When the Heart Heals Read online

  © 2013 by Ann Shorey

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-4059-0

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrased by the characters, is taken from the King James Version.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.

  “Daniel” font license agreement: http://www.fontsquirrel.com/license/Daniel.

  “With mastery and grace, Ann’s gentle prose woos us back to a simpler time with a simply beautiful love story. Truly, When the Heart Heals is sweet tonic for both the heart and the soul.”

  —Julie Lessman, award-winning author of the Daughters of Boston and Winds of Change series

  “When the Heart Heals is sure to grab your attention. Rosemary is a memorable heroine in an intriguing story that left me glad I’d read it and looking for more Ann Shorey novels.”

  —Lauraine Snelling, author of the Red River series and the Wild West Wind series

  Praise for Where Wildflowers Bloom

  “The authenticity of Where Wildflowers Bloom transported me straight to post–Civil War times, yet the characters—their hopes, dreams, conflicts, and fears—all rang contemporarily true. Another winner from Ann Shorey!”

  —Christina Berry, Christy-nominated and Carol Award–winning author of The Familiar Stranger

  “Where Wildflowers Bloom invites you to settle down over by the checkerboard at Lindberg’s Mercantile Store and get to know the people of Noble Springs as they put the sorrows of the Civil War behind them and embrace life and love anew. Ann Shorey has come up with an appealing mix of history and romance that readers are sure to enjoy.”

  —Ann H. Gabhart, author of The Blessed and Words Spoken True

  To nurses everywhere,

  with appreciation for your

  skills and commitment

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Endorsements

  Dedication

  1 2 3 4 5

  6 7 8 9 10

  11 12 13 14 15

  16 17 18 19 20

  21 22 23 24 25

  26 27 28 29 30

  31 32 33 34 35

  36 37 38 39 40

  41

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Ann Shorey

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  1

  NOBLE SPRINGS, MISSOURI

  FEBRUARY 1867

  Rosemary Saxon startled awake. Downstairs, her dog sounded like he was attempting to burst through the front door. His bark was one continuous “rawr rawr rawr,” interspersed with deep growls.

  A glance out the window told her daylight waited somewhere beyond the horizon. She flung her wrapper over her shoulders and tiptoed down to the entryway. Her heart thudded in her throat at skittering noises on the porch.

  Crouching next to Bodie, she placed her hand on the raised fur along his back. “Shh. We’re fine.” She inched to the window and peered through a corner of the lace curtain. Blackness.

  Bodie growled low in his chest. Her pulse gradually slowed as she stroked his velvety ears, reassured by his solid presence next to her. Anything that got through her locked door wouldn’t get past Bodie.

  “I hope you didn’t wake me because you smelled a raccoon.”

  The dog relaxed against her and licked her fingers. After a moment she turned and walked to the kitchen, her steps sure in the darkness.

  She struck a match against the surface of the cookstove and lit a lamp, then returned to the sitting room to glance at the case clock atop a bookshelf.

  “Oh, Bodie, why today? It’s five in the morning.” She massaged her temples. “I need to be alert when I call on the doctor.” A ripple of nervousness tingled across her chest. So much depended on Dr. Stewart’s response.

  Resigned to wakefulness, Rosemary opened the firebox and tossed several chunks of wood over the banked coals. As soon as the sky lightened, she’d step out the front door to investigate the reason for Bodie’s excitement.

  She considered the possibilities. This section of the state remained in some turmoil since the war, with refugees occasionally coming through town seeking assistance. Maybe someone had stopped to ask for help.

  “At this hour? I doubt it.” She rubbed the dog’s ears. “Most likely one of those critters you like to tree.”

  When dawn approached, she padded to the entryway, slid the bolt aside, and opened the door. She glanced up and down the deserted street. The houses across the way remained dark.

  A scrap of paper protruded from beneath the rug she kept on the porch for Bodie. When she bent to retrieve it, she noticed footprints in the frost that bristled on the wooden porch. A trail led from the gate in her picket fence to the door and away. Someone had been outside. Those weren’t animal tracks.

  Rosemary grabbed the paper and backed into the house, slamming and bolting the door. With shaking hands she unfolded the wrinkled brown page.

  I no wat yore up to with yore witchs brew. Be warned.

  Shocked, she stared at the message. What witches’ brew? Someone went to a great deal of trouble to deliver a warning to the wrong person. She’d lived in Noble Springs for over a year and no one had gone this far to make her feel unwelcome.

  She paced to the window and watched the day awaken. Thin sunshine touched the frosted landscape with tentative fingers, as though one willful storm cloud would be all the discouragement it needed to disappear. After a moment, Rosemary shrugged. She had more to do today than worry about a misdelivered, misspelled message. Later she’d go to Lindberg’s Mercantile and show the paper to her sister-in-law, Faith Saxon. Now she needed to prepare for her call on Dr. Stewart.

  After letting Bodie back in the house following his morning romp, Rosemary climbed the steep staircase to the second floor, rehearsing what she’d say to the doctor. Everything depended on his opinion of women as nurses. Please, Lord, give him an open mind. She’d had enough disrespect from Dr. Greeley, the town’s elderly physician, to last her for eons.

  She dressed carefully in a dove-gray watered silk dress with a high white collar. Seeking a practical look, she arranged her thick black hair in a bun at the back of her head, careful to pin loose strands in place, then settled her gray spoon bonnet over her coiffure.

  After a final check in the mirror, she wrapped a green paisley shawl around her shoulders and descended the stairs. Bodie sat next to the door.

  “Not now, boy. You wait here.”

  Rosemary straightened her shoulders and stepped into the frosty morning. Despite shrugging off the message, she examined the area for strangers before leaving the security of her picket-fenced yard. A horse-drawn buggy clipped by on the frozen road. No threat there. She strode tow
ard Second Street, chiding herself for being overcautious.

  When she reached the corner, she turned south toward the railroad tracks, her destination a building that had been the quartermaster’s headquarters during the war. Now converted to business space, a new doctor had set up an office at the east end, facing the railroad tracks.

  ELIJAH STEWART, PHYSICIAN, OFFICE HOURS 8:30 TO 5:00, MONDAY THROUGH FRIDAY was painted in black on the whitewashed wall next to his door. Rosemary paused and drew a deep breath before stepping inside.

  On her right, a stove threw off waves of heat. A sofa upholstered in horsehair sat under a window at the rear of the room. Uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs shoved against the windowless left wall faced two closed doors. She supposed one led to the doctor’s private office and the other to an examining room. A murmur of voices seeped from behind one of the doors.

  Rosemary settled on the sofa, pushing her toes against the floorboards to keep from sliding forward on the slippery covering. Her hands perspired inside her tight gloves. To calm herself, she closed her eyes and rehearsed what she’d say when her turn came.

  After several minutes, the door closest to the entry opened and a youth limped into the waiting room.

  A burly man wearing a black waistcoat over rolled-up shirtsleeves followed him. “Keep a fresh bandage on that cut, and stay off your feet as much as possible.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” The young man tipped his hat at Rosemary as he left.

  “I’m Dr. Stewart. Sorry to keep you waiting, miss.” The doctor gestured toward the open door. “If you will step inside, we can discuss your complaint.”

  A shock of recognition rippled through her. Dr. Stewart had been a surgeon at Jefferson Barracks during her first weeks as a nurse. He’d been there only a short time before being called to the front lines, but she remembered his distinctive height, his mop of curly hair, and his eyes, so dark they were almost black.

  “Miss?”

  She rose and extended her hand. “My name is Rosemary Saxon, and I didn’t come with a medical complaint.”

  He took her hand and bowed. “Miss Saxon. Then how may I assist you?”

  “I’m here to offer you my assistance.” She held her voice steady. “I spent the war years as a nurse, and now I’m seeking employment as such.” She pasted a determined expression on her face.

  He crossed to the second door and swung it open. “Come into my office and tell me why you think I should employ a nurse in my practice.” One wall of the room was lined with glass-fronted bookcases. A skeleton hanging from a hook on the wall took up space between the window and what had to be the interior door to the examination room. Dr. Stewart flung himself into an oak armchair on casters and pointed to a straight-back chair facing his desk.

  Rosemary settled herself, folding her hands in her lap and willing them not to tremble. “As I said, I have several years of hospital experience in tending to wounds, administering medicines, and assisting doctors. I do not faint at the sight of blood.”

  “Neither do I, Miss Saxon.”

  “I believe there’s a need for a woman’s presence when doctors have female patients, and that’s where I’d be most valuable. Of course, I’d be prepared for any other duties as necessary.”

  “You must know this is irregular.” He rocked back in his chair with his arms folded across his broad chest. “I called on Dr. Greeley when I first contemplated Noble Springs for my practice. He doesn’t employ a nurse, neither male nor female.”

  “If I may be blunt, Dr. Greeley is an old man who’s been a physician practically since the turn of the century.” She sat straighter. “The war has changed many things, but Dr. Greeley isn’t one of them. He believes women have no place in medicine. I disagree.”

  His lips twitched. “Miss Saxon, although you present a good appearance, I don’t know you. You could be seeking access to my laudanum supply.”

  “Dr. Stewart! I assure you—I have no need of laudanum.”

  He waved a hand at her, chuckling. “Please excuse my humor. With your permission, I’d like to speak to someone who could vouch for you, then we’ll talk again.”

  “I have a brother here, and the pastor of our church knows me.” Her confidence wavered when she realized how weak that sounded. Of course her brother and her pastor would speak well of her. She dropped her gaze to her lap. “If you’re seeking a professional recommendation, I could write to my supervisor from the Barracks. She remained in St. Louis after the war.” Mentally, she berated herself for not thinking of this long ago. She should have had the information ready for him.

  She knew why she hadn’t. That part of her life had ended.

  Or so she’d believed.

  2

  After Rosemary returned home, she exchanged her silk dress for a serviceable blue and gray plaid wool skirt with matching bodice. Unless Dr. Stewart hired her, which seemed unlikely, she’d continue to volunteer her mornings at Lindberg’s Mercantile while she searched for a salaried job. She heaved a deep sigh. Tonight she’d compose a letter to Alice Broadbent, and pray for a speedy response.

  Bodie bounced and wiggled next to the door when she prepared to leave. She smiled at his enthusiasm.

  “Of course you’re coming with me. You’d be missed if I left you behind.”

  The air held the biting snap of a forthcoming snowstorm. Iron-gray clouds smothered the horizon. Grateful she had only two blocks to walk, Rosemary wrapped her cloak around her and covered the distance between her home and the store with rapid strides.

  When she entered the building, she didn’t see Faith in her usual place behind the counter. On her left, colors from bolts of fabric on display brightened the area under one window. Two cookstoves shared space with new plows in the center of the rectangular room.

  Faith’s “woodstove regulars,” Mr. Grisbee and Mr. Slocum, looked up from their checker game next to the box stove. They’d been fixtures at the store long before Rosemary arrived in Noble Springs. Mr. Grisbee lived up to his name, with grizzled whiskers and a growly manner. In contrast, Mr. Slocum kept his gray beard neatly trimmed, and his thinning hair was regularly barbered. As Faith’s grandfather’s friends, they took it upon themselves to act as substitute uncles.

  “Morning, Miss Rosemary,” Mr. Slocum said. “You looking for Miss Faith? She’s in the storeroom.” As he spoke, he rose and strode to the burlap curtain hanging across the opening in the rear wall. Poking his head around the door frame, he called, “Miss Rosemary’s here. You can quit your worrying.”

  Faith bustled past the curtain. “When you didn’t arrive at nine, I was afraid you were ill. I was planning to call on you during the dinner hour.”

  “I went to see Dr. Stewart first thing this morning. I’m sorry to worry you.” Rosemary hung her cloak on a peg and tied an apron around her waist.

  Faith’s lake-blue eyes widened with concern. “You went to see the new doctor? What’s wrong? Why haven’t you said anything?” She gestured toward the front counter. “Come and tell me.”

  Gratitude for her friend swept over Rosemary. “I’m healthy as a horse.” She followed Faith past shelves stacked with cookware and china. Once they were out of earshot of the woodstove regulars, she lowered her voice and said, “I went to see Dr. Stewart to ask if he’d hire me to assist him as a nurse.”

  “A nurse? You said you’d put all that behind you.”

  “I know, and I meant it at the time, but now that you and Curt are married, I want to earn my own living. Curt’s salary from the academy should go for the two of you, not to keep a roof over my head.”

  “We’d love it if you’d move in with us. I’ve told you that before.”

  “Your house is already overflowing.”

  “Just Grandpa and Amy and Sophia,” Faith said, referring to the young widow and her child who stayed with her grandfather while she and Curt were at work.

  “Plus you and Curt. That’s a houseful.”

  Faith’s expression brightened. “The mercantile is
doing fairly well. I’ll pay you for your help.”

  “I told you from the beginning I didn’t want to be paid. Besides, that would be no different than taking part of Curt’s salary.” She squeezed Faith’s hand. “I love spending mornings here. But I need to look after myself. Nursing is what I know.”

  “When does Dr. Stewart want you to come to work?”

  Rosemary looked down at their clasped hands. “Never, I’m afraid. He didn’t seem to take my request seriously. Then when he asked for recommendations, I couldn’t think of anyone but Reverend French and Curt. Not very impressive.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “No. He just said he’d let me know soon. I think that was a polite way to get me out the door.”

  “Let’s say you’re right, and he doesn’t hire you. There are bound to be places in town where you could work. Why don’t we make a list?” Faith leaned on the counter, winding a loose strand of her straw-blonde hair around one finger. “How about a paid companion for an elderly lady?” She scribbled some notes on a sheet of paper.

  “What elderly lady? I don’t know any.”

  “Could you be a seamstress?”

  “I hate sewing.”

  “You’re a wonderful cook.”

  “None of the ladies who could afford a cook would want me. Most everyone who knows I was a nurse thinks I’m vulgar for having touched men’s bodies.”

  “That’s bound to pass in time.”

  Rosemary slid an arm around Faith’s waist. “I’ll think of something. Please don’t worry.”

  The bell over the door jingled as Mrs. Raines, one of the mercantile’s steady customers, entered. Her gaze slid past Rosemary and settled on Faith. “Mrs. Saxon, the druggist told me you have several excellent shaving soaps. Mr. Raines would like to try something different.”

  Rosemary watched while Faith showed the woman an assortment of round pots, each bearing the name of the company that produced the soap. She thought of the shaving compound she prepared for Curt. Maybe she could . . . No. She’d have to sell dozens each week. As if that were likely to happen.