Flowers from Iraq (The Storyteller and the Healer Book 1)

by Sunny Alexander

  Now, Kathleen had a basic wardrobe of blouses and blazers, vests and slacks—an abundance of coordinating outfits for casual and business wear and one black, wear it anywhere dress, but she still clung to her familiar jeans and sweats.

  She stopped to stare at a doll in the window of an antique shop and felt her heart go pit-a-pat. Alice from Alice in Wonderland stood in all her glory with arms beckoning. She thought about the two hundred dollars and walked in.

  The salesclerk handed the doll to Kathleen. “This is a cloth body doll from the 1930s,” she said. “We bought her at an estate sale from the owner’s son. She’s rare, in almost new condition, and comes with the original box and doll stand.”

  Kathleen looked at the price tag: four hundred dollars. “She’s beautiful,” she said, wishing she could hold Alice close to her heart. “Too rich for my blood,” she sighed, and reluctantly returned the doll to the salesclerk. Kathleen found a multicolored scarf that was perfect for Gayle and asked the salesclerk for a gift bag.

  She continued to walk along the street toward a wine tasting room. She found the ideal gift for Robert, a small wooden crate with room for two bottles of wine. She filled the container with his favorites, a bottle of Pinot Noir and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

  Kathleen walked back to the car, caressing the business card from the antique shop, and felt heaviness in her heart. She longed for Alice.

  On either side of the road, a long, unbroken line of eucalyptus trees marched toward the town of Canfield nestled in the coastal foothills north of Santa Barbara. The pungent smell brought back a long, forgotten memory as Kathleen sped along.

  She was little, perhaps three or four, and ill with a hacking cough that made her chest hurt. Probably bronchitis, the physician in her concluded. Her mother rubbed her chest with an ointment made from eucalyptus oil, and covered the area with a flannel cloth. Kathleen slept feverishly and began to see a ghost covered in a white sheet, floating above her bed. Throughout that hazy time, her mother gave her sips of water and changed the damp cloth on her forehead as it went from cool to warm.

  She stopped the car under the shade of the eucalyptus trees. Long forgotten feelings of having been loved began to wash over her. “Focus,” she thought. “You have to focus on the task ahead. You can’t collapse, you have to stay strong.” She sat up straight, took a long drink of water, and pulled back onto the road.

  The eucalyptus trees faded from sight, and were replaced by mile after mile of avocado orchards. Small farms and ranches began to dot the countryside with horses grazing in bright green meadows and signs along the road announcing organic fruits and vegetables.

  It was early afternoon when Kathleen arrived at Canfield. Welcome banners hanging from antique lampposts, announced the annual Labor Day festival, dubbed A Weekend in Scotland. Trees shaded the cobblestone sidewalks, and flower boxes filled with colorful annuals hung from the front of Victorian style buildings. Scattered along Main Street were antique stores and restaurants that spoke of a burgeoning tourist industry.

  The one exception to the Victorian style architecture was a stagecoach stop that served as the Visitors Center. The building showed a part of history firmly grounded in the Wild West. Constructed of weathered, hand-hewed timbers that had withstood the test of time, it was a reminder of an era when people endured the discomforts and dangers of stagecoach travel in hopes of starting a new life. Kathleen parked in a shady spot across from the building. A handwritten note, hanging from the door, told her the tourist center was closed until two in the afternoon. She reached for her lunch and discovered Robert had packed her all-time favorite: peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches. She opened the bag of chips and carefully laid them inside the sandwich. Now, it was truly the perfect lunch.

  Kathleen saw the sign, Victorian Past Bed and Breakfast Inn, hanging from the bright yellow clapboard house trimmed in green. The scent from the flower garden welcomed her as she walked up the five steps and knocked on the front door. Michelle Anderson was a tall, solidly built woman with a handshake to match. She took Kathleen’s suitcase and showed her to the bedroom on the second floor.

  The room was decorated in true Victorian style with a canopy bed, marble-topped tables, and a steamer trunk. A couch completed the room furnishings. Michelle opened the French doors to the deck.

  “I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us,” she said pleasantly. “You asked for the room with the hot tub, and it’s right here on the deck.” Kathleen stepped outside and admired both the tub and the exquisite view of the town.

  Michelle continued with her tour. “You’ll find extra blankets and pillows in the trunk and the bathroom is through this door.”

  Kathleen was staring at the couch. Instead of being flat and designed for sitting, the couch had one end raised and looked as if it was meant for reclining.

  Michelle placed her hand on the carved frame. “Ah, I see you’re intrigued by the fainting couch. I found it in an antique shop and had it restored.”

  “Fainting couch?”

  “Yes, upper class women in the Victorian era wore corsets, of course, and by the time they climbed the stairs to the second and sometimes third story of their homes, they would feel faint. This type of couch was placed on the landings so that women could get their breath back.” Michelle shook her head and smiled at Kathleen. “It’s hard for us to understand, but it was a different time.”

  Kathleen dined at a small restaurant within walking distance of The Victorian Past. The owner and host of The Town Hall Restaurant showed her to a patio table overlooking the flower and herb garden. He explained that most of their food was grown locally and the menu changed seasonally. Kathleen ordered the homemade vegetable soup and herbal bread. A glass of Chardonnay completed her dinner.

  She sat at the table watching other couples and families talking, laughing, sometimes scowling at each other, but at least not alone. She wished she had brought a book to hide behind.

  A family was seated at the next table and a boy, about five or six, with blond hair and wide blue eyes, smiled and waved. She smiled and waved back. The woman walked over to Kathleen’s table. “Excuse me, but are you Dr. Moore?”

  Kathleen was caught off guard. “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m Christen Mitchell. We weren’t expecting you this early or we would have arranged dinner for you.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I got here earlier than expected.”

  “Please join us. That is, if you can stand the distraction of a very active five-year-old and a somewhat moody teenager.”

  Kathleen’s dinner turned out to be anything but dull or lonely. Christen and her husband Jeffrey kept up an easy flow of conversation. Kathleen discovered they were transplants from northern California and were realtors, as well as town council members.

  Jeffrey said, “We wanted to give our children a safer environment and the schools are wonderful.”

  Their daughter Victoria, dressed in all black, scowled. “It’s the absolutely most boring place in the world.” She flicked her long hair, as raven-black as her attire, with a pale hand with outsized rings on every finger. Kathleen noticed the long black nails with little white skull decals. Oh great, a Goth, she thought, but kept her composure.

  Christen gave an embarrassed smile. “Victoria and Alex, Dr. Moore was in the Army and served in Iraq.”

  Victoria glared out of eyes darkened by makeup. “I am so against that stupid war.”

  Alex squeaked, “How many bad guys did you kill?”

  Christen apologized, “I am so sorry. It seems their manners were left at home.”

  Kathleen shook her head. “It’s okay. Victoria, I’m glad you can express your opinion. It’s what we fight for. Alex, I’m a doctor and I’ve never killed anyone. But, do you know, I once delivered a baby goat?”

  Alex’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”

  Victoria chimed in, “I think you’re making it up.”

  Kathleen laughed. “No one could make up this story. A farmer dro
ve to the front gate of the Army base in Iraq with his goat in the back of a truck. He was quite upset and told the guards that his goat was about to have a baby and needed help. Do you know what a baby goat is called?”

  Alex raised his hand and bounced up and down. “I know, I know. A kid.”

  “That’s right. After seeing that the farmer’s goat was in great distress, the guard called the emergency room and asked if one of the docs could come out to the front gate and help deliver a kid. Well, the guard forgot to say it was a goat and we thought he was talking about delivering a baby. So, I packed everything I might need and one of the medics drove me to the front gate.

  “You can imagine my surprise when I found out my patient was a goat. I thought, I’m really going to get teased about this one, but I helped my patient and she had the most beautiful kid. It was really sweet. The farmer was so grateful he said he would name the kid after me. He asked, ‘What’s your name?’ And I said, ‘Doc. Name the kid Doc.’ And he did.”

  “Isn’t that a great story?” said Christen.

  “Yeah!” Alex shouted.

  “Whatever,” said Victoria, making no effort to hide her rolling eyes.

  She’s going to be one tough nut to crack, Kathleen thought.

  The next morning, Kathleen walked the short distance to Canfield’s administrative offices. The building appeared to be more than a century old, and she imagined the inside filled with wooden desks and outdated equipment.

  “Dr. Moore?” Kathleen looked up to see a man in his mid-fifties walking toward her. A welcoming smile and kind brown eyes greeted her as he extended his hand. “Bill Langdon,” he said. “Mayor of Canfield. Before we go into the meeting, I’d like to show you our communication center. The center will show you how we are blending the old with the new.”

  Kathleen was pleasantly surprised to see a sleek interior with up-to-date computers and phone system in place.

  Mayor Langdon said, “Sometimes, people think small towns mean small minds.” He shook his head while clucking his tongue. “Big mistake. We have modern communication equipment and a first-rate emergency plan in place. Our staff consists of one paid employee and about twenty-five volunteers. We offer class credits to our high school seniors for volunteering. They like anything high-tech and it makes them feel connected to the community. We hope, soon, to be able to handle any emergency.”

  Mayor Langdon took Kathleen’s arm and guided her toward the meeting room. She mingled with the town council and guests, drinking coffee and eating sweets from the snack table. Two men shook Kathleen’s hand and patted her on the back as if welcoming a long lost relative. One wore a hat with the logo, Korean War Veteran, Semper Fi. The other had a large patch sewed on his windbreaker, Vietnam War, In Memory of Those Who Never Returned. She wondered if, someday, she would be wearing a patch on the outside while carrying the pain of her memories next to her heart.

  Christen walked up to Kathleen and gave her a friendly hug. “You certainly won over my kids. Believe me, it’s not easy to win over Victoria! Thank you for the lovely story and for being so gentle with her.”

  Won over her kids? She knew Christen was just being polite. She had definitely won over little Alex, but Victoria had looked like she wanted to stick a knife in her back the whole evening. Still, she wondered why Christen had made it a point to use the word gentle. Perhaps the girl was more vulnerable and fragile than her fearsome façade suggested.

  But there was no time to wonder. Mayor Langdon stood behind a podium and called the meeting to order.

  “Special thanks to Janice for providing her incredible desserts.” He patted his stomach. “Janice, I couldn’t resist your chocolate cake and I snuck in a couple of cookies, as well.”

  Mayor Langdon smiled at Kathleen. “Dr. Moore, on behalf of Canfield I’d like to officially welcome you, and thank you for submitting your application. We were impressed with your professional history and would like to express our gratitude for your service to our country.”

  The Mayor and town council applauded Kathleen. She nodded in appreciation, smiled, and hoped she was not turning beet red.

  Mayor Langdon continued. “War is a nasty business, and while we wish there was no need for our young people to be in harm’s way, Canfield is proud of its service to our country. We have fought in every war since the town’s inception in 1885.

  “Just to bring you up to speed, Dr. Moore, our physician, Dr. Kerr, passed away a few months ago, and Canfield finds itself in somewhat of a predicament. The physician in Hayward, that’s twenty miles away, has been filling in. Additionally, we have a nurse practitioner using Dr. Kerr’s office three days a week.

  “We realize it may be a challenge for a physician with your background to change to an individual practice in a small town. Keeping that in mind, we have prepared a slide show about Canfield’s history, as well as our plans and dreams for the future. Please, feel free to ask any questions along the way.”

  The first few slides were sketches and photos from the late 1800s and early 1900s, showing the development of Canfield from a tent city to a bustling town with stores, offices, and automobiles crowding the streets.

  Mayor Langdon narrated: “Otis Canfield emigrated from Scotland to the United States in 1885. When he arrived here, he saw farms and ranches, but he didn’t see a store. He started the Canfield Mercantile Store in a tent and the rest is history.”

  The next slides showed Canfield House in all her glory. Kathleen stared at the photo and began to fall under its spell.

  Mayor Langdon continued his presentation. “Canfield House was built by Otis Canfield in 1895. It is a Victorian Queen Anne style home situated on ten acres of land. It had, for its time, the most modern features available, including a full indoor bathroom. Dr. Moore, are you at all familiar with Victorian architecture?”

  “Only from the homes in San Francisco.”

  “Some very fine examples, indeed. We are very proud of Canfield House. Several architectural magazines have written articles about her, primarily because of the arched entryway and rounded solarium—very unique, almost one of a kind. We recently painted the shingles in a rainbow of colors to reflect the fashion of the time.”

  Murmurs and laughter went around the room.

  Kathleen looked puzzled.

  “Well, Dr. Moore, it was a group effort and almost everyone in this room helped, lots of hard work and lots of laughing. I’m not sure who got the most paint, the house or us. What do you think of the colors?”

  “I really like them,” Kathleen replied. “The base is earth-colored, and the colors on the shingles look like a rainbow. It’s fanciful. All you need is the pot of gold.”

  “Exactly! And our pot of gold will be providing the best possible health care to the citizens of Canfield. When the house fell into foreclosure it was bought by the town with the idea of turning Canfield House into medical offices. We are very excited about the possibilities. We plan to have emergency equipment installed and, sometime in the future, a helipad for transporting patients to St. Mona’s Hospital in Santa Barbara.”

  The next slide showed some preliminary sketches of the new floor plan. “The first floor will be turned into medical offices with the most modern equipment and supplies available,” Mayor Langdon explained. “We are prepared to offer a generous guaranteed salary package along with living quarters in a wonderful Queen Anne home.

  “Now, I saved the best part for last, and that’s our recreational areas. I think of Canfield as the undiscovered paradise. We are blessed to have mild temperatures for most of the year. The beach is close by and there are hiking trails everywhere. We have a five-mile trail that leads directly to Christmas River. Throughout the year, you’ll find folks fishing or rafting or simply enjoying a picnic on the banks of the river with friends and family. People bike around town, and if you enjoy wine tasting, the vineyards are within easy driving distance.

  “Although we’re a bit off the beaten path, that can be a favorable feature fo
r those who are looking for quiet and safety. We do have summer residents and the population almost doubles during vacation months. In September we celebrate our Scottish heritage by holding a festival, A Weekend in Scotland. The festival brings in an influx of tourists—along with the usual minor injuries.

  “I hope I haven’t bored you. I do have a bit of a reputation for going on.” Good-natured catcalls from the audience attested to this. The mayor laughed heartily and asked Kathleen, “Do you have any questions or comments?”

  Kathleen said, “I want to thank you for your presentation and your generous hospitality. You mentioned medical offices, and I’m wondering if you are planning on more than one physician.”

  “One physician will be adequate for our present needs. However, if our population projections are correct, we may need to establish a group practice in the future.” Mayor Langdon handed Kathleen a thick folder. “We have prepared a portfolio complete with statistics and photos. I understand that you have a tour tomorrow, and we hope to be in contact with you in a few weeks.”

  Kathleen stared at the clothes hanging in the closet of her room. Christen would be picking her up at 10:00 am, so she had an hour to shower and dress. She took out one of her pre-coordinated outfits. “Bullet proof,” Gayle had said. Tan slacks, a chocolate brown sweater, and dark brown loafers completed her outfit. She decided to use some lipstick, put on her small gold hoop earrings, brushed her hair for the last time, and was good to go.

  Christen was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers along with a gray cable knit poncho, to keep out the morning chill. Christen greeted her with a friendly hug. “It’s weekend casual dress for me. I hope you don’t mind it’ll just be us gals. Jeffrey’s doing sports duty this morning.”

  She continued to chat in an easy, friendly way. “Both kids have soccer practice and it’s one of the few things that Victoria seems to really love. Gets her out of her black outfits.” She shook her head. “Teens, you know…”