Mrs. Whitsley patted her arm. “The ladies will be insulted if you don’t taste what they brought.”
Enoch immediately charmed the dear Old Mrs. Whitsley right out of her shoes, insisting upon carrying a plate for her and teasing her about the tiny servings she took. “Now, where would you and your bitty bites and dibby dabs like to go?”
Mrs. Whitsley brushed aside his sweet talk. “I’m going to sit right there in the parlor by the window. Doctor, you come sit by me. Your brother can wander off, but I aim to have a word with you.”
Taylor sat beside the old woman, put her own plate aside, and took the shawl from the arm of the settee. Wanting fresh air shouldn’t mean chilling old bones into arthritic pain. Wrapping the length of soft wool about the old woman’s frail shoulders, Taylor praised, “You have a lovely home.”
After a few moments of polite chatter, the hostess tapped Taylor’s wrist. “Velma’s been treating all of us for so long, she was wary about you coming. I don’t know what’s transpired, but you’ve certainly won her over.”
“On occasion it will be helpful to have a pair of capable hands.” Determining just how capable Velma was when it came to actual medical practice was a whole different matter. Nevertheless, a willing person could be taught . . . unless they thought they already knew everything. Then those so-called practitioners became the bane of every physician’s existence.
Others joined them in the parlor. Like a child who couldn’t wait until after his meal for dessert, Clicky took a huge bite of pecan pie. “It’s going to be confusing for us to have two Dr. Bestmans.”
“Initials—” Taylor started.
“—would be stuffy,” Enoch cut in, settling the argument they’d had on the train. His eyes glinted. I win. “My sister is Dr. Bestman. I’m Doc Enoch.”
Two can play at that game. “Just as we’ll refer to his veterinary barn as the clinic and the place for humans as the surgery.” Since she’d run a clinic and also had a surgery in Chicago, Enoch wanted her to have nothing less here. He’d simply wanted his veterinary place referred to as a barn.
“We’ll raise the clinic this Saturday,” the mayor said.
“The almanac calls for rain on Saturday,” a farmer said. “How ’bout Monday? It should be clear by then. Parson Bradle could remind folks about it at the Sunday meeting, too,” a farmer suggested.
“Monday it is, then,” the mayor agreed.
“Stop right there, you varmints!” Velma’s booming voice caught everyone’s attention.
“Hooo-eeey! Set this aside and give me my cane!” Old Mrs. Whitsley shoved her plate at Taylor and twisted around with the agility of a woman one-third her age.
A knot of men halted on the porch steps. As the parlor jutted out perpendicular to the house, the porch wasn’t but a couple of feet away from them. Swiftly placing her plate on the adjacent table and turning, as well, Taylor looked out the window.
“This dinner’s to welcome the doctors,” Velma said from the doorway, flapping her arms at the men as if they were nothing more than pesky children underfoot.
“This ain’t your place, you bossy old woman, and we’re not going away.”
“You’ve got a whale of a lot of nerve, turning your back on the doctors, not helpin’ move their things, then showin’ up just to eat all the vittles.”
“Stuff all got moved anyhow,” one of the men mumbled.
“And the food will all get eaten somehow, too.” Velma folded her arms across her chest and nodded as if to say, “You can’t argue with that.”
“It’s rainin’ out here, Velma.”
Mrs. Whitsley stuck her cane out the open window and poked the first man on the arm. “You’re not so sweet you’ll melt, Orville. And if you had the sense God gave a gnat, you’d know better than to show up here.”
Just then, Big Tim Creighton and Daniel Clark bracketed the man and escorted him out to the property line.
Mrs. Whitsley patted Taylor’s hand. “No matter where you go, there are good sorts and bad ’uns. Orville there tried to cheat me and a couple of other widows outta money. If ever he sets foot in your office, make sure you got your brother or one of the men you see in here now with you.”
“In my profession, discretion is essential, and I’m careful to exercise it at all times. Nonetheless, I appreciate wise counsel such as yours.”
Gnarled fingers played with the cane. “The wisdom is from the Lord. Any foolishness is all mine.” The old woman got up, then paused. “If you find a cure for old age, you let me know.”
“I’ll do that as soon as you’re old enough to need one.”
The men out on the porch had formed a huddle. “Y’all got rid of Orville. Now how ’bout lettin’ us in? We promise we’ll help build the barn for the vet.”
“Better late than never,” Mrs. Whitsley called out. “Let ’em in.”
No sooner had she vacated her seat than the mayor’s wife came and sat beside Taylor. Her eyes sparkled as she scooted a little closer—a tiny move that rarely presaged anything good. Taking the offensive, Taylor grabbed her plate and lifted a bite of pecan pie. “The food is all so tasty. Had my brother known it would be so delicious, he would have rushed me to arrive before Thanksgiving.”
“This is pecan pie—my great-memaw’s recipe.” Mrs. Cutter crammed a bite from her own slice into Taylor’s mouth.
“Mmm. Magnificent.”
Mrs. Cutter bobbed her head. “No boast or brag; it’s a fact.”
“I hope your memaw passed this recipe down to all of her granddaughters and has opened a bakery or a diner here in town.”
“Wasn’t that so sweet of you? Mercy Orion, who owns the boardinghouse, sells her baked goods through the mercantile. Could use a little more cinnamon, bless her heart, but a widow with a little girl has to cut corners where she can. As for the diner . . . it closed a year ago.”
“Oh no,” Taylor moaned. Upon seeing Mrs. Cutter’s gape, she couched the truth in such a way as to keep from utterly humiliating herself. “Since my brother and I often keep odd hours, we’ve appreciated the convenience of a diner.” It took every shred of her willpower not to cast a look over at the buffet and concoct a means by which to take supper home for that night. One last decent meal before we’re doomed.
“Yes, well, you did come from Chicago. Big cities have all of those conveniences and exciting possibilities. Gooding’s always been a plain-old ordinary God-fearing town full of salt-of-the-earth citizens—with Orville being the notable exception.” Mouth twisting in a less-than-sincere smile, Mrs. Cutter added, “Until today. Now you, Doctor Bestman, are the most notorious thing that’s ever happened to Gooding.”
Three
Edna Mae!” someone nearby gasped.
Clicky set aside his pie. “Orville’s the worst liar and cheat any of us knows. You have no call, comparing Dr. Bestman to him.”
“There’s no denying the truth.” Mrs. Cutter’s jaw and voice hardened. “Ever since the train arrived, my Gustav’s about had his ears scorched off. He’s not here now because there were still three men in his office, bellowing at him. Once the news spreads that a woman doctor bamboozled us, he says we’ll have a revolt on our hands from the locals and Gooding’s going to be the laughingstock.”
“Madam, I regret your husband is not here.” Enoch scanned the suddenly quiet room. “I personally sent the letters of recommendation and verification of our degrees. I assure you, no secret was made of my sister’s gender. If there’s any question—”
“There can’t be.” Parson Bradle’s wife shook her head. “Edna Mae, you and Gustav were down with the grippe, and I brought over soup. I read the mail aloud to both of you. Among the papers in the packet Dr. . . . Enoch sent were two letters from physicians who plainly said Dr. Taylor Bestman is a woman. I might add that they gave her glowing accolades. ‘Diagnostic acumen and extremely deft in the operating theater’ and ‘nonpareil in obstetrics’ are among the remarks that stand out in my mind.” She gave her husband
a faltering smile. “I didn’t feel it proper to reveal that interesting tidbit since I learned it reading their mail to them during a sick call.”
Parson Bradle patted her hand. “You did the right thing, Mama. But now the air’s been cleared. No trickery was intended nor deception perpetrated.”
Taylor rose. “That explains it, and we’ll reserve notoriety for shady politicians and prisoners. I’ve vowed to serve the Lord and practice my profession honorably. Holding steadfast to those vows is–”
“An assured fact. My sister is undoubtedly one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever known.”
Laughter eased much of the tension in the house.
Taylor smiled and went to stand next to Enoch. “Indeed, I’m one of the most stubborn my brother knows. Second, of course, to the image he views in the mirror each morning.”
Enoch slapped a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded by that truth!”
Mrs. Whitsley banged the floor with her cane. “Then it’s a good thing she’s a doctor.”
A minute later, Edna Mae Cutter came over and clutched Taylor’s hand. “I was wrong about you and hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Of course.”
Instead of looking happy, Edna Mae’s expression showed greater distress. Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. “Please try to forgive my husband, too, because Gustav won’t ever admit something slipped by him. He’s planning to stir up trouble, and nothing will stop him.”
Karl mopped his forehead and leaned more heavily on the workbench. With the rain’s moisture and the forge’s heat, the smithy turned into a muggy swamp all its own. Waves of heat warped the air, making everything in its path turn blurry. Even after wiping his eyes, the board with all of the local brands burned into it seemed to shimmer and undulate.
Even if I had not hurt my leg, I still would be seeing these same things. It’s nothing more than the weather and the location. Nevertheless, Karl swiped the back of his neck and jammed the handkerchief into his pocket before his brother appeared. No use in giving Piet any cause to fret. His older brother fussed more than a biddy hen on her first egg.
“Here.” Piet held open a coat for him. “Get this on. The train—it has gone already. I’ll hitch up the buggy.”
“What for?”
Hovering like an impatient mother, Piet tried to stuff him into the coat. “Though you have tried, you are not hiding the fever from me.”
“It’s nothing.” Karl jerked away.
Piet let out a frustrated growl. “It is a doctor you are needing. And soon.”
“I’m fine. I changed the bandage.”
Piet glowered at him. “The storm will worsen. In the dark of night, I cannot risk our horses because you were too foolish to leave now.”
“Skyler could drag me through the mud over to the doctor if the need was so great.”
Piet nodded. “Ja. This is true. If you were in so great a need, it would not trouble you at all that the new doctor is a woman.”
“Your mind is as warped as Widow O’Toole’s gate.” Karl practically snarled the accusation.
“You think about this I would tell jokes? No. Never once about this. They came on the train and I have seen them with my own eyes. The doctor and the other one.”
“They’re both doctors.”
“But one is a people doctor and the other is for creatures. The one who for the creatures gives care, he is a man.”
It took too much energy to argue with his brother over this. To state “he is a man” was redundant and normally would have struck Karl as ridiculous. In his current state, making a sarcastic comment seemed quite reasonable.
Piet already thinks I judge him. It’s best I not say anything. Karl turned from his brother.
“Are you listening to me? The doctor who for the people cares, that one is not a man, but a woman. With my own eyes, I saw her.”
“Then get spectacles. Once you have a pair on, you can change your mind.”
“Don’t be a fool, Karl.”
Pretending his leg didn’t burn, Karl walked toward the forge, picked up his hammer and prepared to toss it. “I win; you leave me alone.”
“Two must agree before the hammer is thrown. I’ve not agreed.”
Fingers flexing around the smooth wood of his hammer, Karl glowered at his brother. “So what is it you name so that you would agree? I want to work; all you do is squawk like a wet hen.”
“I win, and you see a doctor—I let you choose which one: the woman new here or I will help you to another town. I lose, and I will say nothing more—”
“Goed!” Karl’s hand started on the upswing.
“Unless I feel you are sicker still—”
Karl halted his action, but it wasn’t easily done. Feeling hot and impatient, he didn’t have the tolerance it took to deal with his brother’s overprotective nonsense.
Pretending he had every right to dictate the smallest detail of their lives, Piet bobbed his head as if he’d negotiated the Magna Carta. “Ja. Then will I throw the hammer.”
Thoroughly irritated, Karl sent his hammer aloft. It wheeled end over end in the air, then spun toward the soft dirt floor of their shop.
Thud. A small cloud of dust swirled, and Piet let out a smug sound. “It points to me.”
“It does not. It most certainly tilts toward me.”
Karl and his brother leaned forward, and Piet stared at the hammer, then back at him. “It’s mine. I win.”
“And I still say it veers slightly toward me. It might possibly be dead square in the middle. That’s the most you’ll get from me. I’ll throw it over again.”
Piet gave him a look of disgust and snatched the hammer from the dirt. “Same arrangements.” A flick of his wrist, and the hammer flew clear up to the rafters, where it banged. Usually when they tossed the hammer, they just flicked their wrist so the tool spun end over end and landed in a gentle, controlled action. This wild display made Piet’s frustration abundantly clear.
Thump. Again, the dirt swirled but higher and more than usual. Karl grunted, “See? I won.” Wordlessly, Piet turned and stomped away.
Starting to squat sent stabbing pain through Karl’s thigh. With Piet out of the shop, Karl straightened. “Skyler, fetch.”
The collie didn’t hesitate to come, even though the area was normally forbidden. Because of the ever-present shower of sparks, Skylar knew his place lay on the other side of the chain, where distance and a divider provided safety. Karl indicated the hammer, and Skyler picked it up and gave it to him. He scratched the spot between the dog’s ears that the pet liked so much. “Goed hond, Skyler.”
The dog went back, and Karl continued making the pieces he’d pledged for the vet’s barn. The rain outside couldn’t have come at a better time. Karl positioned himself so he stood directly in a draft. Cold air ran straight by him, stealing away some of his fever’s heat. When he stepped even a foot away from that stream of air, the forge felt like the inside of a volcano.
He always rolled up his sleeves and left the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened when he worked. Plenty of blacksmiths didn’t wear shirts at all—a very tempting thought. Instead, Karl reached in and unfastened every last button on his shirt.
“You’re hot.” Piet’s accusation came out in a flat you-can’t-argue-with-me tone.
“Ja.” Why lie? “I have a little fever, but the forge and the rain together—they make it muggy and sticky in here.” He operated the bellows, feeding the fire more oxygen so it burned hotter. “Did you stir the beans?”
“Ach!” Piet headed to the other side of the forge. Pitiful cooks, they’d learned a trick from another blacksmith. A pot of beans set by the forge all day would be ready for supper—all they had to do was remember to stir it occasionally. Many was the time they’d forgotten and endured burned beans. From the way Piet moaned, tonight would be yet another.
Karl reviewed the list of items and determined he needed to make some bars. They’d be just wide enough to hold a folded towel,
but the brief length held a specific reason: Bolted securely, the bars could be used to hitch an animal. He’d put some in at the livery and found them handy. Surely a vet would find uses for them.
Waves of heat continued to shimmer, and all of the hammering echoed his pounding headache. Odd, my hammer is heavier than usual.
The water barrel hissed and sizzled as he plunged the sixth bar in to temper and cool. I’d rather dive into the water, myself. The bar barely cooled, he then used a punch to drive the holes into the ends. The task completed, Karl rewarded himself with a trip to the water barrel. Merely letting his arms drop in clear up to his elbows felt delicious. Cupping his hands, he realized just how filthy they’d gotten. Karl didn’t care. He lowered his head and splashed water onto his face and neck.
Skyler gave his short, light friendly bark.
“Piet. Karl.” Creighton entered the smithy.
“Tim,” Piet said.
Karl nodded, then wished he hadn’t. It made him dizzy. I’m shivering, too. Though he’d been roasting ten minutes earlier, now he breathed a sigh of relief that he’d rooted around and found a pair of his father’s old balbriggans to wear because he’d been so unaccountably cold this morning.
“With it raining, I left Sydney and Velma over at Mrs. Whitsley’s. They insisted on me bringing over some food so you’d have a decent supper.” He handed a covered tray to Piet. “I saw you briefly at the welcome. Because Van der Vort Livery signed the contract to provide the Doctors Bestman with horses and a buggy as necessary, I know you’ll stand by your word. Some folks are liable to kick up a ruckus about a woman doctor, and I admit it took me by surprise, but she’s got enough schooling to cast five men into her shadow.”
“We’re men of our word.” Piet sounded funereal. “We’ll honor the contract.”
“You were to stay and meet the doctors,” Tim pressed.
Karl resented his brother being questioned. “We’ve spent the day making the pieces we promised for the barn.”
Tim viewed the array of pieces and gave a low whistle of approval.
After he left, Piet whipped the cover off the food. “He thinks everything is fine.”
That Certain Spark Page 3
