Ginny Aiken

by Light of My Heart

  “Welcome to Hartville, dear. I’m Adele Stone, Pastor Stone’s wife. I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

  For once, Letty found herself speechless. She looked from face to kind face, and tears sprang to her eyes. Oh, dear. She mustn’t cry. What would they think of a weepy doctor?

  She returned the squeeze with a watery smile. “You can’t imagine how happy I am to be here, and to be greeted like this. . . . Why, it’s better than a dream come true. It’s the answer to my prayers.”

  The five ladies smiled among themselves, each one nodding approval. Then chatter broke out.

  “I’m Miranda Carlson, but please call me Randy,” offered a redhead with green eyes.

  “I’m Miss Emmaline Whitehall,” said a thin, gray-haired lady with spectacles on her long nose.

  So went the round of introductions and lively conversation. Soon Letty noticed a conspicuous absence and could no longer contain her curiosity. Turning to Mr. Wagner, who watched from the side, a smile curving his mustache, she asked, “And where is your wife? I’ve so looked forward to making her acquaintance.”

  All eyes locked on Mr. Wagner, who, head bowed, stood still as a statue, pale as marble. Letty couldn’t even hear the sound of breathing. She wondered what social sin she had committed.

  Finally, he lifted his head, his look so bleak it pierced to the marrow of her bones.

  “My wife is dead, Dr. Morgan.”

  2

  When the echo of the slammed door faded into silence, Letty took a shuddering breath and tried to dispel her dismay. She could scarcely believe what had happened.

  After she’d ripped open his wound, Eric had obviously had no thought but to flee and tend to his pain. Unfortunately, she still had to deal with the women and the ache she felt at her uncalculated cruelty.

  Then she realized that in the space of one pain-filled moment he had become Eric to her.

  “Come along, sweetheart,” said Mrs. Stone, laying an arm around Letty’s shoulders. “Don’t fret over Eric. You had no way of knowing, and as much as he has helped, why, it was only natural to expect his wife to welcome you to town.”

  “But—”

  “No,” Mrs. Stone said. “Listen to me. I know him well—have known him since our families came out West a long time ago. He holds on to trouble much longer than he should. He still blames himself for Martina’s death. Foolishly, of course, but no one has been able to talk sense to him.”

  “What happened?”

  “Let’s take this heavy thing off,” Mrs. Stone suggested with a tug on Letty’s ulster. “It was tragic. They had so looked forward to the birth, but from the start, Martina had trouble. The child was large, like Eric, and breech. She labored for two days, refusing to see a doctor—a man. She wanted a midwife.”

  Letty gasped. Just like Mrs. Forrest. Only this time, the woman had denied herself the benefit of a physician. No wonder Eric wanted a woman doctor for the town.

  “How long ago did it happen?”

  Silence.

  Letty persisted. “Was it recent?”

  “Two years ago.”

  Strange. Two years seemed long enough for him to come to grips with the deaths. Since his wife had died in childbirth, Letty saw no reason for him to blame himself. But, as she well knew, everyone grieved in different, private ways. Perhaps Eric was the sort who loved so fiercely that pain pierced him deeper than it did others.

  “I still feel awful,” she said. “I have a tendency to blurt out whatever comes to mind before thinking it through.” She managed a weak smile. “I’m awful at keeping secrets, too.”

  Randy caught Letty’s attention with a wink. “You’re probably an abysmal liar as well. Hartville’s fortunate to have you.”

  Letty smiled her thanks, glad for the help in easing the awkwardness. If everything else went as well as these women’s reception, then life in Hartville would indeed be a dream come true.

  Randy waited for Letty to follow the others into the kitchen. “I didn’t want them to overhear, Dr. Morgan. I think I’m expecting, and I’d be proud to be your patient.”

  Letty experienced a pang of envy and another of joy. “Oh, Randy, that’s wonderful. How do you feel? Any nausea in the morning? What about dizziness? No strange bleeding, I hope.”

  “I feel absurdly well. Sleepy all the time, but I have none of the complaints my friends warned me about.” She laughed. “In fact, Dr. Morgan, I scarcely feel pregnant.”

  Letty reached for Randy’s hand. “There’s one thing you must do if you’re going to be my patient. I’m hoping we can become friends as well, and I refuse to feel I must scrub my hands before we talk. Please call me Letty.”

  Randy smiled, and the two new friends joined the others.

  The women insisted on guiding Letty through the minuscule house, pointing out the touches they’d added. Mrs. Richards had donated the worn but comfortable settees arranged against two parlor walls. Mrs. Crowley had provided the six oak chairs lining the third wall. The brown braided rug had once graced the parsonage.

  The kindness of these strangers brought a knot to Letty’s throat, and she could scarcely respond to their questions. No one had ever shown such interest in her before.

  The rest of the house displayed more of their generosity. An oak table took up most of the space in the kitchen, its scarred top telling the tale of many meals. Mismatched chairs nestled at its four sides.

  Randy insisted on showing Letty the bedroom before sitting down to a cup of tea. While her new friend chattered about every item in the room, Letty took note of the pitched ceiling and the quilt in white and rose-flowered squares.

  Finally, as the hours sped by, the ladies left one by one. The irrepressible Randy was the last to depart. Letty was thrilled to find a friend. She’d always had too few of those.

  She had grown up the only child in a family of reserved adults. Her father, a physician who had served with the Union forces during the War between the States, had been a solemn, studious man, consumed by his calling well after his service to the Union cause ended. Her mother had always supported his devotion to his profession, leaving Letty’s care to servants.

  How she came away from that home with her optimism intact Letty would never know, but that attribute had always served her well. Particularly as a woman determined to breach the masculine stronghold of medicine.

  After extinguishing the lamps, she went up the stairs to the bedroom in the eaves. When she was partway there, a sound out front made her stop. Thinking it might be one of the ladies returning for a forgotten item, Letty hastened to open the door. In the hazy gray and crimson of the wintry sunset, she found a child dragging a hamper down the porch steps—a little girl, her braids more unraveled than not.

  “You!” Letty called out. “What are you up to?”

  Bending to her task with redoubled intent, the scamp cast a look over her shoulder. She seemed determined to steal what an anonymous donor had evidently intended for Letty’s use.

  Oblivious to the cold, she ran after the urchin. “Where do you think you’re going with that, missy?”

  Letty caught the sprite around the waist of a too-large, plum-colored wool wrapper. The child struggled for freedom, but Letty hung on to a handful of the black flounces that trailed behind the girl. She tried to reach the basket, redolent of roast chicken, but found her hands full with the little bandit.

  The basket fell to the snow. Letty’s captive took one look at her face, then unleashed all her fury upon her. Biting, scratching, kicking, and howling, the imp refused to surrender to an adult’s greater power. Eventually, she had no choice. Letty was larger, though not by much.

  Letty scooped up her adversary and carried her into the house. She would retrieve the basket after extracting some answers.

  She plopped her unwilling guest onto a kitchen chair. “Who, pray tell, are you, and what were you doing in my yard—alone—at this hour of the evening?”

  As she uttered the words, she recognized a simil
arity between this situation and Steven Patterson’s unsupervised presence on the streets of Hartville. Upon closer examination, she even found a resemblance between this little fiend and Steven. The girl’s attire was peculiar, with an adult’s straw boater perched on her head.

  The girl didn’t answer.

  “You’re a Patterson, aren’t you?”

  That got a reaction. Letty’s guest raised her head. The red silk rose poking up from the crown of the boater bobbled, rolled its way past moth-eaten black fur on the collar of the wrap, and tumbled to the floor. The hat slid back on the girl’s head, revealing her most telling features. Bright blue eyes widened, and a pointed chin dropped in astonishment. “How’d ya know?”

  Despite the seriousness of the matter, Letty stifled a smile. “I’ve met your brother, Steven. You look alike.”

  The girl frowned at the comparison.

  “Tell me,” Letty continued, “why were you taking my basket?”

  The girl stared at her boots. Small though they were, the heels and the many hooks running up the inner leg declared them a woman’s castoffs. Letty didn’t know whether to laugh or groan at the child’s attempt at mature attire.

  The chin lifted. “Why’s it matter?”

  Letty tried again. “Where were you taking it?”

  From what Eric had revealed about the Pattersons, Letty knew the girl needed the food. She also knew that confession was good for the soul, especially that of a young poacher.

  She waited for the answer. Then waited longer still.

  “Well, if’n it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not tell.”

  “Well, if it’s all the same to you, you will tell, or you won’t be going home.”

  The starch melted out of the urchin. She began to look around. Fingers fidgeted and uneasy “umms” betrayed fear.

  All at once, the child leapt to her feet. “I gotta go. Now. You c’n keep yore ol’ basket. We don’ need yore food.”

  As the girl ran for the door, Letty regretted her clumsy efforts. She had wanted to help but had only scared the child. “You haven’t told me your name,” she called. “I’d like to know.”

  The girl stopped, hand on the doorknob. After a moment, she faced Letty, who realized her measure was again being taken. She prayed she wouldn’t be found wanting.

  “It’s Amelia. Amelia Louise Patterson.”

  Letty resumed breathing. “Well, then, I would like to give the contents of the basket to my new friend, Amelia.”

  Blue eyes opened wider.

  “But only the contents.” Letty prayed she was doing the right thing. “Someone left that basket to welcome me to town. I’d like to thank them, so I want the basket back. Will you return it? Tomorrow?”

  Again the blue eyes assessed her. “I’ll bring it back.”

  “Very well, Amelia. I’ll expect you tomorrow. We can find the owner and thank her for all she shared. Enjoy what’s in the hamper.”

  Amelia turned to the door. “We’ll try.”

  Letty wondered why the girl had answered that way, but she dared not probe, lest Amelia back out of her promise to return. Letty intended to turn tomorrow’s visit into the next of many steps toward the rehabilitation of the Patterson children.

  “Isn’t the basket too heavy?” she asked. “Perhaps I can help you take it home.”

  Amelia smashed her hat tighter on her head and yanked the door ajar. “No! I c’n do it. Sure’n I c’n, Dr. Miss. I c’n do it.” She ran outside. “Thank ye, Dr. Miss.”

  The thin child grabbed the hamper and resumed her trek, the train of the once-fine wrap trailing behind her. Letty wondered how far Amelia would have to drag the feast she’d just inherited.

  With her gaze on the girl, Letty vowed to become an expert on the Patterson children. She would start by questioning a certain newspaperman who’d neglected to mention that more than one Patterson child needed her attention. She would do so tomorrow before Amelia returned.

  The night, quiet and deep, sped by. Letty was accustomed to vehicles clattering down the streets of Philadelphia, so Hartville’s peace came as a welcome surprise. She slept better than she had since . . . She couldn’t remember when she’d rested so well.

  In the sunlit winter morning, her thoughts soon turned to her planned meeting with Eric. She’d heard concern under his anger at Steven the day before. She wagered he’d lost his temper because the boy’s recklessness had endangered him. Somehow, she would win Eric’s cooperation in her efforts on behalf of the Pattersons. Those two deserved better, and she was just the woman to make sure they got it.

  She sat up in her nest of covers and thanked God for the welcoming committee who’d provided them as well as the wooden steps beside the tall bed. As short as she was, she greatly appreciated their presence. She stepped down and stretched.

  Her satchel offered a choice between a gray woolen skirt and one of charcoal serge. She pulled out the wool skirt and a white cotton shirtwaist.

  Shortly after breakfast, she set off for the center of town. Humming, she studied her surroundings as she went along. By the time she reached Main Street, she was sure she remembered enough landmarks to return home without getting lost, especially since at the corner stood Silver Creek Church, solid as a belfry-topped rock of ages. Its glass windows sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight. Venturing a guess at which direction might take her to the newspaper, she turned right.

  In front of the sheriff’s office, she stopped a stout man carrying a walking stick to ask directions to the Hartville Day. While the man spoke, she only half listened. She’d never before seen a cane with its handle carved into a cow’s head, and she couldn’t stop staring.

  Soon she reached Eric’s workplace. Pieces of newsprint were nailed to the wall of the plain storefront, and Letty drew near to read them. Most dealt with the town’s silver business, but as she reached for the doorknob, one particular item caught her attention.

  EAST CRAWFORD STREET BORDELLOS

  Prurient Pastime of the Prominent

  Letty scanned the column, bottom lip between her teeth. Eric had launched an attack against the houses of ill repute. His editorial urged the city to appropriate and close them, then jail the women who plied the sinful trade. His plan, he wrote, would eliminate temptation for men who felt the need to stray. Although she couldn’t see what good a newspaper article would do, she certainly hoped he succeeded.

  Peering through the dusty window, she saw Eric leaning over a desk where another man worked on a typewriting machine. The man’s dexterity and the speed of his fingers intrigued Letty.

  She grabbed the brass handle, threw open the door, and flew into the office. “Oh, Eric, that’s marvelous. How can his fingers move so fast? Could he teach me?”

  Eric turned, and Letty felt the intensity of his gaze to the tips of her toes. How could the man affect her so strongly with nothing more than a look? She blushed and studied the drawstring of her reticule, fiddling with it until she dropped the bag.

  Bending to retrieve her purse, Letty scolded herself. She was a doctor, for goodness’ sake, not a flighty miss to be flustered by a man’s stare. She had come for answers about the Patterson children, to gain Eri—Mr. Wagner’s—help with those two scamps . . . and to apologize for her blunder of the previous day.

  Squaring her shoulders, Letty met his gaze. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me for bursting in. I can be terribly impulsive when something catches my fancy, and this gentleman’s work is fascinating.”

  When Eric remained silent, she plunged ahead. “I would also like a moment with you. In private.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. Clearly, yesterday’s thoughtless question remained a fresh memory. She added, “It’s important.”

  A long-fingered hand rose to Eric’s mustache and smoothed the brown hairs. This troubled widower attracted her in a most puzzling way. An impermissible way.

  She reminded herself that a woman who dared practice a man’s career couldn’t yield to such an attraction, since a
ttraction could grow into something deeper. She remembered Marcus. Another ill-fated infatuation might devastate her. Letty promised to keep a tighter grip on her imagination and asked God’s help in the doing.

  “Follow me,” Eric said warily.

  She set aside her foolishness and tried to relax but caught herself studying the golden hair that waved over the back of his head. Her gaze strayed to his back, and she noticed the impressive breadth of shoulders encased in navy serge. Following the line of his jacket, she admired the fine formation of his torso. Eric could have posed for any of the drawings in her textbooks. He embodied the ideal healthy male.

  When he paused at a door in the hallway, she nearly ran into his back. He gestured for her to precede him into the room, and ducking her head to hide burning cheeks, she did just that.

  “Please excuse the disorder,” he said as he closed the door. “I rarely let people in my office. When I get involved in an investigation, I often forget to clean up after myself. At least, I do until I have to find something in the mess.”

  Letty smiled, certain he had no idea he’d given her an intriguing glimpse into his nature. “The clutter doesn’t bother me, Mr. Wagner. I came to apologize for my insensitive question yesterday. Do forgive me. I meant no harm, and I am sorry for the pain I caused you.”

  Eric stiffened. Letty continued regardless. “Please accept my condolences as well.”

  He closed his eyes momentarily, then cleared his throat. “It’s understandable. You had no way of knowing what happened. Apology and condolences accepted.” With obvious effort he smiled. “Was there something else you needed? Perhaps something with the house? Or did you just want typewriting lessons?”

  Pleased by the return of even strained humor to his voice, she said, “I’d love to learn to use the machine, but I’ve no need for one. A physician doesn’t heal with clacking keys and printed pages.”

  “True, but they’re interesting anyway.” He gestured to a machine nearly buried by masses of paper on his desk. “Our work here at the office has become much easier since I bought them.”

  Instead of sitting in the worn leather wing chair across from Eric’s desk, Letty followed him for a closer look at the contraption. “May I?”