16

Reverend French’s son perched on the sofa, dressed for a day in the classroom. Galen wore his walnut-brown coat buttoned over a white shirt with a high collar. As always, his left sleeve was pinned up above his elbow.

“Miss Saxon. Thank the Lord.” He jumped to his feet, a frantic expression on his face.

His intensity drove her back a step. “Why aren’t you at the academy? Does the doctor know you’re here?”

Dr. Stewart swung open the unlatched door to his private office. “He asked to see you.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I trust he’s not expecting one of your remedies.”

Heat flared in her cheeks, and she swallowed a biting retort. “I assure you—”

“I’m here for information, not healing.” Galen turned desperate eyes on her. “Where is Miss Graves? I didn’t see her in church yesterday. When I called at your home earlier, fearing she was ill, Miss Haddon said she left eight days ago.”

“She’s gone?” Dr. Stewart planted himself next to Galen. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Facing the two men, she had the sensation of standing in front of tall trees. She took another step away and craned her neck to look up at Galen. “She went home. Her parents came for her.”

“But I planned to see her again. Where do her parents live?”

What could she say? His expression pleaded, but Jolene would be devastated if he appeared at her door.

Dr. Stewart tipped his head in her direction. “I’d like to hear this too.”

Galen shot him a hard look. “She’s already spoken for.”

The doctor’s mouth dropped open. “Are you—?”

“Certainly not.” Rosemary glared at him, then turned to meet Galen’s astonished eyes.

“Am I what?”

“Never mind. The doctor has you confused with someone else.” Her mind raced to find words to answer Galen’s question about Jolene’s whereabouts. She wouldn’t lie, but couldn’t tell him the whole truth, either. “I believe Miss Graves’s family has a farm somewhere east of here.” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

“She left without saying good-bye.” He cupped his right hand over his stump. “It’s my arm, isn’t it? Please be honest.”

“Not at all. She never said a word to me about your . . . injury.” Rosemary reached out to comfort him, then let her hand drop. She knew how self-conscious her brother felt about the wound that left his neck scarred. She could only imagine Galen’s adjustment to postwar life.

“Then why?” Galen’s voice echoed his bewilderment.

Dr. Stewart cleared his throat, apparently ready to join the discussion.

Rosemary silenced him with a glance. “Galen, Miss Graves had her reasons, but believe me, your missing arm was not among them. She held you in extremely high regard.”

He backed toward the entrance. “I’ll find her, if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

Elijah waited until the door closed before facing Miss Saxon. “All this time you’ve led me to believe you were harboring Miss Graves in your house. You knew I was concerned. Why didn’t you say she went home?”

“Why should I have? You didn’t care what happened to her, as long as your reputation wasn’t affected.” She stood before him, hands on hips, a pink flush on her cheeks. Bodie sprawled at her feet, his head turning from one to the other as they spoke.

The truth in her words stung. He’d tried so hard not to emulate his father that he’d lost sight of his own reasons for becoming a physician. He opened his mouth to defend his actions, then closed it. She’d be appalled. Best keep his family secrets to himself.

He dropped his gaze. “Unfortunately, you’re right. I regret my behavior.”

Before she could respond, he strode to his private office and closed the door. After flopping into his chair, he leaned his elbows on the desk and rested his head on his hands. “Lord, help me to make things right with Miss Graves.” He kept his voice low.

The clock on the wall next to the window ticked in the silence. Through the closed door, he heard Miss Saxon walk to her desk and slide her chair over the wooden floor. He closed his eyes again. “And please help me get back in Miss Saxon’s good graces.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back and stared out the small window at the brick exterior of the law office across the alley. The blank wall offered no direction to his jumbled thoughts.

Young Galen’s tormented expression haunted him. Miss Graves’s falsehood regarding her child’s father was a noble gesture, but the poor man deserved to know where the woman who carried his child could be found. As the pastor’s son, surely he’d do the right thing in spite of the inevitable gossip. Once the two of them were married, all would be well.

Elijah straightened his shoulders and grabbed his hat from its resting place atop the skeleton in the corner. On his way out, he stopped in front of Miss Saxon’s desk. “I have a call to make. I’ll be back by one. You may take dinner early if you like.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I will.” Her tone was respectful, but cool. She turned her attention back to the open ledger.

Feeling the chill of her response, he left the office, eager to complete his mission. She’d be pleased to see Galen and Miss Graves reconciled. Perhaps his efforts would restore his relationship with Miss Saxon, as well.

Early morning clouds had dispersed, revealing a brilliant blue sky. Whistling, he strode along King’s Highway toward Courthouse Square, passing the barber, a boot maker, and a dress shop before crossing the street to the block that contained Lindberg’s Mercantile. Miss Haddon stood gazing out the front window of the store. He tipped his hat to her, marveling again at Miss Saxon’s proclivity for taking in strays.

He turned the next corner and pushed open the door of the jailhouse.

“Thaddeus, I have a favor to ask.”

After Dr. Stewart left, Rosemary sprang to her feet. His absence gave her a perfect opportunity to dust and sweep his private office, as well as the examining room. She collected the necessary supplies from a cupboard and began her task in the doctor’s office.

In contrast to his often rumpled appearance, he kept his books and papers arranged in tidy stacks. She dusted the bookcase, gritted her teeth and brushed dust from the skeleton, then tackled the desktop. A book lay open facedown. Her eyes widened when she read the title—A Compendium of Herbal Medicines. The same volume she had at home.

She darted a glance at the door. It wouldn’t do for him to remember he’d forgotten something and return while she was—admit it—snooping on his desk. She flipped the book over to see what he’d been studying. “Comfrey: Description, Cultivation, Parts Used Medicinally.”

An alarm bell rang in her head. It wasn’t enough that he forbade her to offer remedies to his patients, now he was arming himself to overrule her recommendations. Well, let him study all he wanted. He’d not find errors in her judgment.

She returned the Compendium to his desk, careful to position the book as she’d found it, then returned to cleaning. Her mind raced. She had until one o’clock—time enough to walk to the mercantile and share her concerns with Faith.

As soon as she swept the last bit of dust out the door, she whistled for Bodie and the two of them hurried toward the center of town.

Rosemary paced between the fabric display and the storeroom in the mercantile. Thankfully, Faith and Cassie were alone so she could share her concerns.

“Why do you think he’s reading Mrs. Kilbourne’s book? Is he planning to report me to the county medical society?”

Faith leaned over a counter displaying watches and ladies’ brooches. “How can he? Your suggestion to Mr. Eldridge helped him heal.”

“Dr. Stewart would debate that.”

Cassie rose from one of the chairs beside the stove. Her polished chintz dress rustled as she stepped next to Rosemary and patted her forearm. “Why don’t you ask him why he’s reading the book?”

“I can’t let him know I was poking around on his desk. You’ve seen him when he’s upset.”

“He’s bound to notice that the room’s been cleaned.” Cassie turned to Faith. “Don’t you agree?”

“Men don’t notice things like that. Curt certainly doesn’t. I think Rosemary’s right. She can’t come out and ask.” Faith placed her forefinger against her lips and stared at the floor for a moment, then turned her head in Rosemary’s direction. “Maybe he’s sincerely interested. Have you considered that possibility?”

Rosemary snorted. “Not for a moment. You should have heard him last night. His mind is closed tighter than a snapping turtle’s jaws.”

“Apparently not,” Cassie said. “I think—” Her mouth dropped open and she pivoted toward the door. “My mother’s here! Driving the buggy by herself.” She dashed out to the hitching rail, where Mrs. Bingham struggled to secure the horse. A passing freight wagon caused the animal to jerk its head sideways.

“Hold still!” Cassie’s mother snapped. She sounded near tears as she tied the reins.

“Where’s Mr. Bingham?” Cassie’s high-pitched question carried through the open door.

“He took sick a few days ago. His man is sitting with him, but I don’t know how much good that old buzzard can do.” She leaned on her daughter as they entered the mercantile. When she spotted Rosemary, she straightened.

“Here you are. Don’t you ever stay in one place? I’ve been to your house and the doctor’s office looking for you.”

Rosemary forced a polite smile. “Shall I send Dr. Stewart to your home? He’ll be in the office soon.”

“No. Mr. Bingham doesn’t trust doctors.” The woman’s red hair framed her ashy complexion. “I want one of your tinctures.”

“What are your husband’s symptoms?”

“He says his stomach is jumping. Everything he eats comes back up.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “I’m so worried.” She looked at Cassie. “I know he’s a harsh man, but I need him.”

Rosemary had never heard the woman apologize before. She glanced in Cassie’s direction to gauge her response.

Cassie’s lips thinned. “You don’t need him, Mother. Look what he’s done by sending me away. We were fine before, just the two of us.”

“We lived on your uncle’s charity.” Her mother scowled. “I’m not here to discuss family matters. Miss Saxon, will you help or not?”

“Ginger tea should settle his stomach.” Rosemary went to the shelf holding her soaps and teas. She selected a blue cloth-wrapped bundle that had a paper tag tied on with a green ribbon. “This is dried ginger root. Boil some for ten minutes and give him a cupful between bouts. You should see results within a day.”

Cassie’s mother dug into her handbag. “Ten cents is rather dear for a bag of roots.”

“I’m not forcing you to buy them. You’re welcome to find another remedy.”

The woman’s glare could have blistered paint. She slapped a coin on the counter. “This better work.” Her expression softened when she looked at Cassie. “I wish I could stay longer, but I don’t dare.”

“I know.” Cassie kissed her cheek. “I miss you,” she whispered.

Tears swam in Rosemary’s eyes. As brusque as Mrs. Bingham seemed, she loved her daughter.

A longing for her own mother shuddered through her. She drew a deep breath and forced her thoughts to her questions about Dr. Stewart. Faith and Cassie both suggested he might be interested in her herbal remedies. Maybe he was. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

Dr. Stewart returned after the dinner hour. He gave Rosemary a broad smile when he greeted her and then strode into his office. After dropping his hat on top of the skeleton’s head, he settled in his chair and opened the book resting on his desk.

Taking courage from his cheerful expression, she stepped to his doorway. “I notice you’re reading Mrs. Kilbourne’s Compendium.” She strove to keep her voice neutral. “Are you finding her information helpful?”

“You know this book?”

“I have a copy at home. My mother gave it to me when I turned twenty-one.”

He leaned back in his chair and regarded her with a puzzled expression. “A strange gift. Perhaps a ring or a brooch would have been more appropriate for such an occasion.”

“At the time, her expectation was I’d follow in her footsteps and help people with her herbal remedies.”

“And then the war came?”

“Yes.” She flinched when she realized she’d revealed her age, something a lady never did.

He rested his hand on the open pages. “I’m only reading this out of curiosity. These little treatments are interesting, but I’m far from convinced of their effectiveness.”

She bristled. “I’ve seen them succeed where doctors fail.”

“Miss Saxon—” He raked his fingers through his hair, making the curls stand on end. “For once, can we still the debate? When I’ve finished reading Mrs. Kilbourne’s theories, I’ll make up my own mind. Then we’ll talk more.” He used the same voice he reserved for calming agitated patients.

“I’ll look forward to the discussion.” She hid a pleased smile. Their relaxed conversations had come to mean more to her than she liked to admit.