When the Heart Heals

by Ann Shorey

The woman on the porch wore an outfit he suspected few of the ladies in Noble Springs could afford. Her fur-trimmed cloak and silky-looking skirt testified to a city background.

  “Of course.” He stepped aside, brushing crumbs from the front of his vest. As she passed, he detected the scent of lavender trailing in her wake.

  She faced him as soon as he closed the door. “I’m Mrs. Arnold Colfax. A friend recommended you.”

  Although her bonnet concealed much of her hair, he noticed gray strands at her temples. A sharp line was drawn between her brows, as if by a careless artist. “Mrs. Colfax. If you have a medical condition, I’m sure you’d be more comfortable calling at my office. I have a female nurse in attendance during the week.”

  “This visit doesn’t concern a medical problem—at least not directly.” She glanced into the next room. “May I sit?”

  He moved a side chair from the far wall and held it while she arranged her hoops. Once she was settled, he seated himself facing her. “You said a friend recommended me, yet you don’t have a medical problem. How may I be of help?”

  “My friend . . . knows your father.”

  Elijah tensed. “And?”

  “Your father helped her through a trying situation. I’m sure you know what I’m referring to.”

  He did know. All too well. “My father’s practice has nothing in common with mine. Why did you come all the way from Chicago to Noble Springs?”

  “I don’t live in Chicago. My husband and I reside in St. Louis, where my friend and her new family came to live shortly before that dreadful war. Somehow she learned that Dr. Carlisle Stewart’s son had a medical office here.” She leaned forward in her chair, knotting her lace-gloved fingers together. “There must be girls in trouble in this town, just as there were up north. Dr. Stewart, I’m desperate for a child. We’ll pay whatever you ask to obtain one.”

  Elijah choked on the bile that rose in his throat. Was there no place far enough away to escape his father’s legacy?

  “As I said, my father’s practice—and his practices—have nothing to do with me. Many children were orphaned during the conflict. I believe there are societies in St. Louis to shelter them. Perhaps if you—”

  “I don’t want some little urchin off the streets. A child of ours would stand to inherit my husband’s business. As such, he’d need to be trained properly from infancy.”

  Revulsion shuddered over him. His father made a handsome living from women like Mrs. Colfax. He rose and held out his hand. “May I assist you to the door? You’ll want to be on your way before it grows dark.”

  She jutted her chin in the air. “I need no assistance.” She brushed past him, hoops swaying. “You’ve just turned down a goodly sum. To what purpose? Evidently you learned nothing from your father.”

  He reached around her and opened the door. “On the contrary. I learned all I needed to know about his way of life. Good evening, Mrs. Colfax.”

  Once she left, he walked to the polished oak staircase and dropped onto the second step, shoulders hunched. He knew only one way to overcome his father’s reputation. He’d start tomorrow.

  Questions about the woman she’d seen outside Dr. Stewart’s house the previous evening nagged at Rosemary’s mind while she packed their picnic lunch on Saturday. Patients came to him at all hours—she knew that—but this person’s gait seemed remarkably brisk for someone with an urgent need for a doctor. If she’d really been ill, she’d have sent her driver to the door.

  Rosemary massaged the back of her neck. Perhaps the caller was his mother, or an aunt. A cautionary tingle vibrated in her chest. Despite spending time together at his office, she had little knowledge of his private life. What if he already had a lady friend and had asked Rosemary on a picnic out of courtesy?

  She gave herself a mental shake. Such speculation led nowhere. When they were alone, she’d ask him about his caller. Simple as that. After tucking a bowl of chopped turkey salad into her picnic basket, she placed a loaf of lemon-thyme bread on top of a folded tablecloth. First the food, then conversation.

  Bodie pressed next to her legs, his eyes never leaving the basket.

  She stroked his ears. “If the doctor invites you, you can come with us. Otherwise, Cassie will keep you company.”

  Cassie spoke from the kitchen doorway. “He misses you when you’re gone. I’m a poor substitute.”

  “He’s been more clingy since his rescue. I’m glad you’re here with him.” She smiled. “And with me.” She walked past Cassie and deposited the basket in the sitting room next to a quilt, so she’d be ready when the doctor arrived.

  Bodie sped around her at the sound of footsteps on the porch. He skidded to a stop at the entrance, tail fanning the air. Rosemary hurried to the door and opened it at the doctor’s knock.

  “How’d you know it was me?” His voice teased. He bent over and rubbed the top of Bodie’s head, then gazed up at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That green dress is much prettier than the one you wear to the office.” He flushed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the other one. It’s just . . . you look pretty this morning.”

  “Thank you.” She hid a smile at his discomfiture. One thing for certain, he wasn’t a lady-killer. He charmed her when he wasn’t being stuffy Dr. Stewart. “Would you mind if we took Bodie with us? He’ll be no trouble.”

  “I was going to suggest that myself.” He nodded thanks at Cassie when she handed him the picnic basket and quilt, then stepped to one side so Rosemary and the dog could precede him to his buggy.

  Once they were seated, with Bodie curled on the floor between them, Dr. Stewart turned west on King’s Highway. A few cloud ribbons swam beneath the morning sun. Since it was Saturday, the wide street was filled with buggies and wagons as outlying farmers and their wives came to market.

  Rosemary waved when they passed Lindberg’s Mercantile. She knew Faith might be watching from the window to see them ride past.

  Dr. Stewart glanced over at her. “I’ve looked forward to this picnic all week.” He chuckled. “I know we’re together every day in the office, but work is different than pleasure.” He directed the horse around Courthouse Square.

  “Much different. I’ve waited for this day too.” She pressed her lips together. She sounded too eager. “That is, I always enjoy visiting Pioneer Lake and seldom have the opportunity.”

  “Perhaps we can correct that.” His words carried a promise.

  The image of the woman she’d seen in front of his house the previous night loomed in her mind. Had he made promises to her too?

  After tying the horse to a young hackberry tree on the south side of the lake, the doctor helped Rosemary from the buggy. The touch of his hand on hers felt gentle, intimate. He pointed to a shady spot overlooking the jewel-like water. “That should be a good place to enjoy our meal, don’t you think?”

  “It would be perfect, Doctor.”

  He touched her shoulders with his fingertips. “Elijah, please. We’re not in the office. And may I call you Rosemary?”

  She nodded, feeling warmth spread over her face. They’d been close to one another physically any number of times, but he’d been right when he said work was different than pleasure. She was near enough now to reach up and touch his curly hair if she wanted to. And she did want to.

  At that moment, Bodie dashed past them in pursuit of a blue heron at the water’s edge. Thankful to have her thoughts interrupted, Rosemary took a step away from Elijah and clasped her hands behind her back.

  He gave her a lingering look, then returned to the buggy for the food. Once they’d spread the quilt in the freckled shade cast by the tree, she opened the basket and filled their plates, along with a small bowl for the dog.

  Elijah leaned against the gray bark of the hackberry while he ate. His eyes widened when he took a bite of the bread. “I’ve never tasted anything like this. I recognize lemon, but what’s the other flavor?”

  “Thyme. It’s one of the herbs I grow.”


  “Delicious. Best bread I’ve ever tasted.”

  She did a quick mental inventory of her pantry. “I’d be pleased to bake another loaf and bring it to you on Monday if you like.”

  “Can’t think of anything I’d like more.” He rested his plate in his lap. “I wish we’d done this sooner. And not just for the food. The more I remember of you at the Barracks, the more remarkable you are in my estimation.” He rubbed his neck. “Guess this is the long way around to asking if you’d allow me to court you.”

  Joy washed over her. The sight of him relaxed against the tree, his shirtsleeves rolled up and his hair tousled, left her breathless. Then an unwelcome image intruded.

  His forehead wrinkled. “You’re hesitating. I’d hoped you felt the same.”

  “I do,” she whispered. She set her plate to one side and drew a ragged breath.

  “Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

  “Last evening at the time I took Bodie for a walk, I saw a woman going to your door.” She squirmed at the stunned look that crossed his face. “Was she . . .?” Rosemary dug her fingernails into her palms. “Is she a lady friend?”

  He seized her hands, holding them in a firm grip. “No! Rosemary, I’m sorry. To think you spent last night believing the worst of me.” His grip tightened. “If we’re going to have a future, you need to know about my background.” He drew her close to his side, then told her of his father’s practice in Chicago. “When I decided to come here, I believed myself free of his reputation. The woman who came last night wanted me to obtain a baby for her.”

  Rosemary gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “I refused.” He bowed his head and tugged at his collar, then turned agonized eyes on her. “This whole thing . . . that’s why I sent Miss Graves away. My father helped unmarried girls, then sold their babies. With the girls’ consent, of course. He paid them a small sum, then pocketed a large profit from the new parents.”

  She pulled back and knelt in front of him. “You’re not your father.”

  “I know that now. I promise I’ll help Miss Graves in any way I can when her time comes.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “From what you tell me, she may be Mrs. French before then.”

  “So it would seem.” She stood, extending her hands. “I’ll put our plates away, then let’s take a walk along the water’s edge. It’s a beautiful day.”

  A cool breeze had sprung up by the time Elijah and Rosemary left Pioneer Lake. The morning’s thin clouds had coagulated into rolling gray lumps that threatened rain. She shivered and slid closer to Elijah’s side for warmth, wishing she’d remembered to bring a shawl.

  He clasped her hand. “Would you like to slip my coat over your shoulders?”

  “It’s not that far. I’ll be fine.”

  When they turned onto King’s Highway, Bodie sat up and draped his paws over the dashboard, eyeing a dilapidated vehicle in front of Rosemary’s house.

  She cocked her head. “That looks like Mr. Bingham’s wagon. I wonder if Cassie’s mother has come to visit her.”

  “One way to find out.” Once he tied his horse to a post behind the wagon, Elijah reached up and swung her to the ground, holding her waist for an extra moment before retrieving the picnic basket. She glided toward the front porch, feeling happier than she could ever remember.

  The door flew open. Cassie stood in the entrance dressed in a traveling cloak and carrying a carpetbag. “Thank goodness you’re here. I was afraid I wouldn’t get to say good-bye.”

  Mrs. Bingham appeared beside her. The threatening sky intensified harsh lines on her face. “Elmer Bingham’s dead. The train for St. Louis is due in half an hour, and we’ll be on it.”

  25

  Rosemary hastened toward Cassie and her mother. “Mrs. Bingham. I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. When did he pass?”

  “In the early hours of this morning. I stayed long enough to prepare his body while his manservant built a coffin. Then I came straight here to fetch Cassie.”

  “But his funeral—” She took a second look at Cassie’s mother. The woman wore a magenta cloak over a royal blue poplin dress. No black.

  “His man will bury Mr. Bingham next to his parents in the plot behind the house. There’ll be no service.” She took her daughter’s arm. “He’s getting back what he put into life, Miss Saxon. No more and no less. Please don’t involve yourself further.”

  The wind gusted, carrying scattered drops of rain. Rosemary felt Elijah’s hands settling his coat over her shoulders. His voice rumbled behind her.

  “If you leave your husband’s horse and wagon in town, she will be involved. It’s common knowledge that your daughter is staying in Miss Saxon’s house. With your consent, I’ll drive you to the station, then deliver the wagon to his farm.”

  “As you wish, but hurry. I don’t want to miss the train.” Mrs. Bingham propelled Cassie down the path to the waiting conveyance, her cloak billowing in the wind.

  After Elijah helped the three women into the wagon, he took the reins and sent the horse trotting toward the depot. When he stopped in front of the station, Rosemary heard the tracks hum with the approach of a train. Within moments, the engine came in sight. Gray smoke trailed over the cars.

  Cassie’s mother sprang to her feet. “Just in time.”

  As soon as Elijah helped her to the ground, she dashed to purchase their tickets. He lifted a trunk from the back of the wagon and deposited it on an empty baggage cart.

  Cassie dropped the carpetbag she carried and threw her arms around Rosemary. Tears streaked her cheeks. “I . . . I don’t want to leave you. Not like this.” She put her lips close to Rosemary’s ear. “It’s my fault. I wished him dead,” she whispered. Her shoulders shook with sobs. “The Lord knows I didn’t mean it—doesn’t he?”

  Rosemary took a step away and clasped Cassie’s upper arms. “Of course he knows. You’re not to blame. Whatever took your mother’s husband had nothing to do with you. Remember that.”

  Gulping back sobs, the girl nodded.

  Mrs. Bingham descended upon them, waving two pasteboard tickets. “Come, Cassie.” She faced Rosemary. “We’ll let you know as soon as we have a fixed address. You can have my daughter’s trunk sent.”

  Raindrops splattered as the two women boarded a passenger car. She should be happy to have her house to herself again, but all she felt was sorrow. Cassie’d been right when she said they were like sisters.

  “You’ll miss her.” Elijah tucked his hand under her elbow and guided her toward the wagon.

  “The house will feel empty.” The bell clanged when the train built up enough steam to leave the station. She stopped to watch until the last car was a tiny speck on the tracks. Shivering, she pulled his coat tight around her, then noticed his wet shirt.

  “How thoughtless of me! You’re getting soaked. As soon as you leave me at my door, promise you’ll stop at home for dry clothing before you return the wagon.”

  He flashed his beautiful smile. “It’s been a long time since a lady fussed over me. I like it.”

  She settled near him on the wagon seat. Truth be told, she liked having someone to fuss over. Not merely someone. Elijah.

  Once he’d kept his promise and changed into dry clothes and an oiled canvas greatcoat, Elijah drove Bingham’s wagon through the rain toward the sheriff’s office. The earlier busyness on the streets had all but ceased. Heavy clouds obscured the setting sun, leaving the front of the stone jailhouse in deep shadow.

  Thaddeus Cooper looked up when Elijah entered. “What brings you out on such a miserable evening? Looking for a supper companion?” He dropped the book he’d been reading on top of his desk and tilted his chair against the wall.

  “Later, maybe. I need to take Elmer Bingham’s horse and wagon to his farm. Hoped you’d follow me out so I can get back to town.”

  “Glad to. But why isn’t Bingham driving his own wagon?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Thaddeu
s’s chair thudded to the floor. “First I’ve heard of it.”

  Elijah repeated what Mrs. Bingham had told them when he and Rosemary returned from their picnic. “They took the train to St. Louis a half hour ago. Miss Saxon and I drove them to the station.”

  His friend grinned at him. “Miss Saxon, eh? You’re a brave soul.” He stood, smoothing the ends of his drooping moustache.

  “She’s a caring lady and a pretty one.” Elijah shot him a cool glance.

  Thaddeus harrumphed. “No doubt. My Amy sets quite a store by her. Myself, I keep out of her way.” He grabbed a broad-brimmed hat and canvas coat from pegs on the wall. “If we’re going, we’d best get started.”

  The two wagons traveled in tandem through town and along the rutted road leading south. Rain dripped from Elijah’s hat brim, chilling his neck with occasional stray drops. Mr. Bingham’s horse plodded through puddles with its head down. When they reached the lane that Elijah remembered as belonging to Cassie’s stepfather, the animal turned left with no urging on his part.

  Thaddeus followed close behind.

  Elijah drew back on the reins when the farmhouse came in view. After a moment, a man dressed in muddy clothing stepped from behind the building, carrying a shovel. He pushed his hat off his forehead and stared.

  “Doc. What’re you doin’ with our wagon?” In the dusk, he blended in with his shadowed surroundings.

  With a start, Elijah recognized Abraham Grice, the patient he’d recently treated for gout. He must be the manservant Mrs. Bingham mentioned. “I told your mistress I’d return this to you. She and her daughter are on their way to St. Louis, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Don’t know nothing of the sort. She don’t tell me where she’s going, and I don’t ask—and she ain’t my mistress.”

  “Well. In any case, here’s the wagon. Your horse probably needs to be grained.” Elijah hopped down and held out the reins.

  Mr. Grice dropped the shovel and snatched the leather straps so fast they squeaked when they slid through Elijah’s gloves. “Who’s in that other wagon?”