Firefly (31 page)

Next stop was Farnum's for the final fitting on that new coat.  Morgan pushed the door open and the bell hung above it tinkled, bringing Ezra from his workroom.

"Ah, good day, good day, Dr, Morgan," he greeted around a mouthful of pins.  "Here, let me help you off with that coat and we'll get the new one on right away, right away."

The tailor reached up to remove the garment and deftly hung it on the tree by the door.  Taking his tape measure from around his neck, he led the way to the back of the shop and there took the new coat from a hanger.

"It looks done to me," Morgan said, shrugging into it.  The silk slid easily over his arms with a soft rustle.

"Not quite, sir, not quite."  Ezra smoothed the black fabric over the broad shoulders.  "I got the sleeves a wee bit too long, just a wee bit, but it's no trouble to shorten them."  He fussed with the cuffs, inserting pins into them so that Morgan had to move carefully to avoid pricking his wrists.  "What it really needs, sir, is a new waistcoat.  A fine new waistcoat to show off that gold watch chain of yours.  No sense having a new coat and wearing it over an old waistcoat, sir, no sense at all."

Morgan was about to protest that he couldn't afford it, but then he remembered the money from Burton.  It was found money, the kind to be spent on luxuries rather than necessities, and most of his necessities were taken care of anyway.

Still, he'd never been spendthrift and could see no reason to begin now simply because he had a bit of extra cash.

"No, Ezra, I don't think so.  And don't try to sell me trousers.  You made the mistake of telling me when I brought the others in for altering that you had made them out of your best material and that they had plenty of wear left in them."

The tailor came around to the front of him and flattened the lapels of the coat, then checked to make sure it hung evenly.

"It was the truth, sir, the God's own truth.  Trousers take more wear than coats, you know, so I always use the best fabric possible.  Now of course I used my best in this coat, too, sir, my very best, and I don't have much call to, except for special occasions.  Very special occasions.  And if you aren't going to be either married or buried in it, the least you could do is wear it over a new waistcoat and do it justice."

Ezra, being dead serious, jumped back a step or two in fright when Morgan began to laugh.

He was still laughing, partly at himself for having ordered the new waistcoat that he didn't need, when he walked into McCrory's.  There he purchased only the items he did need, soap, coffee, salt, and a tablet of paper to use when drawing diagrams for Julie.  He had just paid and was on his way out the door when Katharine Hollstrom walked in.

"Good morning, Dr, Morgan," she sang.

He tipped his hat politely.

"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked her.

"Quite well, thank you, though I'm sure I'll feel even better next week when you finally take this thing off."  She lifted the splinted arm and gave it a disgusted look.

"Don't expect too much right away," he warned.  "It's been idle a long time and the muscles will be rather weak.  It may take several weeks for you to regain full use of the arm."

She made no attempt to hide her disappointment, and in fact seemed to play on it, pouting almost like a spoiled child.

"And I did so look forward to being able to help Julie."

"I'm sure if you take things slowly and don't try to do too much the first day, you should have no trouble," Morgan encouraged.  He tried to make a graceful exit then, but Katharine, who was no less plump than she had been six weeks ago, effectively blocked his retreat.

"At least it will be more use than it is now, and so will I.  You can't imagine what a trial it has been for me to sit by and watch her work so hard.  Especially now that this new treatment of yours has me feeling so much better than I did."

Katharine's sincerity was tinged with such drama that Morgan immediately dismissed it.  He found himself caught in the old dilemma again.  He could wish Katharine a speedy recovery, which would free Julie to spend more time with him, or he could continue the charade of invalidism and delay the wedding.  For the sooner Katharine regained her health, the sooner Hans would demand his bride.

And that thought brought back Ezra Farnum's words.

This Thursday was busier than some, but still there were quiet periods between patients.  During any one of those moments, Morgan could have given Julie the gold piece, but he waited until he knew they would not be interrupted.  Finally, when the last patient had left, Morgan closed and locked the door.

"Please, Julie, sit down and relax for a few minutes."

She did as he asked, seating herself on one of the plain wooden chairs along the wall.  Morgan pulled up another and straddled it backwards to face her.  He reached into a pocket and took the coin in his hand, liking the secure heaviness of it.

"I got a letter from Mr. Burton today."

"Oh? Is he well?"

"He's fine.  He's spending some time in Prescott recuperating."

"I'm glad.  I won't worry about him so much now.  He really was a very nice man."

"Yes, he was, for all he came in here looking like an outlaw."

It was easy to talk about Burton, and for those few moments of almost idle conversation Morgan thought he had lost his nervousness.  But the instant silence descended, he felt eighteen years old again.

He coughed.

"Mr. Burton sent some money to pay for his care while he was here.  It was a substantial amount, more than I would have asked from him."

"Well, you did save his life."

She left him a convenient opening; he took it.

"With considerable help from you.  Mr. Burton also recognized your contribution, so he wanted you to have this."

He held out his palm with the gold coin lying on it.  Julie stared, disbelieving.

"Go on, it's yours.  You earned it."

"Twenty dollars?  No, I can't take that much.  You did so much more than I."

She hid her hands under her apron.

"He sent me a hundred dollars, Julie.  Surely twenty at least is yours.  Put it away if you like; stick it in your hope chest or something."

At that remark, she did turn away.

"No.  I don't want it," she insisted with strange fervor.

"Why not?  You earned it honestly, Julie.  You worked as hard as I did that night he came in here, and you really did more afterward.  You fixed his meals, you saw to his personal needs, you sat up nights and watched him."

But thinking of Thaddeus Burton reminded Julie of a kiss in a stifling hot surgery and an embrace in the cool of a summer morning.  She looked again at the money Morgan offered her and saw it for what it really was.

Or was it? Had the letter from Burton reminded the doctor, too, of those minor but still significant transgressions and urged him to ease his conscience with purchased forgiveness? He had had money before and never felt the need to give any more of it to her than her weekly salary.  Perhaps Burton had indeed insisted that part of his payment go to her.  She could not refuse the man's generosity, but neither did she wish to give Morgan the notion that she could be bought.

"Please, Julie, take the money," he begged gently.  "Consider it a gift, the kind you never expected.  Spend it lavishly.  Buy yourself a new dress, a new pair of shoes, maybe a frilly hat.  You deserve that much, at least."

And you deserve so much more.

Slowly, she brought one hand out from under her apron and extended it toward his.  She took the coin from his palm, taking great care not to touch him more than absolutely necessary.  Care was not enough.  Her fingertips came alive in that fraction of a second, and she quickly hid them again, now clutching the heavy coin.

Morgan breathed a sigh of relief.  He had been afraid for a minute there that she wouldn't take it after all, but now at least he could take the refusal stand if she tried to give it back.  He hoped that would not be the case, since she seemed to have taken secure possession of the coin, and he further hoped he could prevail upon her to accept a bit more.

He took his billfold from his coat pocket and slid a five-dollar bill from it without looking at Julie.  As he put the billfold away, he began to speak.

"This isn't a gift, Julie," he told her, forcing his voice to a sternness he couldn't feel.  "It's an investment of mine, one you aren't allowed to argue with."

"No, I can't take any more--"

"I said you aren't allowed to argue, so be quiet and don't interrupt me again.  I want you to buy material to make yourself some extra aprons, just like the one you're wearing.  The new ones will be strictly for working here.  You're ruining all your others with blood stains and extra scrubbing, and there's no reason why you should sacrifice your own possessions.  Also, I owe you for the dress I tore a couple of weeks ago."

Slightly panicked because she didn't know what he was talking about, she asked, "What dress?"

"The one that caught on the cabinet."

"But that wasn't your fault," she answered with a sigh of relief now that she recalled the incident.  "I snagged it on the nail."

Though it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been standing so close to me, she also remembered with a little shiver.

"Still, it was a result of your working here, and that makes it my responsibility.  I don't know much about yard goods, so if this isn't enough for five or six aprons and a dress, just put the rest on my bill at McCrory's."

He met her eyes evenly, without any of his own shyness, because he had reminded himself over and over and over and over that this was strictly business.  Aprons could not by any stretch of propriety be considered a gift, especially when she clearly needed them.  The dress was, perhaps, a little different, and he could almost read her thoughts as she prepared to refuse that part of the offer.

"If you think it would appear improper, use this money to buy the dress and I'll pay for the fabric for the aprons," he suggested, stretching his hand with the folded bill toward her.

She shook her head and kept her hands securely hidden.

"No, I can't accept it.  I'll purchase the apron material and start on them right away, but not the dress.  I...I just couldn't."

"Why, Julie? Are you afraid of what people will think?"  He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the money still held out to her.  "No one need know where this money came from.  You can tell them it's from your earnings, which in a sense it is.  I can give you smaller bills, if you prefer, to make it look like you've saved up for it.  Why must you refuse everything I offer you?"

"I don't.  I took the gold piece, didn't I?"

"Only because I insisted and because it wasn't from me.  Look at you now.  You're as far back on that chair as you can get, and I'll bet your knuckles are white under that apron because you've got your hands clasped so tight together."  He watched her eyes drop at once and saw the pink come to her cheeks.  "Julie, the last thing I want is for you to be afraid of me," he said softly.

"I'm not afraid of you!" she insisted.