26

When Elijah opened the door to the examination room and beckoned to her, Rosemary paused in writing ledger entries.

“I need your help, Miss Saxon.”

“I’ll be right there, Doctor.” She smiled to herself at their office formality. After a week, the novelty of calling each other by their first names in private hadn’t yet worn off.

Her smile faded the moment she stepped into the room. The sickly sweet stench of infection assailed her nostrils, sending her thoughts reeling back to Jefferson Barracks. She wondered if Elijah had the same reaction. One day soon she’d ask him.

A middle-aged man sat on the edge of the examining table in his undershirt and trousers, cradling his right hand with his left. A fleshy portion of his palm was blackened and swollen to twice its normal size. Below the table, a bucket held the soiled bandages he’d worn when he entered the office.

Elijah met her gaze. “You know what I must do. Twenty drops of laudanum.”

She nodded and reached inside a cabinet for a bottle of the opiate. After pouring water from a jar into a tin cup, she counted out the drops, watching as the drug swirled and dissolved.

Elijah turned to his patient. “Mr. Ormond, Miss Saxon will give you some laudanum. As soon as you feel drowsy, I’ll cut away the dead flesh.”

Mr. Ormond reached for the cup and gulped the opiate, then stretched out on the table with his right arm at his side. “Go ahead. Get it over with.”

“Not so fast. Give the drug time to work.”

While they waited, Rosemary passed several folded towels to Elijah and then threaded a suture needle. She stepped around the table and took Mr. Ormond’s left hand. “Look at me instead of the doctor. It won’t hurt so much if you can’t see what he’s doing.”

“You’re prettier too,” he murmured. His eyelids drooped.

She nodded at Elijah, and he took a scalpel from a tray. Mr. Ormond gripped her hand as the doctor worked at removing layers of corrupted tissue. When he finished, bright red blood pulsed from the wound onto a towel beneath the patient’s forearm.

“Going to sew this closed now.” He dropped the scalpel on the tray, wiped his hands on one of the towels, then lifted the suture needle. With quick motions, he stitched the skin together over the man’s injury.

Mr. Ormond’s grip on Rosemary’s hand relaxed when Elijah wrapped a bandage around his wrist and across his palm.

“That wasn’t so bad, Doc. Hurt worse when I cut m’self in the first place.”

“You almost waited too long to see me. A few more days and you might have lost your hand to gangrene.” He assisted the man to a sitting position. “Put on a fresh dressing every day and don’t use that arm more than necessary.” Elijah grinned at Rosemary. “A comfrey poultice wouldn’t hurt, either.”

On Saturday afternoon, Rosemary arranged two chairs on the front porch and placed a triangular wicker table between them. Once she gave Elijah a tour of her greenhouse, she’d offer him some of the lemon-thyme bread she’d baked last evening. The prospect of a pleasant visit in the shade should appeal to him on such a warm day.

She bit her lip when she thought of the cost of the ingredients—lemon, sugar, and wheat flour—luxuries she could ill afford. Then the image of his expression when he first tasted the bread erased the pricking of her conscience. She’d eat plain food during the week to make up for her indulgence.

Bodie watched her from his rug in front of the door. When she had the furniture arranged to her satisfaction, she bent over to rub his fur. “We should go indoors. We look like we’re waiting to pounce the moment Elijah comes to the gate.”

The dog wagged his tail and followed her into the house. Rosemary dashed upstairs to tidy the stray curls that the humidity had coaxed from her coiled braids, then hurried to the kitchen to slice the bread. After covering the fragrant treat with a napkin, she dropped a handful of mint leaves into her white porcelain teapot. When Elijah arrived, she’d put the kettle on to boil.

The clock in the sitting room chimed twice. She paced to the front window and peered out at the street, expecting to see him. Instead, Jacob stood on the boardwalk, tying his horse to the hitching post.

Startled, Rosemary took a step away from the window. Why would he leave the store on the busiest day of the week? And why in midday? Sure that some disaster must have occurred, she greeted him from the porch before he reached the front steps.

“My goodness, this is a surprise. Has something happened in town?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He folded his arms at his waist. “I overheard some disturbing talk in the restaurant at dinner.”

Glancing over his shoulder, she saw Elijah cross the street and come their way. She tipped her head in his direction. “Dr. Stewart will be here in a moment. Whatever it is, he may need to hear it too.”

A frown crossed Jacob’s face, but when he turned he offered a bland smile as the doctor opened the gate. “Good afternoon. How fortunate you happened to pass by.”

“Yes. Very.” Elijah raised his eyebrows. “Don’t often see you away from the grocery on a Saturday.”

“I overheard something unsettling awhile ago and felt Miss Rosemary should know about it.”

Elijah stepped around him to stand next to Rosemary. “Tell us, please.”

“There’s talk going around that Miss Rosemary had something to do with Mr. Bingham’s death. Rumor is one of her remedies poisoned him.”

She gasped. “Dear Lord, no!”

“That’s nonsense.” Elijah’s voice boomed. “Who’s responsible for this?”

Jacob shook his head. “I heard the whispers at noon. Whoever is spreading the story claims her cures are to blame.”

“But I never . . .” Heat washed over her. The ginger tea. She blew out a long breath. Fortunately she hadn’t given Mrs. Bingham enough of the chopped roots to cause illness.

She lifted her chin, ignoring the anger that pounded in her heart. Her herbs brought health, never harm. “The next time you hear anything, please ask who’s behind the accusations. I’ll deal with them.”

Elijah rested a cautioning hand on her arm. “I’m not sure that’s wise. A woman alone . . . We need to get Thaddeus to help.”

“You know what I think of him.” Her voice faltered. She sounded like a stubborn child, refusing help with a task too large for her.

“Doc’s right, Miss Rosemary. If I hear more, I’ll take the news to the sheriff.”

She surveyed the two men, different in appearance but alike in their concern. “You’re both very kind to worry about me. If you think it’s best to talk to Sheriff Cooper, please do.” In the meantime, she’d proceed on her own.

Jacob touched his hat brim. “I’d best get back to work.” He faced her, concern in his eyes. “Take care. You need anything, let me know.”

“I will. Thank you.” Grateful for his friendship, she watched him stride to his horse. She probably should have asked him to stay for tea. Her gaze traveled to Elijah. No. She didn’t want to share their time together.

Once the grocer was out of sight, Elijah laced his fingers through hers. “I am worried about you. The person who’s spreading this calumny must be unbalanced. Not to mention this kind of gossip can be serious in a small town like ours.”

She led him up the stairs and into the shade of the porch roof, warmth from his strong grasp radiating through her. Despite her brave stand, she couldn’t subdue a web of fear. Rumors were like the stench that blew from a stockyard—impossible to ignore. She’d come too far to lose what respect she’d gained.

To conceal her apprehension, she focused on his last few words. “We’re not a small town. Noble Springs is the county seat.”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re here by yourself now—”

“With Bodie. He’s a good watchdog.”

“I grant you that. But a dog can only do so much. You’d be safer with your brother and his wife for a few weeks, until this blows over.”

She tugged her hand free and folded her arms. “No rumor is going to drive me from my home.”

Shaking his head, he dropped onto one of the chairs she’d arranged on the porch. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an obstinate woman?” His eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Only my brother . . . and my parents.” She tried for a smile but felt her lips quiver at the thought of her parents.

“Sit a moment, Rosemary. I’m sorry to have distressed you. How long have your parents been gone?”

The affection in his eyes threatened to undo her. He’d trusted her with his father’s unsavory history—shouldn’t she match his trust with her own? She perched on the edge of the other chair.

“My parents aren’t gone, in the sense you mean. They’re still in St. Louis, as far as Curt and I know. In their eyes, we committed an unforgiveable sin by supporting the Union cause.”

He leaned toward her, resting his forearms on his thighs. “The war’s been over for two years. Perhaps they’ve softened.”

“If they have, we haven’t heard of it.” She brushed tears from the corners of her eyes with her fingertip. “Mama’s from South Carolina. When her brother was killed fighting for the Confederacy at Gettysburg, she turned her back on us completely.”

“What about your father?”

“Papa does what Mama says.”

“So here you are, and here I am, both of us in Noble Springs.” He took her hand. “I don’t believe in coincidence, do you?”

She leaned back in the chair. At her age, she’d never expected to find someone to love. And to think she’d seen him as an opponent. A tiny smile lifted her lips. “There are no coincidences in God’s providence.”