The Wind Harp

by BJ Hoff

  “Is she all right?” Maggie asked.

  The doctor’s expression clouded. “Her baby will be born within the next three months. Perhaps sooner.” Her words were sharp and direct.

  Maggie caught her breath. “She’s that far along?”

  “Yes, and you should keep in mind that given what she’s been through, the baby might come early. Eva is living with you and your parents?”

  Maggie nodded. “She told you about her husband? That she’s left him…and why?”

  “She should have left him years ago,” the doctor said, her tone hard. “Didn’t anyone in the family know what he was doing to her?”

  Instantly defensive, Maggie hurried to explain. “She didn’t come to visit all that often,” Maggie said. “Richard”—her brother-in-law’s name left a bad taste in her mouth—“was always too busy. She never breathed a word to any of us. We had no idea what was going on.”

  Dr. Gordon’s tone softened a little. “Too many women keep their silence in situations like this. Your sister is fortunate she has a family who took her in. That’s not always the case. More than one parent will send a daughter right back to her poor excuse of a husband with a firm admonition to obey him. Never mind that he treats her like an animal.”

  “Our da would never have done that!”

  Again the doctor regarded Maggie with a studying look. “Which one of you is the oldest?”

  “Evie is.”

  “Well, she obviously feels close to you, so you’re probably going to be the one who has to make sure she takes care of herself. Just so you know, there are some things about her condition that already concern me.”

  Maggie’s heart clutched. She’d sensed for some time now that Evie wasn’t well. She couldn’t help but wonder if the numerous beatings might have damaged her sister—or the baby—in ways that couldn’t be seen.

  But apparently the doctor had another concern, one that could be seen.

  “She’s retaining a great deal of fluid. She mentioned that she gained a lot of weight fairly quickly.”

  Maggie nodded. “Even when she first came home, I thought she looked…puffy. Bloated. It was a shock. Evie’s always been small and fairly slender.”

  “Well, we’d expect a normal weight gain, of course, with the pregnancy, but this isn’t good weight. It’s fluid, and that can cause some real difficulties. It can also be indicative of another condition, and I’m afraid that’s what might be going on with your sister.”

  “What kind of condition?”

  “Toxemia,” she said, her lips thinning. “It can cause high blood pressure and the same kind of swelling and weight gain your sister is experiencing. It’s a serious condition, and one that can turn worse without warning.”

  Dr. Gordon glanced back toward the waiting room door. “I don’t mean to worry you, but your sister is obviously depressed. She wants the baby, but I’m not sure she’s taking care of herself as she should. You need to watch her and make sure she follows my instructions.”

  She paused and her expression darkened. “And there’s also the fact that she’s been beaten. Now, Eva has been feeling life for several weeks—good, strong movement—so I’m hopeful for a perfectly healthy baby. At this point, I’m more concerned about your sister’s condition than the baby’s. I want you to be mindful that she isn’t as well as I’d like her to be, and you need to do everything you can to see that she takes better care of herself.”

  The doctor went on giving Maggie instructions for Evie to follow: She was to have no salt, not even in cooking. She needed to elevate her feet several times during the day. She was to avoid any activity that might bring on exertion.

  “Make sure she gets as much rest as possible. In fact, don’t even bring her out here for checkups. I’ll come to your house on a fairly regular basis so I can keep a close eye on any changes.”

  “You’re frightening me,” Maggie blurted.

  Dr. Gordon stood up. “Don’t be frightened. Just stay alert. Let me know right away if she experiences a noticeable weight gain over a brief period of time or if the fluid retention worsens. Watch for persistent headaches or sudden ones, and any double vision or nausea. I’ve explained all this to Eva, but I want you to be mindful of it as well. Make absolutely certain she rests most of the time.”

  “I’m a teacher, so I’m not home during the day. But I’ll make our mother aware. We’ll take good care of her.”

  The doctor surprised Maggie by patting her on the shoulder. “I know you will. Your sister’s fortunate to have you.” Her expression darkened. “Don’t be surprised if that husband of hers shows up again.”

  “Evie made it clear that she wouldn’t go back to him. She doesn’t ever want to see him again.”

  The doctor’s expression turned even harder. “Men who beat their wives aren’t much interested in what their wives want or don’t want. If he wants the child, or if he still harbors some deranged sense of affection for your sister, he’ll be back. Don’t let him anywhere near her if you can stop him.”

  “I understand,” Maggie said, struggling with a wave of uneasiness.

  Just then Eva Grace came into the waiting room. Maggie noticed that she was smiling. A good sign.

  The doctor followed them to the door. “Eva—remember everything I’ve told you. It’s extremely important that you follow the guidelines I gave you.”

  Eva Grace nodded and gave the doctor another weak smile. Although her sister exhibited no real enthusiasm for anything these days, Maggie sensed that Dr. Gordon had won her trust. Evie liked her, she could tell.

  Come to think of it, so did she.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mounting an Offense

  Is not one’s life itself an act of daring?

  Francis Greenwood Peabody

  By Saturday evening Jonathan had worked himself into exhaustion. Determined to stay busy, he’d launched an all-out assault on every room in the house, cleaning them from top to bottom. Constant activity seemed to be the only workable way to avoid those thoughts that had lately plagued him. All this when the reality was that his house didn’t actually need to be cleaned. How much clutter could one man living alone—and seldom at home—create? The truth was that he had little else to keep him occupied to the point of distraction. And he needed distraction. So he cleaned. With a vengeance.

  By five o’clock, he could see his reflection in almost every piece of furniture he owned and would have felt comfortable eating his dinner off the floor. Even the shed outside where he kept the buggy didn’t escape his attention.

  He washed up a bit and plopped down in the rocking chair beside the fireplace, putting his feet up on the footstool. At least the energy he’d expended hadn’t been entirely in vain. He’d managed to get his thoughts off the Lazlo children…and Maggie…for a few hours. Unfortunately, when he finally sat down to rest everything came rushing in on him again, especially his frustration and confusion about Maggie. Once again, his common sense pitched battle with his emotions.

  This time he managed to take a good, long look at what he was doing to himself…aside from the fact that he was dangerously close to making a fool of himself, that is. He considered the very likely possibility, not for the first time, that loneliness had become more than a constant companion; it had actually become a predator, hounding him and gnawing at him until he’d fallen into the sorry and disgusting state of self-pity.

  He had thought he was finished with that particular soul-eating sickness. The last time he’d nearly fallen prey to it had been years ago during his bout with heart failure. It had been all too easy during that period of his life, especially given his weakened physical condition, to live a self-defeating kind of existence, to allow the fragile state of his health and the equally treacherous state of his emotions to wear him down into a poor excuse of the man who had always professed faith in a power greater than himself.

  But his health and his outlook on life had been restored in one miraculous event of healing, and for a lo
ng time afterward he lived in a state bordering on euphoria. No longer did he feel the need to avoid falling in love, have a family, plan for the future. He was a free man! Free to pursue what other men longed for and worked toward.

  Then one day he woke up to the wrenching realization that years had passed, and in spite of his restored health and euphoric hopes, there was no “love of his life,” no home, and no family on the horizon. Still, he adapted and made the best of life as it was. Over the years his students became his family and the school his home. He was a contented man.

  Or so he had thought.

  With Maggie’s return to Skingle Creek had come a renewal of a special friendship, a familiar lightening of his spirit—and an end to his contentment. Once again he found himself longing for what he didn’t have and perhaps could never have.

  But this time he was finally coming to realize that there might be something he could do about it. In fact, he was fairly certain he knew a way to put a stop to this schoolboy fancifulness. He had to stop fooling himself that he might be falling in love with Maggie. She was too young for him by far. She was! Even if by some unimaginable chance she should come to care for him, he ought to do everything in his power to discourage her affection. He couldn’t seriously expect her to tie herself down with a man so many years her senior. Especially when what might seem a blessing for him could eventually end up as a burden to her.

  Although he had tried—and rarely failed—to trust completely in his God’s power to keep him well, there were times…not often, but once in awhile, in the dead of night, when the tempter tested his faith…when he found himself filled with dread that his heart might weaken again, that his healing might not be permanent after all. During those times he told himself he must not even think of burdening a wife with an ailing husband. How could he consider loving her and at the same time be willing to impose upon her a situation so potentially unfair?

  And now Maggie was in the picture. He stood to lose the gift of her friendship—possibly even her presence in his life—if he were to declare his affection for her and learn that it was unwelcomed. He couldn’t risk it. He would rather have her as a friend and a part of his life than to lose her altogether.

  Jonathan closed his eyes against the ache nagging at the back of his skull. If he must indeed set aside all thoughts of any relationship with Maggie other than friendship, perhaps there was a way to do so. He could start paying more attention to Carolyn Ross. As Ben Wallace continued to remind him, Carolyn held him in high regard, perhaps was even attracted to him. The age difference was minimal—three or four years at most—and they shared similar interests.

  All right, he wasn’t attracted to her. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be attracted, did it? The woman had more than her share of appeal. Yet he had never made any concerted effort to respond to her. Perhaps it was time he did. Who knew but what Carolyn was the woman God had intended for him all along, if he’d simply open his mind to the possibility?

  If he were really so convinced that Maggie wasn’t that woman, would it hurt to meet Carolyn halfway?

  Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow after church he would invite her to lunch. And this time he would be attentive. He would be mindful of her obvious appeal and her indisputable charm rather than retreating from both. This time he would make a genuine effort to appreciate her and take an interest in her.

  He heard the clock in the hallway strike six and only then realized that he’d been sitting here, woolgathering, for well over an hour.

  So much for his resolve to stay busy.

  He rose and started for the kitchen to put together something for supper. But first he would tackle the shelves in the pantry. They needed a good scrubbing and some rearrangement. And while he was working he would think only of Carolyn.

  Supper was over, and Maggie and Eva Grace were both in their bedroom sewing—Eva Grace for the baby, and Maggie mending the hem in her good black skirt.

  “I’m still trying to get used to the idea that we have a woman doctor right here in Skingle Creek,” Maggie remarked. “Maybe now more of the women around here will actually see a doctor instead of having their babies without any help.”

  “Well, I certainly felt more comfortable with her than I would have Dr. Woodbridge,” Evie said. “Of course, I’d most likely be more comfortable with just about anyone other than Dr. Woodbridge. I’ve heard Da call him a quack so many times I can’t think of him any other way.”

  Maggie pulled a face. “I don’t think Dr. Woodbridge is as bad as Da lets on. But I wouldn’t want a man doctor if I were having a baby either. And I think Dr. Gordon is going to be a really good addition to the town.”

  “She seems to know a lot about having babies. She has a certificate on the examining-room wall. She graduated from medical college, just like a man.”

  Maggie put down her needle and thread. “Plenty of women go to medical school these days. And I’d be willing to bet they’re every bit as competent as their male colleagues.”

  Her sister stopped her own work to look at Maggie. “That’s my little sister: still the bluestocking.”

  “Wrong word, Evie. A bluestocking is a woman who’s absorbed with literary things. That doesn’t exactly describe me.”

  Evie smiled. Maggie loved it when she could coax a smile from her sister these days. It wasn’t easy.

  “Since you seem to respect her so much, I hope that means you’ll do exactly what she said you should.” Maggie paused. “Do you know anything about this condition—this toxemia?” Maggie asked.

  Her sister shook her head. “Never heard of it. And, yes, I plan to take care of myself just as she ordered.” She gave Maggie a long, steady look. “I know you’re worried about me, but you needn’t be. I give you my word, I’ll do everything I can to make sure my baby is healthy.”

  Relief swept over Maggie. Thank you, Dr. Gordon!

  Evie picked up her sewing again. “Maggie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The night I told you about Richard…you asked me what it was like to be in love, how a person could tell if she was?”

  Maggie looked at her sister but said nothing.

  “You never told me who he is.”

  “No, I suppose I didn’t,” Maggie said, trying to keep her tone casual.

  “That was my fault. I was so preoccupied with my own problems, I never really gave you a chance.” She stopped. “Who is he, Maggie?”

  Maggie ducked her head over her sewing again, willing herself not to blush.

  “It’s Mr. Stuart, isn’t it?”

  Maggie’s head came up with a jerk. “Why in the world would you think that?”

  Evie studied her long and hard. “I thought so.”

  “I’m not going to talk about it.”

  Evie gave an annoying shrug. “That’s up to you. I just thought you might want to talk about it. It’s hard when you care about someone, isn’t it, not to tell everybody you know?”

  Surprised at her sister’s perception, Maggie paused for a moment and then sighed. She swallowed against the dryness of her mouth and asked, “How did you know?”

  Evie was smiling again…really smiling at her now. “It might have something to do with the way your whole face lights up when you say his name. Or the way you turn red when anyone else says it.” She went back to her sewing for a moment. “Is he—does he have feelings for you? Do you know?”

  Maggie shook her head. Hard. “Of course not! To him I’m just Maggie. A little girl. A former student. A teacher at his school.”

  Her sister’s eyes went over her, glinting with a rare flash of humor. “Mr. Stuart is a very smart man, Maggie. I doubt if he still sees you as a little girl. You’re actually kind of attractive, now that you’re all grown up.”

  “Oh, well, thank you very much,” Maggie muttered.

  “I’m teasing. You won’t win any ugly contests, how’s that?” Evie was quiet for another moment. “He’s a lot older than you, you know.”

  “Almost sixteen ye
ars.”

  “That much?”

  “Yes, that much. And I couldn’t care less.”

  “Don’t get all uppity with me. It’s not so hard to understand, even if you are a lot younger.”

  Maggie looked at her. “You don’t think it’s strange?”

  “Why would I? Good grief, Maggie! Every girl in school was in love with Jonathan Stuart at one time or another. But seriously, are you sure he’s not interested?”

  Again Maggie shook her head. “Well, I don’t actually know. Sometimes the way he looks at me…but I have to be imagining it. Why would a man like Jonathan Stuart be interested in me?”

  Evie’s hands stilled again, and she fixed an intense, searching look on Maggie. “Honestly? Maybe because you’ve grown up to be an attractive young woman who’s intelligent and funny and just plain nice. Maybe because he sees your heart, Maggie, and likes what he sees.”

  Maggie had to blink back tears at this completely unexpected and uncharacteristic praise from her older sister. “Even if he did care about me—and I’m sure he doesn’t—but even if he did, he wouldn’t do anything about it,” she said glumly. “He’s so noble. I was his student, and now I’m a teacher in the same school. He’d probably consider it improper to show any interest in me. You remember what he’s like.”

  “But you are in love with him?” Evie asked, her tone gentle.

  Maggie paused again, and this time she almost choked on the unshed tears lodged in her throat. “Yes, I am. I know it’s absolutely hopeless, but I’m afraid I am.” She waited, wondering if she should tell her the rest. “There’s this woman—the secretary at the school, Carolyn Ross—”

  “What about her?”

  “Well, she’s a widow. And she’s extremely attractive. Very feminine. Knows just how to dress, never a hair out of place. And she’s probably in her mid-thirties at least—a good ten years older than I am, I’m sure. She’s crackers over Jonathan. You can’t miss it. She’s set her cap for him, you can tell. And they do have a lot in common—she’s musical, just like he is, and smart and…and mature.”