Skip Rock Shallows (25 page)

Tern lay out in a grove of trees until well past dark, studying what he should do next. His heart ached more than his battered body when he decided it was better not to seek Lilly out personally before he left Skip Rock. The less she had to do with him at the moment, the better. He didn’t want people thinking she was in cahoots with him. No telling what they might do if they thought that.

But no way around it, he had to leave. He had to report to his superiors in DC so the mayhem that was befalling the miners in this place could be set to rights. He had to try, at least. But he’d be back for her. Just the thought of that sweet reunion lightened his spirits.

Along about midnight, he slipped stealthily up the boardinghouse steps and into his room. He left everything in place except for his written reports, some money, his holstered gun, one change of clothes, and a pair of shoes. Nobody would notice that little bit missing. He bundled everything into a raggedy pillowcase he scrounged from the bottom of a stack in the chiffonier. Other necessities he could buy on the road. He still maintained his apartment in the city, so once he got there, he’d be set.

It was easy enough to slip through the night to the clinic. The windows were dark. It seemed nobody was around. Good. He’d leave Lilly a clue. He looked around for a flowerpot or something easy to hide an object in. There was nothing. Taking a chance, he tried the door. The knob surprised him by turning in his hand. Stealthy as a burglar, he crept in. He could hear snores too loud to be a woman’s. Ned was probably sleeping in the back. No matter, he’d be quick.

Two steps in, he saw a desk. That must be Lilly’s. He tiptoed over and fished a number 10 tally marker from his pocket. An eerie feeling stole up his spine. He was being watched. Slowly he raised his hands and turned around, surrendering to the inevitable.

A tiny rustle of feathers greeted him from a birdcage hanging from a stand by the window. The forewarning bird was bathed in a patch of moonlight. Tern had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud as the bird stared at him inquisitively.

“Buddy,” he whispered as he unlatched the cage door, “I don’t know who’s luckier, me or you.” He slipped the tally marker under the first page of newsprint lining the cage floor. “Tell Lilly hello for me,” Tern whispered.

The bird tilted his golden head as if he understood perfectly.

At the livery station Tern sneaked around to the back of the paddock. Trees swayed in a sudden hot wind, and heat lightning surged overhead. It took some work, but he managed to mash a section of the wire enclosure to the ground. Three other horses followed Apache over the trampled fence. Tern wasn’t worried about them. They were all fat, contented-looking mares. They’d go back in as soon as they got hungry. Looking at the ladies, Tern suspected Apache had been enjoying his stay.

With regret, he left his saddle and saddlebags behind. It had to look like one of the horses tore down the fence—not him. Riding bareback, he hunched over against the rain that had started to beat down and maneuvered Apache on up the road. Except for the fact that he was leaving his heart behind, he was glad to be shut of Skip Rock, Kentucky.

Lilly propped the door with the rock that had broken the windowpane three days before.
All things work together for good,
she thought bitterly as she scooted the rock a little to the right with her foot.
Now I have a rock to prop the door.
“Forgive me, Lord,” she said. Lately, all her prayers were apologies. She hadn’t been able to really pray since the tragedy—she’d taken to calling it that.
“All things work together for good”
—what was the rest of that verse? Something about being called? She’d have to look it up. There had to be some comfort for her somewhere.

Yesterday had been dreadful—just dreadful. Finally gathering her courage, she’d taken a carriage to the depot to use the public telephone. It was in a tall and narrow, boxlike room, and it had a folding door for privacy.

Inside that room she’d shouted down the line all the way to Hamilton Hospital in Boston, Massachusetts. Her hand was rigid on the receiver when finally a nurse got Paul for her.

“Darling girl,” he’d said, as cheerful as could be. “Are you on your way here?”

She wished she hadn’t heard his voice. She was all right until the moment he spoke. “Paul, I’m not coming. I won’t be coming, not ever.”

If he replied, she couldn’t hear him over the static on the line. She smacked the wooden telephone box sharply with the flat of her hand.

“—missing a golden opportunity,” Paul was saying. “You will tire of that backward place soon enough.”

Lilly fanned her blouse. The telephone box was stifling. “Please listen. I can’t change how I feel. This is where I need to be.”

“And what of me, Lilly? Do you not need to be with me?”

She leaned close to the mouthpiece. “Forgive me, Paul. Please say you forgive me.”

She heard a woman’s voice say, “Dr. Hamilton, you’re needed in surgery.”

“I only wish you the best, dearest,” he said. “Always and only the best.”

A loud click signaled the disconnection. She’d stood in the box for the longest time staring at the receiver. What she’d done seemed so callous—so antisocial—yelling across the miles instead of telling him in person. How strange the world had become when you could fetch a person like a dog just by picking up a telephone. Perhaps a letter would have been kinder.

A man tapped on the glass of the box. He smiled and held up his pocket watch. He needed to use the telephone. Lilly dried her tears, hung up the receiver, and pulled open the door.

Paul had taken it well. Of course, he would—he was nothing if not a gentleman. And perhaps he wasn’t as upset as she thought he would be.

Relief to have that dreaded task finished flooded her, though her heart still ached. But she didn’t cry. She would not let tears predict Tern’s fate. She would wait on him forever if she had to.

And now, she still waited. Right outside the clinic door, life went on. A heavy rain had washed the grit and dust away, leaving everything looking fresh and clean. A man tipped his hat when he saw Lilly in the doorway. Two boys raced around him. “Last one in’s a rotten egg,” one yelled to the other. The man shook his fist at the boy’s backs. A lady walked down the alley toward the commissary, an empty basket on her arm. She stopped to speak to a woman who was shaking a rug over the side of her porch. If you didn’t look toward the mountains, you could pretend that nothing had changed. But Lilly wasn’t good at pretense.

The first night after the tragedy, she’d been too restless to sleep. She kept a lit lamp in the window for company while she paced the floor. Against all logic, she’d nursed a mustard seed of hope that love would win—that Tern would come to her. And love did win, though Tern didn’t come. She knew she would always love him—always belong to only him.

The thought of him lying crushed under tons of rubble staggered her. He didn’t even have a proper grave. She sat on the edge of her desk and put her face in her hands. Tears leaked through her fingers as her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Myrtie said, coming in, “but ye didn’t have any breakfast. You’ll get sick if you don’t eat—or go bald.”

Lilly raised her eyebrows. “Bald?”

“That’s what happened to my sister when my brother-in-law drowned—silly man was noodling for a catfish. But anyways, she lost most of her hair because she wouldn’t eat.” Myrtie took an apron from a hamper and tied it around her waist. “She’s still half-bald.”

Lilly’s patience was wearing thin. She wished fervently that if Myrtie wouldn’t go away, at least she’d stop going on about nothing. But she fell for the bait. “Noodling?”

“You know, fishing up under the banks, using your hands instead of a pole. My daddy lost a finger that way. He caught a turtle instead of a fish.”

Lilly regretted that Myrtie had learned about her relationship with Tern. It had been easier when she could keep her feelings of loss to herself. But nothing slipped by Myrtie for long.

Matter-of-factly, Myrtie stacked papers and file folders, clearing a place on the desk for a plate of blueberry muffins and a little pot of raw honey. She poured tea from a thermos into a china cup and stirred a teaspoon of the honey into the cup.

Lilly’s temper flared hotter than her grief. In a whirlwind of dark emotion, she pitched the muffin plate out the door and followed it with the honey pot. The cheery yellow-and-black bee on the pot’s lid sailed away, as if it had sprouted wings. She missed her mark with the honey jar. The small earthenware pot thudded against the wall. Tiny beads of amber sweetness dotted the doorframe and pooled on the floor in a sticky mess.

She hated this backward place, and she wished she’d never come here. Stupid place—stupid mines—stupid people—stupid her! She should have done what a good doctor would do and obeyed her head, not her heart. Oh, betraying, treacherous heart. Nothing was worth this pain.

From the back room, she heard the squeak of the pump handle on the sink and the splash of water into a bucket. Myrtie came out, trailing soap bubbles, and set to work on the spilled honey.

“I’m sorry,” Lilly said those empty, meaningless, despised words again.
Sorry . . . sorry . . . sorry.

“I’ve been where you are,” Myrtie said, kneeling with her back to Lilly. “Be days and days I thought my heart would burst open with pure longing after my boy died.” Her rag went round and round. “It all seemed so unfair and useless. My baby was only three years old.” She dipped the rag into the water and wrung it out. “How could a boy be alive one minute and gone the next? I never got a satisfactory answer.”

Lilly’s rage was gone. Her pain had made her selfish and cruel—there was no excuse. She knelt behind Myrtie and wrapped her arms around her friend. “I’m sorry, Myrtie,” she said. Hollow words, she knew, but they were all she had to offer.

They rocked together in the cradle of shared heartache, Lilly drawing strength from her older, wiser friend. Tears flowed and mingled like freshet streams into a river until you couldn’t tell one sorrow from the other.

Finally spent, they sat with their backs against the wall, too exhausted to stand. Lilly rubbed the back of Myrtie’s work-worn hand with her thumb.

“How did you get through it?” she asked.

“You just do,” Myrtie said. “Sorrow’s a tall mountain you climb one inch at a time. You ain’t supposed to do it quick; else you won’t profit from the journey.”

Lilly laid her head on Myrtie’s soft shoulder. “But I don’t want to,” she said.

“I know.” Myrtie patted Lilly’s cheek. “But weren’t he worth it?”

Lilly closed her eyes, welcoming the good memories. She felt the press of her cheek against Tern’s chest. She could smell the clean linen scent of him. She allowed her heart to leap with joy as it had whenever he came into view. His arms surrounded her once again and swept her off her feet. She sighed, giving in. “Yes, he was. Loving him for this short time was worth every tear, every heartache. It was worth climbing the mountain.”

“You’ll be surprised what that mountain will learn you,” Myrtie said.

Lilly blotted tears from her face with one of her embroidered hankies. “I’d get up if I could.”

“Mayhaps someone will come along with a winch,” Myrtie said.

They both laughed a little at the thought.

“Somebody throwed perfectly good muffins out in the yard,” Timmy Blair said, bouncing through the door. Crumbs spilled out the corners of his mouth and down the front of his shirt.

Lilly got the giggles and Myrtie soon joined in. They laughed until cleansing, lighthearted tears flowed.

“Forevermore,” Lilly said when she found her voice again. “Timmy, help me up.”

Jenny followed her brother. She held the lid to the honey pot. It was missing a piece.

Lilly looked at Myrtie. “I’m—”

“Don’t say it,” Myrtie dismissed. “I’ve had my fill of sorrys. Jenny, I wonder would you mind standing on this chair and reaching me down that honeycomb?”

“How’d you get honey way up atop the window, Doc?” Timmy asked, stuffing another piece of muffin in his mouth.

That set Lilly and Myrtie off again. Lilly got a stitch in her side, she laughed so hard. “What are you children doing here?” she finally managed to ask.

“Mother sent us. She thought you might need some help,” Jenny said, wiping the window frame with the soapy cloth Myrtie handed her.

“Well, seeing how you’re here to work, Timmy, how about scrubbing the stoop with this bucket of water?” Myrtie said, gathering up her things. “You kids stay out of Dr. Corbett’s way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.

Lilly sat at the desk, gathering her thoughts. She had rounds to do, if she could remember who was on her schedule.

“Can I play with the forewarning bird?” Jenny asked.

“He’d like that, Jenny.”

Jenny opened the door and the canary flitted from the perch onto her head. “Look.”

“Um-huh.” Lilly shuffled papers, paying half a mind to the girl.

“I should clean his cage,” Jenny said.

“There’s clean newsprint in the back room,” Lilly said while thinking she’d run up to see Aunt Orie this afternoon, then stop and check on Hiram and Lynn and their brood—see if Cleve had painted himself again. It would be good to get away for a while. Maybe Jenny and Timmy would like to go along.

Jenny transferred the bird back to the wooden rod that made his perch. The canary made chirping clicks of contentment from his roost.

Lilly smiled sadly. Except for food and water, she hadn’t paid much attention to the bird lately. She watched Jenny fold the soiled paper and drop it into the waste can from under the desk. The trash made a pinging sound when it hit the bottom.

“Sounds like a coin,” Jenny said, folding a clean sheet of newspaper and putting it on the bottom of the cage. “I hope it’s a quarter.”

Lilly went back to her work. “Whatever it is, you may keep it.”

The girl closed the cage and picked up the can. “I’ll empty this outside so I don’t make a mess.”

Lilly reread the telegram delivered last evening from Ned. Elbows was fair. Doctors expected a full recovery. Ned would be home tomorrow—all such welcome news. She uncapped her pen and dipped it in the inkwell. She’d catch up on her notes before she left for the Eldridges’.

“It wasn’t a quarter,” Jenny said, coming back in with the waste bucket.

“Oh, just a nickel or a penny?” Lilly said.

“Not even that,” Jenny sighed, disappointed. “Just this old thing.” She dropped a smooth, round object on the desk.

Time stood still. “Where did you get this, Jenny?”

“It was in the bottom of the cage. Didn’t you hear it hit the can?”

Lilly covered the disk with her hand. She didn’t have to examine it, didn’t even have to turn it over to read the number on the front. She knew what it was and the gift of it nearly took her breath. “Jenny, will you send Timmy to find Mr. James?”

Each day Lilly went about the business of being the only doctor in Skip Rock. Each evening she waited for Tern. A tally marker, suspended from a fine gold chain, nestled in the hollow of her throat. She’d vowed to wear it until she was in Tern’s arms again. Her pearls rested unperturbed in their velvet casket—a reminder of another life.

When Ned came home, he had brought Lilly’s revised contract from Dr. Coldiron. She’d gotten everything she asked for and then some. When the time was right, she would arrange education classes for women. They could use the schoolhouse after hours. Lilly hoped Myrtie would agree to be the teacher.

Her other petition was easier to instigate. Ned jumped at the chance to be trained as her medical assistant. He only needed to convince Armina that once they were married, she would need to move to town. Lilly would let him do that convincing on his own.

She slept little and ate less. Her dresses hung on her slim frame, aggravating Myrtie no end. When her faith wavered, she held the tally marker in her hand. On the tenth night she prepared for bed in the way that was now her custom—fully dressed, sitting by the open door. Like any other doctor worth a grain of salt, she could rest perfectly well in a straight-backed chair, sleeping in fits and starts.

This night was different from the others. She was weary and restless, startling awake at every screech owl’s call, every dog’s howl, every bump in the night. Resolved to no slumber, she stepped outside. The stoop was bathed in moonlight. She sat on the edge of the small porch and gazed out into the night. Cleve slid out of the darkness, quiet as a cat, and sat down beside her, bearing witness to her vigil.

She put one arm around the dog, leaning into him for comfort. They sat that way for minutes that stretched into half an hour and then an hour. Lilly grew numb and slightly chilled.

“We should warm a cup of milk,” she said.

Cleve turned his long nose toward her as if to say,
“Two cups, please.”

But she didn’t move. She’d wait just a little longer. She patted the dog’s side gently, then rested her hand below his rib cage. A low growl vibrated against her fingertips. Ears at attention, the dog stood snarling at an unseen presence.