CHAPTER THREE

 

 

 

“…for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.”

The congregation of God’s Mercy Church filed out of the sanctuary—if you could call it that. Justine had grown up attending Trinity Church in New York City, a grand, Gothic cathedral that elicited a feeling that God lived among its lofty rafters. Its grandiosity implied that the worship that occurred there had some chance of reaching the God of the universe.

There was nothing grandiose about God’s Mercy. It was comprised of four walls, a roof, mismatched chairs, and some widows with cracked panes. Pitiful was the word that came to mind.

Justine immediately felt a check to her system. It’s not where you worship, it’s that you worship.

As she had judged the church, so others had judged her—or rather, judged her dress. Although the fashion in Piedmont had been more casual than New York City, Lawrence was a further step away from what was—what Justine used to consider—fashionable. The women here wore simple dresses made of printed cotton, with white collars or lace pinned at their neck and cuffs. The bustle, which was such an important—though silly—accoutrement of city fashion, was totally absent.

Good riddance.

Justine was rather surprised that she didn’t disparage the simpler fashion. The old Justine would have looked down at it and even gossiped about it. But the new Justine . . . she vowed to speak with Dorthea about altering her own clothes to suit the more casual west. Or maybe Dorthea could make her some new dresses. This was her home now. She wanted to fit in and relished not having to show off and impress.

She took her turn shaking the hand of the ancient pastor. Dorthea was ahead of her and made the introductions.

The pastor’s phlegmy eyes perked up when Thomas was introduced.

“You’re a pastor?”

“I am.”

“Could you wait a few minutes after the line has gone through, so I can speak to you?”

“Of course.”

Justine easily put two and two together. The pastor had to be in his eighties. He wanted a replacement. Once through the line they all stepped aside to wait. “It appears you’re going to find a new flock,” she told Thomas.

He shrugged. “What will be will be. I would like to feel useful.”

“At least you’ll have a job,” Harland said.

“Lawrence needs doctors of the flesh as well as doctors of the soul,” Thomas said.

Justine knew that a huge part of Harland’s identify was using his skills. She also knew that he’d find a way to settle in and start serving those in need. It was his nature. Actually both men in her life were givers, always looking for ways to help others. Sometimes their goodness shamed her.

The sound of children’s laughter caught her attention. She glanced toward the noise and saw them playing tag among the headstones of a cemetery.

How odd that her place of business was a cemetery.

She whispered to Harland as she nodded toward the headstones, “I’m going to take a stroll.”

He saw the direction of her gaze and gave her a knowing look. “When will you be back?”

“I’m not planning to go anywhere other than taking a stroll to see how it feels.”

She slipped into the cemetery and walked up and down the rows, praying quietly. “If there’s something You want me to do, some place You want me to visit, lead me there.”

She noted the recent history revealed in the dates. There was no one who’d died before 1850, with most passing away in the last decade. Unlike Piedmont, which had a Colonial history, any time-travel in Lawrence would probably take her back to the less distant past.

Justine was disappointed not to feel a call-to-action. Perhaps her instinct was faulty because she was still recovering from their trip. Perhaps today was not the day. Perhaps she wasn’t supposed to go back in time at all.

“Justine?”

Harland beckoned her over. A man stood nearby: tall, middle-aged, and completely bald. His strong features looked Scandinavian or Dutch.

“Uriah,” Dorthea said to the man, “this is Justine Braden from New York City.“

The man did a double-take and stared long enough to make her feel uncomfortable. As though he recognized her.

But they hadn’t met.

Had they?

“Good morning.” Even with only two words spoken, his voice resounded with powerful bass tones.

“Justine,” Dorthea continued, “This is Uriah Benedict and his wife, Alva. We’re going to their home for the noon meal.”

“We appreciate the hospitality,” she said.

Oddly, Alva looked to her husband as if needing his permission to respond. She was much younger than he and seemed a mouse to his cat.

“You are always welcome at our home,” the woman said.

When Uriah nodded, she seemed relieved.

Something wasn’t right between them. Justine’s curiosity was piqued. Hopefully, dinner would provide some insight.

 

**

 

The Benedicts lived four blocks from church. Thomas rode one of Dorthea’s horses, and the rest rode in her surrey. In tiny Piedmont there had been no need to own a buggy, or even horses. With a population of only a few hundred the entire town could be traversed on foot in five minutes or less. But Lawrence was home to over 8000 people and was spread out. A carriage was not a luxury but a necessity.

The Benedict home was a mansion built of brick, its porch flanked by white columns. Inside there were intricate moldings at the ceilings and edging the wide stairs to the second floor. If Dorthea’s modest home could have four bedrooms on the second floor, the Benedict home had to have double that number. Which led Justine to ask a question she immediately wished she could retract.

“This is such a fine, large house. Do you have any children, Mrs. Benedict?”

Her expression clouded. She looked to the floor. She shook her head. “None. I’m sad to say, God has not blessed us.”

“There, there,” her husband said, almost jovially. “We are perfectly happy just the two of us, right, wife?”

The tone of the wife-designation—that could have been spoken as an endearment—seemed harsh, as if equating her to a possession. Not Alva. But Wife. Alva looked to the floor and nodded.

They were shown into a lovely drawing room. It wasn’t as nice as the one Justine grew up in in New York, but for the west where artisans and supplies were more limited? She was impressed. And yet there was something forced about it. The gilt-edged frames of the paintings, the five-stick candelabra with crystals hanging from each stem, the painted vases that seemed to scream look at me, I came all the way from the Orient. Justine wasn’t sure if she was reacting out of snobbery or insight. But again, there was something off as if the Benedicts were trying too hard to be . . . whatever they were trying to be.

When seated, Justine sat near Alva and noticed her necklace. There was something familiar about it. Then she figured it out. “You have a lovely necklace, Mrs. Benedict. Rubies?”

Alva put a hand to the jewelry. “I believe so. Uriah gave it to me.”

“It’s beautiful. My mother wore a similar necklace in a small painting I have of her. You share good taste.”

“Thank you.”

A Negro butler with silver hair brought in a tray of aperitifs. He started with the ladies. The liquid was a pale green color.

Mr. Benedict held up his glass. “I serve to you some absinthe, all the way from France. It will stimulate our appetites.” He lifted his glass. “Prost!”

Justine wasn’t sure about drinking the liquid at all. She’d heard strange things about the spirit, that it created hallucinations and was poison. She looked to Harland. He was a doctor. Would he drink it?

His face was serious, as if he was having the same thoughts.

“Come now, guests. I promise you it’s perfectly safe.” Mr. Benedict’s voice hardened just a bit. “Do not insult me by abstaining.”

Mrs. Benedict drank hers first, downing the glass. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin a bit, as if savoring the effect. Dorthea did the same.

“Cheers!” Harland said.

Goosie followed suit. Then Thomas. And finally Justine.

She only took a sip and was surprised by the taste. A bit earthy, fruity. A tinge of anise in it? She felt the warmth flow through her chest.

“So?” Mr. Benedict asked, looking directly at her.

“It is not unpleasant.” She glanced at the butler. He was staring at her, as though studying her in much the same way Mr. Benedict had done at church. She looked away.

“So,” Mr. Benedict said. “You are here in our mighty Lawrence. What next?”

What a weighted question.

Harland answered. “As my mother may have told you, I am a physician and wish to find a position, helping where I can. Eventually I’d like to open my own practice.” He pulled out a piece of paper. “Perhaps you could guide me? I made inquiries, but only have three possibilities on my list.”

“Let me see.”

Harland handed the list to Mr. Benedict, whose left eyebrow rose. “The first, Dr. Bean? He mostly treats horses.”

“I didn’t know.”

“And definitely not the second. Not at all.”

Harland took the list back. “Not Ravenwood Hospital? Why not?”

“It is a lunatic asylum.”

“I . . . I hadn’t heard that.”

“Certainly your talents could be better spent helping real people.”

Justine took offense. “You don’t consider people with mental ailments real?”

“I consider them beyond help.” Mr. Benedict pointed toward the list. “Contact Dr. Gregory. I’m sure he’ll welcome your help.” He set his glass on the butler’s tray. “As an expert in real estate and development, I know many people in Lawrence—everyone, actually. So please come to me with any needs or questions—I’d hate for you to make a wrong step.”

There was a hint of menace in his voice which was heightened by Alva furiously bobbing her head as she agreed with her husband’s every word.

 

**

 

“What is wrong with Mr. Benedict?” Justine asked once they reached home.

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Dorthea said, hanging her drawstring purse on a hat rack by the door. “He’s simply a powerful personality.”

“A domineering, controlling, and dangerous personality,” Justine said.

Dorthea looked at her. “That’s harsh. You’ve only just met him.”

She had overstated. “I don’t mean to offend, but generally I am known for my keen intuition about people.”

“She does have that,” Harland said with a smile. “She knew I was an amazing, captivating, and exceptionally intelligent man the moment she met me.”

Justine was going to play his game, but decided to use his teasing to her advantage. “I did instinctively see Harland’s attributes. Who’s to say I’m not right about Mr. Benedict?”

“I’m to say,” Dorthea said. “Alva is my very best friend. He is her husband. I won’t have you speaking ill of him.”

Even if it’s true?

Justine looked to Goosie. “You have good instincts about people. What did you think?”

Goosie looked hesitant to take sides.

Justine had a moment of clarity. Dorthea is our hostess and my future mother-in-law. “Never mind,” she said.

But then Goosie blurted out, “He makes my wary-bells chime.”

Thomas chuckled. “That’s a unique way to put it. Even apt.” He slipped his hands in his pockets and looked around the parlor. “Dorthea, do you have a deck of cards?”

“I do,” Dorthea said.

“Would you like to play Old Maid?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg mine too,” Goosie said.

“Don’t get your dander flying, ladies,” Thomas said. “It’s a card game. Would you like to give it a go?”

“I suppose so,” Dorthea said.

Goosie nodded.

“Justine?” her father asked.

She needed time alone with Harland. “Maybe later. I thought Harland and I would take the surrey and go exploring. Would that be all right, Dorthea?”

“Of course.” She looked through a table drawer. “Now, where are those cards . . .”

Justine and Harland went outside and got in the surrey. “You seem to have a plan,” he said.

“Not really. I just wanted to get you alone to talk with you. I hope you don’t mind.”

He chucked the reins and they started moving. “I never mind a chance to spend time with you—alone.”

They stopped at the first intersection. “Which way shall we go?” she asked.

“May I choose?”

“Absolutely.” They turned west. “Do you have a destination in mind?”

“Ravenwood,” he said.

She was surprised. “But Mr. Benedict talked disparagingly about it.”

“Too disparagingly,” Harland said. “It’s like he was desperate to keep me away. My curiosity was piqued.”

“But the insane . . . “ She felt guilty for her thoughts. “Do you really want to work with them?”

“I don’t know. I may not be able to help their mental deficiencies, but I could help with their bodily ailments.” He shrugged. “I have no idea whether it’s a good idea or bad. But I’d like to explore the options. Let’s call it’s an adventure.”

It was a good word for what she was feeling. “This is all so new.”

“Only thirty years’ old.”

“That’s true, but it’s not the new that I was referring to. This is all so new to all of us. ” They drove through a mud puddle. “I thought God sent me here.”

“You’ve given up so soon?”

“I walked through the cemetery and felt nothing. No nudge or inkling to stop at a particular headstone.” She needed to say it. “What if coming here was a mistake?”

He took his pocket watch from his vest pocket and looked at it. “We have been here approximately twenty hours and you’ve already given up?”

“Not given up exactly, but—”

“God’s not working as fast as you’d like?”

Ouch. She took his arm. “I know I’m too impatient. Forget I said anything.”

“Nice try,” he said. “But I know you are impatient.”

She didn’t like her faults being so exposed and changed the subject. “Do you agree with my intuition about Mr. Benedict?”

“I do. I’ve seen men like him before, those who are used to getting their own way, and usually stop at nothing to get it.”

“Alva is cowed by him.”

“We don’t know her well enough to know if her acquiescence is merely her personality or the result of his control over her.”

“I imagine both. I doubt that a man like Mr. Benedict would choose a wife who had an independent nature. He’d choose a woman who’d follow him.”

“Who’d bow to him.”

They reached the west edge of Lawrence, driving into the countryside. “Just so you know, I’m not going to bow to you when we’re married.”

“I’d never want you to.” He stopped the surrey and got down.

“What are you doing?”

He picked a cluster of wildflowers, then bowed to her, presenting her the blooms. “Milady.”

Her heart swelled to accommodate the love she felt for him. “How did I ever get a man like you?”

“Providence.” He got back in the surrey.

They rode a bit in silence, enjoying the billowy clouds and the spring air. But Justine’s thoughts returned to Mr. Benedict. “Why did he serve us absinthe, a drink which has such a sordid reputation? Why not some sherry?”

“It certainly was odd.”

“He must serve it to Alva quite often. She downed it, and closed her eyes like she relished its affects.”

“I noticed that.”

“Perhaps it makes him easier to tolerate?”

“If she’s depending on drink to make it through, then I feel sorry for her.”

“She’s so much younger than he is,” Justine said. “A good twenty years, I think.”

“Older men often marry younger women.” He grinned down at her. “After all, I’m twenty-four and you are but twenty-one.”

“Nearly the same.”

“Nearly.”

Again her thoughts returned to Benedict. “Did you notice he had to tell us the absinthe came from France? And then he used a German toast, even though Benedict isn’t a German name.“

“To your first point, yes, I noticed. I think Mr. Benedict likes to show off his wealth. Regarding the toast? You’re being too sensitive. I’ve been known to say ‘Prost’ on occasion and I’m not German.”

She agreed with his assessment. “Obviously he’s found a way to ruffle my feathers.”

“Judge not, lest ye be judged.”

“I hate it when you’re right. I’m too quick to come to conclusions about him.”

“That’s generous of you, but don’t discount everything you feel about him. As Goosie said, Mr. Benedict makes her wary-bells chime.”

She spotted a sign up ahead. “There’s Ravenwood.”

He pulled the horse to a stop. “Having come this far, I’m not sure what to do. I can’t just show up on a Sunday and apply for a position.”

“You don’t even know if you want a position there.” She looked up the long drive to a very wide, two-story building. She noticed there was a fence and a gate. She nodded toward the fence. “To keep patients in?”

“It makes me a little nervous.”

She agreed. But then she heard a woman singing and saw her working in a garden off to the left of the building. “Maybe we could just stroll up to that lady and have a chat. Informally.”

“Say we’re new to the area. Introduce ourselves.”

“There’s no harm in that.” Then why did her stomach tie up in knots?

They parked the surrey outside the gate—which wasn’t locked—and walked toward the woman who appeared to be in her forties. She was planting seeds in a carefully prepared row, singing.

“'Mid pleasures and palaces, though I may roam, be it ever so humble, there's no place like home . . .’”

I know that one. They walked closer and Justine joined on the refrain. “’Home! Home! There's no place like home. There's no place like home!’”

The woman stood erect, her face glowing with delight. “Well done, miss. Well sung.”

“I return the compliment. I’m Justine Braden.” She turned to Harland. “And this is Harland Jennings. We’ve just moved here from New Hampshire.”

“Well, well now,” the woman said. “That’s a long ways.”

“It is. And you are?”

“Virginia Meade. Please call me Virginia. I’d shake your hand, but . . .” She wiped her dirt-stained hands on her apron.

“And please call me Justine.” She surveyed the plot. “The garden is so well-tilled and fine. You definitely have a talent for it.”

Virginia brushed some stray strands of black hair off her face with the back of her sleeve. “The patients like the fresh vegetables. I work the garden for them.”

Justine stepped into the opening. “Harland is a doctor.”

Virginia looked him over. “Are ya now?”

Justine noticed a man approaching. Virginia glanced over her shoulder. “Eddie. Come here. Meet these nice people.”

The man was about the same age as Virginia and had the muscles of someone who did physical work, plus an engaging smile. He didn’t offer his hand, but removed his hat. “Nice to meet you.”

“Eddie is the caretaker and fixer of all things that need fixing,” Virginia said.

He looked away. “I like to keep busy.”

“Eddie’s got a heart as big as the sky,” Virginia said. “He’ll do anything for anyone who needs it.”

“I try.”

The two exchanged a look, and Justine had the feeling that Eddie enjoyed being at Virginia’s beck and call.

“Eddie, this is Justine Braden and Doctor Harland Jennings.”

A bushy eyebrow rose. “Doctor, you say?”

“I might be interested in a position. Is there someone I can speak with?”

“The director is Mr. Sutton, but he isn’t around on Sundays,” Virginia said. “We could give you a tour though. Would you like that?”

“That would be very nice. Thank you.”

Eddie hurried ahead to the front door which was centered on a wide porch with rocking chairs set in a line. Three of the six were filled. One man rocked furiously, his face intent on the task. A second mumbled to himself. Only the woman looked up.

“Maddie, shouldn’t you be taking a nap?” Virginia asked.

The woman nodded and Eddie held the door for her. Maddie scurried inside. “People ‘round here like to keep to a schedule,” Virginia explained. “Makes ’em feel safe. Keeps ‘em calm.”

“I believe everyone prefers that,” Harland said.

Virginia smiled. “A schedule or feeling safe and calm?”

“Both.”

Eddie held the door and they went inside. A wide foyer led to a large parlor. Perpendicular hallways extended in opposite directions. Many doors could be seen down their lengths. The patient’s rooms?

Unlike any hospital Justine had ever seen, there were flowers and plants painted on the walls of the living area, vining around the mantel, framing a sideboard, and overflowing to the corner of the ceiling.

“The paintings are lovely,” Justine said.

“They certainly brighten up the place,” Harland added.

“Ginny did ‘em,” Eddie said, nodding at Virginia. “She’s an artist.”

“You exaggerate, Eddie, but yes, I did paint them.” She ran a hand along the curve of a hosta leaf. “ I like to dabble. It’s my hobby.”

“It could be more than a hobby,” Justine said.

“You have real talent,” Harland said.

Eddie leaned toward Virginia. “I told ya.”

She shrugged. “I’ve always had an interest in things that grow. I grew up on a farm and actually wanted to study botany, but my husband thought that was crazy.” She chuckled. “Said it was an excessive application of body and mind for a woman.’”

“Learning is excessive?”

“Spencer thought so. At least that’s what he put on the papers when he had me committed.”

Justine gawked. “Committed? You’re a patient here?”

“Did I say otherwise?”

“Well no, but you’re so . . .” Justine didn’t know how to say it.

“So normal?” Virginia chuckled again. “Didn’t mean to misrepresent myself, but everyone you see here is committed. Except Eddie. Though he probably should be.”

Eddie grinned. “I have my days.”

Justine exchanged a glance with Harland. Things were very curious.

“How I miss my book,” Virginia said.

“Your book?”

“British Wild Flowers, illustrated by John Sowerby.” Virginia sighed. “I used to study that book, and drew my own illustrations from that book.”

“You don’t have it anymore?”

She shook her head. “When Spencer brought me here it was left behind.” With a shake of her head and a flip of her hand she dismissed the memory. “But I showed him. I painted my own versions of the plants. Not as good as Sowerby, but it makes me happy.”

“Makes everybody happy,” Eddie said. He moved to point at some sprigs of purple asters. “I especially like these. I got Ginny some seeds to plant her own out in the garden.”

“Yes, you did. You are very kind.”

“Does your husband come to visit often?” Harland asked. “If you’d like, I could talk to him about getting your book back.”

She touched Harland’s arm. “You are such a dear man. Spencer is long gone. Left Lawrence for parts unknown.”

“Leaving you here?”

Her face suddenly grew sad. “It was for the best.”

Justine wasn’t sure she should pry, but her curiosity got the best of her. “Why do you say that?”

A man came into the parlor, dressed to the nines. His eyes widened when he saw Justine, and he immediately took her hand and drew it to his lips. “Mademoiselle. Enchanté.”

“Behave yourself, Leo, Miss Braden isn’t used to your charm.”

He winked at Virginia, then suddenly took Justine into his arms, waltzing around the furniture as he hummed a tune.

“Stop that, Leo!” Virginia said. “It’s not time to dance.”

“It is always time to dance!” He twirled Justine under his arm, then let her go, bowing. “Until next time, mademoiselle.” He took a book from the mantel and left the room.

“He does love to waltz,” Virginia said.

“He’s very good at it.”

“Don’t tell him that or he’ll sweep you away every time you come to visit.”

Visit? Justine hadn’t thought about coming to visit Virginia—whether Harland got a doctor position or not. Yet she did find the idea intriguing.

Virginia pointed to the righthand wing and said, “On with our tour. That is the men’s wing, and this wing to the left, is for us womenfolk.”

They walked down one of the long halls that had small bedrooms on either side. One woman was in bed, and another was sitting in a chair looking out the window.

“How many patients are here?”

“Thirteen, last count,” Eddie said.

“But a few come and go as they feel the need,” Virginia added.

“The need?” Justine asked.

She stopped walking and drew them in confidentially. “Many people know they aren’t quite right, and when they feel a spell coming on, they show up and stay until they feel right again. Then they go back to their other home.”

“Do you have a doctor on staff?”

“Used to. Used to have a lot of things. But now . . .” she sighed. “We’re down to just us thirteen. We’re at ease with each other and help each other.”

“We’re like family,” Eddie said.

“That’s nice,” Justine said.

Virginia continued walking. “Medicine-wise, I’ve learned a bit about nursing general sickness and such, and we take people into Lawrence when they need special care, but Dr. Bean is a hack. When Robert broke his wrist he wrapped his wrist with a dirty bandage. Actually, he knows more about horses than humans—likes ‘em better too. That’s one reason we generally keep to ourselves. The townspeople prefer it that way. They have their families. We have ours.”

Virginia waved at a middle-aged woman who stood before a mirror in her room, trying to pin her hair into a bun. “Let me help you, Sissy.” Virginia smoothed the strays and pinned them in place. She put her hands on Sissy’s shoulders and looked in the mirror with her. “There you are. Pretty as a picture.”

Sissy smiled at herself and touched Virginia’s hand. She looked to the hall and saw Justine and Harland and suddenly looked worried.

“It’s all right,” Virginia said. “No need to worry. They’re friends, come to visit.”

Sissy looked relieved. She bobbed a curtsy.

“Nice to meet you,” Justine said.

Virginia rejoined them and they moved further down the hall. “Sissy doesn’t talk much but we know what she means—most of the time.”

Justine thought of Goosie, and how for years she had feigned an inability to talk out of fear. Was there a similar reason that Sissy kept quiet?

“And this here is my room. I got my pick since I’ve been here the longest. I like being at the end so I get two windows with two views.”

“She gets to look at her garden whenever she wants,” Eddie added.

“How long have you been here?” Harland asked.

“Eight years now.” She looked to the ceiling. “I was committed in seventy-one.”

“Forgive me, but you being here is hard to fathom,” Justine said. “When we saw you in the garden we thought you worked here.”

“That, I do. Gotta earn my keep.”

“That’s very commendable,” Harland said. They returned down the hall. He addressed Eddie. “Mr. Sutton is in charge, and you fix things that need fixing. Who else works here?”

Eddie looked to Virginia.

She cocked her head as if not understanding the question. “Everyone who can, works. Sally and Sadie do most of the cooking. Sally makes the best rye bread in a two-state area. A store in Lawrence even sells it for her.”

“That’s very resourceful,” Harland said. He exchanged a look with Justine. Everything was oddly done.

“We are nothing if not resourceful,” Virginia said. “The Lord helps those who help themselves.”

Suddenly, they heard a blood-curdling scream. Virginia and Eddie ran down the hall toward the parlor and were greeted by a thirty-something woman, running from the other hall. “Sally cut herself! Come quick!”

Harland followed them into a kitchen where a woman held a bleeding hand wrapped in a cloth.

Sally looked at the strangers. Virginia rushed to explain. “Dr. Harland can help you.”

Indeed, he could. Harland sat nearby and set to work examining the cut in the palm of her hand.

“This is all so stupid,” Sally said. “I was busy talking with Sadie and wasn’t looking at what I was doing and the knife slipped and . . .” She shrugged.

“Being in the fold of your palm is a bad place as far as pain,” Harland said. “But it doesn’t look like it will need stitching.”

“Glad for that,” Sally said. “I hates needles.”

“Everyone hates needles,” Eddie said.

A clean towel was torn apart and made into a bandage. Minutes later, it was done.

“It’s going to throb some,” Harland said.

“It’s already doing that,” Sally said.

“I have some aspirin powder in my bag,” he said, “but I didn’t bring it with me.”

“We have some here,” Virginia said. “I’ll get it.”

Sally looked pale.

“I think you should lie down,” Harland said.

“I think I should.” Sadie helped her up and they headed for the doorway. But then Sally turned back and pointed. “Take one of those loaves of bread as payment, doctor. I made plenty.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Virginia returned with the headache powder and left it with Sadie to dispense. “Well now,” she said to Justine and Harland. “I’m sure you didn’t come here today planning to use your doctoring.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

Virginia exchanged a look with Eddie, then eyed Harland with a mischievous smile on her lips. “Would you be interested in stopping by every now and again and helping out with all things medical?”

Harland looked at Justine. She thought it was a wonderful idea so gave her a smile.

“I would love to—if it’s all right with Mr. Sutton.”

Virginia clapped her hands. “It will be. So there you go. You come and say hello and end up with a job.”

“And perhaps we ended up with new friends too,” he said graciously.

Justine heard the chime on a grandfather clock in the foyer. “We need to get home.”

Virginia wrapped a loaf of bread in a napkin and saw them out. “See you soon,” she said.

“Nice to meet you,” Eddie said.

“And you.” Justine and Harland walked down the drive and through the gate to the surrey. “What a surprise that was,” he said.

“On so many accounts,” Justine said. “Virginia is a talented woman. She doesn’t seem insane in any way.”

“Who knows for sure,” he said. “She may be able to act perfectly normal when she needs to.”

“Eddie is sweet on her.”

“What?”

“Can’t you tell? He dotes on her.”

“He helps everyone.”

Justine chuckled. “Men. You see what you want to see, but not what’s right there in front of you.”