Kansas Courtship

by Victoria Bylin

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “Absolutely not! I care about people. I care about this town.”

  “You think I don’t? I saw people die in the tornado, Miss Mitchell. What happens if you kill someone with your incompetence?”

  “I’m not incompetent! I’m a highly trained physician.”

  “You’re a woman!”

  When the hammering stopped for the second time, Zeb realized he’d shouted at her. By tomorrow, the whole town would know he’d done battle with Dr. Mitchell. No way could he let her win.

  She must have felt the same way, because she spoke in a voice loud enough for the work crew to hear. “You’re very observant, Mr. Garrison. I am, in fact, female. I’m also a doctor, and I will not leave High Plains.”

  Zeb dropped his voice to a hush. “You’ll break your word, Dr. Mitchell. Mark my words.”

  “Not a chance.”

  Like Frannie, she made promises too easily. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  When she stepped closer, he smelled her fancy lavender soap, reminding him of Frannie. Women were all alike—two-faced Jezebels with heady ambitions and flapping tongues.

  Dr. Mitchell took another step, crowding him because he refused to budge as she lectured him. “You, Mr. Garrison, have misjudged me. I don’t care about smudges on a dress. I don’t mind scrubbing floors. But I will not be disrespected.”

  Zeb knew the feeling. The need for respect had driven him to build a mill instead of working for wages. Her breathing deepened and slowed as she fought for control. When she clenched her jaw, he imagined her counting to ten. The trick wouldn’t work. Zeb knew, because he used it himself.

  He flashed a grin. “Cat got your tongue, Doc?”

  She raked his face with those fiery blue eyes. “You need to know what happened after you left.”

  “I don’t care.” He’d lied. He cared about everything in High Plains.

  The redhead kept yammering at him. “You should care, Mr. Garrison. A girl came into the building. Bess Carter.”

  “She can’t speak.”

  “That’s right.” Dr. Mitchell spoke in a rush. “I’m a grown woman. I’m accustomed to adolescent pranks from silly little boys—”

  “Wait just a minute!”

  “No, sir.” She clipped the words. “I will not wait. That building should be boarded up. What if the roof had collapsed on her? You endangered a child today, a girl who couldn’t call for help. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  He was, but he’d never admit it. “Anything else, Dr. Mitchell?”

  “Yes,” she said. “With or without your help, I intend to find a place to practice.”

  “Good luck.” He smirked at her.

  “I won’t quit,” she repeated.

  Zeb stared at her with a mix of disbelief and envy. Where had that faith come from? Didn’t she know life took dangerous turns? He flung up his hand to indicate the framework of the town hall. “Are you blind, Doc? A tornado blew this town to pieces. There’s not an inch of space that’s not being used except my parlor.”

  “I don’t need your parlor,” she countered.

  “Good, because you can’t have it.”

  She stood ramrod straight. Zeb had a good six inches on her, but he felt no advantage. This woman had courage, the kind that made a small dog chase a bigger one. Of all the aggravating things, she reminded him of someone he used to know…not Frannie, but a young man who’d called on the foremost millwright in America.

  I want to be your apprentice, Mr. Gridley.

  So do a lot of men, Mr. Garrison. Why should I pick you?

  Because I want it, sir.

  Zeb had been full of faith that day, faith in God and faith in his dreams. Gridley had seen that confidence and taken him under his wing. A month later, the man arranged a dinner party to introduce his protégé to his upper-crust friends. Zeb had escorted Cassandra, but that night he’d fallen in love with Frannie.

  Hammering pulled him back to the present. High Plains needed a doctor, not a debutante from New York. He couldn’t stand the sight of Dr. Mitchell and her red hair. As for her skills, he’d trust her to paint sore throats but nothing else.

  She waved her hand to get his attention. “Mr. Garrison? Did you hear me?”

  He’d been caught off guard and didn’t like it. “What?”

  “I said, when I have a parlor of my own, I expect you to apologize.”

  “Sure,” he said, mocking her. “Why not?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” He’d never been more sure in his life. “You don’t have a prayer of finding an office, Dr. Mitchell. No one here wants a lady doctor.” Except Pete and Rebecca, Cassandra and Emmeline and Will and anyone with kids.

  “I’ll have to change their minds, won’t I?” With a dip of her chin, she headed back to the street.

  Her skirts swayed with lady-like grace, but Zeb saw past the poise. He’d just kicked a hornet’s nest. He felt the sting of it now. Even more confusing, instead of running away from the hornet named Nora Mitchell, he wanted to chase after her. He wanted to see the sparks in her blue eyes and the waves of her red hair. That desire couldn’t be tolerated.

  “Dr. Mitchell!” he called.

  She stopped and turned. “Yes, Mr. Garrison?”

  “The Crandalls leave tomorrow. If you’re smart, you’ll go with them.”

  She turned fully, giving him a good look at the high-and-mighty dress and the feather that had tickled his nose. “I assure you, sir, the Crandalls will be leaving without me. You may not like my gender. You might not trust my abilities. But I’m a good doctor. I also have a conscience. The people in this town need me.”

  Yes, they do.

  Pride sealed his lips, but he didn’t turn away. Neither did she. They glared at each other until she gave a ladylike dip of her chin, followed by a smile and a sly wink.

  Completely disarmed, Zeb couldn’t think of a thing to say. The redheaded doctor had thrown down the gauntlet. They’d gone to war and he wanted to win. He also imagined kissing that smirk right off her pretty face. He had no right to such a thought, but he couldn’t help it. Dr. Mitchell had gotten to him. For that reason alone, she needed to go back to New York.

  Nora kept her chin high as she crossed the street, but her insides were churning. Winking at Zeb Garrison bordered on shameless. What had she been thinking? Even more frightening, what was he thinking? The wink had been a trick she’d learned from male students who’d harassed her. Whenever a man made that presumptuous gesture, she felt flustered. She doubted a wink would fluster Zebulun Garrison, but she hoped so.

  “Oh, dear,” she mumbled as she avoided the broken boardwalk. What if he misread the wink as flirting? They’d been alone in Dr. Dempsey’s office when she touched his arm. She’d acted out of concern, but she’d felt something stronger, a connection that made her notice his green eyes, the stubble on his jaw. Winking at Zeb Garrison had been a mistake. Either she’d insulted her new boss, or he’d take it as a brazen invitation. At the thought of seeing him again, she stifled a groan. In a town the size of High Plains, their paths would cross no matter how hard she tried to avoid him.

  Eager to escape the prickle of his gaze on her back, she rounded the corner and headed for the boardinghouse. There she climbed the steps, walked into the foyer and smelled fresh bread. The aroma reminded her of her empty stomach, so she went to the kitchen where she saw a tall blonde, presumably Rebecca, stirring a pot of soup. She hoped the cook would be pleasant. Even more than food, Nora needed a friend.

  She tapped on the door frame. “Hi, are you Rebecca?”

  Recognition lit the woman’s eyes. “You must be Dr. Mitchell!”

  Judging by her accent, the cook had recently come from Scandinavia. “That’s right,” Nora replied.

  Rebecca indicated a small table by a window overlooking a meadow. “Please, sit down. Mrs. Jennings told me to expect you.”

  “I don’
t want to be a bother.”

  “You’re not,” the cook replied. “I’m eager to speak with you. Pete, my husband, was just here. There’s already talk about you and plenty of it!”

  Nora forced a smile. “I’m afraid Mr. Garrison wasn’t expecting a woman.”

  “That’s the truth!”

  Unsure of the cook’s opinion, Nora measured her words. “I’m a good doctor. I may be female, but—”

  “Glory! You don’t have to explain to me. My grandmother was a healer in Norway.” The cook pointed at the chair. “Sit. You must be hungry.”

  “Starved is more like it,” Nora admitted.

  “We’ll eat together, and I’ll tell you about High Plains.”

  As the cook ladled soup into bowls and sliced bread, she told Nora how the town had been founded on Christmas Day almost two years ago. Will Logan and Zeb Garrison, boyhood friends, had come West to pursue their dreams. They’d picked the spot on the High Plains River and contracted with the New England Emigrant Aid Society for funding. When spring arrived, dozens of folks from Bellville, their hometown near Boston, followed the men to the Kansas Territory.

  “My Pete is a blacksmith,” Rebecca explained. “Will and Zeb especially wanted him to come West.” In between spoonfuls of soup, Rebecca told Nora how Pete’s first wife had died in childbirth. When the cook finished the story, she looked at Nora with a gleam in her eyes. “I don’t care what people think, Dr. Mitchell. Pete and I want you here. You won’t have an easy time. I know, because I didn’t either. More than once, I’ve been called a dirty immigrant.”

  Nora’s family had sailed with the Pilgrims, but she and Rebecca had something in common. “We’re both outsiders, aren’t we?”

  “Very much.” Rebecca fetched the teakettle and refilled their cups. “That’s why I want to talk to you about the Ladies Aid Society. Matilda Johnson is president. She and her husband own the mercantile.”

  “I already met Abigail.”

  Rebecca sat down. “She and her mother are very much alike, if you know what I mean.”

  “I think I do.”

  The cook’s brows hitched into a scowl. “I’m not fond of Mrs. Johnson and she’s not fond of me.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?”

  “Pete and I were alone in a cellar during the tornado. She accused me of immoral behavior and spread rumors. I couldn’t walk down the street without getting ugly looks.”

  Nora knew the feeling. “I got plenty of stares in medical college.”

  “But we survived, didn’t we?” A smile lit up Rebecca’s face. “Pete married me to stop the talk. We didn’t know it, but God had plans for us. What Mrs. Johnson meant for harm turned into the greatest blessing of my life.”

  Envy stabbed through Nora. She loved being a doctor, but she wanted a husband and children of her own. “Pete sounds like a good man.”

  “He is.” Pride rang in her voice. “Most of the folks here are decent, but a few cause trouble.”

  “Like Mrs. Johnson?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Rebecca’s eyes glinted with anger. “She’s telling folks you asked Abigail an indecent question.”

  “Illness is indecent,” Nora countered. When a woman fainted, all possibilities—even indelicate ones—had to be considered.

  Rebecca’s eyes twinkled. “I know why Abigail swooned. She’s set her cap for Zeb, that’s why.”

  “I thought so,” Nora said casually.

  The blonde studied Nora from across the table. Both women stirred their tea until their lips tipped up in unison. When Rebecca gave in to a grin, so did Nora. The cook spoke first. “Are we thinking the same thing?”

  “I don’t know,” Nora answered. “What are you thinking?”

  Her blue eyes twinkled. “I’m thinking Abigail Johnson has some competition, and I’m glad for it. If Zeb didn’t notice that pretty hair of yours, he’s blind.”

  Nora’s cheeks turned pink. Zeb Garrison, for all his faults, had excellent vision. When he’d looked her up and down in the office, he’d noticed her hair and the dress, too.

  “It doesn’t matter what he sees,” Nora insisted. “My gender has nothing to do with my medical skills.”

  Rebecca grinned. “True, but you’re still a woman and I’m sure he noticed.”

  Nora felt herself blush, but she shrugged off Rebecca’s comment. “Abigail doesn’t need to worry about competition from me. I want a husband and family as much as any woman, but I’m here to be a doctor.”

  Rebecca’s hand went to her belly in the way of expecting women, or women with that hope. “We need you, Dr. Nora.”

  “And I need an office,” she replied. “Do you think Mrs. Jennings would let me use a room here?”

  “We’re full to the rafters.”

  “Is there space at the church?”

  “I don’t think so,” Rebecca replied. “Why don’t you do what my grandmother did. People didn’t come to her. She went to them.”

  The idea had merit. She’d see where people lived and get to know their families. Her patients wouldn’t have privacy, but the plan would give her a start.

  “I’ll do it,” she declared. “I’ll visit every person in High Plains.” Everyone except Zeb Garrison.

  Rebecca raised her cup in a toast. “To you, Dr. Mitchell. May God bless your efforts.”

  “Please, call me Nora.” She lifted her teacup in a salute to the future. She’d knock on every door. She’d call on every family. She wouldn’t skip anyone. Like Joshua circling Jericho, she’d walk circles around High Plains, seven times if that’s what it took to win the town’s trust. Zeb Garrison wouldn’t run her out of High Plains. She wouldn’t allow it.

  “To success!” she said.

  As the women toasted with their cups, Nora felt blessed. Surely the Lord would guide her steps.

  Chapter Six

  “Cassandra, don’t.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” his sister replied. “If I want to see Percival, I will.”

  Zeb pushed back from the breakfast table. Thanks to his sister, he had indigestion in spite of Mrs. Wright’s perfectly fried bacon. The woman had been with the wagon train, traveling West with her husband and grown son. The men had died in the storm, leaving her as alone as a woman could be. Zeb hired her to cook and clean. With Cassandra busy getting ready for the school year, he needed the help.

  What he didn’t need was his sister’s interest in Percival Walker. An attorney by trade, Percy had been hired by the New England Emigrant Aid Society to keep an eye on their investment. The man came from Boston money and it showed. Zeb disliked him, not because he had money but because of the way he threw his weight around.

  The way you did with Dr. Mitchell.

  He stifled a groan. Why wouldn’t his conscience shut up? Four days had passed since her arrival, and he’d awoken each morning with a sense of guilt. He’d been a brute. He knew it. He owed her an apology, but he wasn’t about to seek out the woman who kept winking at him in his dreams. What had she meant by that wink? He didn’t know and he refused to care. Right now, he had to deal with Cassandra, who’d just announced she’d be “lunching” with Percy. People in Boston “lunched.” People in High Plains broke bread. Zeb preferred breaking bread.

  He looked down at his sister, still seated and defiantly sipping tea from a porcelain cup. Cassandra set the cup down with a plink, then looked up at him. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you like Percy?”

  “He’s a dandy.”

  “He’s a businessman,” she insisted. “Like you.”

  “He’s nothing like me.” Zeb paced to the window. Turning his back, he rubbed his eye to stop it from twitching. He’d downed four cups of coffee, but the hot brew couldn’t replace a good night’s sleep. He’d been awake long past midnight, working on plans for the mill. As soon as High Plains was strong again, he planned to change the saw blades into millstones.

  He didn’t have time to waste arguing with his sister, esp
ecially when his opinion didn’t matter. If it had, she’d have already married Clint Fuller. Zeb liked the cowboy. The man worked hard on Will’s ranch, then came to town to help at the mill. Zeb knew he had his eyes on Cassandra because the cowboy had asked for permission to court her as soon as he had some money saved. Percy hadn’t shown that courtesy. Just like a Boston bigwig, he’d presumed his attentions would be welcome. Unfortunately, from Cassandra’s perspective, he’d been right.

  Zeb turned away from the window. “I have to get to the mill.”

  His sister pouted. “Suit yourself.”

  Her tone irked him. “Do you think I like working sixteen hours a day?”

  “No, but—”

  “It’s necessary, Cassandra. Winter’s not far away. People need houses. I said the town hall would be done by the jubilee and I meant it.”

  “I know, Zeb. It’s just that I’m so confused. Dr. Mitchell says—”

  “What?”

  “She came to the schoolhouse yesterday. We talked about Clint and Percy. She’s smart and she has such lovely clothes. She says—”

  “Hold on,” Zeb ordered. Why was Nora Mitchell visiting his sister? And what kind of nonsense was she spouting? He got impatient with Cassandra, but he loved her and wanted her to have a good life. They just disagreed on what counted as “good.” Considering Dr. Mitchell’s background, he felt certain she’d side with Cassandra.

  He crossed his arms. “Why were you talking to her?”

  “Haven’t you heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “She’s visiting everyone in town and introducing herself. I figured you knew.”

  Zeb only knew she’d winked at him, and in his dreams he winked back. “I don’t know what she’s up to. I thought she’d leave by now.”