Finally, the mother stepped back and pushed the door open to reveal a child on her hip and a protruding midsection. The little red-haired lad stopped crying when he saw her, his splotchy face almost as red as his curls.
"'Preciate it." The woman motioned across the room. "You can set it on the table. I gotta get back to Malcom and the girls." She swept away, disappearing through the inner doorway that appeared to split the small home in two. The door closed behind her, muffling the whimpers and whines of the children.
Claire set to work, falling into the familiar routine she used whenever she visited sick families around Charlotte. Heat emanated from the cook stove, so she wouldn't have to go near the fire inside. Thank you, Lord. She’d been forced to feed the fire at Gram’s these past few weeks, but she’d take any chance she could to avoid those painful memories.
She scrubbed out the big pot on the back of the stove top. It looked as if it hadn't seen a good cleaning for months, but the crusty layers of food were gone by the time she rinsed it off. She'd used most of the water from the bucket in the dry sink, so fetching clean water moved up on her list of things to do before she left this place. The fire was going nicely now, and as she dumped the stew from the jars into the clean pot, a tap sounded on the door. Mrs. O'Leary and the children hadn't come out of the back room. Should she answer it?
“O’Learys.” That deep voice was unmistakable. “It's Doc Bryan."
A torrent of emotions flooded Claire as she stepped to the door. Her pulse quickened even while relief eased the tension in her muscles. Those poor children did need a doctor. And from what she’d seen with his care of Gram at the clinic, and again with Mr. Jackson at the livery, this man seemed to know what he was doing.
Claire lifted the latch and peeked out before swinging the door wide.
He stood on the stoop and blinked at her, then his face tipped into a tense smile. "Miss Sullivan. Didn't expect to see you here. Heard a rumor my friends weren't feelin' so good." He peered around her. "Mind if I come in and check on 'em?"
"Of course." She stepped aside and returned to the stove. The stew needed her attention before it scorched. Or at least she could act like it did. "Mrs. O'Leary's in the back room with the children. I brought some stew."
He stopped in the center of the room, and she could feel his gaze searing her back as she stirred the beef and vegetable mixture. Was he waiting for her to let Mrs. O'Leary know he'd come?
"Doc Bryan!" The child's voice pierced the air, and Claire jerked her head up in time to see a blur of red curls fly through the room.
The doctor swung the lad up in his arms, this one older than the child Mrs. O'Leary had held. "My buddy. How goes it, lad?" Bryan's rich voice slipped into an Irish brogue.
The boy's freckled nose scrunched. "I feel lousy, but Mama says the girls are worse off than me and Sid, an' I shouldn't complain."
Bryan chuckled. "Always do what Mama says." He lowered the lad to the floor with one arm, even though the boy had to be at least five or six. "Let's go see what we can do to help the girls."
Claire's heart ached to follow them as the pair disappeared into the back room. Who was that man with the easy smiles and affection for the child?
They left the door open, and Claire strained to decipher the murmurs drifting from the room. The soft voice of the woman, higher pitches of children, and the deep baritone of the doctor. She listened so hard, she would have sliced her finger open while cutting bread if the knife were any sharper. Claire narrowed her eyes at the dull blade. Maybe she could find a whetstone before she left.
The stew in the pot bubbled, and Claire shifted it to the back surface. She glanced at the open door. Would they want to eat now?
Stepping softly on the balls of her feet, she crept toward the door. "Mrs. O'Leary?" She hated to disturb them, especially while the doctor was here.
Doc Bryan's voice murmured something low, then the woman called. "Come in."
Claire's shoulders eased. As she leaned through the doorway, it took her a moment to adjust to the brighter light. A window of greased parchment on the long side of the room allowed in sun, which was more than the front living area could boast. Three beds lined the chamber. A rope tied across the ceiling, and a sheet hung from it. Right now, it was bunched at one end, separating the far bed from the first two.
Two figures lay in each of the near beds, and Doc Bryan bent over one, listening through a Camann's stethoscope to a girl with long, auburn hair. Another girl lay beside her in the bed, her face a younger version of the first. The sisters bore a striking resemblance to their mother, albeit with paler faces and without the worry lines.
Bryan rose and folded the medical apparatus. "Well, Cathleen, I think you're ready for some warm broth." He glanced up at Claire. "Maybe some of that good stew Miss Sullivan brought." His gaze found the other girl in the bed. "You can try it when you're ready, Miss Audrey."
Mrs. O'Leary stood beside the child and stroked the mussed hair from her forehead. "Thank you, Doctor. We'd be in a fix without you. Thomas said the breathing mask you gave him already cleared up his cough."
Bryan's attention jerked to her face. "Did he?" The hint of a smile touched his lips, but his eyes reflected the full grin he must be holding back. "I'm glad."
What kind of breathing mask? Claire scanned her mind. Papa hadn't ever prescribed such a device that she could remember.
"I'll spoon soup for the wee ones." Mrs. O'Leary stepped toward her, waking Claire from her thoughts.
She strode toward the kitchen area ahead of the woman. "I sliced bread for them, too. And brought jam from the café." When she turned to face the woman as she spoke, the bulge at her waistline caught Claire's attention. Mrs. O'Leary must be at least eight months pregnant.
Claire examined the woman's face closer. This was the woman who had passed by Gram's house that first night, when Doc Bryan doctored Gram's hand. A sudden kinship washed through her.
"Is there anything else I can do to help? I need to get back to Aunt Pearl's, but could spare another minute."
Moisture sparkled in the young mother's eyes as she scanned the food and other contents of the crate on the counter. "Not a thing."
Something compelled Claire forward to place a hand on the woman's shoulder. "You have a heavy load. I'll come back and check on you tomorrow morning."
Mrs. O'Leary dropped her gaze to her, her fingers fumbling with the edge of her apron. "You don't havta do that."
Bryan's voice from the other room drowned out Claire's opportunity to reply. "If ye lads allow yer Mum an hour's rest every day, I'll bring some next time I come. Do we have a deal?"
Both women turned to watch the doctor as he escaped the bedroom with a grin. Calls and choruses trailed him through the open door. "I'll need a full report, ma'am." Bryan turned the full force of the grin on Mrs. O'Leary. "So we can decide if they earn their toffee."
Something in Claire's chest yearned for that smile to turn toward her. A hint of boyishness, mixed with the strength of this man. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.
"I'll do that," Mrs. O'Leary murmured.
Bryan's nod seemed to close the subject. And then he did turn his full focus on Claire. The butterflies multiplied.
"Miss Sullivan, I'm headed to Aunt Pearl's. Would you like an escort?"
"I, um…" She jerked her chin up. Maybe that would open the airway so her brain could start working. "Yes, thank you."
Spinning back to Mrs. O'Leary, she rested a hand on the nearest chair back. "I'll stop by tomorrow morning. Send for me at the café if there's anything else you need."
The other woman nodded. "I know where your grandmum lives, but we'll be fine. Much obliged to you both for the food and doctorin'."
Claire gathered the crate of empty jars and positioned it on her left hip. With a wave, she preceded the doctor from the little home. Outside, she breathed a deep gulp of fresh air as he fell into step beside her.
"The air gets kinda stale in a sick house, huh?"
His words were a bit of a surprise. He didn’t seem the type for small-talk.
She shot him a closed-mouth grimace. "Didn't realize it until I came out here."
Silence again. Should she break it? Do the polite thing Mama would expect and discuss the weather? She'd really like to ask about the breathing mask.
"It was nice of you to bring food for them." Bryan's voice held a casual tone. Not the brusque efficiency she'd grown used to.
"I heard they were sick, and there was leftover food, so…" She struggled to find a way to shed the credit. "It was nice of Aunt Pearl to send it." She wanted to turn and look at him, but that would be too much like staring.
"With the four little ones, Colleen doesn't get to rest or eat like she should. Especially not at this stage." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the motion of his head shake. "Seems like those kids are always coming down with something. At least this time it was just the flu. Last time it was cholera."
She’d seen the wrenching effects of that terrible disease once while helping her father. The memory turned Claire's stomach. "Poor things."
Bryan released a long sigh. "Yeah. Thomas spends most of his time at the Travona, and I know the girls try to help as much as they can. It's hard."
This was her chance. "What was the breathing mask Mrs. O'Leary mentioned?" She stole a glance at him. "If you don't mind me asking. Or if you'd rather not answer…"
Was that red creeping up to his ears? Or heat from the sun? "I don't mind. Lung conditions are a big problem for the miners, so my brother asked some friends back east to make a mask to filter contaminants from the air as the miners breathe. I just received the first three this week, and Thomas is trying one." A light spread across his face as he spoke. "Hearing that it helps is the best news I've had this month."
Excitement bubbled up in her chest. "That's great. Will you ask them to send more?"
Bryan's mouth pinched. "Yes, certainly. They're not inexpensive, but I'm hoping maybe the mine owners will help offset the cost."
"Do you think they will?"
He glanced at her with a wan smile. "I think it's a vain hope. But I have to try."
They'd reached the café, and Bryan paused at the base of the front stairs. Claire didn't want him to leave. Not yet. Not when they'd finally had their first civil conversation.
"Well…thanks for escorting me. I mean…letting me escort you back." He shifted his doctor's bag from one hand to the other. Was he nervous? Or maybe he didn't want to end the conversation yet, either. The butterflies moved up to her chest.
"Thank you." And then she forced herself to turn away and trudge up the stairs. The warmth of his gaze followed her all the way.
Chapter Ten
"Thank you, sirs." Claire slipped the coins in her apron pocket as the last group of miners rose and headed toward the door. Aunt Pearl had left the café early tonight because of a headache. But the patrons were friendly, so the extra work hadn't been a burden. Except now, her feet ached all the way up to her backbone.
She stacked plates as the men shuffled toward the door. The door closed behind them, leaving her to her work. In the stillness, a throat cleared. Claire jerked her head up.
Doc Bryan stood by one of the front tables. He must have slipped in when the others left. He clutched his leather bag and looked as weary and soot-covered as any miner. "I, um… I know it's late. Wasn't sure if you had an extra plate of food left. I can take it with me."
Claire's stomach flipped as she motioned toward the only clean table in the room. "Have a seat. I’m sure I can find you something."
When she ducked back into the kitchen, Lilly was elbow deep in wash water, and Dahlia sat in the corner knocking two wooden blocks together. "Lilly, is there another plate of food left? The doctor's here and looks like he could use it."
The woman nodded toward a cloth draped over the work table. "Under that."
"Thanks."
Claire studied the man as she carried the plate to him. With arms crossed and chin tucked against his chest, he looked asleep. But no. His brown gaze was staring at the table edge. Though she doubted he was interested in the wood.
As she neared, he seemed to come awake. Dropping his hands to his lap, he sent her a smile, but it died at the worry lines around his eyes. What had happened since he'd escorted her back to the café this afternoon?
She placed the plate in front of him. "I think it's still warm. If not, let me know, and I'll reheat it."
Without glancing at the food, he picked up his fork. "Looks wonderful."
She stood there. Watching. She should have been cleaning the rest of the tables and helping Lilly with the dishes. But for some reason, her feet wouldn't move. "Is something wrong?"
He took a bite of green beans and chewed. His eyes focused ahead, each bite methodical, as if it were an effort. "A fire. In the cabbage patch district."
Claire sucked in a breath, wrapped her arms around her waist, and gripped her elbows. "Is everyone all right?"
"One died. Old miner who's been struggling with the lung disease for a while." His expression was stoic, his words emotionless. "Eight homes burned. If you can call 'em that. Shacks, really. Worse than O'Leary's." His face turned to meet hers, and the bleakness in his gaze nearly knocked her to the floor.
"Bryan." She sank into a chair as the word took the last of her air. "What will they do without homes?"
He let a long breath seep out as his elbows rested on the table and his gaze dropped again. "Move in with others for now. Eventually, rebuild the same filthy hovels they lost. It never changes. No matter what I do. How hard I push. It never…changes."
The desolation in his voice nearly reached into her chest and smothered her lungs. She slipped out a hand, resting it flat on the table, just inches from his. Everything in her wanted to touch him. Squeeze the passion back into his veins. "Bryan. The work you're doing helps. You have to see that." Why was she saying this? Hadn't she thought him a sham just weeks ago? But seeing him with the O'Leary family. Listening to work he'd been doing to help the miners. He cared. He may not always let it show, but he cared deeply for his patients.
His gaze reached up and found hers. She struggled to cope with the weight of the burden reflected in his eyes. Wanted to take some of it off him. It was too much for one man.
"Mi' Claire?"
Claire's attention jerked to the source of the little voice. Dahlia. With her dark hair floating in waves around her shoulders, she was adorable enough to make Claire's chest ache more than it already did. "Hi, honey. What are you doing out here?"
But the almost-two-year-old turned toward Bryan and held up her hands in the universal hold me sign.
"Honey—" Claire reached for Dahlia so the doctor wouldn't feel uncomfortable, but he'd already scooped her up and perched her on his lap. He scooted his chair back a few more inches from the table's edge.
"Hi, little bit. Bet you'd like a bite of my blackberry pie." He reached for the spoon Claire’d brought for him to use with his corn and sliced off a child-sized bite of the rich burgundy dessert.
Dahlia opened her sparrow mouth, and her eyes grew wide as she closed on the treat.
"Good, huh?"
She bobbed her head dramatically, bringing a smile onto his face. The first real one she'd seen tonight. It lit his eyes from within, taking away some of the roguishness from his expression.
"Have you already tucked Rose into bed?" He offered the question while he loaded another spoonful of pie.
She nodded again. "Sleeping."
He glanced up at Claire, a twinkle flashing. "Rose is a special friend. Came all the way from Raleigh, North Carolina." Turning back to the girl, he slipped the bite into her open mouth. "Miss Claire came from North Carolina, too. Did you know that? Maybe she and Rose met before they both came here?"
The little girl turned to her, eyes still wide. A new appreciation reflected in their depths. "Mi' Claire stay here, too?"
Claire swallowed, willing her throat not t
o close. "I don't know, honey. I might not be needed much longer." She brushed a wisp of feather-soft hair from the girl's cheek.
She didn't miss the raised brows Bryan shot her way. But she couldn't quite look at him.
"You…don't think you're needed here?" He asked the question directly. The words she'd tried to ignore, now voiced out loud.
She steeled her jaw to keep the tears from reaching her eyes. "Gram's getting married. Did you hear?" Could he tell the cheerfulness took all her effort?
"I…hadn't heard." He was studying her. But once again, she ignored it.
"I understand Mose proposed last night. Gram's going to be riding along on his freight trips after they're married."
He didn't answer. Didn't stop looking at her, until Dahlia grabbed his hand and pulled. "Mo, pease."
He sliced another bite and slid it into the child's mouth, then leveled his gaze on Claire again. "He'll take care of her. Ol' Mose is a good man."
"I know." And she did. Something about Ol' Mose seemed so genuine. No matter how much she wanted to dislike him, she couldn't. How could she object to something that would fill Gram's final years with happiness? What a selfish child she could be.
"It's okay to worry. It's even okay to be sad about the change." Bryan’s words soaked through her.
Dahlia had stopped begging for bites and snuggled deeper into the crook of Bryan's arm. He wrapped his free hand around to cup her shoulder, cradling her in his strength.
The two of them were a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling through her mind.
"I hope…” Bryan stopped, his brows knitting. He didn't meet her gaze.
She almost prompted him but clamped her mouth shut against the words. He'd speak when he was ready.
At last, his voice came softer. "I'm sure your grandmother wouldn't want you to leave right away, even if the wedding's soon." His voice held the tiniest bit of a quiver as he raised his eyes to meet hers. "I imagine Aunt Pearl would like you to stay around, too."
Mountain Dreams Series: Books 1 - 3: Mountain Dreams Box Set 1 Page 51