When the Heart Heals

by Ann Shorey

  “From Miss Haddon’s demeanor, it would appear all is not well?”

  She stared at her hands, hesitant to gossip. “The Binghams’ courtship was quite brief and their sudden marriage took place in St. Louis. From what Miss Haddon has said, she and her mother were not exactly welcomed by Mr. Bingham’s servant when they arrived here. The man treats them as interlopers. As a result, Mrs. Bingham apparently suffers with nervous spells from time to time.”

  He stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. His black boots were scuffed and well-worn. “So you’re prescribing long walks? Then why is Miss Haddon coming back on Monday?” The tone of his voice was casual, interested.

  “I prepared a tincture of valerian root for her in the past. My friend reports it had a calming effect on her mother.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You can’t use my practice as a dispensary for your home remedies. What if someone sickened from their use?”

  “I’ve never sickened anybody.” She stalked to the center of the room and faced him, hands on hips. “If it’ll put your mind at ease, I’ll tell my friends to come to my house and not endanger your precious practice.” Rosemary swept her cloak from its hook on the wall and flung it over her shoulders. “It’s past five. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  He stood, towering over her. Up close, she noticed gray strands woven through his hair. The war had taken a toll on the young doctor she remembered. His dark eyes smoldered at her.

  “Your friends may visit here at any time. Just leave your potions at home.”

  4

  Fuming, Rosemary marched the two blocks from Dr. Stewart’s office to West & Riley’s. Darkening clouds overhead mirrored her stormy thoughts. She never should have mentioned the tincture. For the moment, she’d forgotten his position and considered him a friend. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  When she entered the grocery, the aroma of roasting meat coming from the restaurant side of the building made her mouth water. As soon as she had the funds, she’d visit a butcher for a piece of beef chuck. For now, she’d make do with pea soup and cornbread.

  Mr. West called to her from behind a counter. “Evening, Miss Saxon. Have you got a list for me?”

  “Not today. I’ll be back for a larger order when Curt brings me in the buggy.” She didn’t say that day would come after she’d paid the rent and knew how much money she had left. “For now I need salt, two pounds of cornmeal, and two pounds of dried peas.”

  He filled bags from barrels next to the counter, weighed them, then placed a box of salt next to the bags. “Hang on a minute—got something in the kitchen for your dog.” His black moustache lifted when he grinned. “Be right back.” When he returned, he gave her a lumpy package wrapped in paper and tied with string.

  “Thank you.” From the shape, she knew it was a bone. “Bodie will appreciate this.” She added it to the purchases in her carryall, then handed him the coins to pay for her order.

  Mr. West leaned against the counter. “Don’t see you much these days. Heard you had a job with the new doc. Next thing we know, you ladies are going to be running the town.” He chuckled.

  “That day’s a long way off, I’m afraid. First we have to get you gentlemen over the idea that women shouldn’t leave the home.”

  After Miss Saxon’s angry departure, Elijah Stewart stepped into his private office, shaking his head. He’d never met a woman so quick to take offense. She reminded him of a nurse who’d arrived at the Barracks soon after the war started. The other physicians warned him to mind his manners with her. No orders without a “please.” No task performed without a “thank you.” He’d been sent to a battlefield hospital shortly after her arrival, so had been spared much contact. He smiled at the memory. She’d probably married a wounded soldier and had several children by now.

  A gust of cold air blew into the room. He poked his head into the reception area and saw a tall man wearing a lawman’s badge pinned to his coat. “Hope you don’t mind seeing patients after hours. Heard you got Miss Saxon working for you and figured she’d be gone by now.” He extended his hand. “Thaddeus Cooper. I’m the sheriff here.” His firm grip matched his steely expression.

  Curious, Elijah studied the thin-faced man. “Excluding Augustus Greeley, you’re the first person I’ve heard speak unfavorably about Miss Saxon. What do you have against her?”

  The sheriff tugged at a corner of his drooping moustache. “It’s the other way around. She can barely tolerate me.”

  “So a big fellow like you goes around avoiding a slip of a woman?”

  “It’s a long story, and I didn’t come in to jaw. Need you to look at the back of my neck. Got a real tender spot.”

  Once Sheriff Cooper sat on the examination table and removed his shirt, Elijah probed an angry boil below his hairline. “This’ll have to be lanced to get the poison out. Might hurt a bit.”

  “Hurts now. Get on with it.”

  “Stretch out on your stomach. This’ll take a few minutes.” He draped a sheet over the sheriff’s shoulders, then opened a drawer in a side table containing surgical instruments and removed a scalpel. A pitcher and basin sat near jars of remedies and clean bandages.

  The sheriff sucked in a breath when the scalpel penetrated the angry flesh.

  An ooze of blood and pus welled from the incision. “Once this is cleaned out, I’ll apply a bandage. You’ll want to change the dressing every day. There’s a better chance of healing if you keep this clean.” He poured water into the basin and swabbed the cavity with a piece of cotton toweling.

  “How much longer are you gonna take?” Sheriff Cooper gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white.

  “Not long.” He dropped the soiled rag into a pail for Miss Saxon to wash. After bandaging the wound, he removed the sheet. “You can get up now. We’re finished.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” The sheriff buttoned his shirt and then flexed his shoulders. “Feels better already.” He shoved his thumbs in his front pockets. “You usually go home for supper? Got a wife waiting?”

  “No, and no. I’ve been eating at that restaurant attached to the grocery store—West & Riley’s. They serve a fair meal.”

  “Want company? I got no wife waiting either. Not yet, anyway.”

  When the two men reached the corner of King’s Highway, they nearly collided with Miss Saxon. Elijah whipped off his hat. “I didn’t expect to see you out at this hour. It’s growing dark. May I escort you home?”

  She pointed to the picket fence in the middle of the block. “Thank you. I’m only two doors away.” She gave him one of her rare smiles, then her gaze slid to the sheriff, and her smile disappeared. “I won’t keep you gentlemen. I’m sure you have important things to do.” Swinging her carryall, she strode down the board sidewalk.

  Sheriff Cooper turned to cross the street, but Elijah lifted a hand, signaling him to wait. He watched until Miss Saxon entered her house. “She lives by herself,” he said. “Just making sure she got inside safely.”

  “I wouldn’t worry overmuch about that one. Her and that sister-in-law of hers could move a mountain if they put their minds to it.”

  Elijah smiled to himself, recalling her determination to move the heavy sofa in his office. “Could be. But my mother taught me to look after womenfolk—even headstrong ones.”

  Bodie frisked around Rosemary’s feet as she walked through the house. “Do you smell what I brought you?” She plunked her bag on the kitchen tabletop and rubbed his ears. “First you need to go outside, then supper.” After unlocking the back door, she shooed him off the porch.

  While he sniffed around the makeshift greenhouse Curt had built for her, Rosemary reentered the kitchen, leaving the door open a crack so the dog could come back inside. She stored her purchases in the pantry, then unwrapped the bone. Tears blurred her vision when she saw the generous amount of meat clinging to the shank. Enough for a hearty soup.

  Judging from their heft, Mr. West had given her more than two poun
ds each of cornmeal and peas as well. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment in spite of her gratitude for his kindness. There was no denying he’d seen through her excuses for not making larger purchases.

  She added wood to the coals in the firebox and scooped a dollop of lard into a deep skillet to melt. After cutting the meat into chunks, she chopped an onion, tossing the raw ingredients into the heated grease. Savory steam rose to perfume the room.

  Bodie trotted inside and butted his head against her leg. When she paid no attention, he whined.

  She closed and locked the door. “Ready?”

  Rosemary dropped what was left of Mr. West’s gift under his nose. Wagging his tail, he snatched the bone and retreated behind the stove. She smiled at his delight, then turned back to the stove to add water, thyme, and a scoop of barley to the browned mixture.

  While the soup simmered, she took a pen and a sheet of paper from a drawer. A polite thank-you to Mr. West was in order, but she needed to discourage him from thinking of her as impoverished.

  “This is for you,” Rosemary said to Mr. West, handing him the note she’d written.

  He smiled at her, his teeth white against his darker skin. “You’re early this morning. Did you forget something yesterday?”

  “No. I wanted to thank you properly for your generosity.”

  “It was nothing.” He unfolded the note and read it aloud. “‘Dear Mr. West. Many thanks for the gift of food.’” He flattened his “A’s” and dropped the “R” at the end of words, reflecting his eastern roots. Just where in the east, she wasn’t sure. “‘I enjoyed a fine meal, and so did Bodie. However, please don’t consider me as needy. I’m well able to take care of myself, and shall continue to do so. Most sincerely, Rosemary Saxon.’”

  He lowered the paper, his face crinkling into a smile that lit his coffee-brown eyes. “A correction, if you don’t mind.”

  Surprised, she nodded.

  “You’ve been shopping here for months. Call me Jacob. Mr. West makes me think of my father.”

  She ran her eyes over his wavy black hair, his unlined face, and down his broad-shouldered frame. Definitely not an old man. Perhaps a year or two older than Dr. Stewart, no more.

  “Jacob it is.” She smiled. “I’m Rosemary.”

  “Miss Rosemary.” He cleared his throat. “Sharing isn’t the same as charity. Next time I have extra, hope you won’t object to taking it off my hands. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  She dropped her gaze, wishing she didn’t find it so difficult to accept kindness. “All right. Under those conditions. Thank you.”

  When Rosemary entered Dr. Stewart’s office a few minutes later, a fire had been lit in the stove and the room was warm. Both interior doors were closed, and the sound of voices emanated from the examination room. She hurried to her desk. The receipt book lay open to a new page, with a man’s name written on the first line. She knew she’d allowed plenty of time to visit the grocery before arriving at her job. The doctor must have started his day earlier than half past eight.

  She thought of Mr. West’s reaction to her note. To her shame, she’d been guilty of thinking of him simply as the grocer. Today he’d become a person. Jacob.

  The outside door opened, admitting a woman wearing an indigo print skirt topped by a flared rusty red jacket. “I . . . I need to see the doctor.” Her thin lips were pale to the point of whiteness. Darkened circles rimmed her eyes.

  Rosemary dashed to her side, afraid she would faint. “Please have a seat. Dr. Stewart is with another patient at the moment.” She guided her to the sofa, then tapped on the doctor’s door and returned to her desk.

  Flipping to a new page in the receipt book, she asked, “May I know your name?”

  “Miss Jolene Graves.” Her voice trembled. “I’ve never been to a doctor before. Girls in town told me this one’s nicer than the old one—Dr. Greeley. Is he?”

  “Definitely.” She smiled reassurance, recalling the town’s senior practitioner’s opinionated personality.

  After several silent minutes, Dr. Stewart emerged and escorted his patient to the exit, then turned and nodded at Rosemary. “Please show this young lady into the examination room.”

  Jolene blanched.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am. My nurse will stay with you.” He stepped to the open door and stood to one side. A lamp glowed on the side wall, casting yellow light over the long table under a curtained window.

  Rosemary took Jolene’s arm and led her to one of two chairs inside. Stepping back, she waited under a second window while Dr. Stewart closed the door behind them.

  “This is Miss Graves, Doctor,” Rosemary said.

  He straightened his black coat. “What can I do for you, miss?”

  “I’ve been terrible sick. Can’t keep nothing down. Took everything I’ve got to get dressed and come here today.” She sucked in a deep breath and held it for a moment. “I can’t hardly do my work at Miss Lytle’s Millinery—can’t do nothing.”

  Rosemary stifled the impulse to ask Miss Graves if she’d tried raspberry leaf tea.

  Dr. Stewart leaned toward the patient. “I need to take your pulse. Would you please remove your gloves?” When she complied, he lifted her wrist and rested two fingers at the base of her thumb, his other hand holding his watch. After a minute, he closed the timepiece. “A little rapid, but nothing abnormal.”

  He palpated the glands in her neck. “No swelling.” Stepping back, he studied her face.

  “How long have you been ill?”

  “A few weeks.”

  “Any other symptoms?”

  “No . . . well, I’m tired, but that’s because I’m sick.”

  He leaned against the table. “Is there any possibility you might be expecting a child?”

  Her face grew whiter, then flushed scarlet. “Yes,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible. “I was hoping you’d say it was something else.”

  “A baby’s certainly better than a disease. I believe the druggist carries Hoofmann’s German Bitters. That should help with your nausea. Tell him I sent you.” Compassion softened his features. “You’ll need to tell the father.”

  “He’s gone. Went north looking for work. I don’t know where.”

  “Your parents, then.”

  “I dassn’t. They’d kill me.” Tears rolled over her cheeks.

  “I doubt that, Miss Graves,” Dr. Stewart said in a gentle voice. “I suggest you talk to them.” He turned to Rosemary. “There’ll be no charge for this visit. You may see the patient out.” He entered his private office and closed the connecting door behind him.

  Jolene covered her face with her hands. “What am I going to do?” She choked the words through her sobs.

  Rosemary put an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Come with me. I have some ginger water in my carryall. It might help settle your stomach.” She kept her voice low, mindful of the doctor’s prohibition against her “potions.”

  She settled Jolene on the sofa and poured ginger water into a cup. “Sip this slowly,” she said, then perched next to her. “You can’t hide this from your parents.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “They’re sure to notice as time passes.”

  “I don’t live with them. I share a room in town with two other girls.” Fresh tears slid from her eyes. “But I can’t work. I can’t pay my part of the rent.”

  Rosemary threw a glance at Dr. Stewart’s closed door. “I can show you how to brew a tea that may help you. That way you won’t have to spend money on patent medicine. Can you come to my house this evening, say around half past five?”

  Jolene’s woebegone features brightened. “Oh, thank you, miss. I know I could think better what to do if I wasn’t so sick all the time.”

  Her heart constricted at the hope in the girl’s eyes. Helping her with the nausea would be simple compared to what faced Jolene in the months ahead.

  5

  Rosemary bustled around the kitchen, building up the fire, heating water in a k
ettle, all the while trotting back and forth to the sitting room to keep an eye on the clock. She’d given Jolene clear directions to her house. It was the only one on this block to have a four-foot-high picket fence surrounding the yard, so it shouldn’t be difficult to find. As the minutes ticked toward six, she went to the front window and peered along the deserted boardwalk. Perhaps the girl had second thoughts about trusting her.

  Water sputtered on the stovetop, drawing her back to the kitchen. She slid the kettle to one side. If Jolene didn’t arrive in the next few minutes, she’d return the jar of dried raspberry leaves to the pantry and fetch the remainder of last night’s soup from the springhouse.

  In the quiet, she heard Bodie gnawing on the bone Jacob had given him. Every now and then his tail thumped the floor. When a knock sounded, he looked up and gave a halfhearted “woof.”

  “Some watchdog you are. Seduced by a bone.” She strode to the entryway and opened the door. “Jolene. I was afraid you weren’t coming.”

  The young woman stepped inside, then peeked over her shoulder. “Someone was standing by your gate watching the house. He left when he saw me on the sidewalk.” She spoke in a shaky whisper.

  Fear prickled the hair on Rosemary’s arms. She leaned past Jolene and surveyed the empty street, then slammed the door. “What did he look like?” Her pulse hammered in her throat. The note. Footprints. Now this.

  “Hard to tell, miss. I only saw the side of his face under his hat. Might’ve been old—he walked kind of bent.”

  Rosemary sucked in a deep breath. Her worries weren’t Jolene’s problems. “Perhaps it was a coincidence.” She moved toward the kitchen. “Maybe he merely paused to rest for a moment.”

  “Maybe.” Doubt in her voice, Jolene followed her.

  When they entered the warm room, Rosemary drew a chair away from the table. “Please sit. I’m going to show you how to brew raspberry leaf tea. I’m quite sure it will help settle your stomach.”