Just then, she stumbled, and Timothy reached out with his free arm and caught her. Even with so many layers, she was still so small, and nestled into his side perfectly. No, he needed to concentrate on the anger. How dare she stumble! Just how many times did she think he was going to save her from the snow, anyway? But even as he had the thought, he knew the answer. He’d save her as many times as she needed—over and over again if necessary.
He sighed—he was simply terrible at staying angry.
They came to a break in the fence. If they were where Timothy thought they were, the next house over had a fence, but how would they get from where they were to the next fence without overshooting?
“Hold hands!” Mr. Howard shouted. He grasped hold of the last fence rail, stretched his arms out as wide as they would go, and motioned for Miss Morgan to come closer. She took his hand, then Timothy’s, and he stepped carefully forward with the anchor of that human train.
There! He could make out the first fence rail of the next property by the light of the lantern, but he would have to let go of Miss Morgan to reach it. That would never do. Instead, he took off one of his scarves, gave her the end, and edged forward until he was at the fence. Then he reeled her in, rather like a fish on a hook, Mr. Howard trailing behind.
“Listen,” Miss Morgan said when they had all crossed the fence gap. “The wind is starting to die down.”
“Thank goodness,” Timothy replied. He held the lantern high. The snow was swirling a bit less frantically, but it was still thick. Progress of any kind was good, and he’d be grateful for it.
“Clever thinking with the scarf,” Mr. Howard said.
“Thank you. I only wish I’d come up with it sooner. We have several between us—we should be able to use them to our advantage.” Of course, keeping his face and neck warm was a very nice advantage, but it was already pretty obvious to Timothy that he wasn’t getting out of this without freezing at least something off.
At the next street, they tied their scarves together, and Timothy held on to the end as he felt his way to the opposite corner. Once he was there, he brought the other two across. “Not far now.”
“Good. I can’t feel my feet anymore,” Mr. Howard replied.
“Are you all right, Miss Morgan?” Timothy asked.
“I’m fine. Please, let’s keep going. So much is depending on us.” Her voice sounded hoarse, as though she’d been crying or was becoming ill. Timothy hoped it was neither.
At last they reached the street where the doctor lived. Timothy had passed it one afternoon and noticed him sitting on the front porch with a book. But could Timothy’s memory be trusted? What if he was wrong—or what if he’d steered them wrong as they were counting streets? If only this emergency had come up during the day, when they only had the blinding snowstorm to contend with. The snow plus the dark—it seemed like an impossible task.
“Where now?” Mr. Howard asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to remember,” Timothy answered. Was it the third house, or the fourth? He’d just been out for a stroll with no real purpose when he ran into the doctor that day, and he hadn’t paid much attention to his location.
“You aren’t sure? You mean, you don’t know?” Mr. Howard sounded furious. Timothy didn’t have to raise the lantern toward his face to know the man was seething.
“It’s one of these three houses,” Timothy replied.
“I can’t believe you brought us all this way without knowing for sure. That was utterly irresponsible. Are you trying to get us all killed, in addition to the woman at the hotel?”
“Stop that,” Miss Morgan intervened. “It’s one of these three houses—how close could you have brought us, Mr. Howard? All we have to do is knock on a door, and if it’s wrong, they’ll tell us which one is right. Mr. Hancock, where should we start?”
He’d seen the doctor sitting on the porch, and that porch seemed the most likely. “There,” he said, pointing.
Without waiting for any further comment, Miss Morgan began making her way up to the door of that house. Timothy could see that her steps were becoming more and more sluggish—wading through the piles of snow was certainly one of the most tiring things he’d ever experienced, and he was sure it was for her as well. Mr. Howard was likely also tired, but at that moment, he didn’t care so much how Mr. Howard felt.
Miss Morgan pounded on the door, waited a moment, then pounded again. At last, the door opened, and a man’s voice said, “Yes? Can I help you?”
“Are you Dr. Pettigrew?” she asked.
“Yes, I am. Come in—you shouldn’t be out in this.”
The three came inside, Miss Morgan outlined the situation, and then, before she could say another word, she fainted right there on the doctor’s floor.
Chapter Eight
Nancy Ann slowly opened her eyes. She was lying on a bed in a strange room, covered in blankets. She blinked a few times. She remembered walking through the blizzard, but that was about all. Why did her head feel so fuzzy?
“Oh, you’re awake.” A kind woman’s voice came from the doorway. “Let me get you some hot tea.”
“Thank you.” Nancy Ann tried to sit up, but that was an exercise in futility. Instead, she looked around, trying to find some clues as to where she was. She hadn’t been kidnapped—a kidnapper wouldn’t cover her with cozy blankets and offer her tea. Wait—she remembered knocking on the doctor’s door. That must be where she was.
“Are you Mrs. Pettigrew?” she asked when the woman came back, balancing a cup on a saucer.
“I am. And you’re Miss Morgan, from what your friends were telling me.”
“That’s right.” Nancy Ann leaned up on her elbow and took a long sip of the hot liquid. It was mint with honey, and absolutely delicious.
“I’m glad to see you awake. The doctor took his sleigh and one of your young men over to the hotel—his horse is very smart about where to find the streets. And there’s another young man waiting for you downstairs. He’s been rather anxious about you too.”
“Which young man? The annoying one, or the annoying one?”
Mrs. Pettigrew laughed and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Oh, well do I remember the days when all young men were annoying. Let’s see. The one downstairs is Mr. Hancock, and I believe the one who went back with the doctor was named Mr. Howard.”
Nancy Ann nodded. If either of them had to stay behind, she was glad it was him. Not that she was eager to see him. No, not in the slightest. But he was less irritating than Mr. Howard. She thought. She wasn’t sure. Her head hurt.
“I wish I could have gone with,” she said, pressing a hand to her temple. “I wanted to help Laura.”
“You already helped her the very best way you could—that was by coming here,” Mrs. Pettigrew replied. “I must say, though, how foolish it was.”
“I know. Oh, believe me, I know, and I told myself over and over again the whole way here. But I couldn’t turn back.”
“And you’re an angel for it.” Mrs. Pettigrew sat back and beamed. She was a dear older lady, with her gray curls caught up in a day cap. “Now, if we don’t get that boy up here to see you, he’s going to wear a hole in my parlor rug with all his pacing. Why don’t we call for him?”
Nancy Ann nodded. “Maybe you could help me with some of these blankets first—I’m now a little too warm.”
Mrs. Pettigrew arranged everything until Nancy Ann was comfortable, and then went for Mr. Hancock. He entered the room almost hesitantly, as though he feared he wouldn’t be welcome, and that made Nancy Ann smirk just a bit. She liked that he was nervous because of her. It made her feel important, maybe a little powerful.
“Hello,” she said. “So, we made it.”
“We did, but then you decided to take a rest. Are you all right?”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“The doctor said it was sheer exhaustion,” Mrs. Pettigrew said from the corner. When Mr. Hancock turned to her with surprise, she said, “We
ll, of course I’m still here. You don’t think I’m going to leave a young man and a young woman alone in a bedroom in my house, do you?”
“No, ma’am. I wouldn’t expect that at all,” Mr. Hancock replied, looking all the more flustered. Nancy Ann really had to fight to hide her smile now.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Almost six in the morning. The doctor and Mr. Howard left about two hours ago.”
“Oh, gracious. I had no idea I’d slept that long.”
“You should sleep a great deal longer than that,” Mrs. Pettigrew corrected her. “In fact, I think your Mr. Hancock should scoot and let you get to it.”
Going back to sleep did sound awfully nice. “But I want to know how Laura’s doing.”
“We may not know that for a while,” Mrs. Pettigrew said. “I do have a bit of good news, though—the storm is lessening. It’s still frightful out there, but I believe I can make out the house across the way.”
“Oh, that is good.” Nancy Ann tried to hold back a yawn, but was unsuccessful.
“I should let you sleep,” Mr. Hancock said. “I’m so glad you’re all right, Miss Morgan.”
“Nancy Ann,” she said. “After all we’ve been through together, I think you can call me Nancy Ann.”
“I think I’d like that,” he said with a grin, and then he disappeared behind her closed eyelids.
***
Nancy Ann bolted awake when she heard a booming man’s voice coming from downstairs. She threw back her covers and headed for the door—she needed to know how Laura was doing. However, she didn’t realize how weak she was, and by the time she reached the stairs, she all but sagged on the railing.
“My dear, whatever are you doing out of bed?” Mrs. Pettigrew asked, bustling up the stairs and taking her by the elbow. “You need your rest or you’ll never recover.”
“I thought I heard the doctor come in, and I wanted to ask about Laura and her baby,” Nancy Ann explained.
“The doctor did come in, and I’ll send him up in a moment to tell you the whole story,” Mrs. Pettigrew said. She deposited Nancy Ann on the edge of the bed. “And you’re not to go gallivanting around the house until you’ve got some strength back. My goodness, you look like a newborn foal, all wobbly knees.”
“I do feel very tired,” Nancy Ann admitted. “I don’t think I had much to eat yesterday—some tea and some wedding cake . . .”
“And then you went trudging through a blizzard.” Mrs. Pettigrew shook her head. “Well, I hope you learned your lesson, young lady. If you must be off adventuring, eat a good dinner first. Speaking of that, I’ll make you a tray. Your young man has already eaten enough for a small army.”
“You’re too kind,” Nancy Ann said, but Mrs. Pettigrew waved it off.
“When you’re the wife of a doctor, your home is always open. And I confess, I enjoy it immensely. We were never able to have children of our own, and this sort of thing helps fill my need for children—well, now grandchildren.” She gave a small chuckle. “I’ll be back with that tray.”
Nancy Ann stood and washed her face at the small basin in the corner, then tried to pull the loose wisps of her hair back up into her braided bun. That would have to do for now, she guessed. There was kind of an odd tickle in her lungs, but she decided not to worry about it—she felt fine, really.
When Mrs. Pettigrew returned with the tray, she brought with her Dr. Pettigrew, who took a moment to look in Nancy Ann’s eyes and feel her pulse. Then he sat in the chair next to the bed. Timothy trailed behind and leaned against the wall, looking eager for an update as well.
“Eat while I tell you what happened. I understand you didn’t have much yesterday,” the doctor said.
“We were quite busy, and I wasn’t paying attention,” Nancy Ann replied. She lifted a piece of toast. “Please, tell me about Laura.”
“It’s the most remarkable thing I’ve ever seen.” Dr. Pettigrew leaned back and shook his head. “When I arrived, she was barely conscious. I discovered that the placenta was indeed partially blocking the way, but I was able to maneuver the child past that small edge of obstruction. I’ve never even thought to do that before, but when the idea came, it seemed like the most reasonable choice, and it worked.”
“So she’s all right? And the baby?” Nancy Ann knew it wasn’t polite to speak with food in her mouth, but she supposed it would be overlooked this once.
“The baby is perfect. The mother will need several days of recovery, but I believe she’ll be fine as well.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Nancy Ann glanced over at Timothy, who seemed a little paler than he had a moment ago. She wondered if the description of the medical procedure had been too much for him, even though the doctor had been as discreet as he could be under the circumstances.
“Now, I imagine things will have lightened up a bit outside in a few hours. I want you to eat and rest, and then I’ll drive you both back to the hotel in my sleigh.” Dr. Pettigrew stood and placed his hand on Nancy Ann’s shoulder. “I’m told it was your insistence that brought you out in the storm. You are to be commended, but you’re also to be scolded. I’m glad you came, but don’t you ever do that again.”
“All right, sir,” Nancy Ann promised, knowing full well—and knowing he knew it too—that she’d do it again if it was called for.
Nancy Ann finished her food, which consisted of toast, beef broth, and pudding, then stood and walked around the room. Her strength seemed to be coming back, and she felt cooped up. She made her way downstairs and found the parlor, where she curled up on the window seat and looked out. It was still snowing, but just gently now, and visibility was much, much better. It was as though the world had finished with its tantrum and was beginning to settle down.
Timothy walked into the room and took a seat near the fireplace. “It’s quite a sight, isn’t it? Piles and piles of white everywhere you look.”
Nancy Ann began to reply, but a cough caught in her throat instead. It felt like pieces of her lung were ripping loose. Timothy came to her side and slapped her back, which really didn’t help much, but apparently, he thought he was being helpful, so she let him. Mrs. Pettigrew scurried in, followed by the doctor.
“How long have you had that cough?” he asked, grabbing his bag from the chair in the corner and rummaging through it.
“It just started. Honestly, I was feeling fine.”
He put his stethoscope to her chest and listened for a moment, then shook his head. “You had no indication at all that you were developing a chest cold?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. Oh, wait—I did feel a tickle in my lungs earlier, but that hardly seemed important. Now that I’ve coughed the first time, though, my lungs really hurt.”
He nodded. “That’s how these things go sometimes. They build and build, you’re not aware of it, and you think you’re all right, but once the coughing starts, it hurts like the dickens. My dear, you did quite a number on yourself. Your lungs are congested, and it sounds like that congestion is starting to break up. That’s a good thing—the more you cough, the better it will be for you—but it will be unpleasant.”
“I can tell that already,” Nancy Ann said.
“Let me go mix up a nice aromatic tea,” Mrs. Pettigrew suggested. “I have just the thing.”
“Lots of honey, my dear,” the doctor called after her as she bustled out of the room. Then he took a small blanket from a basket in the corner and tossed it onto Nancy Ann’s lap. “Stay warm.”
She tucked it around her legs obediently, and the doctor gave a nod before leaving the room. Timothy shook his head and chuckled. “You’re a bit of a trouble maker, you know that?”
“Oh, I know.” She plucked at the corner of her blanket. “This is a terrible time for me to be getting sick. They probably need me back at the hotel.”
“I have no doubt they miss you, but I’m sure they’re managing. They’re all extremely capable.”
Another cough racked Nancy Ann’s ri
bcage, and when it had passed, she sank back onto the cushions on the window seat.
“That sounds terrible,” Timothy commented.
“Yes, and it feels that way. It’s disappointing, really—here I thought I was doing so much better, but no.” If she was supposed to stay warm, did that mean she couldn’t go outside to return to the hotel? Was she contagious? She shook her head. All she wanted was to be useful, and that just didn’t seem possible.
“I was thinking last night, while we walked through the snow.” She coughed again, but this time, it didn’t take nearly as long to regain her composure. “I owe you an apology. You obviously wanted to speak to me, and I cut you off. What did you want to say?”
“I’m sorry—so much has happened, I’m not sure I remember the incident.”
“We were discussing our fathers, and we’d just learned that mine was from the North and yours was from the South. I’m afraid I quite dominated that conversation.”
He blinked. “You’re apologizing for that?”
“I am. I should have let you speak.”
He looked as though he couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. Nancy Ann couldn’t believe it either—she firmly believed the North to be in the right, and she wasn’t terribly interested in hearing what a son of the Confederacy had to say. She found, however, that she very much wanted to hear what Timothy had to say, as a unique individual, and she never wanted to be the kind of person who couldn’t stand to hear another’s opinions.
Timothy leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “You know, it’s funny—I tried to be angry about that, but it didn’t work.”
“You tried to be angry? Whatever for?” What an odd goal.
He chuckled. “To keep from being scared of the storm. Truth be told, though, I don’t believe I could ever hold a grudge against you. I’m simply not capable of it. Anyone else, yes. You . . . impossible.”
Nancy Ann felt heat flood her cheeks. That was good—the doctor had told her to stay warm, hadn’t he? “That’s a bit too kind, in my opinion.”
The Calm of Night (Kansas Crossroads Book 10) Page 5
