And what was behind that reference to the possibility of a pension? Only a veteran’s death or disability due to wartime experience would provide his widow with such a benefit. Mr. Arden had died of some sort of fever, Freida had said, eight or nine years after the war had ended. Joshua could think of no fevers a man could initially survive and then succumb to so long afterward.
But a doctor seeking to worm his way into a naive widow’s heart might be willing to raise her hopes in the process. Joshua’s fist clenched around the letter. Should he write to warn her? If he took such a liberty, would she discount it as personal resentment against a rival?
It was none of his affair. And indeed, he had no cause to jump to the conclusion that this doctor was dishonorable. While Joshua did his best to keep apprised of interesting medical discoveries, he had nowhere near the time or resources to do so comprehensively. The man might know something Joshua did not about the aftereffects of Mr. Arden’s ailment, or about that ailment itself.
Disgruntled, he left the letter on the table and stoked the fire before settling down in his easy chair to brood. He had no idea what Dolly expected, or wished, him to write in response, so he would refrain from writing at all. If she had more to tell him, she could do so whenever she pleased.
Dolly’s unanswered letter lay on Joshua’s table reproaching him for his lack of response until he stuffed it away in a drawer. When the owner of the general store waved him down with another missive bearing Dolly’s handwriting, he stood goggling at the man for several seconds before reaching out to take the letter.
He again waited until he made it home hours later, drenched and shivering from the freezing rain that had caught him on the way, before extracting the letter, now slightly damp, and reading it with his easy chair pulled close to the fire.
Dear Doctor Gibbs,
I am almost too mortified to take up my pen again, after the foolish fancies that prompted the contents of my last letter.
Doctor Brent, who had visited my hosts often enough during my stay that they and I had considered him attentive, has now made plain — without, it seems, realizing that we were misled — that he was principally interested in exploring the history of my late husband’s health, as part of his work consulting for the authorities who administer the Pension Act. On his last visit, he thanked me very courteously for my assistance, promised to inform my late husband’s parents if I should prove eligible to receive a pension, and wished me a safe voyage home, as if he could think of no reason to see me again before that time.
Joshua’s heart softened at the thought of her embarrassment, even as he could not help thinking that Dolly’s apparent interest in himself seemed to have revived in the absence of a more glittering prospect.
Do write to me, dear Doctor Gibbs, and tell me that I am not such a fool as I feel myself to be — or else reproach me for being such in truth.
He would write, yes, and even apologize for his delay in doing so. But he would not comment on her error, either to condemn or to excuse. He had no right to the former, and still little impulse toward the latter.
* * * * *
The winter had begun with cold, wind, and more than the usual amount of snow. But the bleakness was now relieved, and the discomforts easier to ignore, with the approach of Christmas. A large fir tree had been brought from the woods and erected in the middle of the town square, while not a few of Joshua’s patients had smaller trees of their own in their sitting rooms. Madam Mamie had one in her parlor, decorated with the very latest in delicate glass bulbs in many colors and intricately cut tin shapes — though it was not, he noted wryly, topped with the increasingly popular Star of Bethlehem. The other trees Joshua saw bore mainly homemade decorations, such as strings of popcorn or beads, carved wooden figures, and folded paper chains. This year, the children in town and those coming for market days had begun bringing their own contributions to hang on the public tree, with the result that its lower branches were crowded with a peculiar assortment of ornaments. Major at first showed an inconvenient interest in those that smelled edible, but after a few sharp commands from Joshua, he refrained from approaching them.
Joshua was even invited to two Christmas parties, one at the mayor’s house and the other at Madam Mamie’s. He attended both, the former out of a sense of obligation and in the hope that his host was not aware of the latter. Freida, he was happy to see, had been invited to the mayor’s party, and spent much of it urging her fellow guests to enjoy the refreshments, admiring the ladies’ outfits, and praising the beauty and cleverness of those children present.
Mamie’s food and drink were bountiful, and the available entertainment included that in which the establishment specialized. Joshua declined, telling himself that such goings-on were hardly the way to celebrate the holy season.
Clara Brook attended neither party. The mayor, presumably, could not be troubled to include any farmers but the most prominent among his guests. And of course she would not set foot in Mamie’s establishment. Though when he imagined the two women face to face, he quite unaccountably pictured them smiling at each other.
Musing along these lines while walking slowly home from his office, he caught his breath, embarrassed, to hear Clara’s recognizable firm tread coming up behind him. He turned and tipped his hat, searching her face for any sign that she had noticed something amiss. If she had, he saw no indication of it. The brisk air had brought unwonted color to her cheeks, and she greeted him with noticeable good cheer. “How now, doctor, are you headed to some holiday gathering?”
He could do nothing to stem the blush that heated his face, but he could hope to distract her from it. “You may regard me as a hopeless stick-in-the-mud, trudging homeward as usual. And yourself?”
Her expression faded toward its usual sobriety. “Homeward bound as well. A good evening to you.” She nodded and strode past him before turning onto the road out of town. Feeling the weight of the long day, and of his accumulated years, he walked heavily on. At least, with luck, Major would be there to greet him.
* * * * *
In light of the decorations and festivities, Joshua chose to regard Dolly’s next letter as a sort of Christmas present. Arriving only three weeks after he had sent his own, it continued her tone of timid apology, particularly as she announced her news and asked a favor.
Hope and I will finally begin our homeward journey not long after the New Year. My hosts have been so kind as to say they will pay for us to stay at two hotels along the way, so that we need not travel day and night for the entire journey. I was reluctant to accept such generosity, but will do it for Hope’s sake.
And no doubt for her own, given how exhausting it would be not only to travel such a long way without respite, but to do so with a child. She should not shrink from admitting as much.
I am hoping to arrive on January thirteenth by the afternoon train. If nothing delays us, in which case I would send a telegram, would you by any chance be able to meet us at the station? I am sure both of us will be weary, even if Hope is at her most well-behaved, which after my hosts’ indulgence of her I am not sure I can expect.
Of course, if you are too busy, I will understand.
It was in fact hard to predict whether he would be available. His practice was comprised as much of emergencies as of more routine matters. But he could write and tell her to look for him at the station, and promise to let the stationmaster know if he was prevented from coming.
It would be good to replace Dolly’s letters, which — aside from the inconsistent contents — he must confess to having found somewhat lacking in originality or wit, with her living, breathing, charming presence. And his life had been sadly lacking in contact with children, except those in pain or fear or the misery of illness, during Hope’s absence. He took a deep breath as if inhaling the ineffable scent he always noticed when Dolly was near.
He would do his very best to meet the travelers at the train.
It took Joshua some exertion of will power to set th
e farm hand’s arm with sufficient care and patience. The time that task required left him with the choice of running in the street or possibly being late for the train. He compromised by walking fast and looking stern and purposeful, as if hurrying to the aid of a patient in need.
Passengers were disembarking as he came within sight of the platform. He looked around for Dolly and Hope without finding them. Had they been first off the train, and given up on him, or were they still to come? He had not seen them leaving the station, but he had been in too much of a hurry to look around. He waited, on tenterhooks, for at least five minutes.
Finally, to his relief, he saw Dolly making her careful way down the step, assisted by the conductor, who then held out his hands for Dolly and jumped her down to the platform. Joshua should have known Dolly would take her ladylike time reaching the door and descending.
Both travelers looked about them, but Hope saw him first. “Mister Doctor!” She took off running in Joshua’s direction, heedless of her mother’s embarrassed cry of “Hope! Manners!”
Joshua crouched down and caught Hope, swinging her up in the air. She giggled wildly. When he set her back on her feet, she turned and called to her mother, “Oh, mama, Mister Doctor is strong!”
Dolly hustled up, followed by two crew members burdened with a trunk and multiple suitcases. “Oh, Doctor Gibbs, thank you for meeting us, and please excuse Hope’s heedlessness. It has been as I feared — she has nearly forgotten how to mind her mother. She nearly drove me to distraction on the train.”
Dolly did not look driven to distraction. She looked charming as usual, clad in an elegant coat (what would Freida think of what must be a new purchase?) and a velvet bonnet, the bonnet sitting far enough back that it could scarcely keep her head warm. “It’s good to see you both, and I am sure Hope will adjust promptly to the habits and routines of home.”
The crew member cleared his throat. Dolly looked up at Joshua with trusting eyes. “Where should the man take our things?”
Like a fool, he had forgotten about their luggage – and would have underestimated its volume had he remembered. “I’m afraid I have no suitable conveyance. But if you will wait over there —” He waved a hand toward a nearby wrought iron bench. “I should be able to hire the necessary transport.” There was at least one wagon at the livery stable. And a barouche, but Joshua could hardly afford that carriage, not without time-consuming haggling at the least and probably going into debt.
“Of course. Hope, come here.” Dolly perched on the bench and patted the space next to her. Joshua waited to make sure Dolly needed no assistance and then strode off even faster than he had entered.
He reached the livery stable still undecided. Dolly would probably consider a wagon a crude means of travel even under normal circumstances, and now she was fresh from Philadelphia and the luxuries she had enjoyed there. But he had never yet owed money in town beyond his tab at the general store, and hated to do so now.
The hostler came up to greet him, asking, “Need the buggy? It’s here.”
“No, not this time. I need something bigger, with room enough to take a woman, a child, and multiple cases from the railroad depot to the Arden place.” Joshua moved toward the wagon as he spoke. It would be heavy for Nellie-girl, but he could manage the hire of a sturdier horse. He could not resist one longing look at the stylish barouche nearby. It looked spotless — the hostler might have just finished cleaning and polishing it.
The hostler took that in, and a knowing smile spread over his broad face. “The Arden place, is it? Well, since you’re looking to oblige the lady . . . I could let you have the barouche over there for less’n usual.” He named a price that would leave Joshua short of coin for weeks, but he could make do without tobacco and a few other indulgences . . . .
But no. To appear at the depot with a barouche — to play fairy godmother with a shining coach for Cinderella — would give Dolly a false impression as to his resources. He could never maintain such a standard.
And with all that luggage, even the barouche might not have room.
Joshua had not driven a wagon since the war, rarely even then, and never as fast as now. Either his speed or the sight of him driving a wagon at all had several passersby turning to stare. One, he was momentarily abashed to realize, was Clara Brook, on whose face he glimpsed both surprise and amusement. What would she think about the cause of his haste? He attempted to dismiss the question from his mind as he reached the station and tied the horses to a hitching post.
The train had of course left by this time, leaving Joshua to transfer the luggage from platform to wagon. Hope jumped to her feet and offered to assist. He fought to keep his smile consistent with polite gratitude. “I thank you for the offer, Miss Hope, but I would fear to jostle you with the larger bags I will be carrying. Please stay and look after your mother instead.” Hope preened at the assignment and turned to Dolly, patting her hand and adjusting the lay of her skirts as Joshua lumbered away with two large suitcases.
There were two more after that, plus two smaller cases presumably belonging to Hope, but he finally got all the cases stowed. He escorted mother and daughter to the wagon, doing his best to ignore Dolly’s hesitation as she approached it. He had determined he would not apologize, but found himself saying, “The buggy could not have accommodated all the cases, and —”
Dolly valiantly rallied, saying, “Of course you had to find something larger, and on such short notice. I only wish we had not needed to put you to the trouble.”
Hope’s pleasure — “look, Mama, we get to ride in this big wagon, with such a big horse!” — helped distract him from any further thoughts of Dolly’s dismay. He helped Dolly up to the driver seat, tucked Hope into the nest of blankets he had hastily contrived, and set off. He should attempt to make conversation, but nothing came to mind. He had some reluctance to ask for details of their sojourn in Baltimore, given those of which he was already aware, and his own doings during the same period were largely a collection of the uninteresting, the distasteful, and the grim. His continuing acquaintance with Miss Brook was an exception, but not a topic he found himself wanting to introduce.
When they reached Dolly’s house, he helped Dolly descend, lifted Hope out, and carried the luggage again, though this time Hope positively insisted on carrying one of her own suitcases and Dolly allowed it. Once the suitcases stood in a neat row near the front door, he went out to throw a blanket over the horse in case his departure was for any reason delayed. Returning to the house, he saw that Dolly had shed her coat to reveal an equally elegant and unfamiliar dress. Courteous as ever, she insisted on taking his hat and coat, saying, “Please allow me to offer you some refreshment after all your hard work!”
He was, in fact, thirsty, and somewhat too warm despite the chill in the long-unheated house. “Thank you kindly. I could use a glass of water, or even cider, if you have anything of the sort available so soon after your return home.”
“Of course. Hope, run down to the cellar and fetch the cider.” The child hurried away on her errand, and Dolly waved Joshua toward the sofa, waiting for him to sit and then seating herself at the other end. Some sort of scent, like the citrus trees he had encountered in the South, wafted from her. He tried to enjoy the odor and banish its associations.
The new dress, a delicate floral print in lilac and pale blue, seemed to bring out the blue of her eyes. He caught himself gazing into them and looked away, feeling the hated blush in his cheeks. Where was Hope with his cider? He listened for her footsteps, but heard nothing. He cast about for a benign subject. “I hope you will soon recover from the fatigue of your journey.”
Dolly smiled sweetly. “I am sure I shall. Is there any regimen or tonic you would recommend to ensure it?”
He suppressed a shudder at the word “tonic,” which called to mind the idea of medicine shows and their worthless products. “Only that you not over-exert yourself in your desire to unpack your cases and set everything to rights.” Though with onl
y Hope to help her, it would be hard to avoid such exertion. “Please feel free to call upon me for any services that would ease the return to your routine.”
Dolly’s smile grew positively dazzling. “I hope I shall not need to take advantage of your very kind offer, but I will certainly remember it.”
Hope reappeared at long last, holding a pitcher cradled in one arm. Dolly jumped up and took it from her, setting it on a side table and fetching a glass from a kitchen. He started to get up to take the glass, but she pouted and gestured imperiously for him to stay seated, bringing the glass to him before resuming her position on the sofa. Hope lingered near him, watching closely as he took a sip, so he made it a large one and beamed in appreciation. “Just right!” Hope’s smile shone back at him.
Hope then squeezed herself between him and Dolly on the sofa. Joshua avoided looking to see how Dolly took the change, focusing alternately on Hope, now running on about the excitement of railway travel, and on his drink. As soon as he finished, Hope hopped down and put her little hand out for the glass. He handed it to her with a seated bow and then got to his feet. “I’ll leave you ladies to get settled in. Thank you again for the cider.”
Dolly gave a ladylike snort. “Little enough to do in return for rescuing us and all our cases from the station! Thank you so much.”
He let an eyebrow twitch at the thought of himself as a rescuer, but bowed again, retrieved his hat and overcoat, and made his way out to the patient horse. He retrieved the blanket, climbed back into the seat, wrapped the blanket around himself, and made his way home. For once, he didn’t mind the chill of the January evening, glad of the way it helped clear his head of the cider-induced fog.
What Heals the Heart Page 13