The Heirloom Brides Collection

by Tracey V. Bateman

  “One game, then.”

  Hattie’s smile bunched her cheeks. “Splendid! I have the black pieces.” Her landlady began positioning her game pieces on a printed board. “This will give me a chance to hear more about your house visits.”

  Darla settled herself at the table and finished setting up the red game pieces.

  “You make the first move, dear. Harlan says it’s only fair that I let guests go first.” Hattie glanced at the deep leather chair where Mr. Sinclair sat with a newspaper. “But I’d hardly consider you a guest. You have a job, and this is your home now.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Darla slid a checker forward. “But I don’t intend to stay here forever.”

  “And neither do I.” Chuckling, Hattie matched Darla’s move. “I have a home on the other side of this life, don’t you know.”

  Nodding, Darla moved a piece two spaces. Her time here had dispelled any doubts she’d had about returning to Cripple Creek or lodging at Miss Hattie’s. It wasn’t the parsonage, but she was beginning to feel at home here.

  “It sounds like nurse’s training was a lot of work.” Hattie slid another piece forward. “You said that with your studies you never found time for games.”

  “That’s right. Between the classes, the homework, and all the medical books on my reading list—”

  Hattie blew out a long breath. “No wonder you’re still single. I doubt you found a spare minute for romance, either.”

  The newspaper rustled, and Mr. Sinclair peeked out from behind it. “Go easy on her, dear. Miss Taggart has only been back in town a short time. Starting a new job can be all-consuming.”

  “Tsk tsk, Mister.” Hattie shook her head, dislodging a wisp of gray hair from her bun. “Don’t you have some stock market to read up on?”

  “Yes. I was too busy.” Darla studied the game board. “And believe it or not, I wasn’t interested.”

  Her lips pressed together, Hattie stared at the board like a hawk seeking its prey.

  “Romantic notions seemed to control every aspect of my life at seventeen, I know,” Darla said.

  “Like I said when you arrived, dear, that was then, and this is now.”

  Perhaps it was that easy. Dr. Cutshaw was happily married. By this time, Zachary and Emily probably were also wed. If so, she could let go of the notion that she and Zachary should marry and move on from her past. And she would, as soon as she held her diary, certain it was safe from discovery. As soon as she could be sure her written words didn’t see light and cost her her job.

  “I dare say, Darla dear, you won’t have any trouble finding a good husband in Cripple Creek.” Hattie made the first jump of the game and smiled at her. “Not with all the new business owners and bankers moving into our fair city.”

  Darla studied the board, hoping her concentration would derail her opponent’s train of thought.

  “You knew Emily Updike, the banker’s niece, didn’t you?” Hattie asked, undeterred.

  “We’d met.” Darla braced herself for the inevitable news. Not that she had any real claims on Zachary. Just because he said he’d wait for her didn’t mean he was obliged to do so.

  “Well”—Hattie jumped another of her game pieces—“did you know that Emily married a couple of years ago?”

  “I hadn’t heard.” Darla focused on a game piece that was in jeopardy. “Since my friend Betty moved from Cripple Creek shortly after I did, I stopped hearing the local news.”

  There was the answer to that question. Zachary’s father had gotten his way, and so had the banker. Zachary and Emily were married. Since Zachary had been compliant, he likely co-owned the haberdashery with his father by now. Emily was a better choice of wife for him, anyway, especially if the banker’s niece had proven to be chaste.

  “Like I said, there are a lot of businessmen moving in from all over the country. And beyond. Emily married a bookkeeper from Chicago.”

  Not Zachary. Her finger pressed to a red game piece, Darla looked up at her landlady. “I remember talk that Zachary Pfeiffer might marry her.”

  “Yes, well, she was spending a generous amount of time at his father’s haberdashery. Some of us—”

  Mr. Sinclair cleared his throat.

  Hattie leaned toward Darla. “Let’s just say I thought maybe she and Zachary Pfeiffer might marry, but it seems he’s not the marrying kind.”

  Mr. Sinclair poked his head out from behind the newspaper. “Just because he isn’t married yet doesn’t mean he’s not the marrying kind. Some of us just have to work a little harder to find the right woman.” He winked.

  Zachary wasn’t married. For some reason, that fact didn’t seem as important to her as it had when she’d first set foot off the train in March.

  The question now was whether he still had any feelings for her.

  Chapter Five

  Darla pulled the stethoscope from her bag and turned back toward the bed where Mrs. Baxter lay recovering from pneumonia. The silver-haired woman hadn’t stopped coughing in the five minutes Darla had been there.

  “She insisted the doctor let her come home.” Mr. Baxter stood on the other side of the bed. “The only way he’d agree was to have someone from the hospital come check on her.”

  Darla nodded without looking at him. She’d heard the same story on Wednesday, just hours after her patient arrived home. Yesterday, Mrs. Baxter was sitting in a chair and seemed to be feeling fairly well.

  “Them mules that roam our streets aren’t as stubborn as my woman.”

  Darla had a wind-up monkey that didn’t chatter as much as this man did. Darla swallowed her retort and came up with an idea to distract him. “Mr. Baxter, would you be so kind as to fetch me a cup of hot tea?”

  “I suppose I could, if you need one.”

  “I do. Thank you.” When he nodded and shuffled out of the room, Darla drew in a deep breath and bent over her patient. She placed her hand on Mrs. Baxter’s forehead. “I don’t feel a fever.”

  “He does like to hear himself talk, don’t he?”

  Darla nodded as she donned the stethoscope. Pressing her lips together so she couldn’t add a comment, she placed the bell on Mrs. Baxter’s chest and listened. The woman’s heart sounded strong. “I need you to sit up for me. Can you do that?”

  Mrs. Baxter huffed a bit while bending her legs and raising up, and Darla detected wheezing that hadn’t been nearly as pronounced during her first visit. She pressed the bell to Mrs. Baxter’s back and listened to the woman’s lungs. “I still hear some congestion in that left lobe, but it doesn’t sound much worse.” Yet.

  Darla removed the earpieces and returned the stethoscope to her bag. “Something has definitely made you feel puny today. I suppose it could be the exertion from the wagon ride home, but the shortness of breath and wheezing have me a little concerned.”

  Mrs. Baxter flopped back onto her pillow.

  “You took the laudanum last night? Did you rest well?”

  “I don’t like taking anything, but I did.” Her patient sighed. “Truth is, it helped a lot. I didn’t even hear the mister’s snoring.”

  “Thelma!” Darla and Mrs. Baxter both glanced toward the open doorway where Mr. Baxter balanced a steaming teacup on a saucer in one hand and held a smoking pipe in the other. “Don’t be boring this poor girl with our secrets.”

  “Trust me, Henry. Your snoring is no secret.” Mrs. Baxter paused, her breathing shallow. “Not on this street, it isn’t. You’re the only one who don’t seem to hear it.”

  Her husband huffed, then set the teacup on the bedside table.

  Darla gave him a nod. “Thank you.”

  He raised the pipe to his mouth and took a puff, sending a cloud of smoke over the bed. That was it!

  “Mr. Baxter, have you been smoking around your wife?”

  “Not while you was here, I haven’t,” he said. “But today’s a different day.”

  Darla sighed. “That explains a lot.”

  “It does?” Her patient choked o
n a cough.

  “Mr. Baxter, I believe your wife may be sensitive to your pipe smoke.”

  “Nonsense. I been smokin’ a pipe for all the twenty-three years we been hitched.”

  Darla did her best to swallow the frustration tensing her shoulders. “Has your wife had pneumonia before?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “I haven’t. This is my first time.” Mrs. Baxter straightened in the bed. “You’re saying it is Henry’s fault I’m having trouble breathing?”

  Darla took her medical bag from the chair. She had no intention of lingering in the middle of their debate. “Since we don’t want a relapse of the pneumonia, Mr. Baxter, you’ll need to refrain from smoking in the house or anywhere near her until her lungs are clear.”

  “I always smoke in my house.” He jammed the mouthpiece into his face and took a deep puff, exhaling toward the ceiling. “You women will say or do anything to rob a man of his limited pleasures.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his insolence. “I assure you, Mr. Baxter, Dr. Cutshaw would be just as concerned about you blowing pipe smoke around Mrs. Baxter when her lungs are this compromised.”

  Mr. Baxter ambled to the door. “I suppose he would.”

  “That’s settled, then.” Darla tugged the sleeve on her uniform straight. “I’ll stop back by late this afternoon to check on things.” She’d added the last part for Mr. Baxter’s benefit.

  Some home visits weren’t as pleasant as others.

  Thinking of the more pleasant ones, she’d not been to check on Mr. Zanzucchi since Tuesday. And the day before yesterday felt like a long time ago.

  Fifteen minutes later, Darla crossed Bennett Avenue and stepped onto the curb in front of Pfeiffer’s Haberdashery. Zachary wasn’t married. One question remained: Had he waited for her?

  She took one pace toward the door, then stopped.

  She’d told Hattie she’d changed and indicated to Mr. Zanzucchi that she’d changed. Pursuing Zachary and tracking him down at his father’s store would signify otherwise. Yes, she and Zachary had once cared for each other and he wasn’t yet married, but those no longer seemed good enough reasons for her to pursue him.

  Swinging the medical bag at her side, she walked up Third Street, away from her past and toward a destiny of her own making. Her future as a healer. If she was meant to reunite with Zachary, if there was still something between them, it would happen without her being the one to take the initiative.

  Darla hadn’t yet set her foot on the stoop when the door on the Zanzucchis’ tidy company house swung open. Three brown-eyed girls in cotton dresses and simple shawls stood on the threshold looking up at her with expressions of… what was it? Relief, perhaps?

  “Good morning, girls.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Miss Taggart.” Jocelyn reached for Darla’s hand.

  Jaya rocked on her heels. “Me, too.”

  “And me.” Julia’s smile revealed a gap in her teeth. She’d lost a baby tooth since the visit on Tuesday.

  The girls had been friendly all along, but today they seemed a little too anxious for her visit. “Is something wrong?” Darla followed Jocelyn inside, banging her bag against the doorframe. Mr. Zanzucchi lay on the cot, his head supported by his right arm. He didn’t seem in distress in the least.

  “He’s better now, but Tuesday—”

  “After I left?”

  He nodded. “I’m fine now.”

  “What happened?” Darla set her bag on the chair beside the cot, then shed her gloves and tucked them into a pocket on her mantle. After handing it to Jocelyn, who stood waiting, she returned her attention to her patient. “Perhaps that’s the wrong question, Mr. Zanzucchi. What did you do?”

  “He peeled potatoes.” Jaya raised both palms.

  The matter-of-fact innocence in the child’s statement tickled Darla, and she couldn’t help but grin.

  Jocelyn draped Darla’s mantle on the peg by the door. “He was up too long.”

  “Papa was stuck there.” Jaya pointed at the end of the kitchen counter. “And he couldn’t go back to bed.”

  “But we helped him.” Julia’s toothless smile made her brown eyes sparkle.

  Jocelyn sighed. “I wanted to go get you—may we call you Miss Darla?”

  “I’d like that. Yes.”

  “I wanted to go get you, Miss Darla, but—”

  “But I said there was no need to bother you, and I was right.” The light blanket was draped across only Mr. Zanzucchi’s bandaged back. Stocking feet stuck out below the cuffs of his brown trousers.

  “It doesn’t sound as if your daughters share your confidence.”

  “True enough. But do you realize that we haven’t even said hello? I couldn’t get in a word.” He raised his hand in greeting. “Hello, Nurse Taggart. Miss Darla, to some. How are you today?”

  Amused. But it might not be appropriate to say so. She had said she was professional, and she needed to remain as such. “I’m well, thank you for asking.” She went to the sideboard to wash her hands. Jocelyn already had the bowl of hot water and lye soap ready for her. “It sounds like you’ve been in a bit of trouble the past couple of days.”

  “That would be an understatement. Can’t even scratch my nose without a guard going on full alert.”

  She let a giggle escape. “But such adorable protectors they are.”

  “Please. I can’t have you taking their side. I have enough pretty girls giving me grief.”

  Enough pretty girls. When no one else responded, Darla decided to ignore his comment as well. But drying her hands on a clean towel, she couldn’t help but wonder if Mr. Zanzucchi had intended to include her as one of the pretty girls. Or if it was a mere slip of his tongue.

  She went to her bag and pulled out the sterile bandages.

  Footfalls and faint voices moved the girls toward the window. “It’s Mithus Nell!”

  “And William,” Jaya said.

  That was something Darla hadn’t yet experienced in her home visits—callers stopping by while she tended to her patients.

  Mr. Zanzucchi looked up at her. “Do you know Nell Archer?”

  Archer. “Not that I recall.”

  “Do you have the time to wait a few minutes? The girls adore their Mrs. Nell.”

  “Yes, of course, the treatment can wait.”

  The girls ushered the guests inside. A young woman close to Darla’s age carried a wooden box with a metal clasp. A small boy rode in on Jocelyn’s back, giggling and swinging a sack like he was a cowboy and she, a horse.

  The woman saw Darla standing beside the cot and stopped. She glanced from her hat to the bandages atop the medical bag. “I apologize for the intrusion.” The high cheekbones and the chin made Nell Archer look familiar.

  “There’s no need to apologize,” Mr. Zanzucchi said. “You are always welcome.”

  “But we’ve interrupted.”

  “Only a treatment I’m not especially anxious for.” He smiled, then looked at Darla. “Mrs. Archer and her husband, Judson, cared for the girls after the accident. They were a godsend.” He looked over at the child trying to lasso Julia with the sack.

  “We had fun with the girls,” Nell Archer said. “And William loved having them to chase.”

  “We played cowboys and dolls.” The words came out on a whistle through Julia’s new gap.

  “And checkers,” Jaya said.

  The visitor nodded and smiled at Darla. “I’m Nell Archer.” Her smile reached warm blue eyes. “You look familiar, but—”

  “I was thinking you did as well. I’m Darla Taggart.” Darla studied the young woman’s face. Nell had the same blue eyes, pronounced chin, and dark blond hair as the woman outside the parsonage. Ida. Another Sinclair sister. “By any chance, is it your sister who’s married to the new parson at First Congregational?”

  “Yes. Ida. There is a mess of us Sinclairs here in Cripple Creek now.”

  Darla nodded. “Your father married Miss Hat
tie.”

  “He did. And you know Kat.” She’d said it as a statement of fact, without a hint of judgment.

  “Of course. Nell Sinclair. I’d forgotten that you married Judson Archer in a double wedding.”

  When the sack swung near her, Nell snatched it from little William and handed it to Jocelyn. “We brought cookies, although they’re likely in crumbs by now. And I brought you all a game. Mr. Archer made it for you himself.” She held the wooden box out to Jaya and Julia.

  “That was kind of him.” Nicolas laid his head back onto his arm. “The Lord knows the girls need something to do other than guard me.”

  Jaya flipped the latch and opened the box. “It’s checkers!” She did a twirl that set all four of the children spinning and giggling. Jaya was the first to stop. “I get to play the first game with you, Miss Nell.”

  A frown narrowed the woman’s eyes. “Not today, I’m afraid. William and I have a couple more stops before we meet up with Mr. Archer for his midday meal.”

  When Nell and her son had gone, Mr. Zanzucchi suggested they all have a peanut butter cookie before Darla changed his bandages.

  Despite Jocelyn’s concerns about her papa, the scabs were intact and there was no sign of fever. Apparently, he’d only angered the nerves and muscles by staying upright for too long. Guessing he’d learned his lesson, Darla didn’t say any more about it before returning the leftover cloth strips to her bag and latching it shut.

  “Miss Darla.”

  She glanced up at Jaya, who stood beside the game set up on the kitchen table.

  “If you’re done taking care of Papa, can you play checkers with us?”

  “Yes.” Julia clapped.

  Darla drew in a deep breath. Without a doubt, this home was her favorite to visit. But she’d done her job here and had already stayed longer than she should have. And she still had other patients to see.

  Mr. Zanzucchi raised up onto his forearms. “Do you play checkers?”

  “If you count losing to Hattie Sinclair at the boardinghouse as playing, I do.”

  He chuckled. “Then you’ll have to come back another time to play checkers. Sometime when you’re not working.”