That Certain Spark

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “If you go ahead and progress lifting in this order and don’t skip anything, you’ll ease your shoulder so that by the time you’re able to lift the bale of hay, you’ll be able to continue to do all of your weight and not have a problem. It will also ease the muscle into the work so you won’t be sore. The only things you’ll not be doing after two weeks are the exceptionally heavy jobs—but you can push a bale of hay instead of lifting it.”

  He nodded curtly. “There you are, then. I’ll help you back to your buggy.”

  “There’s no need.” She walked out of his home. Karl was waiting out there for her; she couldn’t shake him. The man was like a bad cold. He still wouldn’t let her take the buggy and go on any of her calls, though Taylor didn’t know why. She knew her way around town and around most of the outlying country, as well. Blindfolded, she could probably direct the buggy to most of the houses close in, but he stubbornly insisted on driving and would sit out in the frigid wind or even the rain while she paid a visit.

  Karl helped her back into the buggy, and his dog hopped up onboard. Not only had she come to accept the fact that Skyler would ride on top, but she actually enjoyed it. Ever since the barn raising when Skyler kept all of the children busy and safe, he’d truly proved his value. Not only that, but now that she wanted Karl to do more walking, Skyler trotted alongside him. Those walks were helping strengthen Karl’s leg.

  With the way Karl’s leg and Mr. Toomel’s shoulder each were mending, people in the community could see she was competent. Women came to her quite frequently. Many of the men in town, however, were slow to come around. She knew they still went to Enoch to ask for medical advice, and he turned them away. He never said a word about it, though. He’d protect her feelings, but he was loyal to the bone.

  The list of names now hovered at thirty. Almost a third of what she needed, but those were the easy patients. The rest were individuals who would be very hard won.

  As the buggy started to roll, Karl grated, “I don’t like you going into the houses where there are men like that.”

  “It’s a professional call.”

  He looked at her. “They’re still men and you’re still a woman.”

  “I’m a woman with several sharp instruments at hand. I could carve a man up and lay him out like a frog on a dissection table.”

  “You wouldn’t have the opportunity. Men are far stronger than women.”

  “I know men are stronger, Karl, but that isn’t the issue. Men respect women. I’ve noticed that here.”

  He looked at her. “Not all men are respectful of what you do. You must know this.”

  It was easy for her to talk about it with her own brother, but with Karl, for some reason, she’d never said anything. “I’m aware of it,” she finally admitted.

  He looked away, then stared at the harness as they went on. “The men, they feel it is right for a man to be the physician. It is a man’s job, not a woman’s.”

  “And you, Karl, what do you think?”

  “For me, I do not know.”

  His answer struck her, surprised her . . . but it also hurt. After all, she’d saved his life. Wasn’t that enough? She, too, sat and stared forward.

  “There was a time when I agreed with those men. You’ve changed my mind enough now that I am uncertain. For me to have changed my thinking at all reflects the favor I’ve shown you. But it is wrong for a woman to be with a man who is not her husband when he is unclothed. That is my objection. For you to be out like this in dangerous situations, that is not right, either. Then, too, for you to have a job; women do not work.”

  She tamped down a moan. “I’ve heard all of this before, Karl. Surely you realize that. Let me tell you what I think.”

  “Is there anything about which you do not tell everybody what you think?”

  “Why is it that a man can tell everybody what he thinks, and we’re supposed to hold his opinion to be right, good, and of great importance; but a woman is expected to strictly listen and agree and have no opinion at all?”

  “Women are supposed to be directed by their fathers and their husbands.”

  “Don’t you want to have a wife or a daughter who is smart enough that she can make good decisions?”

  “Ja, but—”

  “Then wouldn’t she be smart enough to have a good opinion on things?”

  “Yes, I would suppose so, but—”

  “And if she were intelligent, wouldn’t she read so she would be interesting to converse with? And if she was well-read, then wouldn’t she also have enough in her mind, enough knowledge to increase the ability to form reasonable opinions and make wise decisions?”

  “This could be the case.”

  “I’m not trying to be unkind, Karl, but you have to understand: We’re not living in the Dark Ages—we’re in a modern world. Girls read now. They have the same education boys do. As a matter of fact, many of the girls around here have had far more schooling than the boys have because the boys have been held out during harvest time while the girls have continued on at school. And then the boys have quit school after sixth grade or earlier than the girls because they’re needed to do the heavy farm work while the girls have completed a high school education.”

  He thought for a moment. “True.”

  “So if anything, many of the women here are better educated and well-read. It’s the case for the Whites, the Richardsons, the Bunces, and the Smiths—and those are families I can rattle off just because they’re right along the road here.” She sighed. “The only reason Lloyd Smith is in school instead of minding the fields is because Enoch pays him enough to satisfy his greedy father.”

  “Nevertheless, for me to agree does not give credence to your point. The things about which decisions need to be made—they have to do with the farm. For those decisions, the man’s experience and knowledge count most, and so it is he who should be making those decisions.”

  “I grant that might well be the case.”

  He nodded proudly. “So I am right.”

  “Partially. But not all decisions are about the farm. Just the other day, Daniel and Millie were planning the window displays for the mercantile. He wanted to wait until summer to put a display of the yardage goods in the window, but Millie knew the sun would bleach the fabrics then so now is the best time. Daniel had to agree. So sometimes it’s the woman who has the knowledge that makes a decision right.” There. Point made. Her logic was undeniable, and she flashed him a smile. Surely he’d concede she’d won this debate.

  “That’s a minor thing, not an important matter.”

  Taylor let out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m sure you’re not trying to goad me, Karl. In a way, I wish you were. I enjoy a debate just for the fun of it, but in this situation I can see you honestly hold the misguided notion that men are always in the superior position to make every decision. Sometimes they are, sometimes they aren’t, and sometimes, decisions need to be made by consensus.”

  “Talk.” The word rumbled out of him like it was something vile. “Too much time is wasted with all that talk. It is the way of the world that someone must lead. History proves it is the man.”

  “Might does not make right. Knowledge and skill count, too. Often, they’re more important.”

  He shot her a sideways glance. “Men have skills and knowledge—like farming. You’re talking in circles. If you can’t come up with something concrete, then it’s a theory—”

  “We’re talking about getting a church organ. You know how expensive organs are, and who’s going to play that organ? A woman. So who should choose the organ?”

  “The pastor, of course. Parson Bradle should pick the organ because he is the leader of our flock.”

  “You would have Parson Bradle choose the organ, though he’s never played one; yet here we have Mrs. Smith, who has experience and has offered to play for the congregation, and you dismiss her as the wise and logical choice?”

  “That does seem illogical. I suppose I see your point.” The buggy
crossed a rut and jostled significantly, yet before she could relish her victory, he added, “But that is not a decision within a marriage.”

  “Karl, I think I want to wring your neck right now.”

  He laughed. “You’re a doctor. You don’t wound people; you heal them.”

  “I just might make an exception in your case.”

  After a silent interlude, his hand swept up and down to encompass her. “You’ve done much thinking about family. Why have you not married, a fine woman like you?”

  “Honestly, Karl—”

  “Honestly, of course. Why are you not married? You are comely and healthy. Your mind is sound, even if you’re of stubborn temperament. And if ever a woman was unafraid of hard work, surely it is you. Ja, you should be married.”

  Leaning away, Taylor stared at him. From his sooty boots that stuck out from beneath the lap robe to his windblown hair, she took stock. “Why haven’t you married? You’re handsome and remarkably strong. Intelligence, obstinacy, and diligence to duty are among your most prominent traits. Yes, you, Karl Van der Vort, should be married.” His smile grew with every compliment she paid him. “But if you speak to other women the way you just spoke to me, it’s a marvel I’m not constantly treating you for bruised shins.”

  “Ladies like compliments.”

  “Thus being treated like a broodmare is hardly flattering.”

  “Broodmare!”

  “You decided I was healthy and intelligent, and you assessed my temperament and willingness to work.” Taylor laughed at his flummoxed expression. “The only thing you left out was the condition of my teeth.”

  “They are nice and straight and very white.” A sheepish smile crossed his face. “And what do you expect of a liveryman? And a blacksmith who acts as a ferrier?”

  Laughter spilled out of her. “You’re hopeless.”

  “Nee. You do not understand. People—they are like horses. Piet is like the Trakenhner—solid and huge and reliable. Enoch and Mercy are like second years that have been let out to the field by themselves for the first time. They have all the freedom and do not know what to enjoy first.”

  “That’s true.”

  His voice changed, slowed. “You are like a Thoroughbred—intelligent and responsive. You come from important lineage. Thoroughbreds’ manes are luxurious and their coats carry the finest gloss.” He seemed to lift his hand toward her head, but then it turned out to be a mere gesture.

  Disappointment speared through her, and she realized she’d wanted him to stroke her hair.

  “Your hair—it carries such sheen and it’s so thick. Your bearing challenges a fool to break your spirit.”

  And a wise man? She didn’t ask. Instead, she shifted the focus away from herself. “So, as long as you’re comparing me to a horse, what kind of horse would you be, then?”

  He chuckled. “Shire. Ja. Definitely a shire.”

  Thinking of the huge gray Belgian draft horse he had at the livery made her smile. “You’re not Belgian; you’re Dutch.”

  He shrugged. “But I am big and plodding.”

  “They’re gentle giants and there’s much to be said for that kind of stamina and endurance. I appreciate how you drop everything to take me on calls.” Every time she went out on calls like this, she’d see sparks in the smithy at sunset. In fact, after sunset, as well. “When other people finish for the day and close their shops, you’re still working because you’ve helped me out.”

  “I don’t mind. As long as you don’t kick my shins for telling you about your mane.”

  “Shall we shake on it?”

  “No. Keep tucked in. It’s far too cold. Snow’s on the way again. Oklahoma shares it too frequently with us.”

  When they neared town, Taylor hastily reached up to secure any loose tendrils. Around Karl, she didn’t feel the need to be concerned about her image the way she was with other men. Grandmother called it “maintaining presence,” and many was the time when attention to the details of spotless gloves, a well-tamed coif, a queenly posture, and a serene expression had carried her though situations men intentionally created to embarrass her. Karl might not endorse her being a physician, but she had to give him credit for the fact that he’d never once done anything to ridicule or humiliate her. As her chaperon of sorts, he was in an ideal position to do such things, but he hadn’t. She’d come to trust him.

  “Here you are.”

  “You didn’t have to drive me here. I could have walked.”

  “It is no trouble.” He jumped down and curled his hands about her waist. Instead of lifting her straight down, he took a few steps and set her on the boardwalk. “There’s no use in you getting muddy. Let me get your bag.”

  “Thank you.” She fumbled with her key.

  “Let me get that.” He took the keys, unlocked her front door, and pushed it wide. Once she’d entered, he stepped inside.

  “I—” She turned around and almost ran smack into him. “Thank you.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  Easier said than done . . . far, far easier said than done. At a time when her twin was busy meeting new clients, setting up his own practice, and besotted with Mercy, she’d essentially lost his companionship. Instead of being alone, though, she’d turned to find Karl Van der Vort at her side. Over the past days he’d become a friend. A good friend. In a way, it made sense. She’d always felt more comfortable with her brother and his pals than the giddy I-think-he’s-looking-at-me! girls. Gooding was such a small town, Karl always knew why they were paying the house call as well as who the patient was. Taylor implicitly trusted he wouldn’t break the confidence of any of her patients. In many ways, he shared the burdens, concerns, and joys of her practice far more than Enoch ever had in Chicago. The realization stunned her.

  “I’ll set your bag down. There. Now go have some tea and warm up.”

  She smiled. “You’ll be warm by your forge in a few minutes. Good-bye.”

  Walking down the steps to the buggy, he called back, “See you soon.”

  I’m counting on it.

  “A month. That’s all it’s going to take. Mercy’s going to be standing beside me at the altar a month after I met her—which means I have two weeks and two long days to go.”

  “Impossible.” Taylor stabbed a clothespin onto the sheet while Enoch held the other end out of the dust.

  The wait does seem impossible, but I’m not going to agree with her. This wasn’t a time for banter. Upon meeting Mercy, he’d declared she’d be his wife and gone about courting his lady. Surely his twin comprehended his serious intent once she’d seen him in action. Only now, from her succinct answer, he realized she hadn’t gotten over her initial skeptical reaction.

  “Nothing is impossible with God. God gave me this love for her. I have faith He’ll give her the same love for me.”

  “Even if—and that’s a big if—Mercy shares your feelings of affection,” Taylor said, cramming on a few more clothespins, “a month is hardly a proper courtship.”

  Enoch hooted. “Since when was propriety important to us?”

  “It’s not just you, Enoch. Mercy’s a mother. She has to consider her child.”

  “Of course we’ll consider Heidi. I already decided we’d have her carry a basket of something—I’ll have flowers railed in.” He felt inordinately proud of himself for having thought of that way of including her in the ceremony.

  Pushing several damp strands of hair off her cheeks, Taylor gave him an impatient look. “I wasn’t referring to the ceremony. Remember the Melverts?”

  “Aw, Taylor, that’s not even a logical comparison. Mercy, Heidi, and I will be happy together. That old man married Casey and Jan’s mother and put them through purgatory.”

  “Or so they thought. That household was in an uproar for years. I’m still not convinced it was his fault.”

  “You never liked darling little Jan and her frilly parasols.”

  “Avoiding her became a pact among the girls. Spoiled little J
an stabbed us all with the tip of her parasol whenever no one was looking. I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if she bedeviled that poor man. Her mother shamelessly indulged her.”

  Grabbing a fistful of wet dishcloths, he thrust them to the side. “Mercy does not indulge Heidi.”

  “She dotes on her, and rightfully so—” Taylor held up a hand. “But if you do get married, Mercy will suddenly have to divide her time and attention. Heidi isn’t accustomed to having to share her.”

  “When we get married,” he said, locking eyes with his twin, “Heidi will be gaining a daddy’s affection.”

  “Don’t rush things.” Taylor shoved the dishcloths back one at a time. “I never thought I’d say this, but Grandmother was right. ‘The achievement isn’t worthwhile if it requires no endeavor.’ ” The achievement isn’t worthwhile if “Bunk. God’s grace is free.”

  She shook her head. “No. It was bought at the dearest of costs. Christ achieved it—we received it.”

  “True. It was His gift. The only thing more wretched than our taking that gift is refusing it, because we need it so desperately. The love God’s given me for Mercy is the same type of gift. I’m not about to turn my back and walk away. I’m running full tilt toward it.”

  “The only thing you need to run toward is the telegraph office to send off that advertisement for a housekeeper.”

  “I’ve been thinking . . .”

  She pointed a clothespin at him. “That’s what landed us here.”

  He grinned. “It sure is.”

  “Lean over here.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to check to see how bad the damage is.” Before he could ask, she started prodding and poking at his head with her fingertips. “A horse had to have kicked you somewhere here. I’m sure of it. That’s the only possible explanation.”

  “Sis?” He waited until her brows raised in silent query. “Which one of your patients kicked you?”