by Ann Shorey
“What a perfect way to start my day. I was afraid the knock would be a patient calling me out.”
“I am calling you out, in a way. I came to ask for your help.”
“Anything. Name it.”
“Yesterday after we parted, I purchased sturdier locks for my doors.”
“Very wise.”
“Would you be willing to install them for me?” Smiling, she held the plate of bread in front of her. “Here’s payment in advance.”
His fingers brushed hers as he took the offering, sending a tingle along her arms. “Spending time with you is payment enough, but I thank you. You know how much I enjoy your bread.” He took a step backward and put the plate on a table next to the open door. “Excuse me while I get my tools.”
In moments, he returned, swinging a canvas satchel in one hand. “When I’ve finished, would you like to go for a buggy ride? Maybe to Pioneer Lake?” He tucked his free hand under her arm as they descended his porch steps. “I feel we have a lot of catching up to do after my long absence.”
“I’d love to.” The fear she’d felt earlier that morning drowned in a wave of pleasure. Once her new locks were in place, what difference would it make if someone opened her gate? She’d be safe inside.
Nevertheless, once they reached her fence she stopped and leaned forward to check the bolt. Closed. A pulse pounded in her temple and she realized she’d been holding her breath.
“What’s wrong?” Elijah reached past her and pushed the bolt free. “You’re pale all of a sudden.”
“I . . . it’s nothing.”
He dropped the tool bag on the walk and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him with gentle movements. “When I said that to you yesterday, you didn’t believe me. Now it’s my turn.”
Apprehensive about his reaction, she lifted her head and looked into the depths of his brown eyes. “This morning I came out early to see if there’d been any damage to my plants from the rainstorm.”
“They look fine to me.”
“Thankfully, they were undamaged. But my gate . . . the bolt was open although the gate was closed.”
“You sure you didn’t forget?”
She glared at him. “Quite sure.”
His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Then someone sent you a message. You’re not safe here, strong locks or not.”
“I was afraid you’d think that. But I don’t agree. The person who’s doing this is more interested in harassment than harming me. Consider all the time I spend walking around town. There’s more risk there than in being inside my house.”
Looking exasperated, he removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “If the Lord made a woman more stubborn than you, I’ve never met her.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She grinned at him. “Now, will you please install those locks? I’ll pack some food for us while you work.”
A gentle breeze rippled the waters of Pioneer Lake when Rosemary and Elijah arrived. Several couples and families were scattered about on the grassy area, while children played and splashed along the shoreline.
Elijah stopped the buggy near the hackberry tree where they’d had their first picnic. He helped her down, then removed a sheet of oiled canvas from behind the seat and spread it over the ground. “There. This will give us a dry place to sit.” He held out his arm. “Would you like to walk a bit first?”
Nodding her agreement, she lifted her skirts above the wet grass. “Let’s go watch the children.” She hugged her happiness to herself when she took his hand and felt the strength of his firm grip. The day couldn’t be more perfect.
As they moved down the slight slope, Elijah released her hand and slipped his arm around her waist. “I thought about our last visit to Pioneer Lake the whole time I was in Chicago. Our courtship barely got started before I had to leave.”
She leaned against his side. “I thought of you too. Often.”
He tugged her closer. “I know you feel I’m overstepping myself when I press you to be careful. I want to protect you.” His voice grew husky. “I’d like to have you this close to me every day.”
She stopped and stared up at him, her eyes wide. “Are you asking . . . ?”
“Let’s say I’m asking permission to ask. I saw too many soldiers get their hearts broken by hasty engagements that didn’t last.” He put his arms around her, drawing her to his chest. “I love you, Rosemary. I’ve never felt this way before.” His voice vibrated against her ear. “A doctor’s life is not an easy one. I want you to be certain before you say anything.”
She relaxed in his arms for a moment, struggling against the impulse to shout, “Yes!” before he properly asked the question. When she drew back, she saw the brightness of tears standing in his eyes.
“If you want me to wait before I answer you, I will.” She stood on tiptoe and settled a soft kiss against his cheek. “But not for long.”
32
The following Friday morning, Rosemary stepped onto her porch holding Bodie’s leash. Sheriff Cooper waited astride his horse at the hitching post, as he’d done every day for the past week.
She had learned that protests were futile, so she smiled at him as she opened her gate. “Good morning, Sheriff. Another lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Going to be a hot one.”
She leaned over the gate and fastened the bolt, then turned west toward Elijah’s office. The horse snorted and sidestepped when she passed close to his nose. She shied out of the way, her fear of the large animal prickling her skin.
The sheriff chuckled. “He ain’t going to bite you.”
“I hope not.” Embarrassed, she picked up her pace. A steady clop, clop on the dusty street told her that her escort was following a step or two back. When she reached the office, she paused before entering.
“Thank you, Sheriff. Have a pleasant day.”
“Hope it’s quiet.” He tipped his hat. “See you this evening.”
Shaking her head at his persistence, she pushed open the door and unhooked Bodie’s leash. He trotted across the room, settling on his rug beneath her desk.
Elijah left his private office as soon as he saw her and strode across the floor to take her in his arms. “I wait for this moment every morning.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “If it weren’t for early patients, I’d walk you over here myself, but Thaddeus offered to step in.”
“I must confess to feeling comforted by his presence.” She smiled up at him. “But yours would certainly be welcome.”
The doorknob rattled, and they sprang apart. She scooted behind her desk as the first patient of the day entered. She recognized Mrs. Fielder, the cook at West & Riley’s. Elijah had pointed her out on the day in April when she’d stopped in the restaurant seeking Jacob.
The woman wore an unadorned gray dress, with a straw bonnet tied under her double chin. She held her left arm close to her ample waist.
“Mrs. Fielder. How may I help you?” Elijah crossed the room, stopping a few feet in front of her.
“Burned myself right bad with bacon fat. Hurts something fierce.” She held out her hand, palm up.
Rosemary could see the extent of the burn from where she sat. Blisters covered the woman’s fingertips. Her crimson palm telegraphed pain.
Elijah turned to her. “Would you please assist me, Miss Saxon?”
She rose and opened the door of the examining room. “Mrs. Fielder, I’ll wait in here with you while Dr. Stewart looks at your injury.”
“You’re the one folks are talking about, aren’t you?”
Rosemary’s smile died. “Yes.” She jutted her chin in the air. “If you’d prefer me to keep my distance, please say so.”
“Just curious, is all. I don’t believe a speck of what I overheard. Mr. Bingham was getting up in years. No surprise to me that he passed.” She tipped her head in Elijah’s direction, pinning him with a stern glare. “Don’t take too long. I got a dinner to cook.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Y
es, ma’am.” Once inside, he studied the wounds left by the hot grease. He touched each blister with his fingertip, then sighed. “You’d better get one of your daughters to take over for the next few days.”
“Can’t do that. I need the money I get from Mr. West. My daughters have husbands. I don’t.”
He shook his head. “If you break open the skin, you could get an infection. I’ll give you a beeswax balm for the pain, but you mustn’t use that hand.”
The woman sniffled. “That all you can do?”
Rosemary cleared her throat and mouthed “comfrey” at Elijah.
“Miss Saxon here can make a comfrey poultice for you. It may help you heal faster.” He turned to Rosemary, smiling. “Would you mind taking the time to do that now? You could deliver the poultice to the restaurant when you’re finished.”
Hope spread over the woman’s face as she looked at Rosemary. “You’d do that for me? I’d be purely grateful.”
“I’ll be glad to. The process takes about an hour.”
“That’ll give me time to go get one of my daughters to help me and be back at work in time to get the chops a-fryin’.” She shot a defiant glance at Elijah. “I can still use my right hand.”
Rosemary retrieved Bodie’s leash from a peg near the door, bending in front of her desk to fasten the leather strap to his collar. He licked her nose while she fumbled with the buckle. Holding the leash in one hand, she joined Mrs. Fielder. The woman chattered all the way to the corner of King’s Highway, then headed west, and Rosemary turned toward home.
Comfrey grew in one corner of her front yard. By now the plant should be mature enough so that she wouldn’t need to use dried roots. As soon as she changed her dress, she’d harvest a basketful of the broad, hairy leaves.
She smiled with pleasure at the prospect of spending a bit of time in her garden on such a glorious morning. Imagine. Elijah had recommended comfrey to a patient—again.
Bodie wandered around the kitchen, his toenails clicking on the wooden floor, while Rosemary waited for the stove to heat. Humming to herself, she dumped crushed comfrey leaves into a pan and added a few spoons of water. Once the mixture came to a boil, she’d spread a portion on a clean rag and take the poultice to Mrs. Fielder.
When Bodie whined to go out, she hurried to the back entrance with light steps. “Good boy.” She rubbed the fur at the scruff of his neck, then opened the door. He bolted down the steps as soon as he was free.
The pan on the stove made bubbling sounds as the green paste came to a boil, and she turned to stir her project. The wet leaves smelled like the rotting compost heap behind her greenhouse. Wrinkling her nose, she pulled the pot off the stove. Clean pieces of cloth waited on her worktable. She swung around and placed the mixture on a trivet, then scooped a spoonful onto one of the strips of muslin.
A piercing howl, followed by cries of an animal in distress, broke into the silent kitchen. Bodie. Rosemary dropped the spoon and raced for the door.
She tore down the back steps, her gaze sweeping across the yard for a sign of her dog. His cries had stopped.
“Bodie!”
Movement inside the greenhouse caught her attention. Questions spun through her mind as she raced toward the building. Had he stepped on an overlooked piece of broken glass? But how would he get through a closed door? Her second question was answered when she saw the door standing ajar. Bodie—she was sure it was Bodie—whimpered from inside.
She flung the door wide open, then stopped dead. A shadowy form crouched against the rear wall with his back to her. He held Bodie with one arm around the dog’s neck. When the dog struggled, the man tightened his hold.
She glanced toward the house next door. On Sunday, her neighbors had left for Hartfield to visit their grandchildren. No one would hear if she screamed for help.
With a swift motion, Rosemary grabbed the mattock from the wall and held it like a club as she stepped around a potting table. One more table stood between her and the intruder.
“Release my dog. Now. Or I’ll bring this down on your skull.” She kept her voice low and steady.
He turned his head slightly, his face obscured under the floppy brim of a grimy hat. “You ain’t got the gumption.” His voice rasped as if he were the one with an arm around his neck. “Git away from me and I’ll let the mutt go.”
“I’m not moving. You’re trapped in here. Sheriff Cooper will be passing by any moment.”
“Ha. You’re lying.”
She moved a step toward the next table. Her heartbeat threatened to choke her. “You’re the one. You wrote those messages and damaged my property.”
“So? What’ll you do? Cast a spell on me?” He cackled.
Bodie’s breath wheezed as he fought the man’s grip.
She took another step between the two tables. “Let him go. You can leave. I won’t stop you.” She gripped the handle of the mattock.
In one blurred motion, he dropped Bodie and shoved the potting table over against her side. Plants crashed to the floor and she fell with them, dropping the mattock as she went down. She felt a blinding pain in her midsection, then nothing.
33
The side of Rosemary’s face felt wet. Bleeding. She was bleeding. Fighting for breath, she touched her cheek and then brought her hand in front of her eyes. Her fingers were clean.
She heard whining next to her ear. A warm tongue lapped her face.
“Bodie. Praise God.” Her voice emerged in a croak. She rolled onto her back, gasping at the pain when she attempted to sit. Falling back on the earthen floor, she drew shallow breaths as she turned her head to each side to survey the surrounding damage.
The potting table that had knocked her to the ground lay to her left. Broken pots rested beside her body. When she ran her hands down her skirt, dirt grated against her palms. Her midriff throbbed.
Bodie poked his nose under her arm and licked her chin. Rosemary made another effort to sit, this time succeeding. The mattock she’d used to threaten the intruder pressed against her hip. She pushed the makeshift weapon to one side, then gingerly prodded her ribs. Please, Lord, let nothing be broken.
When her thoughts cleared, she remembered she’d been preparing a poultice for Mrs. Fielder when she heard her dog’s distress cries. How much time had passed? A few minutes? An hour? A glance out of one of the windows showed the sun high overhead.
Reaching up, she grasped the edge of the remaining upright table and dragged herself to her feet, then doubled over, clutching her middle. Bodie pressed himself against her skirt like a burr when she stumbled into the house.
The comfrey poultice lay on the table where she’d left it. The edges had dried to a cracked green paste. After collapsing onto a chair, Rosemary reached down and ran her hands over the dog’s body, feeling for wounds. She patted his head with relief upon finding nothing amiss.
“Go drink some water. Then we’ll decide what to do next,” she said in a whispery voice.
Bodie wagged his tail and ran to his water dish.
In spite of her discomfort, she chuckled to herself at her one-way conversation with the dog. If anyone overheard her, they’d think she’d injured her head instead of her ribs.
Without leaving the chair, she folded the poultice into a rectangle, covering the dry edges with a fresh strip of muslin. If she refreshed the surface with water, the comfrey would still be effective. Then all she’d have to do would be to somehow get herself back to the office to tell Elijah what happened. He could deliver the poultice.
She took a shallow breath and pushed herself to her feet. She must have moaned, because Bodie stopping drinking and ran to her.
“I’m fine. Just getting the kettle and a plate.”
With one hand clutching her middle, she placed the poultice in a pie pan and dribbled warm water over the muslin covering. As she turned to replace the kettle on the stove, Bodie’s fur rose. Growling, he stalked to the front of the house, reaching the entrance just as someone pounded on the door fra
me.
“Rosemary!”
When she heard Elijah’s shout, she tried to call out, but couldn’t draw enough breath to produce more than a squeak. He hammered at the door again, harder this time. “Are you there?” His voice carried an edge of panic.
She crossed the sitting room as quickly as she could.
Once she’d unfastened the lock, he barreled inside and wrapped his arms around her. “What happened? You’ve been away for more than two hours.”
She pulled back from his embrace, wincing at the pain. “Someone . . . was in the greenhouse. I fell.”
His eyes widened as he surveyed her. From his shocked expression, she knew she must look worse overall than merely the stains she could see on her skirt. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a handkerchief. With tender strokes, he brushed the folded linen over her cheeks, then showed her grains of dirt clinging to the white surface.
“You fell inside the greenhouse?”
“Yes.” She failed in an attempt to straighten her shoulders.
Elijah slipped one arm around her waist to support her while he guided her to the settee. Once she was seated, he drew a chair close and stroked her forehead. His brow creased.
“Where are you hurt?”
“Here.” She placed her hand above her abdomen. “I can’t draw a full breath.”
He leaned close in order to hear her. She yearned to reach up and cup her hand over the back of his head. Instead, she gripped her fingers together in her lap.
“I should examine your ribs.”
Her cheeks heated. “We’re alone here. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“You’re a nurse. You know the complications that can arise from a broken rib.” He stood and paced. “If I fetch your sister-in-law, will you allow an examination?”
