wanted you to know how sorry I am."
"For what? What are you talking about?"
"For the way I acted yesterday. What I said about not wanting Cal. It was wrong. Will you forgive me?"
"Forgive you? Oh, Sarah, there's nothing to forgive. I'm nobody to be forgiving you."
"But I was mean and cold, like you said."
"I was angry. I don't think that. I couldn't think that of you. You're the kindest woman in the world."
Sarah smiled faintly at his hyperbole. "Hardly that."
"Close enough," He reached out and touched her fingers with the tips of his.
Her skin was smooth beneath his fingers. Just the feel of it sent desire snaking through him. He wanted her, as he had always wanted her. He wanted to be with her, to lie with her, to have her head on his shoulder, to hear her voice beside him in the darkness. He wanted her soft body beneath him, her legs locked around him, taking him into her.
He felt like a scoundrel for wanting her. He had killed their baby and almost killed her with his lust. He hated himself for that, yet he couldn't control the lust. Merely touching her hand brought it surging up within him. He thought about kissing her, about sliding his hand up her arm and onto her body. He thought about her breast cupped in his hand, the nipple tightening at his touch. Already he was hard and pulsing.
He lay in bed at night thinking about Sarah, remembering their lovemaking. Every night was a torment: desiring her and despising himself for it. He was an animal. She was barely healed. She must dread his touch after what had happened. He could not take her.
This evening it had been worse than usual. She had looked at him glowingly when he got rid of George Jackson, just as she had looked at him in the past, full of love and pride. Several times today there had been a moment when they were close, when there was warmth between them and no barriers. Those tastes of remembered love had been like a match to straw, igniting the passion in him that was never far below the surface.
He wished desperately that it could be like it was once more. He knew it could not.
Luke pulled his hand back from Sarah's. He cleared his throat and took a gulp of his drink. "Well. I guess it's time for us—time to go to bed." He took the glass to the sink and rinsed it out. He set the glass on the counter and stood for a moment, his hands gripping the edge of the sink. He wanted to turn around and take her in his arms. It took everything he had not to.
Sarah stood up, too. Perhaps now Luke would return to her bed. Maybe the closeness they had shared today had ended the separation between them. She wanted to fall asleep in his arms again, to feel his warmth and strength encircling her.
She climbed the stairs to their bedroom. She heard Luke rattling around downstairs, latching the screen doors and turning off the lamps. Sarah stood in her room, taking down her hair and brushing it, listening for the sound of Luke's footsteps. She heard him coming up the stairs. He paused at the top, and she stiffened, scarcely breathing, waiting.
Luke looked through the open door at Sarah. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, thick, dark, and inviting.
He knew exactly how it would feel beneath his fingers. He knew its softness and scent. His breath came faster in his throat, and his heart raced.
He turned the other way and went into the bedroom he used now.
Sarah slumped. She wanted to cry. Luke didn't want to be with her. She was alone. For the first time in weeks, her loneliness was more missing Luke than sorrow over the baby that had died.
❧
It was an adventure working in James's office, and Julia loved it. She felt uneasy about leaving Vance and Bonnie at home while she went to work, but as the days passed and the children did well on their own, she gradually relaxed. After all, Vance was nearly ten years old and a responsible boy; he was capable of looking after Bonnie. Besides, the neighbor lady on one side was a friendly middle-aged woman, and she had assured Julia that she looked in on the children two or three times a day.
As her fears about the children eased, Julia was able to enjoy her work even more. It took her only a few days to get the files and bookkeeping organized. She was appalled at the amount of money James allowed people to owe him. It warmed her heart to think of his generosity, but her practical nature rebelled at the idea of letting the practice go on unchecked. She made sure that each patient paid at the time of his visit, and if they were unable to, she arranged a schedule by which they would pay the doctor gradually. Some of the payments were in chickens or eggs or vegetables, to be sure, but at least she made sure James received some recompense for his work. James might have plenty of money to live on from his inherited wealth, but Julia wasn't about to let anyone give him less than what he deserved.
James laughed at her vehemence on the matter and was relieved to be rid of the burden of keeping books. Seeing how quickly Julia caught on to everything in the office, he taught her more and more about medicine. He called her into the examination rooms to assist him, and as he worked, he explained to her what he was doing. He showed her the supplies and tools and taught her the name and function of each. Sometimes Julia thought her head would burst from trying to remember all the new information, but she kept on determinedly.
She delighted in working with James. He was kind, patient, and bright. He didn't snap at her mistakes, and he answered her questions without condescension. He was never too tired or too busy to explain something to her. She enjoyed talking to him. She enjoyed his smile. She enjoyed his laugh when she said something that amused him.
Yet it was painful to work with him—and for the same reasons. He was too easy to like, too easy to fall in love with all over again. Julia couldn't allow that. She could never have any place in James's life other than that of his assistant. Loving him, wanting to be the love in his life, would bring her nothing but heartache. She had to resist the lure of his smile, the tug in her chest when he looked at her, the treacherous curiosity that wondered what it would be like to feel his lips on hers again. She struggled to hide her feelings, even from herself. She ignored the warmth inside her, hoping that somehow it would not grow.
On a warm afternoon in the middle of June, Julia was sitting in the reception room, working on the books. It had been a slow day, and she had had to assist James very little, so she had taken the opportunity to catch up on some of her clerical work. As she sat, toting up figures, the door burst open and a young boy tumbled in. He was breathless, and his words were almost incoherent.
Julia quickly came around the desk and grasped his shoulders. "Shh. Now wait, calm down."
Her quiet, even voice and steady hands reassured him, and he drew a breath. "Daddy's sick. Real sick. Ma sent me for the doc. He's gotta come. Ma says he can't waste no time."
"All right. Let's talk to the doctor." Julia led him down the hall. "What's your name?"
"Walter, ma'am. Walter Purdon."
Julia stuck her head inside the examinati
on room where James was working. He left his patient and joined them in the hall. "What is it?"
"This boy's mother sent him for you. He says—"
"Daddy's sick!" the boy interrupted agitatedly. "You gotta come. Right now."
James squatted down beside Walter. "What's the matter with your father, son?"
"He's got a pain in his side. Right here." He laid his hand below and to the right of his stomach. "He had it all night long. Ma's scared."
"Is he vomiting?" The child looked puzzled, and James said, "Can he hold down his food?"
He shook his head. "It comes right up."
"Does it hurt if you touch him there?"
"Oh yessir." Walter nodded emphatically, his eyes getting rounder. "Ma laid her hand on him, and he hollered."
"We'll ride out to your place." He looked up at Julia. "Tell my patients I'll be gone the rest of the afternoon. Then lock up and come with me. I may need your help. I'll finish up with Mrs. Jarvis and hitch up the buggy."
Julia hurried to do as he instructed. Minutes later the three of them were in James's buggy, heading out of town. Walter gave them directions to get to the house. James kept the horse at a quick pace.
Julia sat on the buggy seat between James and the boy. James's arm touched hers as his hands moved on the reins. A fold of her skin lay against his leg. She tried not to look at his leg. She tried not to look at his hands on the reins. This was serious, she reminded herself; there was no place for wayward thoughts. Julia folded her hands and gazed determinedly ahead.
James glanced at Julia. She was staring directly in front of her, so that he saw her delicate profile. He looked at the curve of her lips and the creamy skin. There was more color in her face today, the checks pink, her lips rosier. He supposed that the excitement of rushing out to an ill patient had put the color there. In her hurry, she had forgotten to put on her hat, so that her pale gold hair glinted in the sun. He ached to touch it.
The last two weeks had been a blend of heaven and hell for him. He had found himself arising in the mornings filled with goodwill, eager to get to work, and he had had to admit to himself that it was because he would see Julia there. He enjoyed seeing her and talking to her. It gave him pleasure to watch her walk across the floor, to hear her voice outside with a patient, to have her calm presence beside him, helping him. She made life comfortable and easy. More than that, she made it fun. James liked the idea of Julia's being there in a place that belonged to him, in the midst of the work he loved. It made her in some way his.
But she wasn't his at all. That was the hellish part of it—to watch the curve of her breasts beneath her gown and know that he could not touch her, ever; to look into her eyes and know that they would not glow for him; to have her take care of him and know that she did it only as a job. He wanted her; he could not stop himself from wanting her. When she stood beside him in the examination room, he breathed in her lavender scent and felt tingles of heat all through him. When she looked at him with those clear blue eyes, her face solemn, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. When he saw her with patients, her bright head bent down to theirs, he wanted to unfasten the tight knot of her hair and watch it cascade down her shoulders, feel it slide like silk through his fingers. But he had no right. She had given him no encouragement. Falling in love with her would be asking for trouble.
It was difficult to remember that she had broken his heart. But it was folly to forget it.
James turned the buggy in at the small lane that Walter pointed out, and they reached the Purdon house. It was small and unpainted, its simple lines not softened by trees. Walter jumped out of the vehicle and ran up the steps, followed more slowly by James and Julia.
"I'm afraid it sounds like appendicitis," James told her in a low voice. "We'll have to operate here if that's so. It won't be good conditions. I'll need your help. I just hope it hasn't been going on too long."
Julia nodded, fear beginning to flutter in her stomach. She didn't know enough. She would fail him.
They stepped inside the Purdon house. It was small and airless, stiflingly hot. There was only one window in the front room, and the light was dim. However, it wasn't too dark to see that the place was filthy. Dust from the fields lay everywhere. Walter was waiting for them, three smaller children clustering shyly behind him. He led Julia and
James into the next room, a bedroom far smaller than the living room, but equally dirty. The room was small, and there was only one window high up on the wall. It was so hot that Julia felt perspiration beading on her forehead as soon as she stepped inside.
A man lay on the bed, curled up on his side, a quilt atop him. His face was contorted with pain and unnaturally pale. He sweated profusely. A woman sat beside him on the bed. Her clothes reflected the same lack of care as the rest of the house; the skirt was ripped near the hem, and her blouse was splotched with stains. Her hair was curled loosely into a bun low on her neck, but most of it had pulled loose from the knot and hung lankly around her face. Her face was round and Julia suspected that usually it wore a cheerful expression, but today it was lined with worry.
She jumped up when James and Julia entered the bedroom. "Dr. Banks! Thank God you're here! He's so sick."
James went to the bed and pulled the quilt away. "Mr. Purdon, I have to examine you." His hands moved over the man's abdomen and stomach, and suddenly Purdon jerked and cried out. James drew his hands back. "How long has he been like this, ma'am?"
Mrs. Purdon began to cry. "Too long. We was workin' in the fields yesterday, him and me and Wally, weedin'. An' he started sayin' his stomach hurt, an' it got so bad that he come back to the house early yesterday afternoon. I shoulda sent Wally for you last night. But I figured Joe just had a stomachache. He ate too many of them wild raspberries the young 'uns picked the other day. An' I thought, we can't afford no doctor." She brought her hands up to her face, sobbing. "Oh God, I killed him, didn't I?"
"No, of course not, Mrs. Purdon," James replied quickly. It would have helped, of course, if the woman had sent for him earlier, but there was no point in adding to her guilt. "You say the pain was in his stomach?"
She nodded. gulping back her tears. "Yessir, not where it is now, though. More right in his stomach, but then it sorta moved down some."
He nodded. "Your son said he had been nauseated— throwing up."
"Some."
"I'm afraid your husband has appendicitis."
"Oh, Lord."
"Which means we will have to operate."
"You're goin' to cut on him?" Her face turned ashen at the thought.
"Yes, and we'll have to do it here. He's in too much pain and time is too short to take him back to town."
Mrs. Purdon knotted her hands together. "Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord."
James looked at Julia. "Why don't you take Mrs. Purdon to the other room?"
Julia nodded and led the woman out. She settled her on the sofa in the front room and left her there with her children, then hurried back to James. He took her arm and drew her over to the comer.
"We can't operate in this house. It's too dirty. The chances of him getting infection are enormous." Though he knew some older doctors who weren't too particular about the standards of cleanliness when they operated, James was a firm believer in the theory of antiseptic surgery. "Besides, it's as dark as the Black Hole of Calcutta in this place. I can't see well enough to operate."
"But what can you do? I thought you said we can't take him back to town."
"I can't." He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "We'll have to rig up an operating table outside."
"Outside!"
"I know. But the outside air is cleaner than in here. There's no wind today to blow the dust in from the fields. And I'll have enough light to see."
"What do you want me to do?"
He smiled. Thank heavens for Julia's calm readiness to work. He couldn't have chosen a better assistant. "Let's talk to Walter. He seemed like a smart kid and cooler in a crisis than his mo
ther."
With Walter's help, they located two sawhorses in the barn and set them up outside. James unfastened one of the inner doors from its hinges and laid it across the sawhorses for a table. Julia scrubbed the door thoroughly, first with soap and water, then with carbolic acid while James pulled off the clothes Purdon wore and wrapped him in the cleanest sheet. from the linen chest. With Mrs, Purdon's help, he walked the man to the makeshift table outside.
When they had gotten Purdon up on the door, James ordered his wife and children back into the house. Purdon glanced apprehensively at Julia. Gritting his teeth against the pain inside him, he asked, "What's she doing here?"
"Mrs. Dobson is my assistant. She will help me operate."
"A woman? But I ain't got no clothes on!"
James suppressed a sigh. "She's a widow. Besides, she'll be far too busy to be shocked. Now, I'm going to hold this pad up to your nose. It will smell bad, but it will make you sleep and keep you from feeling the pain."
While James administered the chloroform to Purdon, Julia sterilized James's instruments. Her heart hammered inside her chest, and her stomach was a knot, but she'd been scared too many times in her life to let fear paralyze her
"All right. He's ready." James looked at her and smiled. "I meant to teach you to help me in surgery, but I hadn't planned introducing you to it in quite this way. Will you be all right?"
"I think so. I have a strong stomach."
"Good. If it gets to be too much, go back into the house. I can manage on my own."
Julia nodded. She was determined not to do that. James needed her, and she refused to let him down.
James lowered the sheet to expose Purdon's abdomen and washed the area with carbolic acid. He took the scalpel from Julia's hand and made a diagonal incision on the right side of Purdon's abdomen. Julia glanced away, unable to watch the metal slice into the man's skin, but she forced her eyes back immediately. The cut was the worst part. Even though her stomach flopped at the sight of the exposed fat and muscle, she was able to swallow her gorge and stand firm. She had spent all her life on a farm and had helped at several births, and she was familiar with wounds and blood.
