She stood to the sound of huffs from each of her sisters and a louder one from Mrs. Allen. As she crossed to the foyer behind the doctor, she turned to peer back into the dining room. Each one of her family members appeared highly annoyed, but as her eyes rested on Clint, all she saw was concern in his deep, sensitive eyes. He’d even stood when she did, and as it seemed he wanted to go with her, she shook her head slightly. Whatever was in store, she didn’t want any of her family—or Clint—to witness it.
Chapter 20
It was all Clint could do to keep himself from following Sage out the door. He hadn’t been all that impressed with the doctor or his medical abilities since the moment they’d met, and his foreboding about the doctor had grown each time they’d been in contact. Even more so tonight, when he showed up for supper.
The silence that had fallen when Sage went out to the porch was eventually broken by Mrs. Allen.
“What do you think that’s all about?” she asked quietly.
Pepper had hopped up from her chair as soon as the door closed and held back a white lace curtain that looked out onto the porch.
“The doctor is talking. Sage is just listening.”
Tarra craned her neck, trying to see past Pepper.
“I wish Hank were here. He’d do something,” Tarra said.
“I’d pop him a good one if I had a chance,” Pepper added.
Mr. Archer cleared his throat.
“I beg your pardon? I am here, yet I’m not sure what it is you’d have me do. Violence is hardly in order,” he said, glaring at Pepper.
Mrs. Allen patted his hand and gave him a reassuring look.
“Sage can take care of herself, my dear.”
Clint wasn’t sure about that at all. From what he’d seen, Sage thought the sun rose and set on Dr. Folsom’s head. She’d even conceded to his point that she might not know how to make effective tonics. He hated to see her confidence eroded by such a smug, arrogant man.
“Oh!” Pepper cried before she dropped the curtain and ran back to her seat at the table. “She’s coming.”
Clint stood again as Sage came into the room, her face white as a sheet. She sat next to him and looked around the room for a moment before her wide eyes settled on Clint.
“What is it, Sage?” Tarra finally asked, her voice full of concern.
Sage’s bottom lip trembled and she squeezed his hand under the table. It felt as cold as ice.
“Dr. Folsom has informed me that he no longer needs my services.”
Audible gasps filled the room as Sage’s family took in the news.
Maria began to collect his place setting from the table, clattering his knife and fork on the plate.
“And here he ate three helpings of my pot roast. What a rotten thing to do,” she said, loud Spanish words Clint couldn’t understand trailing behind her into the kitchen.
“You delivered Sadie’s babies. If not for you, who knows what would happen. He’s never around when you need him,” Pepper added.
“Exactly. Sage, that’s absurd,” Sage’s older sister Rose said.
Her husband, Michael, the school teacher, chimed in.
“You and your tonics are the only thing that are truly popular about his practice, Sage. That’s the truth. All the parents at school tell me so.”
Mrs. Allen narrowed her eyes.
“It is, in fact, true. You’re the best thing about his practice, in ways large and small.”
Her father stood and his chair clattered behind him.
Mr. Archer seemed to have changed his mind about violence. “The nerve of that man. I ought to—”
“Papa, please,” Sage said quietly. “He is well within his rights to hire or release whomever he wants. And besides, based on my success with the miner, Mr. Chapman, and even Clint’s poor father, my termination seems appropriate. They’ve only gotten more ill by my hand.”
She forced back a sob before her head dropped into her hands. Clint couldn’t help himself from wrapping his arm around her shoulders and looking at the others for help.
“Dear Sage, surely you don’t believe what he’s said.”
Sage lifted her head and dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. She stood dropped the napkin on her chair.
“He’s right. I need to stop giving out tonics. I’m not fit to be in his office, and I don’t know why I ever thought I could be as good as Mama.”
Clint watched helplessly as she left the table and rushed to the door, slamming it behind her.
“Good Lord, that man should get a hold of himself. Of all the spiteful, childish things to do. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Mrs. Allen said. Her eyes flashed as she glared at the closed door.
“Sir, I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but Sage also informed me that the doctor did, in fact, tell her that she was not fit to deliver tonics and wanted her to stop.”
“Oh, good grief. There is no such thing as a perfect record when it comes to illness, everybody knows that. Her efforts have always helped more than not.”
“But at this point, she’s convinced she’s doing harm. It’s ridiculous—I’ve told her that—but she believes it. And he’s now, to her mind, confirmed it.”
Mr. Archer pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment before he spoke.
“The truth is, Sage worked so closely with her mother that she learned everything Katie had spent a lifetime perfecting. And she’s taken that learning, and commitment to helping people, even further.”
Clint nodded as murmurs of agreement sounded around the table. He stood and glanced at the door.
“Sir, with your permission, I’d like to go talk to her. I think I have an idea that might help. And I want Sage to get her confidence back, let her know that we all have faith in her. And I may have the perfect way to do it.”
Beau nodded vigorously.
“By all means, son. If you think you can be helpful, I’m all for it. She, of course, will be in her workshop, no doubt.”
“Thank you, sir. And thank you for supper. It was delicious, and...well, eventful,” he said with a nod in Maria’s direction.
As he reached the door, almost out of earshot, Tarra said, “Isn’t that romantic?”
“Tarra, stop,” Rose scolded in a loud whisper. “He’s trying to be helpful. He’s a very kind man. And soon to be a doctor, too.”
“I know. I just was pointing out that it’s romantic.”
He put that thought out of his head for the moment, although he had to admit that seeing Sage so upset had set him off balance. Was that romantic? He had very little experience in that department. Ladies weren’t abundant in medical school, and all of his time had been taken up with his studies.
He set out for the workshop, determined to convince her that her tonics had value. Certainly, his father agreed, regardless of his recent decline. He rolled over in his mind the tonic that his father had been taking. She’d said that he’d shown improvement in the beginning—startling improvement—and his father and the housekeeper had agreed. The miner’s wife said the same thing. What had changed?
As he neared the workshop and saw Sage with her stained apron leaning over the journal, he knew for certain that it wasn’t anything Sage had done. But what was it?
He stopped for a moment and took in her workshop, and his eyes eventually landed on her. Her blonde hair had fallen out of its pins and hung down toward the bench as she flipped through her cherished pages, no doubt looking for another remedy.
He was glad to see that she hadn’t given up completely. Maybe there was hope, and his heart softened at the sight of this beautiful, committed and passionate young lady—passionate about all the same things he was. He knew he wanted to be near her, to help her—and yes, to punch the loathsome Dr. Folsom right in the nose.
Was that romantic, as her sister said? Romantic or not, he knew he needed to talk to Sage, tell her he believed in her, and try to convince her that his idea was a good one.
Chapter 21
“I w
as afraid that you’d completely give up, Sage. I’m glad to see that you haven’t.”
She looked up at the sound of his voice. His face was full of concern and her heart jumped as he entered. It was a terrible time, a terrible event, yet his arm around her shoulders had comforted her in a way she’d not felt before.
“Thank you for your confidence, but the doctor was very clear. I should. I know I should,” she said, glancing quickly at the letter that sat on top of the journal. She’d gotten it out from between the last pages of the journal as soon as she’d arrived in the shop and read it thrice over before he came in. It hadn’t helped.
“May I?” he asked, pointing to the letter.
It was her most cherished possession beyond the journal, and although no one had ever read it but her, she didn’t hesitate to nod her agreement.
He reached for the letter and sat down on the stool beside her, reading slowly. She wrote the names of the patients she’d created her most recent tonics for—Carol and his father, although she knew she shouldn’t have—and set them back on the wooden bench.
When he finished, he looked up slowly and their eyes met and held. If she didn’t know better, she’d say his eyes were misted a bit, the way hers always got when she read it.
“Good gracious, Sage. This is so incredibly moving. Thank you for letting me read it.”
She took it when he held it out to her, running her hand over the aged paper before she folded it up and put it back in it’s proper place in the journal.
“Your mother was so incredibly grateful for your care and kindness in her final days. You did a wonderful thing for her.”
A tear spilled onto Sage’s cheek and she swipe at it with the back of her hand.
“I thought so at the time, but what if—”
He stood and crossed over to her, stopping her from continuing.
“Remember the day we visited the miner? No what-if’s, and that letter confirms it. You made her final days peaceful and comfortable. And beyond that, her faith in you and your abilities is quite evident. Her endorsement is clear. You cannot stop.”
“But Dr. Folsom is an actual doctor, and he knows best.”
Clint took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length.
“Look at me, Sage. Look me in the eye and tell me that you have not helped people, that they are not grateful and willing—no, eager—to have you help treat their ailments and symptoms.”
Her eyes widened at the urgency in his voice. She looked away, at the two bottles of tonic she’d just created. Could he be right?
Clint’s encouragement was completely opposite the denigration she’d felt from Dr. Folsom—almost from the first day, now that she’d taken time to think about it. He’d never thought her capable or helpful—just put up with her so that she could juggle patients.
But the fact remained that her tonics had sickened two people that she knew of. And there were possibly more. She shouldn’t take the chance.
His gaze followed hers and his eyes widened at the names written on the bottles.
“You’ve made another tonic for my father?”
Her face lit up as she reached for the tonic and turned it in her hands.
“I did. I felt like I’d possibly done something wrong, and I re-made what I’d made in the beginning. I just know that my first tonic was helping him, and I wanted to try again.”
“And the other?” he asked, nodding at the remaining bottle of tonic.
Her face heated as she reached for it and held it as well, the weight of it feeling comforting in her hand.
“Um, well, this is for a friend of mind. Carol, who is married and does not have the use of her legs. The doctor told her—well, he said that they couldn’t...”
She looked away and set the bottle back on the bench, turning away from him.
“Dr. Folsom told them that they couldn’t have children?” he asked softly.
She nodded, not comfortable meeting his eyes.
“And you wanted to help? With your mother’s journal and your own expertise?”
She nodded again and turned to him, her face flushed. Yes, it was a sensitive topic that she shouldn’t be discussing with a man, but he was a doctor and she—well, she wanted to help.
“Yes. I did want to help. I do want to help. She so desperately wants a baby, and there are several Indian herbs that can help with that and why shouldn’t she have that chance, just like everyone else?”
The passion in her own voice startled her, and she was relieved when a smile spread across Clint’s face.
“That’s the Sage that I know and love. Never a quitter,” he said as he took a step forward.
She inhaled deeply as he wrapped his arms around her and a feeling swept over her that was unfamiliar, yet welcome. She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling great comfort, before she came to her senses, realized what she was doing and took a step back.
She cleared her throat and said, “Thank you for your confidence. I don’t exactly share it at this moment in time, but I feel that in her particular situation I should take the chance. There’s much at stake.”
Clint laughed.
“Yes, babies are very important. I can’t wait to deliver some myself when I’m a full-fledged doctor. And here you’ve already done it.”
“Yes, more than once. It certainly is a privilege and a miracle. I have been honored each and every time. Mothers and their children at the first moment, filled with so much promise. And relief, I must add.”
Clint laughed again, and it felt good to her to see him smile—and to smile herself.
He reached for the bottle of tonic that had his father’s name on it and sat back down on the stool, pulling the journal closer. He flipped through several of the pages and picked up the letter from her mother from the back pages, holding it up.
“Yes. The promise from a mother to her children. The beginning of a legacy.”
She looked down at her shoes at his words and shuffled his feet.
“But what if—”
“Shh.” He stood and held his finger to her lips and she stopped.
“Your mother clearly believed in you. She was grateful to you. I believe in you. You just have to believe in yourself.”
She glanced at the tonic in his hand and over to the bottle labeled “Carol.”
“Do you think it’s worth the risk? Dr. Folsom doesn’t,” she said.
“I’m not a man of strong language, Sage, but if I was, I’d have some choice words for that man.”
He waved the letter once more.
“Listen to your mother. God knows, I’d have loved to have the opportunity to listen to mine.”
His smile hadn’t faded, but she was taken aback. He’d mentioned that his mother had passed when he was young, and that he’d been raised by his father and their housekeeper. She wondered what that was like, not knowing both of your parents, and knew that his words were sincere. It must have been very lonely not to know your mother.
Sage’s heart went out to him, and she instinctively rested her hand on his arm and gave it a comforting squeeze. When he lifted his eyes to hers and as their gaze met, she felt the pain behind his smile. He laughed a lot, certainly, and seemed very easy-going, but she could tell that this was very painful for him, losing his father, and never having known his mother.
“Your father is a wonderful man, Clint. Your mother must have been as well.”
He frowned and tucked the letter back into the journal.
“You got to know your mother, and you also have the legacy of the tonics that she passed to you. I do know that father has a trunk full of my mother’s things that I’ve never allowed myself to peruse.”
Sage tried to lighten the mood. She picked up the hem of the stained apron she wore.
“This was from my mother. It was her apron, and I can’t bear to even wash it. We experimented together, and some of the stains on this were our best—and worst—attempts. You should look through the trunk and see what yo
u can learn about your mother. I’m certain she’s left you legacies that you’re not even aware of.”
He glanced at the apron and smiled.
“Perhaps I will one day. But for now, as we’re on the topic of parents, I bet you to try once more with the tonic for my father. I have tried to remain stoic about his prognosis, but I don’t know that I can bear to lose him.”
Sage hesitated and glanced at the tonic. She had researched abundantly to try to make sure she’d done nothing wrong the first time, and to make a tonic a bit more suited to Mr. Jackson’s symptoms.
The sorrow in Clint’s voice vividly recalled her own loss, and was impossible for her to ignore. She set her hand on the journal, gaining strength from her mother.
“All right. If your father agrees, I will try again. But I’d prefer that the doctor not be aware.”
“You’ll get no argument from me on that front,” Clint said as he placed the bottle of tonic in his pocket. “He’ll be asleep when I return, but I’ll dispense the tonic starting tomorrow morning. Would you be willing to stop by the morning afterward to gauge progress? We would all enjoy your company, I’m certain.”
He took his leave after Sage agreed to come look in on Mr. Jackson in two days’ time. That would give her the opportunity the following day to deliver the tonic to Carol—yes, she’d decided she needed to do that as well.
She hoped that she wasn’t making a mistake, and her confidence was certainly at it’s lowest point ever. But Clint was so sure of her that she decided to follow his lead—and hope he was right.
Chapter 22
Clint had been sitting with his father for at least an hour when a light rap sounded on the door. He stretched, his muscles sore from having sat so long before he reached to open it.
Mrs. Allen stood at the threshold, a plate covered in a linen napkin in her hands.
“I thought I might find you here.” She held out the dish to Clint as she entered through the door he’d opened more widely.
He took the plate and she sat down in a chair beside the sleeping Mr. Jackson.
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