The Heirloom Brides Collection (3 page)

He rushed outside as Stuart pulled up and wrapped the horses’ reins around the brake.

Doc was already rolling up his sleeves as he looked at Old Joe lying broken in the back of the wagon. “Get him in, quick. But be careful. What happened?”

“His horse slipped on the ice and landed on him.” Junior held Pops’s arms while Stuart took his legs. The doctor stabilized his middle, and the three men carried him into the house, which doubled as the doctor’s office. “Where do you want him, Doc?” Stuart asked.

“Don’t bother with the examining room. He won’t be going anywhere for a while. Just take him in there.” He pointed to a bedroom on the opposite side of the house as Mrs. Avery appeared in the doorway. She slipped her arm around Betsy’s shoulders. “Come with me, dear.”

“I can’t leave Pops.”

“It’ll be best if you let the men get him undressed and let my husband examine him in private.”

Stubbornly, Betsy shook her head.

“Honey,” the woman said, keeping her arm firmly around Betsy, her other hand on Betsy’s arm. “Do you think your grandfather would want you to see him undressed?”

Finally Mrs. Avery’s meaning sank in. Betsy gasped. Pops would be madder than all get-out if he thought for a second she stayed in the room when they were about to strip him down. She allowed Mrs. Avery to escort her from the room. “Here, honey. Let me take your coat and hat.”

Numb, Betsy surrendered as the doctor’s wife slipped her out of her coat and hung it on the peg board next to the door. She led Betsy into the kitchen and pulled out a wooden chair. “You sit here and let me get you some coffee. I was just about to have some lunch. Are you hungry?”

Betsy shook her head, annoyed that the woman could even suggest food at a time like this.

Mrs. Avery set a steaming cup in front of her. “At least drink this. It’ll warm you up.” Instinctively, Betsy reached out and cradled the cup between her palms, allowing the warmth to seep into her ice-cold hands. She shuddered from somewhere deep inside of her. Her hands shook at the memory of Pops lying in the street, his body twisted and broken. Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. What would she do without Pops?

“Now, don’t worry about a thing,” Mrs. Avery said as though reading her mind. The other woman handed her a dish towel. “Wipe your face, hon. The doctor will do his very best.” She smiled. “And that is very good.”

Nodding, Betsy grabbed the towel and swiped her face and nose. She knew Mrs. Avery was being kind, but as much as she appreciated it, she couldn’t bear just sitting here, drinking coffee, when Pops was lying in the other room, maybe dying. Maybe even dead already.

“Was your grandfather’s horse hurt in the accident?”

The words jarred Betsy from her maudlin thoughts and brought a swift jolt of anger. “If he wasn’t, he will be.”

When no response was forthcoming, Betsy ventured a glance to the woman. She stared back at her from across the table. “I see. You’ll take your revenge on the animal, then?”

Betsy recognized a hint of admonishment, but she didn’t care. With a jerk of her chin, she looked away. “Yes, ma’am. I sure will. That horse has been nothing but a thorn in Pops’ side since the day he was born. Ornery as all get-out, and I say good riddance.”

“Oh, the horse did it on purpose?”

Betsy’s lips twisted. “Well, no. He didn’t make himself slip on the ice.”

Mrs. Avery set her coffee on the table and walked to the stove. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in some stew, hon? The venison is fresh. George just shot him day before last.”

“No, thank you.” Her stomach twisted at the very thought of food. Although it did smell awfully good. She gathered a breath. “The fact is, if that ornery horse hadn’t tried nipping at Pops to get another piece of peppermint, this never would have happened. So in a way, he did do it on purpose.”

There was no real reason to care one way or another what anyone else thought about what she did with her own property. But Betsy couldn’t seem to let it go until this woman understood. How could anyone not want to punish the animal that just got up and walked away?

“Do you think that’s what Old Joe would want?”

Betsy sent her a scowl as she dipped stew into a bowl for herself and brought it to the table. She gave a short laugh. “Pops would probably be the first one to brush him down, give him a peppermint to soothe him, and rub liniment on his leg.”

“Liniment? Was the horse injured, too?”

Betsy shrugged. “He limped a little when he walked off after nearly killing my pops. And I vow, if Pops dies—”

“Don’t think about that. We are going to sit here and trust God to guide my husband’s hands, and if it’s His will, your grandfather will pull through good as new.”

“But what if it’s not God’s will? What good does it do to pray if God wants to take Pops to heaven?” Like He had her parents. Was God’s will for her to be completely alone?

“Honey, we don’t know the heart and mind of God. All we can do is trust He knows better than we do.”

Betsy knew better than to argue with a person’s faith. And it wasn’t as though she didn’t believe in God; she just wasn’t so sure He was very nice. If she had all that power, she wouldn’t govern humans at her whim. This one dies, that one lives. What right had He to play with people’s lives that way? She knew she ought to be more careful with her thoughts. Usually when she thought about her parents dying when she still needed them and anger against God burned fierce and sharp in her chest, she said a hasty prayer of repentance and tried to be sincere. But right now, she couldn’t drum up even the slightest bit of remorse toward the Almighty.

“So tell me, why do folks in Tucker’s Creek call your grandfather Old Joe?”

Betsy shrugged. “Because he’s old and his name is Joe.”

Mrs. Avery smiled. “That’s it? What did they call him when he was young? I hear he was one of three men who founded Tucker’s Creek way back fifty years ago.”

Betsy knew the doc’s wife was just trying to get her mind off the accident, but she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Still, given this woman’s kindness, she didn’t want to be rude. “My pa was named after Pops, so when he started at the school, everyone called him Joe-Joe and Pops became Old Joe.”

She lifted her cup to her lips. By the time she set it back on the table, she heard footsteps and shoved up from her chair. Stuart stood in the doorway, face white and visibly shaken.

“Is he dead?”

He shook his head, and Betsy’s legs went weak with relief. She grabbed on to the back of her chair to keep from dropping to the floor. “You look like he is.”

“No, I’m sorry. Just… I never was one for this kind of thing.”

“Come and sit down, Stuart,” Mrs. Avery said with the gentleness of a mother. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Stuart gave her a wry grin. “Thanks for not saying
faint
.” He practically stumbled to the chair and sat hard in the seat. Without asking, Mrs. Avery poured him some coffee. Betsy rolled her eyes. What would Pops think about a man who practically fainted at the sight of blood?

The doctor’s wife patted him on the shoulder. “Buck up, and tell us about Mr. Lowell. How is he?”

Betsy broke in before he could say anything. “Can I go see him?”

Stuart shook his head. “Doc said to tell you to stay put while they’re setting his bones.”

With a heavy sigh, Betsy sat back down. “I could’ve helped since you clearly faint at the sight of blood.”

A flash of anger brought back Stuart’s color. “I don’t—”

Mrs. Avery clicked her tongue. “There’s no point in throwing stones, you two.” She patted Stuart again. “Are you hungry? I have some venison stew warming on the stove.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I best get back over to the store. This kind of weather brings folks out for supplies, and Ma’s going to need my help.”

“Well, we’re mighty glad you were there to help out with Old Joe, aren’t we, Betsy?”

Betsy nodded and sipped her own coffee to avoid having to say something.

He stood. “Thank you for the coffee, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome.” Mrs. Avery stood as well, grabbing his cup from the table. She walked to the sink to rinse it out. “Betsy, honey, can you walk Stuart out? I need to stir this stew before it scorches.”

There was no way to avoid doing the polite thing. “Yes, ma’am.” With a sigh, Betsy followed him into the foyer as he retrieved his coat and hat from the peg board by the door.

Awkward silence filled the space between them as he stood there, his hand on the doorknob, looking down at her. “Betsy, I’m sorry about your grandfather.”

Fighting back tears, Betsy nodded. Mrs. Avery was right. Stuart had been a godsend. “Thank you for your help. I—I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve never been much help in these sorts of situations.” He released a heavy breath and jammed his hat on his head. “I wish I could have done more.”

“You were there when we needed you.” Swallowing hard, she suddenly had a twinge of conscience about her outburst a few minutes ago. “I apologize for the fainting comment.” She wanted to offer an excuse. Something about how worried she was and that was the reason she chose those insulting words. But she knew that wouldn’t be a true apology, and after all, Stuart had been right there to help get Pops to Doc Avery’s.

Stuart’s face softened, and he reached out for just a second and touched her arm. “I’m glad I was here to help. If you need anything, please let us know.” He touched his hat and walked out the door, leaving Betsy speechless at the uncommon gentleness from him.

She stared at the closed door. Had she misjudged Stuart Fields all these years?

S
till shaken from the twisted body he’d been forced to witness, Stuart walked into the store amid a jumble of activity. His ma glanced up from filling an order, and her face softened with relief. “Thank heaven you’re back.” Stuart grabbed his apron from the peg at the end of the shelves and tied it on with shaky fingers. “How’s Old Joe?”

“Not good, Ma.” He kept his voice low. “I don’t see how he can survive, but Doc Avery and Junior Mahoney are doing everything they can.”

“I hope you didn’t come back here just for me. It doesn’t hurt folks to wait a little while when there’s a crisis.”

“There wasn’t much I could do to help the doc. Junior was there, so I felt like I was more in the way.”

His mother nodded. Stuart appreciated her discretion in not mentioning his aversion to the sight of blood and broken bodies. Just the memory of Old Joe’s injuries brought on a bout of dizziness.

“I can’t imagine what poor Betsy will do if Old Joe doesn’t pull through.” A heavy sigh accompanied her words, and she shook her head.

“I told her to let us know if we could do anything to help out.”

Ma’s graying eyebrows rose. “That was… kind.”

Fortunately, a woman carrying a pair of men’s trousers approached the counter just then. She ordered several goods from behind the counter, and by the time she had paid for her purchases, Ma was occupied with another customer, so Stuart didn’t have to continue the conversation. They remained busy for the next four hours until closing. At five o’clock, Stuart locked up with a deep sense of relief that the day was finally over.

Ma tucked a loose strand of gray hair behind her ear and dropped onto the bench next to the stove. “Gracious. What a day.” She offered him a weary smile. “I’m getting too far along in age to keep up on days like this.”

Stuart grabbed the broom and began the nightly cleanup. “You just sit and rest, and I’ll tidy up. Then we can go over to Miss Annie’s for supper before we go home.”

“Annie’s. The prices she charges are highway robbery.” Ma gave a snort. “And the food isn’t even that good.”

A smile touched Stuart’s lips. “You know, Ma,” he said, swiping at the floor with the broom. “Eventually, you’re going to have to forgive Annie.”

“Forgive? What on earth are you talking about? I have nothing against that woman except for her ridiculous prices and overcooked roast.”

Not to mention the fact that thirty years ago, Miss Annie had invited Pa to the Sadie Hawkins dance before Ma had drummed up the courage to do so. Of course, Ma hadn’t confided this fact to him. Pa had. As much as he’d love to force her into an admission, he knew better. When Ma set her mind to something, there was no convincing her of anything else.

She sat by the fire, staring out at the front window. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“About what, Ma?” He collected the dust he’d just swept and walked toward the door to throw it outside where dirt belonged. He noted with some relief that the ice had stopped falling. He’d still have to help Ma cross the street to the restaurant, but the wagons going back and forth all day had helped melt some of the ice, so there were places to step. He closed the door and carried the broom back, leaning it against the wall behind the counter.

“Are you listening?” Ma’s voice sounded testy, and he realized he hadn’t heard the last thing she’d said.

“Sorry, Ma. I am now.”

“Even if Old Joe pulls through, he’ll likely be off his feet for quite some time, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No doubt about it. He’ll be indisposed for weeks if not months.” If he made it at all. Stuart wasn’t very optimistic that the old-timer would regain consciousness, let alone return to his former strength.

“I’m guessing Betsy still doesn’t know about losing the farm.”

“Not unless Mrs. Avery told her. I still can’t understand why Old Joe didn’t let her know. It doesn’t seem right to leave her in the dark. Especially now when he’s unconscious and Betsy’s going to learn about it from someone else.”

“Do you have any idea where Betsy is planning to stay while her grandfather is recovering?”

Stuart shook his head. Truth be told, the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I can’t imagine she has the money to stay at the boardinghouse. The Averys will likely put her up for a while at least.”

“Of course they won’t throw her out in the street. But she’s going to have to plan long term. I wonder what Old Joe had in mind for them.”

If the old-timer even had a plan. The thought of Betsy’s ignorance over the situation annoyed Stuart more than a little. It didn’t seem fair to her. “What’s on your mind, Ma?”