A Wild Adventure

by Merry Farmer

  But she wanted the same thing.

  “You’ll need to move your benches farther apart.” Mr. Bond directed Elaine and Rose from the shade of an oak to one corner of the garden. He stood on his own power, but leaned heavily on a thick cane. “The skiff’s seats are only this far apart.” He straightened and held his hands apart, but only for a brief moment. His balance began to fail, and he leaned on his cane once more.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a chair, sir?” Rose asked. The anxious concern she felt for her employer only barely managed to crack through the happiness that had infused her since the night before.

  “I’ll be all right, my dear,” he said with a sigh.

  “I’ll take this side if you take that side,” Elaine said, bending to grab one of the benches. If Rose didn’t know any better, she would have thought Elaine was ignoring her father’s uncertain health, but the tension in her face belied just how aware of it she was.

  Rose helped her move the bench, then sat on the one behind it. Elaine took a seat on the bench they’d moved and picked up the broom lying in the grass to one side. Rose mirrored her, grabbing the mop from the grass near her.

  “Yes, yes,” Mr. Bond said. “Now hold them in front of you, one oar on the port side and one on the starboard. Yes, like that.”

  Rose held her mop handle across her lap, trying not to grin too widely. Mr. Bond’s attempt to teach them to row using benches and brooms was ridiculous in many ways, but Elaine took it seriously. “Like this, Papa?” she asked, gripping her broom in front of her.

  “Precisely.” Mr. Bond nodded. “Now dip the end of your oar into the water, and stroke!”

  There was no way Rose’s mop or Elaine’s broom would behave the way an oar did—and from what she had been able to learn, the boat they would use for the race was the kind where each rower had two oars, not one—but both women tried their best to imitate the movements Mr. Bond had demonstrated for them with his cane. Growing up in Boston, Rose had seen plenty of regattas and races, but rowing didn’t come back to her the way playing the piano had.

  She stifled the happy giggle that bubbled up through her throat as she waved her mop to the side. There’d been no way she could have guessed how alive she would feel by the end of the night when she’d first stepped into the pub. That initial impression—the scent of beer and smoke, the deep, laughing male voices—had reminded her so much of the time she’d spent in The Silver Dollar Saloon in Haskell, trying to drum up business, that she’d nearly turned around and bolted. She was certain Isaac had seen her reaction too. In fact, his curious, supportive expression was the only thing that had propelled her into the private room where they’d eaten.

  Eaten and talked. There was so much more she wanted to know about him. Why did he keep the fact that he was a widower quiet? What had his wife been like? And why, in all the years that had passed, hadn’t he remarried?

  “No, no, no, you’ve fallen out of synchronicity.” Mr. Bond hobbled forward, gripping his cane tightly with one hand and waving the other to get Rose and Elaine to stop. “If you don’t row in perfect harmony, you’ll careen all over the lake.”

  Rose let the end of the mop slump to the grass, only half paying attention to their exercise.

  Elaine let out an impatient sigh. “How can I row in concert with Rose when I can’t see her?”

  “Real oars are longer,” Mr. Bond assured her. “And you will see the disturbance of the water out of the corner of your eyes.”

  “When we’re in a real boat,” Elaine said. She tilted her head to the side. “Perhaps Mr. Wall has books about rowing in his shop.”

  “I’d love to see the look on his face if you tried to ask him,” Rose said.

  “What look would he have?” Mr. Bond asked. “Rowing is a common enough subject.”

  Elaine laughed. “Mr. Wall is apparently quite shy, Papa. He ran away into his store when Rose and I asked him questions before.”

  “What kind of man would run from questions?” Mr. Bond asked, swaying slightly, his expression pained.

  What kind of man indeed, Rose thought to herself. What kind of man would shy away from questions about his past.

  Not that she had a foot to stand on when it came to sins of her past. Perhaps she and Isaac had more in common than she was willing to consider. Although that still didn’t mean she had a right to drop her sins and her impurity on his doorstep.

  “There must be a way we can take the skiff out on the water before the race next week.” Elaine had gone back to the problem of the race while Rose’s thoughts had started to scatter.

  “I’m sure there is, my dear.” Mr. Bond made his way slowly to his daughter’s side and rested a hand on her shoulder. He leaned in to kiss her cheek. Rose noted how far Elaine’s shoulder sank as Mr. Bond relied on her to keep his balance. “I’m sure we could recruit someone to help bring the skiff out of its proverbial mothballs in the shed. Perhaps Dr. Newsome would be willing to help.” He shifted his grin to Rose with a flicker of his eyebrows.

  Rose felt the heat rise to her face. Was it that obvious where her thoughts had gone? “I’m sure Dr. Newsome is too busy to help us with the boat.”

  “And I’m certain that he would do anything for you,” Elaine said, pivoting on her bench to face Rose. “You were awfully cheerful when you returned home last night.”

  “We had a pleasant time,” Rose told her. She’d told them as much several times already that day.

  Elaine and her father exchanged a mischievous look. “Supper at the pub must have been exceptionally delicious,” Elaine went on. “The way you touched your lips when you climbed the stairs to your room betrayed as much.”

  Rose arched an eyebrow at Elaine, attempting to scold her for what she was really suggesting. Mr. Bond grinned as well. He had seen enough of the world, and Elaine was enough of a romantic, to guess there had been a kiss. What kind of kiss that had been, however, was something Rose would never reveal.

  “Perhaps we could get some of the young men from the orphanage to come help us with the boat,” Rose said, both remembering the way the young lads had encouraged her at the piano and hoping to change the subject.

  Mr. Bond waved the idea away. “Young men should stick to their studies if they plan to make something of themselves. Dr. Newsome should be the one to help us.”

  “I quite agree,” Elaine said, eyes glittering with mischief. “Next time he comes calling, which I’m sure will be quite soon, we shall ask him to retrieve the skiff.”

  Rose’s smile faltered as reality rushed back in. It had been like the tide lately, closing in on her and reminding her of the way things needed to be one moment, then vanishing, leaving her able to hope and dream and fantasize the next. “I’m not sure there will be a next time,” she said, as much for her own benefit as for her friends.

  “Of course there will be a next time,” Elaine said, almost indignant. “I’m surprised Dr. Newsome hasn’t called to speak to Papa yet.”

  Rose’s brow rose. “Why would he come to speak to Mr. Bond?”

  Mr. Bond shrugged. “I suppose he might, seeing as it could be argued I’m the closest thing you have to a father here.”

  The meaning of their words sent prickling embarrassment down Rose’s spine. “That’s never going to happen,” she said.

  “I don’t see why not.” Mr. Bond shrugged. His expression grew strained, and he sank slowly to sit on the bench beside Elaine. “You’re as pretty and as accomplished a young woman as any.” His voice was weaker, and his shoulders sagged.

  Rose fixed him with a stern look. She wanted to tell him that he knew as well as anyone else that anything more than a fleeting fancy between her and Isaac was impossible, but she also didn’t want to upset him. Not when he was suddenly looking so worn out.

  Elaine, on the other hand, had no such qualms. “Marriage is the perfect way to start over,” she said, sliding her arm through her father’s. “And considering how good you are with Papa, you’d make the perfect d
octor’s wife.”

  “And perhaps you’d make a good bookseller’s wife?” Rose suggested, brow arched.

  “Whatever do you mean by that?” Elaine looked genuinely perplexed.

  Rose’s grin returned. “Only that if you’re going to pair people off based on their talents and hobbies, then Mr. Wall would be the ideal husband for you.”

  Elaine blinked. Then she laughed. “I know hardly anything at all about Mr. Wall. He’s only just arrived in town. He could be a blackguard and a despoiler of women, for all we know.”

  “And I have only just arrived in Brynthwaite myself,” Rose said, gesturing with her mop handle as if she’d won the point. “And we both know that I have a past. So why is it romantic for me to attach myself to Isaac but not for you to become involved with Mr. Wall.”

  Elaine’s face lit, and her eyes sparkled. “You just called him Isaac.”

  Heat spilled across Rose’s face. “It was a slip of the tongue.”

  “And were there other slips of the tongue last night?” Elaine asked, particular cunning in her eyes.

  “I’m couldn’t…it wouldn’t be proper…I shouldn’t…my duties to you….” Rose stammered through her answer, caught off-guard.

  Her gaze slipped to the side, to Mr. Bond, and she gasped. Instantly, her awkward good humor evaporated. Mr. Bond had gone white as a sheet. He slumped against Elaine, relying on her to prop him up, and his eyes were closed.

  “Mr. Bond?” Rose jumped to her feet, letting her mop fall to the grass.

  Elaine lost her smile as she turned to her father. She must have been used to him losing his strength and relying on her for support, but the strangled cry that she gave as she twisted fully to hold him was far from business as usual. “Papa? Papa, what’s wrong?”

  To Rose’s immense relief, Mr. Bond stirred, struggling to sit. “Hmm?”

  “He should lie down,” Rose said. She reached for Mr. Bond, and together with Elaine, lowered him to lie in the grass. Both women knelt on either side of him. “Mr. Bond? Mr. Bond, are you well?”

  Mr. Bond made a vague groaning sound. His eyes fluttered open. “I’m afraid I might not be well at all.”

  “Oh, Papa,” Elaine said, clasping his hand.

  “I’ll go for Isaac,” Rose said, pushing to her feet. She didn’t have room to feel self-conscious about calling him by his given name a second time. Names were irrelevant. This sort of health crisis was exactly why she should have kept her focus on Mr. Bond and not romance. “Wait here and keep him comfortable,” she called to Elaine as she dashed for the house.

  It was a minor miracle that Rose remembered to grab her hat and shawl as she shot through the hallway and out the front door into the lane. She managed that bit of proper behavior, but she couldn’t stop herself from running most of the way into town. By the time she arrived in the heart of Brynthwaite and nearly careened right into a carriage charging through the dangerous intersection, she was out of breath and sticky with sweat. It was a twist of good luck that Isaac was already out in front of his clinic, just climbing into his wagon, as she approached.

  He spotted her, and his businesslike expression lifted into a smile. “Rose, what are you—”

  “It’s Mr. Bond,” she said before he could finish, rushing toward him with one hand on her hat to keep it from flying off. “He’s collapsed.”

  She barely registered Mr. Wall stepping through the open door of his bookshop with a frown of concern as she rushed to Isaac. Mr. Wall watched them as Rose nearly spilled into Isaac’s arms as she came to a stop. His steadying hands were a comfort instead of a distraction.

  “What happened? What are his symptoms?”

  Rose shook her head. “We were out in the back garden. Mr. Bond was teaching Elaine and I to row for the boat race that Elaine wants us to join.” She glanced briefly to Mr. Wall, who wasn’t even trying to pretend he wasn’t listening. He was the one who had told them about the regatta, after all. Why shouldn’t he know? “I’m afraid Mr. Bond had been standing for a long time, even though he had his cane. I didn’t know he was that weak, otherwise I wouldn’t have encouraged him to come outside with us.”

  “I didn’t think he was that weak either,” Isaac said with a physician’s frown. He paused to think for a moment, then rushed into action. “I was on my way to see Brent Fisher about his gout, but I think this takes precedent. Come along.”

  It was a sign of just how upset Rose was that her thoughts didn’t instantly fly to a carnal place when Isaac clasped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the seat of his wagon. She thanked God that his medical bag was already on the seat, ready to go, and scooted to the side so that he could swing himself up to sit beside her. Mr. Wall continued to watch them with concern as Isaac took up the reins and nudged his horse into a fast walk.

  “I would urge him to go faster,” Isaac said, half to himself, half for Rose’s benefit, “but Lancelot has been under the weather as well.”

  It didn’t take long for Rose to see what Isaac meant. Lancelot bobbed his head and breathed hard the whole way out of town and back toward Ivy Cottage. The horse was restless and difficult for Isaac to handle, but somehow they made it all the way out of town and to the cottage’s gate. Rose couldn’t think of anything to say the whole way there, so she turned her thoughts to prayers for Mr. Bond instead.

  Isaac had a devil of a time securing Lancelot’s reins to the fence and convincing the horse to be still before grabbing his medical bag and rushing into the house with Rose. Rose expected to have to take him all the way through to the back garden, and was surprised to find Mr. Bond reclining on the sofa in the parlor as they burst into the house.

  “You’re here,” Elaine gasped, jumping up from where she’d been sitting on a stool at her father’s side. “Oh, Dr. Newsome, I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s never had a spell this frightening before.”

  Isaac nodded and stepped past her, making straight for Mr. Bond. Rose held back, clasping Elaine’s shaking hands.

  “He insisted on getting up and coming into the house,” Elaine explained. “He said he didn’t want to lie in the grass like a shepherd boy.”

  Rose laughed through the worry that pressed down on her. “If he was able to say something like that, there’s hope for him yet,” she assured Elaine. She prayed she was right.

  CHAPTER 6

  I saac strode into the parlor where William Bond lay on the sofa. He knew too well what the man’s pallor and listlessness meant. Bond’s heart had been failing for years now, but the signs that the end was coming were unmistakable.

  “William, how are you?” he asked, taking a seat on the footstool where Elaine sat previously.

  Bond glanced past Isaac to where the ladies were huddled together, Rose whispering words of comfort to Elaine. “I’m dying,” he said. “You know that.”

  Isaac nodded and took the old man’s hand. “I wish there was something I could do.” The words came out with far more emotion than was right for a man in his position, but there was nothing worse than knowing that all of his years of medical training and experience were useless when Death came calling. It would happen with William Bond as it had happened with Annabelle.

  “Don’t give me that look,” Bond scolded him. “I’m an old man whose time has come.”

  Isaac shook his head, both irritated and depressed by the lump that came to his throat. “There must be something I can do. I have new medicines, recent creations that medical scientists in London and on the continent are saying might be miracle cures.”

  “Tush and nonsense.” Bond made a sound between a snort and a laugh. “I’ve never known a physician who berates himself so keenly for being unable to perform miracles.”

  “But—”

  “And don’t think I don’t know that it’s because of that lovely wife of yours years ago.”

  Isaac snapped his mouth shut. He shot a sideways look toward where Rose and Elaine were standing. They looked on from their distance, but it wo
uld have been impossible for them not to hear what Bond said. And damn him, but Isaac’s whole body heated with shame over what they must think of him. “I should have been able to save her.”

  Bond snorted. “It was her time, just as it will soon be my time.”

  Isaac shook his head. “I failed her.”

  “You were the best husband any woman could have hoped for,” Bond argued. “And you could be again, if you would only let yourself see it.”

  “I know what you’re trying to do.” Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Miss Rawlins deserves better than a failure like me.”

  “A failure?” Bond was so loud that the ladies glanced up from their conversation. He waved to them, then repeated, quieter, “A failure? Because you can’t stop the hand of death?” Isaac lowered his head. Bond sniffed. “No one, no matter how brilliant a physician, can stop death. Think about all of the lives you’ve made easier with your care and attention. Mine, for example.”

  A sinking feeling spread down Isaac’s spine. It was painful to even consider that he’d denied himself so much for so long for foolish reasons. But they weren’t foolish, were they? “What if something should happen to Miss Rawlins?” he asked. “What if she too fell ill and I wasn’t able to do anything to cure her?”

  Bond snorted. “So help me, Isaac Newsome, if you are holding yourself back from loving that lovely, lost young woman because of what might happen, I’ll live fifty years more just to torment you for denying yourself and Rose the happiness that is rightfully yours.”

  As much as Isaac wanted to reply, to continue to argue his position, a kernel of hope had sprouted in his chest. What if he was worthy of a second chance at love? What if he had let a momentary disappointment last far, far longer than it should? In all the years since Annabelle’s death, he’d done at least as much good as harm. In fact, when he thought of the patients he’d cared for and the young men, like Marshall Pycroft, whom he’d mentored, the scales seemed to tip in an entirely different direction than the one he’d been so convinced they were leaning in.