Well, this was new. Grace almost felt popular.
In the week since Bess and Elmer’s engagement party, word of Grace’s matchmaking had spread from Flossie Hawkins to two others, Myra Olson and Emerald’s laundress, Nell Vaughn. Now, the trio cornered her in the Hawkinses’ richly decorated parlor, where the church’s unmarried folks gathered for games and a devotional, as they did every other Saturday night. Flossie’s father ran the mercantile, and the family boasted the only parlor in Emerald large enough to accommodate them all. Besides, the joke went, if they didn’t meet at Flossie’s, the girl wouldn’t arrive until the gathering was half over. Maybe styling her elaborate curls was what made her tardy.
Grace couldn’t remember a time when females her age clustered around her, hanging on her every word. Nor had they ever clutched her arms as if she were in danger of floating away, but dark-haired Myra Olson’s grip could serve as a tourniquet.
“So you’ll help us?” Myra squeezed.
“I’m happy to find matches for you.”
“And it’ll work?” Flossie twisted one of those strawberry-blond curls around her index finger.
“It did for Bess and Elmer. It’s based on scientific theory that should apply to everyone.” Grace shrugged, but the gesture didn’t dislodge Myra’s clasp.
“I don’t know about this.” Fair-haired Nell chewed her lip.
Myra released Grace to clutch Nell’s arm. “You want to be married, you said so.”
Nell’s pale cheeks flushed pink as the berry-red accents on the lamps and chandelier crystals in the rococo-style parlor. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want the town hearing of it.”
Grace rubbed her arm, right where Myra’s grip almost cut off her circulation. “You’d have to want marriage. That’s the first criterion for a successful match. I can’t make matches for you if there aren’t any churchgoing, marriage-minded gentlemen in town to pair you with.”
Myra hopped, making her bustle bounce. “I know of a few, and they’re here tonight. My brother said Elmer was at Irvin’s flour mill Thursday, talking up being engaged, and some of the other fellows there said they’d like to be married, too.”
“Who?” Pity Grace hadn’t brought her notebook.
“Silas and Irvin.”
Grace nodded. Silas Lee was the barber who cut Pa’s hair, and mustachioed Irvin Brown owned the flour mill.
“Lou was there, too.” Elmer Kohl’s brother.
“Anyone else you know of? From church who has expressed interest in marriage?”
“What about Dr. Mitch?” Flossie giggled.
“He hasn’t indicated an interest in wedlock.” Grace suppressed the sudden rise of irritation souring her words.
“Could you ask? You’re with him all the time.”
“I don’t need to ask. Mitch is a stalwart bachelor.” She couldn’t explain why to these ladies, though. “Anyone else?”
Myra peeked at the gentlemen gathered around the punch bowl. Mitch stood a few inches taller than the rest. “Now we know Flossie’s sweet on Mitch.”
“I am not.” Flossie scowled.
Good. Mitch would not make a good match for Flossie. The idea set Grace’s teeth grinding together.
Nell hid her eyes behind her hand. “This is mortifying.”
“But you’ll let Grace do it, won’t you?” Flossie’s brows lowered.
Nell nodded. “I’d like a—you know. Family of my own.”
Poor, shy Nell. Grace relaxed, now that they were no longer speaking about Mitch. “There is nothing of which to be ashamed. It’s right there in Genesis: marriage is a good thing. I’ll make some observations and analyze my findings. I’ll let you know who I determine to be the best suitor for each of you.”
“What if the fellas don’t like us?”
“Never have I seen any indication of dislike from a single member of our Saturday night group toward another. But I’ll ask the gentlemen if they’re interested in my matchmaking first.”
All three girls nodded, Myra and Flossie with enthusiasm, and Nell with her hands pressed to her cheeks.
Bess beckoned the group to the open space between the Hawkinses’ parlor furniture and the grand dining room table. “Ready for a game?”
“What does your book have for us tonight?” Mitch leaned against the mantelpiece. Grace liked the grin he wore. Despite being thirty, he was the first to jump into a game. It was hard not to find his playfulness contagious.
Her eyes twinkling in amusement, Bess held a tiny down feather aloft. “We keep this feather in the air as long as we can without using hands. Just our breath. And no one can blow it twice in a row.”
The group gathered on the plush rug, murmuring and giggling. Grace used the opportunity to eye up the three prospective suitors for her matchmaking experiment. Perhaps she should be taking deep breaths in preparation for the game, but—oh! Bess blew the feather. Nell ran under it and puffed out a huge breath, sending it drifting past Grace. She followed its progress to Mitch—
“Nell?” Lou Kohl dodged around Grace. “Nell!”
Grace spun. Lou’s arms caught Nell just as she slumped, unconscious.
Mitch lunged to capture Nell’s shoulders and neck. “The sofa.”
They laid her atop the cushions. Mitch knelt over her. A quick shove of her lace cuff up her arm, and his fingers pressed into her wrist. “Pulse strong but fast.”
Grace bent over his shoulder. “Her color’s off.”
Nell’s breaths were shallow but even. Skin cool to his touch. His thumbs brushed her eyelids to check her pupils, but before he could lift her eyelids, they fluttered. “Oh,” Nell moaned.
“Syncope?” Grace asked.
He nodded, sighing at the dark rings under Nell’s eyes. “You fainted, Nell. Has it happened before?”
She blinked. “Not in a long time.”
Lou pressed in, Irvin peering over his shoulder. “Is she fine now?”
Mitch smiled down at Nell. “I believe so, but I’d like to take you to the clinic for a quick exam just to be sure, Nell.”
She nodded.
Lou, his arms strong from working a plow, hoisted Nell as if she were light as cotton batting. “Lead the way, Doc.”
Mitch waved at the others on his way out, Grace at his heels with their coats. “We’ll send word, but I think she’s fine. Thanks for the nice evening.”
Half the ladies had their hands to their mouths.
Grace kept pace all the way to the clinic. “I could’ve fetched your bag, but you want to speak to her in private, don’t you?”
How well she understood him. “I think it best.”
She dashed ahead, opening the clinic with her key and setting the little bell above the door to jangling. The little edifice boasted three upstairs chambers with two beds each for overnight patients, while the first floor’s kitchen allowed a workspace and the old parlor served as an office, leaving two rooms off the tiny foyer for examinations and surgery. With a whiff of sulfur, Grace struck a match and lit the lamps in the examination room on the right. Mitch passed her to wash his hands in the corner basin. When he finished, Lou had set Nell on the examination table. “I’ll fetch her mother.”
“Thank you.” Mitch opened his leather bag wide and pulled out his binaural stethoscope.
“Am I sick, Doctor Mitch?” Nell teared up. Grace took her hand.
“Fainting is caused by a lot of different things. Let’s rule a few out.”
Mitch pressed the stethoscope’s chest piece below Nell’s clavicle and listened. At his elbow, Grace took a pencil and paper and wrote auscultation. “Heart’s strong, Nell.”
Grace scribbled the results on the sheet.
He moved the chest piece. Nell’s lungs sounded clean, quiet. Not at all like her stomach.
“Have you eaten today?”
“Some mush. This morning.”
Grace met his gaze. When Nell’s father died last year, Nell and her mother supported themselves by taking in laundry. Mitch was relieved to pay them for the chore, what with Ma’s rheumatism and all. Likewise, the clinic hired Nell to boil and wash its soiled linens. Nell must not have found many more clients, however, for her cheeks had grown hollower as the months passed.
His hand patted her bony shoulder. “You need proper meals. Meat. Vegetables.”
With a rustle of fabric, Grace slipped out of the room. Probably to get some leftover soup from the house.
A thin tear snaked down Nell’s cheek. “I’ll try.”
“You can’t build a strong fire under your wash kettle without good wood, can you? Your body’s the same. It won’t work if you don’t give it substantial food.”
She sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the table. “At least I’m not sick. I can work.”
“Yes, but—”
Mrs. Vaughn, Nell’s mother, burst in the clinic door, her face etched with dread. Behind her, the concerned faces of their friends appeared in the foyer—Silas, Lou, the ladies. Good folks in Emerald. Mitch pushed the thought aside and beckoned Mrs. Vaughn into the exam room, closing the door behind her.
When he finished, he smiled. “No need to stay here overnight, but remember, food and drink on a regular schedule.”
“Yessir, Doc.” Mrs. Vaughn took Nell’s hand.
“But Ma, we can’t—”
“How much do we owe?” Mrs. Vaughn’s chin tilted with determination. She wouldn’t accept charity.
“Could we barter? We’ve got a sack of sheeting that needs laundering.” A small sack, but at least the Vaughns wouldn’t perceive Nell’s care as a handout.
A soft knock, and then Grace slipped inside the door, carrying an old lard pail. “I’m glad I caught you before you left. Could you take this soup, please? I put too much barley in it, so then I had to add more broth. Now there’s too much for us to eat before it spoils, and Pa doesn’t like barley anyway.”
Neither woman seemed to believe Grace, but they took the offering. “Thank you, kindly.”
“You’re doing me the favor, truly. I already sent some with Mitch.”
“Good meal.” He patted his stomach, smiling. The smile fell when Nell, her mother, and their friends left the clinic and he and Grace were alone. “Thanks for sending the soup. That was amazingly done.”
“Who’s amazing?” Sidney Perkins, Grace’s Pa, ambled into the exam room, quiet in his stocking feet. A grin creased his stout features. “You aren’t talking about me, are you?”
Grace kissed the thick gray whiskers curving down his cheek. “You know what we’re talking about. You watched me ladle the soup.”
Sidney gestured at the exam table. “That’s why I didn’t rush in. Figured they didn’t need all of us badgering them to eat.”
Mitch nodded, adding a few notes to the page Grace started for Nell’s file. “The only patients we’ve had today are stubborn women. Mrs. Dooley’s pain was worse, but she still won’t stay overnight.”
Sidney grunted. “No, more’s the pity. Can’t watch how the pain spreads at night, as she says, if she won’t stay here. If we understood her problem, we could better treat it, even if we never discover a diagnosis.”
Mitch filed his report in the cabinet. “I’ve prayed for Mrs. Dooley’s healing, and if that’s not God’s will, then at least His help making her more comfortable.”
Then Mitch realized what he’d said aloud. Grace did, too, for her hazel eyes were round as half-dollars.
Mitch squared his shoulders. He’d done nothing of which to be ashamed. The opposite, in fact.
Nevertheless, Sidney glared. “You want to pray, fine. But not here. No God allowed in my clinic.”
“Pa,” Grace pled, but Sidney had already thumped out the back door.
“I’m sorry.” Grace’s hands clasped under her chin. “I don’t like when he does that.”
“I’m sorry, too. He’s angry and suffering. The only thing the man trusts is science.” Mitch straightened his cuffs. He didn’t want to talk about it right now, though. Nell’s empty belly, Mrs. Dooley’s pain, Sidney’s grief—all weighed on Mitch, and he needed to give them to the Lord. But he also yearned for rest. A light conversation. Time with Grace. “Speaking of science, I hear word’s spread about your matchmaking scheme.”
“It’s not a scheme, and we can talk about Pa, Mitch. If you want.”
“I don’t need to talk about it. I know where I stand, with your pa and with God. So tell me about your evening, before Nell, that is. With the ladies. Looked like Myra was cutting off the circulation in that arm.”
She laughed and shook out her arm. “Nell, Myra, and Flossie asked me to play matchmaker for them, using my theory.”
“Maybe you should patent your findings. You’ll be famous.” He leaned against the exam table.
She curtsied as if she were on stage. “They’ll call me Miss Matched.”
His brow quirked. “You know ‘mismatched’ means two things that don’t go together, don’t you?”
“You know what I mean.” She rose and spelled it out. “I’m the miss who makes matches. If you had come up with the idea, you could be Dr. Matched.”
“Then we’d have to change the sign over the door from Doctors Perkins and Shaw to Perkins and Matched,” he teased.
Then his smile fell. The sign on the door …
She looked so pretty in her pink party dress, smiling at him like that. He hated to ruin the moment, but the time had come.
“Grace, I have something to tell you.”