As she turned up the street to the boardinghouse, her gaze strayed to the window of her room, a cozy spot she now considered home. As she looked back at the porch, the door swung open and Mrs. Jennings came to the railing.
“Dr. Mitchell, hurry!”
Nora hoisted her skirts and ran. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Alex! He’s covered with spots! He could have the pox. It could be diphtheria or—or—I don’t know, but he’s got a fever!”
Her third patient…This time, she felt no gratitude, only fear for a boy who reminded her of the brother she’d lost. With her bag in hand, she followed Mrs. Jennings upstairs to Alex’s room. As soon as she saw his glassy eyes, she went to the side of his bed and sat. Mrs. Jennings stood in the doorway with her arms crossed as if she was afraid the disease would escape.
Alex looked at her with wide brown eyes. “I feel bad,” he said.
“Does your throat hurt?”
He nodded.
Nora lit the candle sitting on the nightstand, then raised it to see in the boy’s mouth. “Open wide.”
When a child obeyed without a bit of protest, she knew the child was truly ill. Alex opened his mouth so wide a train could have gone through it. She peered at his throat and saw redness but no sign of diphtheria.
Wide-eyed, he looked at her with raw hope. “I have spots on my tummy.”
“Do you mind if I look?”
He shook his head.
As she lifted the boy’s night shirt, she saw sweat-soaked sheets and a mottled rash, the telltale sign of measles. The disease could be serious, but the vast majority of children recovered. She asked Alex a few more questions, then tucked the sheet over his thin body. “Alex, you have the measles.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a kind of sickness,” she explained. “You’ll feel bad for a while, and your skin’s going to get red and bumpy, but you’ll be fine if you do what I say. You need to stay in bed, all right?”
“I will.” He looked at her with such trust, such hope. At that moment, all the misery in medical college, the dances she’d skipped and the men she’d ignored, even Zeb Garrison’s cruelty, meant nothing compared to helping a child. “I’m going to get some water.”
She stood and went to the door. Mrs. Jennings interrupted her. “I need to talk to you.” She aimed her chin at the hallway. “Now!”
Nora followed her, but didn’t close the door. She didn’t want Alex to feel abandoned, but neither did she want the orphan to respond to the obvious fear in Mrs. Jennings’s tone. She indicated the door to her room and the two women went inside.
“What can I do for you?” Nora said in a hush.
“That boy can’t stay here.”
“I know you’re concerned about your boarders.” Nora respected contagion, but Alex had nowhere else to go. “We’ll take precautions.”
The landlady shook her head. “Precautions aren’t possible. Not when the accommodations are this full. I can’t give Alex a room of his own. I can’t even give him a bed of his own.”
“There must be a way,” Nora argued.
“I wish there was,” Mrs. Jennings replied. “But I don’t see what it could be. I can’t risk the other boarders getting sick. Either find another place for Alex, or I’ll send word to Zeb to take him.”
Nora fought to stay calm. If only she had an office with a sickroom, a place where she could nurse ailing children. But she didn’t. All she had was a building without a roof. If Zeb took Alex, would he allow her into his home to care for the boy? After today’s quarrel, she doubted it.
“I’m sorry,” said the landlady, “but the boy has to leave today.”
“I need time,” Nora pleaded. “Tomorrow—”
Mrs. Jennings put her hands on her hips. “And where am I supposed to put the other children who share the room until then? You’ve got until supper to find a place for him, or I’m telling Zeb to come and get him.”
If Mrs. Jennings went to Zeb instead of trusting Nora as a physician, Nora would appear incompetent to the entire town. She had one last hope. “Are Mr. Walker and Cassandra still here?”
“No.”
She’d have to send Percy a note. “I need a little time, just a few hours.”
“Like I said, you have until supper.” Mrs. Jennings left with a worried frown.
Stifling a groan, Nora pressed her fingers to her temples. As she sat on the narrow bed, her eyes went to the painting she’d hung on the wall. A gift from her parents, it portrayed the house where she’d grown up. The artist had captured it on a spring day when the gardens were lush and the windows bright with sunshine. Her father had presented it with a catch in his voice. No matter what happens, Nora, you’ll always have a home with us.
A home where she’d be expected to marry Albert Bowers. A home where no one respected her skills. Part of her wanted to go home. She was tired of fighting for respect, tired of arrogant men and barbed words. Mostly, though, she was tired of being alone. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Why, Lord?” she said out loud. “Why would You lead me here and not provide?”
Even as the complaint left her lips, she heard the falseness of it. Human beings had let her down, but God hadn’t left her side. He knew her needs. He knew that a boy named Alex needed a home of his own, and that a woman named Nora needed one, too. Closing her eyes, she sank to her knees at the side of the bed, crossed her arms on the mattress and rested her head on her hands.
Please, God. Provide a place for me. Provide for Alex and all the people of High Plains. She prayed for peace and strength. She named the people she’d met, all the ones she could recall. Last, she prayed for Zeb. Open his eyes, Lord. Heal his heart from old hurts. Show him Your love and peace.
She rambled until her throat ached, then she said, “Amen” and pushed to her feet. As she headed for the door to check Alex, she realized she hadn’t added her usual plea for a husband. A knot tightened in her chest. Had the Lord said no to that request? Had He brought her to High Plains to be a physician only?
In a final prayer, she bowed her head. “Your will be done, Lord.” And it would.
Calm but fighting despair, Nora wrote a note to Percival Walker asking if he knew of a house she could rent immediately. She asked Jonah, Alex’s friend, to deliver it, then crossed the hall to Alex’s room. If he hadn’t been so ill, she’d have taken the note herself. Instead, she stayed at his bedside, doing the things a mother would do. A cool cloth on his brow fought the fever. She changed the damp sheets and rubbed his chest with camphorated oil. She read to him and hummed a lullaby.
As he dozed, she thought of her brother and how suddenly he’d left this earth. A day was like a thousand years to the Lord, but Nora felt the burden of time. She didn’t have years or even days to find a place for herself and Alex. She needed a house now.
As he lay asleep, a knock sounded on the door. Expecting Mrs. Jennings, she stood and opened it. Cassandra peered into Alex’s room. “How is he?”
“It’s measles, but he’s strong,” Nora answered. “He should be fine.”
“I’m glad.” Cassandra refocused on Nora. “Could you come downstairs? Percy wants to speak with you.”
“Did he get my note?”
She nodded. “I’d already spoken to him at lunch. He has a house that would be perfect. I’ll sit with Alex while you talk.”
Nora wanted to spring down the stairs, but she feared exposing Cassandra to sickness. “Have you had measles?”
“I had them as a child.”
Reassured, Nora brushed by Cassandra and raced down the stairs to the parlor. As she entered the room, Percy stood. “Dr. Mitchell.”
“Mr. Walker.”
“I have the perfect place for you. It’s not common knowledge, but Brice Roysden left High Plains two days ago. I bought his house as an investment. It’s on the west side of town, past the mercantile. If you have a minute, I’ll show it to you.”
“Is it for purchase or rent?”
>
“Purchase only,” he said.
Nora couldn’t buy a house unless she spent her father’s money. Even with those funds, she might need a loan from the bank, and obtaining one would be difficult. The purchase would be a true act of faith, a risk for the sake of her calling. If she failed to win the town’s respect, she’d have to ask her father for help and he’d expect her to marry Albert Bowers without a fight. The risk made her heart pound, but so did the threats posed by caution. Alex needed a place to recover. So would other children who were likely to fall ill. Nora didn’t enjoy taking chances, but she’d never regretted being brave.
“I’d like to see it,” she said. “What’s the price?”
The lawyer named a total beyond her means, then offered to arrange a mortgage if she could manage a down payment. The amount he suggested was slightly less than the amount she had in her trunk for train fare back to New York. If she accepted the offer, she’d have a house and a small nest egg. She considered renegotiating her salary from Mr. Garrison—it presently included room and board—but decided against it. The few dollars he’d have paid Mrs. Jennings for the remainder of the month wasn’t worth the risk of having him interfere with the purchase of a house. Later she’d worry about making payments. For now, the Lord had met her needs.
“I’ll get my hat and we can go,” she said to Percy. If the house would serve as a home and clinic, she’d buy it.
Chapter Ten
Two days had passed since his quarrel with Dr. Mitchell, and Zeb hadn’t heard a word from her or about her. He’d tried to put her out of his mind, but when his men coughed from the dust, he thought of her and got angry. When his eye twitched, he recalled laughing with her and felt something else.
This morning, standing at the base of the waterfall as he did every morning, he tried to gauge the river’s flow, but he couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand. The rush of the falls reminded him of her. He couldn’t call her Dr. Mitchell anymore, but neither did he want her to be Nora. The name rolled too easily from his lips. He liked the hush of it, the soft tones that begged to be whispered.
“You idiot,” he said out loud. “Not only is she a doctor, she’s just like Frannie.”
Standing tall, Zeb glared at the boulder he used to gauge the depth of the river. The volume was decreasing with the summer weather, but he couldn’t bring himself to hope for a storm. The thought of another tornado made his belly churn. A town—and a man—could take only so many disasters.
He knew how it felt to love and lose a woman. He’d given Frannie everything—his dreams, his hopes. He’d gone over a cliff for her and had fallen hard. While standing upriver with Dr. Mitchell, he’d wondered if…maybe…but then she’d bossed him and he’d gotten mad. Had she been unreasonable? No. Had she been puffed up? Not until he’d goaded her.
As the water splashed over the rocks, his mind echoed with snippets of their quarrel. She’d been right about everything, particularly the effects of fatigue. When he’d returned from town, he’d send Clint back to the Circle-L to nurse his cold. He thought of men he’d known in Bellville, older ones who struggled to climb hills because they couldn’t breathe right. If more windows would clear the air, he’d put them in.
Zeb cared deeply about his men. He worried about everyone in High Plains. So did Dr. Mitchell. He owed her an apology, but hated the thought of making it. He couldn’t risk dropping his guard. He’d ask her to supper and he’d start to care about her. Even if they could reconcile their differences about her career, he couldn’t trust her to stay. Someday she’d get fed up and go back to New York, leaving him just as Frannie had.
A smart man wouldn’t take that chance. He’d court a woman like Abigail. A merchant’s daughter, she understood business, and that’s how Zeb viewed marriage. After the spat with Nora—Dr. Mitchell, he reminded himself—he’d gone to the mercantile. Abigail had served him biscuits and jam. They’d talked about rebuilding the town hall, and he’d agreed to join the jubilee planning committee. Abigail made life easy, but he had to wonder if the calm would last.
“Zeb!”
He looked at the mill and saw one of his men calling down from a window. “Down here!” he shouted back.
“Reverend Preston’s here.”
“I’ll be right up.” Zeb didn’t care for church, but he didn’t mind the reverend. In addition to pastoring High Plains Christian Church, the man worked as a carpenter. Before the tornado, he’d put the finishing touches on Zeb’s house, including cornices, cabinets and a wall of bookshelves. They’d had some interesting talks, but Zeb hadn’t changed his mind about God. The Almighty was either cruel or uncaring. Either way, Zeb had no time for religion.
With the sun bright and the river glistening, he hiked back to the mill. He found the reverend dressed in work clothes, looking at the logs the Thompson brothers had delivered yesterday. Rebuilding High Plains had used all the local trees and then some. With each delivery, the Thompsons had to backtrack farther east for good timber. This load of oak, strong and sturdy, had come a long way.
“Good morning.” Zeb held out his hand.
The reverend, a tall man in his thirties, pumped it twice. “How are you doing, Zeb?”
“Same as usual.”
Preston looked at him a little too long. It was a habit he had, one Zeb found annoying. “What can I do for you?”
The reverend got down to business. “How much for twenty boards of oak? Each an inch thick?”
Zeb named a fair price.
“I’ll take it.”
The wood still needed to be cut. “When do you want it?”
“As soon as you can do it,” he answered. “I’m building shelves for the lady doctor you hired.”
Zeb didn’t know what to think. Had Nora changed her mind about Doc Dempsey’s place? He couldn’t stand the thought. Surely she wasn’t that desperate. He wanted to ask Reverend Preston for details, but he didn’t want to show interest in Nora’s activities. If anyone would have the goods on Dr. Mitchell, it was Matilda Johnson. Zeb wouldn’t have to say a thing. She’d start gabbing the minute she saw him.
He finished his business with Reverend Preston, then went to his office and lifted his hat from a hook. He had to deliver lumber to the town hall, so a stop at the mercantile made sense. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he called to his men.
Zeb headed for the yard where he tied down the load, climbed onto the seat and snapped the reins. As the horses lumbered away from the mill, he thought of the oak waiting to be cut. Such fine wood didn’t belong in Doc Dempsey’s office. Neither did a woman like Nora Mitchell. As he steered down Main Street, he studied the progress made on the town hall. The building had four walls, a plywood roof and the framework for a cupola that would hold a bell. The wood in his wagon would be used for siding. Doors, windows and two coats of white paint would finish the job.
When he reached the building, he reined the wagon to a halt. Briggs called a greeting, then lifted the first of the planks. Zeb usually lent a hand, but today he sauntered across the street to Doc’s old place. When he jiggled the doorknob, it didn’t turn. Still curious, he peered between the boards covering the window.
Nothing had changed since the day he’d shown the office to Dr. Mitchell, a sign she didn’t plan to move in. Relieved but still curious, he crossed back to the town hall where he saw Briggs talking to one of the men. As Zeb approached, they gave him their full attention.
“How’s it going?” he said to Tom.
“We’re making progress.”
“Will it be done before the jubilee?” Zeb had promised the town a big to-do. He intended to keep his word.
“Should be,” the foreman replied. “If you keep the wood coming, we’ll keep building.”
“Don’t worry.” Zeb spoke with confidence, but his mind echoed with Nora’s caution about fatigue. With each day, the river became more sluggish. He needed a millpond and a dam, traces and gates. Instead, he had to hope for a good rain, one that didn’t spawn a to
rnado. If the river didn’t go dry, and his men didn’t peter out, the building would be done just in time for the jubilee. Zeb counted a lot of ifs, but he’d do his best. He always did.
Except he hadn’t done his best when it came to providing a place for Dr. Mitchell. Where had she gone? He considered going to the boardinghouse and asking her directly, but that meant eating humble pie. Instead, he crossed the street to the mercantile. Matilda Johnson accosted him before he passed the pickle barrel.
“Zeb, I’m glad you’re here. We have a terrible problem.”
“What happened?”
“It’s that lady doctor. It’s indecent, I tell you. It can’t be tolerated.”
Zeb didn’t like her tone at all. “What’s indecent?”
“Her living arrangement, that’s what!”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Where’s she living?”
“Not at the boardinghouse! Not where Mrs. Jennings can keep an eye on her.”
“I don’t know what happened. Is she moving into Doc’s old place?”
“Hardly!” Matilda came around the counter. With her ample bosom and wide skirts, she nearly knocked him over on her way to the window. “There.” She jabbed her finger at the Roysden place. “She bought that house. She’s living there alone.”
“What happened to Brice?” he asked.
“He left two days ago.” Mrs. Johnson shuddered. “The instant I saw that woman, I knew she’d be a problem. Females do not belong in medicine. It’s unseemly. She’s a hoyden!”
Zeb had used that word himself with Pete, but it didn’t fit Nora at all. He couldn’t deny her sensitive ways and good character. Yes, they’d had a quarrel. But she’d taken responsibility and apologized. He needed to do the same, but the thought irked him.
He peered at the Roysden place from over Mrs. Johnson’s shoulder. Someone had put up yellow curtains. “I have concerns about Dr. Mitchell, but her morals aren’t among them.”
“They should be.”
He flashed to the gossip about Rebecca and Pete. Zeb had been furious then and he was irked now. He had no patience for gossip or lies. “She’s a decent woman, Mrs. Johnson. Leave it at that.”
Kansas Courtship Page 10