Stephanie Mittman (26 page)

“I told Seth that I was buying the table linens for my trousseau,” she said. “I figured it would make sense if he saw them addressed to St. Louis.”

“Very clever,” Emily said.

“I have to be. He’s got to go on to a new life before I get any worse. He has to be happy enough somewhere else that if he ever hears the news, I’ll just be some fond memory.”

“You remind me so much of your brother,” Emily said. “So unselfish in your love. I know you’re wrong about this condition of yours, I know that Dr. Bartlett will laugh when you tell him your fears and someday you and Seth and Ansel and I will all be happy and we’ll know that Sarrie is looking down on us smiling.”

Abby would have said something if her heart hadn’t been stuck in her throat. She’d have told Emily how much she loved her and that she wouldn’t know what
to do without her. She’d have told her that she and Ansel deserved every happiness. But she’d have kept to herself the question of what would happen when Emily and Ansel and Sarrie were all together in heaven.

Well, she supposed she’d know soon enough.

“She sending that stuff down to St. Louis?” Seth asked Frank Walker when he got back to the mercantile.

Frank said she was. He was much more concerned about Abby’s fainting spell than he was about her purchases.

“Keyed up about the wedding,” Seth explained. He wondered if that was all it was. She’d certainly done an about-face with him, and now she was starving herself for some man whom Seth had never even heard about until a few months ago. The wonder wasn’t that she was keyed up, it was that she was running off to marry some man she didn’t love, couldn’t love. He’d held her. He’d taken her. He knew.

“Suppose she’ll be the one breaking in that new church altar?” Frank asked.

“I suppose she will,” Seth agreed. Another reason not to build that church—one he hadn’t even thought of when he’d opposed it.

“How’s that bicycle working out for you, Doc?” Frank asked.

He’d forgotten all about the bike. Maybe he’d give it to Abby and Armand as a wedding gift. It was the first time he’d linked their names, even in his mind. He didn’t like how well they fit.

He decided to give the bicycle to Jed. No doubt he’d turn it into something else, but that was just as well. The thought of two people pedaling in tandem through life hurt an inordinate amount. He’d be happy to be rid of it.

“You have a finer cloth than the one she was looking at?” Seth asked.

Frank pulled out a carefully wrapped cloth from behind the counter. “Out of her price range,” he said. “Didn’t even show it to her.”

“Send it to the address she gave you,” Seth said. “And charge it to my account.”

“The napkins are extra,” Frank told him.

“Twelve of them,” Seth said. “I expect that she’ll be throwing quite a few dinner parties once she has a home of her own.”

“She strikes me that way too,” Frank said. “You ever see anyone smile more than Miss Abby?”

“She is quite a smiler,” Seth agreed. Except lately. Lately she’d hardly smiled at all. She’d hardly been herself. Maybe she was having trouble living with her choice. And maybe she deserved that trouble.

He took a few minutes to find some shaving soap, buying just a small bar of it since he’d be leaving Eden’s Grove before too long, a new comb since he’d misplaced his good one, and a half a pound of black licorice nibs, though he hadn’t a clue why he wanted them.

On his way out he ran into Emily Merganser. Everyone liked Emily, almost the way they liked Abby. Except that Emily was more reserved, had more common sense. Her manners were more refined—

“Oh, Dr. Hendon!” she said with a gasp. “Why are you here?”

“Just picking up a few things.” He indicated the sack he was holding, surprised by her inquiry.

“Oh,” she said with a tinkly little laugh that didn’t suit her at all. “Of course you were. Of course.”

So he’d been wrong about her. She was a good deal odder than he recalled, but then women were rapidly becoming a mystery to him. “Well, you take care of yourself now,” he said, tipping his hat.

“Oh by the way, when exactly is that new doctor coming?” Her tone of voice was offhanded, as if she couldn’t care less, but the anxious expression on her face told Seth that she did.

“Why? Aren’t you feeling well? I haven’t shut down my practice yet, Mrs. Merganser. I’ll be happy to see you whenever you need.”

She waved her hand in the air. “Me? I’ve never been better. Nothing like a bun in the oven to warm the heart, so to speak.”

Seth had never heard Emily speak gibberish before, but he should have expected that, sooner or later, the Mergansers would rub off on her.

“I was just thinking about doing something to welcome the new doctor,” she said, brightening as if she’d just decided it was a good idea, “and I need to know how soon he’ll be here.”

“I can’t really say for sure,” Seth said.

“Okay, then some idea? This week? Next?” She appeared almost desperate.

“Are you sure there isn’t something I could help you
with? Everything fine with the baby? You having any difficulties?”

“You really are an impossible man,” she said, her feathers obviously ruffled. “All I want to know is how soon Dr. Bartlett will be here.”

“I’m not certain. A few days, I suppose. There will be plenty of time to plan your party after he gets here,” Seth told her, trying to get past her and out the door.

“We may not have all that much time,” she said. “I mean there’s a lot of preparation involved. And we want to have the party before you leave. You will wait until after he’s here and settled before you go on your grand adventure, won’t you?”

“If it means you’ll let me get back to work now, I’ll say yes,” he said, this time managing to get around her and get his hand on the doorknob.

“You’ll be here another week? she called out to him. “‘Two weeks? Three?”

S
ETH WAS STANDING IN THE
H
ERALD‘S
OFFICE
looking like a lost puppy when Abby got there Wednesday morning. Her heart leaped despite the circumstances. She supposed that for as long as it beat, it would leap at the sight of him.

“Sorry I’m late,” she told Ansel before acknowledging him. “Hello, Seth. Something I can help you with?”

“He’s worried about Emily,” Ansel said, cracking his knuckles the way he always did when he was nervous.

If she hadn’t just come from Emily’s, if Emily hadn’t told her all about her encounter with Seth and how she’d given him the third degree about when the new doctor was coming, Abby would be worried, too.

Of course, for Seth’s sake she had to appear worried, but not so much that Ansel would throw his fingers out of joint. Never mind a tangled web—she was walking on one thin strand of spider spinnings.

“I just saw her this morning, and she seemed very well,” she said. “What has you worried?”

“She kept asking about the new doctor,” Ansel said
before Seth could answer, which was just as well because Abby didn’t want Seth’s voice melting her resolve and making her doubt her own decision.

“Oh, that,” she said, as if that news was older than her papa’s best pipe. “Of course she’s worried about the new doctor coming. She’s having a baby and this new doctor is going to … well, it’s hard to explain to men. I mean, well, she’s comfortable enough with Dr. Hendon, but—”

She fumbled around enough to make both Ansel and Seth uncomfortable and then just raised her hands as if she gave up trying to explain the vulnerability a woman felt when she climbed up on that examining table and let the doctor poke in places that were no man’s business beside her husband’s.

Seth blushed just a little. The sound of Ansel’s knuckle cracking filled the room.

“So when
is
that new doctor coming?” Abby asked, taking out a pad of paper and a pencil as if what she was asking was hot news. “And how soon after he comes will he be taking over the practice? And how soon will you be leaving after he arrives?”

She looked at her pencil, poised over the paper and not at Seth, who had yet to say anything.

“And what about the doctor’s credentials? I know that he’s from Massachusetts General, and that you’re very impressed with him. I presume he’s a general practitioner and not one of those new specialty doctors, right?”

“He’s a surgeon,” Seth said quietly. “Or he was. Now he is interested in a general practice. He seems
fascinated by colds and coughs, judging from his letters.”

Her sight had diminished. She tasted nothing. Why couldn’t her hearing fail her so that she didn’t have to feel Seth’s words slide over her skin like balm of Gilead? “And he’ll be arriving? …” she asked, all professional, all newspaperwoman.

“I suspect by the end of the week,” Seth said. “He’ll miss tonight’s prayer meeting, no doubt, but he’ll probably be here in time for your father’s sermon on Sunday.”

“Oh, dear! Do you think we’ll be able to convince him to stay after that?” she asked.

“You do expect to stay until he’s made a commitment to Eden’s Grove, don’t you, Seth?” Ansel asked.

Abby stifled a groan. Emily had pleaded with her to let Ansel in on her secret, but she’d adamantly refused. There was nothing worse than long good-byes.

“Eden’s Grove seems to be just what he’s looking for,” Seth said. “I expect I’ll be leaving in less than a fortnight.”

“Good,” Abby said, though she hadn’t meant to say the word aloud. Luckily she hadn’t said
Thank God!
“I mean, good for you! Still planning to pan for gold?”

“I think I’m headed south,” he said, obviously annoyed by her joy at his imminent departure. “Ella Welsh and I are—well, you don’t need that for your article. What was it you wanted to know?”

Ella Welsh?
That gold-digging, conniving, loose-moraled, over-the-hill concubine? That rouge-wearing, whispering hussy?

“His full name is Ephraim J. Bartlett. He’s a senior
resident in surgery at Mass. General. Or he was. He took off the last several months and found he missed medicine, but not surgery, and so he has the notion that a small-town practice would be just what he’s looking for.”

Abby managed to write the man’s name.

“He is widowed, and has grown children who live not too far from here, which played heavily in his decision, I would think.”

Abby managed to write “dead” and “children.”

“He won two grants, one on the use of something called X rays, and one in connection with some sort of research at the McLean Asylum in the field of surgical reversal of insanity. He was also one of the pioneers in the field of asepsis, but you might want to leave that out, since Eden’s Grove has already shown that they have no interest in that subject.”

She got down “surgical reversal of insanity.”

“Anything else you want to know?” he asked.

“When did you say he was coming?” Ansel asked.

“Soon enough for Emily to get used to him before her time comes,” Seth assured him.

“And Ella Welsh?” Abby asked. “Did you want to make some statement on that subject?”

“Ah, Abby! Let’s leave that sort of thing for your ‘Dear Miss Winnie’ column, shall we?”

He had no idea he could be so petty, enjoy so much the look of dismay on Abby’s face when he’d mentioned Ella Welsh. Oh, it was just fine for her to flaunt her marriage to some French gigolo who’d never even
bothered to come up to Eden’s Grove to meet her parents, but let him mention that he and Ella were leaving on the same train and the girl’s hackles rose.

Maybe he and Ella ought to discuss just when it was she was planning to leave. And maybe he’d like to hear more about where she expected to wind up. And further, maybe it would be pleasant to have this discussion at the Eden’s Grove Grand Hotel dining room, where everyone might see them.

And maybe tomorrow night, while all the men who were putting their backs into that new church were soaking their splinters out, he’d be feasting with Ella Welsh. Just maybe.

He’d hardly gotten the daydream started when he heard the cries and shouts from outside his already half-cleaned-out office, and opened the door in advance of the knock.

“Jed smashed his fingers,” Paul Ivers said. “We were stacking up the wood for tomorrow, making piles for each man, and the wood slipped out of my hand and—”

“They’re broken,” Jed said, holding out his hands, one clutching the other, to show him.

“Could be,” Seth agreed. “Or could just be banged up good. How many boards are we talking about?”

“One,” Jed said. “But it was a long one.” He cradled his hand until he was sure that Seth was taking his injury seriously enough. “And don’t forget I’ve got my flying machine to work on.”

Bending the finger ever so slightly, Seth could see that the bone was clearly broken, the tip of it protruding through the surface of Jed’s skin.

“I’ll have to wrap them in plaster,” he told Jed. “But first I’ll have to set them right and that’s gonna hurt you quite a bit.”

Jed nodded.

“How are things at home?” Seth asked, trying to distract him while he cleaned the injured skin. “We’ll have to splint two of your fingers.”

“Well, you’d think that no one ever got married before. Mama’s all in a tizzy over Abby’s wedding,” Jed said before wincing and telling Seth that the carbolic acid burned.