That Certain Spark (18 page)

Taylor stood still.

Mr. Smith’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her holding Lila. “That’s my child.”

Daisy’s voice shook. “And we want to see our Lila grow to be a mama herself one day. Let’s keep the doctor just a little while longer.”

Mr. Smith ground out, “Thirty minutes. She gets thirty minutes.”

Taylor nodded. For the next half hour she worked and prayed.

Grandma took her hand and whispered, “If need be, I’ll come to town with the children. I can drive a buckboard.”

Taylor prayed it wouldn’t come down to that. Thankfully, it didn’t. The children’s chests loosened; the wheezing lightened. She mixed some teas and powders and left very careful instructions for Daisy and Grandma. They each agreed to take a shift so one of them would be up at all times with the children.

“If at any time you need me, send for me.” Taylor shot a look over at Mr. Smith. Would he come for her if one of the children had a crisis? She dispensed last-minute advice and the promised sour balls.

Taylor left the house and went out to the buggy. As Piet put the crate into the rig, Mr. Smith stepped closer and glared down at her. “Don’t think me and my kin are goin’ on your list, because we’re not. You’re not welcome here. Don’t come back.” He turned abruptly and strode away.

While she had worked on the children, Piet had rehitched so his horse was also on the buggy. He assisted her up, then got in and spread a scratchy wool blanket over Taylor’s lap and drove to town.

Rain started falling by the bucketful just before they pulled into the livery. “You can warm up by the forge while I find an umbrella.” Piet helped her down and escorted her to the smithy.

Hearing the clang of hammer on iron warmed her more than any fire ever could. Smith’s words had chilled her to the depth of her soul. How could a father be willing to sacrifice a child’s health—perhaps even her life—in order to prove an argument?

“Your life is more important than your limb.”
Some of the very first words she shared with Karl echoed back to her. Karl would have sacrificed his own life rather than to have lived without his leg, but she knew he’d have gladly sacrificed both of his legs if it meant a child would be well.

“Sis!” Enoch fell into step with them as they entered the smithy and frowned as her teeth chattered. “You’re half frozen.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Since there weren’t any lights on at your office, we thought you might have gotten back and were just trying to warm up here. Sweet pea, I found her.”

“What is Mercy doing out in this weather?” Taylor asked.

“Showing off the new coat your brother got me,” Mercy said as she came toward the fire’s warmth and gave her an embrace. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“Perfectly fine.” It was a lie. She felt sick inside.

“She looks fine. You needn’t worry about her.” Karl nodded, turned away, and started hammering again.

That’s all? No “Hello”? Not, “How are the children?” Just, “You needn’t worry about her”?

Mercy fussed over her. “You need to warm up.”

“I’ll be okay. Your coat is lovely!”

“The doctor is chilled, and she needs to eat,” Piet tattled. “Smith, he pushed. He said she could have thirty minutes more to treat the children and then she had to go.”

Enoch’s jaw went square and tight. Taylor shook her head. “It’s not our decision. I go when called. I help as best I can.”

“He’s a fool,” her brother said.

In her heart she agreed. “He’s their father. Where’s Heidi?”

“Spending the night with the Clarks.” Mercy smiled. “She, Fiona, and Audrey are inseparable.”

The rain let up, so they crossed the open area and got to her back door. Enoch pulled out his key and opened the door. Just as she stepped into the kitchen, Taylor suddenly remembered. “Oh, dear mercy.”

“Yes?”

Taylor laughed but blocked the entrance. “I’m home and I’m fine. I’ll just take the crate and you two can go home now.”

“Sis, don’t be silly. Let us in.”

“No.”

“Sis.”

Taylor couldn’t stand it. This was the humiliating end to a terrible day. She couldn’t let them see. But Enoch gave her a little shove. Mercy, on the other hand, wrapped an arm around her and nudged.

“You poor thing you, you’re so frozen you can hardly move.”

Enoch pushed his way in, shut the door, and lit a kerosene lamp. The entire mess of the kitchen became wholly and completely apparent.

Taylor heaved a sigh. “I’m so ashamed.”

Mercy took a look around the kitchen. With every second that passed, her eyes grew bigger and her jaw dropped just a little bit more. Taylor’s heart sank further, and she felt worse and worse . . . if that were possible.

Mercy collapsed into a chair. “Oh, praise Jesus! I’ve been feeling like such a failure around you, Taylor.”

“You, a failure?” Taylor swung her arms to gesture around the kitchen. “Look at this. No, wait a minute, don’t look at this. I can’t cook. I can’t cook a blessed thing. There isn’t a meal I don’t spoil.”

Bafflement contorted Enoch’s features. “You mean you really haven’t been cooking for yourself?”

“How could you even imagine I’d learn at this late date? Singed, charred, burned—”

“Cremated,” Enoch tacked on as he recalled.

“Exactly.” She turned back to Mercy. “So you cannot possibly tell me you feel completely—”

Mercy laughed until tears were streaming down her cheeks. “But what about that chicken?”

“What chicken?”

“The day I came over and you’d cut apart that chicken so beautifully. I’ve never seen anything like it. Every piece was matched perfection. You’ve read hundreds of books, speak three languages, practice medicine, and up until that day, I admired you tremendously—but when I saw that silly chicken laid out with flawless precision I knew there wasn’t a thing you couldn’t do. I felt so worthless in comparison.”

“Oh, good heavens. And to think I’ve been looking at how you can bake and cook, and how you keep house, and all those other wonderful things you do. Other than seeing patients, I’m hopeless.”

Enoch sat back and looked from his wife to Taylor, then back. A slow grin crossed his face. One side of it faded and the other side of his mouth kicked up in a bigger grin still. “So.”

Taylor looked at him. “So?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s not just that I burn things. You know I’m helpless in a kitchen. You’ve been keeping that from her?”

“I haven’t been keeping that from her. Think about how competent you’ve become—killing and dressing and plucking your own chickens.”

It was Taylor’s turn to laugh. “Hope Stauffer comes to town twice a week with eggs, butter, and milk for the mercantile. We have a deal: I give her two clucking, scratching, noisy things, and she trades me for one very neat, plucked, dressed pullet.”

“It makes sense, sweet pea.” Enoch caressed Mercy’s cheek. “The two women admire what the other can do. It’s just like the body of Christ. Each part has a different function, but they all work together.”

“Exactly.” Taylor nodded. “It’s how the Lord wanted it to be—His children helping one another.”

“Good. Then we’re all agreed.” Mercy rose. “Taylor will be eating with us from now on.”

With her secret out, Taylor would no longer struggle with meals. But two things hung heavy on her heart: the number of patients she still needed on her list, and the fact that Karl was acting like he wanted to be more than a friend.

If she were honest with herself, however, Taylor realized she wasn’t all that bothered by his interest.

Seventeen

I
’ve got a small job for you.” Tim Creighton stood by the partition in the smithy, giving Skyler a good behind-the-ears scratch.

Karl set down his hammer. “What can I do for you?”

“Sydney, her uncle Fuller, and I discussed it. We determined we don’t want our baby growing up on Forsaken.”

Karl jolted. “You can’t be leaving!”

“No. We’re changing the ranch’s name, and I need you to make an addition to the arch over the entry gate. Sydney sketched it out. Think you can do this?”

Karl looked at the paper. “ ‘Never.’ That is very clever. So now it will be Never Forsaken.”

Tim hitched a pant leg and sat on the edge of the smithy’s worktable. “Other than the salvation message, it’s the spiritual lesson I want our children to learn most. I lost years of my life and untold opportunities because I couldn’t comprehend how God would stand beside me in the fiery furnace.”

Karl hadn’t lived in Gooding long enough to have been there when it happened. He’d overheard gossip he’d rather not have heard about any number of people, but he knew grief had left Tim sorely bitter after he’d lost his first wife and baby. How had Tim gotten over that when he and Piet couldn’t break free from the shackles of resentment because God took their little brother? Yesterday had been the anniversary of Lars’ death, and Piet was upstairs, drunk. It was the first time since Karl’s accident that Piet had drunk, and he’d made up for the dry spell with a vengeance.

Tim stared at the anvil. “There’s nothing worse than burying a child. They’re supposed to outlast us. I assumed it was my right to have my son grow up and work alongside me.”

“No one faults you.”
Least of all, me. Lars wasn’t my son, but I still imagined him growing up, the three of us brothers living and working together far into the future.

Tim shook his head. “I fault myself. Being a Christian didn’t guarantee me I’d have no heartache; it promised when heartaches came that I’d have a refuge and strength. Instead of keeping my eyes on the Lord, I suddenly looked only at myself—and in doing so, I cut myself off from accepting the solace of God’s loving presence and the consolation of knowing my family and I would be reunited for eternity.”

Tim’s statement set an avalanche of thoughts into motion. Karl tried to quell his emotions—yet for the sadness that welled, shafts of hope started shining through. “The doctor—she says heaven wouldn’t be heaven if there were no children or babies there. That notion carries much truth in my heart.”

A smile split Tim’s face. “That’s a fine image. A comforting one.” Drumming his fingers on the sketch, Tim thought for a moment or two. “By weeping over Lazarus, Jesus showed us that grief is normal. My problem started when I wallowed in my grief and cut myself off from God and the people I loved. One day I woke up to a startling realization: Clinging to my anger and sadness didn’t make me feel any closer to those I’d lost.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Karl agreed under his breath.

“I’d forsaken my past and forfeited my future—and it shamed me. Louisa and Timmy would have wanted me to be a better man than that. I’d been shaking my fist in God’s face, yet I’d squandered every opportunity He’d given me.”

“You?” Karl couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice.

Tim grinned. “Yeah, me. Repenting and resting in God’s promises isn’t easy. But I do know that I’ve never regretted doing either.”

Concerned that he might reveal too much about himself or show too much emotion, Karl changed the topic. “You might not regret repenting, but that is because you have never read your cousin’s diary, like I did as a boy.” As Tim started chuckling, Karl added, “If I had repented, I couldn’t have told everyone she was in love with the storekeeper who had hair growing out of his ears.”

Tim studied him. “Psalm nine, verses nine and ten is what gave us the idea for adding
Never
to the ranch’s sign. ‘The Lord also will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble. And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee: for thou, Lord, hast not forsaken them that seek thee.’ You’re talking about assessing whether the benefits of what you gain are worth what you’ll relinquish. If you ask me, it’s one of the best deals you’ll ever get.” A smile creased his face. “Better than telling all about your cousin’s secret admiration for the hairy-eared shopkeeper.”

Karl managed a chuckle. The conversation was too personal, too convicting. He tapped a pencil on the sketch. “After I finish this rack, I’ll ride out and take measurements for the sign and get to work on it right away.”

“Thanks.”

After Tim left, Karl couldn’t separate work from the message the sign carried. Forsaken. Never forsaken. All this time, he’d felt God had abandoned him.
God was to be my refuge in times of trouble. That verse—it pointed out how I was to seek Him and trust in Him. I did neither. Forsaken—I’ve forsaken Christ; never forsaken—He’s never forsaken me.

Squinting at Sydney’s sketch more carefully, Karl tried to determine whether she’d intended for the word
Never
to be in italics or if it was simply the slight slant to her ornate penmanship. Under normal circumstances, he’d have paid more attention—but Tim had gotten him thinking.
Even so, heaven holds a million children. What would it have hurt for God to have let us keep Lars?

Shame scalded Karl as he caught himself having that thought.
I felt I deserved to live a life without sorrow, or I shouldn’t have to accept God’s sovereignty.
Fingers tightening around the paper until
Never Forsaken
lifted off the worktable like a banner, Karl stared at that stark and beautiful truth.
Heavenly Father, I beg your forgiveness. I’ve been so foolish and stubborn.

After he prayed, Karl felt a sense of serenity he’d lacked for years. Finally the chains of doubt and pain had fallen away—unlocked by the key of faith. As he pulled iron from the fire and started hammering, a hymn started going through his mind, the lyrics keeping the heartbeat-like cadence of strike and rebound strike of his hammer.
“Whe-en. Pea-eace. Like. A. Riv-er. A-ttend-eth. My. Way.”
He set down the hammer and sang, “ ‘When sorrow like sea billows roll. Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul.’ ”

Piet trundled in from the outhouse. “Doc Enoch wants you to go see him at the barn.”

“All right.”

“I’m sure it’s about his sister,” Piet added. “He’s concerned, and he doesn’t want to worry her. Otherwise, he’d talk to you anywhere, anytime.”

Eager to share the good news of having returned wholeheartedly to the Lord, Karl whipped off his apron. “There’s no better time than now.”

“Wait awhile.” Piet hung his head and mumbled, “Till I feel better, so I can go, too.”

Karl wondered how his brother would take the news that he’d gotten his heart right with God. Should he tell Piet first? Or tell him at the same time as Enoch? “When will you be better?”

Heaving a sigh, Piet buried his head in his hands. “Not for hours. Go. Tell me what he says.”

“I will.”

Piet gave him a bleary-eyed look. “You said nothing, so I will. I have no excuse. I got blind drunk, but it didn’t take away the grief. Nothing brings back our Lars. God—He let me keep you, and I promised to stop drinking. I went back on my word. But I won’t. Not again.”

Karl wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder and led him toward the stairs. “I pray you won’t. But God is faithful to His promises even when men aren’t. So go sleep the rest of this off. Instead of dwelling on the sadness left by losing Lars, why don’t we begin to remember the joy he brought us while he was with us?”

“Hmm.” Piet trudged upstairs.

Karl fought the impulse to go check on Taylor. Recalling seeing her open the back door to Widow O’Toole’s a short while earlier, he knew for the moment she was fine. With Skyler trotting alongside him, he made a beeline for Enoch’s barn.

The inhabitants of the barn were always a surprise. A soft touch, Enoch only had to be shown a sick or suffering animal and he’d render aid. Sensing that, children counted on Doc Enoch to help them rescue whatever animal earned their pity. At present a piglet was the celebrity. Emmy-Lou Stauffer had helped Enoch with splinting her piglet’s broken foreleg, and children wandered in after school to see how Pinkie was faring.

Nearly a dozen hens fluttered and hopped about as Enoch opened the small door and came out into the yard. “Good morning, Karl!” he called.

“It’s not a good morning; it’s a great morning.” When he’d started over to the barn, he’d savored the sense of rightness and peace within his spirit. Suddenly, another emotion joined it: elation. He’d always tended toward being optimistic, but this differed from that. He’d lived on the edge of darkness for years, and now Light flooded his soul. “You’re the first to know what a fine day it is.”

Enoch grinned. “Did you win another hammer toss against Piet?”

“Far better than that. I didn’t walk over here alone. I’m walking with the Savior again.”

“Praise God!” They went into the barn and Enoch gladly listened to his testimony, then they prayed together.

Afterward, Karl looked around. “What do you have going on here?”

“A horse with lampas. Some places, the blacksmith does the equine dentistry. Other places, the liveryman acts as the ‘hoss doctor.’ It’s a nasty case. I thought to have you assist me.”

“Ask Smith. He’s the expert around here. Till you came, he kept the animals patched together as best he could. For lampas, he favored stabbing the roof of the horse’s mouth with a hot stick. The first time I saw him do it, I thought it was barbaric, but he didn’t have anything else on hand to use. Second time, he could have used something different and just plain didn’t bother. I didn’t have the stomach to watch a third. Struck me as a cure being worse’n the problem.”

“Ah. Now it all makes sense. He made it clear that he voted against my coming, and he’s been hardhearted to Taylor. Our arrival equated with a loss of income for him, but Lloyd working for me helps make up for it.”

“Whatever he earned was under false pretenses. He was the animal’s equivalent to that quack Doc Wicky. Piet says you needed to tell me something.” He patted his leg and ordered, “Skyler, stay put.”

An odd expression crossed Enoch’s face. He glanced down at Skyler. “Actually, I need to show you something. Come over here.” They walked to the far corner of a stall, and Enoch squatted down.

Karl hunkered down, too, and nearly lost his balance when he caught sight of what was in the box. “Those pups are—”

“Nursing off a cat. Accepting mamas, cats are—I’ve seen one nurse skunk kits.” Enoch studied his expression. “So that’s not what you noticed. Blood shows—or doesn’t, as the case may be. White was counting on selling off Queenie’s pups. He’s fit to be tied.”

“Her litters bring top dollar. She’s the best coon dog for miles around. Only this time . . .” Karl lifted a mewling little puppy and a rueful chuckle rumbled free. “This isn’t a purebred. Nowhere near pure. Handsome rascal.”

“You ought to think so.” Enoch swiped the puppy. “Skyler’s the sire. First couple of weeks, it wasn’t readily apparent, but it’s glaring now, and White was set to drown them.”

Outrage surged. “Not while I’m still breathing!”

“They won’t suit his needs, so they’re worthless to him.” Mewling and grunting, the pup tried to nip Enoch’s fingertip, so he stuck him back in the box. “One of the kids brought in the litter. They’ll fare well enough since the cat has plenty of milk.”

Widow O’Toole entered the barn, a covered birdcage in her arms. “Doc Enoch, could you please come take a peek at Goldie?” She pulled the cover off the cage, and the canary let out a poor excuse for a song. “She was fine just yesterday. I love her so. Millie and Daniel gave her to me, you know.”

While Enoch went to examine the canary, Karl sat in the hay and stole the pups one at a time for a good look. White was an idiot. He didn’t get exactly what he had expected, but how could he ever want to do away with these helpless little balls of fluff? They’d undoubtedly be as smart as could be and easy to train. Good with children. Delightful and loyal, too. Certainly a far sight better looking than anything Queenie ever had before.

Goldie let out a trill. “Oh, that’s so much better! I can’t believe I missed that thread. What a horrifying accident. It could have cost Goldie her life.”

“She probably thought it was a worm.” Enoch sounded quite soothing. “I’ll carry her cage back for you. It must have grown heavy for you. Before we go, you might take a look over in that stall. Karl’s got puppies.”

“Puppies?” A moment later, Widow O’Toole was kneeling in the straw and hay beside him. “May I?” She didn’t wait for an answer but scooped up a pair. “Aren’t they beautiful? They favor Skyler.”

“Ja, they do.” Karl couldn’t hide the pride in his voice.

Enoch crooked a brow. “White was ready to drown them because they favor Skyler.”

“That dreadful man. Just yesterday he told that new family that’s moving here to have Velma deliver their baby because no one could trust a woman doctor. Is there no end to the paltry hearts and narrow minds some of these men are showing?” Cradling the puppies close, she cooed, “At least you don’t know they’re being mean. Poor Dr. Bestman—she’s getting the same treatment. Men look at the outward appearance and judge her as being less than what they want. According to them, she’s not good enough for them to sign on as a patient—never mind the facts that she’s far better educated and has proven her skill several times over by now.”

“Beginning with my surgery,” Karl tacked on.

“And Mr. Toomel’s shoulder. After each time, more folks saw reason.” Widow O’Toole made an aggravated sound. “Even so, at this rate, there won’t be anywhere near a hundred names on the list by March.”

“I’ve covered Goldie’s cage.” Enoch looked over the stall gate at them. “The barn’s far too drafty for her. I’ll carry her back to your place for you.”

“Thank you.” She popped to her feet quite spryly and followed Enoch outside.

Karl didn’t move. Thoughts assailed him. Taylor was better educated, more competent and cultured, and more forgiving than anyone else in town . . . her brother included. If she’d been male, the mayor would have sprained his shoulder, patting himself on the back for his town attracting such a professional. If anyone had been tested by fire and proven their mettle, surely it was she.