by DiAnn Mills
“I’d like for you to get some sleep, and I’ll check on you periodically throughout the evening hours.”
“Yes, of course,” she mumbled through closed eyes. All she wanted to do was rid her mind of this horrible ordeal.
*****
Jenny stirred in her sleep. A nightmare clung to her hazy dream world, one in which she begged the gods of torment to leave her alone. Humiliation unlike she’d ever experienced, repeated sights and sounds no fitting lady should endure.
She blinked several times to clear her mind from sleep and usher in consciousness. Her nebulous gaze focused on unfamiliar surroundings. Bouquets of blue and yellow flowers dotted the walls, and an open window invited a welcome breeze from swaying tree branches. A marble and oak washstand, a stately armoire, rocker, and trunk were the only pieces of furniture except for the intricately carved headboard. She stroked the thin white coverlet trimmed in white tatted lace that lightly covered her, and she repeatedly ran her fingers over a pale blue and green embroidered basket of flowers on the pillowcase.
Somewhere she heard a piano and strained to hear the tune. It was a hymn, one her old piano teacher used to play. Jenny hadn’t focused on religious songs for years. She concentrated on classical pieces as emphasized by her music professor at the university. But this particular song had been a recital piece, her very first performance—”Amazing Grace.”
Jenny sighed and recalled all those dreadful nights on board the train. Now she lay tucked in a feather bed inhaling the faint scent of roses from the linens, decidedly more pleasant than the smells from the night before.
She held her breath. The events of the previous day had been real.
Where am I? In the same breath, all the remembrances poured over her like a chilling rain on a cold winter day. Jenny painfully relived every embarrassing moment from the instant she stumbled down from the train until her stomach convulsed in the presence of Mr. Turner and Dr. Andrews.
“Oh.” She moaned in memory of the torrid heat and how she’d fainted and hit her head. A dull ache still persisted. She gingerly touched a lump high on the right side of her forehead.
Embarrassment burned her cheeks. The thought of facing Dr. Andrews and Miss Mimi seemed to be more than she could bear. Jenny buried her head in the pillow. How could she look at anyone in this town after yesterday? Dreaded tears threatened to flow, but she swallowed them. Mother and Father would be sorely disappointed in her behavior. Displays of emotion were not the proper manner for handling problems.
After several minutes, her thoughts slipped back to Dr. Andrews. Why didn’t his wife appear? And where was Jessica’s child? He’d spoken of his daughter. Questions darted in and out of her mind. Of one thing she felt certain: the temporary living arrangements would allow her to become better acquainted with the doctor and his family. The whole nasty business with her illness could be a stroke of luck, and hopefully, she’d soon be on her way back home with her niece.
Her glance fell upon her trunk and bags. Dare she get dressed? Taking a deep breath, she threw back the thin coverlet and slowly moved her legs to the side of the bed. The room began to spin. When it refused to cease, she lay back down and closed her eyes. I’ll try again in a little while. Sleep enveloped her senses.
*****
Grant picked up his empty cup for the third time and attempted to drink from it.
“Why don’t you let me get you some more coffee?” Mimi peered at him across the table.
“I don’t want any.” He stared into the cup, seeing nothing for the worrisome thoughts swirling around in his head.
“Oh, Grant. I do hate to see you so disturbed.” Compassion laced her words.
A deep sense of melancholy threatened to overtake him. He set the cup on its saucer and gently pushed it back along with a half-eaten plate of scrambled eggs and buttery grits. “I’m worried about our new patient. Not her condition, but her reason for being here.”
“I feel the same way. When I stepped inside your office, I thought I was looking at a ghost—the same big brown eyes and dark hair. Then she introduced herself as Jenny Martin.” Mimi paused. “Is this Jessica’s sister or a cousin? The resemblance is remarkable.” She tilted her head as though an ear turned his way would cause her to hear better. “Do you know something that you’re not telling me?”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know any more than you do. But I’ve got to find out what this is all about.”
“I saw you spent a long time in the study this morning.”
“I needed to pray.”
She picked up his cup and disappeared into the kitchen only to return with it filled with hot coffee. Her midnight blue eyes captured his gaze. “If we were drinkin’ folks, I’d add something a little stronger.”
Grant chuckled. “If I was a drinkin’ man, I’d accept it.” Taking a sip and burning his tongue, he set the cup down. He couldn’t disguise his apprehension. “I remember two and a half years ago when Morgan helped me with Rebecca’s adoption. I expected someone to appear and claim her or some citizen to object because I was single. Not that I wanted to give her up, but I anticipated it might happen. No one, not one single inquiry about Jessica’s baby girl responded to the Dallas and Houston newspapers.” He shook his head. “Like you, the instant I saw our patient upstairs, I knew she was a member of Rebecca’s family.”
“I wish you’d left her at the train station. Excuse me, I don’t really mean that.”
He raised a brow.
“Well, maybe I mean it a little.”
He laughed, but his heart refused to be soothed with humor. Memories jumbled his mind. “I keep thinking about those uncertain times during Rebecca’s adoption—the moments when I didn’t know how to pray or what to pray for. I felt selfish in wanting to keep Rebecca and fearful of coveting a baby who might belong to someone else.” Grant studied the dear lady beside him. Wrinkle upon wrinkle lay across her face. Love lines. Beautiful touches of God that reminded him of the power of His grace.
“But Rebecca is yours.”
“Legally, but morally? I simply don’t have any answers, and my mind won’t give me a rest.” Grant reached across the table and took Mimi’s hand in his. “I apologize for my bad temperament this morning. And thank you for helping me with Miss Martin.”
“I understand how you feel.” She swiped at a tear. “She’s a threat to all of us.”
“So what do you suggest?” Grant said. Mimi usually saw things from a different perspective: older, wiser, and with a female point of view.
“Right now I’m a little scared, confused. Maybe angry. I don’t have any suggestions but to have patience. This could be an innocent visit. Perhaps Miss Martin wants to make sure Rebecca is well cared for or plans to visit her sister’s grave. Mercy, she may not know her sister passed on. God has a purpose for all of this, but I wish He’d tell one of us what it is.”
He nodded and picked up his fork, tapping it lightly on the table. Several moments passed before he spoke. “Did Miss Martin give any indication why she’s here?”
“No. The poor thing suffered so that my heart went out to her. She cried the entire time I helped her bathe.”
“I checked on her several times during the night. Most of the time, I wanted to look into the room and find her gone.” He smiled. Confession was supposed to be good for the soul. “I also looked in on Rebecca each time I stepped from Miss Martin’s room.”
“I spent a lot of time last night watching our little girl sleep, too. It’s a wonder we didn’t pass each other in the hallway.” Mimi laughed softly.
“I think I saw you leaving the nursery at one point. I should have called out. We could have kept each other company.”
Mimi crossed her arms. “My questions are the same as yours.”
Grant stared into Mimi’s face. “I’m not so sure I want to know why she’s here.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Rebecca is my daughter,” he said. “I never thought I could lo
ve anyone like I do her.”
“It’s a father’s love.” She leaned toward him. “I think we may be overreacting. God gave you Rebecca. You and I have confirmed His hand in her adoption. He will work this out. Like you said, Miss Martin may not know about Jessica’s death or of Rebecca.”
“True. I’m thinking the worst without the least concern for Miss Martin’s health or even grief.”
“Well, you’ll have to ask her and get your questions answered.”
“I intend to, just as soon as she’s feeling better. But—”
“Grant, listen to an old woman who loves you and Rebecca very much. Worrying won’t accomplish a thing but add gray to your hair and prove your lack of faith in God.”
“My head is listening, but my heart is thumping like a scared rabbit.”
“Mine, too, dear boy. Mine, too.”
Chapter 3
Grant told everyone that the huge, oak-shaded area behind his home was the coolest spot in Kahlerville. He could always count on a breeze to lower the sweltering temperatures, and today proved his theory. Century-old trees waved to the sun perched in a cloudless sky. Life didn’t get much better than this, because he knew there were days in which life buried him where the sun never shone. His brother Morgan called those times “stall-cleaning” days, but today Grant refused to even smell trouble. No matter what the reason Miss Jenny Martin had chosen to visit, she would not spoil this moment.
He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and eased down beside Rebecca beneath the leafy canopy of a wide oak tree. How very strange that being outside with his little daughter caused him to appreciate the poetry of life. Grant chuckled. He wouldn’t dare repeat his thoughts to another human soul. Poetry of life? Maybe he should have embarked upon a literature degree instead of the Hippocratic oath.
Upon a red and white tablecloth sat fried chicken, sliced tomatoes, applesauce, and freshly baked oatmeal cookies. This was a special time of the day for him and his little daughter. The noon hour allowed Mimi time alone and Grant the opportunity to have Rebecca all to himself. When the grandfather clock in the foyer chimed twelve times, he worked hard to finish up with his last patient. And unless an emergency arose, Monday through Saturday, father and daughter ate together and, on Sundays, joined his whole family for dinner at the parsonage.
Rebecca sat poised waiting for him to ask the blessing. Her dainty little hands lay folded in her lap, and her feet extended onto the grass. She rubbed her ankles together, and Grant could almost hear her say, “The grass tickles, Papa.” When she gave him a big dimpled grin, he forgot any ill-tempered patients or those seriously ill. But today the reason Miss Jenny Martin had come calling plagued him worse than a bellyache after eating too many green apples.
He caught a glimpse of Rebecca’s huge, nut-brown eyes curtained with long, thick lashes that innocently danced and sparkled to whatever whim intrigued her. Dark brown curls framed her impish face, and already she had thicker hair than most little girls her age. That morning, Mimi had swept up the front and sides of Rebecca’s abundant locks into a green ribbon. It matched her deep green-and- white print dress. Many of Rebecca’s little dresses were green. It was Grant’s favorite color.
He smiled into the angelic face and planted a kiss on her forehead. He gathered up her tiny soft hands into his, and they bowed their heads for prayer.
“Father God, we thank Thee for this beautiful day and for all Thy gifts. Bless this food and the hands that have prepared it. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” Rebecca repeated and peered up at her father expectantly.
“Very good. Let me fill your plate.”
In between bites, they chatted about their morning. “And what did you do to help Mimi today?” he said.
She sat up very straight and wiped her mouth with a crisp white napkin. “Me helped with washing.”
“Wonderful.” Grant gave his best approving nod. “How did you help her?”
“Hmm.” She propped her forefinger under her chin just like Mimi did when she contemplated a matter. “Counted the pins.”
“Clothespins?”
“Yes, sir.” She dipped her spoon in a pile of applesauce on her plate and dragged it dangerously close to the edge.
He helped her scoop it into her spoon. “How many were there?”
“Fourteen ten.”
“Sounds like a lot of them.” He laughed softly. “I’m sure you made her very happy.”
“Yes, sir. Mimi loves me.”
He watched her eye the oatmeal cookie on her plate. “Why don’t you taste that cookie to see if it’s good?”
She picked it up and took a nibble. “Tastes ‘solutely wonderful.”
How he loved his daughter. He urged her to take a sip of milk, which she did obediently. Rebecca didn’t care for its taste, and the task usually took some prodding, but today she didn’t complain.
“I’m proud of you drinking milk,” he said. “I must tell Mimi.”
Rebecca finished her small glass, dabbed her mouth, and set the napkin beside her empty plate. Crawling up into his lap, she laid her head against his chest. Her eyes grew heavy. And as usual, she would soon be asleep. Right here in his backyard, life was good.
“Papa.” She sat upright and pointed her finger to an upstairs window of their home. “Lady sick?”
Grant followed her gaze to the room where Miss Martin rested. To his amazement, the woman watched from the bedroom window. He wondered how long she’d been observing them. “Yes, sweetheart. She’s feeling better.”
“Good. No yike to be sick.” She shook her head, her curls flying across her cheeks.
“I don’t like for you to be sick, either. Do you want to wave at the lady?”
Rebecca sat even straighter on Grant’s lap and wiggled her fingers. With an enormous gesture, she blew Miss Martin a kiss.
My dear sweet angel.
She planted a tiny rosebud kiss on his chin and snuggled back into her resting spot. He glanced up at Miss Martin, who still observed them from the window. When he waved, she didn’t return the greeting. Alarm settled upon him like stepping on a rattler.
Other than Miss Martin’s physical condition, Grant had attempted not to dwell on the woman until he had an opportunity to question her. He’d almost convinced himself that his fears were unfounded. Due to the number of patients this morning who needed his attention, he’d asked Mimi to check on her. Miss Martin had progressed rapidly with rest and a limited diet of broth and toast. By tomorrow, she should be able to eat boiled potatoes and oatmeal. Per Grant’s instructions, Mimi encouraged her to drink small amounts of water at regular intervals and to report any nausea. At this point, his original diagnosis of her suffering from lack of good nutrition mixed with heat exhaustion appeared to be correct. He assumed she’d be moving into the boardinghouse soon.
Grant felt decisively uncomfortable with the young woman in his home. More so, he wanted to know why she’d come to Kahlerville. In the few times they’d talked, she hadn’t mentioned the purpose of her visit or anything about Jessica or Rebecca. He met her silence with mixed emotions. Could it be she didn’t know about her niece? How sad for her if this was a social visit, and her sister had passed away more than two years ago.
To the best of his knowledge, Miss Martin hadn’t seen Rebecca’s face close enough to note the similarities. Grant and Mimi purposely kept her at a distance until the danger of contagion had passed. Still, for his own peace of mind, he needed answers to his questions soon.
Miss Martin had told Mimi that she was a schoolteacher from Cleveland, Ohio, but he questioned if the school year had been completed. Maybe this was all the family Jessica had left. It appeared unusual and inappropriate for a young single woman to travel across the country alone, but that was none of his business. For that matter, who was the man who had assisted her at the train station? Hopefully Miss Martin didn’t share the same profession as Jessica. After breakfast tomorrow, he must talk to her. She should be feeling well
enough by then to engage in serious conversation.
The more Grant considered Jenny Martin, the more he felt her journey must be one of devotion. He’d gladly show her Jessica’s grave and introduce Rebecca as his daughter. Any other connection to Jessica would have to be met with prayer and . . . more prayer.
Mimi approached the picnic area, interrupting his deliberations. “A gentleman is here to see you, a Mr. Aubrey Turner,” she whispered. “I’ll put her to bed.”
He nodded and lifted the child into her arms. At least he’d had this hour with Rebecca in their private sanctuary before being summoned back to work.
Aubrey Turner, a tall, blond fellow impeccably dressed in a tan suit and deep brown lizard-skin boots, awaited him in his office. He shifted a matching top hat and gloves before rising to his feet.
“We meet again, Mr. Turner.” Grant reached out to grasp the man’s hand.
Turner’s hand was smooth, not the touch of a working man. “Dr. Andrews, it’s a pleasure to see you.” His genteel words did not match the coldness in his eyes.
“Thank you, and do sit down.” Grant motioned to a nearby chair. “How can I help you?”
Turner’s broad smile revealed perfectly straight, milky white teeth. “I won’t take up much of your time. I simply wanted to inquire about Miss Martin’s health.”
Grant seated himself at his desk. “She’s doing much better. Would you like for me to see if she’s feeling well enough for visitors?”
“That’s very kind of you but not necessary. I’m sure she needs her rest.” He glanced about. “I’ve never been in this part of Texas. You have a friendly town. Nice folks. Is it always this hot?”
“Always. This is central Texas. We have two temperatures, dripping and unbearable.”
Turner laughed. “I appreciate your tending to Miss Martin. It’s a relief to know she’s recovering from that dreadful experience on board the train. I fully intend to file a report with the railroad company.”