Ginny Aiken

by Light of My Heart

  Daisy groaned. Her unusual yellow-hazel eyes rolled and then fixed on Letty.

  “Can you handle a cup of tea?” Letty asked.

  “Sounds good.” Daisy tried to sit.

  Letty caught her. “Not so fast, young lady. That’s too much moving for your head. I’ll bring the tea and help you sit.”

  She hurried to fetch the beverage, her heart aching for the child in Daisy, a child forced to grow up inappropriately and too soon. Daisy should still be studying her lessons, embroidering to fill a hope chest, dreaming of a first suitor, not meeting the basest needs of the basest of men.

  Letty sighed. What could she do?

  As she helped the girl with the tea, Letty chatted, trying to draw her out. Daisy soon told her how no one took her in after her parents died. Bessie, Slosh’s enterprising friend, had offered shelter and the means to earn her keep. Scared, not knowing where else to turn, Daisy accepted the older woman’s offer.

  Sobs wracked the girl’s thin shoulders. Something had to be done. This child could not—would not—return to the brothel.

  Daisy soon slept. Letty’s thoughts churned up possibilities. She discarded most, since the viable ones required help and folks who’d have to be contacted, whose cooperation had to be obtained.

  Mid-deliberations, someone knocked. Expecting Eric, Letty went to let him in, but it wasn’t him after all. Bessie stood in the shadows cast by the lamp at Letty’s left. “How is she, Doc?”

  “She’s hurt, but she’ll be fine if she gets enough rest. She can’t go back . . . go back to—”

  “No, Doc,” Bessie cut in with a smirk. “She cain’t go back to work.”

  Letty blushed. “Yes, Bessie,” she said. “I hate and object to the sin-filled life you lead. As for Daisy, she can stay here to recover—”

  “Nah. I’ll take ’er with me. I got an extra bed these days, an’ she can rest there. I’ll keep an eye out for ’er.”

  Letty wanted to argue, but she saw Bessie’s determined jaw and her disdain. She surrendered with grace.

  Still concerned, however, she offered detailed instructions. “Please keep her from rising too rapidly. Daisy’s concussed, and her head can’t handle abrupt changes in position. If she has any problems, do send for me. I want to help her—”

  “Ya’ve helped enough already,” Bessie said, eyes narrowed. “I’ll take care of ’er now. How much I owes ya?”

  Letty met Bessie’s gaze. “Not a penny. I did this—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Outta the kindness of yer heart. I knows yer kind. A harlot’s money’s not good enough for ya.”

  “I never said or thought that. I never would, either. I just want to help an injured child, that’s all.”

  Bessie stared. After a moment she lifted a shoulder, dislodging her pea-green shawl. A generous portion of white flesh bulged at the neckline of her blue and black lace dress. The exposure embarrassed Letty, yet it bothered Bessie not one bit.

  “Mebbe,” Bessie said, “mebbe not. A gentleman friend brung me in ’is carriage. I’ll take Daisy home with us.”

  “Very well.” Letty counted pellets into two small envelopes, sealed and labeled them, and gave them to Bessie. “Here. Arnica’s for shock, and she’ll need it for a while yet. The other one, Ruta Graveolens, is for bruised bones. Make sure she takes it tomorrow.”

  “How much I owes ya?” Bessie asked again.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  With another careless shrug, Bessie took the remedies, slipped them into a green silk reticule, and then shook the sleeping Daisy. The girl’s eyes fluttered open, widening with what looked to Letty like fear. Daisy bit her lower lip.

  “G’bye, Doc,” Bessie said, leading Daisy away.

  The urge to stop the woman knotted Letty’s middle, but any effort would be futile. Her concern for the injured child grew. With nerves stretched to violin-string tension, she neatened the clinic as she sought the Lord in prayer.

  Capping the Arnica made her think of Eric. The memory of the intense moment that evening rushed to her mind. Her hands grew clammy. How had she let herself wind up in such a risqué position?

  She blushed and acknowledged that her curiosity, that vexing urge to learn, to know more, had again joined forces with her other bête noire, her impulsiveness.

  The remedy jar cap slipped from her fingers. Glancing down to where it landed, Letty noted it hadn’t shattered.

  But she was on the verge of shattering. She had never experienced sensations such as those Eric evoked. They surpassed her wildest imaginations, especially since she’d surrendered all dreams of a loving spouse and children, a family. She’d focused instead on developing her God-given gift to heal, and on becoming self-sufficient and needing no one but herself and the heavenly Father.

  Men saw her as less than the womanly ideal they sought for wife and mother, and she never pretended to look like anything other than what she was—a doctor. Then she met Eric Wagner. Could this man be interested in her? Her?

  She puzzled over Eric’s intensity after so many days of aloof behavior. Why had he come so close, looked at her with such fervor? Inexperienced she was; ignorant she wasn’t. Something had burned in Eric’s gaze. It had singed her. She didn’t understand why it had happened. Especially since every time they’d met after the first typewriting lesson, he’d been distant and polite, even off-putting, his manner cool.

  The man who’d tangled hands with her was anything but cool. That man cared and shared her interest. Today that interest had blazed to attraction. The most intriguing man Letty knew was interested in her.

  Perhaps she was womanly enough to attract a man.

  Perhaps God had heard her girlish prayers. Eric was alone. Although he obviously still grieved the loss of his wife, maybe his interest revealed his readiness to seek another love. Dare she aspire to that? Would Eric want a woman doctor?

  Perhaps. In any case, those were matters best left where they belonged: in God’s hands.

  Letty dozed awhile until a knock came at her door. The sight of Eric reminded her of her earlier thoughts, and she blushed, incapable of even the briefest greeting. She hastened to the kitchen. The chair she pulled out scraped against the floor, and she collapsed in it.

  Dear Lord, what did I set myself up for?

  As Eric followed Letty to the kitchen, dreading their “pertinent chat,” a chick peeped from the comfort of its box.

  Letty’s cheeks showed a hint of rose, and Eric feared her discomfiture matched his now that they found themselves alone in her kitchen again. The troublesome typewriter sat at the far end of the table. The memory it evoked was almost enough to send him back out for a dose of wintry air.

  He needed to clear his thoughts, to chill his attraction to the doctor. He had to prevent a similar episode in the future.

  Hoping to forget, wondering if he could, Eric brought up the other matter he would have rather avoided. “I took Slosh home. Amelia and Steven were preparing a meal. I made certain Slosh had a cup of coffee and some bread.”

  Without looking away from her knotted hands, Letty’s head bobbed up and down.

  Her awkwardness confirmed Eric’s earlier fear. Clearly, Letty was uncomfortable with the memory of that moment. Why shouldn’t she be? Why would a lovely, capable young woman like Letty need, or want, the attentions of an older widower? Particularly one who bore guilt in his wife’s death. Any number of younger men would be more suitable.

  Those were sparks in her gaze, the undisciplined part of his mind taunted. And she didn’t run away.

  True, Letty hadn’t rejected him. At first, she’d seemed stunned, but then her gaze had gone warm and caring. Dare he hope?

  Nein. He had no right. He had to stifle his interest in this beautiful woman, and he would start now. “I must take the children home, Letitia.”

  At the sound of her full name, she looked up. Silver eyes broadcast her unspoken question. Eric shook his head. He didn’t want to discuss it. “Caroline is needed at home
.”

  She stood. “I thought my na—” She stopped, squared her shoulders, stood, and faced him. “I’ll be brief. I voiced my wish to help the Patterson children when I first came to town. It was your duty at that time to tell me the family had more children than Steven and Amelia. I could have sent food for Caroline and baby Willy.”

  “I could have said something,” he said, “but that family is more than you should tackle while you establish your medical practice and settle into town.”

  Her silver gaze forgave him nothing. “I’ll thank you to note that I can decide for myself what I will and will not undertake. You, Eric Wagner, presume too much.”

  He received Letty’s words as an indictment on his earlier transgression, a more grievous offense than withholding information about the Pattersons. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to discuss the incident.

  “Please forgive my presumption,” he said. “It won’t happen again.” Either sin, he added silently.

  As her lashes fluttered down, her features took on an odd expression. When she looked up again, her eyes showed no silver sparks.

  Could her gaze have meant what Eric thought it meant? Was it perhaps hope his words had killed? No, he could ill afford such thoughts.

  Eric’s promise killed Letty’s budding hope. As far as she could tell, the conversation had been held on two separate levels. She hadn’t missed Eric’s more personal meaning. He wanted nothing of the spinster doctor.

  On the other level, she had one more matter to address. “At the very least, you should have told me Slosh’s name. For someone who puts such stock in seeking and sharing truth, you’re quite adept at skirting it.”

  Eric’s cheeks showed shame, or perhaps anger.

  “I do believe in the truth,” he said. “I’m only guilty of poor judgment. I sought to ease your move to Hartville. As I said, I regret my presumption.”

  “I heard you the first time, and your meaning came through loud and clear. Tell me, has anyone in town spared a thought as to the fate of the children while Slosh carouses with women of loose virtue?”

  “Yes. Everyone has, but the children do have a parent. Unworthy though he may be, Slosh is their father. As to his carousing with prostitutes, you can only do yourself and your practice immeasurable damage by consorting with them yourself.”

  Letty felt as though he’d slapped her face. “Do you only report happy, decent, and uplifting news? Or do you also report seamier events?”

  “Of course I report all news. There is, though, a difference between us. I’m a newspaperman, and I report good and bad news to inform the public of events around them. You, Dr. Morgan, deal with the more delicate members of our town. You were brought here especially for our ladies and children. It’s bad enough that Hartville’s sudden fortune has helped propagate blight that was previously not so strong or pervasive. We don’t need our lady doctor patching up and returning to the street women who pander to men’s vices.”

  Letty fought her rising temper. “How dare you insinuate I intended to return that girl to her horrid circumstances? I only want to heal her wounds and help her find healing for her soul as well. A decent, moral, godly life for her is my goal.”

  “And how do you propose to do that? All she knows is selling—”

  “There, Eric, is the problem. All she knows is prostitution. Why? Because her parents died and she became destitute. No one reached out but Bessie.” Letty paused. After careful thought, she met Eric’s gaze. “Don’t you wonder what might have been her lot had one of Hartville’s leading families taken her in?”

  Eric grimaced. “You may be right. Perhaps we can prevent what happened to Daisy from happening in the future, but you can’t salvage her.”

  “You would just give up on that child? Without trying? Have you never heard of redemption?”

  “We’d be further along if we cleaned up East Crawford Street. The saloons and bars that thrive since the Heart of Silver Mine hit the mother lode are what attract harlots, gamblers, and other undesirables.”

  “I see,” Letty answered. “You advocate ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ Is that what you want to do with murderers? Just chase them out of town so they can kill elsewhere?”

  Eric’s eyes widened, than narrowed. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head. “I advocate jail, away from innocent people, the innocent people I brought you here to treat.”

  “Just because you had a part in bringing me here doesn’t mean you have a right to control my actions.”

  He didn’t respond to her assertion. The silence grew strained. She’d made her point, but the ugliness of the situation kept Letty from feeling any satisfaction in that minor victory.

  A true victory lay in the future, if God so willed. She prayed.

  Eric dreaded Letty’s reaction when she remembered he’d been working not only to shut down the brothels, but also to have the fallen women run out of town or jailed.

  Letty, with her soft heart and eternal optimism, couldn’t imagine such sordidness. She’d never watched the downfall of a man caught between the twin vices of alcohol and bought flesh. She’d never seen a family lose their home because the father patronized saloons, billiard halls, and bordellos. Too often, wages meant to buy animal feed, planting seed, clothing, and food went to the well-heeled vice mongers. She had never seen it happen.

  But Eric had. One man too many.

  How was he going to tell her Slosh began his journey down that path a long time ago?

  He wasn’t. Eric saw no way to tell Letty how rapacious life could be. She thought that with food and friendship she could make all things right for the Patterson children. For all he knew, she might even entertain the notion of rehabilitating Slosh.

  Letty was an innocent, whereas he, besides having lost all he treasured, had been exposed to the worst humanity had to offer. A son could never forget the destruction of a father, the ravaging of a family.

  “I’m a doctor and have seen more suffering than anyone should.” Her words made him stop and think. But no, her wholesome air belied those words, and he remained certain she had no understanding of the situation.

  With a futile gesture, Eric turned to leave. “We’re at an impasse. If you want a healthy medical practice, I suggest you avoid the women of East Crawford Street. Few husbands will want their wives treated by a physician who consorts with the likes of them.”

  “No need to repeat your narrow opinion, Mr. Wagner, and perhaps we should avoid that subject after all. In any case, I’m interested in the four Pattersons, and I’m going to help them.”

  On his way to fetch the children, Eric paused. Four? She had said four. He rolled back his head and laughed.

  “What? What is so humorous, Mr. Wagner?”

  “You,” he blurted out, then realized his mistake. “Not you, your assumption.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “The Pattersons, Letty. There aren’t four Patterson children.”

  “Why, of course there are. There’s Caroline, Steven, Amelia, and Willy.”

  Eric nodded, trying to stop laughing. “Yes, there are those. What I’m saying is that there aren’t just four, there are five Patterson children.”

  “Five?”

  “Yes, five.”

  “But, I’ve never seen—”

  “You probably never will.”

  Letty started to ask what he’d meant, but he put on his hat, started toward the stairs, then paused again.

  “Suzannah hasn’t left the house since her mother died.”

  Suzannah, Suzannah, Suzannah. In the silence after Eric’s departure from the room, the name beat through Letty’s thoughts like the refrain of a heartbreaking song.

  A child, sitting in a house for months. A town that let her stay in the care of a debauched drunk.

  Letty ached to rail at Eric’s seemingly heartless attitude, but after his shocking announcement, he strode to her room, returned holding Willy to his chest, and led Caroline to his rig. He ga
ve Letty no chance to voice her fears.

  She feared that Slosh, to indulge his vices, would beggar the children, and Caroline—serious, responsible Caroline—might see no choice but to follow in Daisy’s footsteps—encouraged by Bessie, no doubt.

  That could never happen. She wouldn’t let it happen. The hideous thought hurt so much, she knew she had to do something. And soon.

  But what, Lord Jesus? What should I do?

  The Lord kept His peace. No verse came to Letty’s help, no prompting in her spirit, not even an idea.

  “Nothing tonight,” she conceded and prepared for sleep, sleep that never came. Vivid visions filled her night, some pleasant, others not pleasant at all.

  The memory of Eric’s brief caress seemed seared into her mind. Try as she might, she couldn’t banish her bittersweet longing for more of that tender touch.

  When she feared she’d lose her sanity, she grasped at other thoughts, but the image of the Patterson children still swirled in her head. Their faces alternated with that of Daisy—Daisy at the door of the brothel, Daisy fighting the drunk, Daisy, who Caroline, or Amelia, or even the unknown Suzannah could one day be.

  “And just who is trying to heal poor, lost Suzannah?” Letty asked. No one.

  That was about to change. She sat up in bed, her blankets mounded at her waist in the pooling moonlight. Warm blankets, a cozy home, plenty of food, medicine when needed. Who better to provide such essentials for the Patterson children than Letty herself?

  Mind made up, she gave up on sleep and began planning in earnest.

  Surely this was why God had brought her to Hartville.

  6

  The sickly sweet scent of blood filled the room. Painful moans and whimpers left Eric desperate, helpless.

  “She can’t take much more, Mr. Wagner,” said the midwife.

  “No,” he argued, never taking his gaze from Martina’s colorless features. He held her icy, still fingers. “There must be something you can do.”

  The midwife’s wise, black eyes stared back at him. “You must fetch Dr.—”

  Movement whispered against fabric as Martina shook her matted gold curls. “No doctor. . . .”