by Davis, Mary
Ian saw Mr. Baker to the door and went to the two men.
Conner said, “These gentlemen want to talk only to you.”
He removed his glasses. “How may I help you?” Something for that cough no doubt.
The older man held out his hand. “Arthur Greig.”
He shook it. The man’s Scottish brogue tickled his ears. “Ian MacGregor, proprietor. What can I do for you?”
The smaller man pointed at him. “We want to know what your intentions are toward his granddaughter.”
He looked from the smaller man to Mr. Greig and searched his memory for any young lady with the last name Greig. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with your granddaughter.”
“Ha. He’s going to deny it.”
“Finn, calm down.” Mr. Greig squared his shoulders.
That action looked familiar. But from where?
“My granddaughter is Alice Dempsey. Until a few days ago, she worked at the millinery shop next door.”
He should have guessed Mr. Greig was talking about Alice. She straightened her shoulders just like her grandfather. “Yes, I’m acquainted with Miss Dempsey. I was sorry she lost her position next door. Is she doing well? Has she acquired a new position?” Well maybe the Lord hadn’t sent Miss Dempsey through his door, but Ian was going to get as much information from her grandfather as the man would allow.
“She’s doing well but hasn’t found much work yet.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ian said and meant it. “Maybe I can help her find employment.”
“That is not why I came.” Mr. Greig narrowed his gaze. “Did you or did you not offer my granddaughter money?”
“She’s not a strumpet, you know!” Finn threw in.
Oh dear. He knew that had been the worst thing he could have said to Alice the moment it passed his lips. “Mr. Greig, please believe me, I meant no disrespect to your granddaughter. I was only trying to help. She seemed quite distressed about her fix. I wanted her to know that she had a friend to turn to if she needed help. The money offer was to help her along until she secured another position.” He likely would have given her his whole wallet at the time. He remembered a saying of his grandmother’s, A fool and his money are soon parted. He was no fool. . .or at least he wouldn’t be again.
Mr. Greig took in a deep breath and had a fit of coughs.
“That is a nasty cough you have.” He guided the man to a chair in the back. “Please sit.”
Conner brought a glass of water.
Mr. Greig drank. “So exactly what are your intentions toward my granddaughter?”
Ian looked to Conner, who gave him an encouraging nod.
“I’d like to help her—all of you—in any way I can.”
“You’d be wanting somethin’ in return for that help, I reckon.” Finn curled up his lip.
“Of course not.” He gave his attention back to Mr. Greig. “My intentions toward your granddaughter are honorable.”
Conner stepped forward. “What he’s trying to say is that—”
“What I’m trying to say is that I’ve been sweet on your granddaughter for some time.”
“And. . . ,” Conner encouraged.
“And with your permission, I’d like to court her.”
Conner slapped him on the back. “You won’t find a finer gentleman than Ian here.” The bell over the door jingled. “I’ll get that.”
Mr. Greig eyed him for a moment. “You come over tomorrow for Sunday dinner, and we’ll see about the courting.”
He smiled, hope springing up in him. “I’d be honored.” Did Alice know her grandfather was here? Had she sent him? “Where?”
Finn spoke up, “You know the bank on Third?”
He nodded.
“Meet me there, and I’ll take you over.”
Mr. Greig stood to leave and started coughing. Finn handed him his glass of water.
Ian went to one of his medicine shelves and brought back a jar of red mustard and skunk oil. “Rub this poultice into your chest. You’ll cough up whatever you have in there, but then you should feel better and be able to sleep.”
Mr. Greig waved it away. “Can’t pay.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” He slipped it into the old man’s pocket then turned to Finn. “He should go home and rest.”
“That’s like puttin’ a hurry on the city to finish these streets and make the upper sidewalks, but I’ll try.” Finn put his arm around the older man.
Mr. Greig waved him off. “I’m not an invalid, Finn. Least ways not yet.”
As the two men reached the door, Ian grabbed a pouch of wild cherry bark and bloodroot. “Finn.” The man turned, and he tossed him the bag. “Brew that into a tea and have him drink it as hot as he can stand.”
Finn pocketed the pouch and nodded. Before the door closed behind the men, Ian heard Finn say, “I like him.”
“Well, it looks like you won Finn over.” Conner stepped around from behind the counter.
“It’s not Finn or Mr. Greig I’m concerned about winning over. It’s Miss Dempsey.”
“I prayed for Miss Dempsey to cross your threshold; I guess her grandfather is close enough.”
Ian stared at the door. “Just because he came here doesn’t mean she ever will.”
“No, you’re going to her house, which is better. When are you ever going to believe in yourself? If the grandfather likes you, you have half the battle fought and won.”
“The grandfather’s friend liked me, and I have won nothing.”
Conner smiled. “But you will.”
❧
On Sunday after church, Alice put the noodles she’d made into the pot of boiling water. She would cut up the pork bacon and two carrots to put in as well. They would be eating like royalty today. Her mending job had afforded them a few days’ food. But tomorrow she must find a job.
Grandpa went to the window again and looked out. What was with him pacing? He was never so unsettled.
“Are you feeling well?”
“Fine, child, fine.”
“Well, sit down. You’re making me nervous.” She waved him toward the table.
“Finn should have been here by now. I’ll just go see what’s keeping him.”
At least that would keep him from worrying a hole clean through her floor. “Don’t forget your coat.” Finn usually came straight home with them from church but today said he had something to do first.
Burl hooked his thumbs chest high into his gallows. “I’m goin’, too.”
“You stay put.” Grandpa put on his coat.
“Ah, Grandpa.” Burl slouched. “I wanna come.”
“You stay and help your sister.”
“I wanna go with you.”
“Not this time, son. I’ll be back before you know it. Finn’s probably climbing the stairs as we speak.” Grandpa slipped out the door before Burl could protest further.
Burl slumped into a chair and folded his arms. Miles lay on Grandpa and Burl’s mattress, napping. He was always tired after church.
Once the carrots were soft and the noodles cooked, Alice put the chopped-up bacon into the soup pot and then heard the door open.
“We have company for dinner,” Grandpa called.
Without turning from the stove, she said, “Welcome, Finn.”
“Lass, don’t be rude. Greet our guests.”
She turned from the stove. The breath froze in her chest. Mr. MacGregor stood hat in hand between Grandpa and Finn.
Finn jabbed his thumb toward Mr. MacGregor. “Look who we found on the corner.”
Found indeed.
Mr. MacGregor took a step forward. “I hope I’m not intruding. Mr. Greig invited me.”
She looked from Mr. MacGregor to Grandpa and back. She released her captive breath. “You are welcome in our humble home and to eat at our table.”
Finn handed her a loaf of bread, no doubt stale but none the less filling. Dipped in the soup, it would be tasty. Would Mr. MacGregor think their meal pitifu
l? She wished she had more to offer him.
Mr. MacGregor handed her a paper bag of Saratoga potato chips. “I didn’t know what you were fixing. I figured these would go with anything.” His eyes begged forgiveness.
But for what? Coming unannounced or for having to set foot in her tenement apartment? “Thank you.” He would see her differently now. And probably for the last time. An ache knotted inside her.
She motioned toward Burl. “This is my brother, Burl.”
Mr. MacGregor held out his hand to Burl. “I hear you almost set sail on the high seas.”
Burl squared his shoulders and shook his hand. “No, sir. I’ll be stayin’ on land.”
“Then you’ll be staying away from the docks?”
“Yes, sir.”
Miles started crying. “Ma.”
She went to him and held him. He often got scared when he first woke up. She stood and adjusted him on her hip. “This is my son, Miles.”
Mr. MacGregor stared at her child for a moment, clearly surprised. “It’s good to meet you, little man.”
Miles wedged his face into her neck.
“Miles, say good day to our guest.”
“Good day,” came his muffled voice from her neck.
Yes, this would be the last any of them would see of Mr. MacGregor. She felt her lower lip begin to quiver. “I’ll just finish getting dinner ready.” She turned back to the stove with tears in her eyes. He wouldn’t be looking at her the same. Gone would be the image of the pretty young lady and in its place the mother with no husband living in a little apartment in the shoddy part of town. It was one thing to have Finn, a drifter, in their home, another to have an upstanding man like Mr. MacGregor. Why did she even care what he thought of her? She shouldn’t. She didn’t.
“What kind of store do you got?” Burl asked.
“Burl, don’t be rude,” Grandpa said.
“I don’t mind. I own a pharmacy.”
“Really? What do you got in there?” Burl continued to ask questions, and Mr. MacGregor patiently answered every one of them.
Alice stirred the soup, putting off facing Mr. MacGregor at her table. He must think them below his station. She was surprised he hadn’t excused himself and left already. Miles wiggled out of her arm and ran over to the table where the men all sat. He evidently had become comfortable with the stranger in the house. She wrapped a towel around the handle of the soup kettle and carried it to the table. “Soup’s ready.”
All the men stood, including Burl.
“Burl, you and Miles can sit over by the stove if you like.”
“I wanna sit at the table.” Burl looked up at Mr. MacGregor.
She didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that they didn’t have enough chairs for everyone.
Grandpa gave him a stern look. “Do as your sister says. You two can sit on the edge of the mattress.”
Miles ran over and sat on the straw-filled ticking. That was a treat, even if it wasn’t much softer than the floor.
Grandpa stood at the head of the table and motioned for the others to join him.
Mr. MacGregor was at the seat with the crate. She couldn’t have that. She grabbed the crate before anyone sat. “I’ll sit on this.”
Mr. MacGregor grabbed the other side of the crate. “I don’t mind.”
She couldn’t let a guest use it. “Please, you’ll be more comfortable in the chair. I insist.”
“This is not a proper seat for a lady. I insist.” He pulled the crate.
A sharp pain stabbed at her finger, and she released the crate with a gasp, three slivers in her middle finger and one in her index.
“Oh dear. What have I done?” Mr. MacGregor set the crate down. “Let me take a look.”
She squeezed her finger. “I’ll be fine.” They weren’t too bad. Most of the ends were sticking out a fraction, so she should be able to pull them out later.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her along to the window, where there was better light. “I can get these. Do you have a needle?”
“Burl, get Alice’s sewing basket,” Grandpa ordered.
“Really, I’ll be fine.” She wanted to pull her hand from his grasp but didn’t for some reason. His hand was strong and warm.
He released her hand to pull out a pocketknife and opened it. This was her chance to get away. She stood motionless.
Burl brought the sewing basket.
“Find me a needle.”
Burl did as Mr. MacGregor commanded.
Mr. MacGregor slipped the blade of his knife under the end of the largest sliver and pressed his thumb against it, then slowly pulled it out. He squeezed her finger, forcing blood out. “That will help clean the wound.” He wiped away the blood with his thumb and attacked the other slivers. He worked gently, using the needle to pull up the ends, and then pulled them out. No broken ends left under her skin to fester. He concentrated so deeply on his work, she doubted he even realized he was holding her hand.
He worked the last sliver out and looked up to her face. “There. Those won’t give you any more trouble.” He glanced back down at their hands together and jerked his away. “Sorry,” he whispered, ducking his head.
Her hand cooled quickly where he’d held it. “Thank you.”
He gave her a smile and gazed deep into her eyes. Was he trying to look into her soul? Or change her feelings?
She broke his stare and went to the table. She would not and could not fancy thoughts of Mr. MacGregor. She could not let Mr. MacGregor fancy thoughts of her, either. It was good that he had come and seen their humble dwelling. He would see now that his affections were better directed elsewhere.
Grandpa blessed the food and thanked the Lord for friends to share it with. “Smells real good, Granddaughter.”
It did smell good, but she wasn’t hungry anymore.
Five
“Thank you, Mrs. Dempsey. It was a very delicious meal.” Mrs. felt like sand in Ian’s mouth. He knew it shouldn’t; she was a widow. But did she still mourn her loss? Did she still love him? Did her heart ache for him every time she looked at her son? Did she wish she could go back to when he was still alive?
“Mr. MacGregor?”
Ian turned his focus to Mr. Greig, who still had a hint of his Scottish accent. He savored it. It made him homesick for his parents. “Please call me Ian.”
“Very well, lad. Did you know that Greig is a sept of the clan MacGregor?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
Mr. Greig went to an old chest and pulled out a dominantly red tartan. “Our families are connected in the old country.”
He fingered the familiar plaid. “It seems so, sir.”
“You have no accent.”
“I was a wee babe when my folks came over from Scotland.” He put on his parents’ familiar accent. “Your accent is like going home. ’Tis very comforting, indeed.”
Mr. Greig nodded. He seemed to like Ian’s comment and accent.
“Do you speak Gaelic?”
In Gaelic, Mr. Greig said, “I do.”
Ian replied in kind. “My parents taught me as well.” He bantered for a minute with Mr. Greig then asked, “Did the treatment I gave you help?”
“Aye. I haven’t slept so well since. . .in a very long time.”
He noticed Alice glaring at her grandfather, so he switched back to English. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Your Gaelic is very good.” Mr. Greig switched back to English as well.
Miles appeared at the side of his. . .crate, staring up at him.
He smiled down at the tot. “Hello.”
Miles studied him for a moment then raised his hands to him.
He wasn’t sure what the child wanted but reached under his arms and lifted him onto his lap. Now what?
“Miles, get down.” Mrs. Dempsey started to rise.
“It’s all right. I don’t mind.”
She settled back into her chair but looked a little nervous at his holding her child.
&nb
sp; After the meal, Ian took advantage of Miss—Mrs. Dempsey’s being alone in the kitchen area and carried over the soup pot. “Where should I put this?”
“You didn’t have to carry that over.”
“It was no trouble.”
She pointed. “Set it back on the stove, and I’ll wash it in a bit.”
“I wanted to thank you again for dinner. It was very good. You are a good cook.” He was avoiding what he really wanted to say, or rather ask.
“Thank you.” She dipped her head as though embarrassed.
“Honestly. It was delicious.”
She squared her shoulders. “You didn’t eat much. I thought you didn’t like it.”
“It was tasty. And I enjoyed every bite.” He’d purposefully not eaten as much as he would normally to make sure there was plenty for the others, especially the children. Burl had kept eating until every crumb was gone. He wished he’d brought something more substantial to the table than potato chips. He’d thought they would be fun and Burl would enjoy them.
“When I find employment, I’ll pay you for the medicine you gave Grandpa.”
“You understand Gaelic?”
“Grandpa and my mama used to speak it all the time. He wouldn’t tell me where he got the tea and poultice. I assumed it was from Finn. He’s always showing up with unusual things.” She paused. “I’ll pay you back.”
“That is not necessary. It was the Christian thing to do.”
“But I will—”
“I won’t accept it. They were a gift. I didn’t come over here to argue with you. I came to ask you to come work for me.”
She spun and pinned him with her slightly narrowed eyes. “I don’t think that will do.” She seemed agitated, but he didn’t know why.
“You’ve found a position then?”
“No, but. . .” She collected the spoons and turned them around in her hands. “I—I know nothing of working with medicine.”
“You wouldn’t be working with the drugs directly. I’d be doing that. There are many other tasks to be done. My assistant, Conner, will not be staying with me forever. He has dreams of his own business.”
Miles came over and held up his hands. “Ma.”
She picked up the child.
