by Molly Jebber
Becca’s cheeks heated. “I trust you.” She checked the drawers to make sure they were filled with the appropriate supplies. Miss Bloomingdale must be the perfect fit for Matt, according to Mrs. Carrington, or why would she introduce her to him? What if Matt found Miss Bloomingdale more interesting than herself? She had to stop her mind from going there.
She worked alongside Matt to treat patients with a range of injuries and illnesses nonstop until the last patient left at five-fifteen.
Matt yawned. “The last thing I want to do is go to supper with my mother and Miss Bloomingdale.” He put his hands on Becca’s shoulders and kissed her. “I would rather you and I were spending the evening together.”
Her heart soared. Again he said all the right things. She believed him. On the other hand, Mrs. Carrington caused her concern.
She bid him farewell and headed home. Ruth was in the kitchen mixing ingredients for butter cookies. A touch of flour coated her hair. “I have one batch made, and I have started on the second. Could you put the first batch in the basket on the table?”
“Yes, I’d be glad too.” She recounted her concerns to Ruth about Mrs. Carrington and Miss Bloomingdale.
“Matt is having dinner with his mother and this woman because he is a gentleman. Do not give Miss Bloomingdale another thought.”
Becca scooped the cookies from the pan and put them in the basket. “I’m not worried about Matt and Miss Bloomingdale. I’m worried Matt’s mamm will continue to play matchmaker for him.”
“I suspect Matt will bring your name up more than once this evening. I have no doubt he will make it clear to both of them he is courting you.” She winked.
Becca chuckled. She hadn’t thought of Matt discussing her at supper. She liked the idea. She felt better already as she bid Ruth good-bye and headed for Naomi’s house. She walked and enjoyed the warm night air. She arrived and rapped on the door.
Pale and with dark circles under her eyes, Naomi waved her in. “I am glad you are here. I have had a difficult day. I named my daughter Isabella. My grandfather and I buried her this morning.” She wiped a tear. “My body is healing, but I am not sure my heart ever will.”
She followed Naomi to the parlor and sat next to her. “I have not experienced the loss of a child. I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”
Naomi frowned. “I cannot stay in this town another day. Our neighbors stare at me like I am evil because I was pregnant and unwed. They are not the least bit sympathetic about Isabella’s death.”
Becca pulled her chair close to Naomi. “I’m sorry you’re experiencing such cruel behavior from your neighbors. Ruth and I are always willing to listen to you, and you can visit us anytime.”
“I appreciate how you and Dr. Carrington helped me when you delivered Isabella. You are the only woman who has offered to spend time with me.”
“You can trust me. Please share whatever you like.”
Naomi pulled a letter from her sleeve and unfolded it. She handed it to Becca. She recounted the story of how she met Samuel and why he left. “In the letter, Samuel asks me to forgive him for leaving. He wants to marry me and says he is ready to be a father.”
She handed the letter back without reading it. “What do you want to do?”
“I am not sure. Can I trust him? He left when I needed him most.”
She covered Naomi’s hand. “I don’t know Samuel, so I’m not sure what advice I can offer. Perhaps he needed time to get used to the idea of being a daed. When you told him, he must’ve been overwhelmed.”
Naomi put the letter in her sleeve. “He is seventeen, and we had planned to court for a longer period. He most likely was overwhelmed when I told him I was pregnant. I believe he is truly sorry. He told his boss about me and the baby, and the farmer offered Samuel a house on his property to live in as part of his wages. The house has a small second bedroom, and it would have been perfect for our daughter.”
“The house sounds nice.” She rubbed Naomi’s arm. “Do you love Samuel?”
“I do love him, and I forgive him. We all make mistakes. My grandfather liked Samuel and was disappointed in him when he left. He will support me in whatever I decide. He always has.”
“You’re fortunate to have such a loving grandfather. You do what will make you happy.”
Naomi’s eyes widened and the sadness softened. “Discussing my love for Samuel with you has made me realize how much I miss him. I will not be content until I am with him again.” She clasped her hands. “I am going to leave the day after tomorrow and tell him I will marry him.”
Becca put her hand to Naomi’s cheek. “You need to wait a week and rest before you go.”
“I will be fine. My body is doing better than my dark mood, and reuniting with Samuel will lift my spirits. He is excited about the baby. I dread telling him she died. At least we will be able to mourn her passing together.”
She chatted with Naomi for an hour and left. Matt’s face came to mind as she walked home. Would Matt mention her name while dining with his mamm and Beatrice Bloomingdale? How would his mamm respond?
Matt slapped cologne on his face and neck. He reconsidered, grabbed a towel, and wiped it off. The forced supper with Beatrice and his mother exasperated him. His mother put him in situations he loathed, and he planned to put a stop to it.
Mother should show her softer side more often. He was sure she did with his father, or how could the man stand to put up with her day in and day out. No wonder his father traveled so often. His parents’ marriage was not like the one he wanted. He wanted a wife he would enjoy spending time with, namely Becca.
He went to the barn to ready his horse and left. After he delivered his horse to the livery, he strolled to the Massillon Restaurant. He paused in the doorway. His mother and the woman she was with sat a few feet away from where he stood and whispered something. A moment later, they laughed. He shook his head and headed for their table.
His mother glanced at him. “Son, you are late.” She sighed and touched Beatrice’s arm. “Well, never mind. Sit.”
He ignored his mother’s subtle rebuke and held out his hand to her guest. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting. It is a pleasure to meet you again. I apologize for having to rush off after meeting you last evening.”
“I am delighted to see you again. Your mother has told me about your practice and what a charming man you are. I am looking forward to getting to know you while we dine.”
He sat. Spending a lot of time with her was not something he intended to do. He would not engage her in much conversation while they dined, nor would he linger after supper. Her expensive dress flattered her small frame, and her brown hair in ringlet curls outlined her delicate heart-shaped face. Attractive yes, but her mannerisms reminded him too much of his mother. It was the way she moved and tilted her head to one side when she talked. He struggled not to wince when she prattled on in her high-pitched voice.
She put her hand on his upper arm. “Your mother is quite proud of you. She has sung your praises every time we have run into each other in the last few months. I had to come and see for myself if you were as handsome and interesting as she claims you are.” She eyed him from head to toe. “I must agree with her. You are every bit as handsome as she claims.”
He wanted to shrug her arm off but did not. Her facetious words sickened him.
A waitress served them water and then penciled their orders. Miss Bloomingdale spread her napkin on her lap. “Your mother told me you hired an Amish woman to help you in your office. I see the Amish as plain and simple people. You are kind to take pity on her and offer her a job.”
He fisted his hands in his lap. Why did his mother share her concerns about Becca with Miss Bloomingdale? She must have thought the woman would help plead her case against Becca. His mother was wrong. Nonetheless, Miss Bloomingdale did not mince words. She got right to the point.
He would too. “On the contrary, Miss Bloomingdale, I did not hire her out of pity. Miss Yost is in
telligent and an excellent nurse. Furthermore, she is someone I have taken a personal interest in.”
His mother frowned. “Beatrice, he will not listen to me. Talk some sense into him.”
“I do have to agree with your mother. You have built a practice where your patients trust you, and having an Amish woman for a nurse cannot be comfortable for them. Nor would she be a suitable woman for you to court, considering your social standing.”
The waitress delivered their food.
He dipped his spoon in his potato soup. “My patients are fond of Becca, and my social standing is none of your concern.”
Miss Bloomingdale’s cheeks flamed.
His mother raised her voice. “Mind your manners. Beatrice is only offering her advice.”
Beatrice cleared her throat. “Please forgive me. We can talk about something else.”
His mother put her hand on Beatrice’s arm. “We should talk about you, dear.” She sat back. “Beatrice is a great hostess. She has been hired by most of our friends to plan and organize many parties to help raise money for school books. It has been a pleasure working with her. She is quite the world traveler, too.”
Beatrice waved a dismissive hand. “You flatter me.”
Matt closed his eyes for a moment. Miss Bloomingdale’s insincere apology sickened him. She had made it clear by her aggressive actions and words she thought she was the woman for him. She was in for quite a disappointment, because he had no intention of spending any more time with her after they dined. This woman was forward and tiresome.
His mother lifted her chin. “Go on, Beatrice. Tell Matt about your trip to Washington, DC, and meeting the President and First Lady, Ida Saxton McKinley.”
Miss Bloomingdale bragged about the money her father donated to Washington to help build schools there. Then she gave a detailed description of her tour of the White House as she presented a picture of President William McKinley and the First Lady.
Matt did not ask any questions as she prattled on. A little over half an hour had passed, when the woman yawned. He suggested they leave and bid the two women farewell. After retrieving his horse from the livery, he headed home. His polite but distant behavior toward Miss Bloomingdale was meant to discourage his mother from any further attempts to play matchmaker. His mother had found her younger twin in Beatrice Bloomingdale. Would his mother honor his request to stop trying to set him up? He doubted it.
The next morning, Matt sat in the reception area across from Dorothy and bit into a piece of rhubarb pie and sipped hot tea. “This hits the spot. I got up late and skipped breakfast.”
Dorothy refreshed his cup. “I am glad to see you chipper. After meeting your mother and her friend last night, I suspected you would be in a bad mood today.”
“She is stubborn. Even after I told her Becca had agreed to court me, she tried to match Miss Bloomingdale and me. I made it clear to both of them I am not interested in courting anyone but Becca.”
Becca entered and joined them. “The sky is gray, and the rain is steady.” She placed her dripping parasol in the corner of the room and hung her damp shawl on a coat hook.
Dorothy passed her hot coffee and a plate of warm blueberry bread. “Matt is telling me about his dining experience with his mother last night.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Start at the beginning.”
Matt chuckled. “There is not much to tell. Miss Bloomingdale is a brash woman. Her laugh, mannerisms, and opinions about life in general are the opposite of mine. No matter, they understand I am not available. Next, Miss Bloomingdale chattered on and on about meeting President McKinley and the First Lady. I might have found this part of the conversation interesting, if anyone else but Miss Bloomingdale had been talking about it.”
Dorothy laughed and almost dropped her coffee cup. “You must have been miserable having to spend the evening with such an arrogant woman.”
“Yes, miserable would describe the evening quite well.”
The door opened and startled the three of them.
A bodacious woman in a low-cut dress and tangled red hair hanging halfway down her back barged in. She held a blood-soaked towel to her cheek. Her two front teeth were missing. “I’m Gertrude Evans. I work over at the Horseshoe Saloon. A fight broke out between two men. One of the men threw a glass at the other man. It hit me instead. Will you look at it for me, Doc?”
“Yes. I am Dr. Carrington. This is Dorothy Watts, and this is Becca Yost, my nurse.”
The woman picked up Dorothy’s trash can and spit a disgusting wad of tobacco in it.
Dorothy winced.
Matt stifled his chuckle and followed Becca and Miss Evans into the exam room. “If you will have a seat on the table, I will take a look at your cheek.”
Matt removed the towel from her wound. The bleeding had slowed. “Becca, will you please gather what I need to suture Miss Evans’s wound. I will clean it.”
Becca gathered what he needed and brought them to him.
“Cute little nurse you got there, Doc. Are you and she courtin’?”
“I do not discuss my personal life with my patients.”
“Whew, Doc, you’re a little grumpy. You might want to come visit me. I’ll lighten your mood. Why, I’ll only charge you half as much as I charge other men.”
Becca blushed.
“Miss Evans, please remain still while I suture your cut. If you cooperate, I will do my best to leave you with the smallest scar possible for this type of wound.” He paused. “You owe Miss Yost an apology for your rude remark.” He waited for her reply.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have been so mouthy. I’ll behave.”
“I accept your apology. You can call me Becca.”
“Call me Gertrude. I don’t like bein’ called Miss Evans. I’m only twenty-three. It makes me feel like an old woman.”
Matt could not believe it. Becca did not judge Gertrude and treated her with respect, even after the woman had been offensive. She amazed him once again.
After the patient left, Dorothy pushed through the door. “Gertrude Evans has to be the most brazen woman we have ever had in this office. I had to fight the urge to gag when she spit tobacco in my trash can.”
Matt and Becca held their stomachs and laughed.
Matt caught his breath. “She is different.”
“She obviously leads a hard life. I don’t understand what goes on in a saloon, and I don’t want to. I’ve had men stagger into me when I walk by there. They smell like alcohol and struggle to stand. I don’t understand why she would want to work in a saloon.”
The sheriff burst in and interrupted Becca. He breathed heavy and bent over to rest a minute. His hat fell off his bald head, and a button popped off his tight-fitting shirt covering his round stomach. His ruddy face was streaked with dirt.
Matt put his hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. “Something is wrong. What is it?”
“Micah fell again. I told his mother I would find you. She said the boy is asking for Becca. I’ve got my wagon outside We can all ride together.”
Becca’s face drained of color. “How bad is he hurt?”
“His mother told me Micah worked all afternoon building a mound of dirt. He jumped off the back porch, aiming for the pile. Instead, he landed on a pile of wood. She managed to walk him in the house and to bed but said he complained of a headache.”
Matt grabbed his bag. “Dorothy, if anyone comes in, explain to them Becca and I had to tend to a patient and will be back as soon as we can.”
Becca and Matt climbed in the sheriff’s wagon. The wheels bounced on the uneven ground and rocked Matt into her.
Becca straightened the hem of her dress. “He might have broken a bone. I hope his injuries aren’t serious.”
The sheriff spit tobacco on the ground. “I didn’t see him. She came running outside when I stopped by her house. I check on all the widows who live outside of town at least once a week.” He shook his head. “There’s a sad story. Leah Shepler doesn’t give her chil
d much attention. Micah resembles his father. She’s bitter and angry her husband left her for another woman a few years ago. She is twenty-eight and hasn’t remarried. She delivers her baked goods to the bakery to sell and washes clothes for her neighbors to make a living. The boy fends for himself most of the time.”
Tying the rope to the hitching rail, the sheriff gestured toward the house. “Go and help Micah. I’ll be in the house in a few minutes.”
Matt escorted Becca inside. They greeted Mrs. Shepler, and she hustled them to Micah’s room.
“He is in pain but brave. I am worried he has hurt himself real bad this time.”
Micah grunted and moved to sit up. “I falled again. My back and head hurts.”
“You’re not warm, but let me check your temperature.” Becca removed a thermometer from Matt’s bag and put it under Micah’s tongue. She chatted with him until it was time to remove it.
Her tenderness with Micah reminded Matt of all her positive qualities. He moved next to her and bent to Micah. “I will be gentle.” He eased the pressure of his hand each time the child groaned. He examined the large lump on his head and bandaged a bloody scrape on his back.
“You were a brave boy. My hands pressing on your body with these bruises must have hurt.”
The child grimaced when he shifted in the bed, searching for a comfortable position.
Matt returned the stethoscope to his bag, pulled out a bottle of medicine, and handed it to Mrs. Shepler. “A teaspoon every four hours for the next two days will help relieve his pain. Nothing is broken. His aches should get better and his bruises should fade in the next few days.”
Mrs. Shepler whispered in Matt’s ear. “I apologize for my behavior toward Becca the last time I brought Micah to you. I resented her because I have been a terrible mother to my little boy. She shows him unconditional love, which is something I have not been doing. I was jealous. He talks nonstop about how nice and kind she was to him in your office. Two things I need to do.”