by Kit Morgan
“You have a fever.” Sarah looked at the door. “My basket is in the class room. I left my other herbs and some vegetables in it. Wait here, I’ll fetch them.” She hurried from the room. She’d brought ginger tea for the children. Mr. Foster told her to drink it as a preventative measure against sickness. He was right. It worked. Since she’d been giving the children ginger tea, they weren’t getting sick as often. She should have made sure Mrs. Fuller drank it too.
She snatched her basket from the table, interrupting Nanette’s reading. “Don’t mind me. I’ll be right back.”
Nanette gave her a nod and went back to the story she’d chosen. Sarah smiled. Her friend would have a dozen proposals by the end of the season. With a sigh she returned to the kitchen and her patient. “Let me see, I brought some peppermint, and I have my first batch of dried fenugreek.”
“Fenu-what?” Mrs. Fuller asked, eyes wide. “What’s that?”
“Something new. I have two plants now. But I need to study them more. Mr. Foster says he’s seen it used for a lot of different things. One of which was helping sore throats. Shall we try it?”
Mrs. Fuller swallowed and grimaced. “Couldn’t hurt. I’m to drink it?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how it’s going to taste. We could always add some honey.”
“Afraid I’m out, Miss Clemmons. Donations haven’t been the best of late.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I could fetch some. We have plenty at home.”
“Don’t make a special trip for the likes of me.”
“Nonsense, I don’t mind. Make the ginger tea for the children. By the time I get back they’ll be finished drinking it. Then we’ll take care of you.”
Mrs. Fuller blushed a deep red. “Thank you, Miss Clemmons. You’re a kind soul.”
Sarah smiled. “It’s what I do.” She turned and headed for the door. The sooner she got that honey and got back, the better.
Chapter 3
“What’s your hurry, Sarah?” came a dull voice.
Sarah stopped, a sour look on her face. She backed up several steps and looked into the parlor. “Mr. Petite. Early I see.”
He sat, legs crossed, wearing a splendid olive-colored frock coat with a gold brocade waistcoat beneath. Oswald might be a bore, but he was always fashionable. “Indeed. I wanted some extra time to visit but seemed to have missed you.”
“I explained to him your work at the orphanage, dear,” her mother added. She peeked around the side of her wing chair. “He’s quite interested. But now that you’re home, you can tell him yourself.”
Panic pricked her. “No, I can’t. I must return.” She spun on her heel, slipped through the foyer and down the main hall. The kitchen hall was off this one. She hurried into it and down the stairs. The faint sound of her mother’s voice followed, but she ignored it. She could race back to the orphanage, prepare the fenugreek and honey, administer it to Mrs. Fuller, and come back.
She stopped short of the kitchen door. Maybe she should stay and make sure Mrs. Fuller’s fever went down …
“Sarah Anne Clemmons!”
… or maybe not. With a sigh she turned around. “Yes, Mother?”
“How dare you leave your guest!”
“Mother, at the moment Oswald is your guest, not mine. I came back to get something of great importance. Mrs. Fuller is sick and …”
“Sick!” She put a hand to her chest and looked at her as if she carried the black death.
“It’s sore throat and fever,” Sarah added. “I have to take her some special herbs …”
“You’ll not set foot in that orphanage again, do you hear me!”
Sarah closed her eyes a moment. Would counting to ten help? Probably not. “Mother…”
“Don’t you ‘mother’ me, you’ll not leave this house!”
“But Mrs. Fuller needs …”
“I don’t care what she needs,” she said, cutting her off. “You have a guest. Now go to your room and change at once!”
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. As soon as Oswald left, she’d go back to the orphanage to tend her patient. She smiled as she turned toward the stairs. “Patient. Yes, that’s what she is.”
“What are you muttering?” Her mother eyed her with suspicion. “Don’t just stand there, get changed.”
“Certainly,” she said as another thought struck. She turned around. “Right after I make sure Fiona is serving something special.”
Her mother’s hands went to either side of her head. Sarah wondered if she was going to tear her hair out. “Fine, but hurry! Your father will be home any minute.”
“Father is coming home for tea?” She knew what that meant. Her parents really had set their sights on Oswald!
“Yes. There’s not a moment to lose. Now hurry!” She shoved Sarah toward the kitchen, turned and hurried back up the stairs.
As soon as she was gone, Sarah approached Fiona. “I need a favor.”
“Certainly, Miss Sarah. What can I do for ye?”
“I need you to take some honey to Mrs. Fuller at the orphanage. I’ll write down some instructions. Go after you’ve served the tea. If Mother rings for you, I’ll tell her I’ve sent you out.”
Fiona’s brows rose with concern. “She’s not going to like this.”
“I know, but you’re only following orders. She can’t blame you for that. Mrs. Fuller is sick and needs what I’m sending. The poor dears have no honey.”
“Oh,” she said and lowered her eyes. “I’ll take it straight away. Are the little ones sick too?”
“No, not like Mrs. Fuller. If you’re worried about catching anything, then leave the jar just inside the door. Nanette Olson is there. She’ll see Mrs. Fuller gets it.”
“Right, I’ll go straightaway.”
Sarah hugged her. “Thank you, Fiona. Now let me write down those instructions.”
Tea with Oswald was, as predicted, boring. Sarah yawned for the third time, which made her mother’s eyes bulge then dart to their guest. He prattled on about his butterfly collection (thank Heaven it wasn’t his seashells), which wouldn’t have been so bad, except she knew he didn’t have one. His father, on the other hand, did. Yet here he was, going on and on about how he caught this butterfly and that butterfly, and if only you had been there to see it, Miss Clemmons …
Sarah yawned again. What was worse, butterflies or seashells? She couldn’t decide. She had no doubt he had accompanied his father on several butterfly expeditions, but to make them sound as if they were his own? Mercy!
“More tea, Mr. Petite?” her mother interjected, eyes wider than ever.
Uh-oh, Sarah thought. The pot was probably empty by now.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Oswald said with a smile. He turned to Sarah. “You have something to do with the beverage, do you not? Your father mentioned you, er … grow things and make them into tea.”
“That’s usually how it’s done, Mr. Petite,” she commented. “Everyone knows that.”
He smiled before clearing his throat.
Touché, she thought.
“Sarah,” her father said from behind his paper. At least he’d found an escape, the traitor. He lowered the paper to look at her. “Oswald has something he’d like to ask you.”
She blanched. Surely he wasn’t going to propose? She swallowed hard and stared at him like a chicken eyes a hatchet. “Yes?”
“Oh, do forgive me. It’s been such a delight regaling you with tales of my butterfly collection, I completely forgot. The Millers’ ball is in two weeks. I’d like to escort you if I may?”
Sarah sat, dumbfounded.
“Ah, you’re excited to hear, I see,” he said with a wide smile. “Might that look of profound astonishment be taken as a yes?”
She snapped her mouth shut. Why hadn’t her mother told her it was flopped open? “Um, well, I heard there was a ball.”
“Yes, but did you receive an invitation?”
The lout. He knew her family hadn’t. The Millers�
� ball was the smartest of the season. Only the best of the best were invited. Unfortunately, the Clemmons’ bank accounts didn’t meet the requirements. “No, I’m afraid we didn’t.”
“Well then, this is the opportunity of a life time! You will join me, won’t you?”
“Of course she will, Mr. Petite,” her mother interjected. “Why, she’s agog with anticipation, aren’t you, my dear?”
Sarah gave her a lop-sided smile. “Yes, simply agog.”
Her mother, in turn, gave Oswald a vigorous nod. “See, what did I tell you?”
Sarah took a deep breath. Could this get any worse?
“Miss Sarah!” Fiona said as she burst into the room. “Miss Nanette says you’re to come right away!”
Mrs. Clemmons stood. “What’s this? How dare you interrupt, Fiona! Get back downstairs where you belong.”
“Mother, pipe down,” Sarah said and rose from her chair.
“My, my,” Oswald drawled. “Mrs. Clemmons, does your daughter often talk to you like that?”
Her mother’s face went red as a beet. “No, she doesn’t. And she’d best stop if she knows what’s good for her.”
Oswald smiled. “Do you, Sarah?”
Sarah was quickly losing her patience. “I know what’s best for the people at the orphanage. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to see what help I can be.” She headed for the foyer.
“Sarah!” her mother cried. “Richard, do something!”
Sarah’s father peeked over his paper. “Sarah, mind your mother.”
Sarah stopped in the middle of the foyer and turned to the parlor. “Perhaps Mr. Petite would like to join me? See how the other half lives?”
“Oh, mercy me, no,” he chortled. “I’ve not the stomach for dirty little orphans. But I suppose being an angel of mercy is part of your duty to the poor. Don’t let me keep you from it.”
She took several steps toward the parlor. “Thank you, Mr. Petite, for understanding.”
He waved it off. “Think nothing of it. Off with you now.”
She smiled, took in her mother’s angry expression, and then hightailed it to the kitchen, Fiona on her heels.
Downstairs she gathered what she needed. “What did Nanette say?”
“Only to hurry. Mrs. Fuller is very sick.”
“Oh dear, I was afraid of that. Did you put the honey and note just inside the door?”
“Yes, and I made sure I didn’t get close to anyone.”
“Good. Especially not Mrs. Fuller.” She went into the pantry where she dried her herbs. “Let me see, all I have is some ginger and peppermint. The rest isn’t ready.”
“Anything I can do, Miss Sarah?” Fiona asked.
“No, you stay here. My parents’ guest will be leaving, and Mother is going to be in a state.”
“Oh, yes,” Fiona said. “I’d best get a batch of cookies in the oven.”
Sarah emerged from the pantry. “I’ll take more ginger and peppermint to Mrs. Fuller. Prepare what I think she’ll need, then return.”
“Do be careful, Miss Sarah. Once your mother gets over the shock of your behavior, she’ll remember where you’ve gone and none of us will have any peace.”
Sarah set the herbs on the worktable and hugged her. Fiona might be a servant, but she was also her friend. She understood her mother’s moods and, more importantly, her fears. “Thank you for reminding me.” She stepped away, put the peppermint in a small jar, the ginger in another, and out the door she went.
She hurried down the sidewalk, her mind racing over the different sorts of ailments poor Mrs. Fuller might have contracted, when …
“Oof!”
Sarah bounced off the man and stumbled backward a few steps. “You!”
He stared at her, mouth agape. “What are the chances?” he said as several papers floated past his head.
She checked to make sure she still held her precious jars. She did. “I am so sorry, but I must go.”
His eyes roamed over her. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“No. Now I must leave. This is an emergency.”
He bent to pick up his books and papers. “Is someone hurt?”
“No, but they’re sick and I have to get this peppermint there to help with the fever.”
He hopped to his feet, arms now loaded with papers and books. “A fever? Peppermint? Yes, that would help. Never tried it myself. Always use garlic.”
Her eyes lit up. “You work for the doctor …”
“Miss, I am a doctor.” He glanced at the load in his arms. “Almost.”
“That’s good enough for me.” She took him by the arm and pulled him along.
“Wait a minute, where are we going?”
Thank Heaven he didn’t put up anymore protest than that. “To Westbury Orphanage. The headmistress and caregiver is very ill. We have to hurry.”
“There’s no need to pull me along like a mule. I’m coming.” He picked up the pace.
She released him and found it a struggle to keep up. “It’s three more blocks.”
“Symptoms?” he said and broke into a trot.
“Fever, sore throat.” She hurried after him, surprised she didn’t lose her hat, then remembered she wasn’t wearing one.
“Any cough?”
“None that I know of. She was feverish when I left. That was several hours ago.”
“Chills?”
“Not yet,” she said as they rounded a corner. Two blocks to go. Sarah found it hard to breathe.
He noticed her panting and slowed down. “I’m sorry, do you need to rest?”
“I … I c-can’t keep up.”
“That’s all right, but it’s best to keep moving. We’ll walk.” He put a hand to the small of her back to get her going. She found it oddly calming and breathed a little easier. “The children seem fine.”
“Children? Oh, yes, it’s an orphanage. Wait a minute, how do you know there’s someone sick?”
“I volunteer there twice a week.”
He gave her a sidelong glance as they walked. “Ah, I see. You’ll have to forgive me, I’m not from around here. I’m staying with my cousin while I assist Dr. Campbell.”
“I understand. Many ladies volunteer at such places,” she explained. “I’ve been volunteering at Westbury since I was seventeen.”
“That long? Well, that’s commendable.”
She looked at him as her lungs calmed. At least she didn’t feel like fainting. “Thank you.” She glanced ahead. “There it is.”
“Then we’d best prepare ourselves for some work.” He smiled, gave her a curt nod, and they picked up the pace.
When they reached the orphanage, Nanette was waiting at the door. “Hurry, I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She was fine one minute, then fainted the next.”
“Oh, no!” Sarah said and hurried inside. “This way, Mister …”
“Waller. Abijah Waller,” he said and followed.
She went straight to the kitchen to find Mrs. Fuller seated at the table, a cold, wet cloth on her head. “I don’t know what came over me. There’s no need for so much fuss.” She took one look at Mr. Waller and panicked. “Oh, no, no, I don’t need …” She looked at him again. “Oh, but you’re not a doctor.” She studied his armful of books and papers. “Tax man? Oh mercy!”
“I’m nothing of the kind,” he said and dumped his load on the table. “I’m a doctor.”
“Ohhhh,” Mrs. Fuller wailed.
“Relax,” Sarah said. “He’s not a real doctor.”
Her eyes bulged.
“I mean,” Sarah said and turned to Mr. Waller. “You’re practicing, right?”
“You could say that,” he agreed and turned to his patient. “Now, let’s have a look at you.”
Mrs. Fuller eyed him. “I haven’t any money.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “Neither have I.”
Nanette put a fist to her mouth and turned to Sarah. Both did their best not to giggle at the exchange. At least he had a good bed
side manner.
“You definitely have a fever,” Mr. Waller stated as he continued to examine her.
Sarah watched in fascination and tracked his every move, committing them to memory. He poked and prodded and asked sensible questions. A few Sarah didn’t understand. Some were very private. Should she and Nanette go into the other room? But the man wasn’t a real doctor. To leave would be improper, wouldn’t it?
“Well?” Sarah finally said. “What has she got?”
Mr. Waller turned to her. “Mrs. Fuller has, in my opinion, two things happening here.”
“Two?” Sarah asked. She swallowed hard and turned to Mrs. Fuller. “You poor dear. How can I help?”
“Peppermint tea for the nausea,” he said. “That should help. Garlic for the fever, unless you have something else?”
“Fenugreek,” Sarah said. “And yes, it’s good for fevers.”
“Hmm,” he mused. “On second thought, I think it’s best to stick with the garlic. At least until I’ve researched this fenugreek.”
“But it’s a known fact,” Sarah argued.
“That may be so, but is it good for pregnancy?”
All three women gasped.
Mrs. Fuller’s mouth hung open a moment before she groaned. “Oh, no! Not again!”
Mr. Waller’s brows shot up. “How many?”
“Four, this would be the fifth.”
“Well then, congratulations,” he said. “You have a bad cold and a baby on the way.”
Chapter 4
The next day …
“He interests you.”
Sarah looked up from her needlework. “Not at all.”
Nanette pressed her lips together and smiled. “He does.”
Sarah rolled her eyes and set the handkerchief she was embroidering on her lap. “Can’t we talk about something else?”
“Of course,” she said with a giggle. “I think you interest him too.”
Sarah shook her head in resignation. “You’re impossible.”
“I do try.”
Sarah picked up the teapot. “More?”
“Please,” Nanette said and sighed.
Sarah’s brows went up. “Something the matter?”
