The Doctor Takes a Wife (8 page)

She had the oddest feeling he had wanted to kiss her. She couldn't have allowed it, of course. They had agreed to be friends, but even if she was willing to forget he was a Yankee, she reminded herself, he wasn't a Christian. The Bible warned against being unequally yoked in marriage, so friends was all they could ever be.

How silly of you, Sarah. Just because a man has a certain look in his eye, that doesn't mean you need to think of why you can't marry him!

So why did she feel a moment of regret as she watched him walk away?

N
olan was thoughtful as he made his way back home. He'd been pleased and relieved that Sarah, though she'd blushed and looked embarrassed, was willing to speak with him about such a frank subject. Most women wouldn't have spoken about pregnancy to any male except their husbands. And many women might have believed Ada's ranting.

He'd been surprised by Reverend Chadwick, too. He'd been introduced to the town's preacher when he arrived in town, of course, and became more relaxed when the minister didn't seem inclined to pester him about coming to church. He'd assumed the cleric had written him off as a potential member of his congregation.

But tonight he'd been impressed by Chadwick's overwhelming patience toward Ada. Despite the vile names the madwoman called him as she tried to bite and scratch him and the two other men, Reverend Chadwick had never shown himself the least bit angry or even exasperated with her, continuing to speak kindly and calmly to her as they struggled to take her home.
He'd been a rock of support to her elderly parents, too, when they'd huddled, bewildered and distraught, to hear what Nolan had to say about their daughter's condition.

What a difference existed between Reverend Chadwick and the chaplain who'd served with Nolan. Though the chaplain had been a favorite of the men of the regiment, he'd avoided the captured, injured Confederates he was also supposed to minister to as if they had the plague.

Nolan had once taken him to task about it.

“What an idea, Doctor, that I should treat those rebels as if they deserved the same as our boys in blue!” he'd cried, recoiling at the idea. “Why, at home in Illinois, my wife and I ran an underground railroad station. You should have seen some of the poor creatures who came to our house, running for their lives away from cruel slave owners. And you're telling me that you think I should speak of God's mercy to the very men who held them in bondage?”

Nolan had very much doubted most of the scary, skinny men and boys in the tattered remains of gray uniforms had ever owned slaves, let alone the ones who'd come to the chaplain's home, but he didn't trouble himself to argue with the man. He didn't think wounded, dying rebels would find much comfort in anything that man had to say.

Reverend Chadwick lived in a small house behind the church, so he and Nolan walked together when they'd left the Spencers' house and Nick had gone to fetch his wife.

“That was very troubling,” Chadwick said, as they walked. “I'll be praying for her.”

Nolan sensed the man was hoping Nolan would say he would pray for her, too, but he didn't want to tell the preacher how little he believed in prayer. “Have you known the Spencers long?” he asked instead.

Chadwick nodded. “They moved to Simpson Creek when Ada was a babe in arms. She was just like any other young lady before that Harvey fellow came to town—happy, but wishing for a beau. It's very sad to see her like this now.” He was silent for a few strides. “I'll be praying for you, too, son. That can't have been pleasant, having such an accusation leveled at you in front of all those folks.”

“No,” Nolan agreed. He was touched by the reverend's caring. Though Nolan didn't think the prayers would accomplish anything, he could still value the kindness of the gesture. “You don't think anyone will believe it, do you?”

“Sensible people, no,” the reverend said. “Though there are always a few who are willing to believe the worst rather than the best. But the people around here need a doctor too much to ride that high horse for long. Oh, your ears may burn for a few days until some other topic becomes a nine days' wonder. That's the way of small towns, I suppose.”

“I'm surprised you're not telling me the best thing I could do to dispel the rumor would be sitting in a one of your pews every Sunday,” Nolan said. He watched for the man's reaction.

Chadwick gave a chuckle. “There are probably better reasons for coming to church than as an antidote to
gossip,” he said, unoffended. “But you know you're welcome, Nolan. And whether you come or not, I'm always here to listen if you need to talk. You minister to bodies, while I minister to souls—but both can be lonely at times, I think.”

Nolan had heard the reverend was a widower, but he thought Chadwick meant more than that.

“But as for church, if you don't come to hear me preach, you might come to hear Sarah play the piano. She's very gifted.”

Sarah played the piano? It was something he hadn't known about her. But then, she wasn't one to boast of her accomplishments.

The reverend was watching him with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, perhaps I've given you a good reason,” he said with another chuckle. “I heard you say you were going to go back and tell her what happened. Perhaps you ought to do that now, son, before it gets any later. She looked worried.”

Now, having finished his talk with Sarah, he let himself inside his dark house and reached for the match safe so he could light the lamp on the entry table. His mind turned back to his talk with the reverend.

Even when Nolan had steered the conversation toward the church, Chadwick had never once made him feel that he thought less of him for not attending. Interesting.

His thoughts turned again to Sarah. Before the scene at the party, he had decided to gently pursue her, and gradually try to break down her resistance against him courting her. But now that Ada Spencer had made a public accusation against him, and had included Sarah
in her venomous attack, he wasn't sure what to do. Perhaps he should just let things lie for a while until the gossip died a natural death.

He couldn't stop his eyes from searching for her, though, during the next fortnight, as he walked to the hotel for some of his meals and to the mercantile for supplies. But he didn't encounter the shy, golden-haired beauty making her rounds of deliveries to either place.

The number of patients coming to his office had dwindled since the party. He'd gotten some pointed looks by a few townspeople on the street, people he remembered seeing at the New Year's Day party, and two or three times conversations had ceased just as he'd entered the hotel restaurant or the mercantile. He'd tried not to let it bother him, supposing they'd realize they were wrong when Ada Spencer never gave birth, but after his initial warm reception when he'd first come to Simpson Creek, he'd be lying if he told himself their reaction didn't hurt.

But there were still those who either hadn't heard about Ada's wild accusation or needed doctoring too much to care, such as the elderly widow who came in because of catarrh, the near-deaf old man complaining of rheumatism, a young mother bringing in a fretful child with quinsy throat or a cowboy “all stove up” after being thrown from a horse he was trying to break.

He looked up each time the bell at the door of his office tinkled to announce an arrival, hoping against hope it was Sarah coming to visit, but he was always disappointed. At least, if it wasn't Sarah, it wasn't Ada
Spencer, either. He hadn't seen the unstable woman since the New Year's Day party, though he had seen her mother walking past his house with a basket in her hands as if she was doing some errands. He supposed he should call and inquire about Ada's welfare, but he wouldn't go alone, he'd take the reverend with him. It was just common sense.

Finally, curiosity got the best of him one morning when he spotted Prissy coming out of their cottage as he walked by on his way to the mercantile for a new can of Arbuckle's coffee. He waved and called out to her.

“Fine weather for January, isn't it, Miss Prissy? Back home in Maine we'd likely be wading through a foot of snow,” he began, wondering how soon he could inquire about Sarah and still sound casual.

“I sure wouldn't want it to be any colder than this,” Prissy said, shivering and pulling her coat more closely about her. “Though I would like to see snow, just once. You just never know about winter in this part of Texas—some days it can feel like spring, and then a norther will blow in. But you're not really interested in the weather, are you? You want to ask me about Sarah, so why don't you go ahead and do that?” Her eyes danced with mischief.

He couldn't help but laugh. “As always, Miss Prissy, you see through me all too easily,” he said. “How
is
Sarah? I haven't seen her around for a few days.”

“That's because she's been out at the ranch almost since the party,” Prissy said. “Her sister's found out she's expecting a baby, and she's had a rough time of it with morning sickness. Sarah went out to help with the
cooking till Milly's feeling better because she couldn't even brew the coffee without being ill. I've really been missing Sarah—I've had no one to test out my cooking on but Mama and Papa, and Papa says he'd rather eat Flora's—that's our cook—meals until I get a little better,” she said ruefully.

“Hmm, perhaps I should pay Mrs. Brookfield a call,” Nolan murmured, thinking he could kill two birds with one stone—offer any medical help that the first-time mother needed, and see Sarah at the same time. “If you don't think that would be presumptuous, that is, since she hasn't sent for me.”

“You could, and of course it wouldn't be presumptuous, you silly Yankee man, it would be neighborly,” Prissy said, chuckling.

Not expecting any patients, Nolan had gone straight home, intending to hitch up his buggy and drive right out there after dinner. But as soon as he'd finished eating, Ed Thompson, who owned a nearby ranch, arrived at his office with a boil that needed to be lanced.

Nolan drove out to the Brookfield ranch after that, only to be told that Sarah had just left the ranch after dinner, for Milly was feeling well enough to cope with the cooking again. Milly Brookfield was radiant with happiness that she would give her Nick a child in the early fall. She thanked Nolan for the kindness of coming to check on her.

He promised to deliver her baby when it came, of course, even while he thought of how Sarah must have ridden back to town while he was eating his dinner, or perhaps while he was attending to Thompson.

It seemed if he was to see her, he must take Chadwick's suggestion and come to church after all. He hoped God—if there was a God, which he very much doubted—wouldn't mind that he was trespassing in His house just to see the golden-haired beauty who played piano every Sunday.

Too bad it was Monday. Sunday had just passed and he would have to wait until it rolled around again. But perhaps he would get lucky and see her before Sunday, and not have to go to church after all. Prissy would have told her that he'd been looking for her—perhaps he could contrive to “accidentally” encounter Sarah instead of attending church to see her. He'd rather not be a hypocrite if he could help it.

But the next day marked the beginning of a disaster, and after that he was much too busy to think about maneuvering a chance meeting with Sarah Matthews, or going to church just to see her.

A
pounding at the door roused Nolan from a sleep filled with uneasy dreams.

“Sorry to wake you like this, Doc, but please, kin you come out to the ranch?” the distraught-looking man on his porch pleaded, when Nolan went to the door. “I'm Hal Parker's son, Hank. Pa's took real bad with a fever, and he says he kin hardly catch his breath.

“Pa caught cold a week ago,” the middle-aged Hank Parker went on while he helped Nolan hitch his horse to the buggy. “He was sneezin' a lot an' didn't seem too bad at first, but now it seems like he jes' cain't shake it. He's achin' all over, feverish and his breath's rattlin' in his chest…we were gonna wait till mornin' t'call you, but he says he can't get no air…”

“No, no, you did right,” Nolan assured him, and soon they were on the road heading eastward to the ranch that lay between Simpson Creek and San Saba, Parker riding alongside Nolan's buggy. Nolan feared the old man's condition had gone into pneumonia.

When they arrived at the ranch house, Hank escorted him into the retired rancher's bedroom, where his father
lay in the bed, propped up by pillows and surrounded by his anxious old wife, the son's wife and a quartet of sleepy-looking children of various heights. All of them edged politely back against the wall as Nolan entered the room with his black doctor's bag.

Hal Parker labored for each rasping breath. The sound of it filled the small room.

“Pa, we've brought the doc,” his son announced, as Nolan went toward the bed, but if the old man heard, he gave no indication.

“Hello, Mr. Parker,” Nolan said as he leaned over the bed. “I'm Dr. Walker.”

The old man opened clouded eyes and tried to focus on Nolan, then closed them wearily again. “Where's… Doc…H-Harkey?” he managed to say, but the effort sent him into a spasm of coughing when he finished.

“Hal, he's dead,” his elderly wife told him loudly. “He died when those Comanches attacked last fall, remember?”

Nolan studied Parker. He was red-faced and clammy, his pulse thready and rapid. His eyes seemed sunken. His mouth gaped wide like a fish's with his attempts to draw in enough air.

Nolan opened up his bag, took out his stethoscope and listened for thirty seconds. Just as he had feared, the moist rattling within the man's chest filled his ears. It was definitely pneumonia.

Mr. Parker's daughter-in-law had already given him willow bark tea for the fever, and to this Nolan added a dose of morphine, trickling the draft in cautiously lest the delirious man choke. He directed the daughter-in-law to sponge him with a cold wet towel.

Nothing they did worked, however, and the old man breathed his last just as the sun was rising over the distant blue hills.

“He's gone,” he told the white-faced son, and closed the old man's eyes. The man nodded grimly, unsurprised, and put one arm around his weeping mother, the other around his wife. The children clustered around them, some crying, some solemn-eyed in the presence of death.

“Thank ya. Ya done all ya could,” the old woman murmured, tears sliding down the weathered grooves of her cheeks. “Hal's with the Lord now, and someday soon I'll join 'im.”

Nolan inclined his head respectfully. However accustomed he was to death, he could never understand this calm, patient acceptance. He was angry when he lost a patient, angry at himself and against an implacable foe that fought without scruples. When Jeff had died despite all his efforts, he'd raged for days, finally seeking oblivion at the bottom of a whiskey bottle but finding no relief.

Death was the end. There was nothing more. When his wife and son had died, Nolan had received no echoing sense that they were alive on any other plane of existence. Nothing he had seen in the war had taught him any different.

“I'll inform the undertaker when I get back to town,” Nolan told them, gathering up his black bag.

“And Reverend Chadwick, too, if you'd be so kind, Doc.”

Hal Parker's death was Nolan's first since becoming Simpson Creek's doctor, he mused as he drove back
to town. The few deaths on the day of the Comanche attack didn't count—he'd only taken over, as any doctor would, when the town's physician had been felled by an arrow.

He tried to be philosophical as he drove back to town. Pneumonia was always a danger to the elderly, especially in winter. A doctor couldn't expect to be in practice and not see death.

The funeral was held two days later in the churchyard, where all the Simpson Creek inhabitants had been buried ever since the town had been founded back in the 1850s. Fortunately it was a mild day—cold enough to require a coat, but without any wind or rain. The whole town attended, for Hal Parker had been one of the first settlers of Simpson Creek. Nolan went too, in part out of respect to the family, but also because he knew he'd see Sarah there. With the loss of his first patient in town weighing on him, the pleasure of some time in Sarah's company would be a comfort, indeed.

She stood near the coffin, her golden hair a lovely contrast to the somber black dress and coat she wore. She caught his eye and nodded slightly as Maude Harkey joined her, then the two began an a cappella duet of “I Know that My Redeemer Liveth.” Maude's voice was a reedy soprano; Sarah's clear notes soared above it in perfect pitch, though she sang no louder.

He decided that he'd speak to her after the service—casually of course. But while Reverend Chadwick read a passage from the Bible in which Jesus said He was the resurrection and the life, Nolan became distracted when he noticed that the deceased's widow was absent
from the gathering, as was the daughter-in-law. Half of the Parker brood were coughing, and one of them, a little girl of perhaps six, looked especially sallow and wan and leaned against her older brother for support. Had they caught their grandpa's illness?

“I would also ask your prayers, good people, for Hal's widow, who took ill yesterday,” Reverend Chadwick announced as he closed his Bible at the pulpit. “Sally Parker is home taking care of her. Under the circumstances, rather than having the usual dinner in the social hall following the burial, we're going to send the food y'all have so generously provided home with the Parkers, so they can get back to the ranch sooner.”

It was a very good idea, Nolan thought, though the dinner would have given him a longer time to be in Sarah's company. It seemed like illnesses spread like wildfire among large gatherings in the winter, so he figured it wouldn't hurt if a cold spell kept Simpson Creek folks in their homes for a while. When he'd taken his medical training back east, he'd seen that whenever there'd been a milder winter and people were able to gather together often, there were more cases of chest colds, catarrh and influenza.

When the funeral service was over, some headed for their wagons or their homes down the road, while others lingered in the churchyard to talk. Nolan discreetly made his way toward Sarah, who along with Prissy had just helped the Parker family arrange the covered dishes of food into the buckboard among the children.

“Mr. Parker, if there's anything more I can do, please let me know,” he said, before turning to Sarah. He'd be
called out to see the little girl soon, unless he missed his guess.

“Thanks for what ya done, Doc,” the drawn-faced young rancher said as he climbed into the driver's perch. “No one could have tried harder to save Pa. It was jest his time, I reckon.”

Nolan touched the brim of his hat to the man as he clucked to his horses and drove out.

“Sarah, your song was lovely,” he said.
Though not as lovely as you.
He supposed Sarah Matthews would be beautiful in any circumstances.

Pink bloomed in her cheeks. She looked down, then back at him. “Th-thank you,” she said. “It…it's always been a favorite of mine…I hope it blessed the Parkers….”

Nolan was conscious of all the people passing by them, of Prissy standing by Sarah, trying to appear as if she was not listening. They had probably come together. If only he had some excuse to take Sarah where they could talk.

“I…I hope you've been well…” he said, and thought immediately how ridiculously trite it sounded.

“Yes, of course…I'm usually healthy as a horse,” she said, then chuckled. “Oh, my, that didn't sound very ladylike, did it?” she said, glancing at Prissy to include her in the conversation. “Ladies are supposed to be delicate flowers, aren't they?”

He appreciated a woman who could laugh at herself. “There's nothing wrong with having a sound constitution,” he told her, and then silence reigned again as he tried to let his eyes speak for him.

Prissy took it upon herself to rescue them. “Dr.
Walker, you
are
coming to the taffy pull the Spinsters' Club is holding on Friday night, aren't you? Seven o'clock, in the church social hall.”

“I…I didn't know about it,” he said. “I—”

“I hope it doesn't sound like a childish pastime, but it's hard to find things to do in the winter,” Prissy said.

He didn't miss the surreptitious nudge Prissy gave Sarah. Obviously she thought Sarah should chime in on the invitation. But Sarah's gaze had strayed toward the road.

“Not at all,” he said, wondering about the way she seemed to be sidling away from them—
as if she wants to be away from this place…or me. Does she not want me invited?

“I confess I have a bit of a sweet tooth, so thanks for the invitation,” he said. He wanted to ask Sarah if she would be there, too, but first he had to see what reaction she had to his acceptance of the invitation.

But her gaze remained fixed on the road before her. At last his gaze followed hers, knowing and dreading what he would see.

Ada Spencer was standing at the entrance to the churchyard, glaring at them, her eyes like drawn daggers. Her mother stood next to her, her expression worried, one arm anxiously draped around her daughter's shoulders as if to make sure Ada did not move any farther into the churchyard. She was obviously trying to urge her away, but Ada seemed glued to the spot.

Nolan fought the urge to give in to frustration and struggled to keep his face serene. What right did this
disturbed woman have to destroy their peace, to ruin an innocent relationship?

“I'll leave first, and try to draw her away,” he whispered to Sarah and Prissy. “I'll talk to you later, Sarah.” He strode toward the road, lifting an arm in greeting, “Hello, Mrs. Spencer, Miss Spencer,” he called, trying to sound as if he was genuinely glad to see them. “How have you been? Are you feeling well, Miss Spencer?” he said, as he reached them.

Ada smiled a strange smile, then let her coat fall open. She was wearing another oversized dress whose waist tie outlined the curve of her supposed pregnancy. “Oh, I've been feeling
very
well, dear Nolan,” she said, in a weirdly cheerful voice that was loud enough to be heard by those still in the churchyard.

“You should call him Dr. Walker, Ada,” her mother admonished. “He's a physician, and he deserves respect—”

“Oh, but we've been using each other's given names in private for a long time now, haven't we, Nolan? I suppose it
is
time for me to come see you in the office again,” she said, patting her abdomen as she had at the New Year's Day party. “We do want to take proper care of our child, don't we?”

Nolan glanced at her mother, who only grimaced in pained ruefulness.

Why couldn't the woman control her daughter? Biting back the reply he wanted to make, he focused on Ada again. “That would be fine,” he said carefully. “As the town doctor, I'm always happy to care for its inhabitants. Be sure to bring your mother with you, all right? I'm sure you'd be more comfortable that way.
Good day to you both,” he added, touching the brim of his hat and hurrying past them.

Reaching his yard, he opened the gate, then pretended he had dropped something until he could be sure Ada didn't linger to accost Sarah.