Kansas Courtship (12 page)

“You can’t let Matilda run amok,” Pete insisted. “You’ve got to do something.”

“Like what?” Zeb countered. “Marry her the way
you
married Rebecca? Not in a hundred years, friend. Not
ever.
”

Will and Pete traded a look Zeb knew well. His two friends didn’t believe a word he’d just said. He wasn’t sure he believed them himself. He only knew he couldn’t live with the way he’d treated Nora. He had to make amends, but how? Looking at the orange glow of the forging table, Zeb had an idea. Reverend Preston would pick up the oak in three days. Zeb would cut and plane it himself. He’d give the wood to her as a peace offering.

Talk among the men turned to the heat of the day, the need for rain and plans for the future. All the while, Zeb kept seeing the oak and a pair of blue eyes that made him forget Frannie. He wouldn’t apologize. He couldn’t let down his guard, but he hoped she’d understand.

N
ora felt awkward having Reverend Preston in her clinic building shelves, but Carolina assured her the minister would appreciate the work. The residents of High Plains had pooled their resources to build a lovely church, but they couldn’t manage a salary for a full-time minister. Just as the apostle Paul had supported himself as a tentmaker, Reverend Preston built cabinets.

He’d been working on Nora’s shelves for three days, and she’d enjoyed chatting with him. Last night she’d invited the reverend and his wife for supper. Susanna Preston had been standoffish, but Nora had enjoyed the story of their trip West. Like most of the residents of High Plains, they’d followed Zeb and Will with a sense of purpose.

As the reverend bent to lift his toolbox, Nora ran her hand over the countertop. The oak had been sanded to the texture of satin. “The shelves are beautiful. How much do I owe you?”

“Not a penny.” Standing tall, he lifted the heavy box in one hand.

“I can’t accept a gift from you, Reverend. It’s too much.”

“They’re not from me.”

Her brows snapped together in confusion. “I don’t understand. We agreed on a price.”

“And it got paid.” He faced her with a twinkle in his eyes. “The person you need to thank is Zeb Garrison.”

Shock tingled from her brain to the tips of her toes. When she’d hired Reverend Preston, she’d used a precious bit of her savings. She’d also asked him to build a waist-high examination table. By paying for the carpentry, Zeb had given her breathing room. But why? She hadn’t seen him since the day he’d slammed the door in her face.

The reverend headed into the parlor, then lifted his black hat off the peg by the door. Pulling it low, he smiled. “It’s been a pleasure, Dr. Nora.”

He’d picked up on the nickname Alex used. “The pleasure’s been mine.”

“If Alex is up to it, I hope to see you both in church tomorrow.”

“It’s too soon,” she said diplomatically.

“For him or for you?”

Nora had to be honest. “For both of us. Alex is still recovering, and I’d like to avoid a fight with the Ladies Aid Society.”

She’d received a second letter, this one even more insulting than the first. She’d also treated three children for measles. Mrs. Jennings had given up and let everyone stay at the boardinghouse. She’d invited Alex back, but Nora enjoyed his company. With each day, she became more established as a doctor. With time, she hoped Matilda Johnson and her cohorts would accept her.

The reverend’s expression turned wry. “I know all about the Ladies Aid Society. My wife’s a member, but some of those ladies enjoy gossiping. I don’t allow that kind of nonsense on Sunday mornings. You’re welcome in God’s house anytime.”

“Thank you.”

He tipped his hat and strode through the door, leaving Nora with a yearning to hear him preach. She didn’t miss New York, but she missed going to church with people she’d known all her life. Here in High Plains, she’d be an unwelcome stranger. Knowing she’d find hostility instead of friendship, she’d put off that first visit and planned to delay it again.

“Dr. Nora?” Carolina came around the corner from the staircase. “Alex wants to come downstairs.”

“Sure.”

Because of the carpentry work, she’d moved the boy to her room. This morning she’d move him back to the sickroom where she could watch him while she arranged her medicines on the shelves. Later today she’d visit the boardinghouse to see her other patients. The measles outbreak was small and under control. Nora had done a good job, but she couldn’t take full credit. She’d learned from Carolina that measles had gone through Bellville three times in the past ten years. Most of the folks in High Plains had acquired immunity before traveling west.

Carolina looked at the new shelves. “Reverend Preston does nice work. I’m sure he gave you a good price.”

Nora traced a swirl in the wood. “Actually, he gave Zeb a good price.”

“Zeb?”

“He paid for the shelves without telling me.”

Carolina hummed with curiosity. “A week ago he left here like a cat on fire. Are you sure it was the same man?”

Nora set a jar on a shelf. “The reverend told me when I tried to pay him. I didn’t ask questions.”

“It seems to me the shelves speak for themselves.”

Nora huffed. “I didn’t think
wood
could talk.”

“It can’t,” Carolina said, smiling. “But those shelves are a peace offering if I ever saw one.”

“I guess,” Nora admitted.

The nurse stepped to the cot in the corner and removed the sheet protecting it from sawdust. As she folded it, she sneezed. “Maybe we should invite Zeb for supper.”

The sneeze reminded Nora of quarreling with him at the mill. “He wouldn’t come. And if he did, he’d be rude and I’d get angry.” She’d also feel the sweet yearnings she’d discovered at the river.

Hugging the sheets, Carolina walked to the doorway and turned. “A thank-you is in order and tomorrow is Sunday. Why don’t you go to church. Zeb will be there.”

Nora didn’t feel ready to see him. “I’ll send a note.”

“And miss seeing his reaction?” Carolina smiled. “One look will tell you what we’re both wondering.”

“And what’s that?” Nora asked.

“Why he did it.”

Nora had the same question, but going to church meant facing Zeb in public. She preferred dealing with her enemies one at a time. “I don’t think so.”

“Go on,” Carolina urged. “Not only do you deserve a day of rest, Reverend Preston has a way with words.”

Nora wanted to hear the minister preach, but she’d had her fill of malice from Zeb and the Johnsons. On the other hand, she longed for the beat of a rousing hymn, the peace of a silent prayer. She also saw a chance to chat with the families she’d visited and affirm her presence as a physician. She wouldn’t survive for long if she didn’t see more patients.

“You need to be there,” Carolina insisted. “If people get to know you, they’ll trust you. Look at Alex. You helped him.”

“I hope so.”

“And Bess. She hasn’t spoken yet, but she
wants
to. Yesterday when she came to the door, she opened her mouth instead of clamping it shut.”

Nora saw progress, but Bess had a ways to go. “I’m trying, but it’s not enough.”

“You’ve done plenty,” the nurse insisted. “She feels safe with you.”

Nora wished she felt as safe in High Plains. Even church posed a danger. The Ladies Aid Society would gossip about her. Even more troubling, she’d see Zeb looking handsome in his Sunday best. She traced a swirl in the oak. It dipped and rose, narrowed, then spread around a knot as dark as Zeb’s heart. Only God could remove that hardness. In Nora’s experience, the Lord would either soften hard spots with love, or He cut them out with suffering. As a physician, she knew about surgery and scars. She also knew God’s ways. She couldn’t avoid Zeb just because he upset her. “I’d love to go to church,” she said to Carolina. “Are you sure about staying with Alex?”

“Of course.” The older woman tipped her head. “I’ll press a dress for you. Which one?”

Nora thought for a minute. “The copper silk.” The one she’d worn to the mill…the one that had caught Zeb Garrison’s eye. Why she cared, she didn’t know. If he spoke to her at all, he’d be insufferable. As for the Ladies Aid Society, only the meanest of souls would accuse a woman dressed in brown of low moral character.

Zeb walked into church five minutes late and slid into the back pew. He figured Cassandra would be seated up front with the Logans. When he didn’t see her, he scanned the middle seats and spotted her with Percival. Zeb wished he’d dragged himself out of bed sooner. Cassandra and Percy were seeing too much
of each other. If Clint didn’t wise up, she’d be headed back to Boston as Mrs. Percival Walker, a thought Zeb loathed.

He also loathed church and attended for one reason. It was easier to sleep in the back row than it would be to explain his absence.

He never had liked Sunday services. As a boy, he’d been bored and fidgety. As a man, he knew the weaknesses of his character and didn’t need to be reminded. He stumbled every day, though not as badly as he’d fallen in Boston. After Frannie left, he’d disappeared for three days and done things he deeply regretted. There hadn’t been any pleasure in that darkness, only a numbness that had burned like fire in the light of dawn. He’d been ashamed of himself and hadn’t stumbled since, at least not in that way. No one knew about that ugly time, not even Will. He supposed God knew, but the Almighty didn’t seem to care. At least he hadn’t struck Zeb dead, which at the time seemed preferable to living without Frannie.

The hymn ended with a tremulous amen and the congregation sat. As the air stirred, he smelled lavender. He looked to his right and saw Nora seated four feet away. Her eyes were riveted to the pulpit, but the blush on her cheeks indicated she’d noticed him.

He had to wonder…did she like the shelves? He’d planed the wood himself and had a splinter in his thumb to prove it. He’d tried soaking it, but it hadn’t come out. He’d gone after it with a sewing needle and picked until it bled, but the sliver wouldn’t budge. The annoyance seemed fitting. His conscience also had a splinter, the kind that wouldn’t come out until he apologized. He’d hoped for a note from her, something to acknowledge the peace offering. Judging by the tightness of her mouth, she didn’t have that note in her pocket.

Zeb faced forward. He’d given her a gift, a nice one. Did she
want his pride, too? She couldn’t have it. He refused to grovel in front of anyone.

Reverend Preston stepped to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, let us pray…”

Zeb bowed his head out of habit, not humility. He heard words like
charity
and
neighbor,
but he felt neither charitable nor neighborly. If Dr. Mitchell wanted to make peace, it was her turn to bend.

Reverend Preston cleared his throat. “Please stand for our next hymn, ‘Just as IAm.’ It’s number eighteen in your hymnals.”

The book was sitting to his right. So was Nora. When he reached for it, so did she. Their hands stopped in midair just inches apart over the black leather. Zeb’s gaze traveled up the sleeve of her brown dress to the high collar, past her jaw to her blue eyes. As their gazes collided, she raised her chin. He indicated she should take the book, then faced forward. She could have the hymnal. He didn’t like to sing anyway.

Pages fluttered as books were opened and couples bumped shoulders. The rustling reminded him of the wind. Wind reminded him of the tornado and how empty he’d felt with death a breath away. He still wanted a legacy, a son who’d inherit Garrison Mill, but the thought didn’t bring the satisfaction he expected.

His chest felt as hollow as a drum, each beat more lonely than the last. The scent of lavender rushed into his nose and he turned. Nora had stepped to his side with the hymnal open and cradled in her hands. When she tilted her face up to his, he saw the trepidation of a woman who’d had a door slammed in her face. He couldn’t blame her for being wary of him. He’d treated her terribly and he knew it. A wry smile lifted his lips. It said
I’m sorry
without words.

She smiled back, then looked down at the page. Zeb
pinched a corner of the book and together they sang the first words of the hymn.

“Just as I am, without one plea…”

Zeb doubted God wanted him just as he was, but he sang anyway. So did Nora. Her voice, a timid soprano, didn’t match her hair. With their shoulders nearly touching, she seemed smaller than she had at the mill.

Wanting to bear some of the load, he slid his right hand beneath the hymnal and held it for them both. His thumb grazed the tip of her glove and she pulled back, but only a bit. He felt a sudden lightness at her touch, a lifting of his heart as she sang the words. Did Will feel this camaraderie with Emmeline? Did Pete share it with Rebecca? Zeb recalled his friends laughing at his tirade about women and felt foolish. Instead of chasing Nora out of High Plains, he wanted to kiss her senseless. What a thought to have in church! Surely God would strike him dead…except He didn’t. Instead, for the first time since Frannie had jilted him, Zeb felt joy rising as he sang with Nora…

He didn’t want to think about Frannie and pardon in the same breath, but he very much wanted to be cleansed and relieved of the past. For two years he’d lived with claw marks on his heart. Did he want to feel that sting the rest of his life? No, he didn’t. He didn’t want to waste two more minutes on Frannie. The thought freed him, but only for an instant. Forgiving Frannie was one thing. Risking his heart on a lady doctor was another.

When the music ended, he closed the book and they sat. Nora folded her hands in her lap. Zeb rested his palms on his knees.

“Good morning!” Reverend Preston boomed. “This is the day our Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.”

Nora breathed deeply, as if she were savoring a rose. Zeb tried not to fidget.

The reverend opened his Bible. “More than forty days ago, a tornado ripped our town—and our lives—to pieces. Some of us lost loved ones. Others lost homes. We
all
lost sleep and had bad dreams. We became fearful of the unknown, the uncertainties hidden in clouds on the horizon. Today I want to talk about another storm. This one happened in the days of Noah. It lasted forty days and forty nights and tested the faith of a brave man and the people who trusted him.”

Zeb’s fingers knotted on his knees. He hadn’t built an ark, but he and Will had captained the journey to High Plains. Dozens of families had followed them. He felt responsible for their safety. The reverend had his full attention as he described Noah battling the storm, the rise and fall of the waves, the smell of too much life in small quarters. Zeb thought of families living in shacks. He had to keep the lumber coming for houses.

“What gave Noah his strength?” the reverend asked. “Did he have a compass to find land? Could he meet every need on that storm-tossed boat?”

The reverend paced the length of the pulpit, then looked at Zeb. “Noah couldn’t do it alone. That’s why he leaned on the Almighty. He prayed. He
believed
God would see them through the storm.”