Believing the Dream (15 page)

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Does your husband, I mean, Reverend Mueller know how you are?”

Mrs. Mueller shook her head. “I don’t want to bother him. He needs an evening of enjoyment.” She patted Elizabeth’s hand. “It will be a long time yet. I should know. I’ve done this before.”

Have you ever
. Elizabeth wanted to run over and drag the doctor back to his patient, but she didn’t want to make a scene.

Annabelle stood in the cedar-draped doorway and shook a string of sleigh bells. “Refreshments are served, and then we will have our evening’s entertainment.” She looked square at Elizabeth when she made her announcement.

“May I bring you a plate?” Elizabeth squeezed Mrs. Mueller’s quivering hand.

“No. No, thank you, dear. I’d best not eat anything just now.” She touched the young woman’s hand as she turned to leave. “Please begin your concert soon, then I will ask the reverend to take me home.”

“Oh, I will.” Elizabeth looked across the room to see Reverend Mueller talking with another man as the two of them strolled through the doorway. He didn’t even look her way, let alone ask his wife to join him.
Has the man no sensitivity for his wife at all?
The urge to run and grab him by the hand made her shake.
What is the matter with him?

Elizabeth made her way to her mother’s side. “Can I—” She stopped herself. No need for her mother to become involved. Most likely Mrs. Mueller was right. After all, she’d done it often enough.

“Yes, dear, what is it?” Annabelle left off a conversation and turned to her daughter.

“Ah, the party is going well.”

“Yes, it is.” She turned to answer a question from Cook.

Elizabeth faded into the crowd. Her mother was in her element. No sense to cast a shadow on the party.

“Are you all right?” Thornton materialized at her elbow, plate in hand. “I brought this for you.” He held out one of the plates as an offering. “I reserved us a spot on the piano bench.”

“Thank you. Let me get some more punch.”

“I already put that by the piano.” He motioned over his shoulder.

Elizabeth glanced up to catch laughter lighting his eyes.

“What?”
Do I have something on my chin?
She wanted to check in a mirror.

“Nothing, you just always look so surprised when I do something for you.”

“Oh.”
Now, why can’t the reverend treat his wife like this?

“What’s wrong?”

“Why?”

“A frown just trampled the edges of your smile and stole the light from your eyes.”

She could feel the blush race to her hairline. “Thornton, you must be a poet under your happy-go-lucky exterior.”

“Who, me?” His eyes widened. “For a fellow who studies as hard as I, surely that is a misappropriated description.”

Elizabeth cast a gaze heavenward. “Let’s just go eat. I never win when you tease me like that.”

“No, you just decimate my ego in chess and croquet.”

“Have we played whist?” She settled herself on the walnut bench.

“No, and we won’t. I have taken a vow to never again play cards or any other game with you. You always win.”

Elizabeth looked across the room to Mrs. Mueller sitting with her head resting against the back of the chair, her eyes closed.
Would that
I could win at every game, if I could be so bold as to think of doctoring
a game
.

Mrs. Mueller’s hands suddenly strangled the arms of the chair.

“Here, take this.”

“But you’ve hardly eaten anything.” Thornton looked from Elizabeth to her barely touched plate. “Surely there is time—”

“No, maybe not.” She stood and, shaking out her skirt, sat back down on the piano bench and rested her fingers on the keys. “Please go and sit by your aunt, and when you see that she looks uncomfortable, go fetch Dr. Gaskin.”

“What . . . you don’t mean . . . ?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bless you, Thornton, you did as I asked without question.

Thornton made his way across the room, smiling and greeting folks as he passed but never getting sidetracked. He moved the footstool in place and sat in front of his aunt.

Elizabeth watched him smile and offer the woman a tidbit, then at her bidding went for something in the other room, returning with a cup of punch. So who is the more typical of the male species? Reverend Mueller or Thornton Wickersham, my father or—or Thorliff Bjorklund? Surprised that his name had sprung to her mind, she heard “Greensleeves” rippling from beneath her fingers.

One by one the guests made their way back to the chairs. Her father brought in more seats from the other rooms, as if they wouldn’t hear her playing from the study or dining room.

At her mother’s nod she hit several chords as an introduction and then went into the opening bars of “Hallelujah!” from Handel’s
Messiah
.

As the music flooded the room, the wonder of it made her soul smile. She forgot the people gathered, forgot her concerns for Mrs. Mueller, forgot everything but rising and floating with the majestic music. By the time she finished the final note, she had to wipe the tears from her cheeks as the guests applauded. She segued into other favorites and finally into Christmas carols, so everyone could sing along.

When the final notes faded away, her father handed her a handkerchief and reached for her hand so she would stand. “Beautiful, my dear, simply beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Elizabeth smiled and dipped her head in acknowledgment of her audience’s appreciation. “Thank you all for coming. I know Mother has more refreshments in the dining room. We wish you all a most blessed Christmas, and may the Christ child reign in your hearts all through the year.”

“If any of you has a favorite song that Elizabeth has not yet played or something you would like to hear again, you could ask her.” Phillip glanced at his daughter to get her nod.

Elizabeth sat back down at the piano, her fingers automatically searching out the keys in rippling streams. At the same time her gaze returned to Mrs. Mueller, who smiled and nodded her appreciation, then clutched the chair arms again.

None of those around her were paying any attention, but about the time Elizabeth was going to rise and go to her, Miss Browne returned to her side.

Where was Thornton? Elizabeth’s gaze roved the areas she could see. No father, no doctor, no reverend. They must be in the library or her father’s office. Her eyes went back to Mrs. Mueller to see her clenching with another contraction. It hadn’t been three minutes since the last. Her gaze collided with Miss Browne’s. There was no time to take the woman home, not with the contractions this close and the weather as cold as it was outside.

She finished the notes as if nothing were wrong and rose from her bench, all the time glancing around, searching for her mother. She must be back in the kitchen. Which to do first? Find her mother or Reverend Mueller or a room for the birthing?

“Elizabeth, Mrs. Mueller is in distress.” One of their neighbors stopped at her side.

“I know.” Elizabeth crossed the room and knelt beside Mrs. Mueller. “Do you think you can walk up the stairs?”

“I am so sorry.” Tears slipped out ahead of a groan. “I thought it would be hours yet.”

“Don’t you fret. Been a long time since a baby was born in this house. Can you walk?”

“I . . . I can try.” Together Elizabeth and Miss Browne helped the woman to her feet.

“How can I help?” Thornton appeared at her side.

“Go find Dr. Gaskin and then my mother.”

Another groan made her wince. Thornton made his way through the chatting guests, who were heading toward the front door in a leisurely fashion. How could they all be so unaware of what was happening?

Because Mrs. Mueller was the consummate actress, that’s why.

The men came from the study and surrounded the three women.

“I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you to come.” Reverend Mueller spoke in a whisper that turned into a hiss. “Let’s get you home immediately.”

“No, you’ll do nothing of the kind.” Elizabeth heard the words coming from her mouth before she even thought them.

“I beg your pardon?”

A groan cut off their discussion.

“Where should we take her?” Dr. Gaskin asked Elizabeth.

“Upstairs or else to the study.”

“I’ll carry her.” Thornton stepped forward.

“Don’t be silly. She can walk.” Reverend Mueller’s strident voice made Elizabeth gnash her teeth.

“Walking might have been good a while ago, but not now.” Dr. Gaskin looked to Thornton. “I’ll help you. We can cross hands to form a seat and carry her up. Are you ready?”

The two men crossed their arms, and locking hands, stooped low for Mrs. Mueller to sit.

“I am so ashamed.” Her whisper cut to Elizabeth’s heart, but when she realized the woman’s skirts were soaked, she understood even more.

“What’s happening?” Annabelle joined her daughter.

“Her baby.”

“Oh.” Annabelle forged ahead of the men. “This way.”

“I’m sure we could make it home before . . .”

Elizabeth turned to the minister, but her father stepped between them. After warning her with a frown and commiserating with a slight smile, Phillip took the reverend by the arm and led the blustering gentleman away. “Come with me to the study, and we’ll let the women do their jobs here.”

Elizabeth followed the others up the stairs.
What is the matter with
that man? How can he be such a good man to those of his parish and so
careless with his wife? That isn’t what the Bible says about men of God,
is it?
As she topped the steps, she reminded herself she needed to look up the Scriptures to see what was indeed written.

“Elizabeth, get more towels.” Annabelle met her at the door to the guest room. “I’ve rung for Cook to boil extra water.”

When she brought in the towels and two extra sheets, Dr. Gaskin motioned to her. “Do you have your black bag handy? I didn’t bring mine tonight.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

A bit-off shriek shattered the stillness, sending speed to her slippers.

Really, with both Doctor and Miss Browne here, I’m not needed
. But Elizabeth couldn’t leave either, drawn back to the guest room in spite of her own admonishments. She had assisted Dr. Gaskin on enough birthings not to want to miss a thing. And she knew her presence would be a comfort to Mrs. Mueller.

After another hour passed and the baby no closer to making an appearance, she went downstairs to fetch coffee for those in attendance. At the bottom of the stairs she could hear male voices from the study, so she went to check on them also.

Her father and Reverend Mueller were seated in front of the fire, their discussion intense enough they didn’t hear her enter.

“But you know the unions are not of God. Why do you say so?” Phillip leaned forward, his hands clasped, elbows on knees.

“I say that anything that improves the plight of the working man is a good thing. How can you dispute that?”

“True, but to say God has His hand in it?” Phillip stared at his guest over his steepled fingers.

“God has His hand in everything, no matter what we think. He has not abdicated the throne and left it all to man.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The running of this world, of course.” Reverend Mueller leaned back in his chair, fingers cushioning his chin.

Here he is arguing politics while his wife is up there struggling to
bring another child into his family. What about good things for women,
like not having a baby every year?
Elizabeth kept her thoughts to herself but cleared her throat to let them know she was there.

“Excuse me, but may I get you anything? Coffee, Reverend?”

“No, thank you.” He answered with barely a nod in her direction. As she turned to leave, he raised his voice slightly. “Lovely playing this evening, Miss Rogers. Such a gift you have. Any time you would like to come play for services again, you let me know.”

“Oh, I will.”
Be a slow day in Chicago before I do that again
. One more strike against the minister. She’d often fought off the memory of his “suggestions” on how she play the hymns. She either went too fast or too slow or too loud or too . . . there were always more too’s.

And yet, most of his congregation thinks he can walk on water. Why,
Lord, is it that he rubs me the wrong way? Reverend Johnson is such a
wonderful man; I wish we attended the Congregational church instead
.

Cook had the granite coffeepot hot enough on the back of the stove. She roused from her sleep in the chair when Elizabeth moved the coffeepot. “Why did you not ring?”

“I needed something to do with my hands.”

“You could go to bed, you know. The nurse is helping Dr. Gaskin.”

“I know. But if I can help in any way, I would rather be doing that.” I’d rather be up there helping, but they are working so well together.

“You could go play for her. You know how Mrs. Mueller loves to hear you play the piano.”

Elizabeth finished filling the silver pot and set it on the tray. Cook added a plate of cookies and picked up the tray.