Love's First Bloom (15 page)

Ruth felt the blood drain from her face and bunched her skirts with her hands to keep them from shaking. Taking small, deliberate steps, she managed to get to the settee and take a seat before her legs gave way. Although Elias had no idea that she was, indeed, Ruth Livingstone, his need to protect her as one of Rev. Livingstone’s Prodigal Daughters would serve her just as well.

“I talked to the man at rather great length when I delivered the remedy,” Elias offered quickly. “He told me he spent a few hours in the village yesterday talking to a few people before taking ill, but he made it clear to me that he’s far more interested now in continuing on his journey once he recovers than he is in staying here. I really don’t think he poses any great danger to you or to Lily.”

Ruth blinked back tears. After learning of her beloved father’s death, she had spent every waking hour of every day living in a constant state of emotional and spiritual turmoil, unable to stop the endless flow of tears, unable to find peace, even unable to pray. Now, with a reporter in the village, fear overwhelmed her grief.

“Wh-what do you think I should do?” she asked, half afraid to hear his answer.

He shrugged. “Actually, nothing. I just wanted you to know—”

She nearly choked. “Nothing?”

He nodded. “At least for now. You haven’t been out at all these last few weeks, and I’m not suggesting you should venture out unnecessarily now, at least not until he leaves. But I don’t think there’s any need to panic. Folks have gotten used to seeing you work in the apothecary now and again, so I think you should continue to do that, although today might be a good day to tackle straightening up that storeroom instead of helping me with customers.”

“But what if this Mr. Farrell comes into the apothecary for more of the remedy you gave him last night?”

“There’s no need to worry about that. I told him I’d deliver more to him at the inn. In fact, I’ve already prepared it and intend to walk it over later this afternoon. The remedy itself is fairly potent, so the man should be more inclined to sleep than anything else.” He paused and shook his head. “Trust me, Ruth. Even if he is up to wandering about the village today, he’s far more interested in finding Ruth Livingstone than anything else.”

She exhaled slowly and reined in the temptation to tell Elias, as well as Phanaby, that she was the woman Mr. Farrell was looking for. She’d felt God urging her to remain silent up to this point, and protecting sweet Lily—and the Garners—was now her priority.

He smiled gently. “You do trust me, don’t you? You know I won’t let anything happen to you or to Lily, don’t you?”

She managed to return his smile. “Yes, of course I do,” she whispered, even as her heart trembled.

Fueled by uncertainty, fear, and a growing anger toward her father for leaving her, Ruth had Elias’s storeroom looking cleaner than it had probably been in years.

At the sound of footsteps, she turned and saw Phanaby standing at the bottom of the staircase, holding Lily’s hand. Noting the bonnets they were wearing, she managed a bit of a smile. “Are you going out?”

Lily broke free and toddled over to her. “Come,” she cried and tugged at Ruth’s skirts.

“The storeroom can wait. Do come with us,” Phanaby urged as she walked toward her. “A few of the ladies are cleaning the church today to get ready for tomorrow’s services, and they never turn away an extra pair of hands.”

Ruth rested the broom handle against the edge of a shelf and lifted Lily up for a kiss before setting her back down again. Surprised by Phanaby’s suggestion, she frowned. “Do you really think it’s a good idea for me to go out today?”

“I doubt that reporter is up and out of his sickbed, let alone at the church.”

Ruth moistened her lips and tasted the dust she had stirred up in the storeroom. “I think it would be best I finish up here, but if you’d rather not take Lily with you, I can keep her here with me.”

Phanaby glanced at all the litter on the floor and shook her head. “If I don’t take her with me, she’ll traipse through everything you sweep up and it’ll take you twice as long to finish.”

“So true,” Ruth admitted, then scrunched down and planted another kiss on Lily’s forehead. “By the time you come back, I’ll be all done and we can make cookies together. Would you like that?”

Grinning, Lily clapped her hands, and she did not complain when Phanaby took her hand and led her toward the back door.

Grateful that Phanaby did not argue the point and insist that she accompany them, Ruth turned and picked up the broom again.

“Ruth?”

She turned and saw Phanaby standing at the back door.

“Sooner or later, you’re going to have to go out again, Ruth. You haven’t even gone back to your garden.”

“Yes, I know, it’s just …”

“You’ll need your shawl for services tomorrow,” she prompted. “Perhaps you can slip out to your garden tomorrow morning since you left it there.”

“I’ll try,” Ruth offered, annoyed that she still had not retrieved the shawl she had left behind weeks ago.

“Just be sure to be back in time for services. It’s the last time we’ll have them for a few months since Reverend Haines is leaving to ride circuit on Monday. Which reminds me: I’ll need to stop at the general store to get something I need for the picnic.”

“Picnic?”

Phanaby smiled. “We always have a picnic dinner after services to wish him Godspeed. I mentioned that to you the other day, but it appears as if you’ve forgotten.”

Ruth sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid I did,” she replied, uncertain that she should attend services.

“I wouldn’t worry about that reporter being there, either,” Phanaby said as if reading Ruth’s thoughts. “Based on what Elias told me, the man will be eating nothing but clear broth for the next few days. And, Ruth, you’re not the only one grieving Reverend Livingstone’s passing,” she added gently. “We respected and admired him, too.”

Ruth dropped her gaze and gulped hard until the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks slipped back to refill the well of grief that seemed endless. “I-I know. I’m … I’m sorry, it’s just that it’s so hard to think that … that I was the very last one he was able to help and that no one here, other than you or Mr. Garner, seems to understand what a good man he was, even though he was proven innocent,” she whispered, repeating the words she had first used to explain why she had been so devastated by the death of a man she could not claim as her father.

“Not everyone in the village believes what the newspapers print, and we shouldn’t give up hope. Someone as special as he was will step forward to lead Prodigal Daughters and continue Reverend Livingstone’s ministry,” Phanaby said.

Ruth sniffled twice. The articles in the press that fueled a public clamor demanding to know where she was—and whether or not she was hiding evidence that would have convicted her father—had only gotten worse since his death. She could hardly imagine that the organization he had founded would survive at all, let alone attract the interest of another minister willing to lead it.

When Ruth looked up, Phanaby was nodding while trying to keep Lily from reaching up to open the back door. “Well, then, I think we’d better be off. Since you didn’t eat much at breakfast again, I set up a plate with some jellied bread for you and left it out, just in case you decided not to come with us. Just be sure to eat it all before Mr. Garner finds it,” she said before she opened the door and hurried the two of them off.

Ruth had nearly half the floor swept clean when she heard the door to the apothecary open, followed by hurried footsteps and loud voices that competed for attention. Before she could even wonder what all the commotion was about, Mr. Garner poked his head through the curtain. “There’s been a bit of an accident in front of the general store and two men have apparently gotten hurt. With Dr. Woodward sick himself, I think I should at least see if there’s something I can suggest that will help them,” he said. “I don’t expect anyone this afternoon, but could you just listen for the door? I shouldn’t be long.”

“Go,” she urged, curious as to what kind of accident had occurred.

He nodded his thanks, and she heard him gathering up a few of his remedies before the front door slammed closed.

Except for the gentle swoosh of her broom, she was surrounded, once again, by nothing but silence, and for the very first time that she could recall, she was all alone in this humble dwelling. She paused, struck still by the realization that she was now completely and utterly alone in this world. No one in this village, not one single breathing human being, really knew who she was or why she had come here.

Having a reporter here in the village was a vivid reminder that she needed to make a decision. She could step forward now and reclaim her name, despite the difficulty she’d face trying to prove she had nothing of interest to the authorities or the press. If she did just that, however, how would she explain Lily? Even if she decided to leave the child with the Garners, some reporter would eventually find her and uncover the fact that Rosalie Peale had been Lily’s mother. Could she risk having Lily forever tainted by her mother’s sin? Worse, would the authorities take the child away from her, since she had no rightful claim to her?

Or should Ruth remain silent and keep the identity she had claimed when she left New York City, to protect the child as well as herself?

“I’ll hold my peace, for now,” she whispered, but groaned when she heard the apothecary door open. She shoved the broom into the corner and planted a smile on her lips she knew was too tight even before she parted the curtain to greet the customer waiting for her. After stepping into the apothecary, she took one look at the stranger who had entered the shop and braced her hands on the counter for support.

Dressed in a finely cut suit of clothes that labeled him from the city, the man had a pallid complexion. He appeared to be young, perhaps only a few years older than she was, which surprised her. When he walked toward her very slowly, as if weak or in some sort of discomfort, she realized she was staring at her worst fear in human form. “Mr. Farrell?” she murmured, praying she would be able to hear him confirm his identity over the wild thumping of her heart.

He paused in front of the counter. “Indeed, I am. Did we perhaps meet yesterday before I took ill?”

She swallowed hard. “No, we didn’t, but Mr. Garner mentioned he had been called out during the night to tend to a visitor to our village.”

He groaned, then gripped his stomach with one of his hands. “I suppose I’ve been living in the city for so long that I’d forgotten how easy it is to spot a stranger in a village this small. I’m afraid I couldn’t wait any longer for more of that remedy to be delivered. It helps me to sleep through the pain, which is still quite unbearable. Is Mr. Garner here?”

“I’m sorry. He’s been called out for an emergency; otherwise he would have taken this to you by now,” she offered as she turned and found the remedy Mr. Garner had prepared. She set the dark brown bottle on the counter in front of the man. “I hope you’re feeling better soon,” she offered, without adding that she hoped he would be on Monday’s stage when it left.

He laid several coins on the counter and picked up the bottle. “The sooner I get this stomach of mine back to rights, the happier I’ll be and the quicker I can continue on my journey,” he assured her. He hesitated for a moment before he pulled a small paper out of his vest pocket, unfolded it, and held it out for her to see. “As you no doubt heard, I’m a reporter for the
Galaxy
newspaper, and I’m looking for this woman. Her name is Ruth Livingstone, although she’s probably using another name. Perhaps you’ve heard of her. Her father was recently acquitted in a rather infamous trial—”

“I know who she is,” Ruth managed while staring at the sketch he held in his hands.

“Have you seen her or anyone who resembles her?”

Ruth tried to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest. No wonder the man had made no progress by talking to the villagers. The woman in the sketch looked nothing like her at all, which she considered fortunate since the woman had a large hooked nose, a decidedly weak chin, and a very abundant bosom. “No. No, I’m sorry. I’m afraid not.”

He refolded the sketch and slid the paper back into his vest pocket. “There’s no need to be sorry. No one else I’ve talked to in the village has seen her, either, which isn’t surprising. I believe she’s actually living a good twenty miles south of here. Thank you for this,” he said, holding up the remedy, before he turned and promptly left without giving her a second glance.

With her knees about to buckle from the strain of their encounter, Ruth held onto the counter for dear life until he was outside. Bowing her head, she drew deep gulps of air. After a good five minutes, her heart finally resumed a normal rhythm, only to start racing again when she heard the door open. She looked up and nearly groaned again when a man she had no desire to see, at least at this precise moment, walked into the apothecary.

Sixteen