These Tangled Threads

by Tracie Peterson

  “Well, of course those employed by the Corporation will receive priority, but I do hope my practice will expand to include other residents of the community. I enjoy keeping busy,” he replied as Mrs. Arnold led him toward his new office.

  “He appears quite taken with you,” Ruth whispered, envy etched upon her face as she glanced first at Daughtie and then over her shoulder toward the doctor.

  Daughtie grasped Ruth’s arm and pulled her toward the stairway. “If you’d quit acting so shy and talk to him, he’d likely be much more interested in you.”

  “I’ll see you at supper, Miss Winfield?” Dr. Ketter inquired.

  Ruth’s eyebrows arched. She gave Daughtie a smug grin before racing up the stairs.

  Daughtie turned toward Dr. Ketter. “I’m present for three meals a day, just like Ruth, Theona, and Mrs. Arnold,” she advised before making a hasty retreat.

  She ran up the stairs and into the bedroom. Ruth was already sitting on the bed, her gaze fixed upon a book she obviously wasn’t reading. “That book is much easier to read when it’s turned right side up,” Daughtie remarked with a smile.

  Ruth snapped the book closed and whacked it down on the bed.

  Daughtie plopped down beside Ruth. “Please don’t be angry with me, Ruth. I did nothing to encourage Dr. Ketter’s attention. You know I’m not interested in him. Besides, he was only being cordial. He’s probably got a fiancée back home.”

  “Strange that you were chosen as the sole recipient of his conviviality,” Ruth retaliated.

  Daughtie sighed and leaned back against the wooden headboard. “I promise to direct all the conversation to you at supper tonight. Now will you forgive me?”

  “I never said I was angry with you.”

  “There’s more frost inside this room than out on the front steps.”

  Ruth giggled. “I’m sorry for my unseemly behavior. I suppose I did feel jealous when Dr. Ketter appeared interested in you. Instead, I should be encouraging you to befriend him. After all, if you direct your attention toward Dr. Ketter, perhaps you’ll stop making a fool of yourself with that Irishman.”

  Daughtie attempted to hold back the anger that suddenly rose in her chest. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

  Ruth crossed her arms over her chest and gave a smug grin. “Now who’s caused the chill in this room?”

  “Arguably, I could say it’s you. You’re the one determined to make disparaging remarks about Mr. Donohue,” Daughtie replied before stomping out of the room, down the steps, and directly into the arms of a surprised-looking Dr. Ketter. Instinctively, she flailed about to steady herself before finally gaining her balance.

  She looked up and was greeted by Dr. Ketter’s chocolate brown eyes, which were now sparkling with amusement. His head was tilted at a slight angle, and his full lips were turned up in a broad smile that caused his cheeks to plump.

  “Excuse me! I lost my balance. I guess you realize that,” Daughtie stammered, pulling out of the doctor’s grasp.

  “Well, I’ve heard tell of girls throwing themselves at eligible men, but having never been the recipient of such activity, I wasn’t quite certain if this was to be my first encounter. Now you’ve gone and dashed my hopes,” he said while maintaining his wide grin.

  Daughtie felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I had no intention of throwing myself at you. I tripped on the stairs.”

  Dr. Ketter laughed. “I realize you stumbled, Miss Win-field. I was merely teasing you and certainly didn’t intend to cause you further embarrassment. Mrs. Arnold tells me you lived in the Shaker community in Canterbury, New Hampshire,” he said, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. “Moving to Lowell must have posed innumerable difficulties for you.”

  “I doubt if I’ve had more difficulties to overcome than any of the other girls. After all, most of the mill girls left families behind. At least I didn’t have to leave my parents and siblings, wondering if and when I might see them again,” she replied while attempting to inch off toward the kitchen.

  He reached out and gently grasped Daughtie’s elbow, directing her into the parlor. “Why don’t we sit down? I’d appreciate the opportunity to visit with you.”

  Daughtie stiffened. She didn’t want to spend the remainder of the afternoon being questioned by Dr. Ketter. “I have some mending to complete” came her feeble excuse.

  “That’s quite all right. Why don’t you fetch it, and we can talk while you stitch? I’ll feel as though I’ve returned home. My mother used to sit by the fire and stitch while I worked on my school lessons years ago.”

  Daughtie knew she was trapped. Dr. Ketter was one of those people who would have a remedy for any excuse she might toss in his direction. “I’ll get my sewing,” she mumbled before retracing her steps to the bedroom.

  “Back so soon?” Ruth inquired, looking up from her book.

  “Yes. Dr. Ketter has requested company in the parlor. I came to fetch my sewing and you. I didn’t want to fritter away the afternoon and not have my mending completed come morning,” she replied. “Come along.”

  “How kind of Dr. Ketter to include me,” Ruth said while they were descending the staircase. “Perhaps he is interested in me.”

  Daughtie cringed. She hoped that nothing would be said to lay blame on her for stretching the truth. After all, she hadn’t told a blatant lie. That thought helped salve her nagging conscience for only a brief moment, for the instant they entered the room, Ruth flashed a smile in the doctor’s direction.

  “Thank you so much for inviting me to join your conversation,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes with a wild abandon that caused her to appear absurd.

  Dr. Ketter leveled a questioning glance at Daughtie before replying. “You are most welcome, Miss Wilson. I’m sure you will lend tremendous insight to our discussion.”

  Daughtie breathed a sigh of relief and aimed a grateful, albeit fleeting, smile in Dr. Ketter’s direction before taking out her mending.

  “Tell me, Miss Winfield, how did you happen to leave the Shaker community? I didn’t think anyone ever left their communes.”

  Daughtie could feel Ruth’s cold stare. “Oh, people leave from time to time for various reasons. I left with a friend in order to see what life was like among the world’s people. Ruth grew up in New England and knows all about the farming communities in the area, don’t you, Ruth?”

  Ruth bobbed her head up and down. “Indeed. But I’m sure Dr. Ketter finds life among the Shakers much more intriguing, don’t you?”

  “Since I know little about the Shakers, I do find the topic of genuine interest.”

  Ruth leaned back in her chair and stared at Daughtie with a look of irritated satisfaction crossing her face.

  “Well, that proves my point exactly. I’ve always been interested in hearing about Ruth’s life—and I’m interested in hearing about yours,” Daughtie hastened to add. “We’re always interested in the unknown, aren’t we?”

  “Exactly!” Dr. Ketter replied, slapping a hand to his knee.

  “Perhaps the solution would be for each of us to tell a little about our background,” Ruth ventured.

  “That’s a marvelous idea, isn’t it, Dr. Ketter?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. But I’m going to insist that you ladies call me Ivan. If we’re going to be living in the same house, we should be less formal, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “By all means,” Ruth agreed. “You may call me Ruth.”

  “And you, Miss Winfield? May I address you as Daughtie?” Dr. Ketter inquired.

  Daughtie didn’t immediately reply. She preferred to keep things as they were—more formal and distant. Yet a refusal would make her appear haughty, so she nodded her reluctant agreement. “I suppose that would be acceptable, although highly unusual. After all, we are hardly peers.”

  “But of course we are,” Ivan replied. He allowed his gaze to linger on Daughtie, causing her to grow very uncomfortable.

  “Why don’t you be
gin by telling us about yourself?” Ruth requested, leaning forward and giving the doctor her undivided attention.

  “I fear you’ll find my life to date rather boring. However, I’m hoping that will change now that I’ve completed my studies. I wanted to excel in school and consequently didn’t enjoy much social life, I fear.”

  “Where did you grow up?” Ruth inquired, her enthusiasm almost contagious.

  “My family owns a fishing business in Maine. I grew up along the coast, enjoying the ocean and the seafaring life. My father determined early on that I’d best receive an education if I was going to support myself. My mother worried about the dangers at sea. In fact, I had to sneak aboard my father’s boat in order to fish with him, and then when we’d return home, Mother would give me a tongue-lashing and sulk about for at least a week,” he said with a grimace.

  Ruth chuckled at his antics. “And who decided you should go to medical school?” she inquired.

  “Medicine was my choice. My mother and father briefly mentioned studying law, but I thought I was more suited to medicine. I’ve not regretted my choice. I found medical school much to my liking, although there were times I longed to put away the books and get on with healing patients.”

  “I think medicine is an admirable calling,” Ruth agreed.

  “Was your decision to enter the medical profession a calling?” Daughtie inquired.

  “I don’t know that I’d say it was a calling, but I do want to help people. Does that count?”

  “The question wasn’t meant as a test. I merely asked because I believe the finest doctors are called to the profession.”

  “And upon what theory or study do you base your conclusion?” Dr. Ketter inquired.

  “None—other than personal observation, that is. Throughout my life at the Shaker village, I worked alongside two different doctors and numerous Sisters who acted as nurses. It was a simple matter to identify those who were truly called to the medical field and those who were merely performing a task.”

  “And which were you, Daughtie?”

  “My calling was in the children’s dormitory. I found great pleasure working with children, and I’m told I was very good with them. Children enjoyed being around me.”

  “I can understand why,” he replied.

  Daughtie blushed and tried to ignore his remark. Ruth glared in her direction, but Dr. Ketter met Daughtie’s gaze with an adoring smile.

  “Supper is ready,” Mrs. Arnold announced from the doorway.

  “Prayer answered,” Daughtie murmured. She jumped up from her chair and hastened into the dining room, strategically placing herself beside Theona. “Sit here beside me,” Daughtie said while beckoning Ruth toward the chair to her left.

  Ruth ignored her request and seated herself at the far end of the table, which permitted Dr. Ketter access to the seat beside Daughtie. He walked to the chair and sat down next to Daughtie. Ruth’s annoyance was obvious, yet she’d done nothing to prevent the situation. Her actions were akin to those of a spoiled child, Daughtie decided.

  Mrs. Arnold fluttered into the room with a bowl of fried potatoes in one hand and a platter of boiled chicken in the other. “Would you give thanks, Dr. Ketter?” she inquired after setting the bowls atop the table and sitting down.

  “I’d be honored,” he replied, reaching out to grasp hands with Mrs. Arnold and Daughtie. The rest of them followed his lead and joined hands. “This was a custom in my family at meal times. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” Mrs. Arnold replied. “It’s a very nice custom.”

  Daughtie wondered if Dr. Ketter had intentionally squeezed her hand upon completion of his prayer but then decided she was likely overreacting. Reaching for the buttered turnips, she scooped a serving onto her plate and passed the bowl to Dr. Ketter.

  “Has Daughtie told you of her excellent medical background?” Mrs. Arnold asked while placing a piece of chicken on Theona’s plate. “Why, if it hadn’t been for Daughtie’s nursing skills, Theona would probably still be fighting a fever.”

  “Not at all,” Daughtie explained. “I merely sat with her so you could get some rest, Mrs. Arnold. And Ruth certainly took her turn at Theona’s sickbed, also.”

  Mrs. Arnold nodded in agreement. “Yes, although I don’t believe Ruth is quite so comfortable tending to illness, are you, Ruth?”

  “No, I’m certainly no match for Daughtie. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not very hungry. I think I’ll go upstairs and read my book. I feel certain I won’t be missed,” Ruth replied. The wooden chair legs scraped across the floor, their protest seeming to mirror Ruth’s angry emotions.

  “I have apple pie, Ruth. I’ll call you when we’re ready for dessert,” Mrs. Arnold offered.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Arnold, but please don’t bother. Once I’ve finished reading, I plan to retire for the evening.”

  “In that case, I’ll bid you good-night,” she said. “Theona, tell Ruth good-night.”

  Ruth rushed from the room while Theona and Dr. Ketter were still in the midst of bidding her good-night. They don’t realize she doesn’t want to go up those stairs at all, Daughtie thought. What Ruth really wants is to hear them beg her to remain and tell her the gathering will be of no consequence without her. Instead, each of them wished her an amiable good-night and quickly returned to their food and conversation. Daughtie wondered if she should follow Ruth—if it would make her feel better knowing that only Mrs. Arnold and Theona would be garnering Dr. Ketter’s attention. But what plausible reason could she give in order to excuse herself? She could think of none, so she remained, listening to Dr. Ketter’s compliments and answering his onslaught of questions with as much brevity as she could manage.

  “I would certainly enjoy seeing a bit more of the town. Is there any possibility you would agree to accompany me for a stroll, Daughtie?”

  “Oh, absolutely not. I have my mending to complete and several other tasks that need my immediate attention. But thank you for the kind invitation,” she added, feeling she must at least exercise proper etiquette.

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “I work at the library, but I’m certain Ruth would be pleased to accept your invitation. Shall I ask her when I go upstairs?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll wait until one evening when you’re free,” he replied, a trace of a smile on his lips.

  Dr. Ketter was absent when the girls hurried home from the mill for breakfast the next morning.

  “Apparently Dr. Ketter isn’t an early riser,” Ruth observed, heaping an empty bowl with oatmeal.

  “He’s already left the house. He’s going to be busy throughout the day completing arrangements for the delivery of his office supplies. Some of the items should be arriving today,” Mrs. Arnold explained.

  The reply brought an obvious look of disappointment to Ruth’s face; however, Daughtie was relieved. In fact, she hoped to avoid Dr. Ketter as much as possible since his attention was obviously going to cause difficulties in her friendship with Ruth. In truth, she hoped he would be delayed until after her departure for the library this evening.

  When Dr. Ketter failed to arrive at the table for supper that evening, a sense of relief washed over Daughtie. She ate her supper more quickly than was necessary for the last meal of the day, jumped up from the table, and announced she was leaving for the library.

  “Surely you have time for dessert,” Mrs. Arnold said, attempting to coax her back to the table.

  “No, I must be on my way. I’ll be home by nine forty-five,” she replied, grabbing her indigo blue wool cloak from a peg in the hallway and scurrying out the door.

  Mrs. Potter gave a cheery greeting the moment Daugh-tie opened the front door of the library. “I’m glad you’ve arrived, my dear. We received a large box of books late this afternoon. They need to be evaluated and shelved. Most of them appear to be in good condition.”

  “How wonderful! Were they donated?”

  “Yes. The wife of one of the Boston Associat
es heard the mill girls had begun a library, and she boxed up all these books and shipped them from Boston, along with this lovely note,” Mrs. Potter said, waving a piece of engraved stationery in the air. “I’ve been giddy with excitement all day. They’re all such treasures. Near the bottom of one box, I found The Lady of the Lake as well as The Fair Maid of Perth, both Sir Walter Scott offerings that I’m certain girls will enjoy.”

  “How wonderful!” Daughtie exclaimed, quickly shrugging out of her cape and hastening to reach deep into the box. “I can see I’m going to have a delightful evening,” she said, pulling out a leather-bound volume of Waverley.

  “Indeed. I selfishly wished they had arrived earlier in the day, but alas, I must go home and complete my chores. Please be certain you catalog the books before you place them on the shelves. I don’t want to lose any of them.”

  Daughtie nodded her agreement and began leafing through another book. The hours ticked by, and for once, Daughtie was pleased there had been few patrons throughout the evening. She’d unpacked most of the books and had cataloged and shelved them according to Mrs. Potter’s exacting instructions. After assuring herself the whale oil lamps were extinguished, Daughtie doused the embers in the fireplace and then donned her wraps. Exiting the library, she carefully turned the key and then jiggled the handle, assuring herself the library was securely locked.

  “I thought you should be closing soon.”

  Daughtie whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Dr. Ketter. “What are you doing here?” she snapped.

  “I frightened you—I apologize. I asked Mrs. Arnold for directions, hoping you might enjoy some company on your way home,” he replied.

  A wagon lumbered up the street and came to a halt in front of the library. “Good evenin’, Miss Winfield. I was comin’ by to see if ya had any additional boxes that needed to be delivered to the church and thought you might need a ride home on this cold night. But I see ya’ve already closed up the library, and it appears you have an escort to see you home, so I’ll bid ya good-night,” Liam Donohue said. Without waiting for a reply, he flicked the reins and was gone.