Half an hour later, she opened the door, stuck her head out, and called out, “Shoo!” Joshua heard giggles and skittering feet. Of course the girls had been curious as all get-out, and lingering to see what might be going to happen.
Mamie turned back toward Joshua. “Would you like a visit with one of the girls before you go? On the house. A thank-you for a pleasant evening.”
Joshua had the feeling he should decline and make a dignified exit. On the other hand, that would leave him going home to his empty rooms, more than a little drunk, trying not to feel foolish or even sorry for himself. “Thank you kindly, Mamie. I think I will. Would you see if Adeline is free?”
Chapter 8
Joshua came awake to find Major’s muzzle nudging him insistently in the ribs. He groaned and rubbed his eyes; the dog licked his hand, whining.
He must have had another nightmare.
Sometimes he remembered details for some minutes, or worse, found himself floundering between sleep and waking, unsure whether he lay on a battlefield in mortal peril with death on every side. Other times, as now, the dream dissolved and fled the moment he awoke. That happened more often when Major was near enough to sense Joshua’s distress.
He rolled over and stroked the dog’s smooth warm head. “It’s all right, boy. I’m awake. You woke me. Good dog. What a good dog you are.”
Sitting up and breathing deep, he looked around and saw it was morning. That was a blessing. He would not need to choose between trying to sleep again, not knowing whether the nightmare would reclaim him, or lighting a lamp and sitting for hours until morning came. He petted Major one more time and got out of bed to dress.
As he knotted his tie, he was glad to hear a knock at the door heralding some occupation. He called out “One moment!” and quickly grabbed a couple of cold biscuits and stuffed them in his mouth, washing them down with yesterday’s coffee. That swallowed, he went to open the door.
The tall young man standing in the doorway had a familiar look to him. As he started explaining that his father was feeling poorly, Joshua realized why. The boy’s straight hair and green eyes made it highly likely Joshua was looking at Clara Brook’s brother.
Joshua always tried to respond promptly to such a summons, but he might have saddled Nellie-girl a little faster than commonly. He could not deny some curiosity about the Brook farm, and the family that had produced the rather singular woman he was getting to know. And his relief that Mr. Brook had presumably asked to see him, rather than the barber, made him eager to arrive in good time.
The boy had apparently walked; Joshua offered him, and he accepted, a ride behind himself. Nellie-girl should be able to carry them both for this short a distance.
Miss Brook, and a woman almost as tall as she but considerably more stout, awaited them on the front porch. Joshua studied Miss Brook’s face for clues as to just how “poorly” her father might be. She seemed calm, but that told him little.
While Joshua took off the horse’s saddle and bridle and found a place near some grass where he could tie the reins, Miss Brook handled the introductions, keeping them short, and let her mother explain her father’s symptoms. They had thought he had nothing more than a cold, but instead of being on the mend by now, he had begun coughing more and more.
Joshua followed the women into the house and had one foot on the stairs when he heard the coughing up above. He paused and looked at Mrs. Brook. Could she have failed to recognize that sound? But she looked away, obviously embarrassed. “He didn’t sound like that before. It just sounded like regular coughing. It’s the whooping cough, then?”
“It certainly sounds like it.” Joshua headed on up the stairs to confirm the diagnosis and check for complications. Should he try to keep the family at a distance? But no, they had all been exposed already, and the patient would need tending. He waited for Miss and Mrs. Brook to join him and asked, raising his voice to be heard over the coughing, “Has either of you had whooping cough in the past?”
It was Mrs. Brook who replied. “Clara did, something awful, when she was a girl.” Joshua glanced at Miss Brook, who gave a slight nod.
“Then it might be wise if Miss Brook took care of her father during this illness. She is unlikely to come down with the disease again.”
“Oh, it’s mostly been Clara taking care of him already. She’s handy with sick folk.” Mrs. Brook gave her daughter’s hand a little pat. Looking toward Miss Brook again, Joshua saw neither a nod nor any disagreement, but a look of unutterable weariness. It vanished so fast he doubted that he had seen it; and when he went on into the sickroom, Miss Brook followed and stood in a posture of attention. Her mother waited in the doorway.
Mr. Brook’s thin frame lay almost flat, his head propped up by two pillows. Joshua turned back to ask for more, if any were available. At once, Clara said, “Ma, you can take mine. And we can put a folded blanket under that.”
Mrs. Brook’s expression softened. “That’s my good girl.” She hustled away as Joshua bent over his patient. There were already a few red spots on his face, and on the portion of his chest showing above his nightshirt.
Joshua pointed to these and explained, “Those aren’t anything to worry about. They’re from blood vessels breaking from the force of the coughs. You can expect nosebleeds, too, and maybe even bleeding from the eyes.” This warning was likely to dismay any family member, but Clara’s only reaction was a moment of especial stillness as she looked at her father and then back at Joshua. Clearly, her mother was right about her ability to deal with illness.
Mr. Brook was seized with an especially violent fit of coughing. When it subsided, Miss Brook asked, “What else can we expect, and what can we do for him?”
Joshua picked up a pitcher of water by the bed, poured some into the waiting glass, and handed it to Miss Brook. “You must make sure he drinks as much liquid as possible. That is, he should drink plenty of water. If he tires of water to the point of refusing it, you could give him very weak tea, or cider much diluted with water. Liquids that cause him to pass too much water would be worse than none.”
Miss Brook gently lifted her father to sitting position, held him through another burst of coughing, and helped him take a few sips before laying him down again. Meanwhile, Joshua added, “He may vomit.” He looked at her dress, a lighter fabric than he had seen her wear before, though plainly cut as ever. “You may want to wear an apron, or even one of your father’s or brother’s shirts, to protect your clothing.”
She looked down at her dress and gave a small, wry smile. “That is practical advice.”
Joshua cleared his throat and went on. “The vomiting is a reason to give him only a small amount of water at a time, as you did, so he will lose less of what he’s drunk when he vomits. Frequent, small amounts are what you should aim for.”
Mrs. Brook came back with the pillow and blanket. Joshua took them from her, while Miss Brook put her arm around her father’s shoulders once again and said softly, “One more time, Pa, so you can rest more comfortably.” Joshua set the blanket on the pillows already in place and the third pillow on top of it. The patient would still need to be lifted in order to drink. Clara appeared to have the same thought, glancing toward the pitcher of water. Joshua poured a little water into the glass; Clara held it to her father’s lips and said, in a coaxing tone, “Here, another little sip. One more? That’s good. There you go.” She laid him down again.
What else should he tell her? Oh, yes. “Give him cod liver oil. A little at a time, like the water. It seems to help whooping cough sufferers stay otherwise healthy.”
Miss Brook headed out of the room, her mother stepping aside to let her. “I’ll send my brother to town for some.”
Mrs. Brook, who must have been in considerable suspense, put a hand on Joshua’s sleeve as he followed Miss Brook out of the room and asked, “How long will it take him to get better?”
Joshua suppressed a frown. If she meant how long it would be until the farmer was up and working,
it would be long indeed. At least planting season was weeks away. “He may keep coughing for another few weeks, or it could be only a few days. After that, though, he’ll still need to rest as much as possible, and to stay away from anyone with any kind of cold or cough. And don’t let any children, let alone babies, anywhere near him until he’s altogether recovered.”
Joshua headed downstairs, Miss Brook behind him, Mrs. Brook lingering just outside the door where her husband lay. When the two of them reached the bottom of the stairs, Clara asked, “What do we owe you for your help today?”
He was relieved at her thoughtfulness. So many families, distracted by worry for the patient, forgot about payment until days or weeks later. “I recall you mentioning your chickens. I’d welcome some fresh eggs.”
Clara’s shoulders tensed, and she narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. “I should think you would prefer coin. We can manage that.”
He might have fibbed, but fortunately, he could tell her the honest truth. “In fact, I’ve had a mighty hankering for fresh eggs lately. With all the food offerings Freida Blum brings me, eggs haven’t yet been among them.”
Seconds later, it occurred to him that bringing up Freida Blum might have been unfortunate. But apparently, whatever Mrs. Blum’s feelings might be, Clara Brook had no hostility toward the older woman. She simply relaxed her shoulders and said, “By the time you and your horse are ready to go, I’ll have a basket for you.”
A week later, Joshua had run out of eggs, and had heard nothing about Mr. Brook taking a turn for the worse. It was probably time for him to visit the patient, though he could hardly in good conscience ask for so substantial a payment again if all was well. He was halfway to the stable when Miss Brook hailed him from the edge of the street.
She looked even thinner than usual, and paler. Her father’s coughing might have kept her from sleeping, or she might be spending her strength on nursing him and doing the work her father could not. He was tempted to express some concern, but he had no remedy but time to offer her. He simply asked, “How is Mr. Brook doing? I was just on my way to see him.”
She gave a quick shake of her head. “There’s no need. He is doing as well as we could expect. We’ve managed to keep him drinking water, and he’s kept most of the cod liver oil down.”
“Excellent.” Though she could have taken proper credit, rather than saying “we” as if she had not borne most of the burden.
“And I brought something you should have taken before.” She reached through the slit in her dress and removed something from her pocket. Coins. “I must insist.”
He could think of no polite way to refuse. Silently, he held out his hand and let her pour the coins — thankfully, not many — into his palm.
* * * * *
Once again, Joshua consulted Robert about a match for Mrs. Blum. Sooner or later, they must have better success.
Robert spoke over his shoulder while restocking his shelves. “How about a lawyer? Older women respect professional men, don’t they?”
Joshua shrugged. “The only older woman I know besides Mrs. Blum is my mother. And she’s never had many dealings with lawyers. Anyway, don’t they all travel a lot?”
Robert finished his task and came back to the counter. “Most of them ride the circuit, sure. But apparently we’re an established enough town now to have one lawyer actually in residence. He just put up a sign last week.”
Joshua took a tour of town in his memory. “Guess I saw a new sign and didn’t bother to read it. I’ve been pretty busy.” And tired, from working all hours and not sleeping all that well when he finally had the chance.
“Well, I think he’s about her age. Comes from somewhere back east. Maybe he wanted to be top dog for a change, professionally speaking.” Robert paused and studied Joshua. “You’re looking a little peaked. Who doctors the doctor, huh?”
Joshua ignored the question. “If you think the lawyer is a good prospect, how about you talk to him? It’s your turn to inquire.”
Robert looked glum at the prospect. “Lawyers don’t like to talk to anyone without getting paid for it. And this fellow hasn’t been out west long enough to get frontier-friendly.”
Joshua wasn’t going to let Robert off that easily. “So teach him how to be friendly! Buy him a drink or something.”
Robert narrowed his eyes. “You paying for it?”
“Oh, all right. Seeing as how you’re so broke and I’m rolling in wealth.”
Robert allowed him a smile. “All right, you’ve made your point. I’ll invest the price of a drink in your matchmaking hobby.”
“And I’ll tackle Mrs. Blum. Wish me luck.”
“A lawyer?” Mrs. Blum sighed. “You think? Well, I’ll give it a try. Just to oblige you. (“Choost to obli-ch you.”)
“That’s the spirit!” Joshua sighed in relief. “And I am, indeed, much obliged.”
Mrs. Blum and the lawyer had agreed to share dinner at the tavern. Joshua struggled with temptation for two days ahead of time and then surrendered. At the appointed time, he was seated at a table behind a post, his hat over his eyes, hoping to go unnoticed while gathering some sense of how the encounter was going.
It seemed to be going well, at first. Conversation looked animated, though Joshua could hear none of it. But by the time the serving girl brought their pork ribs and turnips, he noticed a disquieting pattern. The lawyer seemed to be doing almost all the talking. With Mrs. Blum present, that was an impressive feat. But he doubted it was one well calculated to endear the lawyer to his partner.
Mrs. Blum finished well before the lawyer, who apparently preferred talking to eating. Joshua took a peek at his watch to see that she had been sitting in front of her picked-clean plate for a full fifteen minutes. As he looked up again, he was momentarily distracted to see Clara Brook walking by with her arms full of sacks. The sacks looked heavy.
By the time Joshua looked back at Mrs. Blum and the lawyer, Mrs. Blum was leaning across the table and saying something. Whatever its nature, it caused the lawyer to sit back abruptly and snap his mouth shut.
Joshua left his payment on the table and snuck out before either of the two actually got up.
“That man!” Mrs. Blum bustled around her kitchen with even more energy than usual, cutting the apple pie, pouring his coffee, setting out cream he could use with either. “Such lungs he must have! All that talking, and I never saw him stop to breathe.”
Joshua laughed, though reminded of the late Mr. Blum’s similar observations about his hostess. “I must find a way to examine him, then, and write him up as a medical miracle. I could make a name for myself in the profession.”
Mrs. Blum chuckled also, but slapped his plate of pie down with unnecessary firmness. “If I’d bothered to remember, I could tell you a dozen cases he had and how brilliant he was, how the juries loved him, how grateful the clients were, how the judges came up afterward to tell him he was such a great lawyer. I’m a patient woman, wouldn’t you say? But oy, by the time I was done with my food, I was wishing I had something left on my plate, that I could stuff his mouth with.”
Joshua almost asked just what she had said to bring the man’s boasting to a stop, before realizing it would betray his spying on them. Fortunately, she could not resist sharing that tidbit. “Finally, I told him, I said, ‘You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Famous Lawyer. I would be ashamed to take up any more of your time, when you could be preparing for another grand performance.’ God be thanked, he didn’t know what to say to that.”
Joshua had a sudden vision of Mrs. Blum in a courtroom, making one of her inimitable comebacks and shutting down the other lawyer. Or even the judge. The legal profession was the poorer for her absence.
* * * * *
It was time for Joshua to check on Mrs. Blum again. She had, to be sure, stopped by his office just the other day with a tin of cookies and the inevitable reminder about Mr. Todd’s assistant, but she had managed to evade Joshua’s suggestions that he examine her before she
left. If he visited her at home, he would have logistics in his favor. And he could bring her the welcome news that the woman with the breech birth and the baby were both doing well — though with Freida’s ability to gather news, she might already know as much.
When he knocked on her door, Mrs. Blum called out something he had trouble understanding. He entered in a hurry, concerned she might be in some sort of difficulties. But she turned to him and shrugged apologetically, her mouth holding the blunt ends of several dressmaking pins. She inserted them into a garment on a dress form in the middle of the room.
As soon as her mouth was free of pins, Mrs. Blum gestured grandly up and down the dress form, saying. “Almost ready, a bridal dress for the mayor’s oldest son’s young lady, such a lovely girl!”
The garment was truly impressive, stylish (as far as Joshua could tell) without being fussy. He could easily imagine a bride wearing it. “The young lady is fortunate to have such a dress for her nuptials.”
Mrs. Blum beamed. “I do my best, such an honor, such a joy to dress a bride. This is my second one this month. For now, I make the dress how they like, what they’re used to, but I hope soon, the young ladies here will let me go a little fancier, like what we see in the magazines, why should the oh-so-proud ladies in England have better than our good girls here in America? . . . Just make yourself at home, I’m almost finished.”
It must be satisfying for Mrs. Blum to make such dresses, not only because she so heartily approved of weddings but because of her evident pride in her craftsmanship. If Clara Brook had not rejected Mrs. Blum’s offer, his hostess might well have been able to create a garment that would soften Miss Brook’s appearance. Though Miss Brook might have been telling the simple truth about not wishing anything of the kind. Perhaps it would require a special occasion, even a wedding, before she would consider wearing the sort of garment that would accord with Mrs. Blum’s sense of fashion.
What Heals the Heart Page 7
