Lilacs for Juliana (The Christy Lumber Camp Series Book 3)

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  Juliana raised her head and looked up at him, as if she’d heard the soul whisper, too.

  He pressed her head back to his shoulder. “I guess we’re gonna have to go to that Lumberjacks’ Ball together now.”

  Chapter 5

  A knock on the door roused Juliana from her fitful nap. She pulled the white counterpane coverlet up around her neck. Gazing around the room, she remembered that she was in a bedchamber at Cordelia Jeffries’ inn.

  Across the room, seated in the poufed boudoir chair in the corner, her sister’s eyes fluttered open. Claudette blinked several times, as though she, too, was trying to orient herself. “Who is it?”

  “Physician.”

  “Come in!”

  With efficient movements, a tall, chestnut-haired stranger entered, a dark browned leather satchel clutched in one large hand.

  “I’m Dr. Ellison Adams-Payne.” The man’s clipped British accent surprised Juliana.

  “Oh?” Her burned hands still ached terribly, despite the laudanum.

  The physician pushed his spectacles up his straight nose and smiled, a small cleft marking a firm chin set in a square jaw.

  Claudette attempted to rise, her stiff movements unproductive. “Thank you for coming, doctor.”

  Straight dark eyebrows rose over deep brown eyes as Dr. Adams-Payne gazed at Juliana’s sister. “Did you spend the night in that chair, madam?” He took Claudette’s hand in his and assisted her up.

  “No, I did not.” She patted at her skirts, which were a wrinkled mess.

  He frowned and raised her hand toward the gaslight on the wall and tilted his head first one way and then another.

  “And it is Miss, not Madam, doctor.” Blushing, Claudette tugged her hand free. “You’re here to examine my sister’s hands, not mine.”

  A smile tugged at the handsome man’s lips and he moved toward the bed. “Mr. Christy asked me to look in on you, Miss Beauchamps.”

  “How is he this morning?”

  “Fine.” His generous mouth became a firm line. “I am ‘told’ by him that he is perfectly fine to return to his camp, regardless of my professional opinion.”

  Juliana laughed. “That sounds like him.” She settled her head further back on the down-stuffed pillow and relaxed.

  What a strange sensation it had been to be waited on in bed at Cordelia’s inn the past day. And knowing Richard was only a few doors down the hall. A blessing and torment at the same time.

  Dr. Adams-Payne removed her gauze wrappings and examined her hands. “I studied in London, under some rather famous physicians.”

  His features were placid and there was no braggadocio in his measured words.

  “Yes? And?”

  “Beside learning which compounds healed burns…” He opened his satchel, removed a jar and opened it. “…I researched conditions causing inflammation in the body—such as in the finger joints.”

  Claudette narrowed her eyes at the doctor, but he wasn’t looking at her. What was bothering her sister?

  When the physician gently applied the salve, Juliana pressed her eyes shut, the stinging sensation painful.

  “Take a deep breath, my dear Miss Beauchamps, while I reapply your bandages.” Thankfully, his British accent distracted her. “And the other Miss Beauchamps, might you move out of the gaslight, please, and come closer? I wish to address you.”

  Juliana heard Claudette’s gasp.

  “Address me? I’ve not asked to speak with you. And while I appreciate your help for my sister, you have no medical business with me.” Where had her compliant and complacent Claudette fled? The woman in the room with her possessed a tart, rather than sweet, tongue.

  “Don’t I, though?” The physician secured Juliana’s bandage and swiveled to face Claudette. “I’ve been paid to give a consultation as to your condition.”

  “What?” Claudette’s pretty mouth formed an outraged “O” as she glared at the handsome young doctor.

  “Indeed, my dear young woman.”

  “I am not…”

  The doctor held up a hand to stop her. “And from the history I’ve been given, and from what I see today, I’d like to make some recommendations.”

  Claudette crossed her arms. Behind her the door opened and Richard entered, dressed in a black and red checked flannel shirt and work pants, his suspenders hanging down from his shoulders. He hastily tugged them up.

  “I heard ya fussin’, Claudette—what’s got yer dander raised?”

  He called her sister by her given name? And yet he’d continued to refer to Juliana as Miss Beauchamps? She glanced between the two, her discomfort building in her spirit rather than in her burned hands.

  “This…this…stranger,” her younger sister pointed to Dr. Adams-Payne, “thinks he can waltz in here and instead of focusing his attentions on Juliana, he wants to diagnose and treat me.” She tapped one booted foot.

  “Well, I reckon that’s ‘cause I asked him to. Me and yer Ma agreed.” Richard took Claudette’s elbow and led her back to the chair. “Now listen up to what this here fella tells ya, because he’s been trained under special doctors over in England. Docs who know all about what makes people get all stiff and sore like you and yer ma get.”

  Clearing his throat, the Englishman moved toward Claudette while Richard slipped back out the door. “May I suggest a few things, miss?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Have you tried willow bark tea?”

  “Yes, but we don’t have it regularly.”

  “Have some daily.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Dr. Adams-Payne scowled at her pretty sister. “How about cod liver oil?”

  Claudette made a face. “No, I detest it.”

  He took her hand and pressed. She winced. “If you want this to improve, I’d recommend you try at least a tablespoon morning and night. Might that be agreeable?”

  She nodded.

  “And get out in the fresh air—sunshine may help, though we aren’t sure how.”

  “That’s what you consider medical advice? I’m outside with the orphans who visit my home each weekend.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, that’s my advice, and get outside daily, and walking would be good for you, too, to strengthen you and improve your constitution.”

  Her constitution? She’d never seen her sister act so perturbed before—except maybe when Aleksanteri had run off and left Juliana.

  “All right. I’ll try all that for one month.” Claudette’s voice, however, made no promises. “And one month only.”

  Richard ducked his dark head back in the door. “Hey, Doc, I’m not one to be remindin’ people, but did ya bring that pain medication—that special powder—so Miss Beauchamps can rest easier without being so…” He made a whirling motion with his hand. “We’ve had some bad experiences at the camp with laudanum.”

  “I apologize for my delay. I fear I have a strong scholarly interest in inflammatory conditions, which has distracted me.” Red crept up the physician’s cheeks.

  Whether the doctor genuinely was fascinated by Claudette’s illness or whether he’d been more interested in her beautiful face and figure, Juliana couldn’t say. But she did know she needed something for the pain. “Claudette, could you get me some water, please?”

  Dr. Adams-Payne fumbled with the latch on his case. “Let me retrieve the powder I compounded for Miss Beauchamps.”

  “Reckon that’s why I called ya in here, doc.” Richard glanced between her sister and the doctor, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

  Was he jealous of the interest the physician showed her sister?

  Richard slipped into the back row of the county building’s main auditorium for the Library Trustees’ meeting. He’d not been quite honest with the doc—he’d had no intention of riding out to the camp—he’d planned to attend this “special” meeting that old Hatchens had cooked up for that night. Mrs. Jeffries had informed him earlier, “That carbuncle on humanity is up to something and has called a
meeting of the board.”

  The large space was almost empty, save for the dozen or so men who sat at a rectangular table at the dais on the stage. Hatchens stood in the center, shuffling through a folder. He pulled his pocket watch out and then reached for a gavel. He brought it down with a “bang” causing the man in front of Richard to jerk awake in his chair. James Yost. What was he doing there? And why was the man pushing himself so hard when obviously he should be in his room sleeping? On the other hand, why wasn’t he, himself, resting back at the inn? Were they both there for the petite librarian? Richard clenched his fists as he eyed the finely dressed beer baron. Why was the wealthy man always tailing after Juliana at the library, asking questions about someone named Dewey?

  Up front, Hatchens pointed to one of the other members. “You have Miss Beauchamps contract with you, don’t you, Cyrus?”

  The man nodded.

  “Fine. Let me commence.”

  Charles Labron, the store proprietor, took a seat nearby and lifted his hand in greeting.

  “First, I’m sure all are aware that our librarian, Miss Juliana Beauchamps, was injured in the terrible fire that nearly destroyed our main thoroughfare yesterday.”

  Labron mumbled, “Our?” in disgust. With Hatchens a relative newcomer, apparently the store proprietor wasn’t happy with his comment.

  “And Miss Beauchamps has been injured with burns to her hands.”

  The member named Cyrus nodded. “She’ll be unable to work for a short while.”

  Hatchens pushed aside his charcoal jacket and placed a fisted hand on his narrow hip. “And per her contract, we are not required to reimburse her, is that not correct, for any days absent due to sickness or injury or what have you.” He rolled his eyes. What was Hatchens imagining that Juliana might be doing while she was out of work?

  Cyrus scanned the papers before him. “That is correct.”

  Charles Labron abruptly stood and waved a hand. “I object. She has a lot on her shoulders. We should pay her while she’s out.”

  “You’re just wanting to ensure your bill gets paid, Mr. Labron.” Hatchens snorted. “We’ll hold a vote in a bit and see if your sentiment prevails or if reason does.”

  Labron slumped into his chair as Yost swiveled around. He briefly eyed Richard before lifting his chin at the store owner.

  On the dais, two trustees at the far end of the table leaned in and began to converse. When Hatchens glared at them, they ceased.

  “Further business—we need to seek out a temporary replacement.”

  All the men around the table nodded.

  “We are expecting our interns, soon.” Cyrus tapped a blue file folder. “All young men with impeccable credentials.”

  Sitting down, Hatchens’ voice lowered and Richard strained to hear him. “Why the board chose to hire a woman as librarian is well beyond my ken.”

  Ahead of him, Yost’s mouth tipped upward.

  What in the world? Why was the beer baron happy about Hatchens’ favoritism of male librarians?

  “But the board made their decision before my arrival.”

  Labron stifled a snicker. “In the good old days.”

  As if he’d heard Labron’s low remark, Hatchens stared in his direction. “And in Miss Beauchamps’ case, I shall endeavor to ensure she does her job and does it well when she returns. That is, if she comes back at all.”

  And why wouldn’t she?

  How wonderful to be back in her own home, despite the many comforts of the inn. Juliana, Claudette, and Mother sat on a long bench out front of their home as the visiting orphans, Timmy, Stephen, and Marcus recited Edgar Allan Poe’s spine-chilling poem, The Raven. She shivered. A man had died because of his pursuit of evil. Mr. Peevey could have embraced his freedom, but he’d sought to finish his murderous quest with Rebecca. A lone tear coursed down her cheek and she wiped it away. She paid rapt attention as they concluded their recitation. Then the women all clapped and the orphan trio bowed. How precious that the orphans came out to visit at her home during her recovery. They had read, sung, and gave little performances to distract her from her pain. But she had to get back to work—she needed to get paid.

  Horses neighed as a dray pulled up the long sandy drive to the house. A wagon, stacked high with goods, came to a stop. Pierre, who shared the same name as her father and third eldest brother, was her old classmate and drove for their mutual friends, Janet and Charles Labron.

  “Welcome, Pierre.” Mother grinned up at him.

  “Got a delivery for you, Mrs. Beauchamps.”

  She frowned. “But I didn’t order anything.”

  Claudette rounded the dray, examining the contents, which appeared to be groceries.

  Timmy climbed up the back, followed by Marcus and Stephen. “Look at all this food!”

  “Boys!” Juliana followed after them, sighing. “This is a mistake.”

  Pierre laughed. “No mistake, Juliana.”

  How would she pay for it? Was Janet giving her a loan? Even so, how could she repay it?

  Mother’s eyes widened. “This is all for us?”

  “Yes, it is.” He hoisted a huge box from the back. “Where should I put everything?”

  Claudette pointed to a spot on the stoop. “Did Mr. Christy send it?”

  Juliana cringed. Why would her sister expect Richard to send anything? Yes, he’d kindly helped with the work around the place, and had brought fish he’d caught, which Claudette had fried up, but was there something blossoming between the lumberjack and her sister?

  “No, miss, it’s from Mr. Yost.”

  Yost? Oh no.

  “He heard of that fusspot Hatchens’ finagling to disallow Miss Juliana any pay while she was out.” The drivers’ jaw muscles twitched. “Don’t see why some newcomer should be telling our Library Board what to do and not to do. And calling a special meeting the very next night after you were injured—well that’s the lowest snake-belly thing yet, eh?”

  Heat singed Juliana’s cheeks.

  “We agree.” Her mother accepted a box of tinned goods and brought them to the cupboard.

  “Sorry I couldn’t get out before now, but it’s a big order and we wanted to deliver it all together.” Pierre uncrated a massive ham. “Yost ordered right after that meeting—before he left town.”

  Mother whirled around, a carton filled with precious tea, coffee, and sugar clutched in her hands. “Oh no, we won’t be able to thank the kind man, then.”

  No more little messages would be left on her counter from Mr. Yost, asking if she might discuss filing systems with him. And of course, she’d had to oblige because part of her job as head librarian was assisting with research. But really, did a man have to make cow eyes at her when discussing the merits of various philosophies of library systems? Juliana wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or sad that he had departed, but decided on the former.

  By the next morning, when rich aromas of coffee and cinnamon baguettes permeated the morning air, Juliana was sorry she couldn’t thank James Yost for his generosity. With mother’s snores penetrating the wall between their bedchambers, it had to be Claudette who had risen to prepare the food. When she saw the physician, she would praise Dr. Adams-Payne, for his methods might be working. Mother wasn’t usually up to such early rising, nor had poor Claudette been, until she’d begun Adams-Payne’s regimen.

  Juliana threw off the two pastel quilts that covered her single bed, tossed her braid over her shoulder, and pulled on her wrap. Then she padded out to the kitchen in her bare feet.

  “Good morning, sister.” Grinning, Claudette lifted the coffee pot from the stove and poured it into the steaming saucepan of milk adjacent. “You’ll need to add sugar but I’ve thrown in a little cinnamon, too. And it’s the premium Ceylon cinnamon—not the cheap stuff.”

  “Merci.” Juliana bobbed a little curtsey as a giggle bubbled up. Beside the fire, a nice stack of wood had been brought in. She pointed to it. “Your doing?”

  “Yes.” Claudet
te waved a wooden spoon like a wand. “Unless you think some wood sprite ran it up to the house for me.”

  After giving her younger sister a squeeze of appreciation, Juliana took her mug of café au lait, added two spoonsful of sugar, and brought it to the long table that used to sit their entire family of twelve. In the center lay a masterpiece of pastry, brown sugar and cinnamon. “This doesn’t look like the usual breakfasts that I leave for you and Mother.”

  “Today, I feel so good I wanted to make something special for you and Mother.” Claudette giggled. “And that rich Mr. Yost has made our feast possible.”

  Perhaps following the doctor’s order was making the early rising and cooking possible, but Juliana dare not bring up Dr. Adams-Payne’s name.

  “I’m glad you feel better.” Juliana laughed. “I’m going to enjoy the fruits of your energy.”

  “Please do—that’s the point.” Claudette pointed to a chair and Juliana sat down.

  Her sister slid a spatula beneath a nice thick piece of the pastry and transferred it to Juliana’s ironstone plate.

  “Looks delicious.” She pierced a chunk with her fork and brought it to her lips. Flaky perfection, cinnamon and caramelized sugar mingled and brought a sigh of appreciation from her. “Jo Christy has nothing on you, Claudette.”

  “That’s what I am hoping, Sister.” Claudette joined her at the table and cocked a blonde eyebrow.

  “Oh?” Juliana lifted her coffee to her mouth, not wanting her sibling to see her concern.

  “I’ve been feeling well enough to be active at least several hours in the morning as well as in the afternoon.”

  Juliana held the delicious beverage in her mouth not wanting to choke on it at her sister’s words. While she was grateful for the progress, one had to be active far longer than only a few hours to be employable. She swallowed the hot liquid and watched as, instead of picking at her food, Claudette shoveled a large portion into her mouth. Who was this girl? And where was her sickly sister? Was she like Elizabeth Barrett Browning, whose sickliness was remedied by love? Or was it the physician’s prescription?