Healing Hearts

by Sarah M. Eden

Tansy saw something in Gideon that seemed to confirm, on some level, what Miriam thought she saw and felt. It afforded her a rare bit of optimism.

  After supper had ended and the guests were beginning to dissipate, Gideon pulled her aside. “Can we talk for a moment?”

  Did that portend good or ill?

  “Don’t look so terrified,” he said with a laugh. “This isn’t bad news.”

  “I’m accustomed to bad news. It is my first assumption.”

  “It doesn’t need to be this time.” He eyed his pocket watch. “May I walk you home so we can talk on the way to the hotel?”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  He led her to the empty entryway. “But let’s hurry. If my mother sees me, she’ll want to talk, and I would really rather not.”

  They slipped out unseen. They were only a single step off the porch when Gideon launched into his topic.

  “I have been pondering my trip to Quarterville and your insistence that you’re well enough to see to things here while I’m gone.”

  She held her breath. Was he going to give her a chance?

  “I think I have hit upon a solution.”

  “I’m listening.” Quite closely, in fact.

  “You suggested Tansy, but I didn’t want to pull her away from home after she’d spent two days here helping. But, what if you stayed with her while I was away? I realize that means leaving the privacy of your room at the hotel to be a guest in someone’s house for a week, but I would worry less knowing there was someone nearby who was aware of the possibility that you might need assistance and who would know what to do if you did.”

  He really was concerned about her. Her. Not his practice or his pride, but her.

  “We could put a sign in the window at my home,” he continued, “instructing anyone with medical needs to see you at Tansy’s.” They’d reached the hotel and stood outside the front doors. “What do you think? I believe it could work.”

  The tears started without warning. She looked away, hoping he wouldn’t see.

  “Miriam?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not upset; I promise I’m not. I’m surprised. I’m shocked and confused and—” She was rambling, but the right words refused to come.

  He set his arms around her. Miriam held to him with her uninjured arm, leaning her head against his chest.

  “Every other doctor has thrown me away, like I was worthless.”

  “I told Andrew that Mr. Bell’s failing mind doesn’t make him worthless. Andrew’s struggles don’t make him worthless,” he whispered. “You will never be worthless either.”

  “You may be the only one who believes that.”

  “Including you?” he pressed.

  Putting into words her deepest uncertainty was too vulnerable, too painful. She’d told herself throughout her two years at Blackburn that she hadn’t belonged there, that it was a mistake. But the longer she’d been there, the less certain she’d felt.

  “I am broken,” she said. “I always will be.”

  “All of us are broken in some way, Miriam. How we respond to our troubles, the strength we show in our trials, is far more telling than any imperfection.”

  She took a shaky breath. “Will you help me believe that?”

  “You have my word.”

  Chapter 24

  “You know, Father, you can go back to bed.” Gideon didn’t usually have an audience when preparing to leave town. “The sun won’t be up for another hour.”

  “I’ve enjoyed watching you work these past days. I want to see this part of it too.” He sat at the desk while Gideon checked his set of traveling medical instruments. “Your mother is upstairs gathering all the stockings she can find.”

  “Why is she—?” But he answered his own question. “So I won’t be cold. Mother needs to start trusting that I can take care of myself.”

  “She does, son. She simply worries.”

  Gideon took one more look through his travel-sized bottles of medicines. “She disapproves.”

  “Does her approval matter so much to you?”

  Gideon buckled his case closed. “She is my mother. I want her to like me.” He winced. “I sound like I am five years old.”

  “No. You sound like me,” Father replied. “I have spent a great deal of my adult life trying to make certain that she likes me.”

  “Father—” Gideon began, but was cut off before he could say anything further.

  “Now, about Miriam.” Father leaned back casually, folding his hands in his lap. “I like her.”

  Gideon accepted the change of topic. “You also liked Eleanor Bainbridge, and that didn’t work out so well for me.”

  Father didn’t seem to be listening. “Miriam’s tender and sweet, but she can be fierce when she needs to be. A man needs a woman who brings a bit of fight.”

  “Life has taught her to be a fighter.” And to doubt her own worth. He wouldn’t have guessed that about her when they’d first met. She’d shown some trepidation when asked to examine Mrs. Driessen, but outside of that, she had fiercely defended her knowledge and skills. He’d not realized that she had been working to convince herself as well as him.

  “Do you know how your grandparents met?” Father’s question came seemingly out of the blue, though Gideon’s distraction may have been partly to blame.

  “I don’t think I ever heard the story.” He set his bags by the parlor door.

  Father motioned him toward the matching armchairs by the empty fireplace. Gideon joined him there.

  “My father had opened his first shop selling MacNamara Whiskey and hired a local Irishwoman to clean it each evening. He lost his heart to her quickly, but she was having none of it. She’d come to America alone, with no one to look out for her, and she was wary. So, your grandfather didn’t let on that she took his very heart with her when she left each day, leaving him silently wishing she would stay.”

  Gideon shook his head. “Even if that story is true—and you are far too much like Grandfather MacNamara for me to entirely believe you—my situation is different.”

  “Only because your grandfather, may he rest in peace, was a bigger idiot than you are, so he had a better excuse.” Father didn’t even finish the sentence before grinning.

  Gideon had deeply missed conversations with his father. The man was one of the most successful bankers in Washington, with a keen mind and sharp eye for strategy. He was also one of the funniest and most charming people Gideon knew.

  “Have you thought about courting her?” Father asked. “Tell me you’ve at least thought about it.”

  He certainly had thought about it. He’d even found himself “accidentally” attempting it, holding her hand without thinking, holding her in his arms when she needed comfort, only to realize how desperately he, as Father would say, needed her comfort as well.

  “She turned me down,” Gideon reminded him. “At the altar, I might add. And she hasn’t seemed to regret that in the weeks since.”

  Father rolled his eyes, something he’d started doing when Gideon was little because it made him and his brothers laugh. “You, son, are far too much like your grandfather. Except, in the end, he chose the right woman. Took him five years, the great lummox. Mother never let him live that down.”

  Gideon stood. “I must be on my way. Take care while I’m gone.”

  “I like Miriam. And I think you like her too.”

  He tossed his hands up, turning back to face his father. “Of course I like Miriam. How could I not? She’s caring and intelligent and funny and brave. And, since you seem intent on pressing salt into this particular wound, I’ll tell you that I have been courting her. Rather, I have been trying. Every time I feel like I’m making progress, like maybe I am finally on track to claim some happiness in my life and, I hope, in hers, it falls apart. Every time.” The admission stung, but it n
eeded to be said. Father would only keep harping on the topic if Gideon didn’t put an end to it.

  “It is a good thing you have a lot of time to spend on your own,” Father said. “You’ve some strategizing to do, and I’d suggest you formulate a plan before you get back.”

  Gideon stopped in the doorway and set his hands, fingers inter­woven, atop his head as he released the tension from his lungs. In a quiet, resigned voice, he repeated the words he’d not enjoyed saying the first time. “I’ve had my suit rejected before, and I’ve had my heart broken. I can’t endure that again.” He hadn’t admitted that before, not even to himself.

  “You’ve the blood of warriors in your veins, lad.” When Father started calling on his nonexistent Scottish accent, Gideon knew things were serious. “If you love her, you have to try. No matter the risk.”

  Gideon took up his medical bags. “Will you and Mother still be here when I get back?”

  Father rose at last. “We will. James is taking care of everything at the bank, and he does a fine job of it. Ian is seeing to my duties with the party and attending various political functions in my stead.” He walked with Gideon into the entryway. “I rather like this little town of yours. It’s quiet. Washington is never quiet.”

  “You could retire out here, you know. Spend all day playing checkers.”

  Father slapped him on the back. “It’s tempting. But your mother would never be happy so far from Washington society.”

  Gideon pulled on his outer coat. “Do her needs always trump yours?”

  “Needs are a difficult thing to juggle, son.” Father grabbed the doorknob.

  Gideon took a single step out when Mother’s voice stopped him short.

  “Oh, Gideon. I was hoping you hadn’t left yet.” Mother descended the staircase, managing to look regal in her dressing gown and nightcap. “I found you some woolen socks.”

  He accepted them, but with an inward roll of his eyes. “I’ve made this trip many times before. You needn’t worry over me.”

  “I’m a mother, Gideon,” she said. “Worrying is part of my job. Be safe, son.”

  “I will.” He shook his father’s hand. “If anyone comes by with medical problems and doesn’t or can’t read the sign, send them to Tansy’s. That is where Miriam is staying.”

  “I will.”

  “Thank you.” He buttoned his coat and stepped out onto the porch. “I’ll see you both in about a week.”

  “Think on what I said,” Father added quietly. “Some things—some people—are worth fighting for.”

  There was a tremendous amount of truth in that.

  Mother looked at the both of them. “Let him be on his way, William. He has a long journey today.”

  That journey took him down the road past Tansy’s house. He hoped Miriam was sleeping well despite being in an unfamiliar place and faced with the prospect of caring for an entire town on her own for the first time.

  He could only just make out the front door, but could swear it moved. He slowed the horse and took a better look. The door was, indeed, open. Someone stepped outside. And that same someone waved an arm a little frantically.

  Gideon pulled the buggy to a stop. It was Miriam. Had something happened? She wasn’t one for irrational panic.

  He hopped down, then wrapped the horse’s rein around a fence post. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “I knew you would assume there was a crisis.”

  “When a woman wrapped in a quilt comes running out of a house before sunrise and waves me down, I do tend to think something out of the ordinary is at play.” He didn’t see any signs of trauma or illness.

  She kept the quilt firmly around herself and leaned against the fence. “Andrew was here last night, and he mentioned that two of the Clark children have fevers and sore throats, as does Georgette Abbott.”

  Gideon hadn’t heard that.

  “I’ve not seen any Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral amongst your medicines,” she said. “Do you prefer to treat children’s sore throats with something else?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t use it often, so it is kept in the apothecary cabinet in my bedroom. If there’s something you can’t find, look for it there.”

  He reached across the fence and adjusted the quilt where it had slipped off her splinted shoulder. “Did you really wait up to see me go past?”

  “Not for terribly long. I didn’t think you would leave before there was at least a little light.” She tipped her head to the side. “I thought about sleeping in the middle of the road and hoping you saw me before you ran me over, but this seemed like the safer approach.”

  “Much safer, yes.”

  Her hair hung down in long, intertwined curls. Mesmerizing. He brushed his fingers over a copper strand. “I didn’t realize how curly your hair is.”

  “Excessively curly,” she said. “It is the bane of my existence at times.”

  “I like it.”

  Her eyes were dark in the dim light of earliest morning. Her hair hung in riotous waves all around her face. It was the sort of goodbye a man could grow accustomed to. The sort of goodbye he’d thought his arrangements with the Western Women’s Bureau would have provided. Although, who was to say any real warmth would have grown between them if they’d begun their acquaintance on that footing? He had a chance to court her, to truly win her affection. He simply needed to sort out how.

  “Take care of yourself while I’m away,” he said.

  “I will, and I’ll pray for an uneventful seven days. For both of us.” She stepped back from the fence. “I’m going back inside. It is a little chilly.”

  “Good idea.”

  She nodded and took another step away. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

  A moment later, she had slipped inside Tansy’s house, and he was alone. He shook off his lingering thoughts of her eyes, the color in her cheeks. He needed to make good time to Quarterville so he wouldn’t be caught in the dark. He also needed some time alone to sort out just what he meant to do with his life.

  Chapter 25

  “Miss Bricks?” Andrew stood a pace away from the clothesline where Miriam was attempting to hang laundry one-handed. Tansy would likely have helped, but she had slipped out to the shed where she made her “moonshine.”

  “Good morning, Andrew.” Miriam didn’t step forward, giving Andrew the space he needed to feel comfortable.

  “You said to tell you if the Clarks’ little ones and Georgette Abbott were still ailing today. Clarks live a stone’s throw from here, so I dropped in to check. Their girls looked miserable, all flushed from fever and such. I told Mrs. Clark she oughtta bring ’em to see you.” His brow pulled low. “I hope that was the right thing to do.”

  Miriam summoned her most encouraging tone. “That was absolutely the right thing. In fact, if you would let Tansy know where I’ve gone, I’ll drop in on the Clarks myself and save them the trouble.”

  Andrew’s eyes darted toward the shed. “Tansy’s a friend.” The declaration was clearly meant as a reassurance to himself. “I’ll tell her for you. Then I’ll head back to town for the checkers. Mr. Bell and Mr. MacNamara will be there already.”

  A tiny, genuine smile touched his usually pensive expression. Miriam resisted the urge to rush over to him and hug him tightly. Too many of the patients at Blackburn hadn’t ever shed their looks of worry.

  “I like Doc’s pa,” he said. “It’s sure easy to see where Doc gets his friendliness, isn’t it?”

  She set the basket of wash next to the fence post. “Mr. MacNamara is a nice man.”

  “Doc’s ma, though. She scares me.” He seemed to rethink that admission. “Not like I’m a child shaking with fright in the corner. She’s just—She’s not as personable as her husband.”

  “Savage Wells is unfamiliar to her. Everything about our lives here is different from
what she is accustomed to.” It wasn’t a hard thing to piece together; Miriam simply pictured her own mother coming for a visit. “I would wager that if we were to meet Mrs. MacNamara in Washington, amongst her friends and the familiar surroundings of her home, she would be every bit as personable as her husband.”

  Andrew scuffed his toe against the dirt. “But then we would be uncomfortable.”

  He was quick, though most people likely didn’t take the time to find that out.

  “Thank you for checking on the Clarks, Andrew. You take good care of this town.”

  He left, heading for the moonshine shed. Paisley and Gideon both said that Andrew was much improved since he’d first returned from the war. She hoped he would continue to recover.

  The Clarks were an easy distance from Tansy’s home. Miriam arrived there quickly.

  “Good morning.” She smiled when Mrs. Clark opened the door. “Andrew said your girls were ill.”

  The poor woman looked bedraggled. “I ain’t seen ’em this ill before. I’d rather Doc see to them.”

  “Dr. MacNamara will not be back for at least a week.” Miriam would do well to act as confident in herself as she wanted the town to feel. “Where are the girls now?”

  “Over here.” Mrs. Clark ushered her over to a trundle in the corner where two small figures lay tucked under blankets.

  Miriam knelt beside the low bed. “Do you have a lantern or candle I could use?” The corner was a bit too dim.

  Mrs. Clark complied. What the light revealed made Miriam’s breath catch. The girls were not, as Andrew had reported, flushed. The rosiness of their cheeks was a rash.

  “When did the rash first appear?”

  “It wasn’t there last night, but it was this morning.” Mrs. Clark understood that the rash did not portend anything good.

  Miriam eyed it more closely, growing more convinced of what she was seeing. “Does it extend to their chests and bellies?”

  “It does.”

  Miriam’s mind spun fast and furious, wrapping itself around the potential enormity of this. “Your oldest. Is he unwell also?”