His Precious Inheritance (Inspirational Historical Romance) (15 page)

He flexed his fingers, nodded. “And what does the doctor say? Would it harm her to move her? Does he hold hope that she may yet recover?”

Guilt rose. She stared at him.
How simple life was for the wealthy
. “I’m saving money to pay for a doctor. I hope to be able to get one for her soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do to earn that money.” She whirled and started for the doorway.

“Wait!” He caught her arm, turned her around, then quickly let go of her. “I wasn’t merely being curious, Clarice. I had a purpose for asking those questions.”

She stared at her arm, warm and tingling where he had touched her. Where was the anger that should have gushed when he grabbed her arm? What was happening to her? She lifted her gaze to meet his. “And that is?”

“I want to send Dr. Reese to see your mother. He has a reputation for restoring strength, and even mobility, to the infirm.”

“I’m aware of Dr. Reese, but I haven’t yet saved enough money to pay his—”

“I will pay the doctor.”

Her back stiffened. “No. I do not accept charity, Mr. Thornberg. I refuse to be indebted to you or any other
man
.” She swallowed back the tears that again threatened and lifted her chin. “However, I cannot refuse your offer when the doctor may help my mother walk again. Therefore, I will accept your kindness with the understanding that I will repay you.”

“The name is Charles.” His gaze captured hers, held it prisoner. “And I’m not offering you charity, Clarice. Nor would you accrue any debt. I’m simply trying to discharge
my
debt to your mother.”

“Your debt to Mother?” She couldn’t keep the skepticism from her voice.

His eyes narrowed. “Yes. I need the fillers she wrote for the newspaper, but she refuses payment. So, as I don’t accept charity, either, I thought I would use the money I would have paid her to pay for the doctor. However, if that is not acceptable, I will have to think of something else.” He shrugged and moved beyond her into the entrance hall.

She spun about. Her skirt billowed out around her; the hems whispered across the rug. “Charles...”

He paused in the open front door, glanced over his shoulder.

“I accept your offer on Mother’s behalf.” Her voice broke. She swallowed hard, lifted her hand to press against the pressure in her chest. “Thank you.”

He nodded, yanked his gaze from hers and stepped outside.

The clock in the sitting room gonged.

She stared at the closed door and took a deep breath to calm her racing pulse. In the course of a half hour, Charles Thornberg had changed her life.

Chapter Twelve

“D
oes your head pain you, Clarice?”

“A little, Mama. It does every night.” She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, winced when she touched a tender spot.

“It’s likely because you wear your hair pulled so tight. Why don’t you wear it a bit looser as long as you’re not going to the newspaper to work? I’m sure Jonathan wouldn’t mind.” Her mother smiled and held out her hand. “Come sit on the edge of the bed and let me brush your hair for you.”

She handed her mother the brush and sat, rubbing at her temples while the brush stroked through her long hair. “I did something today I’m not sure was wise, Mama.”

“I find that hard to believe, Clarice. You’re a very sensible girl.”

“Usually, I am. But things have gotten all mixed up since I’ve been caring for Jonathan.”

“Mixed up in what way?”

“I let my heart get involved in my decisions.” She reached back, halted the brush and turned her head. “Mama, I signed a legal paper today naming me the administrator of a trust account Mr. Thornberg has set up for Jonathan.”

“Administrator of a trust account? What’s that mean?”

“It means if something happens to Mr. Thornberg,
I
will be in charge of Jonathan and that grand house and all of Mr. Thornberg’s money! To be used for Jonathan’s benefit, of course. But still...”

“Gracious me...”

“Exactly.”

“Well...” Her mother motioned her to turn around with the brush then drew it through her hair again. “How did all this come about?”

“I’m not sure, Mama. I said no. I told him I wasn’t qualified to do all of that. But then he said all he cared about was that I cared for Jonathan. And he asked me if I did. And, of course, I had to say yes. And then he
looked
at me—” she tipped her head down and buried her face in her hands “—and I got all confused, and— He makes me
nervous
.”

She sighed, lowered her hands into her lap and sighed again. “So I told him yes. He needed to name an administrator to make the trust valid. And I will probably never have to do it, anyway. He’s a young, healthy man. But he kept saying he needed to know Jonathan would be taken care of if he died. And—”

She grabbed the brush from her mother’s hand and jumped to her feet. “And I kept thinking about what you used to tell me...that the Bible says ‘be it unto thee according to your words’ or something like that, and I just wanted him to stop talking about his dying!”

She stormed over to the dressing table, tossed down the brush, gathered her hair into a mass at the nape of her neck and tied it with a ribbon. “Anyway, that’s why I did it. I agreed because I love Jonathan. He’s quite stolen my heart. And if anything...untoward did happen, I want Jonathan to be all right.”

She whirled and faced her mother. “Do you understand?”

Her mother nodded and smiled. “I believe I do.”

“Good.” She sank onto the dressing table bench. “Did I do the right thing, Mama?”

“I believe you did, Clarice.”

“Good. Thank you. That makes me feel better.” She rose, rubbed her scalp at the hairline and walked back to her mother’s bed. “Time for your back rub.”

“Not tonight, Clarice. You need to go to bed with a cold cloth on your head to get rid of that headache.”

She looked down at her mother’s work-worn hand resting on hers and smiled. “Not yet, Mama. I have more news to share with you. Important news.” She pulled the pillows out of her way and handed them to her mother.

“What is it?”

She smiled and began kneading the tight muscles beside her mother’s spine. “Remember the other day when Mr. Thornberg discovered you were making fillers for his newspaper and offered to pay you for them, and you refused?”

“Yes, of course. What about it?”

“He told me today that he needs the fillers, but he doesn’t accept charity, and he won’t use them unless he pays for them.”

“That’s nonsense!” Her mother dropped her head forward as she started massaging her shoulders. “I told him I was only helping you. That the fillers were included in your wage.”

“But they’re not, Mama.” She moved back down her mother’s spine, noting with satisfaction that it was not quite as protuberant as it had been when she came. Her mother had put on a little much-needed weight. She’d been so frail...

“Well, that doesn’t matter. He didn’t ask me to write the fillers, and it’s not right that he should pay for them. But he will pay for the next batch...we agreed.” She craned her head around and smiled. “I can’t believe I’m earning money just writing down the stuff I know about cleaning a house and putting up food.”

“That’s valuable information to a young housewife just starting to keep house.”

“I suppose. But you haven’t told me what your important news is.”

“Well...” She grabbed a pillow and put it behind her mother’s back. “Mr. Thornberg has been pondering the problem of using the fillers without paying for them.” She shoved the second pillow in place. “And he’s come up with a solution.”

“Thank you, dear.” Her mother leaned back, looked up at her. “What sort of solution?”

“He’s paying a doctor to come and see you.”

“A
doctor
.” Hope filled her mother’s eyes, but she shook her head. “You tell him no, Clarice. Doctors are costly. That’s too much—”

“It’s already been done, Mama. I agreed on your behalf. You earned that money and you should get the benefit of it. Dr. Reese will be here in the morning.”

“But, Clarice—”

“It’s done, Mama. Now, you get a good night’s sleep so you will be well rested when Dr. Reese comes.” She smiled and turned down the wick on the oil lamp, stepped to the dressing table and poured cold water on the cloth in the washbowl.

“Clarice...”

“Yes, Mama?” She took the wet cloth to the window seat in the turret.

“Mr. Thornberg thinks very highly of you.”

She froze, thought of the way Charles had looked at her that afternoon, then shook her head at her foolishness and kept on walking. “Mr. Thornberg knows I take good care of his little brother, Mama. That’s what he likes. He doesn’t care for me personally.” A rush of hurt accompanied that thought, catching her off guard.

She lifted the blanket on her window-seat bed and slipped beneath it, made herself as comfortable as possible and placed the cold cloth on her forehead. “He has a low opinion of career women. And I can’t blame him after what I’ve learned of his mother.”
That’s when my father died, and my mother decided she preferred a career over motherhood.
“She’s a terribly selfish,
heartless
woman who puts her own desires and goals above her children.”

She rubbed at her temples and wished she felt well enough to work on her article for the
Assembly Herald
. It would get her mind off Charles and the way she had felt this afternoon—still felt, if she were honest about it. “What he doesn’t understand is that it isn’t the same for me as it is for his mother. It isn’t the same at all. His mother is wealthy, with a husband who takes care of her. I’m poor, with a father who cares nothing for you and me and would take every penny I earn, given the chance.”

She forced back tears. She’d learned long ago that there was no profit in self-pity. It only made one feel worse. “Mr. Thornberg is a wealthy man. He doesn’t understand that sometimes life just doesn’t give you a choice.”

Which would she choose if she had a choice? She wasn’t certain now. Charles treated her with respect and—and what? Her breath snagged at the memory of the look that came into his eyes when he gazed at her. And his touch. So different from anything she had ever known. What would it be like if he—

“Perhaps not, Clarice. But God does.”

Her mother’s words were soft, quiet and hopeful. She sighed and closed her eyes. It was a pleasant thought to sleep on. And perhaps it would keep away other impossible dreams.

* * *

It was no use. Sleep was impossible. Charles threw off the covers, shrugged into his dressing gown and stepped out onto the balcony. The moon was a silver sliver in the night sky. Warm air caressed the skin on his face, throat and hands. The quietness settled around him like a caress, and a hunger rose to share such moments with a wife. No, not just any wife. Clarice.

He let out a low growl, stepped forward to the railing and stared up at the stars strewn across the heavens. It had finally happened. He was right the other day—he was falling in love. With a
career
woman. How could he have let that happen? He barked out a laugh, shoved his fingers through his hair. How could it
not
happen? She was intelligent, beautiful, warm... And when she looked at Jonathan...

That
had been his undoing. He had been able to hold his feelings at bay until he saw the way she was with Jonathan.

No. There was no use in trying to fool himself. That was not all it was. It was her eyes. If he hadn’t looked into her eyes, hadn’t let himself sink into the beauty in their depths, he wouldn’t have known. But yesterday on the steamer and during their picnic, he’d caught a glimpse of something in her eyes that had awakened a longing in him. And then this afternoon in the sitting room when she had looked at him, he’d seen it again, stronger, purer. And when she had
blushed
— He blew out a breath, shoved his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown. It had taken all of his self-control to not take her in his arms and try and waken what he saw in her eyes. But it was a contradiction of everything else about her. Her coolness. Her independence...

If the work was not done to his satisfaction, a hard, quick slap let you know... She’s the teacher that rescued me from Father’s cruelty... She found her on the ground beside the laundry basket unable to rise... He declared he had no use for a
cripple
and no time or money to care for one...

What kind of a man treated his wife and child like that? He leaned down and gripped the railing, wished it were the neck of the man who had put the fear in Clarice’s eyes and the wall around her heart. It was no wonder she was an independent career woman. She had to earn a living for herself and her mother. With a father like that, why would she ever trust a man to take care of her?

The wren. He flinched at the memory. He could understand her plain appearance and her cool, standoffish way now. She didn’t want to attract a man’s attention. She had certainly quelled his with a cool look. It was clear Clarice didn’t want a man in her life. Including him. She had chosen her path. Or perhaps it had been chosen for her by the cruelty of her father. But either way, there was no place in her life for him.

He straightened, shoved his hands back in his pockets and stared out at a future void of love. There no place in his life for her. He wanted no part of a career woman, whether by choice or by circumstance. He’d had enough of that with his mother. And he had Jonathan to think about.

Odd how certain he was that Clarice would take good care of Jonathan if anything happened to him. But he had no doubt about that...none at all.

If only.

* * *

“Does the forward movement cause you pain, Mrs. Gordon?”

“No, none at all, Dr. Reese.”

“Very good. Miss Gordon, if you would assist me, please?”

“Of course, Doctor.” Clarice left Jonathan sitting on the window seat watching the people passing by on the street below and hurried to her mother’s bed, her heart pounding.

“I am going to lift your mother and turn her so that she may sit on the edge of the bed. I will need you to pull the blankets out of the way and place the pillows behind her so that she cannot topple backward when she is seated.”

She nodded, her throat too constricted to speak.

“And you, Mrs. Gordon. Do you understand what I am going to do?”

“Yes.”

“And are you afraid?’

“No. It will feel good to move out of this position—even if it is by your strength.”

“Good, because I think your daughter is fearful enough for both of you.”

The doctor smiled, reached out and patted her hand. “There is nothing to be afraid of, Miss Gordon. I will not hurt your mother. I give you my word. Now, are you ready?”

“Yes.” It was a little shaky, but at least she managed to speak.

“Very well.” The doctor leaned forward, slipped one arm behind her mother’s back and one arm beneath her legs. “Put your left arm around my neck, Mrs. Gordon. Good. Now, do not attempt to help me lift or move you. I do not want you to twist or turn at all. Ready? Here we go.”

The doctor lifted her mother as if she were a feather. She swallowed back her fear and yanked the covers out of his way, grabbed hold of a pillow.

“There.” The doctor straightened, held her mother by the upper arms. “Are you in any pain or discomfort of any kind?”

She swallowed hard at the kindness in his voice, shoved the pillow behind her mother, grabbed the second and put it in place.

“No. There is a tingling in my limbs but it’s not painful.” Her mother smiled, blinked back tears. “It’s good to feel my feet again.”

“Indeed.” The doctor nodded. “Miss Gordon, I am going to perform a few range-of-motion exercises. Please stand behind your mother and brace her by the shoulders should she start to topple.” His gaze shifted and his expression softened. “Mrs. Gordon, I want you to tell me immediately if you feel any pain or discomfort.”

She took her place, stared at her mother’s narrow shoulders. Her stomach churned.
Please, Lord Jesus, don’t let him hurt her. Let her be all right.

“Me see doggy!” Jonathan turned from the window and grinned at her.

She took a breath, focused on his adorable face. “What color is the doggy?”

He turned back, pressed his nose against the window. “Him gots spots.”

“Did any of that hurt at all?”

She jerked her gaze back to her mother, held her breath.

“No. But the prickly tingling feeling is stronger.”

“That’s a good sign. All right, I’m going to lift you back into bed now. And we’ll do it the same as before, only in reverse. Ready? Here we go.”

She propped the pillows against the headboard, let out her breath as the doctor rested her mother against them, pulled the blankets up and waited.