Janet Dean – Courting the Doctor's Daughter (страница 8)

“Time rushes by, Fannie,” Laura said. “Best not waste a minute longing for the future, instead of enjoying the here and now.”

Mary gulped. How much time did she spend fretting about what could happen, instead of enjoying the hugs of her sons, who grew as fast as weeds in an untended vegetable garden?

“Besides, James is young. Boys don’t become men until they’re at least twenty-five,” Sally grumbled, then brightened. “Say, Fannie, with three grown sons, none of them married, I’d be beholden if you took one of them off my hands. I could use help skinning and dressing the game they kill. Why, you could move in with us—”

Eyes wide with horror, Fannie gasped.

Sally laughed. “I’m only teasing. Truth be told, my boys have lost their bragging rights as marksmen.”

“Your sons are…very nice, but I love James.” Fannie’s face glowed, verifying her statement. “I don’t want to wait forever to be his wife.”

An aching loneliness gnawed in Mary’s belly. Two years had passed since she’d lost Sam. Years before his death, more years than she cared to think about, she’d spent her evenings alone. To have someone to talk to, to share a sunset with, the small things she’d expected to share with a husband and never had, left a huge void that children, no matter how much she loved them, could not fill.

Still, she couldn’t imagine caring for another man. Sam’s death had hurt too much. Living with him had hurt even more. She’d never risk a second marriage.

The image of Luke Jacobs flitted through her mind. A hot day. Him on her porch, holding a glass of cold tea with a smile and an invitation to sit awhile. A shared kiss—

Her pulse leapt.

How could she even think of that man? The answer rattled through her mind. Luke Jacobs possessed charm, a way about him that wrapped her around his every word—just like Sam.

But Sam’s charm had covered a deep pain from a childhood of abuse, leading him to swig patent medicines. Later when he gave up the pretense, it led him into saloons to forget. She and the boys and endless years of prayer hadn’t been enough to keep Sam home.

Best to remember frosting can cover a bitter cake.

“Mary?” Addie said. “You look like you’re off somewhere. Is everything okay?”

A pair of dark, piercing eyes reappeared in Mary’s mind. With all the strength she possessed, she forced her thoughts away from Luke Jacobs and back to Addie’s question. “Fine. Fine. Say, how are William and Emma doing in school?”

“William is at the head of his class. I can’t say the same for Emma.” Addie rolled her eyes heavenward. “Charles says not to worry. She’ll charm her way through life.”

Sally snipped a thread. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

Mary saw plenty wrong with charm. “Emma may not be a leading student, but she’s already designing hats. Mark my words, Addie, one day you’ll turn the shop over to her capable hands.”

“Whatever path they take,” Laura said. “We’re all grateful to you, Adelaide, for saving those orphans from a life of terror.”

The group quieted, each face growing somber, remembering how Addie’s suspicions had led to Ed Drummond’s arrest for not only beating Frances half to death but for murdering Frances’s mother. Ed had planned to kill Addie and hide the act by starting a fire. Charles not only saved her life, but he won her heart. Now Charles, Addie and their children lived happily ever after. A storybook ending Mary couldn’t imagine.

Laura inched her needle along a gingham petal, adding a white edge to the pink and white design. “I saw Frances at the grocery. Now that she’s healed up and that awful man she’s married to is in jail for life, she looks ten years younger.”

“Ed Drummond should’ve hung,” Martha said. “How could a man go to church as regular as a ticking clock yet kill his mother-in-law and beat on his family? I can’t believe how he had us all fooled.”

Tears stung the back of Mary’s eyes. In his childhood, Sam had lived with abuse—Charles too. This town had suffered more than its share of violence. People’s lives had been changed, some for the better, but for others, life would never be the same. “Do you ever wonder…why God allows evil to touch good people?”

Laura reached over and squeezed Mary’s hand. “That’s a hard one, dear. One of those things we may never understand in this life.”

Mary forced a smile, but worry churned in her gut. Laura’s pat answer didn’t solve a thing. She’d learned in the blink of an eye that life could end. If only she could know what lay ahead so she could keep misfortune at bay. But only God knew, and He wasn’t telling.

Then again, she didn’t need God to tell her that peddler was up to no good.

With the office closed while her father made rounds in the county, Mary and Ben visited the Willowbys then stopped in at the post office to retrieve the mail.

With a jab of her index finger, the postmistress shoved her reading glasses up her thin nose. “Morning, Mary. Morning, Ben.”

“Hello, Mrs. Hawkins.”

The postmistress shoved three envelopes across the counter. “Can’t say I’ve seen these return addresses before.”

Mary merely smiled and thanked the postmistress, giving no hint of what she hoped the envelopes contained. Once outside, she sat Ben on the bench. Dropping down beside him, she tore open the flaps. Her pulse leapt. Each envelope held a request for a job interview. Finally, her father would get the help he needed.

She’d hoped for another letter—

Right now she’d give thanks for these answers to prayer.

The three applicants promised to arrive on consecutive Saturdays, the day she’d specified for interviews. Perfect. Within three-weeks’ time, her father could interview the candidates and handpick his replacement, then ease the young doctor into the practice until he’d earned the town’s trust. But in her heart, Mary knew the hardest citizen to convince would be Henry Lawrence.

“Come along, Ben. We need to get home.” Mary tucked the letters into her purse, then took Ben’s hand and scanned the street, looking for her nemesis.

Logan Street swarmed with buggies and wagons. A horse tied to a nearby hitching post nickered and stomped a hoof. The door of the Whitehall Café opened and closed as satisfied diners came and went, patting full stomachs and chewing on toothpicks. She didn’t see Luke Jacobs, which eased the tension between her shoulder blades.

Ben tugged at her hand, pulling her toward Hudson’s General Store window. “Wait, Mary. I wanna see.”

The Willowbys had spoiled Ben. Every time he passed a shop, he wanted a new toy or book. Usually Mary didn’t give in to his demands, but she’d let him look.

They stood in front, the sun glinting off the top of the glass, reflecting slivers of gold. Her gaze traveled to Ben’s reflection. That small, timid boy who’d arrived on the orphan train had become a taller, healthier child with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes and an air of happiness about him that no one could resist.

Ben scanned the display, and Mary marveled at how he’d taken his new life in stride, become part of the town, part of their family. Part of her heart.

Her throat clogged with emotion, and she wrapped a hand around his shoulders, drawing him close. Ben didn’t know they shared a connection, but Mary understood what it meant to be unwanted then welcomed into a family. With all her being, she prayed the road ahead would be smoother for Ben than the one left behind.

“Oh, Mary!” Ben pointed toward something. “That big ball’s my favorite colors: red and yellow. And it has stars, bright blue stars.” Ben tugged her hand. “Can I have it? I could bounce it clear to the sky!” He clapped his hands and glanced up, hope shining in his eyes. “Please?”

Listening to Ben’s clever reasoning made Mary smile. “You have a ball. Now let’s get home for lunch, sweetheart.”

Ben’s chin lolled toward his chest. “I don’t want lunch. I want to go into the store.”

Her stomach growled. She tousled his curly hair then took his hand. “Well, I’m hungry, and by the time we get home, you will be too.”

“My tummy doesn’t want food. My tummy wants the big ball.”

Mary laughed. “We don’t eat toys, Ben. But after lunch, you can play with the ball you have. Before you know it, Michael and Philip will be home from school.”

A huge smile took over Ben’s face. “Michael and Philip want you to get the ball for me.”

Biting back a smile, Mary started up the street, but Ben lagged behind for one last look.

“Why, hello again, Florence Nightingale.”

Mary’s head snapped up, and she stared into the dark, mesmerizing eyes of Luke Jacobs. Remembering the sheriff’s words, her heart raced faster than a thoroughbred at the county fair.

Then his stare slid to Ben and stayed.

Ben giggled. “That’s not her name. Her name is Mary Graves.”

“Mary Graves.” Her name rolled off Luke’s tongue. “Is this boy your…son?”

Why would he ask such a question? Unless—

Unable to continue the thought, Mary’s heart jumped into her throat and wedged there, closing off her speech. Still gripping Ben’s hand, she took a step, but the peddler blocked her way, looming over her. “Let me pass,” she said.

But he didn’t move aside. If anything, he looked more determined. Warning bells clanged in Mary’s head.