“Maybe it’s personal stuff Miss Clark don’t wanna share with anybody else,” suggested Sam, watching her.
“Oh, no, not at all, Sam, although I appreciate your thinking of me. No. In fact, Dr. Hartford would like to discuss the situation. He told me we could all go into his office, once you’d returned.”
The physician, a handsome, dapper man probably in his forties—old enough to have experience in his specialty, but young enough to be progressive in his attitude toward medical care—didn’t mince words.
“Please, sit down,” he invited the trio.
For a few minutes, he made small talk, designed to put everyone at their ease. A comfortable bedside manner, perfected. Comments about the weather, and the state’s recovery from the War, and this visit to town with sites they might want to see.
“Well, now,” he finally got to the gist of the matter. “Let’s talk about Miss Clark’s health.”
He went on to describe their consultation, and various medical tests which he had initiated, beginning with a thorough examination.
“So where are we with all this, Doc?” Sam was finally able to ask, during a pause.
Dr. Hartford looked at the tall man who took up so much space in the room’s confined area, pacing as if he needed to expend some energy. “Miss Clark has been telling me she would like to return to Boston, where she resided for a number of years. I recommend she do it.”
“Return, truly?” Jessica sounded aghast. “But can’t she get good care here?”
“She could, certainly, were she living in San Antonio. But she isn’t. And, quite frankly, she wouldn’t be happy here, anyway. Miss Clark wishes to leave, and I believe every person’s wishes should be paramount. If she prefers to reside in her former city from here on, she ought to do it.”
“But—how serious is her condition, Doc? Would it even be safe for her to travel that far?” Sam was perplexed.
The doctor, seated in his large wooden chair with its castored legs, propped both elbows on the arms and steepled his hands together. “I understand that a propensity toward heart disease is hereditary in Miss Clark’s family. That, combined with ongoing respiratory problems over the years and a certain amount of—ahem—personal stress, has contributed to her current state of health. Guarded, to say the least.”
Sophie, having already been informed of this prognosis, remained silent. Thoughtful. Sam and his betrothed could only share a helpless glance. Both had hoped for different, more encouraging news. This simple statement of fact made Sophie’s probable departure all the more real, and all the more imminent.
“She would, of course, need a traveling companion. She would also need to pursue this travel quite leisurely. By that, I mean a limited number of miles per day, with frequent stops and frequent overnight stays. Is that possible?”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Sophie. Clearly she had given this matter a great deal of consideration.
“Good. You’re from the Hill Country, you said? Nothing but stagecoach lines in every direction, then, until you reach one of the larger cities. San Antonio, for example, or Austin. Then you could make your trip by train, which would be far easier for you.”
Suddenly deeply affected, Jessica felt she must unglue her tongue from the dry roof of her mouth in order to speak. “And her—her care? Will she be able to do anything physical?”
The doctor smiled. “My dear Miss Clark, I’m not handing down a death sentence to your aunt. I’m simply laying out the specifics for as long a life, with good quality, as possible. During our appointment, I gave her directions as to what should and shouldn’t be done. Mild exertion is fine; in fact, I would recommend daily light exercise which won’t strain the heart but will, instead, strengthen it. Nothing violently strenuous, however. And absolutely no stress.”
Guilt as being responsible for a good deal of that earlier stress deepened the rosy color of Jessica’s cheeks. She flashed another glance toward Sam, and he, understanding completely, nodded.
“Now,” continued Dr. Hartford, “I believe in more ancient ways of healing, using native herbs and treatments. I’ve listed a number of items that you should purchase here in town, so that your aunt may begin the regimen I’ve recommended.”
“Herbs?” Jessica repeated blankly.
“Well, in my opinion, they’re better than rolling a pill for you to consume.” He spoke in a friendly, genial manner. “Peppermint tea aids in calming palpitations and tension around the heart, and helps prevent heart attacks; and parsley tea is a heart toner. Hawthorn berries strengthen the heart and regulate the heart rate.”
There came an audible gulp. “All of that? When? How often?”
“I’ve made notes as to each herb’s dosage and usage. Now then. Rosemary and elder are for dropsy, which is swelling from an excessive accumulation of fluid. Black cohosh with yellow jasmine will ease angina—which is the chest pain Miss Clark has suffered on occasion. Then there’s angelica, which relaxes the heart, and builds resistance to infection.”
“Holy Hannah, Doc, my head is spinnin’,” burst out Sam, who did, indeed, seem to have slightly lost his balance. “Mighty glad you’ve got all this stuff written down.”
“I know. I wanted to provide you with a complete list of everything to aid Miss Clark. And I recommend that she find a reputable doctor as soon as she reaches her destination, to begin an ongoing course of treatment. Now, as for buying these supplies. There’s a place called Simples, over on Arrowhead Lane, where you should be able to find most, if not all, of what I’ve mentioned. I have used their products on many occasions, and all are of excellent quality.”
Sam reached out for the document, filled with names of herbal supplements and instructions as to their use, skimmed the words with a quick glance, then passed the paper over to Sophie for safe storage in her reticule. “Well, sir, you’ve sure given us a lot to think about.”
Smiling again—he certainly seemed an amiable, accommodating sort of fellow—the doctor rose to signal that the session was over. “You’ll be in town another—what, day or two? If you have any questions before you leave for home, please visit me again. I’ll be happy to do what I can.”
“Appreciate that. In the meantime—” Sam hauled out his wallet, open for business, “I reckon you’d like to get paid for your services.”
* * * * *
The trip home, two days later, was made in relative silence.
Sophie, who had been supplied with a lightweight afghan and the pillow which had already traveled half a hundred miles, was dozing in the rear seat. Having already partaken of a few of the medicinal concoctions and decoctions acquired at the small, medieval-appearing shop to which they had been referred, was clearly finding the return journey somewhat easier to endure.
Occasionally she stirred and woke, at which time Sam, paying heed to Dr. Hartford’s warning, would pull his team off the beaten track for a rest and activity session. Therapy for Sophie, therapy for all—including the horses.
In response to Jessica’s entreaties, the trio had spent those days taking in the sights and sounds of San Antonio. When it came to exploring every shop and retail establishment within a twelve block radius, Sophie had joined the couple for brief spurts, taking plenty of time to rest between excursions. They had also enjoyed meals together at several local restaurants, including the hotel’s magnificent dining room, and they had played tourist at a few historical sites. The Alamo, for example, and the Mission San José, and Market Square, located on a plaza gifted by the King of Spain in 1730, for the distinct use of the original settlers.
As for purchases, Jessica was not able to persuade her betrothed to choose a ring for her. Not at this time, repeated Sam with his usual stolid demeanor, and waited for recriminations of the worst sort to follow.
Surprisingly, she did not press the issue. Nor did she, after their one and only visit to the jeweler’s (like the cave of Ali Baba, she had sighed rapturously, surrounded by a glittering display of gems), even mention which she
might prefer. Or wheedle.
Instead, she fell in love with a dresser set of cloisonné tray, hand mirror, comb and hairbrush. That, Sophie decreed, her father would be happy to buy—even if he weren’t aware of it until after the fact. Then, to keep an even balance, she obtained a pair of beaded, fringed doeskin moccasins which she knew that Vickie would adore.
“Papa won’t mind your spending money on us?” Jessica wanted to know, as, in the heat of early afternoon, they strolled back to the hotel to have dinner and rest.
“I hardly think so. Especially since I bought a pipe and some lovely fragrant tobacco for him. Are you all right back there, Sam?”
Their escort, having the bad fortune to be stuck carrying numerous parcels, trailed behind like a fierce guard dog securing the protection of two small cushy Siamese cats. “Just peachy keen,” he assured her, without a hint of irony.
They had departed Hotel Menger, and its superlative service and surroundings, with mixed emotions: Sam, relieved that he could return to his wide-open spaces; Sophie, grateful for this excursion, but mainly for the work of a doctor whom she could trust and rely upon; Jess, regretful that she must leave all this glory and grandeur behind.
For now, she was considering her own feelings, thinking over unusual circumstances from various angles, and weighing her options.
Sam seemed puzzled by Jessie’s somber mood and continued stillness, heading home, when she had so chattered up a storm all the way into the city. He kept throwing her wary glances, as if wondering just what devilment she might be up to. And, maybe, how soon lightning might zap down out of a clear blue sky and knock him on his backside.
“You okay?” he finally got up the nerve to ask. If he weren’t careful, it would be like poking a bear fresh out of hibernation.
“Hmmm?” Jessica gave the impression of returning from far places. That much she had in common with her aunt. “Oh. Yes. I’m fine, thanks.”
Another little while passed by, during which the team’s hooves drummed rhythmically along on the packed dirt road, and the shiny red wheels purred.
“You look a mite distracted. Somethin’ else goin’ on? You wrestlin’ with a problem?”
She pondered. “Not a problem. I’m having some deep thoughts, Sam. And they require some careful mulling over.”
Sam looked a trifle staggered. “Deep thoughts? You?”
Jessica burst out into laughter that, for a change, held neither derision nor contempt but true, honest amusement. “I’ll take that in the spirit that it’s meant, instead of as an insult.”
Reddening, he hunched his shoulders like some ancient snapping turtle on a creek bank and flapped the reins in an unnecessary gesture. “Sorry, Jess. I didn’t mean it as such.”
“I know you didn’t.”
Well, privately she would admit she deserved all the doubts he might fling her way. At times, overwhelmed by jealousy and exclusion when it came to the relationship with her family, she had behaved much like a spitting cobra, striking out to inflict deadly poison upon all and sundry. Nor could she blame the man she had somewhat compelled into a betrothal for flinching away from her very presence. He could hardly have been endeared to her by her shrewish behavior
What, she wondered, as they rode slightly north and slightly west, had brought about this introspection into her character, to which she was so unaccustomed? She had quite casually accepted her aunt’s earlier decision to return to Boston; at the time, Sophie’s departure seemed merely a fanciful dream, not to be taken seriously because an idea so impractical would never happen.
And yet, apparently it was.
And something had happened to turn her life, her attitude, her viewpoint all topsy-turvy.
This momentous visit to an important, reputable physician had brought the whole thing home, however. She was finally beginning to realize the import of what Aunt Sophie wanted to do, and she was beginning to realize how much her existence would change, and what a difference for the worse that would make when it happened.
Which was putting some of her own standards and desires to the test.
One, in particular.
Did she really want to marry Sam Marsden?
Marriage with this acceptable (not necessarily to Jessica, but to the public) young man would certainly lay the ghost of spinsterhood to rest. And she knew him—well enough, it seemed, to make him work like putty in her hands.
But how important was all that? If she were living in a decent-sized city, even one like San Antonio, would that provide her lackluster existence with the excitement, the confidence, the richness she was seeking? Would she ever consider turning her back on the relative safety of Yellowstar (however boring that might be) for the liveliness of a bustling metropolis? Entertainment, shops, society, opera houses and theatres, balls, festivities… Would she ever be brave enough, independent enough, strong enough to take that step away from all that was known and familiar?
“You thinkin’ to go on stage somewhere?” Sam again, into the silence.
“Not even remotely. Why?”
“From the faces you’ve been makin’, frownin’, smilin’, eyes narrowed, eyes wide…Not sure if I should stuff you into manacles for the funny farm, or jump ship here and now.”
“How you do run on,” she murmured, in her best southern belle tone.
Still, here was another thing to admit. This was really the first decent, halfway-friendly, impersonal conversation between Sam and herself since—well, since the announcement of this disastrous betrothal by Buckley Marsden.
Didn’t that just beat the band?
Chapter 16
Val’s face was no longer, no more gloomy or forlorn, than Vickie’s.
“Please tell me this is a joke,” she pleaded. “Please tell me I misheard. Please tell me you don’t really mean it.”
“Honey child,” his voice, as he cupped her cheek with one palm, held infinite tenderness, “hate to disappoint you, but it’s none of the above. Now is the time, that’s all.”
She had stolen time away from ranch chores to ride into Whistle Creek for a visit with her friend. Not slinking to his office, as if ashamed. Not weeping, in need of support. Just to spend some time together, talking, walking, smiling, as friends do.
She found him shoving unrecognizable items willy-nilly into a wooden crate.
“Is this the hangout of the world-famous newspaper editor, Valentine DeMarco?” The overhead bell tinkled as she opened and closed the door.
“Not for much longer, I’m afraid.” Straightening, he braced both hands on his aching back and offered her a crooked grin. “Gettin’ old. I can’t do all this physical stuff anymore.”
“Old? You’ve got—what, four years on me?” she scoffed. “Probably the weather; I think it’s looking to rain. Didn’t you say you’d been cursed with lumbago?”
“Don’t need to make things worse’n they are, thank you very much. Whatcha doin’ in town?”
She wandered over to the settee that had given her comfort one dark day not long ago. “I just missed you, Val. Missed your cheery voice.” Her own, by contrast, sounded melancholy.
“Yeah? Well, that’s nice to hear. Too little, too late, I reckon.”
Finally, that reached her. With a puzzled frown, she glanced from wall to wall, from window to window, from door to door. Some things were bare, some just incredibly neat and orderly. Her insides began to feel shaky, as if she were afflicted by motion sickness, and her legs felt suddenly weakened enough that she collapsed onto the battered piece of furniture.
“Val?” Her gaze shifted. “W-W-What’s—going on—?”
He took his usual familiar seat atop the nearby table. “Leavin’ town, Vic. Got the business up for sale, and an interested buyer. Need to find me some greener pastures.”
An Endless Love to Remember: A Historical Western Romance Book Page 26