by Jane Shoup
“Bright Leaf?”
Tommy nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Lot of work. Gonna be worth it, you reckon?”
“Hope so.” He paused. “Does Em know you’re here?”
“Oh, I think she knows. She knows you’re here, too.”
Tommy felt a chill come over him because Ben was dead. That’s why he’d moved on. Suddenly, Tommy was recalling Blue and the gun. “Am I dead?” he exclaimed, feeling strangely weak.
“No,” Ben said, leaning forward, his expression somber. “No, you are not. And Emmy needs you, so I’m here to keep you company and keep you from going any further.”
“What do you mean . . . further?”
“That’s not important right now.” Ben sat back. “What’s important is that you relax for a spell. Got any big news you want to share?” he asked with a sly grin.
“The baby, you mean?” Tommy replied, wondering how Ben knew everything that was happening.
“Well, yes! Congratulations! It’s wonderful news.”
“If I’m not dead—”
“You’re not.”
“Then how am I seeing you?”
Ben pursed his lips. “I’m visiting, is all. I don’t remember you being such an inquisitive fella.”
Tommy shook his head. “We never . . . we never met.”
“No, you’re right about that. But we saw one another. Heard of one another. And now we have Em in common.”
“I have a good life with Em.”
“I know that.”
“I want to be with her.”
Ben nodded. “Know that, too.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s fine, Tommy.”
“I didn’t ask if she was fine. I asked where she was.”
Ben studied him a moment and then gave a resigned shrug. “She’s over there,” Ben replied, nodding toward the bunkhouse.
Tommy got up and walked toward the bunkhouse. Halfway there, he saw movement in the window of his old room and changed course to see who was there. He reached it, peered inside and saw Em sitting next to someone in bed. Doll and Wood were there, too. He leaned further over to see who was in bed and received a bone-jarring shock to recognize himself. An overwhelming crush of dizziness and movement overcame him and he braced himself against the window and closed his eyes. “Em—”
Em drew back with a gasp and studied Tommy anxiously. He still appeared to be unconscious, but he’d just uttered her name. She hadn’t imagined it, had she? “Did you hear it?” she asked, looking up into Wood’s face.
The man’s smile answered for him. “I heard it, honey. God as my witness, I heard it!”
A glass of water was trembling in Doll’s hands. “I think it may have been the best thing I ever heard,” she said. She drew a deep breath. “Tommy,” she bellowed.
Em jerked at the unexpected outburst.
“Good Lord, woman!” Wood chastised. “Don’t go and give him a heart attack. Or us neither. Like we don’t have enough problems.”
“Sorry,” Doll replied. “Thought it was worth a try.”
“Let’s try to get a little water down him,” Wood said, shifting over to lift Tommy. Em took the glass from Doll and brought it to Tommy’s lips as Wood worked to open his jaw.
“Won’t he choke?” Em worried.
“I don’t know, but we have to try, I think. Just a little.”
Em held her breath as she poured a little water into Tommy’s mouth. He swallowed and there was a collective sigh of relief. She poured a little more and he gagged, spewing the water.
“Now, now, now, take it slow,” Wood coaxed nervously. “Just a little dribble at a time.”
“You want me to do it?” Doll offered.
Em shook her head and tried again. It was nerve-racking and she’d begun crying again, which was a damn nuisance. “I’m fine,” she said. “I swear, I’m not really crying.”
“You’re entitled,” Wood said gently.
Tommy choked again and Doll reached out, unable to help herself. “Slow, now.”
“Might want to be starting on supper pretty soon,” Wood suggested tenderly.
She straightened indignantly. “I suppose I might be,” she replied snappishly before walking off in a huff.
“She doesn’t mean to hover, you know,” Wood said.
Tommy had a little fluid in his mouth, but he wasn’t swallowing. “He’s not taking it,” Em said.
“He will. It’s just slow, is all. We got to be patient.”
She lowered the glass. “Why did this have to happen?”
“It didn’t have to happen. It just happened. And we just have to handle it. We’re strong enough and Tommy’s strong enough to come through this. Now, you got to believe that.”
She nodded.
“You know, you’re getting some salt in that glass,” he teased. “Come on back and give him another swallow.”
Tommy found himself standing in front of the house again. Ben still sat in the same spot. “Satisfy your curiosity?” Ben asked.
“I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
Ben frowned. “Now, you listen to me, Tom Medlin. You cannot think that way. Not for a single minute. You hear me?”
“I don’t understand,” Tommy said, beginning to get angry and frustrated.
“Do you have to understand everything?”
“I want to live!”
“And you have got to hold on to that and keep holding on to that. It is essential. It’s important.”
“I know what essential means,” Tommy muttered as he sat back down, although when he’d walked onto the porch he didn’t remember. “I’m not slow.”
“I never thought you were. In fact, nobody ever really thought that, Tommy. It was kind of a joke your family played on you. They had a mean streak to them for the most part. Isn’t that right?”
“They had a mean streak, but they thought it.”
“Nah. What they realized was that they could make you think it. And, son, that is everything. What a man thinks about himself determines everything else in his life. What he goes for or chooses not to. What he believes he’s entitled to. Or thinks he doesn’t deserve.”
Ben began rocking, and Tommy pondered his statement.
“It’s a pleasant thing, rocking,” Ben said. “Emmy likes to rock.”
Tommy leaned back and noticed a water stain on the ceiling of the porch he’d never seen before. It was in the shape of a rabbit. “I want to hold our baby,” he said. And make love to Em again. To hold her in the night.
“You keep right on wanting. That’s what’ll make the difference. Hear me?”
Tommy nodded. He wanted to believe it. “I hear you.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Only by the grace of coincidence did Dr. James ‘Jack’ Werthing become privy to the telegraph sent by T. Emmett Rice of Green Valley, Virginia. For a matter of eight long days, Jack had taken over the responsibilities of administration of Philadelphia Hospital so that his friend and mentor, Dr. Miles Kay, could enjoy a brief vacation. Miles had returned to work earlier in the week, but as Jack cleared his desk and prepared to leave for the day, he noticed an application for employment he’d failed to pass on.
Jack, an attractive, fair-haired man, considered putting it off until tomorrow, but then grabbed it and headed back to Miles’s office. He liked a clean desk and he liked starting the day with a fresh slate, which was why administration had been such an unpleasant experience. The hospital was understaffed and overpopulated. The insane ward of the hospital housed over a thousand patients at the moment and the administrative challenges never stopped. For the chief administrator, there was no such thing as a clean desk or finishing the day’s work.
Miles was in a meeting, so Jack handed the application to his newly hired assistant, Randall Miller. “I forgot to pass this on.”
“I’ll see that he gets it, Doctor Werthing.”
Jack couldn’t help noticing how frazzled the young man seemed. He gave h
im a smile of encouragement as he turned to go. “Have a good evening.”
“Doctor Werthing?”
Jack turned back. “Yes?”
“May I ask your opinion on something?”
“Of course.”
Randall reached for a telegraph and handed it over. “I’m supposed to discard what’s not important, but—”
Jack took the telegraph and perused it. Frowning, he read it more closely.
“Should I discard it? Or might we post it somewhere for the other doctors to see? I believe Doctor Kay will say to discard it, short of staff as we are, but—”
Jack looked up at the assistant, wondering if he knew his history. “I’ll take it.”
“You don’t mind?”
He saw only relief on the young man’s face, no guile. “Not at all. As a matter of fact, I was involved with a case that bears rather a striking similarity to this one.”
“Really?” Randall Miller asked as if genuinely surprised.
Either the man was a good actor, or he really didn’t know. Jack merely nodded and held up the telegraph. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, turning to go.
“Thank you, sir,” Randall called.
Jack gave a quick nod and a smile and then left the hospital at a brisk pace, anxious to get home and share the telegraph with Charity.
Sitting in front of the oval vanity mirror, Alma Werthing adjusted the pewter comb in her dark hair. She noticed another gray hair, plucked it out with a frown, and then pondered whether the mauve shirtwaist was a flattering color on her or not. She had not decided when she got up to go check dinner preparations. Walking down the hall, she heard the familiar sounds of sniping. She stopped, sighed deeply and then continued into the room where an altercation between her daughters was in full swing.
“Don’t you dare call me a ninny,” Alexandra huffed.
“Mother,” Eugenia warned. “Tell her to get out of my room. She flounces in here and—”
“I do not flounce!”
“Stop it, both of you,” Alma snapped.
“I only wanted to borrow the lavender gown she never wears,” Alexandra said, glaring at her sister. “You’re so selfish!”
“And does she knock?” Eugenia asked, scowling back. “No. She flounces in, demands to have her own way—”
“Mother, she’s not being reasonable,” Alexandra declared.
“Get out,” Eugenia replied hotly. “And wear your own things! It’s not as if you don’t have enough. You are so spoiled! And you call me selfish?”
“Alexandra,” Alma snapped, gesturing at the door.
“But she never wears it!”
“Go,” Alma warned.
Alexandra stomped from the room, saying, “You just wait until you want to borrow something of mine, Eugenia.”
Alma scowled at her eldest and then stepped from the room and shut the door, perhaps more forcefully than necessary. The girls were sixteen and nearly eighteen, and therein lay the problem. She’d had them entirely too close together. Other people’s children were not so competitive and quarrelsome.
Jack was pouring himself a glass of sherry when she walked into the informal parlor. “You’re home,” she remarked.
“I am,” he replied more cheerfully than usual. “How’s everything?”
“The girls are at one another again.”
He sipped his drink. “I heard.”
She walked closer and kissed his cheek. “How was your day?”
“Busy. Yours?”
“Fine.”
“Is Charity home yet?”
Alma felt a flush of irritation. “No,” she replied sharply. Her ire increased when he looked disappointed. Obviously, there was something he wanted to share with his sister that she was too dim-witted to understand, but did he even try to include her in what he found so interesting? “I’m going to check on dinner.”
“Good, I’m hungry.”
Alma bit her tongue as she left the room. The man never even bothered to notice her frustration or her hurt feelings. Oh, but if Charity had hurt feelings—
At that moment, across town, Charity Werthing pulled off her soiled apron, having failed to save either mother or premature infant. There had simply been too much blood loss.
“You did all you could,” a nurse commiserated.
Charity nodded slowly and walked away to wash up before facing the woman’s husband. When she left the hospital a half hour later, she felt drained and distracted, so much so that it was a surprise when the house came into view. She went to her room to change and then joined the family at dinner, although they were nearly through with the meal.
“There you are,” Jack greeted.
“Good evening,” Charity said to everyone. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Natalia,” Alma called.
“You look tired,” Jack remarked, gazing at Charity.
“I am,” she replied.
Natalia, a new maid Alma had recently hired, appeared at the door.
“Bring Miss Werthing her soup,” Alma said.
“No, just a plate, please,” Charity said to the maid. “I’m not very hungry.”
“A shame,” Alma said tightly. “The soup was excellent.”
Charity poured a glass of wine and sipped. She could tell the girls had been arguing again. Alma was on edge, as well.
“May I be excused?” Alexandra asked.
Alma raised her highly arched brows. “If you choose to be excused before dessert is served, do not bother asking for it later.”
“Well, do we have to wait for Aunt Charity?”
Natalia was already back with a filled plate. “Please don’t hold up dessert for me,” Charity said to Alma.
“Fine,” Alma replied. “Natalia?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the maid said as she slid Charity’s plate in front of her.
“Did you lose a patient?” Jack asked quietly.
“If you don’t mind,” Alma spoke sharply, looking at her husband. “Not at the table. How many times—”
“Of course, my dear,” Jack replied easily. “Apologies. Actually, I think I’ll skip dessert.” He scooted his chair back. “Join me in the study later?” he said to his sister before he rose.
Charity could feel the daggers from her sister-in-law’s eyes. The pettiness was so wearing. She took a bite of the meat.
“It’s roast duck,” Alma informed her. “I wasn’t entirely pleased with the sauce. Oh, but she didn’t put any on yours.”
Charity swallowed the bite. It was rather dry. “It’s fine.”
Natalia was back with a tray of dessert.
“Natalia,” Alma said. “Bring Doctor Werthing a bowl of sauce, as none was offered her.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Charity tried to catch the maid’s eye to indicate that it was of little importance, but she’d already gone.
“Gingerbread cake,” Eugenia rejoiced. “My favorite.”
“I would like a change in the gardens next year,” Alma announced. “What would you think of a Chinese pavilion, girls?”
The girls both shrugged. They were enjoying their cake and not terribly interested in the subject.
“Or is a little conversation too much to ask for?” Alma asked testily.
“It sounds very interesting, Mother,” Alexandra replied.
Alma scowled, having heard the petulance in Alexandra’s voice. “Do you care for rock gardens, Charity?”
Charity didn’t reply until she swallowed her bite, nor was she about to rush in order to answer an inane question. “Honestly, I prefer rambling gardens with fountains.”
“Sounds like what we already have,” Alexandra remarked.
“Which, by the way,” Alma said, looking at Charity, “you spend very little time in.”
“True,” Charity conceded. “Unfortunately. Too little time in the day.”
“People’s lives to save and all,” Eugenia said breezily.
Charity glanced up at he
r, but Eugenia’s gaze was on what remained of her cake. The comment had just bordered on sarcastic. Alexandra’s fork was pressed to her lips, where the merest smirk played. The pettiness was sorely wearing.
“So, about the lavender—” Alexandra wheedled.
“Mother,” Eugenia said through gritted teeth.
“Enough,” Alma warned.
“Well, if I can’t borrow it, which is totally unreasonable, I need something new for Josephine Walker’s coming out.”
Need, Charity thought. Her nieces hadn’t the vaguest notion of what the word meant, which had very little to do with the family’s wealth. After all, she and Jack had grown up in this very home with all the trappings of wealth, and neither of them had ended up flighty or frivolous. The credit for that went to her parents and to their passion for education and community service. If she ever had children, which, admittedly, was unlikely at this point in her life, she would raise them so very differently. Of course, it was easy to be critical when you were not in the position of having to prove anything. She needed to remember that.
Charity stopped in the open door of her brother’s third-floor study, where he had his nose stuck in a book. “What’s so interesting?” she asked.
He looked up. “Come in and read this telegram,” he said, reaching for it and handing it over.
She took it and began reading. Partway through, her jaw went lax. “Forehead, just above the right eyebrow,” she said, looking up at him.
He nodded, his expression intense.
“Where exactly is Green Valley?” Jack rose and came around the desk with a map in hand, which he laid out.
“You’ve looked it up already. You want to go.”
“Of course! Don’t you?”
She realized it was true. She’d felt exhausted and melancholy until the last two minutes. “We should send word first. Make sure the man is still alive.”
“I think we have to assume he is.”
“You’re right. There’s no time to waste.”
“Here,” Jack said, pointing to Green Valley on the map.
It wasn’t so terribly far. “After all we went through with Father—”
“I know. Perhaps we’ll be able to put it to use.”