by Kit Morgan
Fiona’s eyes rounded to platters. “In the wilderness? What would they be doing there in the first place?”
Sarah smiled. “If I were to go exploring, say, out West ...”
“West! Ye mean like, like …”
Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know, one of the territories? Definitely someplace beyond Pennsylvania.”
Fiona crossed herself. “What nonsense put that in yer head, Miss Sarah?”
“Not nonsense. Common sense. I’m not made for this life, Fiona. I want to see things, do things, discover new ways to help people.”
Fiona looked at her with suspicion. “Has Mr. Foster been by to visit? Whenever he comes to dinner ye get like this.” She reached for the kettle on the stove and poured hot water into a wash pan in the dry sink. “I’d best get these dishes done then start on dinner.”
“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” Sarah said. “We’re having company tomorrow for tea. Mr. Oswald Petite.”
“Oswald Petite?” Fiona said with a smile. “The rich young gentleman I’ve heard yer parents speak of?”
“The very one,” Sarah said flatly. “Mother wanted you to prepare something special and start on it today. I told her there was no need.”
“Don’t fret, Miss Sarah. I’ll whip up something special for the young lad.” She smiled at her. “Ye’ll want to wear a pretty dress to catch his eye.”
“The only thing he’s liable to catch is a yawn. He bores me to tears.”
Fiona’s mouth dropped open. “Don’t say such things, Miss Sarah. What if yer mother were to hear?”
“She already did. I told her upstairs. I don’t know why my parents think I’d be interested in him. I’m not.”
“No, but they are.” Fiona put the teacups and saucers in the pan of dishwater. “Make no mistake, Miss Sarah, your parents aim to marry you to that lad. He’s everything they want for you. If yer sister were alive, she’d be married to him already.”
Sarah gasped. “Bite yer tongue, Fiona. What a horrible thought. Poor Molly …”
“Then lucky for Molly she’s not here to endure it,” Fiona said with a wink.
“No, but I am. You better make that something special – real special. Because I’m going to eat a lot of it.”
Fiona smiled and handed her a teacup. “Make yourself useful and dry this.” Sarah took the cup, snatched up a nearby dishrag and proceeded to get to work. Fiona watched her a moment as she washed out the teapot. “Why haven’t ye ever married, Miss Sarah?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t found the right gentleman. The same gentlemen show up at the season’s parties and balls. And, I admit, I’m not very fond of most of them. Molly wasn’t either. If she were still alive, she wouldn’t be any more interested than I am.” She looked at her. “Not even in Oswald Petite.”
Fiona smiled. “I never knew yer sister. But from what I’ve heard, she would have married as her parents wished. Am I wrong?”
Sarah tried not to groan but failed.
Fiona’s face fell. “I didn’t mean to upset ye, Miss Sarah. It’s just that ye don’t seem much like yer sister.”
“No, I’m not. Molly was the oldest and would have felt duty-bound. I feel no such compulsion. But I’m not getting any younger.” She reached for another cup and dried it. “I’m twenty-two years old and still unwed. A part of me hopes I’ll remain this way. Then I can do the things I want to do.” She turned to her. “I’d wager Oswald Petite won’t set foot anywhere beyond Pennsylvania. One day I’ll travel beyond Missouri.”
“Aye, but what will ye do for money?” Fiona asked, one hand on her hip.
Sarah made a face. “Don’t spoil my fantasy.”
“It’s good to dream, Miss Sarah. But we women have to be practical. I’m twenty-five and know I’ll never wed. I’m too old.”
“You’re an excellent cook. What man wouldn’t want you?”
Fiona gave her a flat look. “How many employed cooks do ye know that are married?”
“A few,” Sarah admitted. “I suppose it depends on the household they work for. The Jamison’s cook is married to their butler.” She took on a thoughtful look and picked up a spoon. “Do you ever want to get married?”
“Me? Ye shouldn’t concern yerself with me, Miss Sarah. Ye should be more concerned about yer tea with Mr. Petite tomorrow. Perhaps in a few months ye’ll get a proposal?”
“Good heavens, I hope not!”
Fiona pressed her lips together. Sarah did the same and, unable to help themselves, they burst into a fit of laughter.
Sarah was the first to calm. “Fiona, I’m going to miss you after I’m gone.”
“Gone? Where are ye going?”
Sarah peered through the window over the dry sink. “I don’t know, but one day I’m going out there.” She looked at Fiona. “And have the adventure of a lifetime.”
Chapter 2
Abijah raced out the front door of the Fielding mansion, down the walk and through the gate. “Where’s the carriage?” He looked up one side of the street and down the other. “Confound it! I’m going to be late again.”
His cousin Ned sauntered out the front door and strolled to the gate. “I thought a walk would do us good. It’s a fine day.”
Abijah spun to him, his arms loaded with books and papers. “Walk! I’ll never get to the lecture on time!” He scanned the street again. “This is terrible.”
Ned closed the gate behind him and stepped onto the sidewalk. “Do get out of the street, cousin, before you get ran over.”
“Yes, and preferably by your carriage.”
“I’m afraid I told Wilson I wouldn’t need him today.”
“No carriage?” Abijah asked in shock. He blew a stray lock of hair out of his face.
“For this afternoon, yes. This morning, no.”
Abijah gasped. “What time is it?”
Ned pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat and flipped it open. “Half past nine. Is there a problem?”
Abijah had to think. He was assisting Dr. Campbell with his morning lecture, one scheduled to start in fifteen minutes! If he ran he could just make it. “Why couldn’t you have scheduled things the other way around?”
“Come now, cousin. A nice walk will do you good.”
“I haven’t time. You don’t have to go, you know.”
“I know, but I enjoy listening to dear old Dr. Campbell’s Scottish accent. Plus, I like watching you two, how should I put this … argue?”
“We have healthy discussions. That’s all. You don’t mind if I start running now?” He took off at a fast pace, not waiting for Ned’s reply. He loved his cousin, but Ned’s wealth skewed his priorities. It was just one of their many differences.
Abijah came from the poor side of the family. His parents met at a country-dance, fell in love and married. His aunt, on the other hand, got sent to Philadelphia for a season, met a rich gentleman and married. The gentleman’s father owned several banks. Abijah’s father owned a print shop. Ned, born to wealth and privilege, didn’t know what it was like to work and struggle to survive. Abijah knew the printer’s trade but had no interest in it. His desires lay elsewhere, in doctoring to be exact.
But Ned did have his redeeming qualities. When he found out his cousin’s interests, he got Abijah an assistant’s position to the famous Dr. Ian Campbell of Edinburgh. The doctor was teaching in America for a few years. Needless to say, Abijah jumped at it. He learned as much assisting the famous physician as anyone studying under him. Perhaps more.
Abijah thought he heard Ned call after him but ignored it. He had to get to that lecture on time! He was in good standing with Dr. Campbell and wanted to stay that way. He ran faster, his lungs burning with the effort, rounded a corner, and…
“Oh!”
Abijah’s papers and books flew everywhere as did several varieties of fruits and vegetables. Now, where did those come from? He looked for the source and found her flat on her bum. “I beg your pardon?” He held out a hand to help the lady up.
“You beg my pardon?” She straightened her hat. “Well, I must say …”
“Please do, but later. I’m in a hurry.” He bent down, grabbed one of her hands and pulled her to her feet.
“How dare you!”
“I’m sorry Miss, but I’m in a terrible rush.”
“That may be, but that’s no excuse not to watch where you’re going. You’re lucky I’m not hurt.”
His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
Her hands went to her hips, then her backside. “Quite sure. Nothing’s broken that I can ascertain at the moment.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Ascertain? And how would you know?”
“Trust me, I would.” She looked at the ground. “Oh dear, my basket!”
Abijah knew this was going to make him late. But he couldn’t leave her like this. He went to his knees, gathered what he could, and began tossing fruits and vegetables into the basket.
“Careful, don’t bruise the apples,” she warned.
“Sorry, no time, I must go …”
“You certainly are in a hurry. And what are all these papers?”
“Oh, no! My papers!” He stopped plucking fruit off the cobblestones and scrambled after several pages of notes. “I can’t afford to lose a one!”
“Then watch where you’re going next time,” she reminded him.
He stopped and stared at her. “At least I’m assisting you.”
“True.” She put a foot on a paper before it blew away. “I suppose I can assist you as well.” She went to her knees and began gathering what she could.
“Thank you,” he said.
He picked up fruits and vegetables as she gathered books and papers. He shoved the basket toward her. She handed him a stack. “Here,” she said. “You’d best be on your way or you’ll be late to wherever it is you’re going.”
“I already am.” He took the stack of books and papers from her. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Put your hand on my shoulder,” he repeated. She slowly raised a hand and did so.
He stood, pulling her up with him. “There,” he said and noticed she hadn’t grabbed her produce. “I’d fetch your basket for you but I’m afraid I’ll drop my things.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it myself. You better go.”
“Thank you, the doctor will be mad enough as it is.”
“Doctor?” She snatched her basket off the ground. “What doctor?”
“I’m assistant to Dr. Campbell at the university. I’m sorry, but I really must go.” He hurried off without another word. He knew he was being rude, but it couldn’t be helped. Campbell was going to be furious. He could hear the good doctor now. “Why didn’t you leave the lady to fend for herself? I’m not paying you to be a gentleman! I’m paying you to be my assistant!” Brilliant, Dr. Campbell may be, but his social graces were sadly lacking.
Abijah hurried on. So long as he didn’t trip or run into anyone else, he should make it on time.
In the back of his head, he pictured the bewildered look on the woman’s face. It was a pretty face, now that he thought on it. The rest of her wasn’t bad either. She wore a green day dress and matching bonnet, both well made. And she was tall, willowy, with skin that reminded him of fresh cream. Part of him hoped to see her again. Though that was highly unlikely.
Abijah shook himself. Great Scott! He’d slowed to a walk while thinking about her! This wasn’t going to be good. And it wasn’t. “Waller!” Dr. Campbell shouted as Abijah entered the lecture room. “You’re late!”
Sarah entered the orphanage with her basket and sighed in relief. “What a day.”
“What’s wrong?” Nanette Olson asked. Like Sarah, she had blonde hair, blue eyes, and volunteered at Westbury twice a week.
“I ran into the … no, wait, he ran into me.”
“Who?” Nanette said with a giggle.
Sarah shook her head. “A man. He came running around a corner like a pack of wolves was after him. He ran into me and knocked me to the ground.”
“My goodness, are you all right?” She looked her over, checking for any signs of damage.
“I’m fine. Thank Heaven for thick petticoats.”
Nanette laughed. “Was he at least handsome?”
Sarah thought a moment. “Not bad. But I was too flustered to notice.”
“You noticed enough,” Nanette commented and smiled. “Enough for some assessment.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Do you ever think about anything other than men?”
“No. Besides, what else is there to think about during the season? Speaking of which, I hear Oswald is paying you a visit this afternoon.”
“Please, don’t remind me,” Sarah said and put her basket on a table. “Too bad the man didn’t run into me on the way home. I could have conveniently twisted my ankle or something.” She took out a few apples. “The man did say he was the assistant to Dr. Campbell at the university. I wonder which one.”
“There are only so many colleges in this town. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out.” Nanette’s brows shot up. “Are you going to?”
“Am I going to what?”
“Figure it out?”
“Heaven’s no. Who do you think I am? You?”
Nanette smiled. She loved men and didn’t care who knew it, including the men. But she was no trollop. She was also picky. But at eighteen she could afford to be. “Shall we take your goodies to the children? They’re outside playing.”
“No, let’s wait until they come in. I brought the fruit as snacks after their playtime. The vegetables are for dinner.” She looked at the basket. “I hope the fruit’s all right. I warned that man not to bruise the apples.”
Nanette smiled. “Did he really hit you that hard?”
“Any harder and I’d need to see his employer.” She sighed and stared out the window. “I suppose he was rather … dashing.” She glanced at Nanette. “He ran off as soon as he helped me to my feet. The second time, anyway.”
“Second time?” Nanette asked with interest. “Do tell?”
Sarah smiled with recollection. “He knocked the basket off my arm and dropped his load of books and papers. There was fruit and parchment everywhere. It’s a good thing no one saw us. What a mess.” She continued taking fruit out of the basket.
“Indeed,” Nanette said with a smile. “What color were his eyes?”
“How should I know?”
Nanette smirked. “His hair?”
Sarah didn’t comment but went to the other end of the table, picked up a large bowl and brought it back.
“How tall was he?”
“Stop.” She began putting fruit in the bowl.
Nanette sighed. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. You’ll never see him again. And if you can’t remember what he looks like now, how would you ever recognize him in the future?”
Sarah looked up. “Blue.”
Nanette smiled.
“His eyes were blue,” she finished in a soft voice.
“Mm-hm. And his hair?”
“Brown.” Sarah turned to her. “Light brown, from what I could see. He hit me so hard, I’m surprised he didn’t lose his hat.”
Nanette smiled again. “But he did stop and help.”
“Yes,” she said and returned to her work. “At least he did that.”
“So, he’s not a complete cad.”
She spun to her friend. “Why are you making such a fuss over it? I’ll not see him again.”
“I’m not making a fuss, I’m merely pointing out that you’ve finally run into a man you haven’t met yet. Quite literally,” she giggled.
Sarah smiled. “I have, haven’t I? Imagine that.”
The children began to file into the classroom led by an older boy. Half of them ran toward Sarah. They knew she brought goodies on Tuesdays. “Miss Clemmons, Miss Clemmons,” several cried.
She smiled at their angelic little faces as her heart went out to th
em. “All right, children, everyone sit down, and I’ll brew us a nice batch of tea.”
The children raced for the benches that acted as seat and desk. She watched them settle themselves then turned to Nanette. “Is the kettle on?”
“Yes, I put it on as soon as I got here. Mrs. Fuller is in the kitchen.”
Sarah reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a small sack containing herbs she’d dried and crushed herself. “Good, I’ll prepare a pot and instruct Mrs. Fuller how to use these for the children with coughs. Go ahead and get them started with today’s story.”
Nanette reached for a book next to the bowl of fruit. “After their tea they can have these?” she asked.
“Of course, but I want to make sure they have some ginger tea first. Too many of them are sniffling.”
“They always sniffle,” Nanette commented.
“Yes, but those sniffles could turn into something worse if not prevented.”
Nanette cocked her head. “Do your parents know what you do here?”
“They don’t know I bring my herbs. But that’s not important. Mrs. Fuller says what I’ve done has helped immensely. She can’t afford to have the doctor out.”
“No, I suppose not. Maybe I could talk my father into making another donation.”
Sarah nodded. “I’ll work on mine too. Now let’s get to work.” She left and went to the kitchen. As she entered she thought of the young man that ran into her. He not only had blue eyes and light brown hair but was handsome as well. Very handsome, now that she thought about it. But what fascinated her, was the fact he worked for a doctor.
Sarah smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Fuller. How are you today?”
Mrs. Fuller, a plump woman with dark hair and eyes looked up from the pot she was stirring. “Not well. Have you anything for sore throat?”
“Oh, you poor thing. Any other symptoms?” She joined her at the stove and put a hand to her forehead. “You’re hot. Come, sit down.” She led her to the nearest chair. “What’s in the pot?”
“The little one’s supper. Hot you say?” Mrs. Fuller put a hand to the back of her neck. “I do feel flushed. And, I admit, poorly.”