Child of Promise (6 page)

“Fine.” Beth wondered if he could hear the exasperation in her voice. “Just know right off I’m not talking about medical school or anything else personal.”

He motioned her to sit at the table, then took his own seat. “If that’s what you want, that’s fine with me. You did first bring up the subject, though.” Noah poured out a mug for Beth, then refilled his. “Most times I find people don’t broach something unless it’s really eating at them. And most times those things need some talking about to set them right.”

Beth stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee, then sipped it tentatively. It was rich and strong, just as she liked it. With a sigh, she set the mug, and the excuse of drinking it, aside.

“Maybe so, Noah.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m just not ready to talk, that’s all. I’m sure you, of all people, can understand that. I’d imagine you’re not all that ready to talk about Alice, are you?”

Pain darkened Noah’s eyes. Pain and a knowledge of what she was trying to do.

Remorse flooded Beth. “I’m sorry, Noah. That was cruel. You deserve better than those lowdown mean tactics.” She laughed, the sound rough and rasping in the quiet kitchen. “It
is
a good tactic, though, when your back’s against the wall. Lash out, take someone else off at the knees before they can discover your weak spot and cripple you. Funny thing was, I learned that at medical school, where people supposedly go to become caring and compassionate healers.”

“Sounds like medical school was a pretty hard place.”

“Yes, it was.” Beth took another swallow of her coffee, then lowered it to stare back at the man across from her. If he thought she was going to bite on that open-ended statement, he was sadly mistaken.

Noah took a sip of his coffee, then averted his gaze. Beth filled the silent seconds studying his profile.

It was still an impressive visage. His nose was straight and strong, his jaw solid. Dark blond brows shaded his deep-set eyes, and the shadow of a beard washed the lower half of his face. There were new lines, though, deep furrows of pain and tension on either side of his mouth. And the gray lightly threading his temples added to the perception of age.

Yet Noah was only thirty-six. Beth knew not only his birthday but also the year he was born. She had committed those details to memory long ago, along with all the myriad bits of information she had managed to glean about the Reverend Noah Starr. A girl in love did that. And Beth had once been a girl in love.

“What will your sermon be about tomorrow?” she asked, choosing the first thought that entered her mind rather than dwell an instant longer on such maudlin—and pointless— daydreaming.

Noah’s mouth twitched, perhaps in amusement, perhaps in defeat. It didn’t matter. Beth knew she had won the battle of wills.

“I thought I’d talk about forgiveness. Seems like something we all need to work on.”

“Do we now?” Beth cocked her head. “And what sort of insightful message do you have on that topic?”

Noah chuckled. “Well, I won’t go so far as to claim any great insights. I do better just asking questions, stirring things up. Then I send everyone on their way to work it all through on their own.”

Beth leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table, cradling the warm pottery mug between her hands. “And what sort of questions do you plan to ask about forgiveness?”

He shrugged. “Maybe something like why, after we’ve imagined we’ve forgiven someone, the old pain and anger come creeping back in anyway. Makes you question if you truly forgave in the first place.”

“I’ve had that happen. Bet you have, too.”

“Oh, yes. Indeed I have.” Noah paused to take another drink of his coffee. “It distressed me greatly, too. Then one day at prayers I began to think more on the matter, and I realized remembering and feeling the pain all over again isn’t the same as failing to forgive. Remembering a hurt is something God gave us to protect ourselves so we don’t make the same mistake again. But remembering isn’t the same as indulging in renewed thoughts of vengeance.”

Something dark and anguished twisted within Beth. Matthew had begged her forgiveness, and she had thought she had given it. But late at night sometimes, in the dark, aching loneliness, she wasn’t always so sure.

“Then what are we to do,” she asked, in spite of her intent to keep a safe emotional distance, “with all the anger and feelings of impotence, of pain? If we give it all up to God, why doesn’t He take it and forever put it from us?”

“I wish I knew, Beth. Forgiveness is a gift. And like many of His gifts, sometimes God gives it to us in all its fullness right away. And then, other times, the Lord lets us wait on that forgiveness a bit.”

Beth frowned. “Shouldn’t something so all-fired important to God come easier? He’s the one, after all, who puts such store on forgiveness.”

“Yes, He does, doesn’t He?” Noah smiled. “Some lessons, though, can only be learned in struggle—lessons about ourselves, about others, and about the kingdom of heaven. Like most things, in the end it all comes down to trusting in God and allowing Him to work in us in His own good time.”

“Seems to me, if God wanted anything to work swift and sure, it’d be forgiveness. Leastwise, the business of forgiving others.”

The priest smiled wryly. “As opposed to what—the forgiveness of oneself?”

“Yes. That’s the hardest thing to forgive. Ourselves, I mean.”

“And why’s that, do you think?”

Beth opened her mouth to explain, then caught herself just in time. Noah was a sly one, that he was. He had played his waiting game well. He had almost gotten her to reveal what she had earlier been so adamant about not revealing.

“I don’t know.” She locked gazes with him, refusing to back down. “Why don’t you tell me? After all, you’re the expert on forgiveness.”

“I’m no expert, Beth,” Noah said softly. “Far from it. After all, I just ask the questions. With the Lord’s help, everyone has to find their own answers.”

“Hogwash!” Beth couldn’t help getting angry, very angry. “When it comes to forgiveness, aren’t all the answers the same?”

As if unable to bear her scrutiny or the challenge burning in her eyes, Noah looked down at his mug of coffee. “I’m not so sure they are, Beth. Leastwise, if they were, I think we’d all come to that forgiveness a lot quicker than we do.”

Noah lifted his glance to hers, and Beth saw the most heartrending look of confusion and pain. Her anger fled, banished by the rising concern she felt for him.

“Then maybe, just maybe,” she said, though she didn’t know how such words came to her, or even how much she really believed them, “that’s why the Lord gives us each other to learn from. In coming to understand others, we arrive finally at an understanding of ourselves. And in forgiving others, we learn at last how to forgive ourselves.”

6

We wait for light, but behold obscurity; for brightness, but we walk in darkness.

Isaiah 59:9

On Monday morning Beth was up bright and early. Her first day of work with Doc Childress and her first day of service to the people of Grand View! She was so excited she could hardly contain herself.

After her morning ablutions, she dressed, piled and pinned her hair atop her head, and headed for the kitchen. Noah, in black trousers, shoes, and a collarless clerical shirt, was already there, adding wood to the cast-iron cookstove. At Beth’s entry, he rose, a smile of welcome on his lips.

“Well, good morning, Dr. MacKay.” He briefly scanned her, then nodded his approval. “You’re looking quite prim, proper, and professional this morning.”

Beth laughed. Her navy skirt and pin-tucked white, high-collared blouse, adorned with a pert little black bow tie, was pretty much her usual wear. Never one for frilly clothes, Beth felt far more appropriately dressed—and comfortable—in simpler garb.

“Sure beats the overalls and boy’s shirts I used to love wearing,” she said. “And plain clothing’s more sanitary and presents a reassuring appearance to a patient. Besides, I gave up long ago trying to dress to catch a man’s eye.”

“My dear, you could catch a man’s eye dressed in a flour sack.”

Beth couldn’t help it—a flush swept up her neck and warmed her cheeks. Though she knew she shouldn’t let the compliment affect her so, convinced as she was Noah only meant it in the kindest of ways, Beth was discomfited nonetheless. Masculine attention, especially the admiring kind, was the last thing she wanted.

“I doubt Doc would take kindly to having his new colleague appear in such garb. Might send his patients hightailing it all the way to Colorado Springs for a new doctor.”

Noah grinned. “You’re most likely right. Still, the thought does present some delightful images.”

“Shame on you, Noah Starr!” Beth couldn’t help a giggle. “And you a man of the cloth!”

He shrugged, took the coffeepot from the stove, and removed the filter basket. He filled the pot with water and put it back on the stove to heat. Then, walking to the cupboard, Noah took down a tin canister of coffee. After filling the coffee mill, he carried it to the table, sat down, and began grinding.

“Reckon I don’t know how to give out the compliments anymore,” he observed mildly. “I promise never to mention a flour sack in your presence ever again.”

Beth gave a snort of disbelief. “Or, leastwise, until the next opportunity arises. You don’t fool me. Unless my memory fails me, if some prank was played at a church picnic, you were always the first suspect.”

Noah smirked. “Well, somebody had to stir a little life into those picnics. If the church’s Ladies’ Social Club had anything to say about it, we would’ve spent an hour in prayer before the meal, then set down to eat in total silence before sending everyone on their way.”

“Yes, I do recall some of those ladies were a bit stodgy when it came to innocent fun,” Beth admitted. She gestured toward the coffee mill Noah was still grinding. “Are you planning on pulverizing those beans to dust? If not, by the sound of the mill, the coffee’s ready to make.”

With a jerk and rueful shake of his head, Noah grabbed the coffee mill and stood. “Sorry. For a minute there, my mind had wandered back to you and the flour sack.”

If it had been anyone else but Noah, Beth would’ve suspected a man on the lookout for a flirtation or even more. But this was Noah, and she was well aware of his teasing bent.

“Perhaps it’s time,” she said, “we get started on breakfast. Shall I go up and fetch Millie to help?”

Noah shook his head emphatically. “No, let her sleep. She hasn’t been looking all that well in the past few months, and I’m worried about her.”

Beth bit her tongue and glanced away. So Noah wasn’t as oblivious to Millie’s declining health as he may have appeared to be. And Millie’s heart wasn’t in good shape. With just chest percussion and stethoscope auscultation, along with a history of her symptoms, Doc had quickly ascertained Millie’s heart was enlarged, weakening, and failing to adequately remove the excess fluid from her lungs. He had put Millie on digitalis that very day Beth had brought her to see him. Only time would tell if they had begun treatment in time.

“Perhaps it’s just the strain of caring for Emily as she grows bigger,” Beth offered. “And now that I’m here, I can help ease some of her load.”

“Though I appreciate your offer, it’s not your responsibility. It’s mine.”

The priest filled the coffee filter basket with the freshly ground beans and inserted the percolator tube. Then he walked back to the stove and put the contraption in the coffeepot.

For a long moment, Beth watched him stand there, shoulders stiff, his back to her. He was correct—Emily and any and all of Noah’s other problems weren’t her responsibility. Besides, what possible good would be served involving herself in their lives? Indeed, in anyone’s lives? That wasn’t the reason she had returned to Grand View. She had come back to begin anew and rediscover what she had lost of herself during those grueling years of her medical training.

“Yes, you’re right,” she agreed quietly. “Emily and Millie aren’t my responsibility. I imagine I’ll be busy enough helping Doc take care of all the folk in Grand View.” Beth paused to glance around the kitchen. “So what’s the plan for breakfast? I need to get over to the clinic, but I could sure use a good meal first to fortify me for the day.”

“Well, there’s eggs, milk, and bacon in the icebox.” He indicated the four-foot-high carved hardwood box beside the sink. “The bread’s over there on the sideboard, in the breadbox.”Beth arched a brow. “So are you hinting I should make breakfast?”

“I can do it, but it’ll have to wait until I finish with Emily. I hear her starting to make noise upstairs. If I don’t get to her right away, she’ll wake Millie.”

“Well, then get on with you.” Beth made a shooing motion in the direction of the hall leading to the stairs. “I think I can remember how to fry up some bacon and eggs.”

Noah grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. Not that I’m asking so as to take advantage of you, or anything . . .”

“Of course not.” Beth rolled her eyes. Then with a laugh she turned and headed for the icebox.

An hour later, Beth walked into the clinic. Helen was already at her desk. Three patients—an elderly man Beth didn’t recognize, Mrs. Nealy, the blacksmith’s wife, and a middle-aged woman with a small, crying child on her lap— had already arrived and were ensconced in the waiting area.

Beth paused to meet each of their curious gazes before walking over to Helen.

“So, is Doc in?” She placed her hands on Helen’s desk and leaned forward.

Helen nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He came in about fifteen minutes ago.”

“And what are these patients’ complaints?”

“Well”—Helen glanced down at her notes—“Mrs. Nealy’s got problems with her hips again. Mr. Herring thinks he’s going deaf. And Mrs. Stout’s boy, Abraham, just keeps crying and pulling at his left ear. He also has a fever of 102 degrees.” She glanced at the watch she wore pinned to her blouse. “And in a half hour, the patients with appointments will start coming in. We’ve four scheduled this morning and another four this afternoon.”

“Any house calls for today?”

Helen shook her head. “Not today. Plenty tomorrow, though, plus clinic appointments.”

Beth straightened. A pretty routine day, it seemed. “Guess I’ll go see what Doc’s up to then.”

“Here.” Helen handed her a chart. “That’s the Stout boy’s. Doc should see him first.” She pointed to a note she’d clipped to the chart.

No money. Will pay in trade.
Beth frowned and, after pausing to knock on the door, walked into Doc’s office.

At her entrance, John Childress looked up. Laying aside his pen, he smiled. “Well, well, here bright and early for your first day, are you?”

Beth closed the door behind her, then came to stand before his desk. “Helen says this is our first case.” She handed the chart to him. “I’d bet on a left otitis media. And as you can see, they have no money.”

The older man took a look at Helen’s note, then laid the chart on his desk. “Ah, yes. The Stouts. Fine, upstanding family. They’ve got five children, and the father works at the creamery washing out the milk cans and cleaning up. Mrs. Stout takes in ironing and laundry.”

“Is there anything else I should know before we see them then?” she asked. “Medically speaking, I mean?”

Doc paused to scratch his jaw. “Well, they’re good, God-fearing folk and try to feed and clothe their children as best as they know how. They attend the Episcopal church—sit way in the back so you probably didn’t notice them yesterday—and their oldest girl, Luanne, just graduated this past June and was a straight-A student at Grand View’s high school. The three older boys are showing promise, too. And the baby, well, if he takes after the rest of his—”

“So there’s no other medical problems or family medical history that might influence this case?” Beth interrupted.

Doc arched a graying brow. “No. It’s important, though, that you learn something about these people. They’re not just diseases or illnesses, you know.”

She had offended him yet again. When would she learn to hold her tongue? If Doc put such store in all this extraneous trivia, that was his choice. She’d just have to keep quiet and endure until she was finally free to see her own patients in her own way.

“Yes, I know they’re more than diseases or illnesses,” Beth hurried to explain. “Guess I’m just so eager to begin today that I’m being a bit abrupt. Go on. Tell me whatever else you need to about the Stouts.”

“That’s pretty much it, I suppose.” He managed a rueful smile. “Reckon I’m getting a bit slow at times. And I’ve known most of these folk for years. Can’t expect you to pick up everything about them the first time you meet them.”

The child—Abraham—had a clear-cut case of an infected middle ear. That was all Beth needed to know. Their social history was hardly of any bearing on her diagnosis and treatment plan.

“Well, shall we call them in then?” Beth chose to say instead, indicating the door. “I can fetch them if you’d like.”

Doc grinned broadly. “By all means. I’ve a real hankering to see some big-city doctoring. Never too old to learn something new, you know.”

Beth smiled in return. “No, you never are.”

As the weeks passed and a wide variety of patients passed through the clinic, Beth became reacquainted with all the folk she had once known and learned a lot about the newcomers to Grand View, too. More than she really cared to know, if the truth be told. But from that first day until the day, a month later, when Doc announced she was free to start seeing her own patients anytime she wished, Beth had carefully guarded her tongue—and her frequently divergent opinions.

It wasn’t that Doc wasn’t a good physician. He had a diagnostician’s gut instincts, a solid if somewhat out-of-date knowledge base, and years of experience that had served him well. And he truly cared about his patients. They in turn loved and revered him for his years of devoted service to the town.

But even with two physicians in the growing town, there were still so many unmet needs. Efficiency and time management were of the essence. And Doc squandered far too much time in patient visits with pointless social conversation. Once she took over the practice, Beth intended to make a lot of changes. For now, though, all she could do was try to make some progress with her own patients.

Plenty of folk, however, seemed reluctant—if not down–right against—being seen by a woman doctor. Even once Helen was given the go-ahead to make appointments for her, Beth averaged only one patient of her own a day.

“Just give it time, my dear,” Doc Childress said to console her one afternoon two months after Beth had returned to Grand View. “I knew folk would be hesitant at first. Let’s face it. You’re young, fresh out of your internship, and you’re a woman. And they’ve known me for years and trust me. It’ll just take a while—”