Mrs. Austin, with her young charges in hand, took off with the entourage toward the hotel. It would fall to her to help the young ladies get settled into their rooms. Left to himself, Nelson considered the notes he’d made earlier that day and withdrew the paper from his vest pocket. It was a “wish list” of sorts. Likely, no woman would meet all his expectations, but perhaps it would help him stay on course as he considered each of them.
Amiable.
Biddable.
Able to take constructive criticism.
Skilled in domestic chores: cooking, laundry, cleaning, sewing and gardening.
Willing to work by his side as his nurse.
Quiet. He didn’t want a woman who disrupted his research or his daily habits.
Willing to put another’s needs ahead of her own.
He’d added the last as a cautionary point, remembering his fiancée. He’d thought they were compatible in all things, but then suddenly she had broken off the engagement, unable to accept the numerous times he’d been called away to help someone who was ailing.
He wouldn’t let that happen again. What he needed was a practical woman as his wife. She didn’t need to be a raging beauty, but like any man, he wouldn’t mind if she was pleasant to look upon.
He tucked the paper back into his pocket and headed to his office. Now all he had to do was interview the ladies, one at a time, and see which one came closest to fulfilling his wish list.
Who knew? With his parents arriving in two weeks, perhaps they would find themselves attending his wedding.
He stopped before his two-story home that doubled as his office and surveyed it critically. Prior to residing in Oak Grove, he’d worked as the physician for the railroad company. The job entailed constant travel—something he’d had enough of after two years. This was his first office, the first place he’d ever been able to “hang his own shingle” and be in business for himself. He hoped his parents would be impressed with it when they arrived. It wasn’t up to Boston standards, but it was a start for him.
A wedding might be just what was needed to bring them all closer together. A wedding, after all, meant children would come next. The idea fascinated him. He was an only child, and a large family would be wonderful. But would his parents welcome grandchildren when they hadn’t ever made him feel welcomed? Likely, all his dreams were just that—dreams and nothing more.
Chapter Three
Sylvia threw the last of the wet clothes into her basket and traipsed back to the house from the creek. The day was uncommonly warm this early in spring, and she figured she’d better not misuse it. With her washing done, and soon to be spread on the line, she and Tommy might have time to hunt for mushrooms. Her mouth watered at the thought of them fried up in butter and piled high on a chunk of hearty bread.
“Tommy! Fetch a pail from the lean-to and let’s take a walk down the road,” she called out.
“Not till you find me!”
That boy! He was full of vinegar! She couldn’t blame him, not one bit. The warm sun shining down beckoned her to put work aside and have a day of fun. “Can you give me a hint?”
“Nope!”
He must be behind the shed. She set her basket down and ducked under the clothesline. She couldn’t believe the shed still stood after the winter they’d had, but Thomas had been good with his hands and smart when it came to making things.
“I’m coming!”
“Won’t get me!” her son cried out.
The happy sound filled her heart with gladness. She peeked behind the shed, ready to catch him if he raced by.
“You ain’t even warm yet!”
“Then where are you?” She tiptoed over to the stand of brush that edged the expanse of prairie and buffalo wallows beyond. The line of brush hid their place from prying eyes and made their small cabin feel cozy and protected. “I give up.”
A giggle escaped Tommy. “Right here!”
She spun around. Her son’s voice had come from above her. A flash of blue caught her eyes and she finally spied him. He’d managed to climb atop the shed and now lay sprawled across the slanted roof on his belly.
“How’d you climb way up there? Come on down now.”
He grinned. “All right, Ma.”
He stood and took a step, the old wood and tarp cracking and then giving beneath his foot. He flailed his arms out and his eyes widened.
“Tommy!” She moved closer. “Careful!”
But the fear in his big brown eyes clutched at her heart. “Ma... Ma!” Suddenly, he pitched forward, scraping against the edge of the roof and crying out in pain as he fell.
“No! Tommy!” she screamed and scrambled toward him.
He landed hard on a patch of weeds and lay still.
She knelt at his side, afraid at first to touch him. Hoping...hoping...that he would open his eyes or squirm or even jump up and laugh at her for being worried.
He didn’t.
“You all right?” she asked gently, her chest tight with worry. Of course, he wasn’t all right. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even hearing her. “Tommy! Wake up! I’m here! I’m here...” She barely got the words out before her sobs choked them off. Her gut coiled into a hard lump. She reached for him. He was her baby—the only thing she cared for in this life. Oh, why...why...had he been born with the overpowering urge to climb things?
Maybe he’d just had the wind knocked out of him. Maybe she just needed to give him a moment.
Trembling, she took hold of his small hand. His face was deathly pale.
“Tommy, please wake up...”
His chest moved and then he gasped, pulling in air in a short burst, and then in a longer, slower drag as his lungs started working again.
“Oh, my stars! Tommy, are you all right?”
He rolled farther onto his back and took another breath. A deep one this time. “I don’t feel right.”
“You fell from the shed, baby. Where does it hurt?”
“Everywheres.”
“I don’t doubt that. Can you move?”
At that, he clenched his hands into fists, then tried to use his arms to sit up. Immediately, he fell back to the ground, breathing hard. “My head. My leg.”
“Let me look at you.” Gently, she turned his head to the side and smoothed her fingers through his hair. She felt something sticky and wet. There—a lump the size of a black walnut swelled up. He winced.
She turned to his legs. The one closest to her moved just fine. When she tested his far leg—his left leg—Tommy yelled.
“All right, all right...” she said. She had barely moved the leg and he’d had pain. What was she to do?
“Ma...I hurt all over.”
She swallowed. She couldn’t leave him out in the weather like this. The ground hadn’t given up the cold of winter yet.
“I gotta git you warm, son. I’m gonna get the quilt from the house to cover you. Then I’ll figure this out. You just rest. I’ll be right back.” She squeezed his hand firmly and then scrambled to her feet.
She raced to the house. Yanking the quilt from her son’s straw pallet, she rushed back out to him. He was deathly pale. His eyes were half-closed.
“This ain’t going to feel good, son,” she said as she snugged the quilt over him and tucked it around his little body, especially tight around his legs. “But you be brave. I’ll get you fixed up.”
Sneaking her arm under his knees and her other behind his back, she lifted him up and carried him to the house. If it was possible, his face paled even more when she laid him on his pallet by the hearth. Beads of sweat glistened on his upper lip and forehead.
“All done moving.” She used her apron to wipe his forehead, then raked his long shock of dark blond hair away from his face. “You were as brave as brave could be.”
“I don’t feel so good.” His usuall
y boisterous voice was thin and weak.
She took his hand. It was cold and moist. Fear as she’d never known it before gripped her. “You hang on. I’ll get you—” His brown eyes drifted closed and his hand fell limply from hers. “Tommy!”
His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.
Grabbing the fire iron, she stirred up the ashes in the hearth and then tossed on a cow chip.
She had best look at that leg. Carefully, she unwrapped the quilt from Tommy, then took a knife from the cupboard drawer and cut away his trousers.
And sat back, staring at the ugly wound on his leg. Her gut tightened. It looked bad. Real bad. A flap of skin had been scraped back in a wide swath along the side near the ankle. The skin was swollen and purple. Could she fix it?
Then another thought took hold. Had he broken his ankle too? It had all happened so fast. Maybe she couldn’t fix either of his ailments.
She took a closer look at his head, wincing at the size of the lump that had formed. He’d bled through the coarse cotton covering of the pallet, but she’d heard that head wounds always bled a lot. The flow of blood seemed to be slowing, congealing now. She couldn’t do anything for a head injury. It would have to heal itself. She felt so helpless.
She got to her feet, grabbed the soap and the bowl and the pitcher from the table, and came back to him. “I sure hope you don’t wake up and feel this, son, ’cause it will break my heart if I’m a-hurtin’ you.”
With that, she set to work rinsing out the dirt and splinters of the old roof and cleaning out the wound. Then she slathered a layer of honey over it and wrapped it in a clean cloth.
She wished that someone at the DuBois farm was home. Adele would know what to do, but just yesterday the family had stopped by to tell her they were on their way to Salina to purchase a new ox.
Sylvia pulled Tommy’s pallet closer to the fire. Not knowing what else to do, she sat down in her rocking chair and watched him for signs of rousing.
She took comfort in the fact that he was breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest was sweeter to her than a meadowlark’s song. Surely he’d wake up soon. Surely the Lord wouldn’t take Tommy from her too.
But the next hour brought no change. Her confidence in Tommy’s recovery slowly eroded. It seemed that a child should bounce back quick and this wasn’t quick. She gave him a little jiggle, pushing on his shoulder. Then put a cold cloth to his face. He didn’t stir.
Pale sunlight streamed through a small window and slanted across the dirt floor. It would be dark in another hour.
She wasn’t used to sitting. Wasn’t used to letting life happen to her. She preferred to go out and meet it. For seven years, she’d worked hard to make a life for the two of them. She wasn’t about to see that stop, not if there was an ounce of strength left in her body.
Chapter Four
The sun cast a pink glow over the entire town when Nelson left his office and walked toward the Oak Grove Town Hall. Since the evenings still carried the chill of winter, the shindig was taking place inside the building that Jackson Miller had just completed. From the street, he could hear the muffled sounds of conversation and laughter through the tall windows.
He stepped up onto the boardwalk and through the front doors. The new construction held the strong scent of fresh-cut lumber and varnish. He scanned the packed room, grateful to be a head taller than most of the people inside. The bachelors that had donated to the bride fund through the Betterment Committee milled about along with several other families from outside town. Guess they were anxious to gather and socialize. Another few weeks and they would be up to their necks in planting their fields or caring for the newly born calves. Getting away from their farms and ranches to have a moment of fun would not be possible until summer arrived.
A heavy hand clasped his shoulder. “I wondered if you would throw in with the rest of us, Doc.”
Graham turned. “Hello, Jess. Giving it another try?”
A wide grin covered the younger man’s face as he grasped Nelson’s hand in a strong shake. “Practice makes perfect, right, Doc? May the best man win.” Jess moved closer to the front of the room.
As he looked over the brides, Nelson reminded himself that he really needed a nurse. That was primary. Of course, he couldn’t very well blurt out his intentions here. The men of Oak Grove would likely show him the door. They wanted wives, helpmeets in life, and they wouldn’t take kindly to his motives.
His own parents’ marriage wasn’t the best standard to judge what a good marriage looked like, but it was all he had to go by. And what with his failed courtship, it seemed to him that sticking to a nonemotional, practical union made the most sense. It was safer.
Mayor Melbourne climbed the two steps to the small stage and stood there, gripping the lapels of his silk vest and surveying the group. He waved his hands for everyone to quiet down. Then he motioned to the new brides to come to the front of the room. He introduced each of the five and said a small bit about them.
The two older women stood next to each other, looking poised and lovely, while the three younger ones clustered together in a clutch like barnyard chickens. He grimaced. Perhaps that was a bit critical. Being observant was a good attribute to have in medicine, but not in social gatherings. It reminded him of something his father would say.
The mayor cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “I’ll have the bachelors that donated to the Betterment Committee, and only those, line up now and introduce yourselves briefly to the ladies,” he announced.
Nelson counted twenty men who lined up. He stepped toward the back. As the men made their way across the stage, some were quiet and sincere, some cracked a joke to cover up their nervousness and some were eager to the point of embarrassing. It came to him that he was none of these. He simply wanted to assess each woman as unemotionally as possible. That way he could be sure his decision would be based on facts and not feelings.
His turn finally arrived, and he made his way down the row of five women, making mental notes as he went from one to the next.
Miss Vandersohn: Chestnut hair, dark green eyes. Petite like a china doll and well dressed. Beautiful.
Miss Pratt: The tallest. Older, black-haired and stern of face. Instead of curtsying as did the others, she gave a sharp nod of her head.
Miss O’Rourke: Older, blonde with cornflower blue eyes, with lines at the corner of her eyes. Pleasant-looking. He wondered what had happened that some young man hadn’t already snatched her up.
Miss Simcock: Youngest in appearance and a dishwater blonde. She blushed to the roots of her hair when he asked her a simple question and then barely got an answer out due to giggling nervously.
Miss Weber: Younger, chestnut hair, gray eyes, wine-red hat and cloak. Shy. By the shiny indentation on each side of her nose, she appeared to wear glasses, although she wasn’t wearing them now.
The moment the introductions were complete, the mayor motioned for the music to start. The bachelors surged back toward the five brides, in their excitement trying to muscle him to the side of the room. He didn’t budge.
He stood there a few minutes more, observing the hoopla. None of the women would be able to focus on him with all the other men in the room. He would rather visit them at another time when he wouldn’t be interrupted.
“That exam table working out for you, Doc?” Jackson Miller said as he approached.
Nelson shook his hand. “Fine. Not a splinter gained among any of my patients so far. Fine work.”
“Glad to hear it.”
They stood there a moment, arms crossed over their chests, watching the melee in communal silence.
“I wonder what surprises will appear among these women,” Miller mused out loud. “I don’t think any will match the amount that my Maggie made.”
Nelson chuckled. “Probably not. I can’t see any of these l
anding in jail.”
Miller’s wife had arrived on the first bride train, along with her sister, Mary. At the time, Nelson had had issues with the tonic Maggie tried to pass off as a remedy for just about every conceivable ailment. A family recipe, she’d said. Since then, the reticence she once carried toward him had begun to ease. A good thing because Miller’s Cabinetry Shop stood near his office and they crossed paths often.
“I don’t see you rushing in with the rest,” Miller said. “No one strikes your fancy?”
Nelson surveyed the women once more. “Five does.”
Miller’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Five? As in number five? Better not let the lady hear you call her that.”
“Miss Weber. I think she’ll do just fine.”
“Do?”
Nelson nodded but didn’t elaborate on his thoughts. She was young and strong. She was also quiet. He liked that. If she took instruction well, he could train her precisely how he wanted things done.
The clear bell tones of a woman laughing sounded. Number One drew his gaze. She was a stunning woman. There was a reason he didn’t want a beautiful woman, but at that moment it escaped him.
Beside him, Jackson took a long swallow of beer.
“On second thought,” Nelson said, “I think I’ll start with Miss Vandersohn and go through them one at a time.”
Jackson spit out his mouthful of brew. “You’re serious!”
“Yep. That’s how I’ll do it. Steady and methodical.”
A slow grin grew on Jackson’s face. “I’d try to warn you off such a crazy plan where women are concerned, but I don’t think it would do any good. Take it from me. You don’t stand a chance if the right one comes along.”
The Prairie Doctor's Bride Page 3