by Karen Kirst
Adelaide felt her eyebrows rise at the realization that her stepfather was matchmaking. In fact, he had been since the moment she’d divulged the truth about her past with Chris to him in Peppin. That’s why he hadn’t tried to dissuade her during the Johansen’s put-together wedding ceremony. It was why he hadn’t blown the whistle on this second attempt at a faux courtship. What’s more, she wasn’t the only one who’d come to that conclusion if the thick, uncomfortable silence descending on the veranda was any indication. She nearly cringed at the utter awkwardness of it all. Finally the silence was broken by Olan’s resigned sigh. Everett grinned at Chris as though impervious to the disapproving glare of his wife. “You don’t mind driving, do you, son?”
Chris’s face looked almost frozen—a sure sign that he was desperately trying to keep a straight face. “No, sir. I don’t mind.”
“Good. Just follow the carriage, then. If we get separated, Adelaide knows the way. Let’s get going, shall we?” Everett led the way down the front steps. After a regal lift of her chin, Rose swept down the steps behind him. Olan shook his head as he followed them, murmuring something in Norwegian. Adelaide waited until the carriage door had closed before daring to meet Chris’s laughing gaze. “It isn’t funny. They’re driving me crazy. There’s enough tension in the air to put the humidity to shame. I’m like a sponge soaking it all up.”
He caught her arms and squeezed them gently. “Don’t let it get to you. Remember why you’re doing this.”
“For my writing and to stop my mother’s matchmaking attempts.”
“Right. Wait. How does this help your writing? I don’t think you ever explained that.”
It didn’t seem particularly nice to tell him that she was counting on the fact that her mother would put up with anything—even Adelaide’s writing career—rather than see Adelaide married to him. Instead, she shrugged. “It’s complicated, but I’m certain what we’re doing is going to help.”
She thought it prudent to head for the buggy before he could ask any more questions. He helped her into it, then took the reins, hurrying to ease into line behind the carriage, which was waiting for them at the front gate. After they turned onto the street, he sent her a sideways glance. “I’m debating whether or not I want to know what you and my father were discussing earlier. On one hand, forewarned is forearmed. On the other, I think we need to stop trying to figure out what our parents are up to and stay focused on what it is that we’re trying to accomplish.”
“Well, I for one think it might be refreshing not to talk or think about them at least until we get out of church.”
He shot her a heart-fluttering grin. “Deal.”
She leaned her shoulder into the cushioned seat-back to survey him. “What are you going to do when you go back to Peppin? You still don’t have a bride.”
“I reckon I’ll just have to keep going down my list of possibilities. There are still a few women left on it, though I think my chances with them might be slim.”
She narrowed her eyes, unable to decide which was worse—that he’d made a list of women to woo or that there were only a “few” left in town that he hadn’t gotten to yet. In the end, she decided that she didn’t have the energy to challenge him on either statement. Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder if the friends she’d left behind in Peppin were blind, deaf or dumb. For all of his maddening qualities, Chris was still a catch. How could he still be unmarried? Of course, there was the possibility that they’d known exactly what they were doing by rejecting his suit. Adelaide might not have warned Amy about Chris’s wandering ways, but that didn’t mean the women in town hadn’t warned each other.
She sighed and barely resisted the urge to reach over and pat his knee in sympathy. She really shouldn’t feel badly for him, given his roguish tendencies. However, it was undeniable that he was in a just as sticky a situation as she was. Perhaps that was why it was so easy for her to feel an affinity for him. The least she could do was try to take his mind off his troubles for a moment. “So, tell me, what do you do for amusement in Peppin when you aren’t chasing—uh, I mean looking for a bride?”
“Well, the mercantile hasn’t left me much free time lately. When I do have a moment of my own I like to play my fiddle, spend time with family and friends, and attend whatever social the town might be putting on.” He glanced around at the grand buildings lining the street. “I guess that must sound pretty boring to you after living here for so long. You’ve got such a full life here.”
She gave a soft laugh of disbelief. “What makes you say that?”
“The books you write. The house you live in. All of those friends at the social. I could go on.”
“Please don’t. The books I write have nothing to do with where I live. In fact, I write better when I’m away from home. That house belongs to my stepfather. As nice as it is, I’ve no claim on it besides what he allows me. Those people at the social are more acquaintances than friends. I don’t have any close friends here. All of those women around my age who wouldn’t leave us alone last night were far more interested in you than they were in me.”
He frowned as he slowly turned into the church’s lot. “Why would they be interested in me? Because they were curious about your new beau?”
“No. I mean, I’m sure they were a little curious, but that wasn’t the whole reason. You know that.” The blank look he sent as he set the brake surely had to be manufactured. She shook her head at him. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
“Say what?”
She rolled her eyes. “That you are ridiculously handsome.”
His eyebrows rose. His neck and cheeks flushed. He glanced away, then back at her. “I’m—what—you think I’m—really?”
She stared at him, finding his genuine surprise and embarrassment confusing to say the least. It was almost as though he wasn’t aware of the effect he had on women. That didn’t make any sense. For a rogue to use his charm to his advantage, he had to know that he possessed it and understand how to wield it. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to tell the truth. “Of course I do.”
His somewhat bashful smile was absolutely heart-melting. “Thank you, but that doesn’t explain why you don’t have any close friends here.”
“I didn’t see the point of making any at first. After all, I was planning to return to Peppin in a few short months to…” She stopped herself from continuing, but the words hovered between them anyway. She almost wanted to speak them after all, to finally acknowledge exactly how much of her life she’d sabotaged by clinging to the idea that they would marry one day. Looking back, she could see the foolishness of it all. Perhaps if she’d been friendlier, more willing to really settle into Houston, then she wouldn’t feel so alone now. At the very least, society would have been more accepting of her if she’d allowed Everett to go through with his plan to formally adopt her before she legally became an adult. It had seemed unnecessary to become a Holden since she’d thought her last name would soon be changing to Johansen.
Lost in her reverie, she was barely aware of Chris hopping from the buggy and tying the reins to a hitching post before he was at her side to help her step down. She made the mistake of meeting his gaze and couldn’t look away. Up close, it was easy to be mesmerized by the way his eyes darkened to a rich midnight as they searched hers. His voice was quiet and deep. “What changed your mind about us, Adelaide? Your letter said that this city had made you outgrow us—outgrow me. From what you’ve said on the ride here, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Surely that small misunderstanding about Amy wasn’t reason enough to call everything off.”
“I think we have different definitions of what qualifies as ‘small,’ but no.” She stepped past him toward the church, glancing back to say, “That wasn’t the only reason.”
It had been, instead, the tipping point. She’d become convinced that Chris was not a man of integrity and that a life with him would only be another version of what she’d grown up watching. She hadn’t wanted
to end up like her mother, who’d been married at sixteen to a man who’d made marriage nearly unbearable. Adelaide wasn’t sixteen now, though. She wasn’t seventeen, either, which was the age she’d been when Chris had proposed. Enough time had passed for her to become someone she didn’t altogether recognize. And Chris? His words often seemed to confirm her fears that he’d grown into exactly the kind of man she’d feared he would. But sometimes the honesty in his voice and the uncertainty in his eyes made her think there was a possibility she was doing him a disservice by assuming the worst.
Now, that was a fearsome thought, and one she wasn’t sure she had the courage to entertain. It would be much safer to continue believing the worst. However, to be absolutely honest with herself, she had to admit that she couldn’t make out his character at all. For now, it was best to leave it that.
CHAPTER SIX
A slow, steady drizzle pattered on the windowpane, almost drowning out the ticking of the large grandfather clock that stood sentry in the corner of the doctor’s waiting room. A spectacled young man sat at a desk to greet visitors and direct patients through the doors to the appropriate specialist.
Chris had never been this nervous—not even when proposing to all of those women back home. He wished Olan hadn’t insisted on seeing the doctor alone. The waiting was becoming unbearable. He’d flipped through every magazine on the low-slung table in front of his chair, including the Ladies’ Home Journal. None of them had made the last hour and a half pass any faster. He transferred his attention to the other family members waiting for loved ones and found a fashionably attired woman stealing a covert look at him. She blushed at being caught, then turned her attention back to whatever she was reading. Chris rubbed his jaw as if that would hide the heat rising there. Ever since Adelaide had said that bit about him being handsome he’d suddenly become aware of the fact that women looked at him a lot. He wasn’t sure how he’d failed to notice that before, but now he couldn’t stop and it was downright disconcerting.
Yesterday had been the most uncomfortable experience he’d had in a while. At first, Rose’s suggestion that they all attend a performance by the Faust Opera Company had seemed like the perfect way to spend an afternoon in a big city. However, halfway through the first act of Romeo and Juliet, Chris had realized her suggestion might not have entirely been prompted by the Johansens’ well-known love of music. After sitting through the tragic tale of star-crossed lovers who defy their family’s expectations and eventually commit suicide, Chris had once again found himself besieged by Adelaide’s “friends.” He’d done his best to use the attention they paid to him as an opportunity to foster what he’d hoped could be the start of a friendship between her and the other women in her society. Unfortunately, most of their questions and comments seemed to revolve around him and his visit to Houston. At some point, Adelaide had slipped away. He’d eventually spotted her with his father, discussing music if Olan’s animated expression was any indication. Eventually, Everett had been kind enough to extricated him from the conversation.
Adelaide hadn’t said much on the carriage ride to her house. Chris hadn’t been sure what the thoughtful look in her eye meant, and certainly hadn’t wanted to broach the subject in front of their parents. All in all, he’d be happy to never speak of it.
Chris jumped to his feet as his father finally stepped into the waiting room. With only a quick glance at Chris, Olan headed straight for the hat rack near the front door. Chris caught up with him in the hallway. “Pa, slow down. What’s going on? Did you see the specialist? What did he say?”
Olan turned to face Chris with blue eyes flashing in anger. “He told me to go get my head examined.”
“What?”
“He did. Look.” Olan pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “He referred me to a psychiatrist.”
“A psychiatrist?” Chris took the paper his father offered and frowned at it. “There must be some mistake.”
“The mistake was me coming to Houston to see a specialist. He was supposed to help. Instead, he’s acting like it’s all in my head. Well, I’m not going to any psychiatrist. I’ve got a wife and five young’uns who need a father. I’m not going let them put in me in an asylum just because I’m having heart flutters.”
“Pa, no one is going to put you in an asylum. You know that. He must have misunderstood something you said. We didn’t come all this way to leave without any real answers. I’ll go talk to him and figure out what this is all about. Meanwhile, why don’t you order some dinner at the restaurant we saw on the first floor? I’ll join you there in a few minutes.”
Olan wavered for a second before nodding abruptly. Then he turned on his heel and headed down the stairs. Chris went back into the waiting room and persuaded the man at the front desk to tell him where to find his father’s doctor. A moment later, Chris knocked on the doctor’s half-open office door. “Dr. Morrison, I’m Olan Johansen’s son Chris. I wanted to speak with you about the referral you gave him.”
Caution warred with concern on the young doctor’s face, but he stood and waved Chris into his office. “Yes, please come in. Have a seat. Is your father all right? He seemed agitated when he left.”
“He’s still agitated, but I’m hoping this is all some sort of misunderstanding.” Chris sat in one of the chairs beside the examining table. “He says you told him to see a psychiatrist about his heart flutters.”
“That true, I did.” Dr. Morrison smiled and held up a hand to ward off Chris’s next question. “Thankfully, your father gave me leave to talk to you about his condition so I’m free to explain what I was trying to tell him. As you may know, I’ve been in correspondence with Dr. Williams, your father’s regular doctor in Peppin, so I am fully aware of your father’s health history. I conducted my own examination, including a few extra tests that Dr. Williams didn’t have access to in Peppin. My resulting opinion corroborates Dr. Williams’s original diagnosis.”
This was the first Chris had heard of Doc diagnosing Olan with anything. His father had always said Doc Williams hadn’t been able to figure out what was wrong with him. Chris frowned. “What diagnosis is that?”
“Mr. Johansen has a healthy heart—especially for a man his age.”
“Then why does he have heart pains and flutters and shortness of breath when stressful things happen?”
Dr. Morrison leaned forward, excited. “Ah, you see? There it is. You’ve discovered the cause on your own. It’s anxiety. Now, everyone at one time or another experiences a sense of panic or feels the strain of stress on their body. However, your father stays in such a high state of stress on a normal basis that anything out of the ordinary compounds the problem and displays itself as a physical symptom. His heart rate goes up suddenly. The change of pace creates the feeling of a flutter. He starts breathing more rapidly, not giving his lungs a chance to expand fully. Less air gets in, leading to less oxygen in his blood so he starts to feel dizzy and light-headed. I went down the list of symptoms with your father. He’s experienced every one of them. Yet, for some reason, he refuses to believe that the problem is anxiety and is convinced it’s his heart.”
“Is that why you referred him to a psychiatrist?”
“My intention was to send him to someone who can help him deal with managing stress. That person doesn’t have to be a psychiatrist, but it needs to be someone whom he will talk to, someone he’ll allow to help him get to the root of his problem. If he can lower his general state of stress, he won’t experience as many physical symptoms when he faces new or unexpected stressors.”
“So he isn’t dying?”
“No, he isn’t. However, staying in a constant state of anxiety can eventually have a negative impact on his health.”
“I understand.” Chris shook his head, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Thank you for explaining all of this. This has certainly been an eye-opening discussion for me.”
“You’re more than welcome. I’m going to send my findings to Dr. Williams. I’m sure he w
ill continue helping your father to the best of his ability. I hope you and your father find a way to work through this.”
“So do I.” Chris shook the man’s hand, then took his time making his way downstairs. He couldn’t quite seem to grasp everything he’d just heard. His father wasn’t dying. That was a huge relief. However, it seemed that Doc Williams had been telling Olan that from the beginning. Why hadn’t Olan believed him? Why hadn’t he told the family the doctor’s true opinion even if he thought it to be wrong? They’d all been so worried, fearing the worst. It didn’t make a lick of sense.
Chris’s thoughts must have shown on his face as he joined his father because Olan immediately became defensive. “You can’t believe what that doctor said. I know the problem must have to do with my heart. There’s no way my health is acting up just because I’m facing a little trouble.”
“What kind of trouble are you facing, Pa? I mean, besides what you’re getting right now from me because you let us all think you were dying.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, young man.” Olan placed a hand on his heart. The angrier Olan got the more Texan his vocabulary became, even as his Norwegian accent thickened. “Ridiculous flutters. I’m no swoony woman. I can handle my life without any interference from young whippersnappers like you and that no-good doctor.”
“Don’t get excited. Just calm down and—”
“Stop telling me that. Apparently, I’m not going to die from it, so I’ll get excited if I want to get excite—” Olan ran out of breath and grabbed the table to steady himself.
“Pa.” It would never stop being scary seeing his father like this, regardless of what explanation the doctors gave him. “Please, just take a deep breath.”
“I’m going home to Peppin. Stay here if you want. Court that girl. Get her out your system. Then come home.”
As if Chris would let his father travel all that way alone. “I’ll go with you. You were right about Adelaide and me. She and I aren’t going to last. I see that now. We’re going to go back to Peppin and figure out what to do from there. Let’s have lunch first, all right? It’s better than eating on the train.”