Janet Dean – Courting the Doctor's Daughter (страница 3)

“Even before his apoplexy, Judge Willowby told me they could barely keep up with a four-year-old boy. Since the stroke, he’s naturally troubled they won’t live to see Ben grown.” He frowned. “What about the Children’s Aid Society’s rule against giving custody to a single woman?”

“As a widow with two sons of my own, the committee felt that qualified me to raise another child.” She swiped a hand at her tears. “That I’m already taking care of Ben for the Willowbys worked in my favor. They didn’t want to move him again.”

“Thank you, God. With your brother-in-law sitting on the committee, I felt reasonably sure of the outcome. Still, a couple of those members adhere to rules as if Moses himself brought them down from on high.”

Laughing, Mary gave her father a kiss. “I can always count on your support.”

She returned to the counter to wash, soak in hydrogen peroxide and then dry the equipment her father had used to deliver the Shriver baby. Her father kept his surgery and office immaculate, while his quarters lay in shambles. She tried to keep up with the cleaning, but he could destroy her efforts faster than her boys put together. When she finished, she stowed the instruments in his black leather case then set the bag in its customary spot on the table near the door, where he could grab it on the way to the next house call.

Mary turned to say something to her father. He’d nodded off in his chair. As she prepared to tiptoe out of the room, he roused and ran a hand over his chin. “Guess I’d better shave. Don’t want to scare my patients.”

In the backroom, she filled the ironstone bowl on the washstand with hot water from the teakettle, and then sat at the small drop-leaf table to watch her father shave. He lathered the brush and covered his cheeks and chin with soap. Since Sam’s death, she’d missed this masculine routine, a small thing, but small things often caught her unaware and left her reeling.

If her father didn’t slow down, she could lose him too. Yet, Henry Lawrence was as stubborn as a weed when it came to helping others. No point in beating a dead horse…for now.

She’d tell him about the peddler. Surely he’d share her concern. “You won’t believe what’s going on downtown, Daddy. Why, it’s enough to turn my stomach.”

“Let me guess.” He winked at her in the mirror. “Joe Carmichael organized a spitting contest on the square.” He scraped his face clean with his razor and rinsed the blade in the bowl.

Mary planted her hands on her hips. “I’m serious.”

“Your feathers do look a mite ruffled.” He patted his face dry with a towel. “So tell me, what’s wrong?”

“Some fraud is selling patent medicine. He’s making all kinds of claims. Says it’ll cure upset stomachs and headaches, a baby’s colic. People couldn’t buy it fast enough, even after I warned them the bottle probably held 90-proof.”

“My precious girl, you’ve got to stop trying to protect everybody, even from themselves.”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Her father crossed to her, touched her arm, his hand freckled with age. “Yes, you do. You’ve always been a caring woman, but since you lost Sam, you’re on a mission to save the human race. Trouble is you’re not God. You don’t have the power to control this world, not even our little piece of it.”

Mary covered her father’s hand with her own. “I know that. But I worry about you.”

“Yes, and about the boys getting sick or hurt, about their schoolwork.” He gave her a weak grin. “Why, your worrying worries me, Mary Lynn. Remember the scripture that says we can’t add a day to our lives by worrying.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Forgive me, Lord, for not relying on You. Not trusting You. Give me the strength to change.

These past two years, widowed and raising her sons alone, and now Ben, hadn’t been easy, even with her brother-in-law pitching in with the heavier chores. The money she’d inherited from Sam’s father had made a huge difference, meant she might live her dream, but the added financial security hadn’t eased the constant knot in her shoulders. Hadn’t eased the loneliness. Hadn’t eased the empty space in her heart.

Not that Sam had filled it.

Trying to alleviate the tension of her thoughts, Mary tapped her father playfully on the arm. “Besides, the topic isn’t about me. It’s that traveling salesman. Don’t you find his claims upsetting?”

Her father sat beside her. “Most of those tonics and remedies are worthless, but until I give his a try, I can’t condemn it.”

Her father prided himself on being impartial, as if the past meant nothing. “Think about it, Daddy. How could just anyone concoct a remedy with real medicinal value?” She leaned toward him. “Can’t we do something to protect the town from a quack?”

Her father rubbed the back of his neck. “Does he have a permit?”

“Yes. He’s too cunning to be tripped up that easily.”

“Well, then there’s nothing to be done.”

As if on cue, they both rose. Her father put his arm around her shoulders and they walked into the surgery.

“Doesn’t it bother you that half the town owes you money and they’re squandering what they have on a worthless tonic? If you could collect, you’d have a nice little nest egg for retirement.”

His gaze roamed the room and then returned to her with a smile of satisfaction. “What I do here is important. I have no desire to retire.” Her father snorted. “Besides, I can’t leave this town with one less doctor.”

From the stubborn set of her father’s mouth, she could see her argument fell on deaf ears. “There’s got to be doctors from one of the Indianapolis medical schools who’d be interested in entering your practice.” She took his hand, bracing for his reaction. “I’m so sure of it that I put an advertisement in the Indianapolis News Journal. The ad should draw inquiries from graduates seeking an established practice.”

Her father’s mouth tightened, his displeasure at her actions unspoken but palpable.

Sudden tears stung Mary’s eyes. “I’m sorry you disapprove.”

He walked to the window and rolled up the blinds, letting in the morning sun. “You’ve already admitted there’s no money in doctoring here. That’s not going to draw many applicants. Besides, I’m doing exactly what I want to do. I know these people. Know their ailments, their struggles…their secrets.”

When they had troubles, the folks in this town turned to two people—their doctor and their pastor. She respected and admired her father and the preachers in town who had a knack for listening. Knew how to comfort, and knew how, when necessary, to admonish.

Henry Lawrence not only made a difference in people’s lives but he’d saved quite a few. He had a purpose she admired more than any other and wanted to follow. And once she was a doctor, she’d be dependent on no one.

Her father returned to her side and tweaked her cheek. “If you want to help and can find your way around that pigsty I call a kitchen, then please, darling daughter, make me some breakfast.”

Glad to be useful, Mary smiled. “It won’t take but a minute.”

He hugged her. “You’re like your mother. Susannah could make a feast out of an old shoe.”

Pleased by the comparison, Mary laughed. Even five years after her mother’s death, she missed Susannah Lawrence every day, wanted to be like her serene, unflappable mother. But failed. In her mother’s north-facing kitchen, the walls painted the hue of sunshine, Mary’s spirits lifted. Her mother always claimed she never had a gloomy day working here, but she’d surely be amazed by the condition of her workspace now.

Mary might not know how to fix the problems around her, but she knew what to do here. She donned one of her mother’s bibbed aprons and tackled the mess.

Once her advertisement brought in the ideal doctor to help in the practice, she could go to medical school, knowing someone young and capable would help her father oversee the health of his patients. That is, assuming she got accepted. No guarantee for anyone, especially a woman. Months had passed without word. At twenty-eight, would her age work against her?

She finished clearing a spot on the counter, washed it down and then poked around in the icebox, emerging with a slab of bacon and a bowl filled with eggs. Once she’d fed and helped her father with his patients, she’d complain to Sheriff Rogers about the dark-eyed stranger. Maybe he could find a way to retract the permit. Surely he didn’t want that swindler taking advantage of people’s worries.

Taking advantage of her.

Her hand stilled, and a wave of disquiet lapped at her. The dark stranger had thrown her off balance with that outrageous wink…but only for a moment.

She wouldn’t let that happen again.

Chapter Two

Luke Jacobs snapped the padlock into place on the back of his enclosed wagon and gave it a yank. The last straggler had gone about his day, leaving Luke alone, that meddling woman who’d opposed him heavy on his mind. He’d run into do-gooders like her before.

True, Miss Nightingale happened to be more attractive than most, with glinting green eyes, chestnut hair and a stubborn jaw—shoving into something she knew nothing about. A royal pain who fought what he’d worked hard to achieve.