The Doctor Takes a Wife (2 page)

S
he opened her mouth to reply—to refuse, Nolan was sure—but she was interrupted by Prissy Gilmore, who dashed up to Sarah and tugged at her arm.

“Sarah, come on! Your sister's going to throw her bouquet!”

Sarah looked back at him, as if she still might toss off a refusal before joining the gathering group of women and girls in the far corner of the church social hall, but he spoke before she could.

“You won't catch it,” he told her, as if it was an accomplished fact.

His words stopped her, made her go rigid—just as he expected.

“Oh? And why is that, Dr. Walker?” she inquired, giving each word chilly emphasis.

He gestured at the women. “Look at them. Lots of tall ladies there. Besides, you don't want it badly enough.”

As he'd hoped, she responded to his words as if they had been a dare. Raising her chin, she demanded, “Is
that so? Well, we'll see about
that.
” She whirled around and caught up with Prissy.

He grinned when the mayor's daughter, unnoticed by Sarah, smiled conspiratorially at him over her shoulder.

“Prissy” was short for Priscilla, he knew, but what an inaccurate nickname. There was nothing the least bit prim and proper about the cheerful, outgoing girl. She'd been so kind to him after Sarah had taken to him in such dislike the day he came to town, and had helped him save face by letting him escort her to the picnic. He guessed with a little effort on his part, she would have been willing for him to court her instead. But it had been just his luck that the moment he had spotted the willowy golden Sarah, he'd lost his heart.

He wished it wasn't so. It made no sense. He'd never been one to chase disdainful women just to see if he could change their minds about him, merely because it was a challenge. But he'd begun falling in love with Sarah Matthews when he'd read her letters, and once he'd laid eyes on Sarah, Prissy Gilmore could be nothing more than a friend to him—and he was glad to have her friendship, for he sensed that she'd be willing to do whatever she could to help him win Sarah.

He wasn't sure anything would work, though. He faced the fact that he might eventually have to give up and admit Sarah would never do more than despise him. And then he'd have a choice to make—stay in town and watch her choose someone else in time, or leave Simpson Creek and go back home to Maine. He had no one there any longer who mattered to him, though.

Did she hate him because he was a Yankee? Was that all there was to it, a rebel Southerner's reflexive dislike because he'd been part of the Union army?

Nolan had been charmed by her first letter, introducing herself as a representative of the ladies who'd advertised for bachelors for the small Texas town. He knew he ought to have told her which side he'd fought on in one of the letters he'd written from his friend Jeff's home in Brazos County. But he'd been aware of enough anti-Yankee sentiment in Texas to think he'd have a much better chance of acceptance if Sarah got to know
him
first through his letters. They were getting along very well as long as they communicated by letter, but as soon as he'd uttered his first syllables in her hearing, she'd backed away in disgust.

He sighed, watching as the guests fell silent, and the bride turned her back to the clump of unmarried ladies of all ages and heights. Sarah had made her way to the front. He thought he saw her dart a glance in his direction, but then the bride made a few feints at throwing her flowers, and Sarah Matthews became all business, staring at the silk bouquet with the intensity of a sheepdog spotting a straying ewe.

Milly flung the bouquet, and Sarah leaped for it, catching it despite the efforts of a taller girl behind her trying to lean forward and snatch the prize while it was still airborne. The bride ran over and embraced her sister, followed by the groom, while everyone cheered and gathered around them. Sarah was soon hidden from his sight—but not before he saw her shoot him a triumphant look.

It was a start, he thought. Even if she'd sought his
gaze only to mock him, it was better than the icy way she had ignored him ever since he'd arrived in town. Now she had caught the bouquet, though, and tradition decreed that meant she would be the next to be married.

“And now we'll have the throwing of the garter,” Prissy announced, cupping her hands to project her voice over the hum of conversation. “Would all the unmarried men please gather at this end of the room?”

Nolan walked toward the gathering throng made up of grinning young boys, a couple of graybeards and men whom he knew were courting various members of the Spinsters' Club. As he approached, he spotted the new Mrs. Brookfield and her husband leave the social hall, but by the time he had positioned himself behind a short youth not old enough to grow a beard, they had returned. Smiling, Nicholas Brookfield waved a circlet of blue, lace-trimmed ribbon over his head.

“Catch it, Pete!” called one of the bridesmaids, the one who had been standing next to the English lord in the receiving line. “I want us to get married next!”

A dark-haired fellow on the left side of the group called back, “I'll try, sweetheart!” and everyone laughed.

Nolan surveyed the crowd. Was Sarah watching? She was, and pretending not to care, he noticed with amusement.

The Englishman turned his back to them, just as his bride had done to the ladies. “Good luck, gentlemen!” he cried. “Who'll be the next lucky groom?”

Nolan dared a wink at Sarah, but before he could see
her reaction, Nick Brookfield tossed the garter. It flew through the air, and Nolan launched himself upward as the tiny missile flew straight and true as if the groom had been aiming it precisely at him.

And perhaps he had. Brookfield met his gaze and grinned as Nolan waved the bit of ribbon and lace above everyone's heads as they applauded and clapped him on the back.

“Thanks,” Nolan murmured, handing the garter back to Brookfield, who returned it to his blushing bride before turning back to him.

“Don't mention it, old fellow. And don't give up. Sarah's a good woman—I think you'll find she'll be worth a bit of persistence on your part.”

Nolan's eyes sought and found Sarah, who was watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. Then she turned away, pretending a great interest in something her sister was saying to her.

It means nothing,
Sarah told herself. She wasn't a believer in omens, so there was no significance to Nolan Walker catching the garter as she had the bouquet. It was all just part of the traditional tomfoolery at weddings. Catching the bouquet or garter guaranteed nothing. Anyone could see that Caroline Wallace and Pete Collier would be the next bride and groom, despite not winning those prizes.

At the opposite end of the room, the fiddlers were tuning up for the dancing. She supposed she
would
have to dance with the cursed Yankee, if only to spare herself the scene that might follow if she refused.

The first dance, of course, was the bride and groom's dance, and the musicians struck up a waltz. Sarah forgot
all about the Yankee while watching Nicholas Brookfield, her new brother-in-law, whirl her sister ever so gracefully across the floor as if they had been dancing together all their lives.

They were so perfect for each other, she thought, seeing the loving way Nick gazed down at her sister, and she up at him as if no one else existed in the universe. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She remembered how he had only had eyes for Milly from the first day he had arrived.
Lord, please grant them a long and happy life together, and lots of children.

She felt a twinge of aching sadness, too. Milly's happiness also meant changes for Sarah's life. It would never again be Milly and Sarah, two sisters alone against the world. Milly now had a husband to tell her deepest hopes and secrets to.
Please, Lord, if You see fit, find me a husband, too, a good man who also loves You. I know that if it's Your will for me to marry, You'll send a man who's neither a liar nor a Yankee!

Almost against her will, her eyes searched the hall for Nolan Walker, but she didn't see him. Had he left?
Good
, she thought fiercely. She could relax and enjoy herself if she knew he wasn't here to plague her any more.

Then someone tapped her on the shoulder. She started, giving an involuntary cry that came out soundng remarkably like a mouse's squeak, thinking Dr. Walker had managed to circle his way around to her without her noticing his approach and was now claiming his dance. But it was only Edward, Viscount Greyshaw. “Oh, I
do
beg your pardon, Miss Sarah,” he said,
looking as startled by her reaction as she felt. “I—I didn't mean to take you unaware. It's time for us to join in, I believe,” he said, nodding toward the pair still waltzing in the middle of the hall.

“O-of course,” she said, giving a weak laugh. “I didn't mean to jump. I'm afraid I was so intent on watching my sister and your brother dance, I didn't see you coming.”

“They
do
make a handsome couple, don't they?”

Fitting her gloved hand to his, she joined him on the floor, thankful that she had lately practiced with Nick and could give a competent accounting of herself. It would not do to tread on a lord's feet.

In a few moments, Caroline Wallace and her counterpart among the groomsmen, Richard Brookfield, joined them in their waltzing, and then Prissy and old Josh, the foreman of their ranch. They certainly made an odd couple, the old cowboy and the young, vivacious Prissy, and Sarah knew that old Josh would have rather faced a horde of Comanches again than be dancing in a fancy frock coat. But Nick had become like a son to him, so he'd been honored when Nick and Milly had asked him to be in the wedding. Sarah saw him laughing at something Prissy had just said, and figured Prissy's lively chatter was keeping Josh's self-consciousness at bay.

A Virginia reel followed next. Lord Edward remained with her, remarking, “You know, we call this one ‘Roger de Coverley' at home.” He was a good dancer, and so was his younger brother, Richard, who claimed her for the Schottische which followed. He drew back when a square dance was called after that,
though, unfamiliar with the American dance. Josh came to Sarah's side and asked her to partner him.

Sarah had seen Dr. Walker in the crowd during the waltz, and when the band struck up the reel, she saw him ask Jane Jeffries, one of the Spinsters who had been widowed by the war, to dance. To Sarah's surprise, Jane accepted, a smile lighting her usually somber face.
Didn't she know that Dr. Walker had served in the same army responsible for her husband's death?

Nolan sat out the Schottische, taking a chair next to Maude Harkey, another of the Spinsters. Maude wasn't dancing tonight, for she still wore deep mourning for the death of her father, Dr. Harkey. How did Maude feel, speaking to the man who had taken her father's place as town physician? Yet she seemed pleased that Dr. Walker had sat down with her.

How kind of him to keep Maude company since she can't dance tonight,
a voice within Sarah whispered, but Sarah firmly squelched it.
He probably just feels guilty that he's the town doctor only because her father died.

Sarah was even more surprised to see him up again when the square dancing began, partnering Faith Bennett.
Well, aren't you the ladies' man?
The spiteful thought distracted her and caused her to stumble in the “Allemande left” the caller announced.

Pay attention to your steps, Sarah. Did you expect him to gaze longingly at you until he finally gathers his courage to claim his dance?
Of course she wasn't jealous, she told herself. One wasn't jealous over someone one didn't want. His behavior just proved he was a liar and a deceiver—a typical Yankee, in short!

T
he lead fiddler announced the last dance of the night, a waltz. After this, Milly and Nick would go to the hotel for the night, and the guests would all disperse to their homes.

By this time, Sarah's nerves were raw, expecting at the beginning of every dance that Dr. Walker would come to claim her, but so far he hadn't. She had not lacked for partners, for someone else always asked her, but dancing with others did not mean she avoided him. Every dance but the waltz meant being passed to other dancers for at least a few seconds. Still, Dr. Walker had seemed intent on charming every woman in town except her.

Once, he had even managed to get Mrs. Detwiler up on the floor, and the older lady had clearly enjoyed it, though she was red faced and out of breath by the end of it. Sarah saw him fetching her punch while she sat and fanned herself. Sarah wouldn't have minded spending some time in a chair herself, being fetched a cool drink, for her feet were aching from all the dancing and her hair had long since fallen from its elegant knot.

Now, though, she felt a kinship with the gazelle Nick had mentioned earlier as she saw Dr. Walker crossing the floor toward her.

“My dance, I believe?”

“Are you sure you've danced with every other female in town, from the oldest to the youngest?” Sarah asked archly.

He raised a brow, and in that moment she knew she'd made a mistake.

“Ah, so you were watching,” he said, grinning.

“I most certainly was not,” Sarah insisted. “I never sat down myself, except when the musicians took a break. I only just realized that you hadn't made good your threat to claim a dance.”

“Threat?” he echoed. “I believe I only
requested
a dance, as proof of your goodwill. And I was waiting for a waltz, Miss Matthews.”

“Oh? Why?” she asked.
Was this girl asking the daring questions really herself?

Again, the raised brow. “If you have to ask that, Miss Sarah Matthews, then it's no wonder the South lost the war.”

She felt herself flushing so hotly that it took all her strength of will not to open the fan that dangled from her wrist and start using it. “If we stand here arguing all through the dance, Dr. Walker, we will miss it altogether.”

The couples had just arranged themselves on the floor, and the fiddlers had struck only the first notes, but he took her hand without another word and led her onto the floor. In a moment they were gliding over the floor with the rest of the dancers.

Sarah saw Milly, waltzing with Nick, watching her, her smile even brighter than before because her sister was dancing with the Yankee doctor.
Good for you,
Milly mouthed. She probably thought Sarah and Dr. Walker had agreed to bury the hatchet. Sarah smiled back, not wanting Milly to worry that she'd only agreed to postpone the battle, not call it off.

She found to her surprise Nolan Walker was an excellent dancer, better even than the Brookfield brothers, who had probably been taught to waltz in their English nursery. His steps were so smooth he made it easy to follow him, so she was never in any danger of treading on his toes.

“Thank you, Miss Matthews,” he said when the last notes died away and the other couples drifted off the floor. “I enjoyed that very much.”

She couldn't say she'd enjoyed it as well; she'd been too conscious of his nearness and his gaze trained on her the whole time. “You're welcome, Dr. Walker. You…you're an accomplished dancer,” she said, determined to give credit where it was due.

“Surprised?” he asked. “I assure you, Miss Matthews, we Yankees do not all live in caves, coming out only to devour raw fish.”

Before she could catch it, her mouth fell open at his gibe. “Are you making fun of me, sir?”

He grinned. “Not at all. I was only teasing you, my thorny Southern rose.”

How could one man be so infuriating? “I'm not ‘your' anything, Dr. Walker. And now that you've had your dance with me, you must excuse me while I go see if my sister needs any help before she leaves.”

“Very well, but don't forget about that talk we're going to have.”

His blue eyes dared her to claim she didn't remember what he was talking about, but Sarah was not a dishonest person and she remembered all too well that he'd demanded she tell him sometime why she was so hostile to him.

“Oh, I won't. I'll look forward to it,” she said.

He bowed, but Sarah felt his gaze on her as she walked away.

 

The next morning, Sarah met Nick's visiting brothers outside the church. The newlyweds were not with them, but Sarah hadn't really expected them to be up this early. They were to meet after church in the hotel's restaurant for Sunday dinner. After that, the newlyweds would depart for Austin in a specially hired coach, accompanied by Edward and Richard, who would pay their respects to the embassy branch in the Texas capital before journeying back to the coast and boarding a ship for home.

“A pity my wife's so near her time,” Lord Greyshaw remarked as they walked up the steps that led into the church. “She'd have loved your Texas, Sarah.” Amelia, Viscountess Greyshaw, was only a couple months from delivering their second child. It had been felt the ocean voyage and overland travel would be too risky for her, and Richard's wife, Gwenneth, had remained at Greyshaw to keep her company in their husbands' absence and to watch over Violet, their younger sister.

“Yes, such mild weather, for late autumn, to be sure,” Richard agreed, looking up appreciatively at
the blue sky. “At home we'd be gathered around the hearth complaining of the dank cold.”

“Oh, it'll get colder closer to Christmas,” Sarah replied. “Every few winters, it actually snows. You gentlemen must come again and bring your wives and children.”

“Eddie's already taken me to task for not bringing him,” Lord Edward said, grinning as he mentioned his son. “He'd like to meet a wild Indian. Oh, dear,” he murmured, seeing the shudder Sarah hadn't been able to suppress. “I do apologize. I had forgotten all about the attack. How dreadfully clumsy of me.”

“That's all right,” Sarah said, gazing behind the church where, on Founder's Day, the Comanches had come galloping across the creek and into the town. “Hopefully, now that we have the fort, it won't happen again. There's a cavalry regiment that patrols the area regularly and in any case, the Comanches are in their winter quarters now, up on the Llano Estacado, the Staked Plains. We'd better go in, gentlemen,” Sarah said, as the bell began to toll from the steeple above them. She played the piano for the services every Sunday and knew Reverend Chadwick would be waiting on her to begin the service.

She was relieved to see that once more, Dr. Nolan Walker did not grace a pew. She had never seen him attending services since his arrival in Simpson Creek.
He must be an unbeliever. Just one more reason not to be friendly to him.

 

Sarah would have been surprised to know that Dr. Walker was seeing a patient in his office at this very hour.

“Th-thank you for seeing me at this time, Doctor,” said the pale, mousy little woman who'd entered his waiting room. “I—I wouldn't want to come when you had other patients coming and going….”

She'd knocked so softly at his door he almost hadn't heard her from his quarters behind the office. He had only just arisen from bed, the tolling of the church bell having awakened him from the sleep he'd finally achieved at dawn.

“And why is that, Miss Spencer? Surely you have a right to consult a physician as much as anyone else in Simpson Creek.”

“I…I don't want anyone to know I'm seeing a doctor,” she whispered, eyes downcast. “They might wonder why. I—I'm expecting a child, you see.”

He looked at her quickly. If Miss Ada Spencer was pregnant, it was not obvious, as yet. But that explained the reason for the furtive visit, if it was true.

“Are you certain? That you're…ah, with child?” he said, wondering for the thousandth time why women in this day and age spoke of it in hushed tones or euphemisms and couldn't use the correct term for something which was, after all, a natural thing and should be a happy event—unless, of course, a woman was unmarried.

“Yes, I'm sure,” she insisted, and told him all the symptoms she had been having.

“I'll need to examine you,” he said. “Would you be
more comfortable if there was another woman present? Would you like to come back when you can bring someone?”

Still looking down, she shook her head. “I haven't told Ma,” she said. “She'd be ashamed of me. She'd want me to keep to home now that I've ‘disgraced' myself. She's in church now, so she doesn't know I'm here.”

Was Mrs. Spencer a church-going hypocrite, praying for the heathen in Africa while oblivious to the trouble within her own house?
He was familiar with the type, but he hadn't met the woman so he shouldn't assume that was the case. Did Ada Spencer have no friends, then? But perhaps she had no one with whom she was willing to trust her secret.

“I just want to make sure the baby's healthy,” she murmured, glancing timidly up at him, then away again.

“Where is the father?” he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“Dead,” Ada said, her tone as lifeless as the word. “He died when the Comanches attacked in October.”

“I see.” Simpson Creek had suffered half a dozen casualties that memorable day he'd arrived. And now there would be a child born who would never know his father because of it, and a woman who might be bowed down with shame the rest of her life. “I'm sorry.”

A tear trickled down Ada's sallow face. “He wasn't going to do right by me anyway,” she said. “He was leaving town that morning. It was his bad luck he happened to run into those savages.”

Nolan remembered the man who'd appeared at
the church, tied onto his horse, who'd lived only long enough to give a few moments' warning of the impending raid.

“And what do you plan to do, Miss Spencer? It's none of my business, of course, but if you stay around town, people will eventually know that you're with child. Have you considered relocating to another town—even another state, where you could say you were a widow?”

Again, she shook her head. “Ma and Pa are old. I'm the only one left at home to take care of them. They won't turn me out, even once they know.”

But they won't give her emotional support, either.
He sighed, and wished he had a nurse he could call on to be present.

“Very well, let's have a look,” he said, opening the door to his exam room and beckoning her inside.

Afterward, he waited for her at his desk in the adjoining room.

“If you're expecting, it's very early,” he said, after she came in and sat down. “At this stage, I can't be certain. When did you…that is…” He stopped, aware of the awkwardness of his question and wishing he could just spit it out instead of having to dance delicately around the point. He'd been so much more comfortable around soldiers, saying what he meant without having to think about it so carefully.

“In September,” she said, thankfully sparing him having to come up with another euphemism. “It…it was only once or twice….”

Nolan Walker sighed. Obviously once or twice had been enough. It was useless to wish the dead man had
behaved honorably and married the girl before leaving her with child and getting himself killed.

She wasn't a bad-looking woman, he thought, though in her present depressed, shame-faced state it would be hard for a man to see her better qualities. How did one go about suggesting to a woman in this predicament that if she held her head high and was pleasant and charming, some good man might well come to accept her
and
the coming baby?

Ah, well. He was a physician, not a counselor or matchmaker. Perhaps he could persuade her to trust Reverend Chadwick with her secret. The minister seemed like a decent man who wouldn't shame this poor woman still further, but could give her good advice. And perhaps in time, she would trust one of her friends enough to enlist another's company at her appointments with him, if her mother wasn't willing once she knew the truth. Ada Spencer belonged to that Spinsters' Club, didn't she? So she must have some acquaintances, at least. He'd feel a lot more comfortable when he needed to examine Miss Spencer if she brought another female with her.

“Very well, Miss Spencer,” he said. “If all goes well between now and sometime in the middle of June, I see no reason that you cannot deliver a strong healthy child. I'll need to see you a few times before then, of course.”

“The middle of June? That's when my baby will come?” A spark of joy lit the woman's narrow face, and he marveled. Even while she risked disgrace, a woman could find joy in the thought of a coming baby.

“Based on what you told me about when the child
was conceived, yes. Though babies, of course, have a mind of their own and can come earlier or later than when a physician predicts.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“You're quite welcome, Miss Spencer.” He rose to indicate the appointment was over, and she moved quickly toward the door.

“Oh, and Miss Spencer,” he said, trying to make his request sound casual, “why don't you bring a friend with you next time you come? I'm sure it would be wiser for the sake of your reputation.”
And mine.

She looked back at him, then bolted out the door without another word.