A Bride in Store

by Melissa Jagears

  School? He didn’t dare dream of that any longer. “I’ll never get to school, sir.”

  “Humpf. Well, I know you don’t want to work with me again, and Benning doesn’t want to take on anyone for a while—I’ve asked—so . . .” He rubbed one of his eyes with a fist. “I know a few army surgeons from the war. If you want to sign on at a fort, I’ll write to a few post surgeons and see if one could take you on as an assistant contract surgeon.”

  “Really?” Could he make that happen?

  He shrugged. “Why not? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to bed. I got in late. Some woman’s birthing just went on and on for hours.” He rolled his eyes and yawned again. “Will can take care of his own dead patients.”

  Dr. Forsythe trudged out the door without a word to the grieving parents. Fannie’s crying turned into unabashed wailing. Jedidiah sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

  Leaving them to grieve without an audience would probably be best. He beckoned for Eliza to follow him outside.

  At the store’s porch railing, he slumped against a post. The orange hues of a new day imbued the horizon, erasing the evidence of Axel’s last night.

  “Are you all right?” Eliza moved closer and placed a heavy hand on his arm.

  He swallowed but could only shake his head. Another loss, but a compliment from Forsythe, regardless.

  “Are you going to go?”

  “Go?”

  “Since Axel’s gone, you could sell the store and probably pocket a profit after giving the Langstons their share.”

  “You think so?” She wanted him to go? But he’d thought . . . He rubbed at the ache in his temples.

  She stared at the darker horizon. “An apprenticeship at a fort would allow you to keep the profit from the sale for the thin times.”

  Back to business. How he wished he didn’t have to think about the store anymore—how he wished she didn’t care. “Someone still has to buy it.” But why stay any longer? Did he trust God to provide or not?

  “I don’t have enough.”

  “I didn’t mean to ask you to buy it.” He’d rather ask her to join him, wherever he went, but a woman thinking of buying him out was not a woman in love. And only a woman desperately in love would follow him west with no guarantee he could provide for her adequately.

  She hugged a porch column, still staring off into the distance. “That’s what I was doing when I fell asleep—calculating my ability to buy you out. But I couldn’t figure a way to do it anytime soon without huge risk.”

  He rubbed a hand across his brows. What was sadder? Another death on his hands or the woman he loved trying to find a way to help him leave faster? She didn’t need to know he probably couldn’t have sold it to her before today anyway. “Thanks, but I could just give you the store.”

  She gave him that look—the scrunched eyes and the twisted lip—that indicated he’d said something she couldn’t fathom. “Giving me your store doesn’t help you buy supplies.”

  “I can take stuff from the store.”

  “You need money too. You’ll find a buyer, I’m sure.” Eliza stepped off the sidewalk and into the street, her arms tight around her middle. “Walk me back?”

  Before he made it off the porch, she’d walked away. Striding to catch up, he ignored the pull to touch her. He might beg her to ask him to stay if he did.

  She glanced toward him. The tears in her eyes caught him up short.

  “Are you all right?”

  “No.” She wiped at her eyes furiously. “I just realized someone’s son and friend died, and all I’m thinking about is how that affects me.” Her voice broke on the last word. “When did I become so selfish?”

  But she wasn’t selfish. “You left the safety of your store armed with only an iron to help an unknown victim.”

  She glanced at her empty hand. He’d return the implement to her tomorrow.

  “You gave Mrs. Langston a deal selling clothing. You helped me with the Men’s Emporium the day you arrived without complaining and without any pay.”

  “No, Will. I did none of those things out of goodness.” She walked up the exterior glass hallway of her store and opened her door. “I’ve done fairly well for myself, haven’t I?”

  Why had she changed topics? “Who wouldn’t have expected you to do well? You’re good at business.”

  She huffed a laugh. “I certainly got what I wanted.” She swiped at a tear wandering down her cheek and swung the door wide open. “Alone with everything I ever wanted.”

  “You don’t want to be alone?” Was the store not enough for her anymore?

  She swallowed hard. “I deserve to be.” Leaving him without a good-bye, she marched inside.

  He laid a hand on the knob for a second but let it slide off.

  She didn’t have to be alone, but she couldn’t have both him and the Five and Dime. And if he asked her to give it up . . . No. He couldn’t do that. She’d worked too hard for it, had wanted it for too long. Maybe she would say yes if he proposed. Maybe, just maybe, she’d pick him over her beloved store, but for how long could he make her happy? How many days and weeks and months would it take of her living in an army fort before she grew tired of . . .

  He couldn’t ask her to marry him. He didn’t need to add the memory of her turning him down to take with him out west.

  In time, some other man would win her heart without requiring her to give up the Five and Dime.

  As Will strode toward the Hampdens’ store, Jonesey waved at him from across the street. His jolly, clear face was at least something sunshiny this week. Storm clouds had rolled in within hours of Axel’s death and lingered for days. No rain had fallen since he’d awoken, but the sky appeared grayer than normal for five in the afternoon.

  “Think the rain will stay away for the Millers’ charity dance?” Jonesey bounded up onto the sidewalk.

  “Clouds seem to be breaking up out east.” He didn’t care if the rain stayed away or not. Watching Eliza glide in and out of the arms of eligible men would be nothing short of torture. He wasn’t going to the dance.

  “I’m sorry about Axel.” Jonesey looked to the Hampdens’ second-story windows. “And the baby.”

  What could he say? Sympathy for him wasn’t necessary.

  “I hear you’re leaving soon?”

  Will nodded.

  “Then I’m glad I caught you before you left.” Jonesey shoved his hands into his back pockets. “I wanted to tell you that you were right.”

  He snorted. “Now, that would make my mother’s day, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The medicine and God stuff. I’ll be going to church on Sunday.”

  “Good.” He slapped Jonesey on the back. “Hope you keep going.”

  “I’ll find someone to drag me in if I don’t.” He scuffed his boot on the wooden planks. “I didn’t want to admit my failures to you, let alone God. I blamed Lucinda for everything without repenting of my own sins. Stupid, eh?”

  Will only smiled. Jonesey didn’t need to hear his answer.

  “Just wish I hadn’t taken so long to admit medicine wouldn’t fix my soul.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Will jiggled his shoulder. “You figured things out.”

  “Everyone else in my life has turned their back on me, except you.” Jonesey’s shoulders slacked. “You worked a miracle, so I thought I’d ask you to pray for another.”

  “I’m obviously not responsible for miracles, but I can pray.”

  Jonesey swallowed but looked away. “I want my wife back.”

  “That would be a miracle.” Hadn’t Jonesey said he didn’t know where Lucinda was? She’d been gone for six years. She could be dead and he’d never know.

  “At least I want her to write me, so I can ask her forgiveness, but if she refuses to forgive me, can you pray I don’t retreat from life again?” Jonesey scratched at the hair behind his ear. “If you hadn’t checked on me every now and then o
ver these past six years . . . I might’ve ended everything.”

  He’d been suicidal? How had he missed that? He should have paid more attention. “I’m relieved you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t because I knew you’d care.” Jonesey cleared his throat. “The other doctors abandoned me once they realized the problems were all in my head.” He glanced at the store’s upstairs apartment again. “I bet you’re the only one checking on Mrs. Hampden.”

  Will shrugged. A doctor ought to follow up on his patients.

  “God knows the Hampdens need you, as much as I needed you.” He smiled. “Just wanted to tell you thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, and I’ll certainly pray for you.”

  “Good luck out west.” Jonesey shook his hand, then whistled as he walked away.

  Will stared at his retreating back. Something he’d done had saved a life? Maybe not in the normal doctor way, but saving someone from suicide had to count for something. He looked at the windows above the Hampdens’ store. Was that why he felt compelled to come here daily despite having nothing medically worth checking on—was Kathleen feeling that low?

  Did God care less about his caring for the body and more about his ministering to the soul? He’d thought caring for souls belonged to preachers, but maybe God could use a lay doctor like He used a lay minister.

  Will forged into the busy mercantile and waved at Carl, who was counting spools of thread. The man nodded, but his face was so downcast he’d probably not crack a smile again for a long time.

  Without bothering to ask for permission, Will went into the back room, climbed the stairs, and knocked.

  “Come in.” Kathleen’s monotone voice made him frown.

  Only the joy of the Lord would improve Kathleen’s disposition . . . in time. Since he was leaving Kansas this week after he got everything settled, he ought to ask Eliza to continue the visits until Kathleen regained her smile. Could he drag himself into the Five and Dime before he left? Could his heart take seeing her one last time?

  “Hello, Mrs. Hampden.” He didn’t bother asking how she felt. The grim lines around her mouth and eyes as she watched her children playing on the floor told him the whole story.

  “Have a seat.” She pointed to the chair across from her in the little front room. “I was hoping not to see you today.”

  “Why not?” Was dropping by so often making things worse?

  “A young man like you should be preparing for the dance instead of sitting with me. Tell me you’ve bought a ticket to dance with Eliza.”

  “I’m not going.” He gritted his teeth and crossed his arms. He wasn’t there to talk about the dance. “I’m here to see how you’re doing, not talk about me.”

  “Well, I’m talking about you. That girl likes you, and you ought to take a turn with her on the dance floor.”

  He rolled his eyes. She was as meddlesome as his mother. “I’m leaving Kansas, Mrs. Hampden.” Why prolong the agony?

  “I know. Eliza told me. Are you sure now’s the best time to go?”

  He rubbed at his eyes. Questions like these had stolen enough of his sleep. Did he have to debate this aloud all over again? “God’s pushing me to be a doctor on His terms, not mine. I can’t ignore His direction, especially if Eliza . . . doesn’t love me enough to go with.” If she loved him at all.

  “It’s one dance, Will, and it’s not like you to ignore someone’s feelings.” A slight smile deepened the wrinkles about her mouth. “Don’t you want a good memory to part on? Give her a dance to remember?”

  If he held Eliza in his arms for one second, he might not go where God wanted him to. “I don’t want a turn with her.”

  He wanted every turn.

  “I heard Dr. Benning bought two tickets. Lynville Tate three.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Eliza told me.” Kathleen leaned forward, eyebrows cocked in question. “And when I asked her how many you bought, she couldn’t look me in the eyes. She couldn’t understand why you didn’t buy at least one.”

  He groaned and shoved his hands through his hair. Didn’t she understand? He couldn’t dance with Eliza just once.

  But how could he leave her thinking he didn’t want to dance with her at all?

  Chapter 25

  Eliza sat under the church eaves picking at her smoked pork as the crowd laughed and mingled around her. Silly to hide, but the prospect of having to dance with anyone but Will made her slink into the shadows farther. If she hadn’t obligated herself, she’d have stayed home.

  With Irena gone, Kathleen refusing to leave her room, and Will avoiding her, how could she get through the evening?

  She pressed her eyelids together to keep from crying. Why hadn’t he come by to see her this past week? She’d overheard the livery owner discussing his imminent departure, so why not say good-bye here? Dance with her once?

  No. She should be thankful he wouldn’t put her through such torture.

  She straightened and set her lips in a firm line. Salt Flatts was where she must find contentment, where she wanted to be, where she’d done quite well for herself.

  Except for being utterly alone.

  Men and women congregated around the dance floor, and the band busily tuned their instruments. She couldn’t pick at her meal much longer before having to step out there, plaster a smile on her face, and pretend everything was grand.

  Could she hand the Millers twice the amount men had paid for her tickets and leave?

  But that wouldn’t help her make friends. She pulled the lengthy dance list out from under her plate and stared at the long column of names. How would she last all night? Though with this many men taking a turn with her, she should be able to find one who’d befriend her . . . believe in her as Will did.

  Who could doubt her business acumen now that she had property and her profits were growing?

  The names ran together because none were William Stanton, the man who’d believed in her before she had anything.

  She crumpled the list and dipped her head. Did her mother stand in front of an audience with a false smile pinned on her lips? Did she recite her lines with the loss of loved ones lodged so tight in her chest it hurt to breathe?

  Did the Five and Dime matter with Will no longer a block away?

  “Miss Cantrell?”

  She opened her eyes. The unfamiliar young man looking down on her smiled as if he’d struck gold. Blond, muscular, and better looking than either of her fiancés had been.

  But he wasn’t Will.

  “The music’s started, and I do believe I have the first dance.” He stood waiting, his smile more charming than most.

  And she accepted his hand. Because that’s what she had to do.

  Lynville Tate swung Eliza around in a fast gallop, preventing Will from cutting in. The music soon died, and Micah moved forward to capture her hand.

  Will tugged on his vest and waited for them to waltz past.

  Her printed calico skirt twirled round and round, closer and closer. She offered her partner a halfhearted smile despite the overly handsome grin Micah sported.

  Will stepped forward, bumping them to a halt. “Mind if I cut?”

  Eliza’s head snapped in his direction, her cheeks beautifully pink, her full lips slightly parted.

  “Yes, I do.” Micah tried to waltz past him, but Will stepped right into the middle of his path.

  Micah looked him up and down as if he stank. “You need to talk to Lynville if you want to buy in. Otherwise there’re other girls who aren’t dancing to raise money.”

  Will sidestepped a dancing couple about to push him off the floor. “How about I don’t require payment for helping you get rid of that terrible case of—”

  “All right already.” Micah scrunched his nose as if he’d caught a whiff of something infinitely worse.

  Will wouldn’t have gone into too much detail—a doctor kept confidences—but it was rather difficult not to smirk at the young man’s panicked expression.


  Micah dragged Eliza out of the swirling crowd that had bunched up behind them. “But I only bought one dance with her, and I thought you didn’t charge for visits.”

  “I think Dr. Forsythe normally charges five dollars for a case like yours, but I’ll take a dollar.”

  “Then, sure.” He pushed Eliza forward.

  Will took her against him and pulled her back into formation. Her hands warmed his, her perfumed hair tempting him to pull her in closer. But she didn’t belong tucked into his arms, no matter how perfectly she’d fit.

  “You promised not to marry one of the butcher’s sons.” Scraping out the words left his throat raw.

  “I hardly call a paid dance a step toward engagement.” Eliza tripped, so he gripped her tighter, her skirts wrapping around his legs. Too close for dancing properly, but he couldn’t loosen his hold.

  She nearly stumbled again, her feet tripping over his. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  He fought against releasing her when they had to exchange partners for a turn about the floor, but they were soon separated.

  Oh, why had he come? Seeing her in the arms of a stranger was worse than he’d imagined. He didn’t know who he held in his arms at the moment, but thankfully, the seconds until he reclaimed Eliza weren’t interminable. When she came back around, his hands latched onto her waist and pulled her too close.

  They bumped into the couple in front of them, so he forced himself to slow down. Get ahold of yourself, Stanton. Don’t drag her away. . . .

  As soon as they reached the stage, he’d have to release her again. He’d done so once, had done so before coming to the dance. He could do it again.

  But the feel of her in his arms, under his palms, beneath his skin. He shook his head.

  He couldn’t do it again.

  Eliza tried to pull away to exchange partners, but his hand—and his heart—wouldn’t comply. The couple behind them faltered.

  “You’re supposed to let me go.” She looked over her shoulder at the elderly man waiting with an open hand in the middle of the pattern.

  “It’s harder than I thought.”