“Fair enough. Keep those crutches handy in case you overdo and that leg weakens, but I think you’ll be fine if you’re careful.” He plucked his black bag off the dresser and headed out the bedroom door.
“Thanks again, Doc,” Micah called as the man disappeared down the hall. No sense in sitting in his room all day, now that he’d dumped his second pair of legs.
Then his smile drooped as the memory of last week’s talk with Katherine rushed back. Zachary had denied any wrongdoing when Micah cornered him but refused to say more than Lucy was helping him with a project. It didn’t appear to have anything to do with school, and the boy wouldn’t tell him any more. In fact, he’d appeared a bit embarrassed when pressed, but not guilty or sullen. Micah hadn’t been able to make head or tails of it and finally allowed it to drop, but not before he’d made it clear that his son was never to be alone in a bedroom with a female again.
Micah stepped into the parlor and glanced around. He’d half feared that the Roberts woman or her niece might be in evidence, but he was happy to see it empty for a change. Not that he had anything personal against the pair, but he didn’t care to be the object of affection Mrs. Roberts set her cap for—or rather, set Beth’s cap for.
A pinprick of disappointment hit him at not finding Katherine; then he remembered something about her visiting the church this morning. He wandered toward the kitchen on the chance he might be wrong. Not that he wanted another confrontation, but he’d have to face her sooner or later, and it might be easier without others around.
As he neared the doorway into the kitchen he heard a girl’s giggle and paused. Zachary’s muffled laugh followed right after, and Micah picked up his pace. He halted in the doorway and stared at the sight of his son clutching Lucy in his arms, for all the world appearing as though he were hugging her.
Lucy gripped Zachary’s hand and drew him forward. “You can do this, silly. Keep your hand on my waist and move your feet with mine.”
“Zachary!” a man’s voice bellowed, making Lucy jump clear of Zachary’s arms, her hand going to her heart.
Mr. Jacobs stood nearby, horror blanketing his face. “What do you think you’re doing? Get away from that girl this instant!”
Zachary scrambled backward and tripped over a chair leg, sprawling onto the floor. “Pa! What are you yellin’ for? You liked to scared us to death.” He pushed up onto his knees and glared.
Lucy caught her breath as Mr. Jacobs’s expression rapidly changed to anger. What was he thinking, anyway? They weren’t doing anything wrong, and they weren’t hiding in a bedroom this time, either.
“Mr. Jacobs, Zachary isn’t doing anything bad.” She hurried to her friend’s side and bent over, offering her hand while directing a worried glance at his father. “Zachary, are you hurt? Come on, I’ll help you up.”
He scrambled to his feet. “I’m fine.” He scowled at his pa. “Everybody keeps yelling at us! First Lucy’s ma and now you.”
Mr. Jacobs rubbed his forehead. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, then?”
“I don’t really want to, Pa, but I guess I don’t have a lot of choice.” He tossed a look at Lucy, raising his brows, and she gave a slight nod. “Lucy is teaching me to dance. Or, at least, she was trying to whenever I wasn’t stepping all over her feet.”
“Dance?” Mr. Jacobs looked from one to the other of them. “Whatever for?”
Lucy tried to muster a smile, although her insides still trembled at his bellowing. “Because he wants to ask someone to dance at the social next week.”
“Yeah, Pa. I don’t know anything about dancing, and Lucy promised to help me.”
“So why hide in your bedroom to do it?” Mr. Jacobs frowned. “If it was innocent, you shouldn’t slip away in secret to learn.”
Zachary shrugged. “Guess I didn’t want Beth to find out. Her aunt isn’t good at keeping secrets …” A slow red stain worked up his neck to his cheeks. “That is …”
“I get it, Son.” Mr. Jacobs nodded. “Mrs. Galloway worried something fierce when she found you.” He swung his gaze to Lucy. “And from what I understand, you didn’t tell her the truth, either.”
Lucy dropped her head and scrubbed her toe against the wood floor. “No, sir. I didn’t.”
“That’s not her fault, Pa. She promised me she wouldn’t tell. I shouldn’t have asked her to do that.”
“I see.” He looked squarely at Lucy. “I’d say Miss Lucy has been a good friend, if she kept her word at the risk of getting in trouble.”
“Yes, sir. The best friend a fella could ask for.” Zachary beamed.
Lucy’s heart melted into a puddle at the admiration in Zachary’s tone, and a tiny spurt of envy toward Beth sprouted in her heart.
Katherine slowed her pace, thankful her mother seemed content to walk in silence and wondering yet again why Mama showed up uninvited today. Not that the group was closed to outsiders, but she hadn’t shown much interest since arriving in town. Katherine sorted through her memory to find the exact words Mama had used when she’d arrived over an hour ago. “Katherine has told me so little about this group that I decided to come see for myself what I was missing.” She made it sound as though the meeting had been kept hidden on purpose.
In her heart Katherine wanted to deny it, to shout to the skies that her time with her friends was sacred and she had no obligation to invite anyone, much less her mother. But she knew better. She had deliberately slipped out of the house more than once, hoping Mama wouldn’t ask to come along, and always breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t. But why should she invite her? Mama didn’t know these women and didn’t need to take part. Her eyesight and hands weren’t what they used to be, and while she might add something to the work they did on the quilt, she probably wouldn’t enjoy it. Standing too long would bother her feet and ankles, and … Katherine caught herself.
Excuses. Every one.
What if Mama came today because she was lonely? The idea had never occurred to Katherine before. Her mother had never seemed like someone who needed friends, but was that fair? Everybody needed at least one friend in their life. What would her own be like if she didn’t have Leah and the others?
Destitute, but for her two daughters.
Katherine gazed at the diminutive woman limping along beside her. They’d never been friends. Not ever. Not that she hadn’t tried, but Mama had squashed that notion early in Katherine’s childhood….
Her best friend in the whole world had moved away. She’d asked Mama to play dolls, hoping to fill the void. “I am your mother, Katherine, not your friend. You need other people too much, and you might as well get over that. It will only cause you more hurt.” She’d never asked her mother to play dolls or anything like that again…. The pain still pricked to this day.
Katherine blinked and focused on the present. “I didn’t know you were coming, or I would have brought the wagon so you didn’t have to walk. Would you like to lean on me?” She extended her arm.
“Certainly not. I am not an invalid, you know.” Mama sniffed and made an effort to walk the following strides without limping. “Besides, if I had mentioned I wanted to come, you wouldn’t have let me. I know you did not want me there. I saw it on your face as soon as I entered.”
Katherine wanted to deny the accusation, but she hated to lie. Maybe it was better to stay silent rather than acknowledge the charge. On the other hand, silence would only bolster Mama’s belief and possibly cause more hurt. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” It was the best she could do in the circumstances, but she still doubted it would be enough.
“Humph. Doubtful. But it does not matter now.” Mama looked the other way.
Katherine saw moisture glistening on her mother’s eyelashes. She touched the older woman’s arm. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please forgive me if I did.”
“I said to forget it. And do not worry; I will not impose again.”
“You’re welcome to come anytime. The ladies were happy to meet you
, and I’m sure they’d want you to return.”
“But you would not, is that it? I am not dense, Katherine, and I do not care to continue to discuss it. Let it go.”
“All right, if you wish.” Katherine shook her head, burdened at the pain she’d caused but not knowing what else she could do to make it right. The ill feelings between them had continued for so many years Katherine didn’t know how to break the cycle. Although, truth be told, she’d not realized before that her mother sensed there was a problem. Mama had always gone on her way, saying what she pleased, seemingly without thought or realization of anyone else’s feelings.
Had something happened today to change that? She wasn’t sure, but from now on it appeared she must be more careful. As difficult as Mama could be, she was still Katherine’s parent. As long as God kept her on this earth, she would have to find a way to honor her—or at least to honor her position, even if she found it difficult to respect or love the woman.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jeffery felt like he’d moved into a hornets’ nest comprised of stinging words and biting women. He settled on the porch bench and put his feet up on the rail. He had a lot to consider, and the house was too busy for his taste, especially since Mrs. Roberts and her niece moved in two weeks ago. Heading to town wasn’t an option, as he was almost dead on his feet from the long hours he’d spent staring at his blank notebook last night, and if he stretched out on his bed, he’d fall asleep and accomplish nothing.
He’d come to this area due to its proximity to the Oregon Trail, but also because he’d heard that Baker City was a thriving town bursting at the seams with miners, ranchers, and everyday folks.
Little good it had done him thus far.
His dreams of reaching acclaim had so far come to naught. He managed to hide his aspirations from inquisitive people who’d asked about his business, which was just as well. How embarrassing that he’d found so few people willing to share their stories and so few exciting incidents to flesh out.
It wasn’t like he hoped to pen a thousand-page saga of the West. No. He simply desired to depict the lives and happenings of real people in a way that easterners would find fascinating—but not with a bunch of silly fiction.… Although, he must admit, he’d love to have his book read like a novel but gain acceptance beyond what some people were beginning to call the “penny dreadful.” Dreadful indeed. His book would exude excellence, if only he could figure out what to write.
Maybe it was time to return to the newspaper business. His savings were rapidly disappearing with little to show for his time and effort, and he wasn’t willing to ask his family for help. And beyond that, he’d developed a loneliness he hadn’t expected. Yes, heading back East seemed the best option, if things didn’t turn around for him soon. He wasn’t suited to work in the mines or on a ranch.
He lowered his feet back to the porch floor. If something didn’t give him an idea or direction soon, he’d brush the dust off his clothes and head home to Cincinnati—and pray he could stay out of the grip of his father.
Frances woke the next morning in agony, barely able to move her swollen ankles and feet. She fell back against her pillows and groaned. She had so hoped to spend some special time with Amanda today. The past week or so she’d sorely neglected both granddaughters, and she wanted to make up that time.
It was no use trying to mend the relationship with her daughter; it appeared to be too far gone for that. But if it were within her power, she would not allow the same wedge to be driven between herself and Lucy or Amanda. However, based on her level of discomfort today, spending time with them wasn’t an option.
She rubbed her stomach as it lurched and roiled. Oh dear, she didn’t need indigestion—or worse—on top of the gout. The smell of bacon fat and potatoes frying for breakfast wasn’t a bit enticing, but further sleep would probably evade her. She reached for her Bible on the nightstand and plucked her spectacles from the open page where she’d laid them the night before. At least she could do something productive if her stomach would allow it.
A half hour later there was a tap at her door, and Frances set her Bible aside. Her strained eyes would not have allowed much more, regardless. “Yes? Is that you, Katherine? Come in.”
The door swung open, and Wilma Roberts strode into the room.
Frances struggled up higher against her pillow and winced. “What?”
“You’re still in bed?”
Frances set her jaw and glared. “Why is it any business of yours?”
Mrs. Roberts planted her fists on her hips and glowered right back. “Your daughter is worried. When you didn’t come for breakfast, she asked me to check on you.”
“If she was so worried, why did she not come herself? She certainly did not need to send you.” Frances tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice but knew she’d failed miserably. Her stomach hurt, her legs and feet throbbed, and if she wasn’t mistaken, a fever was setting in—and she was stuck talking with the one woman who tormented her as much as her gout.
“Katherine was busy serving her guests, and I offered. There’s no reason to take offense.” The frown faded, and Mrs. Roberts took a step forward. “Why, you look terrible.”
Frances stiffened. “That is rude. You do not look perfect either.” Sweat trickled down her brow.
“Oh my. That’s not what I meant at all.” Wilma approached the bed. “You poor dear. Are you sick? You appear to be in distress.”
“I am fine. I need to go back to sleep, and I will as soon as you leave.”
Wilma peered over her spectacles at Frances. “Are you sure you’re all right? Would you care for some breakfast?”
“No.” The word came out fast and sharp. The thought of food made her stomach misbehave. “Not now, thank you.” She hoped the softer answer would satisfy the woman, so she’d be on her way.
Instead Mrs. Roberts touched Frances’s forehead. “I believe you have a fever.” She reared back on her heels. “I’m getting your daughter.”
“Please do not. As you said, she is busy and I am fine. Simply overtired.” She settled lower on the mattress, turned her head, and deliberately closed her eyes. “I am going to sleep now. Good-bye.” Frances listened. She didn’t hear Mrs. Roberts so much as stir. After several long minutes, she opened her eyes and turned to face Mrs. Roberts again. “Why are you still here? Go back to your own breakfast and leave me to rest.”
“I’ve already eaten.” The woman headed for the door. “I’ll be back. You stay put.”
Frances groaned. “No! Do not come back, I tell you!” But the door quietly closed behind her obnoxious visitor.
All Frances wanted was to bury her head under the covers and sleep, but with her body on fire, kicking the covers off might be a better idea.
Slapping her hand against the blankets, she shoved them down to her ankles. “‘Stay put.’ Like I could get out of this bed and go anywhere even if I wanted to.” She grumbled the words out loud, not caring if anyone heard. Why would Wilma Roberts bother? Did she plan to torment Frances with her insufferable presence, or did she have some other torture in mind? Whatever it was, Frances did not care to find out. When Mrs. Roberts returned, Frances would order her out of her room—if she had the energy.
She hitched her nightdress up to her knees, reveling in the cool air caressing her skin. She would get out of this bed, if only the swelling and throbbing would go down, and her stomach would settle a bit. All her life she had detested people who used physical infirmity as a ploy for attention, and she made no bones about voicing her opinion to those who had done so. Now she wondered if she’d been fair to those who might have truly been in distress.
Maybe spending time discovering the root of the trouble before labeling them lazy would have been more sympathetic. Well, it was too late for that now.
She’d half expected Wilma Roberts to chastise her for not being up earlier to help Katherine in the kitchen, but she had seemed genuinely concerned.
“Here I am, Mrs. Coope
r!” The light voice in the hallway gave Frances only a second’s warning to pull the cover back up to her waist. Mrs. Roberts shoved the door open farther with her shoulder and entered, bearing a tray in her hands. “Coffee, cold water, a damp rag, and some dry toast with a bit of honey on the side. And Katherine will be along with a lightweight cotton sheet to replace that woolen blanket.”
Frances gaped at the beaming woman.
“I’ll put this on your bureau for a moment while we get you all set.” Mrs. Roberts puttered to the side of the room and set down the tray. “Here comes your daughter. We’ll get you cooled off in no time.”
Katherine walked in holding a clean, folded sheet and wearing a concerned expression. “Mama? Mrs. Roberts says you’re ill. What’s wrong?”
Frances swallowed her hot retort. Wilma Roberts had a lot of nerve, giving orders and marching in like she owned the place. She ought to give her a piece of her mind and run her right on out of here. But her gaze traveled to the tray of hot coffee and cool water on the bureau, then over to Katherine holding that inviting, lightweight sheet. Maybe she could tolerate Mrs. Roberts’s presence for a couple more minutes.
“I am only a little tired. That is all. But I can get up if you need me. I was going to spend some time with Amanda today, but it seems I overslept.” She bit her lip, troubled that she wasn’t telling the complete truth, but hating the idea of that woman knowing her private business, even if she was being considerate this morning. Frances still wasn’t sure she could trust Wilma Roberts’s motives, and she would not set herself up to get criticized should she be proven right in her suspicions.
Katherine clucked her tongue. “I’m sorry, I should have checked on you when you didn’t come to the dining room.”
“No need for that.” Frances tugged at the blanket, wincing as it bumped her foot.
Katherine leaned over her and lowered her voice. “Is the gout acting up again, Mama?”
Blowing on Dandelions: A Novel (Love Blossoms in Oregon Series) Page 19
