“I am the new doctor here,” Jonathan grinned, bringing Rose back to the present moment. “My original plan was to work in New York. I did a month of practice with a colleague and found it was not for me.”
Rose lifted her brows in surprise. “I thought you dreamed of New York?”
Jonathan smiled shyly, the warm dark eyes lighting up. Jonathan had always had a shy bone in him as a result of being a gangly youth with a large nose. Now his jaw had grown, college athletics had developed his muscles, and Rose silently admitted to herself that he had become a strikingly handsome man who managed to still retain that insecure shyness. “I did. I also made quick enemies due to my racial philosophies, and I realized soon enough that Colorado was for me.”
Rose squeezed his hands affectionately before letting go. Jonathan had always been gentle and loving, never understanding any of the prejudices that were so prolific in the world.
“This must be Daisy,” he smiled down at the baby.
“Yes, how did you know?”
His fair skin tinted a soft pink. “Well, your mother sent me. She twisted her ankle some time ago and I was just checking its progress. Anyway, she of course told me the entire story and asked me to fetch you.” He shook his head. “She is back to trying to match-make us I suppose.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Oh yes,” she laughed. “Is it working?”
“Oh Rose, you know I’d marry you in a minute if it was based purely on admiration and affection, but …”
“I know,” Rose acknowledged solemnly with a mischievous twinkle. “You’re my brother born to the wrong parents.”
Feeling Meg step closer behind her, Rose quickly moved aside. “Oh, Jonathan, this is Meg … Meg Partridge.” As Meg had requested, Rose used her original last name instead of her stepfather’s. “I’ve cajoled, bribed, and begged her to come be the cook for Castle Dairy. Her food is delicious.”
Jonathan grinned and held out a hand. “A pleasure, Miss Partridge. Might I say that I’m a bit envious? Castle Dairy has some of the finest land here in Tall Pine Valley. It is a wonderful place to reside.” He took a step forward to reach for her hand and his mouth dropped as he narrowed his eyes in curiosity. “Do I know you?”
Meg opened her mouth, her color fading then rising in a matter of seconds. “I don’t believe so.”
“Are you sure?” Jonathan took a step closer. “It is just that you seem awfully familiar.”
Rose frowned. “Meg is from Denver, she worked at the—”
“Café,” Meg blurted, “at a small café.”
“Café?” Jonathan repeated.
Rose lifted her eyebrows, but was silent as Meg nodded emphatically, “Just a café.” Subconsciously Meg lifted her hand to touch her hair as Jonathan’s eyes drifted over her bruises. Meg inhaled sharply then winced as the sharp pain in her side stung the way it did whenever she breathed deeply or bumped it. That, too, did not escape the doctor’s notice.
“I fell down the stairs,” she explained.
Jonathan nodded and Rose gave a quick smile. Her eyes told him not to ask any more questions of Meg. “Shall we go?” she asked brightly.
Jonathan seemed reluctant to pull his eyes away from Meg. Once he did, he picked up the two cases, “Well, I am sure you ladies are tired of sitting, but my carriage has some comfortable seats, so hopefully it won’t be too bad.
“You have a carriage? Not a wagon?” Meg asked, tilting her head with what could almost be interpreted as excitement.
“Yes, I do, though I am regretting it now, because every person in Tall Pine asks to drive it. As such, I leave it near the stables. Do you have any more luggage?”
“Sadly, yes, and it is fairly stuffed Jonathan, and very heavy,” Rose apologized.
“I’ll carry my own,” Meg held tightly to her carpetbag. She had two dresses, one for cooking and one for church.
Jonathan nodded, holding her gaze for a moment before Meg turned away. “How are you doing, Rose?” Jonathan asked quietly when Meg was a few paces ahead of them.
Rose shook her head acrimoniously. “I am actually doing well. I now have a child I adore, and I am back in Tall Pine where …” she lowered her voice, “no one stares if you don’t wear a painful corset.”
Jonathan scrunched his nose. “Really Rose, what would your mother say?” he laughed.
“She would agree with me,” Rose said firmly, looking ahead at Meg and not knowing whether to call the girl into their conversation or let her be. She wanted to help Meg, but she didn’t want to be overbearing, nor force her out of her shell before she was ready-if ever she was.
“Abused?” Jonathan whispered, nodding at Meg’s figure ahead of them.
Rose nodded, “For a few years. Four, I believe to be exact.”
“Four! Are you sure?” His face suddenly tightened and his skin paled. “Four,” he repeated to himself with a slight shake of the head.
“What?” Rose asked, worried at the shift in Jonathan’s demeanor.
“Nothing. Father, mother, lover?” he inquired, his voice inflecting at the end.
“Step-father.”
Jonathan nodded. “I noticed her wince from moving her rib cage. I would like to see if it is cracked or broken. Would she be offended or worried by such an offer? Abused girls are often afraid of any man—even a doctor.”
“I’ll ask her once we reach the dairy.”
The two ended the conversation as Jonathan’s carriage came into view. Meg had stopped and was now looking back at them expectedly.
“Everything alright?” She glanced at Rose, who gave her a reassuring nod.
“Just fine. Sorry for walking slow.” She plopped a kiss on Daisy. “This little one is fairly solid in weight.”
“Have you ever driven, Miss Partridge?” Jonathan asked while gently laying Rose’s cases in the back seat.
“I haven’t. Do women drive carriages?” she asked, her eyebrows knitting in confusion.
“Indeed, they do, especially here in Colorado. We are one of the four states who allow women to vote, so we certainly should allow them to drive,” he teased. Meg eyed the carriage. “Truth be told I’ve never even ridden in a carriage. Perhaps I should try something more simple first like riding a horse.”
Jonathan threw his head back and laughed, the black curls falling away from his face. “The two are very different, I assure you.”
Rose was bouncing Daisy who had started to fuss. “Meg, would you like to sit up front? I will be feeding and most likely changing Daisy in the back so it may be more comfortable–”
“No,” Meg said quickly, glancing at Jonathan before returning her eyes to the ground. “You can sit up front if you wish, and I’ll have the back.”
Jonathan opened the door for Rose and helped her in. “Actually, Miss Partridge, it would be safer for the baby sitting in the back. Come join me, and I can show you how to drive the horses.”
Rose scowled, feeling awkward for Meg. Jonathan, despite his friendly manners, must be unnerving for the poor girl. Yet with all the luggage, there was little room, and she certainly did not want to put Daisy at risk by sitting up front. She would just have to let Meg be uncomfortable.
Seven
Meg knew exactly who he was—the handsome doctor with the kind eyes and a ready smile, but she didn’t want him recognizing her as the waitress he’d met during the one time she had talked to him. She’d had courage because she knew she would never see him again. Now here he was in Tall Pine, taunting her like a piece of bread dangling in front of a starving child.
She had clandestinely searched for him whenever he visited the hotel for dinner, occasionally escaping the kitchen the nights she knew he might come. There was something about his gentle countenance that had allured her. She’d first noticed him two years ago.
He had a ritual, though she called it a tradition. Before each meal he would pull out a photograph and stare at it with a smile that showed he was smitten. He had once explained to an employee who asked
about it, that her name was Esther. She was a woman from his home town who he loved dearly. Meg and all the waiters and waitresses assumed it was his fiancée since no wedding ring adorned his left hand. It did not surprise Meg. Men like him would not find it difficult to marry.
/
Meg remembered one evening when he returned with head bent and shoulders looking as if they carried a heavy weight. When the waiter returned with a full plate, Meg paused in her work and dared to personally deliver a creation she’d experimented on earlier. Still wearing her apron, she’d left the sanctuary of the kitchen carrying a small plate of doughnuts dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with chopped almonds.
“Why the sad face?” she’d asked bluntly.
The doctor had looked up in surprise. His lips lifted ever so slightly from a frown as he studied her face. “Broken heart. I fancied myself in love with our town’s midwife, but when I came back from medical school, she’d married a Texas Ranger.” He shook his head. “Might as well tell somebody.”
Meg nodded. “I am sorry.” Then she smiled brightly, “Texas is not as good as it sounds, though.”
He frowned. “You have been there?”
“No,” she said with a shrug.
He laughed, “Neither have I.”
She smiled and placed the plate on the table. “Well, all I can say is that with eyes like yours, it is most certainly her loss.” She nodded at the doughnuts. “They’re the cure for a broken heart.”
Jonathan chuckled, “How did you know?”
“Know what?”
He strummed his fingers on the table. “Doughnuts are my favorite.”
She grinned, pleased, “I am glad to hear that.”
He waved a hand at the opposite chair. “Will you join me?”
Meg opened her mouth, but the foreboding figure of Mr. Lars caught her attention. She looked up to see her stepfather’s eyes piercing her with disapproval. He made a subtle, threatening gesture twisting his fist into his left palm.
“I am afraid not,” she said turning, “but please don’t be sad. The world is good to men like you. You’ll find your true match someday.”
She could feel his eyes on her as she fought every urge to look back at him. Her skin burned. Had she been too forward? What did it matter? She had no chance with a man like him, and that realization had made her act braver than she had felt. Men like this handsome doctor married prize worthy women. Not women like Meg who were … tainted. Meg knew she wasn’t a fallen woman, but she also was not the kind to get roses from an admirer, nor the kind who received tender kisses and modest love letters. She was the kind who had fought away eager hands from her stepfather and horrible, powerful men who visited the hotel. A pinch here, an offer there. She was the kind who attracted those with the lowest of morals. Besides, wasn’t it wrong for her to feel attracted to a man? Charles was always speaking of the evils of women, the sin of Eve, he liked to say. Such desires in a woman plagued men and then made them act sinfully.
Meg often dismissed anything that Charles Lars preached, but that night she had taken Charles’s fists to her stomach while spouting his habitual sermon of female wickedness over and over. It was hard to ignore such things when each word was emphasized by another blow. He’d forbidden her to leave the kitchen, threatened that if she ever talked to another man, he would make her beg for death by the time he was finished with her. She was his. His property. His game.
/
“So, a cook?” Jonathan said once the carriage was on its way down a dirt road. They were surrounded by green fields with cattle and sheep grazing peacefully.
“Yes.” Meg squeezed her hands on her lap, feeling like her lungs would burst from holding her breath. What did one say to a doctor while sitting next to him? Rose and Daisy had dozed off in the back already.
“For how long?” he asked encouragingly.
Meg bit her lip. “Four years—since I was sixteen.”
He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head at her. Meg felt her body grow warm and prayed that her sweat would not press through her clothing. Had there ever been a time when her nerves were so on end? She wanted to disappear to where she was safe.
“You are then … twenty years old?”
Meg’s eyes widened. “Why, do I look older?” she asked anxiously. Her mother always said that women with hard lives aged quicker than most. Meg had always thought that one day she would wake up with wrinkles and white hair while still young.
Again she heard that laugh, rich and bubbling like root beer.
“Heavens no, Miss Partridge,” he chuckled and drummed his knee with his long fingers. “Definitely not old,” he murmured.
Meg’s fingers eased from their fists. “Oh.” She did not know what else to say, although something told her it was her turn to ask a question, so she blurted the first thing that came to her.“What is your favorite food?”
Jonathan chuckled, “I’m sorry—my favorite what?”
“Food. I like to hear what people prefer and then think of how I would cook it.”
“Alright, I approve of that game.” He grinned and squinted his eyes in thought. Meg took the opportunity to turn her head and look at him. He had a fine straight nose with dark eyes and square jaw. Yet, a face that still held a delicacy to its features. He looked almost dream-like in his attractiveness. He did not belong in a carriage in Colorado, but on a white steed with a shield or holding a banner. She bit her lip and looked ahead.
After a good minute of thinking, Jonathan’s face lit up. “I have it. My favorite food is doughnuts. When I studied at Harvard, a man had a food stand right outside the university, and he fried hot doughnuts. He would plop a dozen in a bag then dump a large cup of sugar on them. There were weeks where I hardly slept and ate nothing else besides peanuts and coffee. It was often those doughnuts that kept up my spirits.” He looked at her briefly. “Doughnuts have good connotations.”
“Doughnuts?” Meg smiled, feeling unsettled. It’s only a coincidence. She was certain he did not remember her.
“So how would you make doughnuts?” he asked.
She tilted her head pensively. “Well, I must admit that hot doughnuts, fresh from the bubbling oil and then drenched in sugar are hard to beat. So to elaborate on something already delicious, I would make the dough especially delicate and fry them so that the outside was crisp and the inside fluffy. I would coat them with sugar, but shake of the excess so you tasted a sugary doughnut and not just sugar. Then I would put them on a plate drizzled with fresh raspberry syrup and serve them with a dollop of whipped cream.” She squinted her eyes now, truly thinking of various ways she could improve or transform a doughnut.
“Please stop,” Jonathan laughed, “I’ve only eaten a sandwich today, and now I am starving.” He turned towards her. “How about you? What is your favorite food?”
“A sandwich.” Her dimples deepened as he frowned.
“Really? A girl who thinks of doughnuts served with raspberries and whipped cream prefers a sandwich?”
“You have to listen first. My favorite sandwich is one with a fresh white bread toasted slowly with butter. While it’s toasting I add a smoked cheese and a sharp cheddar with fresh ham, basil, and an egg. Then I sprinkle a little salt and pepper and voila—I have the tastiest sandwich in the world.”’
Jonathan groaned and dramatically rubbed his stomach. “Ahh, Miss Meg, I did not think this ride would be so torturous. Now I want hot doughnuts and a sandwich, but all I have are apples.”
Meg looked away, focusing on the green fields blending into a horizon of mountains. “Yes,” she murmured softly. It was torture to want something so badly and know that she would never have it.
Eight
Anna Castle believed in the magic of touch, which was why she greeted every dairy cow after her morning walk. In her mind there was no doubt that those morning pats and gentle rubs of affection were what inspired her cows to produce the finest milk in Colorado. This particular morning felt especially magica
l. Not only was a calf about to be born to her favorite heifer, Jezebel, but at any moment her daughter would be arriving. Anna could not deny that her heart ached for Rose. Such a wonderful daughter did not deserve to have such a matrimonial mess so early in life. Not to mention, she had a baby to care for now. At Anna’s age she knew that things would work out. God had a way of smoothing things over. She also knew this promise didn’t erase the pain of the present, so no matter what, things would be difficult for Rose.“How is my Jezebel?” Anna asked her husband Clark, who was aiding the massive cow now mooing with the anguish that every mother knows.
“The calf is in a bad position.” Clark shook his head and quickly pounced on Jezebel as she struggled on the ground. Anna hurried over and knelt beside Jezebel’s head.
“Hello precious,” she cooed, stroking the animal gently. “I am here now. We will get through this.”
Clark shook his head. “Might be better, love, to move away. You could get stepped on.”
“Not a chance,” Anna said, placing a quick kiss on Jezebel. “Alright good-looking, let’s pull that baby ou, shall we?”
Clark grinned proudly at his wife while they tied rope around the delicate hooves of the stuck calf. Soon a slippery wet calf was lying in the hay. Anna felt the tears brimming in her eyes. She always cried when a calf was born. They were such beautiful creatures, so sweet and gentle with their velvet noses.
“What will this one be named?”
“Ginger. Why, just look at her face! She has a tuft of ginger color on her forehead.” Anna patted Jezebel. “Well done girl, well done.”
“Boss,” Jeffries, the dairy manager, walked in, “Sheriff Ben is here to talk to you and Miss Anna. He’s at the house waiting. I told him it may be a while.”
“We are actually near finished up here.” Clark smiled fondly. Jeffries was one of the most innocuous and respectable men he knew and had worked on the dairy for years. “Anna, dear, would you go entertain the good sheriff while I finish up here? I should be there soon.”
Anna nodded and gracefully exited the barn. “Did we get those two shipments off to Colorado Springs?” Anna asked Jeffries, taking a deep breath. She loved the dairy. There was nothing quite like the smell of fresh alfalfa. Maybe she was crazy to like it, but she did.
The Ways of Heaven Page 4