She relaxed against his chest, his crisp, white shirt smelling like starch and sunshine. She wouldn’t correct him again, for it would do no good. Papa would never see her as anything more than his little girl. He had carried her whenever he could until she neared the age of four.
She remembered her mother saying, “Joshua Holmes, mark my words when I tell you that child’s never going to learn the God-given ability she has in using her legs if you persist on carrying her around like an infant.”
But he would smile at his wife and nod, while he continued to keep her close…never wanting or letting her far out of his sight. He was the one who read her a story before bed, came to soothe her in the middle of the night after a nightmare, was the hero who squashed the spiders and fixed her toys.
With his large hands spread across her back, Cassia felt safe, loved, and content. It was how her parents always made her feel. It was how Papa took care of his girls. She and Mama were the reason he woke each morning…the joy of his heart and the happiness in his life. Without them, her father would crumble and die. Without him, she and Mama would do the same. And as he was the age of eighty-five and her mother seventy-three, Cassia worried more and more at how much longer she’d have either of them. Though both were in excellent health, strong and vibrant for their age, the nagging realization they were getting on in years always crossed her mind. The others came to greet her now—her brother, Gabriel; his wife, Riley; their oldest son, Ethan; and their daughter, Anita. Then she found herself hugging her best friend, Nora, her stomach large with child bulging between them.
Pulling back, Nora turned toward her husband. “You remember Cameron, don’t you?”
“Of course.” She regarded him briefly. Cameron had grown into a very tall and handsome man of medium build and broad shoulders, not the scrawny boy she remembered from her teen years.
“Nora and I are both pleased you will be helping her through the birth of our child.” He reached for Nora’s hand.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” Nora added.
“Me too.” Her heart warmed by the affection between her dearest friend and the man she’d chosen for a lifetime mate. And in the next instant, she was pained at the thought of not having a love of her own.
But her thoughts were cast aside as Rowena Cooper,; her daughter Clara; and Clara’s husband Owen, were next to welcome her home, as well as Dr. Sean O’Clarity and his wife, Sadie. The small gathering lasted a few hours with everyone eating, drinking, laughing, as well as sharing fond memories. As Cassia glanced around the room, settling her gaze upon the smiles and features of each person, her heart swelled with love. These people made up her life and had something to do with who she was today, especially her parents. She’d been so blessed, so fortunate to be born into a loving, caring family who fostered her intelligence and independence, even though she was a woman.
As Doctor O’Clarity was leaving, he gave Cassia a brief hug. “Take a few days to settle yerself in, Lass, to get reacquainted with yer home and family before ye report to work.” He smiled warmly, his emerald green eyes reminding her so much of Tucker’s. “I can’t tell ye how happy I am to have ye back home. I’m in need o’ a helper, especially now that I’ve been takin’ meself over to the new clinic three times a week to attend the folks there.” He sighed heavily, suddenly appearing worn. “Sadie’s on me all the time to slow down, take a bit o’ time for fun, but there’s always someone needin’ me services.”
She smiled reassuringly at the elder man. “I will do all I can to lighten your load, Doc. It’s what I’ve dreamed all my life of doing.”
He gave her hand an affectionate pat. “I know ’tis, Lass. And a fine helper ye’ll be at that.”
Clara took her aside before departing. “I’ve got a fresh bunch of herbs a waitin’ for ya,” she said. “Come by for ’em soon, won’t ya? We’ll have lunch and talk more.”
Cassia nodded. “I’ll be by tomorrow, so I can fill my bag and have it ready for house calls.”
Clara giggled. “Can ya believe yer now a full-fledged midwife, Cassia? With credentials and all.”
She shook her head, giggling as well, the thrill of the truth giving her such joy. “Sometimes I can’t imagine it, but then other times I remember all the hard work, the book learning and studying it all took to get here, and I feel so…so…”
“Proud,” Clara supplied.
“Yes, I guess you could say that,” she admitted.
“Well, ya should be proud; none of it was easy to do,” Clara countered. “Especially being female and all. Anyway, I’ll be lookin’ forward to yer visit.”
After everyone was gone, she began to help her mother clean up.
“No, child,” her mother said softly, taking the dishes she’d collected from her grasp. “It’s been a long day for you, and I can’t imagine you being anything but totally exhausted.”
She sighed, relinquishing the stack of dirty plates. “I am rather spent.”
“Go,” her mother urged. “Take a hot bath and get into bed. I can handle all this myself.”
She frowned. “I don’t want you to do all…”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Cassia, I’m not on my last leg yet,” her mother interrupted. “Now go.”
This time she obeyed, drawing herself a hot bath and sinking beneath the relaxing waters to soak away the tension of the long day. Closing her eyes, she smiled. She couldn’t think of a time when she was so happy. Coming home was so needed. The only thing that would have made it even more perfect, was if Tucker O’Clarity were here, waiting for her.
Chapter Four
Doctor Brodie O’Clarity flopped with total exhaustion onto the single-sized, iron-railed bed. Still half-dressed, he sighed. His long, busy shift at Boston General had left him too weary to even remove his trousers and socks. All he wanted was the solitude to stretch his aching back, prop up his sore feet, pass some gas as loudly as he wished in the privacy of his rented abode, and fall asleep. But the air was hot and stale in the tiny attic apartment, which would eventually cause him to sweat and chafe if he didn’t rise to open a window. He sighed again as he threw his long legs off the bed and sat on the edge, glancing around the space he’d come to call home for the last three years.
The furnishings were sparse, old, and cheap, but clean, which was more than he could say for most of the boarding houses of modest and economical means. And he’d seen the insides of some horrendous row houses on the many house calls he made. The Widow Danfield kept a strict place—no smoking, drinking, food, or women allowed past the first floor, and if each apartment wasn’t kept clean upon her weekly inspection, the renter was evicted. The layout was compact but efficient and met all his needs.
On one end of the studio dwelling sat a bed, along with a three-drawer dresser, which also served as a nightstand. Outer clothes were hung upon the many hooks nailed to a wall. On the opposite end, there was a table and two chairs, which served as a writing table, a small three-shelved wooden cupboard for toiletries and other belongings, and a wood-burning stove for heating the room. Although the large Victorian style home had electricity on the first and second floors, the attic apartments did not. Gasoline lanterns were used for lighting. In another corner, there was an arm chair with an ottoman and a bookcase.
He shared the bathroom, which was down a flight of stairs to the second floor, with the fellow across the hall—a young lawyer from Atlanta by the name of Paul Rhinehart—and an old ship captain from Nantucket. Captain Jack Crawford, or Cappy Jack as the sailor was called, lived opposite the bathroom, confiscating it first each morning, and leaving it smelling like death and decay. Whatever the old bugger was eating, certainly wasn’t agreeing with him or the pipes. Widow Danfield, on many occasions, was forced to call a plumber to unstop the clogged toilet.
Brodie yawned and pulled off his socks, tossing them aside as he wiggled his toes. Standing, he removed his pants and hung them neatly on a hook before making his way to open the window nearest to the bed. A
slight, cool breeze flowed into the room, chilling his bared chest. He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes while enjoying the night air. Back home at Eagle’s Landing, fresh, clean air was easier to come by. Nights were cool, even in the dead of summer, making it comfortable to sleep. And there was lots of space, grass, trees, and flowers.
Slowly he opened his eyes to glance out at the crowded scene: rooftops in a row, cramped quarters and people on top of one another. He could hear a baby crying and a couple fighting from the house next door. At times like this he longed for home, the quiet privacy of country life, his mother’s cooking, and his father’s company.
Doctor Sean O’Clarity was a man Brodie admired and the reason he became a doctor. However, practicing medicine in a small town was not as lucrative a career. Besides, his life was shaping up nicely here in Boston, now that he met Dorothea Malone and asked for her hand in marriage.
Beautiful, rich, intelligent, and stubborn Dorothea, the chief of staff’s daughter, had turned his head and made his heart race the first time he set eyes upon her auburn curls and hauntingly large brown eyes as she lunched one afternoon with her father. Doctor Hemsley Malone seemed interested in Brodie’s career, many times admiring his dedication to the patients. So, inviting him to join them was not only a feather in his cap professionally, but personally, as he was able to charm Dorothea as well. Of course, it was also obvious that Dorothea was her daddy’s girl, spoiled and coddled. Never had she felt the sting of a paddle upon her backside, been spoken to harshly, or been denied a single request. Cherished and indulged, she never did a day’s chores or shared anything with a sibling. Pampered, she got her own way, whatever that might be, even a husband in a high position at the hospital. After his proposal and engagement, doors had suddenly opened for him.
Doctor Hemsley Malone would further Brodie’s career faster than anything he could accomplish on his own. Watching Doctor Malone’s rich lifestyle put stars in Brodie’s eyes. Being paid a good wage for medical services rendered was so much better than receiving a bag of flour or a basket of eggs, which his father had accepted as pay for being a country physician.
After all the years of hard work, Brodie wasn’t ashamed to admit he wanted the prestige Hemsley Malone had. Doctor Malone spent his life giving all the best things in the world to his precious little girl, and that fact was in Brodie’s favor. There’s no doubt the elder Malone would want for his daughter an accomplished spouse who could keep Dorothea in the manner to which she’d become accustomed. What was so wrong with him being that man?
Brodie yawned and scratched his testicles. While making his way back to the bed, he loudly released the gas he suffered, due to the hurried pastrami sandwich he consumed too late in the day, before climbing into bed. Then he pulled the sheet over his legs and fell asleep.
****
Spending Sundays with the Malone family was an experience to behold. Their mansion, three blocks from Widow Danfield’s boarding house, was a white, three-story, Victorian dwelling set quite a distance from the road and privately enclosed by an eight-foot wrought iron fence. Brodie rode his second-hand bicycle the distance, happy for the sunny morning, and arrived in time to accompany Dorothea to Sunday service at the Grand Street Presbyterian Church.
A Catholic, Brodie was use to worshipping with another denomination’s congregation. Since his family had migrated to America and lived at Eagle’s Landing, they spent Sundays at the Baptist church in town which was much easier than traveling two hours to the nearest Catholic church, especially during winter. Reverend Joshua Holmes and his wife, Amanda, had welcomed the O’Clarity family with open arms and caring hearts.
Brodie halted at the large gate, hopped off his bike, and pulled the bell’s rope to summon the grounds keeper. Within a few moments, Hank, short and stocky, waddled over to unlock the gate.
“Good morning, Hank.” He walked his bicycle through the entrance.
“A-yup, to you as well, Doctor O’Clarity,” Hank countered. Gazing at the sky, Hank shielded his eyes from the sun. “Looks like we’re gonna have a scorcher on our hands today.” He pointed to Brodie’s jacket. “You’ll be wishing to shed that soon enough.”
Brodie frowned. “And it’s not likely my wish would be granted, my friend.” Already he felt the sweat trickling down his back and soaking his last clean, white shirt.
Dorothea would throw a tantrum if he accompanied her looking anything less than dapper. How she, in such heat, could wear all the frills of her frock—complete with hat and gloves—was amazing.
Hank nodded sympathetically. “I hear ya, Doc.”
Brodie chuckled lightly. “I suppose you do.” All the household’s staff heard Dorothea’s tantrums, making her spoiled defiance a well-known fact.
“A-yup,” Hank muttered. “It would’ve done a heap of good, back in the day, for that young lady to have had her backside warmed now and then.” The grounds keeper frowned. “Ain’t no cause at all for some of the lip that sassy girl gives her parents, after all she’s given. If she were my daughter, she’d have been over my knee the first time she threw one of her fits.” Then he looked around suspiciously. “But let’s just keep that between us, hey what?”
Brodie nodded. He didn’t trust Hank by a long shot so any sort of verbal agreement to anything the elderly man said wouldn’t be wise, even agreeing to share his confidence. Hank loved to gossip and so did his wife, Blanche. If Brodie added a comment to Hank’s venting, his words would find their way straight to Blanche’s ears and in turn to Mrs. Malone’s ears at some interval. As well as to her husband’s attention, which Brodie certainly didn’t want or need to happen. Dr. Malone favored Brodie by sharing medical counsel and bringing him in on all the most interesting cases. Angering such a mentor would not be a smart, professional move. Neither would the chance of provoking Dorothea’s dander in an uproar and being the brunt of one of her tirades.
Brodie sighed heavily, his jacket stifling him just as much as his awareness to keep quiet. “I’d better get going, as Dorothea hates to be kept waiting.”
Hank winked. “A-yup, I hear you.” One of his weather-beaten gardener’s hands reached for the hedge clippers hanging from his utility belt. His large, green thumb with a dirt-laced nail and cracked skin at the cuticle pulled the implement free from a loop. “A good day to you, Doc,” he called over his shoulder, walking away to sculpt a nearby hedgerow.
“And to you as well, Hank.” He made his way to the mansion’s front, double doors.
Blanche opened the door, wearing a crisp, white blouse beneath a light gray pinafore, a white apron with two deep pockets tied around her plump waist. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back tightly into a bun that rested at the nape of her neck, causing the flesh at her temples to slant the corners of her greenish eyes.
“A-yup, finally here you are,” she mumbled, beckoning him inside.
The large foyer, with flowered wallpaper done in cream and accented with gold leafing, against the shiny mirror-like-luster of the marble floor, was as extravagant as the rest of the mansion.
Brodie could hear his mother say, “’Tis a mighty grand entrance way, to be sure.”
Quickly he pulled out his pocket watch. “I am only about ten minutes late,” he said in his own defense, replacing the timepiece in his vest pocket.
“A-yup, but just the same,” she countered. “Miss Dorothea’s a stickler for punctuality.”
Immediately a knot formed in his stomach. If Dorothea decided to take him to task for his tardiness, no matter how slight, it was destined to be an unpleasant day.
“But you are in luck, Doc,” Blanche whispered. “Miss Malone’s been otherwise distracted with her step cousin, Drake Nolan, also a doctor,” she added. “He arrived from New York late last night.” Blanche shut the door behind him. “Seems he’s Mrs. Malone’s sister’s stepson and will be touring the hospital tomorrow with Dr. Malone.” She shrugged. “Appears he’s thinking of staying, getting into practice with Dr. Malone.”
&nbs
p; Now his stomach sank to his knees. There was enough competition already to work with and beside the great Doctor Hemsley Malone; he certainly didn’t need an added obstacle. And a family member at that, which would take priority over any hopes he had of obtaining a valid position after Doctor Malone retired.
“Where is Miss Dorothea, Blanche?” He forced himself to appear confident and unconcerned, in spite of the turmoil rioting within.
“In the garden with Doctor Nolan,” Blanche explained. “But it might be best if you didn’t interrupt them, a request of Mrs. Malone’s.”
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Blanche sighed heavily. “Don’t go saying I told you, but I think the missus is hoping Doctor Nolan will take a fancy to Miss Dorothea.” She arched a brow. “Family is family, after all, and when they both were youngsters, they did take an unusual liking to each other. Mrs. Malone, I’m surmising, hopes something between them will spark again. Plus, she wants to please her sister by giving the stepson a chance at a good career and a high-born wife.”
He felt his face grow hot. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to remain calm. “Well, that can hardly be the case now, can it? Since Dorothea and I are engaged.”
Blanche screwed up her large, pepper-shaped nose. “Well now, there lies a problem. The missus feels if Dorothea isn’t wearing a ring, then she’s still available.”
He could feel the perspiration wetting the underarms of his shirt. “I’ve explained to Dorothea the reason why I haven’t yet…” he began, and then deliberately clipped his words. He wouldn’t discuss the situation any further with someone who had no business conversing on the matter in the first place. Besides, no matter how carefully he retorted, whatever he said would be contorted, then spun throughout the household. With Drake Nolan’s arrival, he was working at a disadvantage. Certainly, he didn’t need to add to the problem by fueling gossip.
“Where is Mrs. Malone?” He hoped she wasn’t hold up in her chambers, as she was most days at this hour, sleeping off the liquor she consumed the night before.
The Last Bloom Page 3