by Dorothy Love
“Sophie Caldwell.” Lucy Partridge’s voice echoed in the stairwell. “If you aren’t down here in ten seconds, I’m coming up there and dragging you down. You’ve got to eat something.”
“Coming.” With a last look in the mirror, Sophie tucked her notebook and a clean handkerchief into her reticule and hurried down to the dining room.
Several of the Verandah’s other residents were already at their places around Lucy’s table. Sophie smiled and nodded to the ones she knew by name—Mabel Potts and Merribelle Winters, young women who shared the room across the hall from hers; Miss Pritchard, the baker’s ancient assistant; and Flora Burke, the stout, serious-faced woman with graying hair who came and went from her work at Blue Smoke with few words for anyone.
Lucy, her thick curls lying damp along the back of her neck, bustled about setting out fresh butter for the hot cornbread, pitchers of water and cold milk, and bowls of thick stew. “You ladies be sure and save some room for blackberry cobbler. It’s Flora’s recipe.”
Sophie’s stomach clenched. Blackberry cobbler reminded her of Robbie and their summer adventures along the river, the blackberry brambles catching at the hem of her dress, the creak of their metal bucket, the hot sun pressing on their heads. And thinking of Robbie reminded her of her dilemma with Ethan. Next week, when she accompanied him to the top of the ridge, she would tell him the truth. He would either accept her or reject her, but at least her conscience would be clear.
She took her seat and unfolded her napkin. Lucy set a bowl of stew in front of Sophie, a smile in her eyes. “Eat every bite. You’ll need your strength for the meeting tonight.”
Sophie picked up her spoon. “I’m going only to report on the proceedings. And to offer moral support to Gillie, of course.”
“As we all are.” Flora Burke buttered a square of cornbread. “Knoxville has a modern infirmary. I don’t see why Hickory Ridge can’t have one too.”
“Knoxville is bigger’n we are,” Miss Pritchard said. “And folks there have more money.”
“But now that the resort is here, our town is prospering again.” Lucy filled a bowl for herself and took her place at the end of the table. “When Aunt Maisie passed on, this place was a wreck. I never imagined I’d be able to fix it up. But thanks to Blue Smoke, every room has been taken for the past year.” She brushed a damp curl off her face and ate a spoonful of stew. “That’s why I was able to put in new windows and paint the porch.”
“Now if only you could do something about this infernal heat,” Flora said darkly. “My room is on the third floor, and it’s like sleeping in an oven up there, even with those fancy new windows of yours standing wide open.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Burke.” Lucy poured Flora another glass of water. “It’s July in Hickory Ridge. What can I do?”
Flora snorted. “Pray for rain, I reckon.” She finished her stew and pushed her bowl away. “Guess I’ll forget about the cobbler and get ready for the council meeting. I don’t want to miss a thing.”
“Me either.” Mabel swiped her mouth with a napkin. “I think Miss Gilman is wonderful. I want to go away for nurse’s training too, if I can ever save enough money.”
Flora got to her feet. “The folks up at Blue Smoke leave extra money for the maids every night. You’ll be rich as cream one of these days.”
“Maybe,” Merribelle said as Flora crossed the parlor and started up the stairs. “It’s hard work, but the pay is good. And those Chinese cooks make the best meals.” She patted her flat stomach. “I bet I’ve gained ten pounds already.”
Miss Pritchard frowned at Merribelle over the top of her gold-rimmed spectacles. “Best keep your figure if you ever hope to marry.” She motioned to Lucy. “Since I’m not expecting any suitors, I’ll have some cobbler if you don’t mind.”
Lucy pushed back from the table. “Anyone else?”
Sophie shook her head. “I’m too nervous to eat any more. I’m going to the sheriff’s office to wait with Gillie.” She rose and took her dishes to the sink.
“We’ll see you later, then.” Lucy took the pan of cobbler from the windowsill and spooned up a heaping portion for Miss Pritchard.
Sophie checked her reflection in the hall mirror, then headed out the front door and down the street. Even this late in the day the sun was brutal, though rain clouds were gathering on the horizon. Perhaps Flora Burke’s prayers would be answered.
Approaching the sheriff’s office, she spotted a line of rigs and wagons parked along the street. Knots of women dressed in their best clothes and fanciest hats stood talking quietly in lengthening shadows under the trees, fanning themselves in the oppressive heat. She caught sight of Carrie Rutledge and waved, then went inside Sheriff McCracken’s office. Opposite his desk, a row of chairs had been set up, five of them reserved for Mayor Scott and the council. Judging from the crowd waiting outside, the meeting was sure to be standing room only.
In the back of the jail, a cell door clanked shut. The sheriff ambled into his office, a coffee cup in one hand. He smiled at Sophie. “Evening, Miss Caldwell. Been to any riots lately?”
“Did I miss one?” Sophie took her notebook from her reticule and claimed a chair nearest the window. Not that there was much of a breeze. Already beads of perspiration were forming on her forehead. She blotted her face with her handkerchief.
McCracken grinned. “Nope. All’s quiet since the transient workers left town. Except for Tad Holloway, who’s back in his regular cell, sleeping off too much strong drink.” He sat down behind his desk and his chair creaked. “These days about all I’m doing is rounding up drunks and serving legal notices.”
“Cheer up. Maybe something spectacular will happen one of these days. A bank robbery, for instance.”
He laughed. “I’d just as soon things stay quiet. How are things at the paper?”
“Busy. Caleb Stanhope is working for me part-time.”
“So I heard.”
The door opened and Gillie rushed in. She wore her hair in a cascade of curls held away from her face with silver combs. A dark blue skirt, white shirtwaist, and blue jacket completed her ensemble. Spotting Sophie, she hurried across the room, her skirts belling out behind her, and threw both arms around her friend. “I’m so excited I can’t stand still. Did you see how many people are waiting outside?”
Sophie grinned. “Won’t the mayor be surprised to see such a show of support?”
“I hope they’re here to endorse my idea and not to disparage it.” Gillie turned. “Hello, Sheriff McCracken.”
“Miss Gilman.” He nodded. “Reckon I’ll go on outside for a bit.” He checked his watch. “Council ought to be arriving soon, and we’ll get started.”
He left, and Gillie plopped down beside Sophie. “I hope I don’t forget my speech. I’ve been practicing all day, in between looking after Mrs. Pruitt’s cough and the Mitchells’ baby.” She frowned. “I’m really worried about him. I’ve been fighting his fever for a week, and he can’t seem to shake it.”
“What does Doc Spencer say?”
“He’s worried too. But he drove out to the Mitchells’ place this afternoon, and at least the baby’s lungs seemed clear.” She paused. “I ran into Robbie Whiting on the way over here just now. He said someone up on the mountain is sick and the family has sent for him.”
“But not for the doctor?”
Gillie shrugged. “I don’t understand that. I believe in God and in his healing powers. But I also believe he gives us knowledge and skills that he expects us to use to help each other. Don’t you?”
The door opened and Mayor Scott blustered in, followed by the four members of the town council. Sophie jotted their names into her notebook: Jasper Pruitt, Frank Talbot, the barbershop owner, Mr. Hammonds from the Hickory Ridge Bakery, and Dr. Young, the town dentist. They arranged themselves around the sheriff’s desk while Sheriff McCracken ushered the crowd into the room.
Sophie looked around. Carrie Rutledge had taken a seat near the door that led to
the jail cells. Next to her sat Mariah Whiting and Molly Scott, the mayor’s wife, along with Lucy and Mrs. Pritchard. Dr. Spencer and Griff Rutledge stood near the back next to Caleb Stanhope and Mr. Webster, the schoolmaster. Mr. Whiting stood behind his wife, leaning heavily on his cane. Sophie’s heart constricted. She had seen Robbie’s daddy only briefly since the day he came to Miss Lillian’s to fetch Ada to the train station. He looked much older now, worn and faded as an old photograph.
When the room was full, the sheriff directed the overflow crowd to wait outside. Through the open window, Sophie saw Robbie’s wife, Ethelinda, talking with Flora, Merribelle, and Mabel. A knot of men, some of them puffing on pipes and cheroots, leaned against their wagons, talking in low tones.
The mayor gaveled the meeting to order. “First order of business is to approve the minutes of the last meeting.” He nodded to Jasper Pruitt, who stood and read them aloud.
The mayor growled, “Any changes or additions?”
When no one spoke, Mr. Scott said, “Approved as read. Next order of business—the new spittoon we ordered for the post office came in on this morning’s train.”
The men spent ten minutes arguing about who ought to retrieve the spittoon and whether there should be some sort of ceremony to dedicate it. After all, it was made of pure brass and came from New York City. Sophie took notes, her hand moving quickly across the pages. Gillie shifted in her seat and blew out a long breath. “My lands,” she whispered to Sophie. “How much time can they spend discussing a stupid spit can?”
“. . . is Miss Sabrina Gilman.”
Sophie nudged her. “Good luck.”
Hands clasped, Gillie walked to the front of the room. The last rays of sunlight slanted through the window and fell across her hair, turning it to platinum. Her eyes seemed to be lit from within.
“Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak about our need for an infirmary. As you know, many of our families live in the hills above town, and it isn’t always possible for them to get medical attention as quickly as they should. Dr. Spencer travels constantly, but he can’t be everywhere at once. An infirmary would allow those who are sick to come here and stay if necessary instead of sending for the doctor and waiting for him to arrive. It would also serve as a place where nurses such as myself can treat minor illnesses and injuries, thus freeing the doctor to spend more time treating more serious cases.”
The dentist made notes on a yellow sheet of paper in front of him. “Some folks don’t trust doctors anyway. They’d rather look after themselves than rely on modern remedies, the same way they’d rather pull a tooth with a pair of pliers than visit my office.”
“That’s true, Dr. Young. I know there will be some people who still won’t seek the help they need. It will take time for attitudes to change. But if we can save even one life, isn’t it worth it?”
Mayor Scott waved one hand. “Go on, Miss Gilman. Get to the point.”
“Lack of money also keeps some people from seeking help, even when they are gravely ill,” Gillie said. “An infirmary where they could come for treatment they could afford would work wonders for the health and well-being of our entire town and for the people on the mountain too. Wouldn’t the council agree?”
Gillie paused and turned her wide, blue gaze upon the mayor and his council. Sophie bent her head to her notebook to hide a smile. What a smart question. How could the council members possibly disagree without looking like a bunch of unfeeling clods?
The men nodded, and Gillie continued. “Our orphanage has been closed for years and has turned into an eyesore. Boarded-up windows and a weedy yard don’t leave the kind of impression we want to make on visitors and newcomers. And now that Blue Smoke is open, we’re sure to have a constant stream of them coming and going. I’m asking the council to grant me permission to turn the building into an infirmary.”
Mr. Hammonds cleared his throat. “That’s a noble idea, young lady, but just how do you propose paying for new windows and such? Not to mention supplies, medicines, beds, and linens. It’ll cost a small fortune, and Hickory Ridge just doesn’t have that kind of money.”
The door opened. Heads turned as Horace Blakely edged his way into the room. Sophie frowned. What was the owner of Blue Smoke doing here? She wrote his name in her notebook and underlined it.
Gillie looked directly at Mr. Hammonds. “I don’t blame you for wondering about how we can afford it. It is indeed a great undertaking. But I’ve been working on this idea for almost a year. I’ve managed to secure pledges of donated supplies from colleagues in Philadelphia, where I took my nurse’s training and where Dr. Spencer studied as well. And I’m investing a small inheritance from my grandmother to cover the initial cost of medicines.”
Mayor Scott frowned. “That’s all very well, Miss Gilman, but if you don’t charge folks for treatment, how will you keep the doors open?”
“Dr. Spencer and I have worked out a sliding scale. Those who can afford to pay will do so. Those who cannot won’t be charged. We’ll make up the difference in ongoing donations from the medical society and our local charities.” Gillie smiled at Mrs. Scott. “Your wife’s organization has already agreed to donate a quilt for a raffle this fall, and Robbie’s—Mr. Whiting’s church has pledged its support.”
Frank Talbot raised his hand like a schoolboy at the recitation bench. “You still haven’t told us how you plan to finance the repairs for the orphanage.”
For the first time all evening Gillie faltered. “I—I am hoping the council will see fit to provide funds for basic repairs.”
“Just a minute there, Mayor.” Horace Blakely spoke from the back of the room. “Last fall I told you I might be wanting that building for myself.”
Mayor Scott nodded. “I remember. But I haven’t heard another word about it. I had no idea you were still interested.”
“Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. Blue Smoke has only recently opened. It’s too soon to know what facilities I might need on down the line.”
Mr. Talbot polished his spectacles with his handkerchief. He cleared his throat. “It seems to me if that building was promised to Mr. Blakely, then we’re duty bound to stand behind our word.”
Gillie braided her fingers and sent the mayor a pleading look.
Dr. Young smoothed his beard. “What I heard was a maybe from Mr. Blakely and another maybe from the mayor. Don’t seem to me like promises were made at all. Now, Miss Gilman here has put a considerable amount of thought and trouble into her plan, and I for one think she deserves a chance.”
Jasper Pruitt leaned back in his chair. “I’m not opposed to letting her try, but for the life of me I don’t know where the money is coming from. The town treasury is mighty near empty.”
“Because you bought a spittoon!” Sophie jumped to her feet, her notebook sliding onto the floor.
Heads turned in her direction. “It seems to me that you gentlemen should reconsider your priorities.”
Mr. Hammonds smiled. “Don’t go getting your dander up, missy. Now, listen here, I—”
“Please don’t call me missy.” Sophie returned his steady gaze. “I realize a spittoon is not as expensive as paint and windows, but it’s all a matter of priorities. Surely if you can pay for a fancy brass spittoon, you can come up with some way to provide the necessary materials.”
The mayor toyed with his wooden gavel. “I reckon we could dip into the emergency fund, but we’d expect to be paid back.”
“Now, just a minute.” One of the men, his large belly protruding from the waistband of his suspendered pants, pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Who gave you the authority to go squandering our money just because some pretty little spoiled girl wants a project to work on?”
Jasper Pruitt studied him through narrowed eyes. “I reckon you did, Charlie, when you elected us to the council. Now, pipe down and let us get on with the meeting. I haven’t had my supper yet, and my stomach’s growling.”
Sophie sank onto her chair. Holy cats.
She hadn’t meant to voice an opinion, but she couldn’t help herself. Had she helped Gillie’s cause or hindered it?
The mayor and council leaned in, literally putting their heads together. Finally Mr. Talbot said, “Miss Gilman? How much you reckon you need?”
Gillie beamed. “Seventy-five dollars.”
Mr. Blakely strode to the front of the room. “Let me get this straight. You’re actually going to approve this scheme to the detriment of the most important business in the county? With no regard for my needs?”
Sophie was on her feet again. “Mr. Blakely?”
He turned to her, a frown creasing his fleshy face. He sighed. “Hello, Miss Caldwell.”
She smiled. “You remember me.”
“How in blazes could I forget after that article you wrote about Blue Smoke? An article based upon hearsay, I might add.”
Anger spurted through her. “Based upon eyewitness accounts, sir, not hearsay. You may recall that your eyewitness was fired from his job for talking to me.”
He waved one hand and his gold signet ring caught the light. “What do you want?”
“I want to tell you a story I didn’t print. One based upon my direct observation.”
Briefly she recounted the day she’d met Mrs. Wimberly and Rebecca on the trail above Blue Smoke and their subsequent trip to seek Gillie’s help. “Your guests are hiking those mountain trails, riding their horses up to the creek, and I understand you’re planning to set up a spot for souvenir photographs atop the ridge.”
“So what?”
“They’re bound to encounter the mountain residents from time to time. And think of your staff. You don’t want sick folks exposing others to fevers, influenza, infections, and whatnot. That could be bad for business.”
Mr. Blakely shrugged. “I’d say the chances of that happening are extremely remote. I’ve been around here long enough to know that the folks in the hills tend to keep to themselves.”