The Doctor's Pregnant Bride (Mail-Order Bride Book 1)

by Stella Clark

  “Did you not faint?” Becky asked, horror in her voice.

  “No, I did not. Pa must have looked at me more than a hundred times to see how I was faring during the operation. He was a proud father when he told my mother about it later that evening. That was the last time she suggested that I should become a lawman.”

  Becky laughed. The conversation made him think of the child in Becky’s stomach. His gaze lowered to the slight bump on her dress.

  “Have you thought of names for the child?”

  A shadow crossed her eyes, and his heart went out for her. She probably missed her late husband terribly, but circumstances had forced her to become a mail-order bride. She smiled suddenly, as if making the decision to be cheerful, which tugged at his heart as well.

  “I haven’t really thought of it as a real child,” she said.

  He was right. Becky was a woman in mourning. “You must miss your husband very much.”

  “Yes, I do. He was kindhearted, and we had grand plans for the future,” she said and shrugged. “What about yourself. Do you miss Anne Shields?”

  Karl felt as though a sword had sliced through his flesh and pierced his heart. “I don’t miss her at all,” he said with more venom than he intended.

  Becky’s hand flew to her mouth, but she did not manage to stifle the gasp. “Why what happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” he growled. “She’s not important.”

  A hurt look came over Becky’s features. His anger suddenly abated, and he felt an urge to wipe off the hurt and replace it with her smile that lit up the room.

  “What I mean is that we believed different things at the time,” he tried unsuccessfully to explain.

  “What kind of things?” Becky asked, intrigued.

  “Well …” he said and searched his mind for the right words. “I believed that when you were courting a woman, she should not allow another man to court her.” He inhaled sharply and forced himself to continue. “I also believed that one’s friends did not go behind one’s back and court the same woman.”

  Becky was silent as she absorbed what he had told her. “That was terrible! Both of them had no integrity.”

  “I thought so at the time, but with the hindsight that comes with time, I see the situation differently.”

  “How so?”

  He wished he could change the topic, but with Becky’s deep interest, he could not do so without hurting her feelings. “I did not make myself clear to Anne that I was courting her. Anyway, when she was leaving, she said something to the effect that I hadn’t proposed yet and Dr. Brady had done so, and thus she’d felt inclined to accept his proposal.”

  “He was a doctor, too?” Becky asked, her voice tinged with sympathy.

  His heart hardened. The last thing he wanted from Becky was pity.

  “Yes, he had come here to visit with me and help out at the surgery. Needless to say, that kind of betrayal will not happen again.”

  “I see,” Becky said and got up abruptly, clutching her sewing. “I’m rather tired and shall retire to bed.”

  He searched her face. It was impassive, but he knew he had said or done the wrong thing. The air around them crackled with tension. “Are you all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be all right?” she asked, her voice cold. “After all, I’m married to a man who is determined to never open his heart to anyone.”

  “I never pretended otherwise,” Karl said.

  Becky glared at him, unblinking. “No, you didn’t,” she said. And then she stalked off.

  Karl slumped in his chair and wondered what he could possibly have done wrong. He really did not understand the opposite gender.

  Chapter Eight

  Becky was still upset from the conversation with Karl the previous night as she went downstairs to the surgery. They had shared breakfast in marked silence, although he had tried to instigate a conversation. Her eyes hurt from too little sleep.

  She had lain awake at night thinking of the loveless marriage that loomed ahead. It was odd how quickly she had changed her views the more she got to know Karl. At first, she had not been interested in a romantic relationship, but now she longed for it with Karl.

  How would it feel if he looked at her with passion in his eyes and shared special looks with her over people’s heads? With heavy steps, she pushed open the door to the surgery and, to her surprise, there were two women, a boy, and a man seated on the reception bench.

  She glanced at the time. It was only ten in the morning, and usually she only found one patient waiting or none at all.

  “Good morning,” she said and as if on cue, coughs rang out in the room.

  The first thing she did was to open the windows amongst mumbling from the waiting patients. Fresh cold air filled the room.

  “It’s cold, Mrs. Madden,” one of the women said, and this time, it did not surprise Becky that most patients knew her name.

  Word had quickly spread that Dr. Madden had married and his wife helped out at the clinic. It made her feel useful and needed when she was at the clinic rather than spending all day in the house with no children to mind.

  “The fresh air will do all of us good,” Becky said briskly in a tone she had learned put a stop to any complaints.

  She went to the boy and touched the back of his neck. He was burning hot. She cast a glance at Karl’s office door, firmly shut. She made the decision to interrupt him. Moving swiftly across the reception room, she knocked lightly on the door to the inner office.

  “Yes?” Karl’s said in his authoritative tone that made her skin prickle with excitement in spite of herself.

  Hands trembling slightly, Becky pushed the door open and peered in. “Dr. Madden, sorry to bother you,” she said, flashing a quick smile at his patient. “There’s a boy waiting, and he’s running quite a fever.”

  He frowned slightly. “Can you get exact readings for me? Here’s a thermometer.”

  Their hands brushed as she took the thermometer and, for a moment, the rest of the world faded as she allowed herself to drown in his bright green eyes. He broke the stare, and she turned away and softly shut the door, her chest heaving up and down.

  “Let me check your temperature,” Becky said to the boy and slipped the thermometer under his tongue. She glanced at her watch, waited for a few minutes, and then removed it from his mouth.

  “How is he, Mrs. Madden?” the boy’s mother asked, her face drawn with anxiety and fatigue.

  Becky placed a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. “His temperature is high, but you’re in the right place. Dr. Madden will take care of him.”

  The woman nodded and sat back to wait. Becky returned to Karl’s office just as the patient was leaving.

  “Here’s the reading,” she said and handed the thermometer to him.

  When she had first met him, she hadn’t realized just how tall Karl was. He towered over her by almost a foot, and it made her feel safe when she stood next to him. His features creased with worry, she stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.

  “What is it? You look worried.”

  He nodded grimly. “From the number of patients, I think we have an outbreak of whooping cough.”

  She had never heard of whooping cough. “Is it like a regular cough?”

  “Yes and no. It starts like a normal cough but quickly gets worse and can cause death.”

  Becky’s mouth went dry. That was the part she dreaded about working with patients. Losing a patient would be devastating. “How is it treated?”

  “That’s the problem,” Karl said. “There’s no known cure. All we do is manage the illness by encouraging our patients to drink as many liquids as they can.”

  She nodded. “I see. Shall I call in the next patient?”

  “Yes,” he said, but before she could open the door, he placed a large hand on her hand. “I appreciate your hard work, Becky.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes at the simple, sincere expression of gratitud
e. “You’re welcome,” she said and fled from the room.

  She took the next patient’s temperature so that when he entered the doctor’s office, Karl had one less task to perform. It seemed that as soon as a patient left, another one entered the surgery. Becky spoke to the patients who had seen the doctor and emphasized what Karl had told her about drinking lots of liquids.

  The day went by in a rush, and it was only when the last patient left at five in the evening that she realized they had not eaten lunch. She went to the store to dilute phenol which she used to thoroughly clean the reception. When she was done, she entered Karl’s office.

  “Is it all right if I clean in here?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course,” he said and looked up from a large volume on his desk. “I’m trying to see if there is a specific treatment recommended for whooping cough.”

  “Is there?” Becky asked hopefully.

  “Not that I can see,” he said and yawned. “This medical book suggests the same thing we’re doing. Recommending a diet of liquids.”

  Becky wiped down the examination bed, and soon, the room smelled of antiseptic and cleanliness.

  “You’ve done well to use phenol; it will help to prevent it from spreading.”

  The compliment washed away any exhaustion Becky might have been feeling. Maybe, just maybe, Karl was capable of opening his heart after all. That hope colored her cheeks as she looked at the man she was married to. She prayed things would get better, and soon.

  Chapter Nine

  The days blurred into each other until Karl lost track of time and days. On the third week of treating a never-ending stream of patients, and also meeting with the town officials, his body screamed with exhaustion. He was glad that the town officials were now involved, and they were helping spread the message on the care of whooping cough patients.

  Still, the number of patients seemed to be increasing by the day, and he missed most of his meals. By the end of the day, he was too tired to eat, and now, he felt as if not taking care of himself was costing him. He also had another problem that he was grappling with.

  Becky. Every day she helped him at the clinic, she increased her own risk of contracting whooping cough. He brought up the conversation that evening when they were eating their dinner.

  “I’m not comfortable with having you around all those germs,” he said as he stifled a yawn. “You’re in a vulnerable state right now, and you ought to stay home, not be on your feet all day.”

  Her spoon stopped in midair, and she stared at him with her large almond-shaped eyes wide with surprise. “I couldn’t stay up here knowing how much work you have to do. No, please don’t ask me to.”

  He sighed deeply. The effort of picking up his spoon to eat seemed so much. His exhaustion was worse than he had thought. A cough got stuck in his throat, and it took a lot of effort to get it out.

  “How long do you think the epidemic will last?” Becky asked.

  Her voice seemed to come from far off. “If it were summer, I’d say a long time, but we’re in luck in that it’s winter. Germs do not spread easily, which means, if we’re lucky, it can disappear in a few weeks.”

  The food looked delicious, but his taste buds seemed to have disappeared along with his energy. It took every ounce of willpower to finish the meal and heave himself from the chair.

  “I’ll bring your tea shortly,” Becky said.

  “Thank you,” Karl managed to say as he left the kitchen to the parlor and sank gratefully into a chair.

  He must have fallen asleep, for the next thing he heard was Becky softly calling his name and shaking him gently.

  “You don’t look well, Karl,” she said, her voice tinged with worry.

  He shook the sleepiness from his head and plastered a smile on his face to reassure her. “I’m just tired, I suppose. A good night’s sleep will restore me.”

  “Here’s your tea,” she said.

  The few minutes he had dozed off seemed to have helped him, and the excessive weariness was gone. He sipped at his tea, grateful for the warmth coursing through his body. Becky sat in the chair opposite his, drinking her tea and observing him.

  His gaze lowered to her tummy, and he noted how big it had grown. She was about six months gone, Karl mused. How had time gone by so quickly? He could not imagine a time when Becky had not been part of his life.

  His eyes grew heavy and giving in to temptation, Karl closed them, telling himself it would just be for a few seconds. Sweet sleep engulfed him, and then he woke up with a start as Becky removed the mug from his hand. He snapped his eyes open, and she rested the back of her hand behind his neck.

  “Let’s go to bed,” she said softly.

  He allowed himself to be helped up, feeling much older than his years. He staggered to his room and almost wept at the sight of the bed looking so inviting.

  “I’ll leave the door open,” Becky said and withdrew.

  He shed his clothes and slipped between the covers, falling asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. At some point in the night, he woke up but not quite, and he thought he saw Becky. His sleep was restless and filled with terrible dreams, and he woke up with a start several times.

  “Karl, here, I brought you some tea,” Becky said.

  It felt as though his eyelids had been glued together, and it took a lot of effort to open them. He looked about him in confusion as his dreams and reality became mangled. Becky was the only one whose presence made sense.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, and everything fell into place.

  He fell back on the bed as a cough ripped through him. When it was over, he moaned in dismay. He was ill. He had contracted whooping cough. Disappointment and panic washed through him. Who would mind his patients now? He knew how weak whooping cough made a person, but perhaps he could manage a few hours at the surgery.

  He pushed himself to a seated position. He shut his eyes to get his breath back. The simple act felt as though he had climbed a mountain.

  “Do you want me to hold the mug for you?” Becky asked, her face etched with worry lines.

  “I think I’ll manage, thank you,” Karl said. “I’ll only go to the surgery for a few hours. I don’t feel too good.”

  “Yes, I noticed yesterday that it was more than exhaustion. Drink up. It’ll do you good.”

  Becky echoed his advice to his patients. Drinking up was easier said than done. His body ached to curl up and fall asleep. Resolutely, he drunk his tea in several large gulps. His mind wanted to get up, but his body simply refused to obey.

  “I’ll just rest for a little while,” he said, his eyes already shut.

  Chapter Ten

  Becky huddled under a winter coat as she left the post office. She hoped it would be just as Karl had said and Dr. Thornton would arrive in the next couple of days. It broke her heart to turn patients away at the surgery because there was no doctor to attend to them.

  She had hoped that Karl would only be bedridden for a few days, but it was a week now and he seemed to be getting worse, not better. If she hadn’t been so worried about Karl, she would have enjoyed the pristine snow covering Main Street and the bare trees.

  Just the previous week, they had lost their first patient from whooping cough. She had been an older woman who lived with her son and his family, and she had picked it up from one of the children. Becky’s heart pounded as she thought of what would happen to her if Karl did not make it.

  Panic gripped her chest, and she slowed her gait. Her legs trembled, and she worried that they would buckle underneath her. Where would she turn to? Sure, if it came to the worst, she could go back home. Her whole body balked at the idea, and she pushed down a rising panic in her throat.

  Her mother lived with her older brother, Joshua, and his family, and returning home meant that she would be a burden. Karl had to recover. Her palms hurt from digging her nails into them.

  Becky reached home, relieved to get away from the howl of the wind as it gusted with renewed f
orce. She hurried up the stairs and after shaking off her coat, she went to Karl’s room. He lifted his head as she entered and smiled weakly at her.

  “I’ve sent it,” she said to him.

  He nodded. “He’ll be here in a day or so,” he said in a weak voice.

  “I’ll bring you some broth now,” Becky said and fought the anxiety threatening to overwhelm her as Karl lifted a hand in protest. “Just a little,” Becky smiled.

  The kitchen was warmer than the rest of the house, and she felt her whole body warm up as she worked around the fire. She had lit the stove before leaving and now all she had to do was to heat the bone broth she had cooked the previous day.

  When Dr. Thornton arrived, he would examine Karl and prescribe medicine for him. The thought of an authoritative figure treating Karl comforted her greatly.

  He arrived the following morning, just as Becky was preparing breakfast. The knock on the door did not surprise her, but she thought it was a patient who had not heard of Karl’s illness. She lugged her now rather protruding stomach down the stairs and opened the door.

  A man with startling red curly hair stood smiling at her. He removed his hat and half bowed to her. “Good morning, ma’am, you must be Mrs. Madden. I’m Dr. Thornton. You sent me a telegram yesterday.”

  Tears of relief flooded her eyes. “Oh yes, please come in. Karl is upstairs.”

  He stepped in, clutching a medical bag in his left hand. She shut the door and led the way up the stairs to Karl’s room.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re finished,” Becky said.

  A weight lifted off her chest, she went about the rest of her chores cheerfully and even whistled as she worked. Twenty minutes later, she heard Dr. Thornton’s faltering footsteps down the hallway. She went out to meet him.

  “Please come in for some breakfast,” Becky said.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She filled a plate with flapjacks, placed it in front of him on the table, and poured coffee for the both of them.

  “You’re not eating?” Dr. Thornton said mildly.