When the Heart Heals

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When the Heart Heals Page 15

by Ann Shorey


  “Of course.” She took a dishpan from a shelf under the window and held it under the tap on a reservoir beside the stove. “Thankfully, the water’s still warm.” After setting the filled basin to one side, she dashed into the pantry, returning with a cake of soap and an armful of towels.

  When the doctor reached for one of the towels, she shook her head. “Let me.”

  He stepped to one side while she dipped the cotton flannel into the basin. Starting at the dog’s neck, she used gentle strokes to swab the clotted dirt from his fur. “You’ll be fine. Dr. Stewart will help you,” she whispered. The dog’s trusting eyes didn’t leave her face while she worked.

  Elijah watched as Rosemary bathed her dog. She paid no heed to the fact that she wore nightclothes, with her black hair twined in a thick braid hanging almost to her waist. Something about her intent expression stirred a memory.

  He saw himself standing at the entrance to one of the wards in the Post Hospital at Jefferson Barracks. An incoming soldier lay sprawled on a cot, a bowl of water and a cake of soap resting on a low table beside him. A nurse leaned over the man and washed blood and grime from his upper body so Elijah could treat the wound in the man’s side. While she worked, the nurse murmured encouragement to the soldier, who didn’t take his eyes from her.

  The picture in his mind sharpened. When Rosemary raised her head to look at him, her image sliced through the curtain he’d placed over his wartime years. She’s the same nurse. Without further thought, he touched her damp hand where it rested on Bodie’s side. “I remember you. From the Barracks. You were there during the first month of my medical service.”

  A small smile flitted across her lips. “Yes. I recognized you the first time I called at your office.”

  “Why haven’t you said anything?”

  “Clearly, you didn’t know who I was. It would have been forward of me.” She moved to one side. “We can reminisce later. Please, examine my dog.”

  He ran his hands along the animal’s sides and down over its abdomen, then lifted each of its legs in turn, manipulating the joints. Resting his fingers on Bodie’s chest, he felt for the heartbeat. Steady and strong. When he finished, the dog struggled to stand.

  “Careful, boy, you don’t want to fall off the table.” He placed a restraining hand on the dog’s back and turned to Rosemary. “Fortunately, I find no visible injuries. He needs some warm food and plenty of water. Don’t feed him too much at once.”

  Cassie struck a match on the stovetop to light the candle she held. “There’s a tad bit of soup left from supper. I’ll fetch it from the springhouse.”

  Elijah looked around, surprised. He’d forgotten she was in the room. “Good. If you have any eggs, give him one.”

  Cassie sent Rosemary a mischievous smile. “We have plenty of eggs right now.”

  Pink crept over Rosemary’s face. “Indeed we do. Please take a bowl with you and bring several.”

  After Cassie left the room, Elijah cupped his hands under Bodie’s belly and stood him on the floor. “After he eats, he’ll no doubt sleep for quite a while. Why don’t you spend tomorrow at home with him? I know you’ll want to watch his progress.”

  “Thank you.” She knelt beside her chair and Bodie wobbled over to her, tail waving. “I’m beyond grateful for your help tonight. To have him back . . .” She dipped her head for a moment, apparently fighting for control. “His return is an answer to prayer.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly embarrassed by the intimacy of the small room and Miss Saxon’s dishabille. “Must have been. Why else would he have been in that spot when I rode past?” He inched toward the doorway. “I should go.”

  She glanced down at her mud-stained wrapper, crimson staining her already pink cheeks. “Of course.” When she rose, she folded her arms over her chest. “I’ll see you out.”

  “No need. Best if you stay with Bodie.” He retrieved his jacket from the back of a chair. “If I may, I’ll stop by tomorrow to see how he’s doing—and maybe you’ll teach me how to make a comfrey poultice.”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  The light in her eyes buoyed his steps as he crossed the street to his house. Finding Bodie had answered more than one prayer.

  21

  In the midst of a meandering afternoon stroll around the backyard with Bodie, a horse’s snort and a harness jangle caught Rosemary’s attention. The dog lifted his head, growling, but didn’t leave her side.

  “Good boy. Stay with me.” Heart thumping, she slipped into her greenhouse. Dr. Stewart wasn’t due until evening. If the person who broke the window had returned, he’d have an unpleasant surprise. She hefted a hoe, then decided she needed a stouter weapon. Her hand closed around a mattock hanging from two parallel pegs on a wall. Swinging the ax-like tool, she strode the path to the front of her house.

  Mrs. Bingham paused in the act of tying her horse and buggy to the hitching post next to the boardwalk. “My land. You’d think you were under attack.”

  “I have been. More than once.” She walked to the fence, leaned her weapon against a picket, and opened the gate. “If you’re here for Cassie, I’m afraid she’s at the mercantile.”

  “I’ll visit Cassie before I return to the farm.” Her visitor huffed. “You’re the person I came to see. I went to the doctor’s office first, but as usual, you were somewhere else.” The peacock feathers on her black and white straw hat bobbed as she spoke. Her carelessly arranged orange-red curls bunched at the back of her neck, trapped under the fringed shawl she wore over her brown poplin dress.

  Rosemary rested her hand on the gate. “Please, come in. I’ll prepare tea.” She led the way to the front door.

  Bodie stuck to her side as if tethered to her leg. A lengthy overnight rest and several small meals had restored some of his strength, but when outdoors he trembled at unfamiliar sounds and movement.

  Mrs. Bingham followed them into the sitting room. She spread her skirts and lowered herself onto one of the chairs in front of the window. “No need to bother with tea. This isn’t a social call.”

  After choosing a spot on the settee, Rosemary faced her. “Then how may I help you?”

  The woman drew a folded paper from her handbag. “You sent this letter to Mr. Bingham?”

  Rosemary nodded.

  “Fortunately, I intercepted it before he could read your message.”

  Disappointment weighted her shoulders. “I merely requested that he allow your daughter back into your home. To send her away as he did was most unkind. Indeed, cruel. But since you read my letter, you know I didn’t use those words to him.”

  “Mr. Bingham’s farmhouse is not my home. His servant controls the management of the household.” She picked at the beaded fringe on her handbag, then raised shamed eyes to Rosemary. “I’m not allowed to replace any of the broken-down furnishings, nor do I choose our food—particularly I have no say whatsoever over the food. That manservant prepares meat that’s so old it’s green.” She shuddered. “I won’t partake of such victuals and neither would Cassie. Mr. Bingham says I coddle her—that’s really his reason for sending her away.”

  She leaned forward. “Make no mistake, I miss my daughter sorely. I’m grateful you took her in. But your letter will only cause him to fly into a rage. In his weakened state, I fear the consequences.”

  Rosemary stood. “He’s still in a weakened state? I gave you the ginger root two weeks ago.” She massaged her forehead. “Ginger is the best cure I know, but perhaps a mint tea? After you brew the tea, have him eat the leaves, as well.”

  “The fault isn’t with the ginger. That old servant distrusts me. When he’s in the house, I’m not allowed in the kitchen. So I can only brew the tea when he’s occupied outdoors.” She lifted her chin, as though defying Rosemary to pity her. “I made my bed. Now I have to lie in it.”

  Rosemary took a step in her direction. “I’m so—”

  “Please. My purpose this morning was to tell you not to send any more
letters. Mr. Bingham won’t read them.” She rose and swept to the entrance, then paused, her hand on the latch. “Why do you do this, Miss Saxon? Involve yourself in other people’s lives? Is your own so perfect?”

  After Cassie’s mother left, Rosemary leaned against the closed door. A dozen responses to Mrs. Bingham’s questions filled her mind. At a deep level she knew the truth. Her own life was far from perfect. If she could restore a parent with a child, she could experience secondhand the reconciliation she longed for with her own mother.

  That evening, Rosemary stole glances at Cassie during their supper of beans and bacon. No wonder the girl was such a hearty eater. She would be, too, if she’d had to subsist on spoiled meat or not eat at all.

  Cassie caught her looking, and smiled. “Mother visited the mercantile today. We had a lovely few minutes together before she had to leave.”

  Rosemary pushed a square of bacon to one side of her plate to give to Bodie, wondering as she did so whether she should mention seeing Mrs. Bingham. “She came to town to see you?”

  “Yes. I was surprised that she drove all that way to spend such a short time. Evidently Mr. Bingham is still sick, so she’s allowed to take the buggy—just not for long.” She patted her lips with her napkin and sighed. “I feel like I’m in limbo, living in your house day after day. Maybe Mr. Bingham was right about one thing—I need to seek a permanent arrangement. Have you spoken to Faith yet?”

  “When I lost Bodie . . .” She reached beneath her chair and stroked his head. “Nothing else seemed important. I will speak to her soon, I promise.” Her doubts surged back. Cassie as a caretaker? She slid her chair away from the table and carried her plate to the washbasin. The decision was Faith’s, not hers.

  Cassie stood to one side, watching while Rosemary cleared the table. “Dr. Stewart will be here this evening?”

  “In an hour.” Rosemary stilled a flutter in her throat. As far as she knew, he wasn’t courting any of the young women in Noble Springs. She hoped his memory of their shared time at Jefferson Barracks might draw them closer. Then, if he would only accept her herbal remedies, who knew where things might lead?

  She swished the plates through the dishpan and stacked them for Cassie to dry. With time to spare before the doctor’s arrival, she entered the pantry and retrieved several carrot-like stalks of dried comfrey root. After putting a kettle of water on to heat and lowering a lamp over the worktable, she joined Cassie in the sitting room.

  The girl glanced up from her tatting. “You’re fluttering around like a little bird. It’s not like you.”

  “It’s necessary that he sees how competent I am with my remedies. I don’t want to look foolish.”

  Cassie rested her thread and shuttle in her lap. A smile curled the corners of her mouth. “I suspect he cares more about spending time with you than he does about comfrey.”

  “He spends every weekday with me in his office.”

  “That’s different, and you know it. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” With a grin, Cassie resumed tatting a half-finished lace collar.

  Bodie stirred at Rosemary’s feet and uttered a low growl. Within a moment, they heard a knock.

  When she answered the door, Dr. Stewart beamed down at her. “You’re looking rested. A day at home agreed with you.” As soon as he stepped into the entry, he crouched in front of Bodie and rubbed his fur. “How you doing, boy?”

  Bodie answered the question with a wag of his tail.

  Rosemary moved to one side so the doctor could enter the sitting room. “He’s so much better. Thank you again for bringing him home.”

  “You’re more than welcome. I like happy outcomes.”

  Did she imagine it, or did his voice send a more intimate message?

  After he greeted Cassie, Rosemary led the way to the kitchen, talking to overcome the drumming of her heart.

  “I’ve laid out everything we need to make a comfrey poultice. If it were a bit later in the spring, I’d have leaves ready instead of roots. Either one will work. Of course you already know how to make a poultice with mustard, I’m sure. So this will be simple.” She paused next to the worktable to catch her breath.

  “I’m looking forward to our lesson.” Lamplight brightened his curly hair, highlighting the few strands of gray at his temples. A faint scent of something spicy wafted from his freshly shaved face. He removed his jacket, dropping it over the back of a chair, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “So this is comfrey?” He lifted the bundle in his broad hand and rubbed the knobby roots.

  “Indeed.” She drew a cutting board close and picked up a knife. “After I chop them, I’ll place the bits into this bowl and cover them with hot water.”

  He nodded, his eyes following her movements as she minced the roots. “Then what?”

  “Wait for the water to cool, strain out the mush, and mix in a bit of flour or cornmeal to hold it together. After that, the process is the same as preparing any other poultice.” She met his attentive gaze, wishing there were more to the procedure so she could keep him with her longer. “I told you it was simple.”

  “Too simple. I’d hoped—”

  She thought she detected a look of disappointment in his eyes. What if he were no more eager for the evening to end than she was? She glanced at the kettle steaming on the stove. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

  “Would you like to stay for a cup of tea?”

  His face creased into the smile she loved to see. “Make it mint.”

  The following afternoon, Rosemary remembered her promise to Cassie. Dr. Stewart hadn’t returned from a house call, so she locked the office door at five and walked the block and a half to Lindberg’s Mercantile. Bodie trotted at her side, tethered by a leash to prevent him from running off.

  When they entered the store, Faith dashed from behind a counter and swooped down beside the dog. “We missed you, little fellow.” She rubbed his neck under his new leather collar. Settling back on her heels, she tipped her head up to look at Rosemary. “He seems healthy, if a bit skinny.”

  “As big as he is, it’s all I can do not to cuddle him on my lap when we’re at home.” Rosemary chuckled. “I know it’s past closing time. I hoped I’d catch you before you left.”

  “I was just going to roll down the shades. Curt’s coming by in a few minutes. We’ll walk home together.” Once the windows were covered, she pointed at the chairs grouped around the stove. “It’s a joy to see you both. Come tell me the reason for your visit.”

  “As if I needed one.” Rosemary squeezed her friend’s hand, then took a seat. “I mentioned to Cassie your need for help after Amy’s marriage, and she offered to stay with your grandfather.” She sent Faith a wry smile. “With one caveat. You’ll have to hire a cook.”

  “Oh, mercy.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Are you sure you’re not interested?”

  She sidestepped the question. “I promised Cassie I’d tell you of her offer. She’d benefit from having a purpose, but the decision is up to you and Curt.”

  “I’ll talk to him tonight. Hiring a cook. I don’t see how we could afford one.”

  Rosemary nodded. Faith’s response was what she’d feared. Amy looked after Judge Lindberg in exchange for room and board for herself and her daughter, so the situation benefited both families without any extra cost to Faith and Curt.

  “You have plenty of time. The wedding’s not for weeks.” She bit her lower lip, feeling guilty for not agreeing to help as soon as she was asked.

  As if she’d read her mind, Faith patted Rosemary’s arm. “I know you want to be on your own. We’ll think about Cassie. She’s a dear person, but . . .”

  “I know.” She shifted in her seat. “I do have other news.” She felt excitement bubble to the surface. “Guess who came to my house last night to learn how to make a comfrey poultice?”

  “Dr. Stewart?”

  “The very same. He stayed and drank tea until—”

  The bell over the door jangled as Curt walked in. “My two fav
orite ladies.” He bent to kiss Faith, then squeezed Rosemary’s shoulder before flopping into an empty chair. He ran his fingers through his straight brown hair, tucking long strands behind his ears. “What a day. Malcolm Robbinette has me teaching classic literature as well as mathematics. All I know about the classics you could put in those little pancake hats you ladies wear, and still have room for a dozen eggs.”

  Rosemary smiled at her brother’s imagery, then her eyes widened when she comprehended the importance of what he’d said. “Galen French hasn’t returned?”

  22

  At church the following Sunday, Rosemary noticed tired lines etched across Reverend French’s brow when he entered the sanctuary. Clarissa’s hymn selections tended toward the minor key—“Praise to the Lord, the Almighty” was followed by “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” A natural soprano, Rosemary struggled to bring her voice down to follow the notes as Clarissa played.

  She couldn’t fault them. Galen had yet to return. According to Curt, in the past the Frenches’ son had never stayed away for so long a time. She glanced across the center aisle at Dr. Stewart. If only he hadn’t become involved . . .

  Then she bowed her head and focused on her clasped hands. She shouldn’t blame him for something she’d started. Lord, you know where Galen is. Please deliver him to his family.

  Reverend French used the first two verses of Psalm 123 as the theme for his sermon. When he spoke of lifting his eyes toward heaven and waiting on the Lord’s mercy, he aimed his words at the faithfulness of those in the congregation who had waited for a loved one to return from the war. Rosemary suspected he used the verses to encourage himself as he and Clarissa waited once again for Galen’s return.

  Dr. Stewart joined Rosemary as she left the sanctuary after the close of the service. A soft breeze swirled the scent of lilacs and fresh-cut grass around them. He moved close to her side as they descended the steps.

  “Would you like to accompany me on a house call in the country this afternoon? We can combine medicine with pleasure, and stop somewhere afterward for a light picnic. I’ll have the cook at West & Riley’s wrap sandwiches and cookies.” The eager expression in his eyes sent a pang through her. “I wish I could.” She dared to place her hand on his arm, wishing she’d never agreed to another Sunday afternoon with Jacob. The time had come to discourage him. If only she could think how to do it without losing his friendship. “Unfortunately, this afternoon is already promised.”

 

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