A Dream to Follow (34 page)

“For medicinal use only,” Dr. Gaskin had said to her before capping the bottle and putting it back. “I’ve had such a backache lately that this seems to be the only thing that helps.”

“Not meaning to be funny, but have you seen a doctor?”

“That young whippersnapper thinks he knows everything, but he knows nothing.”

Having developed great respect for the new doctor, Elizabeth just shook her head. “And how much of your
medicine
do you take before retiring?”

He glared at her over his half glasses. “That is none of your business, young lady.” But even his voice had lost its power.

Elizabeth left her thoughts on the doctor and looked back at her mother. “Perhaps inviting the doctor is a good idea. Just please ask Father to go easy on the before-supper cocktails.”

Her mother looked over her shoulder. “Are you saying what I think you are saying?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Hmm. I shall have to resort to tampering then.” Mrs. Rogers beckoned her daughter with one finger. “Follow me.”

Elizabeth did as told, curiosity bubbling as she kept pace. Her mother stopped at the tea cart that served as a repository for cut glass bottles of various shapes, all containing the liquor served in their house. Her mother took a pitcher from the under shelf and, removing the stopper, poured about a third of the liquid out of the bottle. Then taking another pitcher, this one full of water, refilled the decanter and set it back in its place. She then took the pitcher with bourbon in it to the kitchen where she poured it into a bottle kept far back in the cupboard.

“We have solved his problem, at least for this evening.” Annabelle dusted her hands as if finishing a less than nice job. She smiled at her daughter, the kind of smile that two women exchange when they are outmaneuvering the men in their lives. Especially when it is for the good of the men in question.

“Mother, if you dislike drinking so much, why do you keep these here?” Elizabeth motioned toward the bottles.

“Because your father insists.” Annabelle sighed. “And because my father insisted too. So I do what I can to see that drunkenness is prohibited.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I see.”

Arms linked, they left the parlor and climbed the stairs to their rooms.

“Now, you take a nice cool bath and have a lie-down so that those circles I see under your eyes disappear and you are able to enjoy our evening. I shall do the same. Thank God for Cook.”

Elizabeth laid her head against her mother’s shoulder. “In spite of your trying to marry me off, I do love you.” The tender kiss on her forehead returned the compliment. She chose the lie-down first, the breeze entering her room through the shade of the mulberry tree cooling her skin. She poured water into the basin on the nightstand from the pitcher of water and dipped a cloth in it to wipe off her face and neck. Sighing with the pleasure of it, she lay down on her bed and fell instantly asleep.

“Ah, my dear,” her father said, meeting her at the foot of the stairs some time later, “is this the same girl I sent home because she looked so tired?”

“Yes, Father. Sometimes I think the smell of the ink is what gives me a headache.”

“Or perhaps the pounding of the press.” He took her hand and pulled it through the crook in his arm. “Come, I have someone for you to meet.”

“Thornton Wickersham?” She kept her voice to a whisper.

“Yes, but I think you shall like him in spite of your mother’s finagling. For a change, I do.”

“That’s something.” Elizabeth’s droll smile made her father chuckle.

They paused in the arched doorway, surveying the room that glowed with fresh flowers and the evening sun slanting through the lace-curtained windows. The French doors leading to the backyard framed beds of brilliant three-foot zinnias and marigolds fronted by rioting petunias. Pinks, reds, whites, golds, and oranges—the hues blended into a symphony of color.

“Oh, here you are, dear.” Annabelle beckoned from the settee. “Let me introduce you, and then I promised Dr. Gaskin that you would play for him.”

Elizabeth nodded, but her father intervened. “I’ll do the introducing while you make sure everyone has a glass of lemonade.” His slight twist on the word gave his opinion of their liquid refreshment. Elizabeth pinched her father’s arm but kept a slight smile in place.
Wait until he finds out his whiskey isn’t what he thinks it is
.

Dr. Gaskin started to stand when they reached him, but Elizabeth waved him back. “You’ve been on your feet enough today. You just sit there and let us wait on you.” She peered at his glass. “Can I refill that for you?”

Doctor looked up at her father, glanced at the glass, and raised his eyebrows.

“I take it you have enough?” Her smile said she knew well enough what he was asking for. She caught her father mouthing “later” and tugged the teeniest bit on his arm. Pastor Mueller stood beside his wife, who looked to be in the family way again. While some women bloomed in their pregnancies, Mrs. Mueller faded like a blossom spent and too tired to hold its head up any longer. The doctor had warned her of the dangers of another baby, but . . .

Elizabeth drew her thoughts back from things medical and shook hands with her pastor. “So good to have you here.” What she’d like to have said was
“Why don’t you leave your wife here to rest and you go home and take care of those four boys?”
But she kept her smile in place and patted Mrs. Mueller’s hand.

“I have someone I’d like you to meet.” Pastor took Elizabeth’s hand and led her toward a young man who stood waiting to meet her. “My nephew, Thornton Wickersham, my sister’s oldest boy. Thornton, this is Elizabeth, whom we’ve told you so much about.”

Elizabeth extended her hand to shake his and, by the look on his tanned face, had caught him by surprise. He shook it and smiled back at her, regaining his composure in an eye blink.

“I’m pleased to meet you. Living up to their enthusiasm would be difficult, but you more than accomplish that.”

Oh, bother. A smooth talker. That’s all I need
. Elizabeth quickly catalogued his appearance—dark curly hair cut short, twinkling amber eyes flecked with gold, squared chin balanced by a broad forehead, and shoulders that well filled his jacket. “And you.”
But what is my father impressed with? Not looks, that’s for sure
.

“I’m looking forward to getting to know you and hope that you will introduce me to some of the young people in town. I’ll be a senior at Carleton. I’m coming here so I can study under Dr. Wahlberg.”

And every girl on campus will make sure you know her name
. “I’ll be happy to do just that. And now excuse me. My mother insisted that I provide music before supper.”

“You minx.” Her father’s whisper tickled her ear.

“Anything special you would like to hear?” she asked the doctor on her way to the ebony Steinway.

“Something light. Debussy, Mozart, perhaps a bit of Beethoven.”

“At your service, sir.” She sketched a curtsy before sliding onto the piano bench, and after loosening her arms and hands, she spread her fingers over the keys. Closing her eyes, she stroked the keys, rippling arpeggios, and flowing from measure to measure of liquid joy.

When supper was announced, she returned from the land of dreams to find Thornton Wickersham leaning against the concert grand piano, his eyes on hers as if waiting for her to awaken.

“That was magnificent.”

“Thank you.” Her fingers found notes of their own, not needing sheet music or even concentration.

“I’ve heard some of the world-class pianists, but you excel even the best. Why are you not on a concert tour?”

“Because she wants to be a doctor.” Phillip Rogers took the young man by the arm. “Come. Supper is waiting.”

“You do?” His gaze had never left hers.

“Yes.” Elizabeth hit a final lingering note, and her hands drifted down to her lap, hands once again, no longer instruments of music.

“I see.”

I doubt that you do, but at least you are not so obsequious you squeak
. She stood and walked beside him into the dining room, now lit with two candelabras, one at either end of the twelve-foot table.

All through a delicious meal of roasted capon, she studied him, trying to pick out something to dislike. He made Mrs. Mueller smile with a funny joke, complimented her mother on the food, asked her father about an editorial he had run the day before, and still managed to inquire at length about her dream of medicine. All with the carefree ease of a diplomat with years of experience. And he was nice. Not husband material, but nice.

An idea pecked at the shell enclosing it like a chick on the way to hatching. What if . . . ? She didn’t dare look at her mother for fear the scheme was written all over her face.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Blessing, North Dakota
September 1893

“Thorliff, you’re home!” Anji threw herself into his arms.

He let her cry on his shoulder, smoothing her hair with one hand and stroking her back with the other. Sobs shook her body and burrowed into his soul.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.” His whisper only made her cry harder.

“I . . . I miss her so. Every day I wake up thinking I’ll tell Ma something, and she’s not here. Her chair sits empty. I can’t hear her singing. Thorliff, I want to hear her sing just one more time. That’s all I ask.” She wiped her eyes with her fingertips, then dug in her apron pocket for a handkerchief. She held it up for him to notice the neatly embroidered
A
bordered by two tiny blue forget-me-nots. “No matter what I do, there is some part of her with me.”

What if it were my mother?
The thought brought a lump to Thorliff ’s throat like a piece of coal. He sniffed back the tears Anji’s drew forth and took the handkerchief from her hand. Gently, tenderly, he wiped her eyes and the tear tracks down her cheeks. All the while, he poured his love into her eyes to soothe her soul.

“Th-thank you.” She tucked her handkerchief back in her pocket. “Sorry to greet you like this. I figured I could handle it by now, but the sight of you . . .” She sighed. “She loved you, you know.”

“She’s been nearly a mother to me too, through all these years. If I wanted advice, I just had to ask, and sometimes I got it even when I didn’t ask.”

“Or didn’t want it. I know. Ma had a gift for seeing inside of folks and finding the best.” Together they sat on the steps of the back porch so they could be in the shade.

“Have you been home yet?”

“No, I came straight here. Far sent me home early since we were near a train station.” He slid his fingers between hers so their palms lay together and rested them on his knee. “How’s your Pa?”

“Not good. He wanders around like a lost soul. Swen’s been in charge in a way, telling Pa that such and such needs doing, then Pa goes and does it. The younger ones don’t know what to make of it, not that I do. But I feel kind of the same. Guess it’s different for women though. People got to be fed, clothes washed, the garden put by. With Ma so sick, most of it fell to me, so I just keep on doing what I been doing.”

“Penny said a farm burned south of here.”

“Uh-huh. A young couple’s place. Your ma helped birth their baby, so they’re staying over to your house in the soddy.” She swiped at a stubborn tear.

“Could they come help out here?”

“I don’t know. I can manage. All of us are pitching in, that’s all.”

Thorliff lifted their hands and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I need to get on home and surprise Ma before someone tells her I got off the train.”

“Thorliff, you are such a good man.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I am the luckiest girl in the world.”

Oh no. I just hope you never learn how sad and scared I am inside. I’ll try to be who you think I am. Truly I will
. He surged to his feet, pulling her up with him. “I’ll be back later.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and nearly ran out the yard, picking up his bedroll at the gate. He waved once and took off toward home.

Paws stood at the gate of the yard, barking to announce a visitor. When he heard Thorliff call his name, he tore out to meet him, yipping and grinning his embarrassed doggy grin.