“Have you known Sergeant Adair long?” It was a purely polite inquiry, and she could not have cared less about the answer.
“Ever since my first day here. He’s been an incredibly good friend to me. When I came here I had no idea under the sun where I was. He helped me find my house and also my housekeeper. He’s actually a barrister. He could practice law anywhere in Canada, but he’d rather do police work. He single-handedly settled all the fuss the Indians, the loggers, the farmers, the trappers, and the railroad men had for years. There’s not a man jack hereabouts who doesn’t think the world of him.”
“You included, it seems.”
“Of course. He’s gone far out of his way to help me.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say that boorish behavior was no recommendation of a man’s character, but in deference to her uncle, she held her peace.
Less than half an hour later they were on their way home. Richard’s ancient team, which he fatuously called “The Girls,” were hard-pressed to achieve a wheezy trot. It took them nearly an hour to arrive at Richard’s small ranch. Knowing the proximity of their barn, with its feed and comfortable, warm stalls, they turned a fraction before he drew up the left rein and commanded them haw. Jenny looked about with awe. They moved down a lane curving around an orchard, toward a snug two-story log house that looked to have been reinvented and added to over generations. One single chimney, flanked by two dormer windows, rose from the center of the roof, and a capacious farmer’s porch ran the entire length of the front.
“Well, this is home,” Richard announced. “It’s probably going to seem plain to you. I don’t have electricity. There are, however, running water, indoor plumbing, and a telephone. I added the telephone and the plumbing. I can stand kerosene lamps, but a backhouse and a pump were just too primitive.”
Just then a man in work overalls and a black-and-green chopper jacket came from the barn. Richard beckoned to him. “That’s my hired man, Toby. He’s slow and he’s deaf, but he’s a top stockman and he keeps a good garden.” Richard pointed to Jenny’s trunks and pantomimed taking them inside. Toby nodded. But to Jenny’s clinical eye he did not look mentally impaired. I’ll bet money he’s only deaf. If he could be taught to read and write he’s probably as smart as the rest of us. If I’m here long enough, I might try.
Richard and Toby took a handle each on the first trunk and Richard pushed the front door back, pausing politely to let Jenny enter first. The door opened into an old-fashioned assembly room, with a scrubbed heart-pine floor covered with a bright, braided rug.
A relic of the house’s earlier days, a huge natural stone fireplace with an ancient “reckon” to hold cooking pots formed a large part of the center wall. A relatively new wood-burning cook stove stood at right angles to it, and an odd set of bunks ran along the front wall between the window and the outside corner, obviously a holdover from the early days when the farmhouse had its origins as a one-room cabin. A pleasantly solid woman with silvering dark hair and huge dimples stood before the stove, stirring a pot.
“Well, Mr. Weston, I think you’ve just made it home in time. It’s going to rain any minute.”
“Jenny, Mavis Conner, my housekeeper. Mavis, this is the favorite niece you’ve heard so much about.”
“Mrs. Conner,” Jenny said with a polite nod.
“Mavis, please,” she corrected with gentle firmness. “And welcome to Canada. It’s grand to meet you, after everything Mr. Weston has told me.”
“Come up and see your room, Jen. Mavis devoted a lot of time to making it livable. Before, I had just been using it for storage.” With Toby following, he took up the handle of the trunk again and led her to the right, through an archway into the front parlor. The room exuded comfort in the form of a large oriental carpet, two oxblood leather wing chairs flanking the double fireplace, a cameo-backed settee in scarlet velvet, and several occasional tables that held elaborate crystal-bowled lamps. At first she had thought to head through the door at the back of the living room, but a peek inside revealed Mavis’s bedroom on the right, then a hallway through the pantry, leading past the rear kitchen door to the bathroom at the back. Instead she followed the men up the stairs to the traditional children’s dormitories. Richard had long ago claimed the larger room on the left, but when she saw her own bedroom, it reached out and welcomed her. At first glance it appeared simple, a far cry from her chamber in New York with its jacquard satin draperies and marble-topped walnut suite imported from Germany; however, that room had held nothing but turmoil. Though small, this promised peace. The furnishings consisted of a washstand, an armoire, a bonnet box highboy, a cheval glass, a single brass bed, and a delicately carved rosewood lady’s writing desk with cabriole legs that Jenny remembered well. It had belonged to her late Aunt Alix.
“Oh, Uncle Richard! Aunt Alix’s desk!” she exclaimed, her throat tightening with emotion at the memory of her beloved aunt, dead tragically young during her first childbirth.
“It’s yours now. Call it a late Christmas or an early birthday gift. I figured you might need somewhere comfortable to read and write in private.” She came to him and his arms went softly around her. For a moment she was afraid she might cry.
“You’re way too good to me, you know,” she murmured against his shoulder.
“You’re worth it, sweetheart. I want you to be happy while you’re here.”
“I’d be happy in a barn, but this room is lovely. Who made the curtains? Mrs. Conner?” Their glazed chintz, delicately flowered in an abstract swirly blue with mauve roses and green leaves here and there, matched the bedspread, the dust ruffle, and also the skirt around the washstand.
“Of course she made them. She loves to sew. I gave her a sewing machine last Christmas, and she has made herself an entire new wardrobe over the year.”
“Perhaps I could coax her into helping me make a divided riding skirt. I detest riding sidesaddle. You do have a saddle horse, don’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t. However, it would be a small matter to get you a good mount. There’s a man around here who trains horses. He’s an absolute genius. An Iroquois Indian named Thomas Wise Hand. Of course I’ll have to ask Shane to be our go-between, because he speaks Iroquois.”
“Well… Let’s just see, shall we?” she demurred. She wanted nothing to do with the sour-faced young police officer.
Less than an hour later she had unpacked her belongings and managed to strew them all over the small room. Her medical textbooks fit nicely into the shelves below the dormer windows, and she had hung her clothes in the armoire and placed her lingerie and nightclothes in the highboy. Mavis had certainly gone the extra mile. All the drawers were freshly lined with butcher paper, and she had put a handmade lavender stick in each one. Jenny picked up one stick and rubbed it gently between her palms, held her hands to her face, and inhaled the newly released fragrance.
Her hands still smelled of the lavender when she lifted a leather box from the bottom of her trunk. She started to put it in the bottom drawer of the highboy, but instead she sat down on the bed and opened the case. It contained her important papers, including diplomas, grade reports, internship and residence evaluations, and a list of all the hospitals she had written to and their answers. They read like a roster of every heartbreak she had ever known. She leafed through the stack of replies until she came to the one that had been more important to her than all the rest of them put together. It bore the return address of Northtown Surgical Clinic, the internationally famous and preeminent experimental and teaching hospital in New York City. Her father had been on the staff there since before her birth, and as soon as she was old enough to decide she wanted to be a doctor, too, her one and only goal had been to join its staff along with him. Every insult and slight she had borne from her male professors and colleagues, every night she had gone without sleep in order to study, every smutty innuendo she had pointedly ignored, every friendship she had passed up, every sacrifice she had made, had been directed toward
the one hope that a single-page letter shattered. She knew its contents by heart: At this time there are no vacancies on our staff; nor, for the foreseeable future, are there any plans to hire women as staff physicians. She put the envelope back in the stack with a sigh.
I gave seven years of my life for that letter, she thought bitterly. I sacrificed my relationship with Father just so I could get a rejection letter from Northtown. And I’ll bet my bottom dollar he had something to do with it. Academic credentials don’t come any better than mine, yet here I am after all that work, an outcast in a man’s world. Well, I still have some fight left in me. There has to be some place in medicine for a woman doctor. I swear I’ll find it, and then I can thumb my nose at all those insufferable stuffed shirts. I’ll have my revenge, and it will be so sweet.
She forced herself to put the letters aside and pigeonhole the anger that surged up inside her. There was nothing she could do at the moment, so she stuffed all the ire, all the hurt, and all the disappointment into a far corner of her mind, put the box of letters in a drawer, and continued unpacking.
When she finished putting her things away, she decided to take her uncle’s advice and rest. She did not feel particularly tired; nevertheless, she stripped to her shift and snuggled into the featherbed with her heavy human anatomy text. Soon the warmth that enveloped her made her realize the trip had left her wearier than she had wanted to admit. The tome became more and more ponderous, closing altogether across her hand as she fell asleep.
Chapter Two
The next morning Richard immersed himself in his work, leaving Jenny at loose ends. She acquainted herself with her uncle’s quiet house and the housekeeper. In contravention of Jenny’s strict New York propriety, which dictated the cook should always receive the honorific “Mrs.,” Mavis she was and Mavis she would remain. By contrast to the formidable Mrs. Hall, who ruled the kitchen of the sumptuous Weston mansion with an iron fist, Mavis had a much more informal style, making Richard Weston’s comfortable assembly room home to all. Life in the house focused about the round dining table, whether for a leisurely breakfast or a session of potato peeling, mending, and small talk. Jenny sat herself down with the wool plaid shirt that needed to have the cuffs and collar turned. She unpicked the stitches and applied herself to practical sewing while Mavis peeled potatoes for dinner. It was during a period of companionable silence when Mavis suggested that Jenny take the plunge into Elk Gap society.
“By the way, the church is having a box social tomorrow night. I hope you want to attend,” she said.
“Box social?” Jenny echoed. “You know, I’ve never been to one, and I’m not certain I really want to start now.”
“Heavens, child, you’ve led a deprived life,” Mavis responded with her dimpled smile. “Of course you want to go. It’ll be your chance to meet the whole town.”
“I don’t want to give anyone the impression I’m looking for a beau. That’s the farthest thing in the world from my mind,” she protested.
“I realize that. I just think you should go and get acquainted. Of course, you’ll be eating dinner with whoever buys your basket, but that’s not really as important as getting to know people. Besides, Mr. Weston said he plans to attend, and I’m also going. Everyone not bringing or buying a box is bringing pot luck.”
“Well, perhaps you’re right. I have to get acquainted sometime,” Jenny sighed, picking up her small, stork-bill scissors to clip a ragged edge. “Uncle Richard is certainly hard on cuffs, with as much writing as he does, and he won’t wear sleeve protectors because he says they’re not comfortable. Next time around, these sleeves will have to be cut off.”
“There’s a quilting party Sunday evening at Millie Tillman’s house, too. Millie’s husband runs the general store in town?” Mavis’s voice went up questioningly, and she waited for Jenny’s nod of recognition. “Millie is a sweet woman. A bit of a busybody, but she means well. Anyone you don’t meet tomorrow night you’ll be introduced to then. I understand the people around here are perhaps simpler than you’re used to, but you’ll come to like Elk Gap eventually.”
“From what little I’ve seen, I like it well enough already,” Jenny protested. “The only thing about a box social, aren’t you supposed to pack the picnic supper yourself?”
“Naturally. Why?”
“Because I’ve never learned to cook. Tea is about my limit.”
“Never learned to cook?” Mavis echoed, incredulous.
“No. At Parkfield, Father always had a household staff of at least eight, plus a fulltime cook with a helper. In fact, he has employed the same cook since before I was born, and no one who values their life would go into Mrs. Hall’s kitchen without her express permission.”
“She sounds like quite a forbidding lady.”
“She’s on the stern side, but she’s very devoted to what she does, and one of the best cooks in New York,” Jenny said with a small, nostalgic smile. She had realized early on that Mrs. Hall’s gruffness was the only way she expressed the vast amount of love stored within her.
“Well, since you sew well enough, I think it’s high time you learned to cook. I’ll teach you, if you want me to.”
Jenny felt a ripple of amusement at Mavis’s observation. I should be able to sew. I’m a surgeon, after all. “Why not learn to cook? I’ll have a lot of free time while I’m here.”
“Good. I’ll help you with the box social, since there’s scarcely time for you to learn what you’re doing before tomorrow, but after that you’ll be on your own.”
“Fair enough,” Jenny responded as Mavis gathered up her potatoes to rinse them in the sink. She dumped the peelings into a clean bucket, which Toby would eventually take to the barn for the pig.
“Have you ever been to a quilting bee?” Mavis asked at length.
“Oh, yes. We had those in New York. I do like to embroider, but I’m afraid sewing is the only homely skill I’ve acquired.”
“Mr. Weston did mention you’d been away at school. Was it finishing school?” Jenny cringed, then decided to sidestep the question for the present.
“No, I attended the University of Virginia. I studied French, German, Latin, and Greek, plus a lot of other things like natural sciences.”
“How impressive! And French will stand you in good stead here. A lot of people hereabouts speak it, because the voyageurs were the first white people who settled this area.” Mavis dunked the potatoes vigorously in a pan of water in the sink, then set them to boil. Jenny was mentally asking forgiveness for the social fib when Richard came into the room. But Mavis’s comment stuck with her, and she connected it with Sergeant Adair’s accidental use of French when they met.
“My, you two certainly look busy,” he said, adjusting his spectacles.
“We have been. Your shirt’s mended now, but when you wear the cuffs through again, I’m afraid it’s the end.”
“That old shirt doesn’t owe me anything. I’ve had it since before I went to the Continent. Anyway, thanks for fixing it.” He leaned down to bestow an appreciative peck on her forehead.
“You’re welcome. How’s your work going today?”
“Very well, but I do need a break.” He sat down in his accustomed place, and Mavis wordlessly handed him a mug of tea.
“Mrs. Conner…I mean, Mavis…has talked me into going to the box social at the church tomorrow. I’m glad you’re going with us.”
“I’m a little ahead of schedule. I can afford the time. I don’t want to be a complete hermit, after all.”
“Good. I’ll be glad for a familiar face.” Richard smiled at her, and she looked at her uncle, seeing a thousand small details at once. Though he so resembled her father, a world of difference resided behind the unlined face and lively blue eyes. All the men in the Weston family tended to go bald; Richard’s hairline had started to recede, but his hair, like Jenny’s, was still a tawny, darkish blond. She did not think he looked thirty-eight, although her father showed every day of his extra years. Fiery peo
ple like Father seem to age faster, she thought.
“How big is the congregation at Calvary?” she asked at length.
“Oh, a couple hundred, I’d guess. Everybody in town, except those who attend Our Lady of the Angels. We have very few Roman Catholics, though. Father Andre’s parishioners are mostly Indian.”
“That sounds so small after Park Avenue Methodist,” Jenny remarked. “We had more people at early Sunday service than you have in all of Elk Gap.”
“Well, tomorrow you’ll meet most of them.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” She fudged a bit on that statement, too. At that point she could not have cared much less about anything social, especially if it involved men. But by the next afternoon she managed to work herself into an acceptable state of anticipation. She dressed carefully, selecting a navy wool skirt and vest and a white blouse to complement her outfit. When she had done her hair, she opened her jewelry case and deliberated.
Most of her very real jewelry had come down to her through two families. As the only girl on the Weston side, it comprised quite a legacy. She passed over an elegantly simple black cameo ringed with pearls, touched her grandmother’s wonderful diamond-and-pearl necklace, then picked up a topaz-and-diamond bar pin in platinum filigree that her late Grandmother Weston had given her for her sixteenth birthday. She tilted it in the light, watching the diamonds wink back at her around the hexagonal center stone. When she held it against the high collar of her blouse, she decided the effect pleased her very much. Carefully she fastened the pin at the bottom of her collar and turned once before the cheval glass to check her general appearance. With satisfaction she decided she looked nice enough to attend anything in New York.
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