Calico Ball

by Kelly, Carla

  When the Council of City Professionals next met, three weeks had passed. Winter had slowly released its death grip upon the high Wyoming plain.

  Waterlogged earth could absorb not a drop more. Snowmelt ran in rivulets down the center of muddy streets, heading for pools in the lowest elevations. Enough snow remained on the river valley between Evanston and Almy, Henry doubted the wagon could make it, but the sleigh stood a chance.

  The lone rider who’d carried a note last week had met him at the door of his office, pleading for him to come soon. If the weather held, he’d attempt the journey on Sunday.

  “All in agreement?” Mrs. Sophia Hughes, the attorney, raised her hand to indicate all should vote.

  Henry couldn’t well cast his, given he hadn’t a clue what she’d proposed.

  “Dr. Merritt?” Sophia raised a brow.

  “My apologies, madam. I had—”

  The glare from Miss Pattison burned him from ten paces. She turned to face front once more.

  He couldn’t blame her. If he’d been in her tiny, high-heeled boots, he’d have been furious at the so-called “interview” Fisher had printed. What an utter falsehood.

  After hours of deliberation, he’d determined Fisher had paid such an exorbitant price for the privilege of interviewing Henry for one reason, and one reason only—so he couldn’t deny the interview occurred.

  Between a bit of truth here and a scrap of reality there, Fisher had painted Henry as the worst of fiends, distrusting females in men’s work. And that was precisely the problem. He did distrust professional females. But not for the reasons Fisher cited.

  “I asked,” Mrs. Hughes repeated, apparently, “if we agree to meet this coming Sunday evening at five o’clock to report upon the progress of our individual assignments.”

  Sunday. This Sunday. No. “Is it not possible to continue our meetings at the conclusion of a business day during the week?”

  For the first time in three weeks, Dr. Pattison addressed him. “Where might you be, Dr. Merritt, that is more important than meeting your obligations to your community?”

  Her dagger struck close to his heart. Precisely as she’d intended.

  Drat professional women. Sharp-tongued, every last one of them. They’d forsaken every gentle nature, every bit of gentle persuasion their sex had ever owned.

  “Personal obligations.” In a room filled with nearly all of the town’s well educated, he’d be loath to brag and hesitant to call attention to himself. A man had his pride, after all.

  The woman stiffened, her posture screaming discontent and agitation.

  He shouldn’t care.

  She had no say where he spent his Sundays, and he owed her nothing.

  “Assignments, Mrs. Hughes?” Might as well admit he’d not heard a thing said. How could he, when the weight of everything else threatened to crush him?

  “Your assignment, together with the other two dentists, is the invitation committee.”

  Other two dentists—

  They’d assigned him to work with Dr. Pattison?

  Sophia Hughes, like the professional she’d proven herself to be, regained control of the meeting. “We often meet without one or more members of our committee present, but this next meeting is essential, as we’ll ensure committees are well on their way. We haven’t time to lose. May I hear suggestions of an alternate date and time?”

  Finally, with relative ease, the group decided upon a Friday evening one week hence.

  “Will that Friday suit your busy schedule?” Dr. Pattison’s tone exuded thinly veiled criticism. “We do hope you’ll join us.”

  Though he wanted to respond in kind, his mother had taught him better. He drew a breath to center himself. “Friday next will suit quite well, thank you.”

  Once spoken, words could not be called back. How Isabella regretted failing to hold her tongue.

  Unfortunately, that man had needled her. First, the newspaper interview with hot-tempered Thomas Fisher, and second, his insistence that the committee change plans to accommodate his inconsequential social commitments.

  Rudeness in the newspaper had kindled rudeness in her. Granted, Fisher and Merritt had made a target of her, but that didn’t excuse unladylike behavior. No one provoked her like this. Not Mother. Not Dudley.

  Shame heated her cheeks.

  “Isabella?” Sophia offered a steaming bowl of glazed carrots.

  “So sorry.” Isabella accepted the china dish and served herself. The roast beef supper filled the dining room with luscious aromas.

  They’d gathered at the Hughes home after the meeting, including Doc Joe, Naomi’s husband, and their host, Chadwick Hughes, a talented cook. Chad had wed Sophia last Valentine’s Day.

  The closest of friendships existed between the women and the two men who’d won the ladies’ hearts. Isabella imagined they’d remain friends through the years, their private supper parties providing an opportunity to discuss personal matters. Inviting a bachelor would be of no benefit, except to assist in passing dishes.

  Tonight, the men discussed supplies for the clinic, delayed in transport by the Union Pacific.

  Her mouth watered as she spread butter on a hot roll.

  Naomi caught Isabella’s eye. “Are you comfortable on the invitations committee?”

  She would not let that man interrupt her digestion.

  “Dr. English, Dr. Merritt, and I will work together without . . .” Truth be told, she couldn’t promise the absence of friction. “Without disappointing the committee.”

  Sophia set down her water goblet. “I saw your reaction tonight.”

  In her estimation, all she could control was her response. Shame dampened her appetite.

  “I’ll persuade someone to trade assignments with you. You needn’t pair with Dr. Merritt.”

  She adored Sophia, particularly her protectiveness. She bit into the tender roll, savoring the delectable, homemade freshness.

  “You’re most kind.” Assignments had been made by profession. To ask for adjustments now would draw attention. “You needn’t go so far. The worst that might happen is I’ll be forced to do all the work myself.”

  “Are you certain?” Naomi set down her knife.

  “Yes.” How she adored these women, who understood her challenges with perfect comprehension. “I’ll see this through.”

  “A trait we love about you.” Naomi raised her wine glass in salute.

  “To the calico ball,” Joe toasted, “and its success.”

  Chadwick followed suit. “To the calico ball. With the lovely women at my table hard at work, the occasion will succeed.”

  “Thank you.” Sophia meant her words for her husband alone. The connection between them, at the head and foot of the table, seemed a living thing.

  Longing knocked on her lonely heart. Wishing for that kind of a match seemed nearer the surface of late. She’d long ago given up on finding a man who would honor, respect, and love her for who she was.

  Last to raise her glass, she took in Chadwick and Joe, Naomi and Sophia. Her replacement family. “To us.”

  On Sunday morning, Henry determined that winter’s snows had receded enough. The team could make the journey, pulling the loaded wagon, if the vehicle were on sleigh runners. So he’d taken precious time to affix the runners, then loaded up with needed supplies, tool kits, dental engine, and chair.

  Not fast enough, though. Two competing church bells clattered, announcing Easter morning services had concluded.

  Aggravation locked its claws tightly about his gut. For years, he’d kept his weekend trips unknown to the gossips. He’d quietly roll out while men slept off Saturday night drinking. If only last night’s storm hadn’t demanded he scout the conditions before attempting the journey with a loaded wagon.

  Come quick as you can, Doc. Winter’s been long.

  Fisher’s payment had made it possible to accept the call. He couldn’t wait another week.

  A stream of colorful bonnets, well-dressed ladies, a
nd men in tailored suits paraded past. No one drove buggies with the streets sure to swallow wheels to the hub.

  One last trip inside to douse the lamps, close the shades, and lock the door.

  “Dr. Merritt, good morning.” Mayor Raymond Gardner, not three feet away, spoke loud enough to be heard across the street. “How are you this fine Easter morn’?”

  “Well, thank you.”

  The mayor noted Henry’s cap to his boots, no doubt realizing he’d dressed for the mines, not church.

  Religion, Henry had long believed, was where one found it.

  The mayor turned to the wagon bed, covered with canvas and tied securely, upon its runners. “Problem, Merritt?”

  “No, sir.”

  A knot of ladies passed by, some holding children’s hands, calling good mornings. Henry lifted his hat, responding to several by name.

  One of the men in their company engaged the mayor in conversation, so Henry grabbed the opportunity to nod his farewell, circle the congestion on the boardwalk, and gather the reins from the hitching post.

  “Henry Merritt!” Doc Joe, with his perpetual warmth—and his wife on his arm—offered a handshake.

  Sure enough, immediately behind came Chadwick Hughes, his wife also on one arm, and Dr. Isabella Pattison on the other.

  Would nothing go smoothly? This was precisely why he left town under cover of darkness and while Main Street yet remained quiet.

  Henry shook Joe’s hand, then climbed to the wagon seat. He raised his hat to the women. “Morning, ladies.”

  At this, Chadwick laughed, good-natured and friendly. “Am I one of the ladies, now?”

  “Sorry, Hughes.” Henry gripped the reins.

  “Couldn’t see me for all the Easter bonnets?”

  Actually, yes. The ridiculously festooned bonnet perched on Isabella Pattison’s dark head distracted him.

  With royal-blue ribbons tied in bows, feathers, and flounces cradling robin’s eggs so real in appearance, they might’ve been natural. A stuffed red-breasted male robin, accompanied by a nut-brown female, perched on the edge of their nest and their eggs.

  How . . . domestic.

  Why a bonnet like that would appeal to a professional woman, who had no interest in a home of her own, he hadn’t the vaguest notion.

  Perhaps the royal blue of the hat itself, tall and—from the looks of other hats upon the street—highly fashionable, matched the royal blue of her costume. She’d clutched her skirt and multiple petticoats in her free hand to save the hems from the muck of the streets.

  Every time he had the distinctly unfavorable experience of glimpsing this woman, she wore another vivid color. Why, if he had access to the fortune she spent at the dressmaker, millinery, and shoemaker, he’d never want for gold foil or nitrous oxide again.

  “No offense taken,” Hughes insisted. “Say, won’t you join us for Easter dinner? We’re headed home now.”

  Noon, already?

  With impeded travel, he’d be lucky to see only the most desperate. “I thank you for the invitation. I’m not able to, not today.”

  “Where are you headed?” Doc Naomi asked.

  Apparently Joe didn’t feel the need to ask where—or for permission. He lifted the canvas and peered inside. “Removing your offices? Where to?”

  Jesting, yes. But the guess speared Henry’s gut. Twenty-four days remained until the rent must be paid. “Not today.”

  The bright blue bonnet bobbed in his peripheral vision, as if Dr. Pattison did her best to see over the taller persons in her company. The little miss barely reached Chadwick’s shoulder. Unless one took into account her stylish high-heeled boots and absurd bonnet.

  “If I didn’t know better,” Joe said, laughter lingering in his words, “I’d say you’re setting up shop in a tent.”

  “No tents. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll bid you a fine day.”

  While he’d been careful not to glance in her direction, Dr. Pattison and her fancy blue costume made her way to the front. At Joe’s side, she peeked into the wagon.

  Henry’s gut pinched. Hard.

  Joe had earned the right to pry and to ask questions. He’d paid for that right with years of genuine friendship.

  Dr. Pattison had not.

  He clamped his mouth shut rather than break every rule of decorum his late mother had drilled into him. Let the lady show her lack of manners—no one expected a professional woman to behave.

  “Are you sure you won’t join us?” This from Sophia Hughes.

  Already, his stomach grumbled. “I do wish I could.”

  “My husband is a fine cook. We have more than enough.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He’d heard tell of Chadwick Hughes’s skills in the kitchen. What an odd couple they were. She, a professional, wage-earning woman—though not as successful as Doc Naomi. And he, a successful Station Master for the UP.

  “Why, you’ve loaded your dental office, Dr. Merritt.” Dr. Pattison kept peering beneath the canvas. He itched to drive away and pull the cover from her nosy fingers.

  But her tone held only curiosity, as if he were a puzzle to be solved.

  Today was not the day to reveal his secrets—especially not to her.

  She looked up from the wagon bed and held his gaze with a mixture of surprise and . . . triumph? Her hazel eyes sparkled.

  Oh, no.

  “You’re taking dental care to those who cannot come to you.” Gears turned in her mind under a full head of steam. “It’s Sunday, and you’re prepared with runners for a distance beyond Evanston.”

  The others had fallen silent, taking in her assessment.

  “At this hour,” she continued, “you can’t plan to go much more than five or ten miles. Nor are you headed along the road, or you’d have purchased a ticket and loaded crates into the baggage car.”

  The road, meaning the UP line east to Rock Springs or west to Park City, or the spur northwest to Almy.

  She spoke casually of the train and baggage car as if money were no object.

  For her, obviously, no object at all.

  What could she possibly understand of his mission?

  Every bit of snootiness embodied by matching, fashionable costumes, slipped away. She blinked remarkable hazel eyes. “You’re headed to Almy.”

  His jaw loosened. “Now how’d you figure—?”

  Joe shifted. “You’re not setting up shop in Almy, are you?”

  “No.” A little shake of her head sent her bold hat bobbing.

  Were those stuffed robins on springs?

  Dr. Pattison spoke to her friends. “I’m certain of it. He’s taking dental care to the residents of Almy, none of whom can travel to Evanston.”

  How had she drawn that accurate conclusion?

  If anyone put two and two together, it should’ve been Joe, who understood the miners’ troubles. Twelve-hour shifts, Monday through Saturday. He and Naomi often rode to various mines when disaster struck, to treat the injured.

  “But,” Chadwick Hughes began, “on Easter Sunday?”

  “I want to go along.” Dr. Pattison bounced on her little feet, her eyes bright.

  “Impossible.” She could not go with him. Absolutely not.

  “Of course it’s possible.” She refused to acknowledge his answer. “With two of us seeing to the needs of the residents, the work will go much faster.”

  She intended to steal his nonpaying patients, also? Or did she assume the miners paid him?

  “Your noble endeavor is most deserving. Pull your wagon around to my office, and we’ll load my implements and supplies.”

  She ordered him about, as if he worked for her? He’d put her in her place, but she wouldn’t have heard.

  In the fracas, he met Joe’s eye. His unspoken question conveyed with ease, for Joe laughed. His eyes crinkled in that way of his. Laughing at life’s inconveniences.

  “Miss Pattison,” Henry spoke over the top of her as she huddled with her kind. The three professional women were no dou
bt hatching a plan to take over the county.

  She stilled. She squared her shoulders in her smart costume, and almost as if someone tightened her corset another full inch. She turned to him. “Dr. Merritt?”

  He wanted to groan. And throw his hat to the muddied street. And stomp on it.

  She’d railroaded over him, ordered him to see to her wishes, invited herself along.

  Unpredictable.

  Bossy.

  Troublesome.

  Precisely why he didn’t care for women like her.

  Well, one of the topmost reasons. He had plenty.

  His mother’s insistence on proper decorum around ladies nagged at his conscience. “I apologize, Dr. Pattison. I misspoke.”

  She radiated triumph.

  Because he’d acknowledged her education? Fool woman.

  “If you’ll be so kind as to allow me, I’ll contribute my ready supplies. My own chair, implements, machine. I am well supplied.”

  Unease curled in his gut. He’d loaded his case that morning, agonizing over the number of doses, and fearing his lack would render the trip useless. Yet, to accept help from a woman, especially like this, trampled his pride.

  He grasped at the one remaining argument. “I work late, by lantern, and won’t return until tomorrow.” Before she could argue, he insisted, “I won’t risk the horses.”

  She nodded. “Seems wise.”

  “Don’t you care for your reputation?” Proper ladies did not travel overnight with a man.

  Without so much as a glance at her friends, she took one dainty step closer. “Allow me to ask, Dr. Merritt. What is your age?”

  Where had that come from? “I’m twenty-seven. Twenty-eight in June.”

  “Why do men consistently include the not-yet-achieved year?” A rhetorical question. “I am age thirty, Dr. Merritt. I go where I wish, I sleep where I wish, and I make my own decisions. I need not a father or brother to look after me.”

  Henry looked at the others—Mr. and Mrs. Hughes and Dr. and Dr. Chandler. None seemed surprised. Or uncomfortable.

  “My offer of help, Dr. Merritt, is for the children and women of that mining town. Not for you.”

  His resolve softened, sure as snow on a late spring afternoon. “What of the men?”