Every Perfect Gift (20 page)

“What does Doc Spencer say?”

“He’s worried too. But he drove out to the Mitchells’ place this afternoon, and at least the baby’s lungs seemed clear.” She paused. “I ran into Robbie Whiting on the way over here just now. He said someone up on the mountain is sick and the family has sent for him.”

“But not for the doctor?”

Gillie shrugged. “I don’t understand that. I believe in God and in his healing powers. But I also believe he gives us knowledge and skills that he expects us to use to help each other. Don’t you?”

The door opened and Mayor Scott blustered in, followed by the four members of the town council. Sophie jotted their names into her notebook: Jasper Pruitt, Frank Talbot, the barbershop owner, Mr. Hammonds from the Hickory Ridge Bakery, and Dr. Young, the town dentist. They arranged themselves around the sheriff’s desk while Sheriff McCracken ushered the crowd into the room.

Sophie looked around. Carrie Rutledge had taken a seat near the door that led to the jail cells. Next to her sat Mariah Whiting and Molly Scott, the mayor’s wife, along with Lucy and Mrs. Pritchard.
Dr. Spencer and Griff Rutledge stood near the back next to Caleb Stanhope and Mr. Webster, the schoolmaster. Mr. Whiting stood behind his wife, leaning heavily on his cane. Sophie’s heart constricted. She had seen Robbie’s daddy only briefly since the day he came to Miss Lillian’s to fetch Ada to the train station. He looked much older now, worn and faded as an old photograph.

When the room was full, the sheriff directed the overflow crowd to wait outside. Through the open window, Sophie saw Robbie’s wife, Ethelinda, talking with Flora, Merribelle, and Mabel. A knot of men, some of them puffing on pipes and cheroots, leaned against their wagons, talking in low tones.

The mayor gaveled the meeting to order. “First order of business is to approve the minutes of the last meeting.” He nodded to Jasper Pruitt, who stood and read them aloud.

The mayor growled, “Any changes or additions?”

When no one spoke, Mr. Scott said, “Approved as read. Next order of business—the new spittoon we ordered for the post office came in on this morning’s train.”

The men spent ten minutes arguing about who ought to retrieve the spittoon and whether there should be some sort of ceremony to dedicate it. After all, it was made of pure brass and came from New York City. Sophie took notes, her hand moving quickly across the pages. Gillie shifted in her seat and blew out a long breath. “My lands,” she whispered to Sophie. “How much time can they spend discussing a stupid spit can?”

“. . . is Miss Sabrina Gilman.”

Sophie nudged her. “Good luck.”

Hands clasped, Gillie walked to the front of the room. The last rays of sunlight slanted through the window and fell across her hair, turning it to platinum. Her eyes seemed to be lit from within.

“Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak about our need for an infirmary. As you know, many of our families live in
the hills above town, and it isn’t always possible for them to get medical attention as quickly as they should. Dr. Spencer travels constantly, but he can’t be everywhere at once. An infirmary would allow those who are sick to come here and stay if necessary instead of sending for the doctor and waiting for him to arrive. It would also serve as a place where nurses such as myself can treat minor illnesses and injuries, thus freeing the doctor to spend more time treating more serious cases.”

The dentist made notes on a yellow sheet of paper in front of him. “Some folks don’t trust doctors anyway. They’d rather look after themselves than rely on modern remedies, the same way they’d rather pull a tooth with a pair of pliers than visit my office.”

“That’s true, Dr. Young. I know there will be some people who still won’t seek the help they need. It will take time for attitudes to change. But if we can save even one life, isn’t it worth it?”

Mayor Scott waved one hand. “Go on, Miss Gilman. Get to the point.”

“Lack of money also keeps some people from seeking help, even when they are gravely ill,” Gillie said. “An infirmary where they could come for treatment they could afford would work wonders for the health and well-being of our entire town and for the people on the mountain too. Wouldn’t the council agree?”

Gillie paused and turned her wide, blue gaze upon the mayor and his council. Sophie bent her head to her notebook to hide a smile. What a smart question. How could the council members possibly disagree without looking like a bunch of unfeeling clods?

The men nodded, and Gillie continued. “Our orphanage has been closed for years and has turned into an eyesore. Boarded-up windows and a weedy yard don’t leave the kind of impression we want to make on visitors and newcomers. And now that Blue Smoke is open, we’re sure to have a constant stream of them coming and
going. I’m asking the council to grant me permission to turn the building into an infirmary.”

Mr. Hammonds cleared his throat. “That’s a noble idea, young lady, but just how do you propose paying for new windows and such? Not to mention supplies, medicines, beds, and linens. It’ll cost a small fortune, and Hickory Ridge just doesn’t have that kind of money.”

The door opened. Heads turned as Horace Blakely edged his way into the room. Sophie frowned. What was the owner of Blue Smoke doing here? She wrote his name in her notebook and underlined it.

Gillie looked directly at Mr. Hammonds. “I don’t blame you for wondering about how we can afford it. It is indeed a great undertaking. But I’ve been working on this idea for almost a year. I’ve managed to secure pledges of donated supplies from colleagues in Philadelphia, where I took my nurse’s training and where Dr. Spencer studied as well. And I’m investing a small inheritance from my grandmother to cover the initial cost of medicines.”

Mayor Scott frowned. “That’s all very well, Miss Gilman, but if you don’t charge folks for treatment, how will you keep the doors open?”

“Dr. Spencer and I have worked out a sliding scale. Those who can afford to pay will do so. Those who cannot won’t be charged. We’ll make up the difference in ongoing donations from the medical society and our local charities.” Gillie smiled at Mrs. Scott. “Your wife’s organization has already agreed to donate a quilt for a raffle this fall, and Robbie’s—Mr. Whiting’s church has pledged its support.”

Frank Talbot raised his hand like a schoolboy at the recitation bench. “You still haven’t told us how you plan to finance the repairs for the orphanage.”

For the first time all evening Gillie faltered. “I—I am hoping the council will see fit to provide funds for basic repairs.”

“Just a minute there, Mayor.” Horace Blakely spoke from the
back of the room. “Last fall I told you I might be wanting that building for myself.”

Mayor Scott nodded. “I remember. But I haven’t heard another word about it. I had no idea you were still interested.”

“Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. Blue Smoke has only recently opened. It’s too soon to know what facilities I might need on down the line.”

Mr. Talbot polished his spectacles with his handkerchief. He cleared his throat. “It seems to me if that building was promised to Mr. Blakely, then we’re duty bound to stand behind our word.”

Gillie braided her fingers and sent the mayor a pleading look.

Dr. Young smoothed his beard. “What I heard was a maybe from Mr. Blakely and another maybe from the mayor. Don’t seem to me like promises were made at all. Now, Miss Gilman here has put a considerable amount of thought and trouble into her plan, and I for one think she deserves a chance.”

Jasper Pruitt leaned back in his chair. “I’m not opposed to letting her try, but for the life of me I don’t know where the money is coming from. The town treasury is mighty near empty.”

“Because you bought a spittoon!” Sophie jumped to her feet, her notebook sliding onto the floor.

Heads turned in her direction. “It seems to me that you gentlemen should reconsider your priorities.”

Mr. Hammonds smiled. “Don’t go getting your dander up, missy. Now, listen here, I—”

“Please don’t call me missy.” Sophie returned his steady gaze. “I realize a spittoon is not as expensive as paint and windows, but it’s all a matter of priorities. Surely if you can pay for a fancy brass spittoon, you can come up with some way to provide the necessary materials.”

The mayor toyed with his wooden gavel. “I reckon we could dip into the emergency fund, but we’d expect to be paid back.”

“Now, just a minute.” One of the men, his large belly
protruding from the waistband of his suspendered pants, pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Who gave you the authority to go squandering our money just because some pretty little spoiled girl wants a project to work on?”

Jasper Pruitt studied him through narrowed eyes. “I reckon you did, Charlie, when you elected us to the council. Now, pipe down and let us get on with the meeting. I haven’t had my supper yet, and my stomach’s growling.”

Sophie sank onto her chair. Holy cats. She hadn’t meant to voice an opinion, but she couldn’t help herself. Had she helped Gillie’s cause or hindered it?

The mayor and council leaned in, literally putting their heads together. Finally Mr. Talbot said, “Miss Gilman? How much you reckon you need?”

Gillie beamed. “Seventy-five dollars.”

Mr. Blakely strode to the front of the room. “Let me get this straight. You’re actually going to approve this scheme to the detriment of the most important business in the county? With no regard for my needs?”

Sophie was on her feet again. “Mr. Blakely?”

He turned to her, a frown creasing his fleshy face. He sighed. “Hello, Miss Caldwell.”

She smiled. “You remember me.”

“How in blazes could I forget after that article you wrote about Blue Smoke? An article based upon hearsay, I might add.”

Anger spurted through her. “Based upon eyewitness accounts, sir, not hearsay. You may recall that your eyewitness was fired from his job for talking to me.”

He waved one hand and his gold signet ring caught the light. “What do you want?”

“I want to tell you a story I didn’t print. One based upon my direct observation.”

Briefly she recounted the day she’d met Mrs. Wimberly and Rebecca on the trail above Blue Smoke and their subsequent trip to seek Gillie’s help. “Your guests are hiking those mountain trails, riding their horses up to the creek, and I understand you’re planning to set up a spot for souvenir photographs atop the ridge.”

“So what?”

“They’re bound to encounter the mountain residents from time to time. And think of your staff. You don’t want sick folks exposing others to fevers, influenza, infections, and whatnot. That could be bad for business.”

Mr. Blakely shrugged. “I’d say the chances of that happening are extremely remote. I’ve been around here long enough to know that the folks in the hills tend to keep to themselves.”

Dr. Spencer cleared his throat. “You may be right about that, Mr. Blakely. But all it takes is one outbreak to foment a disaster. I’m sure you’ve heard about the deadly yellow fever epidemics that have plagued different parts of this state from time to time. An outbreak of influenza or typhoid could decimate our region just as quickly.”

From her spot in the front of the room, Gillie nodded, undoubtedly remembering Miss Cook, her heroine from the yellow fever epidemic in Memphis. Sophie sent her friend an encouraging smile, and Gillie went on.

“Though I’m most concerned about women and children, an infirmary will benefit everyone—including you, Mr. Blakely, not to mention the men at the mill. Someone is always sustaining a cut or a broken bone or a bad sprain. Isn’t that true, Mr. Whiting?”

Sage Whiting nodded. “True enough, I reckon, but most menfolk don’t like being looked after by a female that isn’t family. I reckon we’d rather take our chances and wait till Doc Spencer is free.”

Mariah Whiting turned to gape at her husband. “Why, Sage
Whiting, I never suspected you of harboring prejudice against the female gender.”

“Now, Mariah—”

“Miss Gilman’s infirmary is a wonderful idea, and I believe I speak for most of the ladies in town when I say we will do all in our power to see that it succeeds.” Mrs. Whiting caught Mr. Blakely’s eye. “I do hope you will reconsider your objection, sir.”

Mr. Blakely folded his hands over his ample stomach and blew out a long breath. “I can see I’m outnumbered here, and I must say I’m disappointed. Hickory Ridge was dying on the vine before I bought up that land and started building Blue Smoke. I’ve invested hundreds of thousands of dollars, and this is the thanks I get.”

“We haven’t forgotten,” Mr. Talbot said. “And we do appreciate Blue Smoke. But we’ve got a Christian duty to help the sick and the injured, and if this young lady’s infirmary makes it easier for folks to get doctored when they need it, then I say we give it a try.”

Jasper Pruitt shifted in his chair. “Are we ready to vote yet? Because I am about to expire from this infernal heat.”

Mayor Scott had been flipping through the stack of official-looking papers he’d brought. Finally he looked up. “Miss Gilman, we appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but I’ve looked at this budget again and I am sorry to say, we don’t dare deplete the emergency fund.”

“I see.” Gillie’s voice wavered, but her expression remained serene. “Will you give me the building then, Mr. Scott? I’ll trust God to provide for the repairs.”