“Thanks. I appreciate it. I don’t know how I’d manage without you cooking for the customers and watching out for Andy-pandy here.” How did Margaret care for those five children? Surely she didn’t expect Ben and Annie to watch them?
“Glad to do it. Makes me proud to see a young fellow eat so hearty.” The cook slid a beefsteak onto a plate and added a mound of mashed potatoes. “Order up!”
Connie smoothed her hair, tied on a floral apron, and picked up a fork and the hot plate. Saturday nights were always their busiest, and she had customers to wait on. When folks came in to Rose’s, they wanted to see the owner. She stepped into the dining room.
Maybe James would come in tonight. He often did on Saturday evenings. Her pulse quickened at the memory of his hand on hers at the birthday party, and she dropped the fork. She grabbed another and slid the food under the nose of the waiting customer.
“Got a case of fumble fingers tonight?”
She looked over at a nearby table. Jason and Arianna Reynolds smiled at her. Their son, Quincy, was squirming in a chair pulled up close to his mother. Jason’s tin star shone in the lamplight, and Connie’s stomach tightened. Her Percy had once been sheriff. He’d been killed instantly in the line of duty. She never got the chance to say good-bye. He was dead before she got to him. Now, Jason was the town’s top law enforcement officer. He handled all the problems in this wild town. Connie didn’t envy his young wife at all. The life expectancy of a Nebraska sheriff was about four years.
“How nice of you to come in for dinner.” Connie’s forced smile made her jaw ache. “Our special tonight is beefsteak with green beans and mashed potatoes. We also have fried chicken with potatoes and gravy.” She pulled a pencil from her apron and poised it over the pad.
Jason rubbed his flat stomach. “I’m famished. I’d like the steak dinner. Make it rare. I want the cow still mooing.” He chuckled. His wife shook her head, her dimples appearing. “Jason, that’s disgusting.” She raised her brows at Connie. “Men!” They both burst out laughing as Jason lifted his shoulders and winked.
“Me too! Make mine moo!” four-year- old Quincy piped up. Connie chuckled again, catching Arianna’s eye and shared a ‘can’t live with them, can’t live without them’ moment with her.
“I’d like the fried chicken, please. And bring a small plate of chicken for him.” Arianna motioned to her son, who was racing a wooden horse across the tabletop. “Rare beef is a bit much for him to digest. His papa eats too much beef.”
Jason lifted his arms in mock surrender. “She’s the brains of this outfit. What she says goes.” He gulped his water, wiped his mouth, and lowered his voice. “Are you all right, Connie? You look a bit preoccupied tonight.”
“Yes, I’m fine. Having some problems at the new place. Something’s not quite right. I’ll let you know if I need any help. Thank you for asking. Now I’m going to turn in your order. Want some coffee while you wait?”
“We’d love some and a glass of milk too.” Arianna patted her boy’s hand.
“Coming right up.” Connie turned, searching the crowd as she headed for the kitchen. He wasn’t here. James. She chided herself for acting like a silly schoolgirl. He probably had something more interesting to do on a Saturday night, with someone more exciting than a widow with a rambunctious boy.
Chapter Six
Sunday morning, James slipped into the last spot near the front of the church as the steeple bells ceased chiming and the congregation finished singing, ‘O come let us adore, Him, Christ our Lord.’ He plunked onto a pew as the song ended and sighed with exhaustion. Three times the previous night, he’d been called out of bed by anxious town folks.
The symptoms were the same: nausea, vomiting, shakes, chills, and fevers. He’d seen more than twenty people in the last twenty-four hours. Omaha was being ravaged by an influenza epidemic, and he couldn’t care for everyone. His help was a part-time, minimally trained nurse. He studied the backs of people’s heads, searching for Arianna Reynolds. He found her three rows ahead. He’d catch her when church dismissed and bring her up to date. Something had to be done.
Pastor Stevens stepped up to the podium and began to speak. James tried to be attentive, but his mind wandered. Yesterday’s mail had yielded no responses to his search for another doctor. He white-knuckled his Bible. He had to treat these people on his own. He just better accept it. He ruffled the pages, searching for comfort. The plump woman next to him smiled gently and pressed her hand to her heart. Bells on her bracelet tinkled. She leaned over and whispered, “God will not forsake you.”
James peered at her. She looked vaguely familiar. His heart skipped as he stood and quickly slunk down the aisle. Church wasn’t going to solve his problems today. God hadn’t listened to his prayers for another doctor. He’d have to keep on treating the ill on his own.
As he was about to step into the foyer, Connie looked up from the last pew. Her soft brown eyes studied him. A smile trembled on her lips, and joy and confusion flooded his heart. She was so pretty and kind and smart. And that kid of hers was terrific. She could have any one she wanted. Why would she show any interest in a sourpuss like himself? He better stay with medicine and forget about the chemistry between them. Besides, once this epidemic really hit, he’d be too busy trying to save lives.
Never mind that a glimpse of her brightened his entire day. Never mind her bubbly personality meshed so well with his quiet nature or that her son brought out his paternal instincts. Wait. He needed a family to make all the sacrifices worthwhile. He shook his head. Stop. It’s too late. Better to keep things on a professional basis.
Out on the chapel steps, he buttoned his wool coat against the frigid cold. The wind gusted around him and tugged at the evergreen wreath on the door. Christmas was only a couple weeks away. His shoulders slumped, and he lowered his head against the gale. Christmas didn’t mean much to a single man. His housekeeper would decorate his house a bit and fix a special meal, but eating a solitary meal wasn’t at all appealing.
Tangled emotions swirled through his brain like a Nebraska tornado. Christmas was a holiday for families, and no one thought to invite a doctor to dinner. They only sought him out when they needed him. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. At least you’ll have a day of relaxation.
By the time he turned the corner to his home, James’s mood began to lift. His house would be warm and bright, and Mrs. Cullen would have prepared a fine Sunday dinner for him. He’d ask her about a special Christmas Eve meal. He could nap and then spend the afternoon reading the newspapers he ordered from Chicago and New York. Reading eastern papers was one of the few luxuries he allowed himself.
The house was dark. He paused. No parlor lights shone and no smoke drifted out of the chimney. Opening the front door, he stepped inside. “Mrs. Cullen, where are you? Mrs. Cullen?”
His footsteps reverberated as he strode through the hallway. A chill ran through him as cold as the marble floor. The kitchen stood dark and empty. He scanned the room. The oak table held a folded piece of stationery. He grabbed it and read the message.
Doctor,
I can no longer be your housekeeper. My mister has sold our home, and we are leaving today for Kansas City to care for my daughter and her new baby.
Mrs. Cullen
Disappointment knocked him between the eyes, and he crumbled the note into a ball, tossing it to the floor. Fine, he’d make his own dinner and find another housekeeper. But that meant no special holiday meal. He hadn’t the faintest idea how to cook a ham and all the trimmings.
He plunked down at his table and laid his head on his folded arms as weariness overcame him, and he slept.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
James raised his head. The cobwebs cleared. Someone was slamming the doorknocker. He stood and rubbed his aching neck. “Coming! I’m on my way.” He swung open the door to a young woman struggling to hold a boy. Four other children huddled behind her, silently holding hands. “Doctor, my boy, he can’t hold anything d
own. His forehead’s hot as a griddle. I stopped at your office, but no one was there. Please, I don’t know what else to do.”
James nodded tiredly. “Here, give him to me. We’ll take a shortcut through the house and out the alley to my office. That way, we minimize the time he’s out in the cold.”
He lifted the unconscious boy to his shoulder. “Come in everyone. Ma’am, children, follow me.” Several inches of snow had fallen since his arrival home, and the young family was blanketed in it.
They’ve walked a long way to get here. I must have slept for hours.
“We’ll be tracking snow in your fine home doctor.” The eldest girl twisted her scarf into a knot. “Ain’t that so?”
“No matter. It’ll wipe up,” he said. “Come along now.”
“Yes, sir.” The woman and children followed closely behind like ducklings trailing their mama.
In a few moments, they were in the warm clinic. James motioned to the waiting room. The woman turned to the children who were still holding hands. “Annie, you take the others in there and keep them still. Charlene, quit fretting. Dr. Connor needs quiet so he can listen to Ben’s chest.”
James looked up from the boy on the examining table. “Yes, that’s an excellent idea. There is a chest of toys in the far corner. The children can amuse themselves that way. Now Mrs...”
“Dawson. Margaret Dawson, and this is my boy, Benjamin.”
“Tell me what’s going on.” He patted the frantic woman’s hand. “How long has he been feeling poorly, and when did he lose consciousness?” He attempted to sooth her with his calm voice and quiet manner.
“Yesterday, he was pale and quiet all afternoon, but he ate good. He was tromping in the woods all morning, looking for firewood. Do you think that’s what made him sick?” Her eyes glistened with tears. “Did I do this to him, doctor? I was at work, and the kids were cold.” The tears slid down her face, and she wept into her hands.
“Mrs. Dawson. This isn’t your fault.” He handed her his clean handkerchief. “Let me complete this examination, and then we’ll discuss our options.”
She hiccupped and wiped her tears away. “Okay.”
James bent down and listened to the boy’s chest, grimacing at how thin he was. And so were the others, mother included. The child’s chest seemed congested, but his heartbeat was strong. The boy’s forehead blazed hot. He began to stir.
“Over there.” James gestured to the young mother as he felt for a pulse in the slender arm. “In that cupboard is a bottle of citric acid. I need that and a glass of water. When he comes to, we’ll get him to drink. See that brown bottle? Bring me that too and a clean cloth from the top shelf.”
Margaret hurried over and snatched the supplies, thrusting them into his hand. He poured the vinegar into a basin and saturated the cloth. He squeezed it out and placed it on Ben’s forehead. The child flinched, and James looked up. “Good. He doesn’t like the odor. He’s waking up. This will cool him down and ease the headache he’s bound to have. The citric acid will help as well.” He searched the woman’s face. “Mrs. Dawson, I believe your son has influenza. The cold weather didn’t cause it, but it didn’t help it either. What he needs is rest, fluids, and good nourishing soup. He should be back to normal in a few days. Can you and your husband provide that for him?”
Margaret glanced up, and tears filled her eyes again. “I’m a widow, but I assure you I’ll find a way to care for him.” She pushed her shoulders back, and the tears were replaced with the ferocious gleam of a lioness guarding her cub.
James nodded. “I believe you. Say, are you related to J.J. Dawson, the banker? Perhaps he can help you.” He glanced down at the boy and pulled a blanket over him.
She frowned. “I am, but that skunk of a brother-in-law got me into a terrible mess. I need to stay away from him.”
Ben opened his eyes. “Ma? I don’t feel so good. Where am I?”
“Sweetie, you’re at the clinic. Dr. Connor says you’ll be okay in a couple of days.”
The boy closed his eyes and relaxed. James got the distinct impression that Ben knew someone was looking out for him and his mother. He could let down his guard.
“Rest is the best thing now. I’d like your son to stay at my house overnight. I have a spare room, and I’ll be close by. Tomorrow, you can come see him.” James’s stomach rumbled, and he looked up. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten today, and my housekeeper has quit on me.”
Margaret’s brown eyes lit up. “Well, Doc, you’re in luck. I just happen to be a great cook. What do you say we work out a little trade? I’ll cook you enough food for a week, starting right now, in exchange for Ben’s care.” She held out a work-roughened hand.
James grasped it in his own smooth one. “Deal. My kitchen is fully stocked. Use it. I’ll stay here with him, and you can get started. The children are fine in the waiting room. They’re having fun with the toys. Be sure to make enough for yourself and them. When you’re finished, you can bring the food here. You’ll find a hamper behind the kitchen door.”
“God bless you, Dr. Connor.” Margaret turned to the back door. “I’ll be back as quick as a lick.”
An hour later, James sat down in his waiting room, balancing a plate of ham steak, red-eye gravy, and a mountain of mashed potatoes on his lap. Buttermilk and hot coffee rounded out the meal. The Dawson clan spread out around him. He was about to take his first bite when Margaret hushed her kids and prayed.
“I thank you, Lord, for providing this food and this fine doctor. Allow his guardian angel to care for him the way he has cared for our Ben today. Please let my boy get better fast, and help me to resolve the situation with Mrs. Simonson. In Christ’s name I pray, Amen.”
At the mention of Connie’s name, James’ head jerked up. He added his own silent prayer. Lord, I don’t know about guardian angels, but please help me with my situation with Mrs. Simonson too. In your name I pray, Amen.
The doctor and the Dawson family ate heartily, and he chortled as Annie regaled him with stories of Ben and Andy’s schoolyard antics. Seemed Andy was as spirited as his mother. James laughed until his sides ached. When Margaret reached for the dishes, he put his hand on her arm.
“Mrs. Dawson, you have done a fine job raising these children. You can be assured Ben will be right as rain in a few days. This is the most fun I’ve had in a while. I thank you.”
Margaret smiled softly, and her eyes shone with gratitude. “I need to get these dishes washed up. I’ve got a pot of bean soup going, and I’ll add this leftover ham to it. That’ll feed you for a few days. Think you can remember to take the soup off the stove in four or five hours?” She stood and gathered the dirty dishes in a tub.
James laughed again. He was a graduate of Harvard Medical School, performed hundreds of surgeries in wartime conditions, and maintained the only medical practice in Omaha, but he couldn’t remember to turn off the stove? “Yes ma’am. I can do that. It’s been a pleasure trading services with you and dining with your family.” He paused. “I’m so used to dining alone, I’d forgotten what it was like to eat with a family.”
She stood a little taller. “Thank you for making us welcome. Now, we need to get going. We’ve a long walk ahead of us.”
“Mrs. Dawson, please use my buggy. It’s much too late and cold for you and the children to walk.”
“Doc…”
“Please, I insist.”
“All right, and thank you. I will return it tomorrow when I come check on my Ben.”
That night, James tucked the boy into bed in the spare room, returned to the kitchen to turn off the forgotten pot of ham and beans, which was by now nothing more than blackened mush, and put himself to bed. For the first time in a long while, he said his bedtime prayers.
Father, thank you for all the blessings you have bestowed upon me. I have my health, my home, a busy practice. Please guide me in the direction You would have me go. In Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
He closed his eyes and turned on his s
ide. Suddenly, a voice sounded in his head. Listen for the bells. He turned to his other side and heard the message again. Listen for the bells.
He sat straight up. He remembered Margaret’s request for a guardian angel. Never had his inner voice been so clear. He’d listen for bells, whatever that meant.
Chapter Seven
“Dear, it really is late. Won’t you come to bed?” J.J. Dawson glanced up, his thoughts interrupted. His wife, Eunice, stood in the door of his study, candlestick in hand. He sighed. How could a woman spend so much on beauty preparations and still be so homely?
The flickering light cast shadows on her face, illuminating the numerous sags and bags of his middle-aged, over-fed wife. Her hair was rolled up in rags, and her skin shone with some kind of a greasy cream. He shuddered. At one time, she was a handsome woman, but that was years ago.
“I’ll be up when I’m done working.” He replied through clenched teeth. “You know I don’t like to be disturbed.” Stupid, clinging woman.
“But dear, you promised we’d talk about going to my sister’s in Chicago for Christmas. That’s only a couple of weeks away. If we are going, I need to write her with our itinerary.” Eunice’s voice was shrill and whiney. “You said we’d go this year. You promised.”
“I said we’d go if business allowed it. Now leave me be. I have work to do.”
“But…”
“Leave me be!” He stood, folded his arms across his chest, and glared at her until she backed away. This technique always worked. He even used it with his staff at the bank. It was so easy to intimidate weak people, especially the stupid ones. Like his wife.
Now that she had gone, he sat back in his leather chair, picked up his cigar from a crystal ashtray, and puffed deeply. Darn females were always getting in the way of his plans, even the ones in his own family. Margaret, that nitwit sister-in-law of his, was a major thorn in his side, but she was beginning to fall in line. Today, in that silly café, she started to cave. He stood and crossed over to the fireplace.
Christmas Bells (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza) Page 5