by Deeanne Gist
Maynard placed a foot-long wooden cylinder against that burly chest and listened, then moved it lower where the sun-bleached hair on Joe’s body trickled down into a V. She pulled her gaze to the doctor’s, but her peripheral vision didn’t miss a thing, and the lower the stethoscope went, the tighter Anna’s own stomach clenched.
Maynard’s curly salt-and-pepper hair tumbled over a broad forehead. His china blue eyes narrowed in concentration. “Heart and lungs sound good. Stomach is very noisy.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, no. He’s just hungry.”
She let out a sigh of relief. “He’ll be all right, then?”
Straightening, Maynard unscrewed his stethoscope and placed it back in his medical bag. “It’s hard to say. My examination will give me some basic information, but I might not be able to detect subtle damages that often occur.”
“You mean like his dizziness?”
He lifted Joe’s left eyelid, then did the same to his right. “No, I was referring more to confusion, loss of memory, an inability to concentrate, difficulty completing tasks he used to do, that kind of thing.”
Anna sucked in her breath, her attention darting back to Joe. He lay still and helpless on his back.
“When will we know if he’s been . . . afflicted?” she asked.
“When he wakes up, I’ll be able to do a more thorough assessment, but from what you’ve told me, he was originally unconscious for quite some time. That never bodes well, and neither do these fainting spells.”
She clasped her hands in front of her. “Will his ability to continue lumberjacking be at risk?”
Maynard turned Joe’s head to the side and poked more aggressively at the lump behind his ear. “Never can tell with these things.”
Her throat closed, hindering her ability to draw a normal breath.
Maynard rummaged through his bag, then removed a wooden box. It contained over fifty corked vials wedged into circular slots. “This will help with the pain,” he said, removing one. He paused in the midst of handing it to her. “Are you all right? What’s the matter?”
The concern in his eyes, the gentleness of his tone undid her. She didn’t deserve it. Was unworthy of it, in fact. He should be condemning her, not extending sympathy.
Joe might not be dead, but if he lost his ability to lumberjack, she instinctively knew it would be a living death for him. Never to log again. Never to swing up a tree with nothing more than an ax and a springboard. Never to give voice to the sharp, arresting cry of “Timber-r-r-r-r.”
“It’s all my fault,” she choked.
Maynard frowned. “What is?”
“The accident,” she said, waving a hand to indicate Joe’s limp body. “His injury. His predicament. Everything.”
The doctor moved her to a chair, then settled down next to her. “Tell me.”
He listened as she explained the events leading up to the accident, then the accident itself—though she was careful not to mention what she’d done to make Joe angry, only that she had.
Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, Maynard handed it to her. “And?”
She blotted her eyes. “So you see? If it hadn’t been for me, none of this would have happened.”
He leaned back in his chair. “You are God, then?”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, I was under the impression God was in control of the universe. But if I am mistaken and it is you, I will have to readjust my theology.”
His blue eyes held no sense of jesting, no censure, no irritation. Merely polite curiosity.
“Of course I’m not God. How could you suggest such a thing?”
“It is not me who is suggesting it. It is you. Were you the one in control of the tree when it fell?”
“He would never have chopped the chestnut down if it weren’t for me.”
“Ah, that’s right.” Doc Maynard stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “You made Joe angry.”
“Yes.”
“And once you made him angry, you told him to go chop down the tree?”
“Well, no. I’d asked him to do that earlier.”
“Then why didn’t he do it earlier?”
She hesitated, not wanting to reveal the sentimental value of the tree. “He didn’t want to.”
“But he did after you made him angry?”
“Yes.”
“And you, somehow, orchestrated that event, along with the nature in which the tree fell?”
She sighed. If he couldn’t see the obvious, she wasn’t going to explain it further. It was her fault. Clear and simple.
“Tell me, Miss Ivey, where were you when God laid the foundations of the earth? Who determined its measurements? Who stretched the line upon it? To what were its foundations fastened?”
He didn’t give her an opportunity to respond but continued to refer to Job 38. He asked her who shut in the sea with doors, who caused it to rain, from whose womb came the ice? Could she bind the cluster of Pleiades or loose the belt of Orion? Could she send out lightning? Did the eagle mount up at her command?
When he finally finished, a heavy silence fell upon the room. A dark-crested blue jay landed on the windowsill, announcing its presence to the occupants of the kitchen with a raucous shack-shack- shack.
Anna studied the bird, its feathers looking almost black until the sun touched its wings and tail, revealing a rich, velvety blue. So different from the blue jays at home, yet similar enough to identify.
And God in His infinite creativity had fashioned not only this species of bird, but this exact bird that was desperately trying to balance its big feet on her window. In that instant, the height and depth and breadth of God overwhelmed her.
She thought of the birds, the trees they perched in, the variety of leaves on those trees, the different kinds of barks, the various shapes of their trunks, the assortment of blooms they produced. It was more than her puny mind could begin to comprehend. And to think her actions had some control—any control—over what circumstance befell another person was not only preposterous, it was prideful.
“Are you God, Miss Ivey?” Doc Maynard whispered.
Tears spilling down her cheeks, she shook her head.
Joe opened his eyes just a sliver and kept his breathing even, hoping neither Anna nor the doc would notice he was awake while he waited for her answer. There was nothing quite so humbling as Job 38 and 39. He’d awakened while she was explaining why she thought herself responsible for his injury. Only a woman would assume something so illogical.
She clearly believed it, though. Even when he was the one who’d stormed out into the dark, angry and distracted. He was the one who knew better.
He heard Maynard rise from his chair seconds before he entered Joe’s line of vision. “You’re going to have to stay abed, son.”
He glared at the doc.
Maynard was not intimidated. “You can’t even make it from the bed to the door. You need to rest. If you don’t, you’re not only endangering yourself, you’re endangering your men.”
That was the ace up his sleeve and the doc knew it. It was one thing for a man to take risks himself. Quite another to impose those risks on his men.
“How long?” Joe asked.
“At least a week.”
“Impossible.”
Doc glanced over his shoulder. “He’s to stay put for a week, Miss Ivey.”
“I’ll see to it,” she answered.
Before Joe could respond, Doc asked him a series of inconsequential questions. What was the day, month, and year? Repeat in reverse order strings of digits that increased from three to six numbers.
“Repeat after me,” he said. “Kite. Lantern. Foot. Bear. Quill.”
“Kite. Lantern. Foot. Bear. Quill.”
Joe had to recite the months of the year in reverse order, his multiplication tables, the first paragraph of the Declaration of Independence, and the Twenty-third Psalm.
“What were the lis
t of five things I had you repeat a few moments ago?”
“Kite, lantern, foot, bear, and . . .” He searched his mind.
“Quill.”
“Very good.” Maynard placed the wooden box of medicines back in his bag. “I think you’ll be fine so long as you give yourself a chance to rest and recover. I’ve left some opium for the pain and to help you sleep.”
“I don’t need anything.”
“I’ll leave it just the same.” He snapped his bag closed. “If you can make it to town next week, I’d like to see you then. If not, don’t wait for more than two.” He turned his attention to Anna. “I don’t think it will be necessary, but if he worsens, send for me right away.”
Joe fell asleep before she had a chance to give him the opium. She wasn’t surprised, though. He’d insisted on sitting up before the men arrived and staying up even after they left. Even now, he slept in an upright position.
He’d eaten mashed potatoes, rolls, and chicken soup. She had a suspicion, though, that Red had slipped him some chicken liver when she wasn’t looking.
Drying the last of the dishes, she stacked them on the shelves. Talk at dinner had been about Ronny’s ride to town and the retelling of a story Doc Maynard had entertained him with.
But Anna hadn’t paid much attention. Instead, she’d reflected on what Doc had pointed out earlier. She wasn’t God. She was a human being. A human being who loved her family. Faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love.
A huge weight lifted from her shoulders. There was no sin in loving someone. People all over the world loved each other. And that had nothing to do with the choices their loved ones made.
Papa had chosen to join the conflict knowing full well the risks. Leon had chosen to become a drummer regardless of what Anna did to hinder him. Mama had chosen to stop living long before Anna grew resentful of her mother’s withdrawal.
And Joe had chosen to chop down the chestnut in the dark and the rain. He could have just as easily chosen to go to bed. Either way, she had no control over his actions.
Removing her apron, she hung it across the handle of the oven door. If her love did not jeopardize those upon whom she bestowed it, then she was free to love anyone she wanted. Even Joe Denton.
She turned toward him. His head lay back against the pillows. A day’s worth of gold and brown whiskers covered the lower half of his face. Short, stubby lashes rested against his cheeks.
The bed linens pooled at his waist, leaving his beautiful torso exposed yet again. When she’d seen him washing, or soothed him with a cloth, or watched the doctor’s exam, she’d tried to look away or, at the very least, keep herself somewhat detached.
Now, however, she looked her fill. She looked at him as a woman who admired him. Desired him. Loved him.
He’d asked her to marry him. And not because he had to, but because he wanted to. If he had to get married, and chose to enter into a loveless marriage, then he could have married Mrs. Wrenne.
But he’d said he would sever his betrothal to her. And though Anna was certain Mrs. Wrenne would be disappointed, she knew the woman didn’t have feelings for Joe. She was clearly still in love with her dearly departed husband.
Anna turned down the lanterns and approached Joe’s bed. The fire cast his face in patches of shadow and light. “Come, Joe,” she whispered. “It’s time to lie down.”
His eyes opened, unfocused, confused.
“Lie down.” She tugged on the pillows behind him.
He scooted down, rolled onto his side, and fell immediately back asleep.
The love she’d fought and ignored and hidden burst through its barriers, filling every corner of her being.
“If you ask me again,” she whispered, tucking the covers around him, “I’ll say ‘yes.’ ”
She placed a light kiss on the top of his shoulder, then made her way up the stairs. And even though her body was tired, her soul, for the first time in years, was light.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
Red poked his freckled head inside the door. “Miss Ivey said you have to stay in bed a week.”
Joe looked up from his book, The Three Musketeers, and waved his friend inside. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Since when have you ever done what the doctor ordered?” Red pulled up a chair beside the bed.
“Since it suited my purposes.” He glanced at the window. “Anna still pouring coffee out there?”
Red nodded and produced three pilfered doughnuts from his jacket pocket and handed them to Joe.
Joe wasted no time in taking a bite. “Well, nursing seems to agree with her, and my time is running out. So I figured if I stayed in the house for a week, I could concentrate on my efforts to woo her.” He stuffed the rest of the doughnut in his mouth.
“Think it’ll work?”
Swallowing, Joe nodded and ate the next one.
Red leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, his expression grave. “The boys have grown rather fond of her.”
“You telling me I have some competition?” he asked, eating the third.
“No. I’m telling you that if you plan on compromising her somehow in order to get her to wed you, you’re gonna have a bunch of fellows to answer to, and I’ll be at the front of the line.”
Joe lifted his brows. “I hope you’re jesting, because if you really think I’d do that, we’ll have to talk with our hands.”
Red’s shoulders relaxed. “Glad to hear it.”
“You can’t tell the boys why I’m staying abed, though. If Anna got wind of it, it would ruin everything.”
“They’re never going to believe a little bump on the head would lay you low for a whole week.”
“They won’t have any choice.”
“They’re not chuckleheads, Joe.”
“Just the same, I don’t want you saying anything.”
Anna burst through the door, gripping three coffeepots by their handles in one hand, a fourth pot in the other, an arrangement that never failed to alarm Joe.
“You can’t be through, Red,” she said. “The hot cakes are coming up next.”
He rose to his feet. “No, miss. I won’t pass up the hot cakes. I was just checking on Joe.”
“I’ll see to him. You don’t need to worry.”
“I wasn’t worried, exactly.” He gave Joe a smile. “Don’t overdo, now.”
Joe gave him a salute, then returned to his book.
He hadn’t really thought about how much work Anna did each day. Already this morning she’d scrubbed pots, bowls, plates, and cups. Now she ran hot soapy water over a dishpan of silverware, then rinsed it in scalding water.
He felt guilty watching. Especially since he was perfectly fine. He’d made it to the privy without incident. Ate everything Anna had served him for breakfast as well as the doughnuts Red had sneaked him. The lump on his head had diminished quite a bit. And his headache was nothing more than a distant throb.
He desperately wanted to get out of bed. But that would be at cross purposes with his plan. So he tried to read. With Anna slamming in and out, though, he couldn’t concentrate. Finally, he closed his book.
She’d drained the utensils and left them to dry on a cloth. Picking up a bucket of hot water, she headed to the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I need to wash the table, sweep the yard, and start on the potatoes.”
“The potatoes? But breakfast just ended.”
She smiled. “Your loggers eat a lot of potatoes. Almost a pound per man.”
“Per day?”
“Per day.”
He frowned. “My garden doesn’t have that kind of supply.”
“I give Red a list of things I need every Saturday before the boys go to town.”
Joe knew she did that, of course, but he’d never paid much attention to her list. A pound per day, per man. That was a lot of potatoes to prepare.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.
The question surprised her almost as much as it did him. “Perhaps. We’ll see how you feel.”
Then she was out the door.
Half an hour later, the two of them had massive bowls of potatoes in their laps—him on the bed, Anna in a chair beside him. He eyed her bowl. She was on her second-to-last potato and he’d barely made a dent.
He quickened his pace. Anybody who could bring down redwoods ought to be able to peel a few potatoes faster than some puny female.
He nicked himself, sucked on his finger, then resumed his task. “What’s after the potatoes?”
“I scrub the floor.”
“And after that?”
“I eat breakfast.”
He stilled. “You haven’t eaten yet?”
“No. I don’t like to eat until I have time to enjoy it.”
He glanced at the stove. There was nothing on it.
“What do you eat?”
“I have a plate of cinnamon rolls and bacon set aside.”
“What about eggs and doughnuts and potatoes and oats and hot cakes?”
Standing, she shook peelings from her apron. “I’m not a lumberjack, Joe. A cinnamon roll and a couple of slices of bacon is all I need.” She noted his four peeled potatoes and raised a brow. “Is that all you’ve done this whole time?”
He scowled. “Don’t you have a floor to scrub?”
Smiling, she set her potatoes on the table and swept up the peelings. He continued to work as she tossed a bucket of hot soapy water on the floor, then switched back and forth with her broom. By the time she’d rinsed the floor in the same manner, he was finishing his task, careful not to let any peelings fall from his bed to her clean floor.
“Thank you,” she said, collecting the bowl.
“You’re welcome.” He snagged her fingers. “You smell good.” He wondered if she’d made a sachet with the twinflowers she’d dried.
Blushing, she fiddled with her watch pin. She wore the blue gingham today, her hair bound in the back with a ribbon to match. “You going to eat something, now?”
She nodded.
“Will you sit by me while you do?”
Hesitating, she glanced at his chest. “Will you put your shirt on?”