The Seeds of Change

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Try some warm water.” Lark added some hot water to the cold in the cup and offered it to Sofie.

  The little girl choked, water dribbling out of her mouth. Grimacing, she twisted against Forsythia, fighting for breath.

  “She’s not getting better.” Panic rose in Forsythia’s chest. “What else can we do?” She ran through her list of medicinal herbs in her head, but nothing else came to mind. Plus, if Sofie couldn’t drink, what good would they do?

  “I don’t know.” Lark sat back on her heels. “I don’t remember Ma doing anything else, but I was still young at the time.”

  Another coughing fit shook Sofie. Forsythia set her mouth and stood, hugging the little girl to her shoulder. “I’m taking her to Dr. Brownsville.”

  Lark pushed to her feet. “Wouldn’t it be better if I fetch him here?”

  “I’m afraid there might not be time.” Speaking the words gave shape to her fear, but her gut said she needed to go. Now. “It’ll be quicker just to take her there. Will you harness Starbright for me?”

  “Of course. And I’ll drive.”

  Del held Sofie while Lark and Forsythia yanked on dresses and boots, then they bundled Sofie into a blanket on Forsythia’s lap on the wagon seat.

  “We will pray.” Lilac squeezed her hand, then let go. “Go with God.”

  Lark clucked to Starbright. “Come on, girl. Show us your speed.”

  Holding Sofie upright to help her breathe, Forsythia prayed with every step of the horse and jolt of the wagon. How could two miles seem so long?

  At last the darkened shapes of buildings rose in the moonlight. Sofie’s coughing fits had grown weaker, the space between them longer. Forsythia kept feeling for the little girl’s breathing, her own breath fast with fear. Was she growing worse?

  Please, Lord. Please, Lord.

  25

  A pounding downstairs jolted Adam awake.

  His heart pumping hard, he yanked trousers over his nightshirt and clattered down the stairs. Midnight hammering on a doctor’s door was never good.

  The knocking came again. Adam fumbled to light a lamp in his office, hurried to the door, and flung it open.

  Larkspur Nielsen stood on the doorstep, a shadowy horse and wagon behind her. Was that Forsythia on the wagon seat, a bundle in her arms?

  “Sofie’s got croup,” Lark said. “She’s not responding to anything we tried.”

  “Let’s get her inside.” Adam strode to the wagon and reached up for Sofie. Cradling the child, he carried her into his office, followed by the sisters.

  “Can you light another lamp, please?” He set Sofie on the examining table and loosened the blanket. “Let’s take a look at you, little one.”

  Lark brought another kerosene lamp close.

  “The paroxysms seemed to ease on the drive, but I don’t know if that means she’s better or worse.” Forsythia stayed close at Adam’s side. “She was having such a terrible time getting air before that we couldn’t even get warm water down her.”

  Adam grabbed his stethoscope to listen to the tiny chest. Sofie lay quietly, her breathing hoarse, but it seemed to come without too much effort. She scanned the shadowy, lamplit office with wide eyes.

  “She has some lung congestion, but I think you’re right, her breathing has eased.” Adam removed the listening pieces from his ears. “Cool night air can often calm an attack of croup. Taking her for a ride outside was probably the best thing you could do for her.”

  “Really?” Forsythia pressed a hand to her mouth. “So we didn’t need to disturb you after all. I was so frightened.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. Acute croup is nothing to be careless with, and children do die of it.”

  Sofie coughed but not into a fit.

  “That’s so much looser than it was.” Tears in her voice, Forsythia stroked Sofie’s hair. “Oh, thank you, Lord.”

  “Let’s try some warm water or tea for her now.” Adam turned to Lark. “Would you stir up the fire in the stove? The kettle on top should still be full and perhaps warm.” He’d made tea himself in the evening, staying up late to plan for the town meeting he and Caldwell were putting together. He’d only been in bed an hour or so.

  “Of course.” Lark opened the door of the potbellied stove, poked the still-glowing coals, and added another chunk of wood. She pulled the kettle to the center of the stove.

  “The steam will be good for her, too, though I’m sure you already tried that.” Adam held one of the lamps close to examine Sophie’s face and chest. No bluish tint to her lips or nail beds, and while her nostrils flared slightly with each breath, he didn’t see chest retractions, nor was she consistently wheezing, only sporadically.

  “I’d like you to stay here overnight so I can monitor Sofie. But the worst seems to be over—of this attack, at least.”

  “I should go home and let the others know. You stay, Sythia.” Lark headed for the door, then turned back. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Of course. I haven’t done much.” But he heard the stiffness creep back into his voice.

  Larkspur left without another word. Forsythia stood with her face averted from him, rubbing Sofie’s back.

  Finally yielding to the holy prompting within him, Adam stepped away from the examining table. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried to the door and opened it. “Larkspur—Miss Nielsen?”

  She looked down from the wagon seat. “Yes?”

  He closed the door behind him and stepped up to the wagon. “I’m afraid I haven’t been very kind in my behavior lately.”

  “I understand why you’re upset. I just wish you wouldn’t blame Forsythia for it.”

  “I don’t—not really.” He ran a hand through his hair. How to explain the mix of emotions tumbling through him lately? “I understand why you did what you did also. I just wish you had told me about it sooner.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lark met his gaze.

  He extended a hand up to her. “How about I’ll forgive you, if you’ll forgive me?”

  She shook it, her grip strong. “Agreed.”

  Adam watched the wagon rumble away in the moonlight, the weight in his chest finally lightening. Except he still needed to speak with Forsythia. Lord, give me the words.

  She looked up when he stepped back into the office. She’d drawn a chair near the stove so Sofie could breathe the steam puffing from the kettle. She sat bent over the little girl in her arms, and the lamplight flickered on her hair like sparks in the night.

  Adam swallowed. He cared for her. He might even love her. But . . . he wasn’t ready. Not yet. He’d realized that, in times of prayer these recent days. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than he’d already done. But he needed time.

  “How is she doing?” He crouched down to Sofie’s level and touched the little girl’s forehead. Cool to his touch but not clammy. A good sign.

  “She’s getting sleepy, but I’d like to get some liquid in her. Do you have chamomile? I should have brought my herbs with me.”

  “I don’t know many herbal remedies, but I do have that one.” Adam rose and fetched it from his cabinet. He put a pinch of the herb in a small cup, then added water from the kettle and set it aside to steep. He drew a chair close to Forsythia’s while they waited.

  “Miss Nielsen . . . Forsythia. May I call you that?”

  She nodded, some emotion flitting across her face.

  “I want to tell you that I spoke with your sister. And we have mended the breach, as it were.”

  Forsythia closed her eyes. “I’m so glad.”

  “I want to ask your forgiveness, if I’ve hurt you by my behavior in recent days.” He paused. “No, please erase that if. I know I have hurt you. I’ve seen it in your eyes.”

  “I’ve wanted to speak to you . . . Adam.” She seemed to taste his name, her eyes asking permission, which he gave with a nod. “I just wasn’t sure how to make this right.”

  “That wasn’t your responsibility, not really. I understand what you did, thoug
h I may not agree with it. But I think we must put this behind us, perhaps having all learned something from it.”

  She nodded, and a tear fell on Sofie’s nightgowned arm.

  “And I’ve learned something else.” He hesitated, then reached for her hand and folded it in his.

  Only her faint intake of breath told him what he already suspected. Lord, this is hard.

  “I care for you, Forsythia.” His heart thudded as if he were a schoolboy again. “I care deeply. And I would consider it . . . a privilege and an honor if someday you would give consent for me to court you.” Her fingers tensed, slender and warm within his. “But not yet.”

  She looked up, and the question in her eyes smote him in the chest.

  “I’ve realized I’m not ready. I still . . .” He cleared his throat from a sudden clogging. “I still miss Elizabeth. We’ve been going so hard since I joined the wagon train that I haven’t had time to properly grieve. It hasn’t even been three months since I buried her.”

  “Of course.” She pressed his hand, compassion melting the hurt in her eyes.

  “And I’ll understand if—if you don’t want to wait for me.” These words came hard, but he pressed them forth. “I know there are plenty of eligible men in these parts who might be eager to win your hand. And I can’t say for certain when I’ll be ready.”

  Forsythia shook her head, and another tear slipped down her cheek. “I don’t mind waiting.”

  “Well.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling it warm. “If you’re sure.”

  Forsythia nodded and sniffed, then withdrew her hand with a small smile. “Perhaps we should see if Sofie’s tea is ready.”

  “Perhaps.” Or the nearness and sweetness of this woman might just make him throw all caution and wisdom to the wind. “At least I have some honey here.” He dipped out a spoonful and stirred it into the steaming tea.

  “You know, there are things you don’t know about me,” Forsythia said some moments later, after getting several small sips into Sofie.

  “What do you mean?” Adam sat back down, leaning his elbow on the examining table.

  “I haven’t told you this, but . . . I killed a man on our journey here. Shortly after we left home.” The hand holding Sofie’s cup trembled a bit, and she set down the tea.

  “Killed?” That didn’t sound like Forsythia. “What happened?”

  “He snuck into our camp at night and grabbed Del.” As Sofie’s eyelids drooped, Forsythia snuggled her close. “He had her by the neck and was threatening awful things. I . . . threw my knife. Pa had taught us all well, but I was the best at knife throwing.” Her voice caught, dropping to a whisper. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

  Adam stroked his beard. “You saved your sister’s life.”

  “That’s what Lark says.” Forsythia shrugged slightly. “But I had awful dreams afterward. Lark prayed me through it, and it’s better now. But sometimes . . . I still see my knife sticking from that horrid man’s back.” She shuddered. “Anyway, I just thought you should know.” She glanced at him, then away.

  “Forsythia.” Adam leaned forward. “If you are wondering if this changes my opinion of you or my feelings toward you, it does not. Except to strengthen my admiration for your courage. I have no doubt throwing that knife was the hardest thing you ever did. But think if you had not. Does Del wish you had held back?”

  “I suppose not.” She met his eyes, vulnerability in her blue ones. “But sometimes I can’t help wondering, how does the Lord see it? Am I stained forever in His sight?”

  “No more than the rest of us are. That’s why He’s given us the blood of Jesus, after all.”

  Forsythia blinked hard, then let out a long, trembling sigh. “You’re right. Thank you.” She glanced down at Sofie, and her mouth tipped up in a smile. “Somebody has fallen asleep.”

  The next morning, after Forsythia and Sofie had slept on a comfortable pallet he made for them on the office floor and Adam managed to catch a few hours of sleep upstairs, Lark came back to collect her family in the wagon. Sofie had coughed some in the night, but she was vastly improved, and he felt it safe to send them home.

  “Feel free to send for me again. But remember, warm steam and then cool night air. The combination often does the trick.”

  “We’ll remember. Thank you.” While her gaze was nothing but proper, there was something tender and new in Forsythia’s smile as she bid him good-bye.

  Adam headed back inside as the Nielsens drove away, Jesse accompanying them. Lord, why is my heart tugging toward her harder now that I’ve set the brakes on this thing?

  The town meeting. He’d focus on that. It was set for this evening, after all. Caldwell and Young had agreed to help lead it, and Rev. Pritchard sounded eager to attend as well. Hopefully other families would show up. He wanted to introduce himself to the town, build bridges and connections with the people, as well as suggest they start holding these meetings regularly. After all, the only way to grow a town was to develop community.

  He sat at his desk to go over his notes from last night. Sofie’s forgotten cup caught his attention, sitting there with the dregs of chamomile tea still inside. He turned it, thinking of Forsythia patiently coaxing the little girl to drink. Tending to Sofie beside her last night, he’d felt the most whole he had since Elizabeth died. Actually, that was how he felt every time he worked with Forsythia.

  Pay attention, man. You said you needed time, and you do.

  He grabbed a cup of coffee, then forced himself to read over and edit his notes, then buried himself in a medical journal on frontier doctoring. If he was to win the trust of this town, he’d better be sure he was capable of keeping it.

  A knock on his door roused him from the pages. Opening it, he found Hiram Young standing outside.

  “Welcome, Mr. Young. Can I do something for you?”

  “I hope so.” Hiram removed his hat and stepped inside, twirling it between his fingers.

  Adam closed the door. “Are you ill, Mr. Young?”

  “No—no. But I’ve got a—” The banker grimaced. “A boil that could use tending to.”

  “I see. Where is it?”

  “It’s, ah . . .” Hiram’s florid face reddened further. “In a place that makes sitting down a bit unpleasant, if you get my meaning.”

  “Aha.” Keeping a straight face, Adam drew the curtains and motioned to his examining table. “I assure you, my practice is one of complete discretion. Please, let’s take a look, Mr. Young.”

  Half an hour later, the boil lanced and dressed, he sent a relieved banker on his way.

  Well. Adam washed his hands and instruments. He’d officially seen his third patient in town, if you counted Sofie. And two just this morning. Perhaps things were looking up.

  Late that afternoon, as he was starting to think about getting ready for the meeting, Rev. Pritchard stopped by to have Adam treat an ingrown toenail. When Henry Caldwell followed shortly after, asking him to take a look at a spot that sometimes rubbed on his prosthetic leg, Adam folded his arms.

  “You rascals are in cahoots, aren’t you? Trying to build up my practice before the meeting tonight.”

  The attorney looked up innocently, folding his trouser leg back down over the prosthetic. “They’re all perfectly legitimate complaints, Doctor.”

  “Indeed. Quite urgent, all of them.” Adam shook his head, but he couldn’t help but be warmed. So he did have some friends in this town.

  “Well, we figured, if anyone questioned your character, we could all truthfully say we’d been patients of yours.” Henry pushed to his feet. “Simple as that.”

  “Thank you.” Adam clapped his friend on the shoulder. “But I don’t need you as my defense lawyer tonight. Let me speak to the people myself.”

  That night, he wondered if he’d spoken too quickly when he saw the scattered attendance in the church building and the skeptical looks on the faces of many of the families who were there. The Nielsen sisters slipped into the back, bolste
ring his spirits more than he’d thought probable.

  “Welcome, citizens of Salton.” Mr. Caldwell opened the meeting, using the pulpit as a podium. “As resident attorney, I’ve been asked to officially open our first town meeting. Rev. Pritchard, would you offer a word of prayer?”

  The young preacher bounced up and gave an enthusiastic invocation.

  “Thank you.” Henry adjusted his spectacles and smiled out over the attendees. “As you know, we are gathered for several reasons. But first, we want to welcome an important—and very needed—new member to our community. Dr. Adam Brownsville would like to say a few words to us.”

  Henry stepped aside, and Adam took his place, grateful for the notes in his hand. He hadn’t felt this nervous since his first day of medical school.

  “Good evening, citizens of Salton.” He gave what he hoped was a friendly smile, though the faces blurred before him. “I didn’t plan to settle in your town, but each day I am more convinced this is where the Lord led me. When I first met Mr. Caldwell here, he told me you had need of a doctor.” He glanced at his notes, then back up. “He also told me your prior experience with a physician—or with a man claiming to be a physician—had been distressing. Indeed, that this man was a charlatan through and through, and, as I have since learned, was the cause of not only injury but even death to some you held most dear.”

  He could sense Mr. Jorgensen’s gaze from the front row. His wife was not present.

  “I make no excuses for such a man. He is not worthy to be called a doctor, a title of which the very essence should be to first do no harm. But I stand before you to tell you my desire is to serve this town in a manner completely opposite to that of my predecessor. I am a graduate of Jefferson Medical College in Philadelphia. Following the completion of my studies, I opened my own practice in Illinois and ran it successfully for six years. I am not a perfect doctor, nor can I save every patient. You may have heard that I failed to save the mothers of the children the Nielsen sisters have taken in.”

  Murmurs scuttled around the room.