“You were wise to. It’s mercurous chloride, a form of inorganic mercury. It’s still in use by many physicians, fraud or no, but I and others believe it to be highly toxic and dangerous.” Adam examined the rest of the bottles. Some patent medicines—mostly whiskey but otherwise fairly harmless, if ineffective. A handful of homeopathic remedies. And in the back, a small bottle each of quinine and digitalis.
“Well, those could actually be useful.” He organized the bottles by habit. “But I’d need to order in most of my own supplies. You could do that through the store?”
“Certainly. You’re interested, then?”
Adam glanced around the space. “I’d like to see the rooms upstairs, but yes, I’m interested, if you’ll have me.” He met Mr. Jorgensen’s gaze. “I understand it may take a while to gain the town’s trust after your last experience.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, tears glistened in the corners of the older man’s eyes. “Any man Mr. Caldwell thinks well of has my confidence. You’d be an answer to many folks’ prayers.”
Is this the answer to mine, Lord? Adam climbed the dusty steps after Mr. Jorgensen, Caldwell remaining below in deference to his leg. Two rooms, small but serviceable. A bedroom with a window toward the back and a sitting room with a wood stove and space for a cot for Jesse. Not much, but it would do till he could buy or build a house.
Back down in the store, he and Mr. Jorgensen discussed the rent, and Adam promised to bring the deposit by that evening. With a lightened heart, he placed his first order for medical supplies, then looked around for something to bring back to the wagons, something that would make the children smile. And Forsythia.
“Do you have any sweets for sale, Mr. Jorgensen? It’s been a while since we’ve had a treat on this journey.”
“My wife is finishing up a batch of her cherry fritters in the kitchen. Our cherry tree is bearing a heap this year, but as soon as I set out her fritters in the store, they’re gone before you can say Jack Robinson.” His eyes twinkled. “Good thing you caught them early. Lucretia!” he hollered into a hallway that seemingly connected the store with the Jorgensens’ living space. “Got those fritters ready?”
“I was just bringin’ them out. Needn’t holler my ear off.” A woman as comfortably round as her husband was slim emerged from the doorway, bearing a tray of hot fritters dusted with sugar.
Adam’s mouth watered at the aroma. “Those smell delicious. I’ll take a dozen, if I may.”
“Twenty-five cents.” Mrs. Jorgensen dropped the pastries into a paper bag and handed it over.
“Thank you.” The price seemed a bit steep, but he didn’t care just now. Adam handed over the coins with a smile, hoping to garner one in return. “We’ll look forward to them.”
“Lu.” Her husband laid a hand on her arm. “This is Dr. Brownsville. He’s going to take up practice in the office next door. Isn’t that a piece of news?”
Mrs. Jorgensen stopped arranging fritters and for the first time looked Adam straight in the eyes. Her expression caught him in the chest. Grief and—hatred?
“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t kill anyone fool enough to enter those doors. I told you we shoulda sold that building when we had a chance.” She snatched her tray and hurried back down the hallway.
Mr. Jorgensen watched her go, his shoulders slumped. With a sigh, he turned back to Adam and Mr. Caldwell. “You’ll have to forgive Lucretia, Dr. Brownsville.” He retied his apron, face drawn in regret. “You see, she blames Dr. Edson for the death of our daughter—and she’s likely right.” The older man seemed about to say more, then shook his head. “I’d best go see to her. Excuse me, gentlemen.”
Adam watched the little man hurry after his wife. What on earth had this so-called physician done to this town?
“As you can see, you are needed here,” the attorney said after they showed themselves out. “Though the road may not be smooth.”
“Few roads are.” Adam extended his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Caldwell. For everything.”
“Call me Henry.” Caldwell shook his hand firmly. “I feel you may be a gift from the Lord to this town, Doctor.”
“Then please call me Adam.” He returned the grip.
He bid Caldwell good day and wove his way back through the town on his own, headed out to the campsite. When he reached the open space of the prairie once more, a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding released from his chest. It was strange to be in civilization again, even as rustic as this. So much was happening so fast. And yet, Lord, your hand seems to be in this. At least I hope so. And now, what to do about Forsythia?
He cared for her, that was certain. It seemed so soon after losing Elizabeth—the woman he’d thought the one love of his life. And yet he’d heard of such things happening, especially out on the frontier, where life was precious and love still more so. Love. Could God truly have that for him again? Tears pricked the back of his throat at the thought. He’d thought his heart buried that day back in Independence. But God’s mercies truly were new every morning.
And now that he had a stable place to live and practice, perhaps he might speak to her about all this.
Clark met Adam before he reached his wagon. “How did your business go?”
“Well, I think.” He paused and nodded. “And yours? Did you meet with the banker yet?”
“We’ll be leaving shortly, hoping to finalize the purchase of the homesteader’s land and file for the adjoining claim all at once. First, though, I wondered if I could speak with you.”
The young man’s solemn tone set Adam’s heart to pattering, making him feel like a schoolboy gaining courage to face his sweetheart’s father.
“Certainly.” He swallowed. “Is it about Forsythia?”
“Forsythia?” Understanding dawned on Clark’s face. “Ah. Well, that’s not a bad idea. But—”
“I understand—you are her older brother, and in lieu of a father, responsible.” His words tumbled out too quickly. “Let me assure you, my intentions are entirely honorable—and as soon as I have the chance to—”
“Doctor.” Clark held up a hand, consternation in his face. “I would like to discuss Forsythia sometime soon. But I don’t have the time right now. And when I do, it—it will be as an older sister, not a brother.” His face flushed.
“As a what?” Adam frowned. The words didn’t make sense.
“We didn’t intend to deceive you for this long. But we haven’t been entirely honest with you.” The young man took off his hat, unshading a face the doctor had always thought boyishly fine-featured. But now . . . dear Lord.
“My name isn’t actually Clark. It’s Larkspur. Miss Larkspur Nielsen.”
As the words sank in, heat rose in Adam’s chest. He should have known.
It hadn’t gone well.
Forsythia could tell as soon as Lark stomped back to their wagons, yanking the bandana from around her neck.
“Get the girls and children together. We’re going to be late. I’ve got to get back into those fool women’s clothes.” Lark hauled herself up into the Durhams’ wagon, where they kept the clothing trunks, and jerked the canvas flap closed for privacy.
Forsythia stepped close to talk through the wagon cover. “How did he take it?”
“He’s not happy.” Rustling inside, then muttered frustration.
“Do you need help?”
“I just have to remember how to do up all these buttons. Britches and men’s shirts sure are easier.”
Lord, please help Adam to understand. Forsythia called to Del and Lilac to load the children into their wagon, then hurried off for the doctor’s. It would take Lark a few more minutes to be ready.
“Jesse, where’s your uncle?”
The young man looked up from mending a yoke. “B-behind the wagon.”
Forsythia rounded the corner to find Adam splashing water on his face from a basin he’d set against the side of the wagon.
He straightened, toweling his face, then spotted her. His mouth ti
ghtened under his beard. He glanced away, folding the towel.
“Doctor.” She stepped closer. “I know what you must be thinking.”
“And what’s that?” He laid the towel neatly on the edge of the basin.
“That we haven’t been honest with you. And how could we do that, with all we’ve been through together?”
He met her gaze. “Well?”
“I don’t fully know what to say.” Forsythia released a short breath. “Lark—that’s what we call her—had gone as a man before in order to rescue Anders from prison camp. And we thought it safer for her to do so again, to become Clark, than to have four women traveling alone. Surely you can see that, conditions as they are.” The man who’d attacked Del flashed through her mind, along with the memory of her own knife striking home. She shivered, rubbing her arms. Would she never be free of that image?
“I can.” The doctor nodded, but his tone remained steely. “What I cannot see is why you would continue to deceive a friend.”
“We didn’t intend to.” Forsythia raised her arms at her sides, then dropped them again. “It just—we were all so used to it by that time. And we hadn’t made it safely to our new land yet, so keeping up the ruse seemed the most natural thing. There never seemed to be a good time. . . . I’m sorry, Adam.” Her voice broke on the last word. “I mean, Dr. Brownsville. Forgive me.”
Adam sighed, and a little of the stiffness eased from his shoulders. “Forsythia . . . Miss Nielsen. I care for your family very much. I care for . . . you, more than I can say. I had intended to speak of this to you soon, perhaps even tonight. But I need some time to think. To see if I can trust you again.”
The words cut deeply. But Forsythia nodded, her throat aching. “I understand.”
“Sythia, come on.” Lark waved from across the campsite, almost unrecognizable in a calico dress and shawl, a straw bonnet tied over her shorn hair. “We’re leaving.”
“Excuse me.” Without another glance at the doctor, Forsythia hurried away.
She fought an urge to cry all the way into Salton, but by the time they sat down with the banker, Mr. Young, she’d composed herself. Only a sick tightening remained in her stomach, and not from vestiges of dysentery.
“So you are all four purchasing the half section of land from a Mr. Skinner, one hundred sixty acres of improved land with sod house and well, at one dollar forty cents per acre.” The banker’s voice droned. He glanced around the circle of sisters, all but Lark balancing a small child in their arms. “Is that correct, Misses Nielsen?”
They all nodded.
“And you have the payment for this in full?”
Larkspur reached into her reticule and pulled out a small bag. She set it on the table with a clink.
The payment from her gambling winnings. Forsythia held her breath. We’ve waited a long time for this moment, Lord.
Mr. Young grunted and pulled the purse close. Opening it, he counted the bills and coins. “Very well. All seems to be in order. Sign here, ladies.” He pushed the paper first to Lark, who signed and next passed it to Del, then on to Forsythia and Lilac.
“Very well.” The banker made a note, then tucked the money bag away. “And in addition, you, Miss Larkspur Nielsen, wish to file a claim to homestead the adjoining section of land, also one hundred sixty acres, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.” Lark sat tall.
“And you are aware of the terms required in order to homestead as a single woman, namely, that you must be the head of your household, that you must reside on the land five years without more than a six-month absence, that you must improve the land faithfully, and that you must refrain from marriage until your five-year residency is complete, unless you choose to acquire final title by purchase after living on the land at least six months?”
“I am.”
“Fine.” He pushed another paper toward Lark with a nod. “Sign here.”
Lark signed, then laid down the pen. “Anything else, sir?”
“Guess that’ll do it.” Mr. Young gathered and stacked the papers, then palmed the money bag and stood with a grunt. “Quite a venture you young women are undertaking, homesteading and farming without a man to your names. Keep in mind that if you fail in your first attempt to homestead, the government considers you no longer eligible for another claim.”
“We don’t intend to fail.” Lark stood, her slender frame taller than the banker’s. “Can we go out to our land? Is it ours?”
“It appears to be.” The portly man touched his hat and tipped his head toward the door. “Good day to you, ladies.”
“Thank you.” Lark’s calico skirts swept as regally as a queen’s as they filed out of the office.
Once out in the sunshine of the street, Lark turned to her sisters. A smile skipped from her face to each of theirs.
Forsythia even felt the knot in her stomach loosen. She reached for Lark’s hand and squeezed it. “Let’s thank the Lord. And then go home.”
Their new home.
An hour later, Forsythia turned a full circle within the four walls of the sod house on their property, scanning the darkened space. A bit tight for four women and three children, but they’d make do. At least until they could add on or build a real wooden house.
“I never thought I’d be so excited about a house with roots hanging from the ceiling.” Beside her, Lilac threw her arms wide. “But it’s so nice to have a roof and walls again, even if it’s only sod.”
“I agree. But it certainly is—well, dirty.” Forsythia wrinkled her nose. Even the air was redolent of earth. There might only be so much they could do to keep a sod house clean, but she aimed to try. “Let’s start wiping off the furniture, at least.”
The homesteader had left a rope-strung bed, a table and chairs, and a cabinet, along with a small woodstove. All covered with a layer of dirt that had sifted down from the ceiling.
Rag in hand, Forsythia wiped the table, then the stove. “We’ve got to find out how to harden the floor so we’re not kicking up dirt all the time. I know there are ways. Where is Del?”
“Planting the rosebushes and apple tree starts. She couldn’t wait to get them in the ground,” Lilac said.
Of course. Forsythia smiled and stepped to the open doorway to shake out her rag.
Del crouched near the door, patting soil around a rosebush with the help of Robbie and Sofie. They were a bit scraggly, but the bushes had survived, as had two of the three apple tree seedlings.
“I thought I’d plant the trees over there.” Del nodded. “Close enough to the house to give some shade, but not so close that we’re stepping on fallen apples.”
“I like apples.” Robbie looked up with a grin, his face dirt-smudged.
“I yike app-uhs too.” Sofie nodded and gave the dirt an extra pat.
Forsythia smiled and picked her up. “We all like apples, little one.” She hugged the little girl, who was growing a bit sturdier these days, then blew softly under her dimpled chin. Sofie giggled and squirmed to get down. Forsythia lowered her and crouched to touch one of the rosebush’s withered leaves. “Makes it feel like we’re really coming home, doesn’t it? Planting Ma’s roses.”
“That’s what I thought.” Del dashed a grimy hand against her cheek. “Our first start on Leah’s Garden, you know?”
“Someday we’ll have a sign up with that name.” Forsythia shaded her eyes and gazed across the land—their land. “We’ll have flowers growing everywhere you can see.”
“We’ll sell seeds and starts, all kinds of things.” Larkspur walked up, a spade in her hand. “But to begin with, we need to see what we can still get planted in the garden. The soil’s already been dug up for a garden plot. It just needs a little going over to loosen it again after the rains.”
Lilac stepped out of the house. “It’s late for planting, but we could still put in beans, potatoes, carrots, beets, lettuce, and maybe collard greens. We brought some seeds. Do you think the store will have more?”
“If
not, maybe we can order them.”
“That sounds good.” Forsythia tapped her rag on her palm. “Any idea how to harden the sod floor?”
“I think you wet it down and tamp with a wooden post or something,” Lark said. “We’ll ask around. Plenty of folks around here must have experience.”
Del stood and dusted the dirt from her hands. “There. Help me get the apple trees in the ground?”
Together the sisters dug holes deep in the willing soil and settled the spindly seedlings, covering their root balls with earth.
“Lord, bless these trees and let them bear much fruit for us and to bless others.” Del sat back on her heels.
“Amen. Well done, big sister.” Forsythia hugged her.
“Since the house is close to the boundary line, we can build a barn on the homestead section. That will be a good start to improving it.” Larkspur scanned their land as Forsythia had done. Would they ever grow tired of it?
“And perhaps plant more trees. These apples are a good start, but we could plant more on the homestead side, create a whole little orchard.” Right now only a slender cottonwood seedling waved its leaves over the sod house, and a thin windbreak stood off to the north. Stepping to the side, Forsythia pointed to the gentle rise behind the soddy. “Are those graves up there?”
Lilac nodded. “I saw them when Robbie and I were exploring. No headstones, just simple crosses stuck in the ground made from sticks. But it’s one large grave and two small ones. Mr. Caldwell said Mr. Skinner lost a wife and a baby. I don’t know about the third.”
“So sad.” Forsythia rubbed her arms. “Is that why he left?”
“Sounds like.” Lark lifted her spade. “Let’s finish cleaning the house, at least enough to unload some things from the wagons. Maybe at least some of us can sleep indoors tonight.”
Forsythia hung back a moment, watching the lowering sun cast shadows and coolness across the prairie. She wondered what the doctor was doing back at the campsite and pictured him moving about the fire and making coffee.
Her heart ached. Could they invite him and Jesse to join them for supper, as they had so many times before? Or would he refuse now?
The Seeds of Change Page 20