When the Heart Heals Page 8

  He donned his jacket. “I was just leaving. May I escort you home?”

  “I wouldn’t want to take you out of your way. My brother and his wife are expecting me. They live across town.” She wished he wouldn’t look at her with those mesmerizing brown eyes.

  “Better yet. It’s a fine day for a walk.” Cupping his hand under her elbow, he steered her from the building. “Which direction?”

  “To the left. It’s nearly five blocks. Truly, you needn’t trouble yourself.”

  “It’s no trouble. I’ve missed our conversations.”

  So had she, but she didn’t want to admit as much to him.

  A mild breeze feathered the silk taffeta bow securing her bonnet over her hair. Meringue clouds dotted the sky, their puffed outlines spinning shadows over the boardwalk. After they passed several storefronts, Bodie trotted around them and ran ahead to the lawn in front of the courthouse.

  Dr. Stewart glanced at him, then at Rosemary. “I thought that dog would chew my leg off when I visited your home.”

  “His name’s Bodie. I found him as a stray and we adopted each other. He’s harmless unless he believes I’m being threatened.”

  Smiling, the doctor moved a half step away from her side while continuing to keep his hand on her elbow. “I’ll be careful.” He cleared his throat. “Is Miss Graves still staying with you?”

  She suspected more than casual interest in his question. Stopping in mid-stride, she faced him. “Yes. Why?”

  “Your situation has been on my mind.” He ran a finger under his high collar. “What do you propose to do when her time comes?”

  She resumed walking. “I don’t see where that’s any concern of yours.” Her brisk tone matched her stride.

  “You’re right. It’s not.” He bit off the words.

  For a moment Rosemary was tempted to share her worries. She didn’t have the least idea what she’d do if the visit continued through the birth of the child. An extended stay had never occurred to her.

  She cocked her head, studying the firm set of his jaw. How nice it would be to have him as an ally instead of an opponent.

  11

  Jacob’s face lifted in a smile when Rosemary stepped into West & Riley’s on Monday morning. “Miss Rosemary. Welcome. I trust you were able to make use of that scrawny hen.”

  He looked so pleased she hated to dampen his spirits. “The chicken was delicious and far from scrawny.” She glanced around to be sure there were no other customers in the grocery store, then stepped closer before continuing. “I thank you, but please, let this be the last time.”

  He spread his hands. “I don’t sell flowers, so I give you food. It’s the same thing. I’m a single man and you’re an unmarried lady. How else will I capture your interest?”

  She took a step back, her mind reeling. She’d never mastered the coquettish ways of some of the young women she knew. How was she expected to respond?

  Jacob filled the silence. “I hope you’re not offended.” A flush darkened his skin. “I don’t know how to talk to ladies when I’m not filling their grocery orders.”

  “No, I’m not offended. Just surprised. I had no idea.”

  “The next thing to do is ask you to go for a buggy ride with me next Sunday. Will you?” He rolled a pencil back and forth on the counter, looking as uncomfortable as she felt.

  She gulped. “Yes, thank you. That would be fine.” Her voice came out as a strangled squeak. Jacob West, of all people. She couldn’t wait to tell Faith.

  His features relaxed. “Good. I will come for you at two.”

  “I’ll be ready. And Jacob, please, no more chickens.”

  After leaving the grocery, Rosemary strolled along High Street until she reached the square. Several brown thrashers flitted in and out of the shrubbery next to the stone courthouse as she passed. Their songs echoed her lighthearted mood.

  Humming to herself, she stepped off the boardwalk and crossed the street to the mercantile. Faith waved at her through the window.

  “You look cheerful this morning,” she said when Rosemary entered.

  “The most amazing thing just happened. Jacob West invited me to go for a buggy ride Sunday afternoon.”

  “The only amazing thing is that he hasn’t asked you sooner. Every time I’m in his store he inquires after you.”

  Rosemary moved behind the counter and dropped an apron over her moss green skirt. “He’s probably just lonely, although I’m surprised some of the younger girls in town haven’t set their caps for him.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want someone young and silly.” Faith reached over and squeezed Rosemary’s hand. “You don’t realize how attractive you are.”

  “Piffle. Sometimes I feel like those soaps sitting on the shelf. Attractive doesn’t mean much if no one wants them.” She tweaked a bow tying the blue calico wrapper around a sassafras-scented disk.

  “Dr. Stewart escorted you to our house yesterday. Now Mr. West invites you for a buggy ride. That doesn’t sound like you’re sitting on a shelf.”

  “The doctor and I were barely on speaking terms when we parted.” Her lightheartedness evaporated at the memory. If only he weren’t so unreasonable on the subject of Jolene.

  “Things aren’t always what they seem. Look how long Curt and I took to cross the barriers we’d erected between ourselves.” Faith’s cheeks bloomed pink. “I never expected to be this happy. Someday it will be your turn.”

  “Perhaps.” But with Jacob West? She doubted it.

  To change the subject, Rosemary pointed to a display of cookware stacked in the window. “Why don’t we arrange your caster sets in place of the pots and skillets?” She removed a bolt of chrome yellow chintz from the fabric area and held it up. “We can drape this underneath. The effect will be quite eye-catching.”

  Faith snickered. “Good idea. None of my customers seem interested in wearing a garment quite so bright. That bolt’s been on the shelf so long the edges have faded.”

  Rosemary put the cloth aside and reached for a three-legged skillet on the shelf beneath the window. As she drew the heavy cast iron piece toward her, she noticed Mr. Bingham’s wagon stopping in front of the store. “Cassie’s here!” She left the window display and joined Faith. “I hope she can stay long enough to visit this time.”

  “So do I. She’s almost a prisoner on that farm.”

  They watched Cassie fight to prevent her wide skirts from flying up when she climbed down from the wagon. Her mother remained on the seat, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Mr. Bingham plodded to the endgate as Cassie fled through the door of the mercantile.

  “He’s sending me away,” she said between sobs. “Says he can’t afford to feed both of us. He expects me to find a job and give him the money I earn. I told him I wouldn’t do it. He paid no attention.” She spun around and stared out at the street. “He has Mother so browbeaten that she won’t utter a word against him.”

  Rosemary held out her arms and Cassie ran to her. “I knew you’d help me. I’ve never worked anywhere. We always had servants. Tell him.”

  While they watched, her stepfather hoisted a dome-topped trunk onto one shoulder, then turned and deposited it on the boardwalk.

  Rosemary’s heart drummed. Perhaps Mr. Bingham might listen to her. She wouldn’t know if she didn’t try. Keeping an arm around the young woman’s shoulder, she guided her to Faith’s side.

  “I’ll talk to him for you.” She had no idea what she’d say, but with firm steps she marched out to the sour-faced man.

  He faced her, thumbs tucked around his suspenders. His belly strained the fabric of his collarless chambray shirt. “If that shiftless girl sent you out here, you can just turn around and go back inside. I don’t need no one poking their nose into my business.”

  She shot a glance at Cassie’s mother. The woman avoided her eyes.

  Rosemary said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Mr. Bingham. This is wrong. You know Cassie has been gently reared. You can’
t turn her out.”

  “Who are you to tell me I’m wrong?” His ruddy complexion turned purple. He cocked his head. “You ain’t Judge Lindberg’s granddaughter, are you?”

  “No, sir. I’m Miss Saxon. Faith Lindberg married my brother.”

  He took a step toward her, squinting. “You’re the one who fools with them roots and berries. Thinks you can cure folks.”

  “We’re talking about Cassie, not me.” She wrinkled her nose as his pungent breath assailed her nostrils. “You can’t do this to her. She’s been sheltered all her life.”

  “Not no more, she ain’t. Children is obliged to help out. Sooner she gets that straight, the better off she’ll be.”

  A man and a woman passing by in a buggy turned to stare when they heard Mr. Bingham’s strident voice. He glared at them, then left Rosemary standing beside the trunk and clambered onto the wagon seat. Cassie’s mother slumped forward when he flicked the reins over the horse’s back. Rosemary thought she heard sobs.

  “He’s leaving me here!” Cassie burst through the door. She took a few running steps in the direction of the departing wagon, then stopped. Dust stirred up by the horse’s hooves rolled over her.

  Horrified, Rosemary watched the Binghams’ wagon disappear around a corner.

  Cassie stumbled to the front of the mercantile and collapsed onto a bench. “I never thought he’d do this,” she said, more to herself than to Rosemary. “What’s going to happen to my mother?”

  “Has he . . . lifted his hand against her?” Rosemary felt herself flush when she asked the question. She had no right to venture into such private territory. Her question was inappropriate, even for a family member.

  “No. He’s a tyrant who strikes with words.” Cassie’s jaw tightened. “He claims he loves her, but he’s made her life a nightmare. I wish he was dead.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  She pointed to the trunk sitting on the boardwalk. “He abandoned me here. Why would I have charitable feelings toward him?”

  “You’re upset—understandably so.” Rosemary took Cassie’s hand and drew her to her feet. “Come inside. We need to decide what to do next.”

  On Sunday, Rosemary left the church with Jolene and Cassie at her side. Townsfolk dressed in their best go-to-meeting clothes clustered in small groups scattered over the lawn. Conversations hummed like bees over the gathering. As she descended the steps, Rosemary noticed Clarissa French hurrying in her direction.

  “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  If she were to be ready when Jacob called for her, she needed to go right home. Clarissa was one of the kindest women she knew, but she loved long conversations—usually about herself.

  Rosemary swallowed. “Certainly.”

  “May we speak in confidence?” Clarissa darted a glance at Rosemary’s companions.

  Jolene’s cheeks reddened with embarrassment while Cassie nodded and stepped back.

  “I won’t be long, if you don’t mind going on ahead.”

  When they walked away, the reverend’s wife said, “I pray they weren’t offended. My concerns have nothing to do with either of them. I need your help.”

  “You have only to ask. After everything your husband did for my brother—including recommending him for the teaching position—I’m in your debt.”

  Clarissa waved her words aside. “We’re grateful to the Lord that everything turned out so well. But this is a personal matter.” She stepped nearer and spoke close to Rosemary’s ear. “I understand you mix curative teas. I didn’t see what I need on your shelf at the mercantile and wondered whether you might prepare something special for me.”

  “I’ll be happy to, if at all possible. What is your complaint?”

  “Ever since Galen came home without—well, the way he is, I’ve suffered the most terrible headaches. I pray for relief, but nothing changes.” Shamefaced, she lowered her voice even further. “I fear I must lack faith.”

  Rosemary rested a hand on the woman’s plump arm. “The Lord often uses ordinary people when he answers our prayers. Feverfew tea helped my brother during his difficulties after the war. I’ll bring some to you later this afternoon.”

  Tears glittered in Clarissa’s eyes. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “Nonsense. Our homes are barely a block apart.”

  “You’re a blessing. Thank you.” She turned and made her way to her husband’s side, greeting members of the congregation as she crossed the lawn.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rosemary glimpsed Dr. Stewart observing her. She lifted her chin. Her potions, as he called them, were no longer any of his concern. With brisk steps, she left the churchyard and strode across the street.

  Jolene called to her from the porch as soon as she closed the gate in the fence surrounding her yard. “I want to go home. The sooner the better.”

  12

  Rosemary forced herself to remain calm in light of Jolene’s obvious distress. Leaning against the porch railing, she asked, “Did Cassie say something to upset you?”

  Jolene shook her head. “She treats me fine. It’s Galen French. He said he wants to come courting. Did his ma tell you?” She made a sound partway between a laugh and a sob. “He thinks I’m a lady. I can’t let him find out different. I want to go home.”

  Taken aback, Rosemary surveyed the young woman’s face. Since the morning sickness had subsided, her cheeks had taken on a rosy tint. With her walnut-brown hair and golden eyes, she’d draw the interest of any man. Right now those eyes held a frantic expression.

  “At supper this evening we’ll ask my brother if he can take you.”

  “Can you come too? Ma and Pa won’t light into me so bad in front of strangers.”

  “I’d be happy to accompany you.” She rested her hand on Jolene’s shoulder. The thought of seeing Jolene reconciled with her parents lifted her heart. It would be her turn to say “I told you so” to Curt.

  Rosemary sighed, wondering how she’d managed to commit every free minute of what should have been a restful day. When she entered the house, Bodie bounded over to her, his tail whisking back and forth. “Oh, mercy, I forgot about your walk.” She glanced at the clock in the sitting room, then dashed upstairs to change from her gray leather slippers to sturdy boots. If she hurried, she and Bodie could circle the block and return before two.

  She left the house, walking east along the residential section of King’s Highway. When she reached the corner, she came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Dr. Stewart entering a two-story brick house across the street. Astonished, she realized she’d worked with him for a month and not known he lived four doors away.

  “Come on, Bodie. Hurry.” Averting her head, she turned south.

  Elijah leaned forward, hands resting on his writing table, and gazed out his bay window. Miss Saxon’s dog frisked in front of her as she walked in the direction of the railroad tracks. Over the past week he’d observed her friend Miss Haddon accompanying her home from Lindberg’s Mercantile in the evenings. Then this morning, both Miss Haddon and Miss Graves attended church with her. Taking in strays seemed to be a penchant of hers.

  He settled in an armchair next to the window and opened a copy of the New York Medical Journal. After flipping past several pages without reading a word, he dropped the periodical on the table. A walk would help him focus. He stood to don his jacket when a closed carriage stopped out front drew his attention.

  Torn, he glanced at Miss Saxon’s retreating back. Whoever his caller might be, the person had thwarted his opportunity to pretend an accidental encounter with his former nurse.

  Elijah stepped away from the window, but not before he caught a glimpse of the carriage’s occupant. His scalp prickled. He could refuse to answer the door, but what if the man had seen him through the glass? Knowing him, he’d stand on the porch and pound on the wooden panels all afternoon.

  With a sense of doom, he strode to the entryway and opened the door.

  “Father. This is more than a
surprise. You should have written ahead.”

  Dr. Carlisle Stewart glared at him from beneath bushy eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” His voice wheezed.

  Elijah stepped aside. “Of course.” The elder Dr. Stewart’s well-tailored garments concealed his bulk, but years of prosperity had left their mark. Though they were the same height, he outweighed his son by at least fifty pounds. His sanguine complexion resembled the burgundy he liked to consume.

  He handed his hat and coat to Elijah, then sank into one of the armchairs in the sitting room, leaning back to accommodate his belly. He cast a disdainful glance at his surroundings. “So this is where you’ve been hiding. You could do better.”

  “I like it here.” Elijah gritted his teeth and seated himself facing his father. “You didn’t come all the way from Chicago to criticize my house, did you?”

  “I didn’t come to criticize you at all. I’m here to ask for your help.”

  He braced himself. His father saved that jovial tone for coaxing patients to allow him to perform painful procedures. “You don’t need my help with anything. Your practice has made you rich. The woman you married after Mother died is young and beautiful. What could you want from me?”

  “I want you to return to Chicago as my partner.” He fumbled in his breast pocket and removed a handkerchief. After blotting his forehead, he balled the linen cloth in his fist. “You could carry on after I’m gone—inherit my patients and my bank accounts.”

  “Your wife will expect the bank accounts, and I don’t want any part of your practice. I’ve said so more than once.”

  “My wife left me last winter for younger pastures. Apparently she grew tired of waiting for me to die.” He surveyed the room. “What do you have against a successful business? Did you take a vow of poverty?”

  “I earn enough to get by.”

  For a moment, his father’s face sagged. Downward lines fanned from the corners of his eyes. Before compassion had a chance to grow in Elijah’s breast, the lines hardened into their accustomed steely ridges. “You’re my only child. If a man can’t depend on his own family, who does he have?” He pushed himself to his feet and lumbered to the door.