Ginny Aiken (8 page)

As Letty followed Eric into the newspaper’s office, the memory of the first lesson sprang to his mind. The awareness he’d felt when he held Letty’s fingers was something he would rather forget but couldn’t. He remembered the softness of her small, warm hands, and the time he touched her cheek—

“Well, Mr. Wagner, you offered and I’m ready to be taught.”

“I . . . that is . . .” What was he supposed to do? He
had
offered to teach her. He couldn’t just back out because he was attracted to her. “Yes, I did offer. Twice.”

“Precisely. I expect you to teach me.”

“Then teach you I shall.” Even if the lessons posed ever-increasing danger for him.

Which it did.

When the second lesson came and went with Eric taking only scant pleasure in Letty’s proximity, he thought he’d gained control over his unfortunate response to her. The next one, however, since she’d just washed her hair, distracted him even more. Each time he leaned over the still-damp crown of curls, he’d had to fight the urge to bury his face in the glossy mass.

Even when he stayed away from her, Eric’s interest in the doctor continued to grow. He admired Letty. He liked her, as he’d told her once before, a bit too much. He respected her talent, the way she treated her patients, and when they both were in the same room, his senses came to life and his awareness shot up sky high.

But he had to stem his interest in her. Had Martina died differently, then he would have been free to pursue the attraction, but he was responsible for his wife’s death. His guilt stripped him of the right to become attached to a woman as worthy as Letitia Morgan. Letty battled disease and death, devoting herself to saving lives. She’d surely reject a man who’d failed to fight for his wife’s life.

With a bittersweet pang, he remembered their wedding day. Before God and man, he’d vowed to protect Martina. She’d wanted nothing more than to love him and to raise their family.

He thought back to the time when they ordered the parlor sofa. His wife had set aside her taste in furnishings to purchase the long, unwieldy piece that accommodated his size.

But when she’d really needed his strength, he’d let love make him weak, and he watched her die. Her and baby Karl.

No woman deserved that. Especially not Letty.

Still, he’d offered the absurd typewriting lessons. He’d gone so far as to lend her his typewriter, and even set it on her kitchen table. His instincts understood nothing of his failings, so he had to continue to fight for control. He was coming to dread each lesson.

From his arrival at Letty’s home for this most recent lesson, Eric found himself in dire straits. Letty’s enthusiasm was running high, and her excitement was contagious.

“Oh, Eric!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been so looking forward to today’s lesson. I’m making progress. Here, let me show you.”

She took his hand and tugged him along behind her. Heat
swirled up his arm and pooled in his heart. A hint of violets enfolded him.

Try as she might, he couldn’t pay attention to the machine, much less the lesson. A coil of brown hair had come loose, and it tempted him to help it on its way down.

Then Letty locked together a handful of keys. “Ohhh! Could you help me, please? I can’t pry them apart.”

“Sure. I’ll show you how to separate the keys.” Knowing himself doomed, Eric took Letty’s hands in his. The warmth of her strong, capable fingers penetrated his skin and worked through him, just as before. This time, however, he was bent over with his head close to hers. The loosened strands curled close to his lips, and he yielded to temptation. He brushed his mouth across her hair.

Eric nearly groaned at the softness. He nuzzled the curl again, relishing the gossamer contact. He grew clumsy, and his fingers tangled with hers. Letty froze.

Of course she was surprised. He called himself all kinds of fool. He’d been cold, overbearing even, the last few times they’d met. Now here he was playing with her hair. She had to think him crazed at best. But she didn’t pull away.

Knowing he shouldn’t but unable to stop, Eric pressed his face into the flower-scented coronet.

Then he felt her grip on his hands. He slipped his thumb to the inside of her wrist and drew small circles over her pounding pulse. Her breath caught; his came to a ragged halt. Time stopped.

With Eric’s warmth enveloping her, Letty was stunned by the feelings rushing through her. His touch sent heat like that of a lamp into her veins, shocking her with its intensity. She’d never experienced anything so wonderful.

She froze.

“Mr. Wagner! Mr. Wagner, please come help!” someone called.

Letty’s heart had never pumped so strongly, its pounding pulse still beating somewhere beyond her consciousness. Then she realized the knocking came from the front door.

“Please, Mr. Wagner, Ford at your office tol’ me to fetch you ’cause Pa’s at it again,” a child called from just outside the door.

Eric wasted no time. He grabbed his coat and gloves from the chair where he’d left them, then ran to the door and opened it.

Letty followed, tossing her cape over her shoulders. The sight that greeted her shouldn’t have surprised her, but somehow it did.

A girl, perhaps ten years of age, ran to Eric, the infant on her narrow hip hampering her movements. “Please, Mr. Wagner. Pa’s down by Otto’s. Some woman’s screamin’ at ’im to pay what she says he owes ’er. She says he don’ own the cow so the milk ain’t free. But we ain’t had no milk in days.”

Eric spouted German, then reverted to English. “Caroline, go inside with Dr. Morgan. I’ll take care of your father.”

From her spot in the doorway, Letty got a good look at the two children. The girl’s brown coat, quite worn, was at least two, perhaps three, sizes too large, yet its long sleeves protected her hands from the icy weather. A pair of sturdy boys’ boots poked out from under the tattered hem.

The baby on her hip also sported strange attire. A swaddling blanket parted to reveal a nightgown made from what looked like an old quilt. A peaked face peered out, and long, thin fingers clutched at the girl’s shoulder.

“Take care of them, Letty,” Eric said. “I’ll be back soon.”

The girl took a step toward Eric. “But—”

“No, Caroline. It’s too cold out here for you and Willy, and you don’t belong where your father is.”

Eric didn’t bother with his buggy but instead loped toward Main Street.

After a quick, challenging look at Letty, Caroline followed.

Letty threw decorum to the wind and raced after them. Reaching the girl, Letty grabbed a thin arm and turned the child around. Four identical bright blue eyes met her gaze, the same bright blue eyes she saw each time a child met with trouble in this town—the blue eyes she’d expected.

Caroline yanked free of Letty’s grasp and ran after Eric again, but Letty had reached her limit. Determination fueling her pursuit, she caught the girl’s shoulders to bring her to a standstill.

Blue eyes glared. “What d’ya want, lady? My pa’s in trouble an’ I gotta help Mr. Wagner. Lemme go!” The agony on the half-matured features almost made Letty relent. Then the infant cried, and Letty’s backbone firmed with renewed purpose. “Very well,” she said. “Go, if you must, but give that baby to me. If, as you say, there’s trouble, you can’t do a thing with him on your hip, nor can it do him any good to be present.”

The girl’s eyes widened. Evidently, she accepted Letty’s logic, but her attachment to the baby kept her from surrendering him even for a brief time. The waif’s wail grew louder.

Caroline nuzzled the blanketed bundle. “Hush, Willy. ’S all right. Sis is here.” Her efforts achieved no success, and she frowned. She then peered in the direction Eric had taken. She squared her narrow shoulders and thrust her brother at Letty.

“Here, miss,” she said, “take care of ’im. I’ll be right back.” She thrust the featherweight parcel into Letty’s arms and resumed the chase.

Letty held Willy by her heart, aghast at what she saw. The Pattersons’ mother had died about nine months earlier, but at nearly twelve months old the boy weighed no more than twelve pounds and had yet to cut a tooth. As if that weren’t enough, she could see every bone in his tiny fist.

“This is too much, Eric Wagner. I’ve found two more Patterson children in shameful conditions. You and I need to have a serious talk, and soon, sir. Very soon.”

First, though, she had to warm the child. She tucked him in under her cape and close to her heart. Tears flooded her eyes when his little hands took fistfuls of her blouse and he lay his cheek against her breast.

Heartsore, Letty followed her charge’s older sister, soon reaching East Crawford Street. She saw what had caused Caroline’s alarm. Up ahead, just outside a seedy saloon, a harsh-looking blonde stood over the prone figure of a man.

What was wrong with Hartville’s men? First, that disreputable Slosh fought at the drunken drop of a hat. Now it seemed the Patterson children’s only parent indulged in carnal vices, shirking his duty as father and provider.

Letty drew nearer, the blonde screamed insults at her victim, and Eric stood to one side, trying to mediate the argument. Dread crept over her. It grew a hundredfold when the swinging doors of the establishment behind the screamer parted and three more women joined her. Letty stopped a few feet away from Eric.

She couldn’t help but notice the women’s scandalous short skirts, their flesh-filled necklines, the garish paint on their faces. Tinny music spewed into the night from behind batwing doors.

She pounced on Eric. “I demand an explanation.”

Vexation filled his face. “I told you to stay with Caroline and Willy. Besides, what sort of explanation do you want?”

“Why . . . I . . .” For a moment Letty was speechless. Then her outrage took over. “For goodness’ sake, Eric Wagner, this is a bordello!”

5

Despite the deepening evening, Letty saw red on Eric’s chiseled cheeks.

“ Ah . . . yes,” he answered. “And?”

“And there are children here, Mr. Wagner.”

“Had you stayed home with them, as I told you to do, they wouldn’t be here. Don’t you agree, Dr. Morgan?”

“Oh, no. You can’t shift the burden of guilt on me. Caroline said she came because her father was in trouble. The responsibility lies with him.”

The sodden lump at the feet of the “soiled dove” rose onto his elbows, hampered by the abundance of spirits he’d consumed. After three tries, he hoisted himself to a half-sitting position and peered at Letty.

“Hey!” he called. “ ’S the little lady doctor. You wanna have some fun?”

The unpleasant, familiar voice sent Letty’s anger beyond its normal bounds. She rounded on Eric. “Slosh! Slosh is Horace Patterson?”

Eric examined his shoes. He raised his head and studied the street lamp at the corner. Finally, with a glare at the drunk on the road, he nodded.

Before Letty could voice her outrage, a commotion at Bessie’s Barn caught her attention. A fat, ruddy-faced miner stomped out, dragging along another blonde woman.

She fought, but slender as she was, she got nowhere. “Missy,” the miner proclaimed, “for what I’se jist paid, youse can come wid me anywhere I wants.”

“P—please,” the young woman cried. “Don’t make me go—owww!”

With a furious yank, the man hauled her to the middle of the street. “I paid,” he repeated, “so’s to do what I wants.”

She cleared her pale mane from her face, and the lamplight profiled her features. Letty gasped in horror. The girl wasn’t much older than Caroline Patterson.

Letty charged the bully. “How dare you? Have you no shame? Can’t you see she’s just a little girl?”

When he showed no sign of doing the right thing, Letty grew further incensed. “Let her go! Your intentions are immoral, filthy, debauched—sinful. Let her go, you . . . you big—”

A large hand clamped over her lips. A second hand clasped her waist, careful of the baby she held within her cape. Her captor dragged her back, and her urge to fight increased. She tried to bite the muffling hand, with no success. She kicked, hoping to connect with the legs braced against hers, and had no better luck. Twisting and turning, still conscious of her precious charge, Letty refused to accept defeat.