The train whistle shrieked again, and the wheels grabbed the track. The braking train pulled against her, dragging her deeper into the lumpy upholstery. As they slowed, her compartment rolled closer to the station platform.
Two men stood there. Pity, she thought, Mrs. Wagner hasn’t come. We will have to meet another day.
One of the two men appeared quite old, round-shouldered and slender. She’d heard enough about Mr. Tilford from his wife to identify him at first glance, and to know she preferred to avoid meeting him today.
The train chugged in slower now, and Letty got her first clear look at the other man. Since he held his black hat, his wavy hair caught the sun and shone gold. His eyes, deep and dark, matched the shade of her favorite chocolate bonbons, while a blade of a nose ridged his face above a well-trimmed mustache. His square jaw suggested an uncompromising nature. Surely this wasn’t Mr. Wagner. This man was far younger than she’d envisioned her sponsor.
“Oh, honestly,” she muttered under her breath. “It doesn’t matter whether that man is or isn’t Mr. Wagner. What does matter is finding your luggage and starting your new life.” Firming her shoulders, satchel in hand, she joined Mrs. Tilford in the aisle.
Eric waited on the platform, numbed by the drone of Hubert Tilford’s advice. The man expounded on every topic known to mankind. Unfortunately for his listeners, he knew almost nothing about nearly everything. Well, that wasn’t quite right, either. Tilford displayed true genius in the sawmill business. At the moment, however, Eric lacked the patience to learn the merits of sawdust, much less to listen to directives on how he should run his newspaper.
He had to locate the new doctor. It was ironic that he had finally lured a physician, a woman yet, to practice medicine in his town too late to do him any good.
The past two years had blunted his pain. He had turned regret and failure into action; he had found a lady doctor for Hartville. Still, no number of good deeds could atone for his sins.
Eric didn’t have time for bitter memories just then. He had to find Dr. Letitia Morgan, homeopathic physician. Because of the daunting title, Eric expected a middle-aged spinster, large enough, tough enough, and experienced enough to handle any eventuality. He pictured her with steel-gray hair coiled in a tight knot, spectacles riding the bridge of a pragmatic nose, a severe black suit encasing her stout body.
Hartville needed a most competent woman. Someone who would scare everyone back to health.
The train ground to a stop. Passengers left the cars. The conductor barked instructions to a pair of burly youths who began unloading luggage. Two black leather trunks labeled with the doctor’s name and Eric’s address thudded onto the platform at his feet. Two trunks—not much for a person setting up medical practice. Surely a physician needed supplies, a certain quantity of the medications she might prescribe. Could those two unremarkable cases hold it all?
Then he had his answer. Box upon crate joined the trunks in rapid succession, filling the platform. Mr. Tilford edged closer as the cargo threatened his presence on the structure. When the mountain grew no more, Eric counted thirteen pieces.
As he looked for the woman responsible for the abundance of baggage, Mrs. Tilford stepped down from the train. A tiny woman in a gray woolen ulster followed. Beneath a trim, gray hat, brown curls bounced on her forehead.
Then she looked up.
Her dove-gray gaze met his and reached deep. He stared—he couldn’t help himself. A random thought came to him: This woman is strong enough to heal all that ails Hartville.
Pity medicine can’t heal your tattered heart, his conscience taunted.
Eric spat a German word for which his mother had once scrubbed his mouth with soap, scolding him in the family’s native tongue. He then rammed his hat on his head. Perhaps it would keep his thoughts from straying.
The train whistled again, startling the gray-eyed lady as it pulled out. He approached and extended his hand. “Dr. Morgan?”
She tilted her head. “Mr. Wagner?”
“At your service.” A shiver sped through Eric when their hands touched. Taken aback, he turned to preserve his dignity.
A fleeting notion crossed his mind. What if one of her many cases hid a cure for festering guilt?
“Dummkopf,” he muttered under his breath, falling back on German as he occasionally did. Anyone could see she was too clean, too innocent, to be acquainted with the darkness he knew. He hadn’t expected a woman so young. Although the diminutive Dr. Morgan was no classic beauty, she had round, shining eyes, an uptilted nose, and a smile—goodness, what a gentle smile.
Clearing his throat, Eric fought to restore normalcy to a day that had veered far from normal. “I had no idea a homeopathic physician needed so much paraphernalia. What’s in the boxes?”
“Most people are familiar with our preference for infinitesimal dosage and think I need only medicated pellets. But for my practice I need textbooks, a microscope, tongs, tweezers, knives, scissors, and linens. Since I had it all at my clinic in Philadelphia, I brought it along. I’m ready for patients.” Her words came in a lilting rush, punctuated by nods.
He smiled. “I hope you’ll be pleased with the arrangements we’ve made for you. The house is small, but it has enough room to turn the parlor and dining room into a clinic.”
“Why, that’s precisely what I had in Philadelphia. It worked well. I made myself a sleeping area in the kitchen and kept everything close at hand. I’m certain this will be lovely.”
Her verve and optimism were contagious. “There’s a bedroom upstairs,” he added. “You won’t need to sleep in the kitchen like an orphaned kitten.”
He’d hoped his words would bring on another smile, but instead, her lips formed an “oh!”
He gestured toward her belongings. “We can’t fit your boxes in my carriage, but we’ll take the trunks now. The rest can be delivered later.”
He spoke with the porters and let them know his plans. Then he said, “Let’s get you home. After your long trip, you must be ready for a rest.”
Letty shook her head. The curling brown wisps of hair danced again. “I can’t wait to be on my way, but I’m so happy to be here, I doubt I could lie down and rest right now.”
Her vibrancy enticed Eric to smile again, but a warning rang through his thoughts. Drawing himself to his full height, he remembered the glare his late father had used to convey displeasure. He hoped he could carry it off. “You need the rest. Hartville can’t afford a worn-out physician.”
Reading the success of his efforts in her surprise, Eric led the way to the carriage. The sooner he got her to her new home, the sooner he could turn her over to the ladies of Silver Creek Church. With that in mind, he helped the doctor into his rig.
Using Mr. Wagner’s hand for balance, Letty climbed into the rig and smoothed the heavy folds of her ulster on the leather seat. Although he’d smiled a few times, those smiles hadn’t altered the shadows in his eyes, and she had the impression Mr. Wagner didn’t smile often. When he did, sorrow underscored the smile. What a pity, so young yet so sad.
Once she’d settled, Mr. Wagner climbed up, sat, and snapped the reins. The horses obeyed, and they left the station. As the sights along the street registered, dismay edged out her excitement. A blush scalded her face, and she screwed her eyes shut.
“Not your preferred part of town, is it, Dr. Morgan?”
Mortified, Letty risked another peek. She had never been this close to a saloon, but the noisy establishments she saw could be nothing else. Amid the saloons, other lairs sported signs that read “Billiards,” with the rare “Barber,” “Baths,” and “Laundry” scattered in for good measure. One read, “Bessie’s Barn.” Letty knew what that one housed.
“No, Mr. Wagner. I’m more comfortable around libraries, schools, and churches. It seems a shame that visitors on their way into town from the station must see this.”
A frown creased his forehead. “Quite true, and it’s worse since the Heart of Silver Mine’s
production grew so fast last year.” With a flick of the reins, the matching mares picked up their pace. “You should appreciate the location of your home. It’s on a quiet street with Silver Creek Church at the corner.”
Although Mr. Wagner hadn’t laughed or even smiled, Letty discerned a touch of taunt in his words. Oh, dear. What if he frequented those places?
Studying him through downcast lashes, she tried to learn his feelings toward their seedy surroundings, but his expression remained oddly blank.
He turned and caught her staring. “Even though it’s none of your concern, Dr. Morgan, I don’t patronize this street. Each time I’ve come this way, it’s been to meet a train or to cover a story for my newspaper.” His jaw tightened and his voice hardened. “I oppose saloons, gambling, and womanizing just as you seem to.”
Feeling relieved though foolish, Letty gathered her dignity and entertained a vague curiosity about Mr. Wagner’s sudden vehemence. Then she cautioned herself against indulging that troublesome part of her nature.
“It really is none of my concern,” she murmured.
“I recently started a series of editorials urging the town to rid itself of this blight,” he added.
“I see.”
Letty breathed more easily once they turned onto a wide street lined with official-looking structures. “Main Street?”
“And flourishing.”
She had expected pride in his town’s growth, but instead she heard disapproval in his voice. As he concentrated on guiding the horses down the busy thoroughfare, she studied him again. In the short time she’d known him, she’d seen sadness, concern, and humor in his dark eyes. She preferred the humor. It made him look approachable and easy to talk to. She hoped he was both, since she knew no one else in town.
He startled her when he spoke again. “Since last year, newcomers have overrun the town. Not all are welcome. You may as well hear it from me now, since you’ll certainly hear it from the town gossips later. I don’t think Hartville can handle going from five thousand citizens to somewhere close to fifteen thousand in less than a year. Despite the numbers, this is a small town at heart.”
Letty considered her companion’s words. Everywhere she looked, she saw new construction. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves played counterpoint to the hammering of carpenter’s nails on a mansion partway down Main Street. The workman wore so many layers that Letty wondered how he could move his arms well enough to pound nails. She pointed him out to Mr. Wagner.
“That home belongs to our illustrious banker. Came into town last summer, and as a result of our productive mine, he turns a healthy profit.”
Letty chuckled. “I can’t see that as my fate. I don’t expect to get rich delivering babies, treating childhood illnesses, or patching up miners injured at work.”
His whiskers lifted in a wry smile. “You’re right. You’ll probably be paid in kind. Chickens, vegetables, eggs, milk.”
“Since I’m not fond of hunger, I’ll welcome my patients’ generosity.”
“Not that you’ll need much,” he countered, humor in his voice. “You’re a tiny thing. Barely more than a girl.”
Letty sobered. “Not at all. I’m a doctor and have seen more suffering than anyone should.”
A measuring look came her way. “It looks as if Hartville’s fortunes have improved,” he finally said. “Welcome to town.”
“Thank you . . . I think.”
“It was a compliment.”
“Then thank you again.” Just as she was about to inquire after Mrs. Wagner, her mind went blank when a child darted in front of the carriage.
“Stop!” she cried, reaching for the reins. The memory of another child, in another town, catapulted to life. Not again. Heavenly Father, help!
Mr. Wagner fought to stop his horses, crying out in German. Somehow, he missed trampling the boy, who stood frozen to the spot.
Letty rushed from the carriage. “Are you hurt?” she asked, probing a reed-thin body through layers of too-large clothes. “Why did you run into the street? It’s very, very dangerous.”
The boy wiped his nose with a drooping coat sleeve. He cocked his battered bowler, revealing bright blue eyes. Those eyes sized her up in no time.
“ ’M all right,” he answered, dusting himself off. “Didn’t mean no harm, ma’am. ’M sorry.”
“Why, I never thought you did, dear, but something made you run out in the street. What was it? Were you frightened?”
The scamp played with his frayed tie, then tucked the slice of silk inside his waistband. He wiped the toe of first one and then the other old but clean black boot on his trouser legs.
Crooking a finger under his sharp chin, Letty tilted his face toward hers. “What’s your name?”
He scuffed his toes in the street dirt but didn’t speak.
Mr. Wagner’s roar startled Letty and the boy. “Steven Patterson, what were you thinking? You ran out in front of my horses. Mighty foolish thing to do, young man.”
Letty cringed at the booming voice. She also noticed the furtive look Steven cast over his shoulder. When she matched it, she saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Then the boy sighed. And grinned. Fisting the lapels of his chopped-down-to-size tweed coat, Steven rocked back on his heels, much like a boastful businessman or a pompous politician. Lifting his chin, he shot a cocky grin at Mr. Wagner, but the effect was ruined when his bowler, worn to a shabby shine, tipped down over his eyes.
With a thumb poking out from a trimmed-down leather glove, Steven shoved the hat out of his way. “Sorry, Mr. Wagner. Won’t hap’n agin, sir. Gotta git goin’ now.” Two fingers tapped the hat brim. “G’bye!”
“Wait!” Letty cried.
Steven darted up the street.
Turning to the man at her side, she asked, “Who is that child? Why is he running in the streets? Where are his folks?”
Mr. Wagner cupped Letty’s elbow, and the warmth of his fingers winnowed up her arm. Startled, she glanced at him. The surprise on his attractive face unsettled her even more. He turned and tugged her toward the carriage.
Letty allowed Mr. Wagner to lead her, but she pondered the change she’d seen come over her companion. Had he felt that same strange sensation, too? Oh, dear. And he a married man . . . The boy, Letty, the boy.
“You haven’t answered, Mr. Wagner. Who is responsible for that defenseless mite?”
To her amazement, he laughed. “My dear Dr. Morgan, Steven is as defenseless as a rattler, and he’s older than he looks. True, he needs taking in hand, discipline is lacking, and an education would work wonders, but he’s a Patterson, and there’s nothing we can do.”
“What does his name have to do with anything? Does Hartville hold his family against him? I hope I haven’t moved to a sanctimonious town.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Letty glared at her companion. “Tell me more about Steven.”
Discomfort, or so she hoped, colored Mr. Wagner’s cheeks. “Hartville has its share of hypocrites,” he admitted, “but no more than other towns. Steven Patterson lacks adequate parents. Horace, never devoted, quit pretending to care the day his wife died. He now finds comfort in a bottle. Steven fends for himself.”
At first, Letty felt iced with horror, but by the end of his account, anger again heated her face. “Why doesn’t someone else help the child? What about missionary boxes? Surely you can find a coat to fit the boy. And that decrepit derby . . . Don’t the sons of other families cast off warm hats or caps?”
“Of course. We’ve all tried, but Horace returns the gifts. The ladies often feed the boy, but that’s about all they can do.”
Letty made a noise uncomfortably similar to an undignified snort. But it was a bit late to worry about how dignified she sounded. She had behaved abominably—quarreling, for goodness’ sake—ever since meeting this man.
Concentrating on the fingers working a loose thread on her ulster, Letty gathered the courage to ask another question. “Will anyone object if I try to help?”
“No, but if you take on the Pattersons, you’ll take on more than you’ve bargained for. I wish you well. Others have failed.” Urged on by a touch of mischief, Letty smiled. “I have it on good authority that I’m distressingly determined. A most unattractive tendency, I’m afraid.”
Mr. Wagner smiled. Letty counted that smile as a victory.
“I’m learning just how determined Hartville’s lady doctor really is,” he said. “I don’t find determination unattractive, although it can be daunting.”
“You hardly look daunted.”
“I’m a newspaperman. You must know how brash we are. We can handle anything.”
“I look forward to watching you.”
Wearing a shadow of a smile, he pulled on the reins, and the horses stopped before a black-shuttered white frame house. As Letty gazed in wonder at the home that, by all indications, Mr. Wagner intended for her use, an unseen person opened the door in welcome.
Letty placed a hand on Mr. Wagner’s forearm. “Is this my new clinic . . . my house?”
Mr. Wagner looked down from his superior height. “Of course. Shall we go in? The women from the church have fixed it up for you. They can’t wait to meet you.”
Letty folded her hands on her lap to keep from clapping with enthusiasm as she admired the place. She breathed a prayer of thanksgiving for the Lord’s splendid provision and seconds later clambered out of the carriage and went up the walk. With a final lingering glance at the exterior, she stepped inside.
She was home. No one had to tell her. The scent of fresh baked bread and roasted meat wafted it to her nose. The roaring fire in the grate boasted it to her eyes. The warm clasp of plump hands imprinted it into her own.
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