Monday morning, Grace unlocked the clinic and opened it wide for Mrs. Shaw. “Take a seat. You must be winded after the walk over.”
Unlike Grace, whose tumbling thoughts kept her awake most of the night. She’d given up, gotten dressed, cleaned house, started oatmeal for breakfast, and soaked beans for supper. She’d prayed while she worked but had no answers. Only the unquenchable desire to hurry home.
Was it Pa? Mitch? The way her heart cleaved in two, Grace was certain it was both.
“As I keep reminding Mitchell, I am not an invalid.” Mrs. Shaw settled in one of the plush foyer chairs. “Hand me the hamper. Bertie wants to see.”
Grace opened the basket instead, her gaze on the staircase. The menfolk should be awake by now. Unless something was wrong—
The back door slammed shut. “You’re a good doctor but not the best cook,” Pa said from the direction of the kitchen.
“Pa!” Grace dropped the cat atop Mrs. Shaw’s lap as her father and Mitchell ambled into the foyer. “You’re out of bed.”
Pa’s thick brows met. “Mitchell’s orders. He said I need to move about.”
“He tells me the same thing all the time.” Mrs. Shaw rolled her eyes.
Grace patted Pa’s whiskered cheek. “I’ve been worried about you.”
Pa patted her cheek back. “I know, poppet. But I’ll be fine.”
“With rest, treatment, and a few changes of habit.” Mitch hugged his mother.
Grace allowed herself to look at him for the first time this morning, really look at him, now that she was assured Pa was fine. If she’d looked at Mitch first, she might never have turned her gaze on anything else.
How could she not have guessed she loved him, all this time? The way his smile crinkled his eyes and coaxed her smiles in return. The way he loved his mother and played with children. The way his strong hands worked to heal. How he looked, even unshaven and wearing yesterday’s rumpled clothes—all the more appealing because he’d forsaken a razor and clean shirt to tend to her father. The way he served God, with his body, mind, and spirit. The way he looked at her right now, which weakened her knees and robbed her of breath.
Pa walked between Grace and Mitch, breaking their held gazes. “Got some news for you all—what’s this?” He sat beside Mrs. Shaw. “That cat’s back?”
Mrs. Shaw covered Bertie’s ears with her fingers. “Just to visit. He wants to live with me, don’t you, widdle pumpkin?”
Mitch hid his laugh behind his hand.
Grace patted Bertie’s head. “If that’s well with you, Mitch?”
“Who cares what he thinks?” Mrs. Shaw interrupted. “I’ll be alone in that house. If I want Bertie, he stays.”
“Calm down, Enid. Mitch isn’t going anywhere.”
Even Bertie’s head turned to Pa.
“What do you mean?” Grace’s gaze flitted from Pa to Mitch and back.
“Had long talks with God and Mitch last night. I’ve decided to make some changes. The first is escorting you to Mrs. Dooley’s funeral Saturday, Grace.”
“But it’s at the church.” He hadn’t set a toe on the property since Ma died.
“I know. Can’t promise I’m not still angry at God, but I’d like to get reacquainted with Him. I’ll take you to church Sunday, too.”
She wanted to leap for joy but that would embarrass Pa. Instead she nodded. “I’d love your escort.”
“Next bit of news—I’m scaling back my hours. To almost zero.”
Grace’s breath hitched. “You’re sicker than you let on.”
“On the contrary, I’m keen to try new things. Like see the ocean. So I need to leave the clinic in capable hands. Maybe I can consult once in a while, when I’m in town. And no one’s hands are more capable than Mitchell’s.”
Mitch grinned, unsurprised. They must have discussed it already. “I discerned the call to head a clinic. Turned out this was the clinic God meant, all along.”
“Suits me fine,” Mrs. Shaw said, as if they were deliberating dinner plans.
“And you, Grace?” Mitch stepped forward. “Does it suit you?”
Her pulse thrummed in her veins. He wasn’t leaving. “You don’t mind staying?”
“I never wanted to leave. Not just Emerald, but—”
The clinic door swung wide on its hinges and a crowd of young people spilled into the foyer. Bess and Elmer, Silas and Myra, Lou and Flossie, Irvin and Nell, all talking one over the other.
“Doc Perkins!” Bess kissed Pa’s cheek. “So good to see you up and about.”
Pa harrumphed. “Word travels fast.”
Elmer shook Mitch’s hand. “Lou and I stopped at the flour mill this morning. Heard about Mrs. Dooley. Anything we can do?”
The menfolk spoke of Mrs. Dooley’s lack of family, Saturday’s service, and the lack of a diagnosis while the women gathered around Mrs. Shaw, exclaiming over Bertie.
“We heard about you, too, Doc Perkins.”
“Touch of dropsy. I’ll be fine.”
“Good, because we want you at the weddings.”
More than one?
“Mine and Elmer’s in two weeks.” Bess pushed a vermillion-flushed Nell forward. “And Nell?”
Irvin took Nell’s hand. His other hand held envelopes. “Invitations. Nell and I made it official last night. We’re gettin’ hitched in three weeks.”
“And we owe it all to you, Grace.”
Grace gaped. “But I matched you all with the wrong people.”
“And started us on the path toward the right ones.” Silas winked at Myra. Flossie giggled at Lou.
After handshakes and hugs, the group departed to deliver the rest of their invitations.
“You’re going to deliver a few babies this time next year, Mitchell.” Pa chortled.
“Back to doing our own laundry, if Nell’s marrying the richest man in Emerald.” Mrs. Shaw sighed. “But she’ll eat well now.”
Grace hadn’t stopped looking at Mitch. “Can you believe it? The two shyest of the group were the quickest. I guess you’re right. With each other, they weren’t shy at all.”
“Neither am I. Shy, I mean.” He gripped her hand. “I have a hypothesis I need your help testing.”
Now? She stumbled after him to the office.
He shut the door behind them and pulled her into the room. “Before one creates a hypothesis, one has to encounter a problem to solve, right?”
“Of course.” He didn’t need her to tell him that, but he smelled of bay and soap and oh, he was still holding her hand.
“So here’s my problem.” A small smile broke his serious expression. “I love Grace Perkins and want her to be my wife. Want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. He loved her.
His fingers tightened on hers. “How best to discern if Grace will have me? Research reveals that her theory is sound, so if I use it, I’ll be able to tell if we’ll be a good match.”
“My hypothesis was hooey.” There, she found her voice. And it was as husky as if she had catarrh.
“First criteria,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “are we compatible in our faith and view of marriage?”
She shook her head. “I thought you were happy being a bachelor.”
“That choice wasn’t God’s plan, it was mine. I feared my odd hours and late nights would strain a marriage like it had my parents’. But you don’t just understand my work, you’re my partner in it. Besides, I realized my mistake the moment I contemplated a life without you. So shall we consider the first criteria satisfied?”
A tiny smile pulled at her lips. “Yes.”
“Second criteria: Are we attuned to one another? I say yes. We have two conversations at once sometimes, because we know one another so well. You care about my mother and you make me blueberry pie just to make me happy. Am I right?”
“I never recognized it for what it was, but I do like making you happy. And you support me and catch me when I fall—figuratively and literally, like in the church hall.”
“Third criteria. Are there measurable signs of attraction? You tell me.” He lifted their joined hands and pressed hers against his chest. His heart pounded hard and fast, like he’d run miles.
“Oh.” Heat flooded from her chest all the way to her scalp.
“You’re blushing something awful right now and I can see your pulse, quick as a rabbit’s, right here.” He moved his hand to rest his thumb on her jugular. Bent down a fraction.
“What about—” She swallowed hard against the gentle pressure of his fingers. “Number four?”
“What’s number four again?” His breath warmed her cheek as his fingers caressed the back of her neck, under her ears, sending shivers down her arms.
“Comple—mentary traits.”
His lips hovered over hers. “You help me be a better doctor. And a better man.”
“You—challenge me, too.” It was hard to think straight.
“So my hypothesis is that we’re a good match.” He moved so his lips grazed her ear.
Her breath hitched. “How do you propose testing it?”
“Never mind. Let’s skip the testing and just get married.”
Grace gasped. Then grinned. “Skip testing? Your conclusion is not according to the scientific method, Doctor—”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for five years, Grace. I don’t want to wait a minute more.”
So she lifted her lips.
His kiss was soft at first then more demanding, and she didn’t think about science at all.
Then he pulled away, leaving her woozy. His hands skimmed her arms to take her fingers, never breaking contact with her. He lowered to his knees.
Grace’s wooziness vanished. “Mitchell!”
“This is no science experiment. It’s just me, promising to love you all my days. I know I should court you properly—”
“No.”
“No?” He looked stricken.
“No courting. I don’t need to get to know you better. You’re my best friend. My love. I want to marry you.”
Her favorite grin returned. “Then I s’pose I should ask. Will you marry me?”
“Oh, yes, Mitch. Yes. Now will you stand up and kiss me again, please?”