by Ann Shorey
“Thaddeus Cooper. He’s taking me home.”
The older man tugged his hat lower on his forehead and half-turned toward a tilted structure that probably served as a barn. “Be on your way, then. I ain’t stopping you.”
Rosemary awakened early Sunday morning, her heart torn between excitement over her new relationship with Elijah and sorrow at Cassie’s abrupt departure. She’d have much to tell Faith after church.
Wishing she had something new to wear, she dressed in her gray silk and took extra pains arranging her thick hair into a coiled braid covered by an emerald-colored hairnet. Perhaps Elijah would escort her home. She hoped so.
While she prepared a simple breakfast, Bodie nosed around the house, first upstairs, then down. Rosemary felt sure he was looking for Cassie. By now the girl and her mother would have arrived in St. Louis.
From what she could recall, the two of them had lived with a member of Cassie’s father’s family after they lost their home—and her father—during the war. Since they were returning with no notice, she prayed his relatives would take them in again. Cassie had been bounced around enough.
She left Bodie with the promise of an afternoon walk and directed her steps toward the square brick church a block away. When she reached the corner of Third Street, Elijah dashed up to her.
“Saw you from the front window.” He tipped a half bow. “May I escort you to services this morning?” His black coat and gray trousers appeared freshly brushed. A tidy black bow tie rested at the point where his collar fastened. Although she couldn’t see his hair beneath his hat, she felt sure he’d combed his curls into submission.
“Of course you may.” Her heart gave a little jump at his nearness. She extended the crook of her arm and he clasped her elbow.
They reached the churchyard as the steeple bell tolled its final note. When they hurried inside, Rosemary noticed Faith had left room for her on the pew she shared with her grandfather and Curt.
Rosemary glanced up at Elijah, questioning him with her gaze.
He nodded, and the two of them squeezed into the space. Faith turned to her. “Looks like yesterday afternoon turned out well,” she whispered.
Rosemary smiled, then noticed Faith’s eyes bore signs of recent tears. She opened her mouth to ask why, but before she could speak, Clarissa French played the introductory notes to “O Day of Rest and Gladness” and the congregation stood to sing.
She half listened while Reverend French preached a message on forgiveness, her attention focused more on Elijah’s presence next to her. His clean, soapy fragrance mingled with the wool of his jacket. How amazing to be sitting side by side during worship. Thank you, Lord.
Her buoyant spirits dropped back to earth when she noticed Faith touch a handkerchief to her eyes. She darted a concerned glance at her friend. Normally she followed every word of the sermon, but this morning she wished the reverend would finish early. Something drastic must have happened. Perhaps she’d learned of Cassie’s departure, but would that news leave her so upset? Rosemary doubted it.
The moment Reverend French dismissed the congregation, she seized Faith’s arm. “What’s wrong?”
Faith squeezed her lips together and shook her head. “I’ll tell you when we’re outside.”
Conversations buzzed among the departing worshipers. Elijah lowered his voice to be heard beneath the general hubbub. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I’d like to have a word with Thaddeus.”
Sheriff Cooper stood nearby, holding Sophia’s chubby hand. Amy gazed at the two of them with happiness written over her face. For a moment, Rosemary’s heart softened toward the sheriff. No doubt he’d make Amy a fine husband. But still . . . how could she forget how he’d hounded her brother?
“Certainly. I’ll wait for you on the lawn,” she said in response to Elijah’s request, before hastening to catch up with Faith.
She found her near Curt’s buggy. “Can we stroll around the churchyard for a moment? I’d like to know why you’re unhappy this morning.” She slipped an arm around her friend.
Faith sniffled. “Yes, let’s.” Skirting past groups of chattering parishioners, they followed a brick pathway toward the rear of the building. When they reached the curtained shade of a willow tree growing at the edge of the burial ground, Faith stopped.
“I try to leave my troubles at home, but this morning . . .” She sniffled again. “This morning my monthly courses began. Again.” Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes. “I want a child so much. We’ve been married for seven months! What’s wrong with me?”
Rosemary hugged her close. “Nothing’s wrong with you. God has his own timing.” She took a step back, pondering a thought. “Of course, if you drink a little raspberry leaf tea with your breakfast, it couldn’t hurt.”
Faith’s expression brightened. “Do you have the leaves?”
“As it happens, I do. I’ll bring some with me when I come to supper this afternoon.”
“Would you like to ask the doctor to join us?” She raised an eyebrow in a coquettish arch. Her voice teased.
“Not just yet. I want to wait until I’m . . . sure.”
“Of him? Or yourself?”
“Both.”
26
When Elijah opened the door to the examination room and beckoned to her, Rosemary paused in writing ledger entries.
“I need your help, Miss Saxon.”
“I’ll be right there, Doctor.” She smiled to herself at their office formality. After a week, the novelty of calling each other by their first names in private hadn’t yet worn off.
Her smile faded the moment she stepped into the room. The sickly sweet stench of infection assailed her nostrils, sending her thoughts reeling back to Jefferson Barracks. She wondered if Elijah had the same reaction. One day soon she’d ask him.
A middle-aged man sat on the edge of the examining table in his undershirt and trousers, cradling his right hand with his left. A fleshy portion of his palm was blackened and swollen to twice its normal size. Below the table, a bucket held the soiled bandages he’d worn when he entered the office.
Elijah met her gaze. “You know what I must do. Twenty drops of laudanum.”
She nodded and reached inside a cabinet for a bottle of the opiate. After pouring water from a jar into a tin cup, she counted out the drops, watching as the drug swirled and dissolved.
Elijah turned to his patient. “Mr. Ormond, Miss Saxon will give you some laudanum. As soon as you feel drowsy, I’ll cut away the dead flesh.”
Mr. Ormond reached for the cup and gulped the opiate, then stretched out on the table with his right arm at his side. “Go ahead. Get it over with.”
“Not so fast. Give the drug time to work.”
While they waited, Rosemary passed several folded towels to Elijah and then threaded a suture needle. She stepped around the table and took Mr. Ormond’s left hand. “Look at me instead of the doctor. It won’t hurt so much if you can’t see what he’s doing.”
“You’re prettier too,” he murmured. His eyelids drooped.
She nodded at Elijah, and he took a scalpel from a tray. Mr. Ormond gripped her hand as the doctor worked at removing layers of corrupted tissue. When he finished, bright red blood pulsed from the wound onto a towel beneath the patient’s forearm.
“Going to sew this closed now.” He dropped the scalpel on the tray, wiped his hands on one of the towels, then lifted the suture needle. With quick motions, he stitched the skin together over the man’s injury.
Mr. Ormond’s grip on Rosemary’s hand relaxed when Elijah wrapped a bandage around his wrist and across his palm.
“That wasn’t so bad, Doc. Hurt worse when I cut m’self in the first place.”
“You almost waited too long to see me. A few more days and you might have lost your hand to gangrene.” He assisted the man to a sitting position. “Put on a fresh dressing every day and don’t use that arm more than necessary.” Elijah grinned at Rosemary. “A comfrey poultice wouldn’t hurt, either.�
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On Saturday afternoon, Rosemary arranged two chairs on the front porch and placed a triangular wicker table between them. Once she gave Elijah a tour of her greenhouse, she’d offer him some of the lemon-thyme bread she’d baked last evening. The prospect of a pleasant visit in the shade should appeal to him on such a warm day.
She bit her lip when she thought of the cost of the ingredients—lemon, sugar, and wheat flour—luxuries she could ill afford. Then the image of his expression when he first tasted the bread erased the pricking of her conscience. She’d eat plain food during the week to make up for her indulgence.
Bodie watched her from his rug in front of the door. When she had the furniture arranged to her satisfaction, she bent over to rub his fur. “We should go indoors. We look like we’re waiting to pounce the moment Elijah comes to the gate.”
The dog wagged his tail and followed her into the house. Rosemary dashed upstairs to tidy the stray curls that the humidity had coaxed from her coiled braids, then hurried to the kitchen to slice the bread. After covering the fragrant treat with a napkin, she dropped a handful of mint leaves into her white porcelain teapot. When Elijah arrived, she’d put the kettle on to boil.
The clock in the sitting room chimed twice. She paced to the front window and peered out at the street, expecting to see him. Instead, Jacob stood on the boardwalk, tying his horse to the hitching post.
Startled, Rosemary took a step away from the window. Why would he leave the store on the busiest day of the week? And why in midday? Sure that some disaster must have occurred, she greeted him from the porch before he reached the front steps.
“My goodness, this is a surprise. Has something happened in town?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He folded his arms at his waist. “I overheard some disturbing talk in the restaurant at dinner.”
Glancing over his shoulder, she saw Elijah cross the street and come their way. She tipped her head in his direction. “Dr. Stewart will be here in a moment. Whatever it is, he may need to hear it too.”
A frown crossed Jacob’s face, but when he turned he offered a bland smile as the doctor opened the gate. “Good afternoon. How fortunate you happened to pass by.”
“Yes. Very.” Elijah raised his eyebrows. “Don’t often see you away from the grocery on a Saturday.”
“I overheard something unsettling awhile ago and felt Miss Rosemary should know about it.”
Elijah stepped around him to stand next to Rosemary. “Tell us, please.”
“There’s talk going around that Miss Rosemary had something to do with Mr. Bingham’s death. Rumor is one of her remedies poisoned him.”
She gasped. “Dear Lord, no!”
“That’s nonsense.” Elijah’s voice boomed. “Who’s responsible for this?”
Jacob shook his head. “I heard the whispers at noon. Whoever is spreading the story claims her cures are to blame.”
“But I never . . .” Heat washed over her. The ginger tea. She blew out a long breath. Fortunately she hadn’t given Mrs. Bingham enough of the chopped roots to cause illness.
She lifted her chin, ignoring the anger that pounded in her heart. Her herbs brought health, never harm. “The next time you hear anything, please ask who’s behind the accusations. I’ll deal with them.”
Elijah rested a cautioning hand on her arm. “I’m not sure that’s wise. A woman alone . . . We need to get Thaddeus to help.”
“You know what I think of him.” Her voice faltered. She sounded like a stubborn child, refusing help with a task too large for her.
“Doc’s right, Miss Rosemary. If I hear more, I’ll take the news to the sheriff.”
She surveyed the two men, different in appearance but alike in their concern. “You’re both very kind to worry about me. If you think it’s best to talk to Sheriff Cooper, please do.” In the meantime, she’d proceed on her own.
Jacob touched his hat brim. “I’d best get back to work.” He faced her, concern in his eyes. “Take care. You need anything, let me know.”
“I will. Thank you.” Grateful for his friendship, she watched him stride to his horse. She probably should have asked him to stay for tea. Her gaze traveled to Elijah. No. She didn’t want to share their time together.
Once the grocer was out of sight, Elijah laced his fingers through hers. “I am worried about you. The person who’s spreading this calumny must be unbalanced. Not to mention this kind of gossip can be serious in a small town like ours.”
She led him up the stairs and into the shade of the porch roof, warmth from his strong grasp radiating through her. Despite her brave stand, she couldn’t subdue a web of fear. Rumors were like the stench that blew from a stockyard—impossible to ignore. She’d come too far to lose what respect she’d gained.
To conceal her apprehension, she focused on his last few words. “We’re not a small town. Noble Springs is the county seat.”
“Don’t change the subject. You’re here by yourself now—”
“With Bodie. He’s a good watchdog.”
“I grant you that. But a dog can only do so much. You’d be safer with your brother and his wife for a few weeks, until this blows over.”
She tugged her hand free and folded her arms. “No rumor is going to drive me from my home.”
Shaking his head, he dropped onto one of the chairs she’d arranged on the porch. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an obstinate woman?” His eyes crinkled with amusement.
“Only my brother . . . and my parents.” She tried for a smile but felt her lips quiver at the thought of her parents.
“Sit a moment, Rosemary. I’m sorry to have distressed you. How long have your parents been gone?”
The affection in his eyes threatened to undo her. He’d trusted her with his father’s unsavory history—shouldn’t she match his trust with her own? She perched on the edge of the other chair.
“My parents aren’t gone, in the sense you mean. They’re still in St. Louis, as far as Curt and I know. In their eyes, we committed an unforgiveable sin by supporting the Union cause.”
He leaned toward her, resting his forearms on his thighs. “The war’s been over for two years. Perhaps they’ve softened.”
“If they have, we haven’t heard of it.” She brushed tears from the corners of her eyes with her fingertip. “Mama’s from South Carolina. When her brother was killed fighting for the Confederacy at Gettysburg, she turned her back on us completely.”
“What about your father?”
“Papa does what Mama says.”
“So here you are, and here I am, both of us in Noble Springs.” He took her hand. “I don’t believe in coincidence, do you?”
She leaned back in the chair. At her age, she’d never expected to find someone to love. And to think she’d seen him as an opponent. A tiny smile lifted her lips. “There are no coincidences in God’s providence.”
27
Late that afternoon, Rosemary stood inside her picket fence and watched as Elijah walked toward his home. He carried the remainder of the lemon bread in one hand. He didn’t realize it, but he carried her heart with him, as well.
He turned to wave before crossing the street. She lifted her hand in reply, then hurried inside for her bonnet. She had time for an important errand before supper.
With Bodie straining at his leash, she covered the blocks to Courthouse Square in a few minutes’ time. A glance through the mercantile’s windows showed her that Faith was occupied with customers. She’d stop on her way back.
Spears of sunlight lanced over the jailhouse roof when she crossed Court Street. Blinking into the brightness, she drew a deep breath and put her hand on the cool iron latch of the sheriff’s door. But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.
“Yes, Lord,” she murmured. The time had come. She’d be foolish to reject Sheriff Cooper’s help because of an old resentment. If Curt, who’d been injured far more than she had, could forgive, she co
uld too.
When she pushed open the thick wooden door, the odor of stagnant air, stale food, and neglected slop pails assailed her. The sheriff sat at his desk to the right of the barred door that barricaded the stairs to the basement where prisoners were held. He glanced up, then straightened in his chair, astonishment written over his face.
“Miss Saxon?” He stood. “You’re the last person I expected to see in here.”
“No doubt.” She snapped her fingers at Bodie and pointed to a spot where he was to stay, then crossed the room with her right hand extended. “I’ve come to apologize for my rudeness over these past many months. I’ve been uncivil and un-Christian. Please forgive me.” Her pulse hammered in her throat. She hadn’t stopped to consider what she’d do if he refused.
Sheriff Cooper stepped around his desk and gripped her hand. “Consider yourself forgiven.” He grinned down at her. “My Amy will be pleased.”
Relieved, she returned his smile. “So am I.”
He gestured to an empty chair against the wall. “Sit a moment. You’ll scarcely credit this, but you’ve been on my mind this afternoon.”
“Whatever for?” She sat, angling the hard wooden chair so she could keep an eye on Bodie and pay attention to the sheriff at the same time.
“Heard some talk today that didn’t set well with me. Seems someone’s claiming you gave Elmer Bingham something that caused his death.”
Her shoulders sagged. The gossip had spread faster than she expected. “The only thing I ever sent for Mr. Bingham was some ginger root to help nausea. His wife asked for my help.” She held his gaze. “Ginger tea is perfectly safe, even for children.”
The sheriff held up a hand to stop her. “Just so you know, I don’t believe the rumors. He wasn’t young, and never was too spry. Likely he just up and died, particularly if you say he’d been puking.”
“So how can I stop the talk? You know better than most how difficult it’s been for me to settle in here.”
“So it has, and I’m real sorry for my part in causing trouble for you and your brother. Told him so too.” He leaned back in his chair. “You got any idea who might hold a grudge against you?”