by Ann Shorey
Stop it, she told herself. Just because he asked about comfrey, there was no reason to let her thoughts run away. The doctor’s private life was none of her business.
A gust of wind tugged at her pancake hat. She grabbed at the ribbons to keep the flat headgear from blowing away.
“Shall I stop and raise the cover?”
“No, thank you.” She folded her hands in her lap, wishing she could think of something more to say than yes or no.
He flexed his shoulders, letting the reins hang slack between his fingers. “Have you given any more thought to the property I showed you?”
“I’m afraid . . . what with Bodie . . . I haven’t . . .”
“Maybe one day you’d like to see it again.” He shook the reins and guided them around a bend in the narrow road. A man mounted on a dark gray horse barreled toward them.
The tendons in Jacob’s wrists stood out with his efforts to direct the carriage out of harm’s way. They lurched over uneven ground and stopped beside a downed tree covered with woodbine.
The rider blew past them, leaving a billow of dust in his wake.
“Blasted fool.” Jacob flicked the reins to turn his gelding back to the road. “Nothing’s important enough to risk a fine animal like that. He could break a leg.”
She swept dust from her skirt. “At least your new wheels are intact.”
“I’m happy you noticed. Cletus Wylie built them in his wagon shop. Did a fine job.”
“He’s one of Faith’s customers at the mercantile. I remember him.”
He gave her a nod of approval. “That’s good you recall customer’s names. It’s useful when running a business. I know you’ll be interested in my meeting with Mr. Kreskey—he’s been supplying the grocery with eggs for several months now.”
“Hmm.” Try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything more to say about eggs or Mr. Kreskey. She shifted on the seat and peered into the growth along the roadside.
“Are you looking for your dog?”
“Always.”
“Let me know when you decide you want another one. I’ll get you a pup.”
She’d already told him no. Didn’t he listen? “I—”
Jolene’s cabin came into sight. Rosemary tapped Jacob’s arm. “Could we please stop here a moment or two? I want to call on Miss Graves.”
“Certainly.” He guided the carriage through the opening in the rail fence and rolled past the apple trees, now covered in bright green foliage. Before he could help her down, Jolene burst out the door of the small cabin. The rounded shape of her belly showed beneath the full apron she wore.
“How could you? I told you I didn’t want to see Galen French.” Her voice shook.
Rosemary climbed down and crossed the dirt yard to the front stoop. “That’s not Galen. He’s Jacob West.”
“I know that.” Jolene stamped her foot. “Galen was here not twenty minutes ago. He said Dr. Stewart told him where to find me. You must’ve told the doctor.” She placed her hands over her abdomen, tears streaking her cheeks. “He saw me . . . like this.” She gulped. “I thought I could trust you.”
Rosemary remembered the rider who’d passed them on their way from town. Galen. She took Jolene’s hand. “He came to the office one day looking for you, but I didn’t tell the doctor anything.”
“Then how—?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
The next morning, Rosemary stormed into Dr. Stewart’s waiting room and banged the door behind her. He jumped to his feet, eyes wide.
“Miss Saxon. What on earth . . . ?” He rested his right hand on the door jamb of his private office.
“Did you tell Galen French where to find Miss Graves?”
A smile broke across his face. “Yes. I knew I had to do something to make amends to both of you for the way I treated her.”
Her legs turned to rubber. She slumped on the sofa and stared at him, mouth agape. “What does Galen have to do with your treatment of Miss Graves? She was almost hysterical when I saw her yesterday. He’s the last person she wanted to see.”
“She can’t protect him forever. I know he’ll take responsibility for his actions if she gives him the chance.”
“You believe he’s the father of her child?” Her voice rose in disbelief.
“Of course. It’s obvious.”
Rosemary bent her head and covered her face with her hands. She didn’t know whether to laugh or burst into tears. Poor Jolene.
She heard the doctor’s footsteps as he crossed the floor. When she looked up, he stood in front of her, his clean-shaven face pale. “You mean Galen isn’t . . . ?”
“No. They met at church after she came to live with me. He’s the reason she left. He expressed a desire to court her, having no idea of her condition.”
He flopped on the sofa next to her. “I was so sure.”
She scooted to one end and pinned him with her gaze. “The poor girl couldn’t bear for him to know what she’d done. She’d rather face her parents than have him find out. Now, thanks to you—”
“I’ll make things right somehow.”
“I think you’ve done enough.” She stalked to her desk. “Patients should be in soon. Mondays are busy.”
The doctor stood and tugged at his collar. “Call me when I’m needed.” He entered his office. The door closed with a sharp click.
Rosemary sat at her desk and stared at the wall separating her from Dr. Stewart. The stricken look on his face hovered before her eyes. How could he have made such a mistake? And why didn’t he talk to her about Jolene before he carried out his plan? She laced her fingers at the back of her neck to loosen tight muscles. She’d have to do all she could to repair the harm done to Jolene. At the moment, she couldn’t think where to begin.
When the outside door opened, it took her a moment to recognize their patient. Mr. Grisbee, one of the woodstove regulars from the mercantile, shuffled in. He removed his hat, giving her a wide smile.
“Miss Rosemary. Pleasure to see you. Me and Jesse miss you down to the store.”
“I miss you too, Mr. Grisbee.” She rose and met him in the center of the room. “Mornings are quiet without your checker game going on.”
He made a sound between a snort and a chuckle, then lapsed into a fit of coughing. Rosemary took his arm and helped him to a seat on the sofa. “I’ll tell the doctor you’re here. In the meantime, would you like a cup of water?”
He nodded, still choking.
She tapped on Dr. Stewart’s door, then dashed to her desk and poured ginger water into a cup. He took a sip, then another. After taking a deep breath, he set the cup on the floor next to his feet. “Appreciate it. That helped.” The flush on his cheeks glowed through his unkempt gray whiskers.
When Dr. Stewart stepped from the examining room, Rosemary turned to him. “This is Mr. Grisbee. He sounds like he may have a bronchial—” She snapped her lips closed at his warning glance.
“Right this way, sir.” Dr. Stewart placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder and guided him to the examining table, then closed the door behind the two of them.
As Rosemary collected their patient’s empty cup on her way to her desk, her mind raced through her stock of cures for bronchial disease. A mullein infusion would be the thing to try, but she’d have to meet Mr. Grisbee away from Dr. Stewart’s presence. Two confrontations in one day would be too many. She busied herself with patients’ records until the doctor emerged from the room.
He handed a bottle to the older man. “Here’s some Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral syrup. Try this for your cough, and drink plenty of hot tea.”
Mr. Grisbee pocketed the remedy without looking at it. “Can’t abide tea.”
The corner of Dr. Stewart’s mouth twitched. “Hot water, then.”
“That’s worse.”
“Peppermint tea is rather pleasant, Mr. Grisbee,” Rosemary said. “Faith has some leaves at the mercantile. I can stop in after five and explain the brewing.�
� She didn’t add she’d also bring mullein with her.
“All right, Miss Rosemary.” He plopped his hat on and shuffled to the door. “See you after five.” Coughing, he left the office.
The doctor folded his arms across his middle. “You’re prescribing again.”
For some reason, he didn’t appear angry. He looked almost . . . amused.
“Mint tea isn’t a prescription. People drink it all the time.”
“If you say so.” Shaking his head, he returned to his office. This time he didn’t close the door.
At the end of the day, Rosemary gathered her things and prepared to leave.
“Miss Saxon?”
She turned, hoping he didn’t want her to stay later. She had enough time to keep her appointment with Mr. Grisbee. Then she hoped to pay an additional call before sunset, if the doctor didn’t give her more to do.
“Am I still welcome to visit you this evening? You were to show me how to prepare a comfrey poultice.”
Her hand flew to her lips. “Oh! I completely forgot. The incident with Miss Graves—”
At the mention of the young woman’s name, his face reddened. “Can we set that aside for the time being? I’m asking about tonight.”
“Something has come up.” She didn’t add that the “something” had to do with Jolene and Galen. “If you’re willing, tomorrow evening would be suitable.”
Relief flooded his features, followed by a shy smile. “Tomorrow evening. I look forward to it.”
The doctor remained in her thoughts long after she completed her visit to the mercantile. She loved the creases that formed in the wake of his smile, like ripples on a pond. Daydreaming, she reached the corner in front of the barbershop and paused to let Bodie catch up to her.
Reality jolted her back to the moment. She cupped her hand over her mouth to prevent a sob from escaping. Her dog wouldn’t be running after her, now or ever.
The last traces of sunlight cast a beacon between the shadows on the road ahead. Squaring her shoulders, she marched the final block to the Frenches’ house. She couldn’t do anything more about Bodie, but she could attempt to help Jolene.
Clarissa answered her knock. Her face wore a harried expression, which smoothed when she saw Rosemary. “How good to see you.” The reverend’s wife stood in their spacious entryway. The polished wood floor behind her shone in lamplight spreading from twin sconces on either side of a mirrored hall tree stand. “I must tell you, the tea you brought helps ever so much with my headaches. I wonder, though, the next time you drop by, could you bring some more?” She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “Just when I think Galen is adjusting, something agitates him. Then yesterday—”
“Yesterday is why I came to talk to you and Reverend French.” Rosemary wondered whether Clarissa could hear her heart thudding in her chest. “Is he home?”
“Oh goodness, I’ve left you standing on the porch while I chatter away. Please, come in. I’ll fetch Ethan.” She led her into the sitting room and patted a high-backed chair upholstered in flowered fabric. “You’ll be comfortable here. Would you like some refreshment?”
She felt perspiration tickle at her hairline. “Thank you, no. What I have to say shouldn’t take long.”
“My gracious. Now I’m curious.” Clarissa bustled from the room. Within moments, she returned with her husband.
After he greeted Rosemary, he sat next to his wife on a settee. A frown creased the bushy eyebrows above his gray eyes. “You’re concerned about something that happened yesterday? How can I help?”
Now that she faced Galen’s parents, she didn’t know where to begin. She closed her eyes for a moment to gather courage.
“I’m sure you remember Miss Graves, the young woman who stayed with me for several weeks.”
The two of them nodded in unison.
“Apparently she caught your son’s fancy. He asked to court her.”
At this, Clarissa beamed. “Thank the Lord. I’ve prayed he’d settle down with a nice girl.”
“It’s not that simple.” Rosemary hesitated, aware she was treading on shaky ground. “Miss Graves is expecting a child. The father left before she knew of her condition. When Galen showed an interest in her, she fled to her parents, not wanting him to learn that she wasn’t . . . pure.” She leaned forward. “She cares enough for your son that she didn’t want him to find her. Unfortunately, yesterday—”
Reverend French sprang to his feet and finished Rosemary’s sentence. “Galen found her.”
She nodded. “Would you please explain the circumstances to him? Whether or not he decides to pursue a friendship with Miss Graves, he deserves to know.”
The reverend and his wife exchanged an agonized look. “I’d tell him if I knew where he was,” Reverend French said. His voice choked. “He didn’t come home last night. No one’s seen him.”
20
After leaving the Frenches’ house, Rosemary covered the distance to her home feeling like she’d been trampled by a team of horses. Galen missing. Although his parents said he’d disappeared on other occasions since returning from the war, she felt in some way responsible for yesterday’s events. If she weren’t working in the doctor’s office, Galen would never have gone there to ask about Jolene. Then Dr. Stewart wouldn’t have interfered.
He meant no harm, a little voice inside said. He must have a good heart.
He does, she told the little voice. He cares about his patients—even to the extent of worrying that I’ll harm them with my herbs.
Rosemary crossed the street and passed his house, noticing the windows were dark. He was probably at Jacob’s restaurant for supper. If she weren’t so tired, she’d bake a small treat for him before he called on her tomorrow evening.
She climbed the stairs to her porch, her steps dragging. Tea would have to do.
Cassie opened the door before she could reach for the latch. “When you left the mercantile, I thought you’d go straight home. Where were you?”
“I paid a visit to Reverend French and his wife.” She hung her shawl and bonnet next to the door and sniffed the air. “Do I smell food?”
“I put last evening’s pea soup on to warm.” Cassie lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. “I may not know how to cook, but I can heat the stove.”
“I’m grateful. Today has been . . . trying. After supper, I’m going straight to bed.”
“Didn’t you say Dr. Stewart was expected this evening? I tidied the sitting room.”
The loose cushions on the settee had been fluffed and scattered reading material stacked in the bookshelf. The basket holding Cassie’s tatting rested beside one of the chairs.
Rosemary gave her a one-armed hug. “Bless you. I asked him to wait until tomorrow. I’m sure the room will still look lovely.”
She wondered whether she should tell the doctor about Galen. Probably not. No telling what he’d do.
Rosemary woke from a fitful sleep at the sound of someone pounding on the front door. She clutched her nightdress at her throat. What if the person who’d damaged her greenhouse and her plants had returned? Unlikely he’d knock, but—
The pounding continued. She pulled on her wrapper, lit a candle, and stepped into the hallway. Cassie stood at the top of the stairs, a small revolver in her hand. The light bounced off the pearl handle.
“Good heavens, Cassie. Put that away.”
She shook her head. “My father taught me to use this when the war started. Mother has one too. There were soldiers at our door more than once, coming to take our food and valuables.”
“Rebels?”
“From both sides.” She linked her arm with Rosemary’s. “Let’s go see who’s there. Could be your brother. Maybe something happened to Judge Lindberg and they want your help.”
“It isn’t Curt. He’d call my name rather than scare us to death.”
She led the way down the steps. When they reached the entry, Cassie clicked the hammer back and stepped to one side, allowing her t
he first glimpse of their visitor when Rosemary opened the door.
“I wish you’d put that away,” Rosemary whispered.
“No.”
Lord, please protect us. She slid the bolt away and inched the door open a crack.
A black boot shoved the opening wide. Dr. Stewart stood on the porch, a limp bundle of fur in his arms.
Rosemary’s muscles went slack. The candle fell to the floor, leaving them in near darkness. She held both hands toward the doctor’s burden. “Bodie?”
“I’m sure it’s him.” Silver moonlight silhouetted his frame as he stepped inside.
Rosemary moaned and lifted the dog from his arms. Trembling, Bodie licked her chin. She sank to the floor and buried her face in his muddy fur. “Thank you, Lord. Thank you.” The hammer snapped closed on the revolver. She looked up as Cassie slipped the weapon into a pocket in her wrapper, then moved to the sitting room and lit the lamp. Dim yellow light traced the outline of ribs and hip bones on Bodie’s emaciated body. A frayed rope dangled from his neck.
With gentle hands, Dr. Stewart helped Rosemary to her feet. “Would you please carry him to a table so I can examine him?”
Clutching her dog close to her chest, she led the way to the kitchen. Cassie followed with the lamp and placed it on a shelf where the light would reach them.
When Rosemary laid Bodie on the worktable, he thumped his tail against the wood. Tears slipped from her eyes. “Where did you find him?”
“South of town several miles. The Haggertys’ girls were sick, and Mr. Haggerty came to fetch me. I spotted Bodie in a ditch next to the road on my way home. It’s providential we had a moon tonight or I’d never have seen him.”
She fingered the rope. “And this?”
“Looks like someone kept him tied up and he chewed his way free.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“Wish I knew. I’d have him horsewhipped.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s clean this mud off so I can see if he’s hurt anywhere.”
