“There’s always more to a story,” she said to the nurse. “I know he’s working too hard.”
“No doubt,” Carolina replied. “But I’ve known Zeb for years. What’s got him in a twist isn’t hard work.”
“Then what is it?”
The nurse laughed. “He’s finally met his future wife and he doesn’t know it.”
“Carolina!”
“I’m serious.” She hooked her arm around Nora’s waist. “Let’s have tea. I’ll tell you what Zeb told Pete about getting married. It’ll explain a lot, including Mrs. Johnson and her spitefulness.”
Nora had no desire to gossip and hesitated.
Carolina gave her a motherly look. “If my daughter had lived, she’d be your age. If she were alone in a new place, I’d want someone to look out for her.”
A longing for her own mother welled in Nora’s chest. “Thank you.”
Carolina guided her into the kitchen where she’d already set water to boil. Except for essentials, Nora’s cupboards were bare. No fancy baked goods. No preserves. She’d planned to purchase jam and eggs from the mercantile, but then she’d received the letter from the Ladies Aid Society and had decided to delay an encounter with the Johnsons.
Carolina filled two cups with tea and sat. “You know about the tornado and how it shook us all up.”
“I can see the damage everywhere.” She thought of Bess, the twins and the death of Alex’s brother.
“It changed Zeb more than most.”
“How so?”
“For one thing, he stopped being shy about marriage. He’s a handsome man, if I do say so myself.” She smiled. “He needs a strong woman in his life, someone who’ll take him to task when he acts up.”
“Like he just did.”
“Exactly.” Carolina took a long sip of the steaming brew. “After the storm, he let it slip to Pete that he wanted to get married. Matilda Johnson overheard them, and the next thing Zeb knew, every female in town had set her cap for him. Most dropped out of the fray in a few weeks, but Abigail hasn’t given up. Neither has Winnie Morrow, or I should say, neither has Winnie’s mother. Winnie’s on the timid side. She’s not right for Zeb at all.”
Neither is Abigail.
Nora kept the thought to herself, but Carolina smiled “You’re right. Abigail’s an even worse choice.”
Nora felt strengthened by the tea and the talk. “Now I know why Mrs. Johnson resents me. In addition to the prejudice, she sees me as a rival to her daughter.”
“And a worthy one,” the nurse said. “I haven’t seen Zeb in such a state since that Boston woman jilted him.”
“He must have loved her deeply.”
“I believe he did.” Carolina’s voice turned wistful. “My Howard loved me that way, God rest his soul.”
Envy flooded through Nora like a river in a storm. Would she ever have a husband and children of her own? Not once in her life had she let her dreams die, but this dream seemed to lay beyond her reach.
A knock sounded on the front door. Both women stood, but Nora motioned for Carolina to remain seated. “I’ll get it.”
If Zeb had come to apologize, she wanted to meet him halfway. She dared to hope until she opened the door and saw Bess. Nora had been reading up on mutism, and had met with Bess several times at the boardinghouse. Her medical books said criticism and bribes served no purpose, something she’d known instinctively. Instead of coaxing the girl to speak, Nora had taken a different approach. She treated Bess with complete normality. The key to healing, she believed, was making the girl feel safe.
“Hi!” Nora said happily.
Bess waved hello, then handed Nora a note. She took it but looked at Bess instead of opening it. “Carolina and I are having tea. Would you like to join us?”
Bess’s eyes flared with anxiety. Frantic, she pointed at the note.
To calm the girl, Nora unfolded the paper. “I’ll read it right now.” Nora scanned the feminine script. “It’s from Rebecca. Another boy has the measles, and his mother wants me to see him.”
Relieved to be understood, Bess relaxed. Nora ached for the silent girl, but she also felt a spark of triumph. In spite of Zeb Garrison’s dire predictions, she’d just been summoned to see a patient. She put the letter in her pocket, then focused on Bess. “I’ll get my medical bag. Would you walk back with me?”
The girl nodded solemnly.
As Nora guided her into the parlor to wait, she glanced at the painting on the wall and thought again of Zeb. He was wrong about where she belonged. New York had stopped being home when she left for medical college. She belonged in High Plains, where children caught measles and Bess needed wisdom. No matter the cost, she refused to let Zeb Garrison chase her away.
After leaving Nora’s house, Zeb went back to the town hall. He needed to get rid of the fury in his blood, and pounding nails offered a cure. Later he’d think about his fight with Dr. Nora, but right now the wound was too raw. He needed the company of men, especially men who wouldn’t question his foul mood.
As he neared the town hall, he saw Tom Briggs and Edward Gunderson. Every man in High Plains volunteered when they could be spared from their regular work, and Edward, a big Scandinavian who worked with Pete, had helped considerably.
Zeb had worked for an hour when he spotted Winnie Morrow and her mother coming down the street. Winnie had a picnic basket in hand and a stiff smile. Zeb liked Winnie. He liked her more than Abigail because she didn’t talk a lot. She also bored him senseless. After quarreling with Dr. Mitchell, though, boredom appealed to him.
“Zeb!” Mrs. Morrow waved at him.
He waved back, then excused himself from the crew of men. As he climbed down the scaffolding, Tom Briggs grinned. “Looks like you’re getting lunch.”
“I’m not hungry,” Zeb muttered.
“I am,” said Edward.
Zeb glanced over his shoulder and saw the man doff his hat to Winnie. She looked pretty in a calico dress with flowers that reminded him of the morning glories growing by the river. The flowers were nice, but they didn’t last more than a few days. Zeb liked trees better. He liked oak in particular and wished again he’d kept his mouth shut with Nora.
Agatha Morrow nudged her daughter forward. Zeb encouraged her with a smile.
She offered the basket. “Mama thought—”
Mrs. Morrow interrupted. “We both thought—”
Winnie sighed. “We thought you’d like some refreshments.”
Zeb had behaved badly once today. He refused to do it again. He took the basket and gave Winnie his most charming smile. “Thank you, Winnie. That’s thoughtful of you.”
Zeb opened the cloth and smelled vanilla. Mrs. Morrow nudged her daughter forward. “Winnie baked snickerdoodles. Didn’t you, Winnie?”
Zeb disliked pushy women of any age. He felt sorry for Winnie. “They smell good.”
The girl blushed again, but she wasn’t looking at Zeb. Her gaze had climbed the scaffolding to Edward’s boots. The man was looking down, unsmiling and irritable. Eager to finish with the women, Zeb shouted to the crew. “Break time, men. Miss Morrow’s brought us refreshments.”
Edward reached the basket first, then Briggs. Zeb helped himself, but he didn’t taste a bite as the men praised Winnie. The married ones took cookies and stepped back. Edward staked out the spot in front of her and wouldn’t budge. He looked as calf-eyed as Zeb had once gazed at Frannie. What would that be like? he wondered. To admire a woman without a flash of pain?
He didn’t remember anymore, but he knew one thing for certain. He wouldn’t be courting Winnie. She was too sweet for a scoundrel like him. He also felt Edward’s eyes cutting into him. If the man had feelings for Winnie, Zeb would stay out of his way.
When it came to potential wives, that left Abigail Johnson or a red-haired lady doctor. The thought made Zeb’s head hurt. He had to get away from cookies and the stupid grin on Edward’s face. As graciously as he’d done in Boston, he excused himself with a sli
ght bow to Winnie. Turning, he clapped Edward on the back in manly surrender, then climbed onto the wagon seat.
He needed to go back to the mill, but he felt churned up inside. Instead of heading past the mercantile—he didn’t want to deal with Abigail—he drove between the boardinghouse and the corner building and across a patch of dirt to the livery. When he saw Will’s sorrel, he grinned. Just what he needed…some healthy complaining about women with his two best friends.
Zeb reined in the horse to a stop, hopped down and strode into the overheated building where Pete was forging a plow blade. Will slapped him on the back. “You’ve been making yourself scarce.”
“Just working,” Zeb answered.
“Same here,” Pete added.
The three men stood shoulder to shoulder, watching in silence as Pete shaped the metal with hard strokes. Sweat trickled down Zeb’s back. Will wiped his brow, then stepped back. “How’s the town hall coming?”
“Good,” Zeb replied. “We’ll be ready for the metalwork in no time.” He glanced at Pete. “How are you coming on the hinges?”
The blacksmith turned the metal spike in his hand, inspecting the color. “They’ll be ready.”
Zeb blew out a sigh. “Once the town hall’s done, I can slow things down at the mill.”
Will hummed in agreement. Pete said nothing. Standing between them, Zeb shifted his weight. “You won’t believe what that lady doctor had the nerve to say.”
Both men stared at him.
Will’s lips turned up. “What’d she say?”
“She says I’m working too hard, that I’m pushing the men and something bad could happen because we’re all worn out.”
The blacksmith shrugged. “Sounds like good advice to me.”
“Me, too,” Will added.
“I’ll admit she’s got a point,” Zeb replied. “But what else am I supposed to do? High Plains needs every board I can cut.”
Pete shot a glance from the side. “Is your eye still twitching?”
Zeb ignored the jab. “She’s got no right to tell me how to run the mill.”
When both men laughed, Zeb felt like the butt of the joke. “What’s so funny?”
“You still thinking about getting married?” Will asked.
Zeb scowled. “Sort of.”
“Then get used to being bossed.” The rancher grinned. “Emmeline bosses me all the time, and she doesn’t even know it.”
“Same with Rebecca.” Pete had the stupid-happy look of a man in love.
Zeb recognized it, because he’d had that look with Frannie. Anger gripped him, but then he thought of Nora and the oak-brown dress she’d worn at the mill. An ache started in his belly and spread to his arms. He felt empty inside, the way he’d felt during the tornado. Two months had passed since that day. He still needed a wife, but he didn’t want the grief.
He chortled at his friends. “You’re a couple of henpecked fools. No way is that happening to me. One thing’s certain…I’m going to pick a woman who won’t drive me crazy.”
Pete guffawed.
Will stifled a snicker, but it leaked out in a snort.
Zeb glared at them both. “Take Abigail. She knows her place.”
Will shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, Zeb. She’s after your money. If you marry her, you’ll regret it.”
Maybe, but she’d never hurt him. A man had to love a woman to suffer when she left. He didn’t have those feelings for Abigail. A merchant’s daughter, she understood business. He figured she could do the books for him. He hated that chore.
Pete rested the blade on the edge of the forge. “Do you really want Matilda Johnson for a mother-in-law? That woman—”
“I know.” Zeb waved a hand in surrender.
“After what she did to Rebecca—” The blacksmith knotted his hand into a fist and hit the forge. “I’ve said enough. If you marry Abigail, you deserve what you get.”
Will shot Zeb a hard look. “I hear the Ladies Aid Society is going after Dr. Mitchell.”
“They are.” Zeb thought of his reason for visiting Nora, then he recalled his sharp words to her. He wanted to crawl into a hole. If his friends learned what he’d said to her, they’d slap him upside the head.
“So,” Will asked. “What are you going to do about it?”
Will meant the Ladies Aid Society, not the apology Zeb owed Nora. “I don’t know.”
“You brought her out here,” Will said with authority. “Seems to me you owe her a little help.”
“You can’t let Matilda run amok,” Pete insisted. “You’ve got to do something.”
“Like what?” Zeb countered. “Marry her the way you married Rebecca? Not in a hundred years, friend. Not ever.”
Will and Pete traded a look Zeb knew well. His two friends didn’t believe a word he’d just said. He wasn’t sure he believed them himself. He only knew he couldn’t live with the way he’d treated Nora. He had to make amends, but how? Looking at the orange glow of the forging table, Zeb had an idea. Reverend Preston would pick up the oak in three days. Zeb would cut and plane it himself. He’d give the wood to her as a peace offering.
Talk among the men turned to the heat of the day, the need for rain and plans for the future. All the while, Zeb kept seeing the oak and a pair of blue eyes that made him forget Frannie. He wouldn’t apologize. He couldn’t let down his guard, but he hoped she’d understand.
Chapter Thirteen
Nora felt awkward having Reverend Preston in her clinic building shelves, but Carolina assured her the minister would appreciate the work. The residents of High Plains had pooled their resources to build a lovely church, but they couldn’t manage a salary for a full-time minister. Just as the apostle Paul had supported himself as a tentmaker, Reverend Preston built cabinets.
He’d been working on Nora’s shelves for three days, and she’d enjoyed chatting with him. Last night she’d invited the reverend and his wife for supper. Susanna Preston had been standoffish, but Nora had enjoyed the story of their trip West. Like most of the residents of High Plains, they’d followed Zeb and Will with a sense of purpose.
As the reverend bent to lift his toolbox, Nora ran her hand over the countertop. The oak had been sanded to the texture of satin. “The shelves are beautiful. How much do I owe you?”
“Not a penny.” Standing tall, he lifted the heavy box in one hand.
“I can’t accept a gift from you, Reverend. It’s too much.”
“They’re not from me.”
Her brows snapped together in confusion. “I don’t understand. We agreed on a price.”
“And it got paid.” He faced her with a twinkle in his eyes. “The person you need to thank is Zeb Garrison.”
Shock tingled from her brain to the tips of her toes. When she’d hired Reverend Preston, she’d used a precious bit of her savings. She’d also asked him to build a waist-high examination table. By paying for the carpentry, Zeb had given her breathing room. But why? She hadn’t seen him since the day he’d slammed the door in her face.
The reverend headed into the parlor, then lifted his black hat off the peg by the door. Pulling it low, he smiled. “It’s been a pleasure, Dr. Nora.”
He’d picked up on the nickname Alex used. “The pleasure’s been mine.”
“If Alex is up to it, I hope to see you both in church tomorrow.”
“It’s too soon,” she said diplomatically.
“For him or for you?”
Nora had to be honest. “For both of us. Alex is still recovering, and I’d like to avoid a fight with the Ladies Aid Society.”
She’d received a second letter, this one even more insulting than the first. She’d also treated three children for measles. Mrs. Jennings had given up and let everyone stay at the boardinghouse. She’d invited Alex back, but Nora enjoyed his company. With each day, she became more established as a doctor. With time, she hoped Matilda Johnson and her cohorts would accept her.
The reverend’s expression turned wry. “I k
now all about the Ladies Aid Society. My wife’s a member, but some of those ladies enjoy gossiping. I don’t allow that kind of nonsense on Sunday mornings. You’re welcome in God’s house anytime.”
“Thank you.”
He tipped his hat and strode through the door, leaving Nora with a yearning to hear him preach. She didn’t miss New York, but she missed going to church with people she’d known all her life. Here in High Plains, she’d be an unwelcome stranger. Knowing she’d find hostility instead of friendship, she’d put off that first visit and planned to delay it again.
“Dr. Nora?” Carolina came around the corner from the staircase. “Alex wants to come downstairs.”
“Sure.”
Because of the carpentry work, she’d moved the boy to her room. This morning she’d move him back to the sickroom where she could watch him while she arranged her medicines on the shelves. Later today she’d visit the boardinghouse to see her other patients. The measles outbreak was small and under control. Nora had done a good job, but she couldn’t take full credit. She’d learned from Carolina that measles had gone through Bellville three times in the past ten years. Most of the folks in High Plains had acquired immunity before traveling west.
Carolina looked at the new shelves. “Reverend Preston does nice work. I’m sure he gave you a good price.”
Nora traced a swirl in the wood. “Actually, he gave Zeb a good price.”
“Zeb?”
“He paid for the shelves without telling me.”
Carolina hummed with curiosity. “A week ago he left here like a cat on fire. Are you sure it was the same man?”
Nora set a jar on a shelf. “The reverend told me when I tried to pay him. I didn’t ask questions.”
“It seems to me the shelves speak for themselves.”
Nora huffed. “I didn’t think wood could talk.”
“It can’t,” Carolina said, smiling. “But those shelves are a peace offering if I ever saw one.”
Kansas Courtship Page 12
