The Message in a Bottle Romance Collection

by Joanne Bischof

  He did not speak, as if walking took every bit of his concentration. Finally, when they approached the double doors leading to their destination, he said, “The islands are filled with savagery, Miss Van de Klerk. From the constant threats between the British and French to the daily horrors of slavery practiced in the sugar fields. Besides those tensions, disease and death are rampant.”

  He looked at her as if daring her to try brightening his mood and showing not the least bit of regret over his morose recounting of a place she’d heard offered only goodness and beauty. Though his words should have shocked and dismayed her into silence, they did not. “I wonder,” she whispered as they paused near the chairs Mindia had led them to, “if your profession hasn’t gotten the best of you. Perhaps, Dr. Tallery, you ought to try recalling something lovely in your memories of that place. For the good of those around you, of course, if not for your own.”

  If Mindia had heard her scolding the man, she would have been horrified. But Abigail lifted her chin, every bit as confident as him. After she took the seat Mindia indicated, they hadn’t any more time to exchange conversation as the performance started below.

  Cal barely watched the reenactment of battle being waged beneath the balcony. He didn’t care to watch a rendition of something that took so many lives: his father’s, his brothers’.

  He gave up his seat as others filed in behind them, so he could stand in the shadows. He’d watched Miss Van de Klerk laugh, tease, and cajole her way through the night so far, proving herself as shallow as any other girl he remembered from his youth. It was easy to believe she was Mindia Pipperday’s dearest friend. The two had profiles lovely enough to mint on a coin, but obviously possessed as little depth. How could a doctor Charles had held in such high esteem have raised a daughter so flighty that she was incapable of expressing a single well-composed thought?

  For the rest of the evening, Abigail did her best to ignore thoughts of Dr. Tallery. Yet her gaze sought him anyway. She shouldn’t be so sensitive to his obvious dislike, since it appeared he didn’t enjoy anyone’s company with the possible exception of the cousin with whom he’d arrived.

  She consoled her wounded pride by convincing herself he acted as one who did not want to be present in a room filled with gaiety and dancing. Perhaps he didn’t like festivities; more likely, he did not know how to dance. She ought to at least pity him there, since she was so recently proficient at it herself. But her speculations died when he asked Mindia’s mother to accompany him for one of the more complicated minuets. It took less than a few, heart-dipping moments for him to prove himself first rate in the dance department. That confirmed the worst. He hadn’t asked Abigail to dance because he simply hadn’t wanted to.

  Long after the ball ended, Abigail lay awake in her borrowed Pipperday bedchamber. Mindia’s artist couldn’t have pried himself from her company, a fact that emphasized Abigail’s failure to catch Dr. Tallery’s attention. He’d snubbed her with his harsh description of the islands, saying things no lady ought to hear. Even if his heart was otherwise engaged—something she hadn’t considered earlier, since he’d arrived with Mr. Goodwin—surely he might have been interested in asking her about her father, at least?

  Still, of all the men Mindia had introduced to her, he’d been the only one to inspire such a stirring reaction. Should she give up after only one attempt to get to know him? There was, after all, another way to insert herself into his company. All she had to do was go home.

  If only Father would let her!

  Chapter Five

  Cal didn’t rise as early as was his habit; instead, he was grateful for an afternoon appointment with Dr. Van de Klerk, which allowed him to enjoy a leisurely morning. But to Cal’s surprise, Early was in the dining room when he entered for the breakfast he’d ordered served at ten rather than eight.

  Cal hadn’t expected to see Early at all that morning, especially after the late-night party. “Working early today?” Cal resurrected an old tease from their childhood to add, “Or should I say: Early’s early today?”

  His cousin lifted a brow. “Good to see your sense of humor hasn’t completely disappeared. After last night, I was beginning to wonder.”

  “Why? It was a very nice party.”

  “I know I enjoyed it. I believe everyone did, with the possible exception of you—who deigned to dance only once, the obligatory minuet with your hostess. If I hadn’t talked about Miss Pipperday all the way back here, I assume you’d have been as quiet then as you were during the rest of the evening. What’s wrong with you, Cal? Have you completely turned off the spigot of fun in your life?”

  He felt compelled to protest, knowing the accusation was laced with reproach. The words seemed to echo the criticism he’d heard in the reprimand from Miss Van de Klerk, as if she’d had some insight into why he’d spoken so dolefully about the islands. Surely neither she nor Early had so quickly discovered the truth: Cal was miserable and wasn’t at all sure what to do about it—except to fill his days with so much work he would fall asleep exhausted. Such a routine would leave neither time nor energy to contemplate anything except the tasks before him.

  He offered a grim smile. “I haven’t gotten back into city living yet, cousin. Once I establish the rhythm of working again, I’ll be a veritable merry-andrew.”

  Not surprisingly, Early snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it. You missed an opportunity last night, and I don’t understand why.”

  “What opportunity?”

  “Why must I spell it out? With the Van de Klerk girl! Didn’t you find her beautiful?”

  No reason to lie about that, not to an artist with an eye for such things. “Yes.”

  “And yet you barely spoke to her, never asked her to dance.”

  “How could I? There was a constant parade of admirers circling her all evening.”

  “Ha! No less than the pack around Miss Pipperday, but that didn’t stop me.”

  Cal waved away the topic. “All of this game playing is silly. It’s not for me.”

  “Listen, there is much competition in courtship. It’s not a game—it’s hard work. If you want someone of your own choosing, you’ll have to allocate time and energy, the same as any other task.”

  Cal’s tattered heart was hardly in condition to offer anything to anyone. Who would want a heart so bruised and battered? Without admitting the face of the Van de Klerk girl had somehow made it to the recesses of his mind just before he drifted off to sleep last night, Cal changed the subject.

  “Speaking of working,” he said, “is that why you’re up and about? Are you going back to the Pierponts’ for the portrait work?”

  Early looked strangely stiff for a moment as Cal took a seat, having filled his plate with ham and eggs at the sideboard. “Yes, well, about that. I shouldn’t have let you believe something that’s not quite true.”

  “You’re not working?” This was also no surprise, since Cal had left the house open for his cousin’s use because he was notoriously quixotic about any type of employment. Artist’s flamboyancy and all that, or so Cal believed.

  “Oh, I’m working. Just not doing a portrait, as you assumed.”

  “What, then?”

  Early set down the fork he’d been about to shovel into his mouth, redirected his gaze from Cal to the plate in front of him, and then under hooded eyes said, “I’m painting the Pierpont dogs.”

  “What?”

  “The dogs. I’m painting their pets.”

  For the first time in a long time, Cal felt the stir of a belly laugh. But he refrained, seeing his cousin’s obvious embarrassment.

  “Well, what’s wrong with that?” In spite of his best effort, the words tottered on mirth. “You’re being paid, aren’t you?”

  Early nodded, but even though he raised his gaze and started eating again, he frowned. “I’ve learned a thing or two about being an artist.”

  “I should think so, after a half dozen years at it.”

  “For one thing, bei
ng an artist is harder than anyone might guess. I never expected talent isn’t enough. Success is like chasing a path impossible to chart….” He seemed to struggle for clarity. “Like trying to grasp a will-o’-the-wisp, an ignis fatuus.” He leveled his gaze at Cal. “What I’ve discovered is that if I want to earn a living, afford my own home, protect a family from financial insecurity, but still work at what I like doing, I’ll have to take jobs I’d never dreamed of when I first discovered I wanted to be an artist.”

  “Painting dogs, for example?”

  He nodded.

  Cal sighed. “If it’s any comfort, I couldn’t afford to live in this house if it hadn’t been left to me, along with the shipping income that still arrives to support it. Yet I’ve worked round the clock since I graduated from Edinburgh. It hasn’t resulted in a feeling of success.” Particularly when it seemed he’d lost more patients than he’d saved.

  Early took up his coffee cup. “Well, we’re quite a pair. Failures together, then.”

  Cal raised his cup to meet Early’s salute. “Cousins in blood, and failures in calling.”

  Abigail sat beside Mindia in the Pipperday dining room. As hungry as she’d felt when she woke that morning, Mrs. Pipperday had just chased her appetite away.

  “Well? Don’t you agree that the new doctor in town will enhance the parties this summer?”

  Despite every doubt that the doctor was even remotely interested in her company, Abigail wanted to pipe up with an enthusiastic I do! I do! She refrained. The question—the prodding—had obviously been aimed at Mindia. That made the note hidden in Abigail’s lap, written to her father asking him if she may come home, that much riskier to send.

  Her friend slid a sideways glance at Abigail. “Dr. Tallery didn’t seem very inclined to dance.”

  “Perhaps because he felt new to our community, having been gone from New York so long.” Her mother followed her statement with a wink, clarifying her hopes for him on Mindia’s behalf. “He’s a fine dancer, polite and well mannered, obviously intelligent. Besides, everyone remembers the sacrifices of the Tallery family: Mr. Tallery, along with his older boys. There isn’t a family in town who wouldn’t welcome the doctor into their fold.”

  “Mother,” Mindia said, a hint of exasperation in her tone, “I’m sure Dr. Tallery is all you say. But do you know he’ll be working with Abigail’s father? I daresay Abigail and Dr. Tallery will have far more time to get to know one another than I shall.”

  The heat of a blush stemmed from the back of Abigail’s neck and spread fully into her face, curtailing any convincing denial of her own secret hopes. She averted her gaze when she glimpsed Mrs. Pipperday’s disappointment, wondering if she ought to apologize. But for what? Dr. Tallery hadn’t seemed interested in either Mindia or Abigail herself.

  “Dr. Tallery is cousin to Early Goodwin, Mother,” Mindia went on. “Shouldn’t his family be counted in the sacrifice the Tallerys made? He lost his uncle and two cousins, after all, and his oldest brother fought even if he didn’t give his life, thank God.”

  Mrs. Pipperday placed her coffee cup back on its saucer with a bit less care than was her norm. Instead of speaking, she pursed her lips and glanced at her husband as if hoping he might join the conversation.

  “Mindia,” she said once it was clear Mr. Pipperday would offer no reinforcement, “your father and I will not encourage any thoughts you might entertain regarding a young man who everyone knows has nothing to his name. He lives in this neighborhood only because of the generosity of Dr. Tallery.”

  Mindia raised her chin. “Dr. Tallery is perfect for Abigail. Not for me.”

  Abigail wanted to sink under the table. Instead, she crinkled the note she and Mindia had written together. She couldn’t send it now, at least not until Mrs. Pipperday sorted through the unexpected twist to her plans for Mindia.

  “I agree with what you said earlier, Mindia,” Abigail said softly. “Dr. Tallery’s lack of interest in dancing—though he obviously possesses the talent for it—must mean he won’t be pursuing anyone at the moment.”

  “Sadly true,” Mindia said.

  A hint of softening reached Mrs. Pipperday’s face. “Perhaps he will once he’s been home longer.” Then she sighed. “I apologize, girls, if I was a bit too eager to assign the new doctor to only one of you.” She exchanged a fuller smile with her husband, who looked visibly relieved the conversation hadn’t degraded any further. “I have great hope for you, too, Abigail, that you might make a suitable match. Let’s leave the future to be what it will, shall we?”

  The meal ended, and Abigail slipped the crumpled note under her sleeve as they left the dining room. Only an ungrateful houseguest would go behind her hostess’s back to assert herself into the good doctor’s company.

  Besides, she and Mindia hadn’t exaggerated when cautioning Mrs. Pipperday’s hopes that the man might choose either one of them.

  They made it no farther than the front hall before a Pipperday servant approached Abigail, announcing a note had arrived from her father. With delight, Abigail tore open the sealed page then read the missive with astonishment.

  She looked at Mindia with widened eyes. “I’m to go home tonight and play hostess for my father’s dinner—with Dr. Tallery.”

  Risking her mother’s wrath, Mindia offered a high-spirited clap. But Mrs. Pipperday didn’t even look peeved. She threw up her palms with a smile of surrender.

  That afternoon, Cal walked to the address he knew belonged to Dr. Daniel Van de Klerk, having let Early use the family carriage to go the farther distance to the Pierponts’. The Van de Klerk home was plush for a physician, standing three stories high with matching sets of mullioned windows symmetrically placed on either side of an impressively carved wooden door. Near the curb, a sign had been erected, embellished with the profile of a hand with its forefinger pointing the way to a separate entrance covered by a white awning. Below the hand was inscribed: THE MEDICINE ROOM AND OFFICE OF DR. DANIEL VAN DE KLERK AND FAMILY.

  And family? Cal recalled Charles mentioning that Dr. Van de Klerk had two sons who had followed in his footsteps, but he’d been under the impression they’d started their own practices elsewhere.

  Cal contemplated going to the front door but decided using the office door best suited his purpose. He was, after all, here to apply as an associate to the patient circuit Van de Klerk had established. Front doors were for social visits, and this was anything but.

  The side door had a small, mullioned window embedded beneath its rounded top, but it was clouded so he couldn’t see inside. He twisted the handle and, as expected, it opened easily. Inside, each long wall was skirted with chairs, all empty except for what he guessed to be a mother and child. She held a boy on her lap, gently rocking despite his being too old for such a thing.

  Since neither she nor the child greeted him, Cal ignored them as he took a seat on the opposite side of the room. Before long the boy’s moan drew Cal’s attention; the child was deathly pale, his lips stark purple in comparison to his cottony skin. He seemed barely conscious.

  “Have you been waiting long?” he asked.

  She looked startled by the question, her eyes slightly widened as she looked his way for the first time. “Dr. Van de Klerk is with another patient before he leaves for his afternoon visits. He said he’d see my boy before he goes.”

  “How long has he been like this?”

  “A day and a half. He’s a healthy boy! But last night he couldn’t sleep, and this morning it’s worse. I don’t know how to help him.”

  “Has he a fever?”

  She nodded. “I think so.”

  “Stomach pain?”

  “He cries out if I even try touching his stomach.”

  “What of blockage? Is he able to void?”

  “Oh, yes! Too much! It helps ease his pain for a little while, but…”

  “Vomiting?”

  She nodded.

  Cal stood, approaching them. “My name is Dr. Tallery, and I’m h
ere to meet with Dr. Van de Klerk. Do you mind if I have a look at the boy while we’re waiting?”

  She looked half-grateful and half-suspicious, but gratitude won. The boy was perhaps eleven or twelve, and she shifted him between her seat and the one next to them so that the child was more accessible. She pulled open his jacket and tugged at the cotton shirt beneath.

  It took only a moment to see the skinny boy’s swollen abdomen, just to the right below his belly button. Cal frowned. No one looked forward to a surgical procedure, certainly not any patient, but neither did any doctor he knew, himself included. He and Charles viewed surgery as a last resort. If patients didn’t die from the shock of pain, they all too often didn’t survive the aftermath. But sometimes, as he believed now, it was the only choice.

  “Please wait a moment, madam,” he said; then without delay he went to one of the closed doors and rapped on it soundly.

  Instead of it opening, he heard a call from the room opposite, nearer the woman seated with her sick child.

  “In a moment, please.” It was a man’s voice, unperturbed and far too calm to have recognized the urgency of Cal’s pounding.

  Cal approached, put a hand to the knob, but refrained from intruding. “There is a boy here who suffers a swollen appendix,” he called. “I believe he needs immediate attention.”

  “A moment,” came the excruciating reply.

  Silence followed, and Cal fell victim to the nature of time. Each second ticked as a minute, each minute far too slow. His hand hovered above the knob, resettled upon it as if to go in anyway; then he decided against it to retrieve the bag he never traveled without. He returned to the boy, reaching inside for the small wooden ear trumpet that he placed upon the boy’s bony chest to see if his heart was strong.

  A moment later Cal withdrew a small bottle of laudanum. Treating pain wasn’t always popular, and he had no way of knowing how Van de Klerk viewed such a thing. But Cal would be hard pressed not to do something to ease this boy’s current condition, not to mention what was to come. Cal carried doses in careful quantity, mixed with sherry wine and saffron then blended with powdered cinnamon and clove to improve the awful taste. He extracted one of the smallest vials he carried for children and, without even asking the mother, administered the elixir. Thankfully, the boy swallowed without any trouble, and Cal only hoped he’d be able to keep it down long enough to take effect.