When the Heart Heals

by Ann Shorey

  “Of course not, Doc. I know you have to go where you’re needed. Anyway, Miss Saxon has to answer for herself. She’s not my possession.” He nodded at her. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Yes.” She kept her back to Elijah and waited until Jacob mounted his horse and rode in the direction of his store. Once he was out of sight, she turned around. If the light were better, Elijah would have sworn her cheeks were scarlet.

  “Shall we go?” She strode toward his buggy. “You can tell me about the patient while we ride.” Her tone was crisp and professional.

  He raised an eyebrow at the change in her demeanor. Apparently she felt she owed him no explanation. In truth, she didn’t. But it would be comforting—no, enlightening—to learn why she and the grocer came to be out riding bareback on a Sunday evening.

  He took her arm and helped her onto the seat. After a few moments of uneasy silence, during which he unhitched the horse and started west on King’s Highway, he said, “I’ve never seen a woman in skirts astride a horse before. And to ride without a saddle. I didn’t realize you were an equestrienne.” His voice missed the casual tone he’d hoped for and struck a waspish note.

  She spun around and glared at him. “Do you believe I chose to travel home in that manner? And if I did, what business is it of yours?”

  He noticed a glitter of tears hovering beneath her lashes before she turned away. He massaged his jaw, wishing he’d had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. Miss Saxon had been right when she said her actions were none of his business. Now he’d not only made her angry, he’d hurt her feelings. He darted a glance in her direction, but she kept her back to him.

  “Miss Saxon.”

  “What?” She didn’t look up.

  “I apologize. I’m glad you’re coming with me. I need your help.” He drew in a breath and waited for her response.

  Frogs and crickets filled the silence, pausing when the buggy grew close, then tuning up again when they rolled past.

  After a long moment, she shifted on the seat and stared straight ahead, her chin in the air. “Very well. My help is what you pay me for. Please tell me about the patient.”

  He exhaled with relief. At least she was speaking to him. “His name is Benny Harper. He’s four years old. According to his father, he was playing with a scythe and cut his hand open. I know you had plenty of experience caring for knife wounds during the conflict.”

  “Indeed I did.” He saw her shudder.

  A memory teased at him, but he couldn’t bring it into focus. He shook his head. Later. When he had more time to think, he’d try to dredge the thought to the surface.

  He guided the buggy north past the academy and on out into the country. One by one, early stars appeared on the cobalt canvas overhead. If it weren’t for the boy needing help, Elijah would have been content to ride on into the evening with Miss Saxon beside him. He dismissed the fancy. After the way he spoke to her earlier, why would she want to spend more time with him than necessary?

  “We should almost be there. Mr. Harper said he’d meet us at the road.”

  She leaned forward and peered into the growing darkness. “Why didn’t he bring the child to town instead of wasting time by riding in and asking you to come to their house?”

  “They have a new baby. His mother wouldn’t leave, and wouldn’t let her husband take the boy without her.”

  Upon rounding the next bend, he noticed a light flickering on his left. “That must be Mr. Harper.” He followed their guide up a narrow lane to a low-slung cabin planted at the edge of a plowed field. After grabbing his bag, he reached up to help Miss Saxon descend.

  She brushed his hand away. “You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Rosemary watched Dr. Stewart jog to the cabin and disappear inside. She sighed as she climbed down from the buggy. If only he, rather than Jacob, were the man showing an interest in her. She stifled a snort. The doctor’s only interest seemed to be in monitoring her behavior, and she already had a brother. She didn’t need another one.

  A stab of guilt pierced her conscience at the sound of the child’s cries. How shameful to be thinking about herself when a little boy was injured.

  Mr. Harper approached with the lantern. “Come this way, ma’am. We got Benny set under the lamp so’s the doc can see good.” He held the light low to illuminate where to step on the rocky ground.

  The metallic smell of blood was the first thing Rosemary noticed once she entered the cabin. Drops darkened the wooden floor, stained the tabletop where the boy lay, and soaked through the rag tied around the boy’s right hand.

  She checked the room but didn’t see Mrs. Harper. If the woman wouldn’t allow her husband to take Benny to town, shouldn’t she be here with him? Rosemary dropped her shawl over a chair and crossed to the table.

  Dr. Stewart’s eyes met hers. “Please take the laudanum from my bag and give him five drops.”

  At his words, Mr. Harper turned to a shelf, removed a cup, and added water from a barrel near the door. “Stuff tastes terrible. This’ll help him get it down.”

  She squeezed the drops into the cup, using a syringe with a rubber bulb on one end, then bent over their patient. “Please sit up and open your mouth, Benny.”

  Apparently surprised to be asked to do more than howl, he complied. She held the cup to his lips while he swallowed the medicine.

  His face contorted. Before he had an opportunity to spit out the mixture, his father put a second cup to his lips and the boy gulped clear water.

  “Thank you,” the doctor said. “Now we’ll wait a few minutes, then examine the wound.” He turned to Rosemary. “Try to keep him still if you would, please.”

  While they waited, he addressed Mr. Harper. “You got any whiskey? I need some towels too.”

  “Right here.” He took a brown bottle from a cupboard and passed it across the tabletop, then disappeared into an adjoining room and returned with folded toweling.

  Dr. Stewart removed a rolled-up piece of buckskin containing sutures from his bag and threaded one of the needles with silk. He placed the supplies to one side.

  As Benny relaxed, Rosemary brushed sweaty blond hair from his forehead and murmured, “Dr. Stewart will fix you in no time. I’m going to hold you now. Be as brave as you can be.” She placed her hands on the child’s shoulders, feeling his body tremble through his homespun shirt.

  “Ready?” Dr. Stewart asked.

  She nodded.

  He unwrapped the bloodstained rag, rested the injured hand on a towel, and poured whiskey into the wound. She wrinkled her nose as the strong odor of spirits spread over the room.

  Benny tried to jerk his hand away, but she pinned his arm to the table. Mr. Harper joined them, holding the boy’s feet still.

  Working quickly, the doctor pressed the edges of the cut together and drove the first suture through the skin.

  Rosemary felt perspiration dampen her forehead when the boy screeched. They should have given him more of the laudanum. “Just a couple more jabs and he’ll be finished,” she whispered in his ear. She swallowed and increased her pressure on his upper arms as the needle pressed through his flesh a second time. Scenes from the Army hospital flickered through her thoughts. The screams, the sweating bodies. She banished them to the place where her nightmares lived, and slammed the door. “All we can do is help the patient in front of us,” a doctor once told her. She followed the advice and focused on the boy.

  In minutes, Dr. Stewart tied a fourth suture and blotted blood from the palm of Benny’s hand. The child’s wails subsided. Rosemary helped him to sit again and slipped an arm around his shoulders. “You were very brave.”

  He hiccupped, his chest in spasms from crying. “Mama?”

  A pale young woman dashed from the other room and wrapped him in her arms. She looked at Rosemary. “Thank you. I purely can’t abide the sight of blood. I’m so glad the doc brought a woman to help. I believe it eased things for Benny, having you here.”

  “I
hope so. Poor little fellow.” Rosemary rolled her shoulders to relax the muscles after her firm grip on the woman’s son. “If you make a poultice of comfrey root and put it on the cut, he will heal faster.”

  She felt the doctor’s eyes on her and looked up to see his brows knit together in a frown.

  Once they were out of sight of the Harpers’ cabin, Dr. Stewart slapped his hand against his thigh.

  Rosemary jumped when she heard the pop.

  “Miss Saxon.” He hissed her name through clenched teeth. “I will not have you prescribing for my patients. We’ve been over this before.”

  “A poultice isn’t the same thing as a tincture.” She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him, although she knew he couldn’t see her expression in the dark.

  “That’s not my point.”

  “I beg your pardon. I thought it was.”

  “Have you stopped to think what would happen if Benny’s wound becomes corrupted? Who will be blamed? Certainly not you.” He snapped the reins over the horse’s back. The animal jerked forward, picking up speed.

  “Why do you persist in thinking everything I do reflects on you? Comfrey won’t cause corruption. To my knowledge, a poultice never has.”

  He tipped his head forward and blew out a long breath. “We could bicker all night.” His voice sounded tired. “Let’s accept that we’ll never agree and let it go at that.”

  A lump rose in her throat at the finality in his words.

  Lamplight shone from the front window when Dr. Stewart stopped his buggy in front of Rosemary’s house. “It appears your guests waited up for you.”

  After enduring his silence during the ride to town, she felt relieved that he’d decided to speak. However, this wasn’t the best time to inform him she only had one guest. Their jousting match over the comfrey reminded her of the disagreement over Jolene. She’d mention the girl’s return to her family another time, when he wasn’t so irritable.

  Taking his proffered hand, she descended from the carriage. “A light in the window is a welcome sight at this hour. Better than entering a dark house.”

  “Quite so.” He guided her through the gate and onto the porch. “Good night, Miss Saxon.” In the dimness, she noticed weary shadows under his eyes. Dark stubble lined his cheeks.

  “Good night.” She opened the door and stood on the threshold until he drove away. Regret at her sharp words pricked her conscience. Tomorrow she’d be pleasant, no matter what he said to her.

  When she closed the door, Bodie charged down the stairs, tail wagging. Cassie followed, holding her dressing gown above her slippered feet.

  “What happened? Why were you and Mr. West out so late? I’ve been frantic with worry.”

  “Dr. Stewart was waiting at the gate when Jacob brought me home. He had an injured child to tend to and wanted my help.” Rosemary slid an arm around the other woman’s waist. “I’m sorry you worried. I should have stopped in and told you.”

  Cassie cupped a hand over her mouth while she took several deep breaths. “I hope I’m not presuming. You’re almost like a sister to me. First after the train derailed, and now with Mr. Bingham . . .” She faced her. “I never had a sister—or a brother, for that matter—and I just know sisters act like you do.”

  Rosemary hugged the words to her heart. “You’re not presuming. I wish we’d met under more pleasant circumstances. Your mother—”

  “We’d have been better off if she’d never married that man.”

  She thought of her success with Jolene’s parents. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help. Sometimes people surprise you.”

  Dr. Stewart swiveled around in his chair when Rosemary entered the office the following day. “Good morning.” His tone lacked its customary amiability.

  Determined to be pleasant, she gave him her brightest smile as she untied her bonnet. “It’s a fine day, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose.” He turned back to the book he’d been reading.

  She winced. Her hasty words last evening had caused more damage than she realized. “Dr. Stewart, I—”

  “Receipts need to be posted. And would you see to it that the soiled bandages in that pail over there are laundered?” He pointed to a covered bucket in the corner next to the stove. “In fact, why don’t you take them to your house right now, before the office smells of corruption.”

  “Certainly.” She matched her tone to his. If he wanted to give orders, she’d obey. Anything to restore an easy relationship. After settling her bonnet back on her head, she grabbed the bucket’s handle, snapped her fingers to summon Bodie from under her desk, and marched out.

  Once Rosemary left the office behind, her steps dragged. Last night the doctor had said they needed to accept that they’d never agree, but she never dreamed he’d retreat behind an impersonal wall. She felt a traitorous sting behind her eyelids. No. She would not cry. She’d go home, leave the bandages on the back porch, and keep a civil tongue in her head in the future.

  After completing her errand, she left her yard and covered the distance to the doctor’s office with brisk steps. When she turned the corner onto Commerce Street, a slate gray mare tied to the hitching rail caught her attention. The blaze on its face reminded her of Galen French’s horse, but at this hour he’d be teaching at the academy. Curious as to who might be in the waiting room, she popped through the door, then stopped short.

  16

  Reverend French’s son perched on the sofa, dressed for a day in the classroom. Galen wore his walnut-brown coat buttoned over a white shirt with a high collar. As always, his left sleeve was pinned up above his elbow.

  “Miss Saxon. Thank the Lord.” He jumped to his feet, a frantic expression on his face.

  His intensity drove her back a step. “Why aren’t you at the academy? Does the doctor know you’re here?”

  Dr. Stewart swung open the unlatched door to his private office. “He asked to see you.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I trust he’s not expecting one of your remedies.”

  Heat flared in her cheeks, and she swallowed a biting retort. “I assure you—”

  “I’m here for information, not healing.” Galen turned desperate eyes on her. “Where is Miss Graves? I didn’t see her in church yesterday. When I called at your home earlier, fearing she was ill, Miss Haddon said she left eight days ago.”

  “She’s gone?” Dr. Stewart planted himself next to Galen. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Facing the two men, she had the sensation of standing in front of tall trees. She took another step away and craned her neck to look up at Galen. “She went home. Her parents came for her.”

  “But I planned to see her again. Where do her parents live?”

  What could she say? His expression pleaded, but Jolene would be devastated if he appeared at her door.

  Dr. Stewart tipped his head in her direction. “I’d like to hear this too.”

  Galen shot him a hard look. “She’s already spoken for.”

  The doctor’s mouth dropped open. “Are you—?”

  “Certainly not.” Rosemary glared at him, then turned to meet Galen’s astonished eyes.

  “Am I what?”

  “Never mind. The doctor has you confused with someone else.” Her mind raced to find words to answer Galen’s question about Jolene’s whereabouts. She wouldn’t lie, but couldn’t tell him the whole truth, either. “I believe Miss Graves’s family has a farm somewhere east of here.” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

  “She left without saying good-bye.” He cupped his right hand over his stump. “It’s my arm, isn’t it? Please be honest.”

  “Not at all. She never said a word to me about your . . . injury.” Rosemary reached out to comfort him, then let her hand drop. She knew how self-conscious her brother felt about the wound that left his neck scarred. She could only imagine Galen’s adjustment to postwar life.

  “Then why?” Galen’s voice echoed his bewilderment.

  Dr. Stewart cleared
his throat, apparently ready to join the discussion.

  Rosemary silenced him with a glance. “Galen, Miss Graves had her reasons, but believe me, your missing arm was not among them. She held you in extremely high regard.”

  He backed toward the entrance. “I’ll find her, if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  Elijah waited until the door closed before facing Miss Saxon. “All this time you’ve led me to believe you were harboring Miss Graves in your house. You knew I was concerned. Why didn’t you say she went home?”

  “Why should I have? You didn’t care what happened to her, as long as your reputation wasn’t affected.” She stood before him, hands on hips, a pink flush on her cheeks. Bodie sprawled at her feet, his head turning from one to the other as they spoke.

  The truth in her words stung. He’d tried so hard not to emulate his father that he’d lost sight of his own reasons for becoming a physician. He opened his mouth to defend his actions, then closed it. She’d be appalled. Best keep his family secrets to himself.

  He dropped his gaze. “Unfortunately, you’re right. I regret my behavior.”

  Before she could respond, he strode to his private office and closed the door. After flopping into his chair, he leaned his elbows on the desk and rested his head on his hands. “Lord, help me to make things right with Miss Graves.” He kept his voice low.

  The clock on the wall next to the window ticked in the silence. Through the closed door, he heard Miss Saxon walk to her desk and slide her chair over the wooden floor. He closed his eyes again. “And please help me get back in Miss Saxon’s good graces.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back and stared out the small window at the brick exterior of the law office across the alley. The blank wall offered no direction to his jumbled thoughts.

  Young Galen’s tormented expression haunted him. Miss Graves’s falsehood regarding her child’s father was a noble gesture, but the poor man deserved to know where the woman who carried his child could be found. As the pastor’s son, surely he’d do the right thing in spite of the inevitable gossip. Once the two of them were married, all would be well.