Kansas Courtship (9 page)

She’d also proved herself to be bossy and uncompromising. He wanted a woman who’d bend her life to his…a woman like Abigail Johnson, a girl like Winnie Morrow.

With the grass rippling, Zeb reined in the bay to a halt and studied the land. Without realizing it, he stopped in the place where the Carter family had been struck by the storm. He thought of Bess and the twins, the people who’d died, the ones who’d moved on and the ones like Emmeline who’d stayed and made a new life. A few weeks ago, she’d married Will in a quiet ceremony at the church. Zeb had never seen his friend happier and had renewed his plan to court either Winnie or Abigail.

He still hadn’t decided which one, but the time had come to get off the fence. Looking at the lazy current of the river, he decided to ride into town. Either he’d visit the Morrows to pay Cassandra’s bill, or he’d stop by the mercantile and call on Abigail. Maybe both if the mood struck him. Either way, he was done thinking about Nora Mitchell.

N
ora cut a path back to the river. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so angry. Stopping for breath, she looked at the waterfall spanning the current. She felt as if she’d crashed over it in a barrel. One minute she’d been enjoying Zeb’s attention. The next minute they’d been shouting at each other. She hadn’t meant to start an argument, but the truth couldn’t be ignored. He and his men were working too hard. As a physician, she had to speak her mind.

“Oh, no,” she groaned.

She’d left her medical bag in his office. She couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the mill, but she had to have her bag. Dreading the thought of seeing Zeb, she walked back. When she reached the yard, she didn’t see his horse and figured he’d gone for a ride. Hoping to avoid him, she knocked on the office door and waited. No answer. She knocked again, then went to the window and peered through the glass. When she saw only shadows at the standing desk, she decided to sneak in and out.

“Dr. Mitchell?”

She whirled and saw Clint holding his hat over his chest. Up close, he looked more exhausted than she’d supposed. Dark circles shadowed his gaunt cheeks, and his eyes were red-rimmed and watery, probably from the sawdust.

“Mr. Fuller.” She tried to sound professional, but he’d caught her peeping into his boss’s office. She expected him to ask her why and waited.

The cowboy wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I’ve been wondering…Can you cure a bad throat?”

Another patient…And this one had come to her by choice.
Thank You, Lord.
Her hours of visiting had paid off. “I might. Do you mind if I take a look?” To do a proper examination, she needed an office. She had one…except it belonged to Zeb Garrison.

“It hurts terribly,” Clint said. “When could you—”

“Right now.” She refused to be shy about a patient’s needs. “We could use Mr. Garrison’s office. Is he here?”

“He left about five minutes ago.”

“Do you think he’ll be gone long?” she asked.

Clint shrugged.

Nora took the cowboy’s reticence in stride. Women told her everything she needed to know and more, but men grunted or said yes and no. She took the shrug to mean Zeb would be gone long enough for her to examine Clint’s throat. Feeling like a thief, she turned the knob and stepped into the office. She needed more light, so she pulled the side chair closer to the window. “Please, sit down.”

Clint sat.

Nora took a tongue depressor from her bag. “Open your mouth as wide as you can.”

He followed the order and Nora peered at his throat. She saw inflammation but no pustules. She put her hand on his forehead
to check for fever. It was evident but slight. Next she checked his neck for swelling of the glands. “How long have you been feeling poorly?”

“About a week now.”

When she asked how he’d been feeling overall, the cowboy admitted to working two jobs and skimping on sleep.

She put the tongue depressor back in the bag and removed a folded paper. “This is willow-bark tea. Make it strong and drink it. You can also gargle with salt water, but what you really need, Mr. Fuller, is rest.”

“Can’t do it, ma’am.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged.

“If you don’t take care of yourself, a cold could turn into pneumonia and you won’t be able to work at all. A day of rest now will save you time later.”

“I know, Doc. But I need the money.”

Nora waited for more, but Clint headed for the door. At the last minute, he turned. “I saw you with Miss Cassandra.”

Nora had suspected he liked the girl. Now she felt certain. To protect Clint’s pride, she hid a smile. “She walked with me to the mill.”

“She’s not feeling poorly, is she?”

“She’s just fine.”

As the man went back to the cutting room, Nora considered the cowboy’s question. He clearly cared for Cassandra. If she went to Boston with Percival, would his heart be broken? Nora had never been in love, but she knew about disappointment. For a moment, she’d let herself wonder about a future with Zeb. Foolishness, she told herself. She pushed the chair back in place and picked up her bag. She had a mind to hunt down Zeb and tell him to send Clint home, but she
doubted he’d listen. She’d already risked mayhem by using his office.

As she walked back to town, Nora weighed her options. Only Percival seemed willing to help her find an office of her own. She didn’t like him, but she considered Cassandra a friend and they were probably in the middle of lunch at the boardinghouse. Nora wouldn’t interrupt, but she hoped to hear from Cassandra later this afternoon.

Still frustrated, she passed the schoolhouse. In front of the mercantile she saw the bay gelding she’d noticed at the mill. Zeb Garrison, it seemed, had gone to call on Abigail. Fine, Nora thought. They suited each other. She didn’t care what he did or whom he saw. What had possessed her to drop her guard? To be
Nora
instead of
Dr. Mitchell?
Utter foolishness, she decided again.

Except the choice hadn’t been impetuous. She’d asked Zeb to call her Nora because she liked him. In those moments by the river, she’d seen the man who’d built High Plains with love, sacrifice, and the best of intentions.

Passing Dr. Dempsey’s office, Nora thought about the odd twists of the day. If she counted both Zeb and Clint Fuller, she’d seen two patients. She also had support from Cassandra, the Logans and the Benjamins. She’d made progress in winning the town’s acceptance, but she’d also sent the man who’d hired her into a rage.

The future looked uneasy at best. Thanks to her father, she had money for the fare to New York. She’d promised him she’d keep it, that she wouldn’t use it for anything else for at least a year. She’d agreed at the time, but it was only now that she saw the wisdom of his request. When the one-month trial ended, she could very well be on a train back to New York.

As she turned up the street to the boardinghouse, her gaze
strayed to the window of her room, a cozy spot she now considered home. As she looked back at the porch, the door swung open and Mrs. Jennings came to the railing.

“Dr. Mitchell, hurry!”

Nora hoisted her skirts and ran. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Alex! He’s covered with spots! He could have the pox. It could be diphtheria or—or—I don’t know, but he’s got a fever!”

Her third patient…This time, she felt no gratitude, only fear for a boy who reminded her of the brother she’d lost. With her bag in hand, she followed Mrs. Jennings upstairs to Alex’s room. As soon as she saw his glassy eyes, she went to the side of his bed and sat. Mrs. Jennings stood in the doorway with her arms crossed as if she was afraid the disease would escape.

Alex looked at her with wide brown eyes. “I feel bad,” he said.

“Does your throat hurt?”

He nodded.

Nora lit the candle sitting on the nightstand, then raised it to see in the boy’s mouth. “Open wide.”

When a child obeyed without a bit of protest, she knew the child was truly ill. Alex opened his mouth so wide a train could have gone through it. She peered at his throat and saw redness but no sign of diphtheria.

Wide-eyed, he looked at her with raw hope. “I have spots on my tummy.”

“Do you mind if I look?”

He shook his head.

As she lifted the boy’s night shirt, she saw sweat-soaked sheets and a mottled rash, the telltale sign of measles. The disease could be serious, but the vast majority of children recovered. She asked Alex a few more questions, then tucked the sheet over his thin body. “Alex, you have the measles.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a kind of sickness,” she explained. “You’ll feel bad for a while, and your skin’s going to get red and bumpy, but you’ll be fine if you do what I say. You need to stay in bed, all right?”

“I will.” He looked at her with such trust, such hope. At that moment, all the misery in medical college, the dances she’d skipped and the men she’d ignored, even Zeb Garrison’s cruelty, meant nothing compared to helping a child. “I’m going to get some water.”

She stood and went to the door. Mrs. Jennings interrupted her. “I need to talk to you.” She aimed her chin at the hallway. “Now!”

Nora followed her, but didn’t close the door. She didn’t want Alex to feel abandoned, but neither did she want the orphan to respond to the obvious fear in Mrs. Jennings’s tone. She indicated the door to her room and the two women went inside.

“What can I do for you?” Nora said in a hush.

“That boy can’t stay here.”

“I know you’re concerned about your boarders.” Nora respected contagion, but Alex had nowhere else to go. “We’ll take precautions.”

The landlady shook her head. “Precautions aren’t possible. Not when the accommodations are this full. I can’t give Alex a room of his own. I can’t even give him a
bed
of his own.”

“There must be a way,” Nora argued.

“I wish there was,” Mrs. Jennings replied. “But I don’t see what it could be. I can’t risk the other boarders getting sick. Either find another place for Alex, or I’ll send word to Zeb to take him.”

Nora fought to stay calm. If only she had an office with a sickroom, a place where she could nurse ailing children. But she didn’t. All she had was a building without a roof. If Zeb took Alex, would he allow her into his home to care for the boy? After today’s quarrel, she doubted it.

“I’m sorry,” said the landlady, “but the boy has to leave
today.
”

“I need time,” Nora pleaded. “Tomorrow—”

Mrs. Jennings put her hands on her hips. “And where am I supposed to put the other children who share the room until then? You’ve got until supper to find a place for him, or I’m telling Zeb to come and get him.”

If Mrs. Jennings went to Zeb instead of trusting Nora as a physician, Nora would appear incompetent to the entire town. She had one last hope. “Are Mr. Walker and Cassandra still here?”

“No.”

She’d have to send Percy a note. “I need a little time, just a few hours.”

“Like I said, you have until supper.” Mrs. Jennings left with a worried frown.

Stifling a groan, Nora pressed her fingers to her temples. As she sat on the narrow bed, her eyes went to the painting she’d hung on the wall. A gift from her parents, it portrayed the house where she’d grown up. The artist had captured it on a spring day when the gardens were lush and the windows bright with sunshine. Her father had presented it with a catch in his voice.
No matter what happens, Nora, you’ll always have a home with us.

A home where she’d be expected to marry Albert Bowers. A home where no one respected her skills. Part of her
wanted
to go home. She was tired of fighting for respect, tired of arrogant men and barbed words. Mostly, though, she was tired of being alone. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Why, Lord?” she said out loud. “Why would You lead me here and not provide?”

Even as the complaint left her lips, she heard the falseness of it. Human beings had let her down, but God hadn’t left her side. He knew her needs. He knew that a boy named Alex needed a home of his own, and that a woman named Nora needed one, too. Closing her eyes, she sank to her knees at the
side of the bed, crossed her arms on the mattress and rested her head on her hands.

Please, God. Provide a place for me. Provide for Alex and all the people of High Plains.
She prayed for peace and strength. She named the people she’d met, all the ones she could recall. Last, she prayed for Zeb.
Open his eyes, Lord. Heal his heart from old hurts. Show him Your love and peace.

She rambled until her throat ached, then she said, “Amen” and pushed to her feet. As she headed for the door to check Alex, she realized she hadn’t added her usual plea for a husband. A knot tightened in her chest. Had the Lord said no to that request? Had He brought her to High Plains to be a physician only?

In a final prayer, she bowed her head. “Your will be done, Lord.” And it would.

Calm but fighting despair, Nora wrote a note to Percival Walker asking if he knew of a house she could rent immediately. She asked Jonah, Alex’s friend, to deliver it, then crossed the hall to Alex’s room. If he hadn’t been so ill, she’d have taken the note herself. Instead, she stayed at his bedside, doing the things a mother would do. A cool cloth on his brow fought the fever. She changed the damp sheets and rubbed his chest with camphorated oil. She read to him and hummed a lullaby.

As he dozed, she thought of her brother and how suddenly he’d left this earth. A day was like a thousand years to the Lord, but Nora felt the burden of time. She didn’t have years or even days to find a place for herself and Alex. She needed a house now.

As he lay asleep, a knock sounded on the door. Expecting Mrs. Jennings, she stood and opened it. Cassandra peered into Alex’s room. “How is he?”

“It’s measles, but he’s strong,” Nora answered. “He should be fine.”

“I’m glad.” Cassandra refocused on Nora. “Could you come downstairs? Percy wants to speak with you.”

“Did he get my note?”

She nodded. “I’d already spoken to him at lunch. He has a house that would be perfect. I’ll sit with Alex while you talk.”

Nora wanted to spring down the stairs, but she feared exposing Cassandra to sickness. “Have you had measles?”

“I had them as a child.”

Reassured, Nora brushed by Cassandra and raced down the stairs to the parlor. As she entered the room, Percy stood. “Dr. Mitchell.”

“Mr. Walker.”

“I have the perfect place for you. It’s not common knowledge, but Brice Roysden left High Plains two days ago. I bought his house as an investment. It’s on the west side of town, past the mercantile. If you have a minute, I’ll show it to you.”

“Is it for purchase or rent?”

“Purchase only,” he said.

Nora couldn’t buy a house unless she spent her father’s money. Even with those funds, she might need a loan from the bank, and obtaining one would be difficult. The purchase would be a true act of faith, a risk for the sake of her calling. If she failed to win the town’s respect, she’d have to ask her father for help and he’d expect her to marry Albert Bowers without a fight. The risk made her heart pound, but so did the threats posed by caution. Alex needed a place to recover. So would other children who were likely to fall ill. Nora didn’t enjoy taking chances, but she’d never regretted being brave.