When the Heart Heals Page 7

  The outside door opened and a man entered, rain dripping from his oilskin coat. “Mornin’, Doc.” His gaze darted around the room. “Where’s that pretty nurse? I come to show you both how good my burn healed. Used that comfrey root she told me about—and the ointment you gave me, o’course.”

  After a moment’s pause, Elijah recognized him as Mr. Eldridge, the patient who’d injured himself when he threw kerosene on a fire. “Miss Saxon has gone on to other pursuits,” he said, using the response he’d perfected after answering the same question almost daily since she left. He rose and met the man near the door. “But I’d like to take a look at your arm.”

  Mr. Eldridge draped his coat over a hook, rolled up his sleeve, and held his bare arm toward Elijah. The new skin looked pinker than the surrounding tissue. In all other respects, he’d healed without a scar. “Looks good, don’t it? Tell Miss Saxon my wife made a poultice of some of the root, like she said.”

  Elijah shook his head. “You used the Hansen’s Ointment too, didn’t you? I suspect that had the greater effect.”

  “Maybe.” He looked doubtful. “Stung something fierce, so I pretty much stuck to the comfrey root.”

  Knowing better than to argue with a patient, he patted the man’s arm. “Glad you’re healed. Be careful with kerosene, now.”

  “Don’t have to tell me. Say, do you know where I’d find Miss Saxon? The wife sent her some wild grape jelly.” He shoved his arms into his coat sleeves and then drew a stubby jar from one pocket. “Figgered she deserved some thanks.”

  “I believe she’s at Lindberg’s Mercantile most mornings. The store’s across from the courthouse on King’s Highway.” As he spoke, Miss Saxon’s earnest face floated in front of his eyes. He’d thought himself charitable when he hired her, but now that it was too late, he recognized her value. The fact that she was attractive had nothing to do with his sense of regret. Nothing at all.

  “Thanks, Doc.” Mr. Eldridge clapped his hat on and stepped out into the sodden morning.

  Elijah watched him walk north toward King’s Highway. Miss Saxon told him she had few friends in Noble Springs. He wondered whether she knew how many people missed her once she left his practice.

  He walked to her desk and slammed the ledger closed.

  Rosemary tilted her head and surveyed the row of shaving soaps displayed at the front of a shelf near the door of the mercantile. Each blue calico-wrapped disk was tied at the top with green ribbon. On a shelf below she’d arranged fabric bundles of herbal teas, with names like “Calm Afternoons,” “Blissful Sleep,” and “Memory Enhancer” written on attached tags.

  Faith stepped up behind her. “Everything looks so pretty. Like little flowers in my store.”

  “You’re looking at pieces of an old skirt I used to garden in. It made the supreme sacrifice.” She sighed. “Now if only customers would buy something, the effort would be worthwhile.”

  “Except for the man who brought you the jelly, no one seems to be venturing out in this rainstorm. Even the woodstove regulars stayed home this morning.”

  “I’m not talking about today.” Rosemary folded her arms over her waist and stood next to the stove. “I’ve only sold fifty cents’ worth this past week.”

  “Give it time—”

  The bell over the door jangled and Cassie Haddon and her mother pushed into the store, shaking water from their wet umbrellas.

  “There you are!” Cassie’s mother marched up to Rosemary. “We’ve been all over town looking for you. That waif you’ve got at your house said you were spending time here again. And of course we found that out after we’d already called at the doctor’s office and didn’t see you there.” She paused to draw a breath.

  “I didn’t know you were coming to call, Mrs. Bingham, or I would have made it a point to stay home. What can I do for you?” She hadn’t seen the woman in several months. With concern, she noted that she’d lost much of her ample flesh, and hollows surrounded her eyes. If it weren’t for her unnaturally bright red hair, Rosemary wouldn’t have known her.

  Cassie stepped forward and took her mother’s arm. “We hoped you’d have some of your valerian tincture made up.”

  Mrs. Bingham shook her arm free. “I can talk for myself, thank you.” She eyed the shelves containing bundles of tea and shaving soaps. “You’re selling your remedies here now?”

  “Not everything. I prepare tinctures and cures as need arises.” Rosemary reached behind the herb teas and selected a vial containing the restorative she sought. “This is all the valerian I have right now. My supply of the herb is running low until the plants start their growth cycle again.”

  “This will do nicely.” She turned to her daughter. “Cassie, look outside to see if Mr. Bingham has come for us yet.”

  “He’s waiting in the buggy, Mother.”

  A haunted look crossed the woman’s face. “Oh, dear.” She shoved the vial into her handbag and thrust a coin at Rosemary. “Thank you.” Seizing her umbrella, she dashed for the door.

  “Next time I’ll come directly to the mercantile,” Cassie said, addressing both Faith and Rosemary. Her tone was apologetic. “I’ll try to stay long enough to visit.”

  “Cassie!”

  “I’m coming.” The door banged behind them.

  Faith and Rosemary stood together, watching the women scramble into the carriage, unassisted by Mr. Bingham. The whip snapped over the horse’s back and they rolled out of sight.

  “That poor woman got more than she bargained for when she married that man,” Faith said.

  “Indeed. She’d have been better off staying with her family in St. Louis, and so would Cassie.” She fingered the disks of soap she had concocted with Jolene’s help, her mind skipping to her guest’s well-being. “Jolene would be better off with her family too. Her morning sickness has eased, but she’s overcome with melancholia. She pines for her mother.”

  “Rosemary, we’ve talked about this. You’re setting yourself up for disappointment.”

  She stared out at the curtain of drizzle obscuring the courthouse lawn. “Just because I don’t know what will happen is no excuse for not trying.”

  10

  On Saturday morning, Curt stood in Rosemary’s sitting room, arms folded over his chest. “You’re not going by yourself. It isn’t safe.”

  “Then come with me.”

  He’d opened his mouth to reply when Jolene drifted into the room. “Where are you going?” Judging from her listless tone, the answer didn’t matter one way or another.

  Rosemary glanced at her brother and gave her head a tiny shake. “Just on an errand in the country. We’ll be back before supper. Bodie will be here with you.”

  Curt’s face turned thunderous. “I didn’t say—”

  “I’ll get my bonnet.” Rosemary patted his arm and hurried upstairs.

  Once they were headed east toward Hartfield, she leaned against the seat back and blew out a relieved breath. Until he’d helped her into the buggy, she hadn’t been sure Curt would agree to take her to meet Jolene’s parents.

  He sent her a sideways look. “Just so you know, I only agreed because you’ll need someone to pick you up when they throw you off the property.”

  Her palms moistened. In spite of her brave words, she knew from experience the risk involved. “Jolene is miserable. I refuse to believe her mother will behave like ours did.”

  “We recovered.”

  “Did we?”

  Curt didn’t respond. The horse’s hooves plopped along the road, making a sucking sound when they lifted out of the mud. Pale sunshine lit redbuds and flowering dogwoods scattered across the countryside. After they’d passed several farms, he asked, “How will you know which one belongs to Miss Graves’s family?”

  “She told me they had a small log house with only two windows, apple trees inside a rail fence, and chickens running about.”

  Property after property rolled by, but none fit Jolene’s description. The sun angled past noon and began
its descent toward the horizon. A new worry needled at Rosemary. “Do you suppose she fabricated a story? We must be more than halfway to Hartfield.”

  “We’ve come this far. We’ll go until we see the jailhouse at the edge of town.” He snapped the reins over the horse’s back.

  The buggy rounded a bend and Rosemary drew a sharp breath. “There’s a log house.” She sat up straighter. “Those must be apple trees—they just aren’t in bloom yet.” Her heartbeat increased. It was one thing to think about meeting Jolene’s family but quite another to carry out her plan.

  “Here goes.” Curt guided the horse through an opening in the fence and stopped next to a square garden patch.

  When he jumped down to tie the reins to a rail, a dog appeared in the open doorway. The growling animal stood with legs braced as though daring them to come nearer.

  She swallowed a knot of fear. This dog did resemble Bodie, as Jolene had said, down to the sable patch on one side of his face. She hoped he also possessed Bodie’s sociable nature.

  A tiny woman emerged from the cabin. She wore an apron over her butternut-brown dress. Her dark hair was parted along the middle and drawn back into a bun the size of a fist. Not moving from the stoop, she rested one hand on top of the dog’s head. “You folks lost?”

  Rosemary scrambled from the buggy and approached the woman, all her senses jangling. This was the point where she could be ordered from the property. “I’m Miss Rosemary Saxon, and this is my brother, Curt Saxon. We’re seeking the Graves family.” She strove to prevent her voice from trembling. “Have we come to the right farm?”

  “You have. I’m Mrs. Graves.” The color drained from her face. “Has something happened to my Jolene? I knew no good would come of her traipsing off to live in town. What is it? You can tell me.”

  “Perhaps we’d be more comfortable inside.”

  “Tell me right here.” She gripped her elbows with work-reddened hands. “The mister’s up at the woodlot cutting trees. The boys are with him. Whatever it is, I want to know before they come back.”

  Rosemary took a step closer, longing to put an arm around Jolene’s mother, but afraid the dog would misinterpret her actions. “Your daughter is unharmed. She’s staying with me in Noble Springs.”

  Mrs. Graves stood rigid. “Why? What happened to her fine job?”

  “She’s not able to work right now.” Rosemary drew a deep breath before continuing. “Jolene’s . . . with child.”

  The mother wailed and clapped her hands to her mouth. “Oh, great heavens, no! Not my baby girl.” She sagged against the door frame.

  Rosemary dashed to her side, heedless of the rumble coming from the dog’s throat. “Please. Let me help you inside. You need to sit for a moment.”

  A bulky cookstove sat close to one wall in the main room. Against the opposite wall, a ladder led upward to a loft, which presumably held a sleeping area. Mrs. Graves tottered toward a cloth-covered table set with tin plates and surrounded by several chairs. She slumped onto one of them.

  After a few moments she looked up, a puzzled expression on her face. “How d’you know Jolene? She never mentioned you.”

  “She came to see Dr. Stewart. I was his nurse.”

  “His nurse. Never heard of such a thing,” Mrs. Graves said in a scoffing tone. She stood and eyed the doorway. “How do I know you’re telling the truth about my girl?”

  Rosemary spread her hands, palms open. “Jolene needs you. Why would I lie to you, ma’am?”

  “I don’t know! You’re lying about being a nurse. Ain’t no lady nurses.” Her sharp gaze took in Curt, who waited on the stoop. “You two just git on back where you come from. If you know Jolene—and that’s a mighty big if—tell her to come home and talk to me herself.”

  “She’s afraid to.”

  “Afraid of her own ma? Now I know you’re lying.”

  Curt crossed the threshold and moved to Rosemary’s side. “Let’s go,” he said in an undertone.

  She took his arm. As they passed Mrs. Graves, she paused, fighting to control her disappointment. “I’m sorry to have been the bearer of bad tidings. I’ll deliver your message to Jolene.”

  The woman turned her head away.

  Rosemary sat on the buggy seat, her spine starched into immobility. Once they were out of sight of the Graves’s farm, she slumped against the seat back and turned to Curt. “I don’t know which feels worse, being ordered off the property or being called a liar.”

  “I tried to tell you.”

  “I know, but ‘I told you so’ is no help right now. What will I do about Jolene?”

  He opened his mouth and closed it again. Grateful he’d refrained from whatever blunt remark hovered on the tip of his tongue, she waited while he formed a reply.

  After a long moment, he said, “I’m more concerned about you. How are you managing without your salary from the doctor?”

  “I’m getting by.”

  “That girl’s been with you almost three weeks. Shouldn’t she be over the worst of her sickness? Maybe she can get her job back. Buy her own groceries.”

  “I don’t see how. She can’t hide her condition much longer, and you know how people are.” Tension tightened the muscles across her shoulders. She pinched the pleats in her skirt and tugged at a loose thread until it snapped. “I thought I was doing the right thing by visiting Mrs. Graves.”

  “Perhaps you did.”

  She studied him, wondering whether he was serious. “How?”

  “The woman said her daughter should come home and give her the news in person.” He shifted the reins to his left hand and patted her arm with his right. “I’m willing to take her if she wants to go.”

  Relief trembled through her limbs. “You’re a blessing.”

  “That’s what Faith says.”

  The savory fragrance of chicken cooking greeted Rosemary when she entered the house. Bodie frolicked over to her, a bone clamped between his teeth. Chicken and a fresh bone for the dog? Faith must have stopped by after she closed the mercantile for the day. She shook her head. She’d refused offers of help, but apparently Faith waited until she knew Rosemary was away, then brought the food.

  After hanging her shawl and bonnet next to the front door, she headed for the kitchen. “Jolene?”

  The girl appeared in the entrance, wiping her hands on an apron. “I hope you don’t mind. I put the hen on to stew for our supper.” Apprehension tightened her features. “Guess I could have put it in the springhouse. Maybe you don’t like boiled chicken.”

  “I’m not fussy about food. But I’m certainly curious. When did my sister-in-law bring us the chicken?”

  “Wasn’t Mrs. Saxon. The grocer done it. Said it was too old and tough for his customers, and wanted you to take it off his hands. It’s been stewing all—” She stopped and studied Rosemary’s face. The brightness in her eyes dimmed. “Did I do wrong?”

  “Not at all. I’ll thank Jacob the next time I see him.” Much as she appreciated his kindness, a tiny coil of embarrassment wound through her at being the object of charity.

  She lifted the lid from the kettle and sniffed. “Smells delicious. You’re a good cook.”

  “My ma taught me.” Jolene blinked and looked at her hands. “She taught me lots of things. Wish I’d listened.”

  Rosemary drew a chair away from the table. “It’s not too late.” She patted the seat next to her. “Let me tell you where we were this afternoon.”

  Jolene’s eyes widened while she listened to the account of the visit to the Graves’s farm. When Rosemary concluded by telling her of Curt’s offer to take her to see her parents, she shook her head. “I can’t do it. I won’t. My little mama—even if she says she wants to see me, it’ll be too hurtful to have me about the place in my condition. And my pa . . .” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. “I didn’t want them to know.”

  Leaning forward, Rosemary patted the girl’s shoulder. “Believe me, I understand how you feel. But she did say she want
ed you to tell her—”

  “She probably didn’t believe you, is all. She sure don’t want to hear about me getting myself in trouble.”

  Rosemary leaned back and stared unseeing at the herbs hanging from the beams. A sense of defeat weighted her shoulders. She might know what was best for Jolene, but she couldn’t force her to go see her parents. With a heavy sigh, she studied the stubborn set of the girl’s jaw.

  “Will you at least think about it? Curt will take you whenever you want to go.”

  “Tell him I’m obliged, but something else is bound to turn up. I’m not going out there.”

  After church, Rosemary strode toward Jacob West’s. She knew the restaurant would be open on Sunday to feed men from the rooming house. Bodie wandered behind her, stopping to sniff every other bush, then scampering to catch up.

  Jacob had used the excuse of needing to share an oversupply of food once too often. Last night’s chicken had been tender and meaty, certainly something he’d have been able to serve his patrons. She hoped she could express her gratitude and at the same time discourage future charity.

  After instructing Bodie to wait outside, she pushed open the door of the restaurant. Ignoring the stares of the men at the tables, she surveyed the room. Jacob was nowhere in sight. Upset with herself, she turned to leave. She should have waited until Monday and talked to him in the grocery. There’d be fewer curious eyes.

  “Miss Saxon?” Dr. Stewart stepped up behind her, carrying his coat over one arm. “This is a pleasant surprise. I would have expected you’d be enjoying Sunday dinner with your family.” His gaze swept over the room filled with men. “This isn’t a fitting place for a lady.”

  She felt a flush color her cheeks. “I wanted to have a word with Mr. West, but I see he’s not here.”

  “He generally leaves the Sunday meal to Mrs. Fielder, the cook. She’s standing over there if you wish to speak with her.” He nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen.

  “No, thank you. I’ll return tomorrow.” She took a sidestep toward the door. She’d planned a conversation with Jacob, not an encounter with Dr. Stewart. If she’d known he’d be at the restaurant, she’d never have come.