Marriage by Mail (Grace Church Book 1) (11 page)

†

Charles paced in his room, keeping his eyes averted from his bed. All the loneliness he had experienced before marriage was nothing compared to this: this specific yearning for the woman that shared his home, his life. His wife. He stopped and put his hands to the back of his head, trying to control his response.
Rose
. His mind, heart, and soul were filled with chaos. Anguished, he couldn’t even articulate to himself his longing, fear, and frustration.

Patience
.

The word seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once, and almost made him laugh out loud. Patience? He had never felt further from feeling patient in his life. But the word seemed to reach inside his mind and he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He sank to his knees by the side of his bed and clasped his hands and closed his eyes. He pressed his forehead against his hands. Without words, he prayed.

Chapter Seventeen

Rose had just cleaned the table when she heard the sound of a buggy approaching. Taking off her apron, she hurried to the front door. Charles had left for work just a short while ago. They had been quiet with one another during breakfast, a little formal and shy.

Doctor Petersen, carrying his black medical bag, hitched his palomino horse to the post and took off his hat.

“Good morning, Mrs. Smith. I thought I’d pay a brief call if it suits you,” he said.

“Doctor Petersen, hello, come in. May I offer you some coffee or tea?” Rose smiled, recalling his polite and humorous refusal of tea the last time he had been there.

He declined and the two of them sat down in the parlor. Rose answered his questions about how she had been feeling as he checked her eyes and ears and glands in her throat.

“No more dizzy spells?” The doctor asked as he felt the pulse in her wrist.

“No,” she said.

He got out his stethoscope as Rose described feeling more energy with each passing day. She kept quiet as he listened to her heartbeat. He removed the ear pieces and then settled them back into his ears, pressing the end of the stethoscope to her chest as he frowned. He sat back and packed his equipment away while Rose fastened the top button of her dress. She asked the doctor to pass along her sincere thanks to Mrs. Petersen for the dinner yesterday, and added that she would request the recipe for the herbed bread.

“I declare Charles would have eaten the entire loaf,” she said, smiling.

He nodded and smiled briefly, but appeared distracted and soon was on his way. Rose assumed he had many patients to see as she waved good-bye.

†

Charles pulled the tongs from the water, the steam obscuring his vision. He looked closely and shook his head. It wasn’t right. He’d have to try again. The shovel’s blade was still uneven. Sighing, he straightened his back, stifling a groan. The day had been long, growing hotter with every passing hour. In the forge, the heat was overwhelming. He set down the shovel and wiped his brow on his arm. Looking up, he saw Doctor Petersen approach. His heart seemed to crash within his chest as he saw the doctor’s somber expression. His leather apron felt as though it were made of iron as he walked toward him.

“Mr. Smith,” Doctor Petersen said, and then paused, looking out the doorway of the smithy.

“Doctor,” he said, unable to say any more.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, turning back to Charles and shaking his head. “Forgive me. I am at a loss. I called on Mrs. Smith this morning. I am going home and will write to a colleague who will hopefully be able to come quite soon to consult with me.” He appeared lost in thought, his eyes again looking out the doorway.

“Doc?” Charles felt desperate and angry. He had a momentary thought of Rose at home, sewing or patting her horse, and his mind slammed shut at the thought of her not recovering. He felt a surge of love that nearly felled him with its intensity.
Rose
.

The doctor took a few steps away and put his hands on his hips. He looked down at the ground and then turned back to Charles. “Again, I beg your pardon. My thoughts are scattered on this day. In truth, I see every evidence that Mrs. Smith is recovering from her fever. Her vitality and color are better. She has gained some weight, and reports no dizziness. She is sleeping well.”

Charles nodded, his mouth dry. The quiet of the forge seemed to press in on him.

“I must ask your patience,” said the doctor. “Hopefully there will be good news. Just, please, continue having Mrs. Smith rest. Let me enlist my colleague’s assistance and then we can be sure that your wife is truly growing well. Please do not let her be aware of any concerns.”

“But,” Charles said, confused. “But if she is feeling better with each day that passes, and you can see the evidence of that… doesn’t that mean she is becoming well?” He experienced a wave of guilt. Had their outing the previous day weakened her? Were all the kisses they shared damaging her heart? He knew they made his heart race, that was for sure. He couldn’t summon the words to ask these questions.

“I am reassured by every sign that she is recovering and yet.” Doctor Petersen paused, looking intently at Charles. “And yet, I must again ask for your patience. As you recall, I had a concern as I was not able to ascertain the functioning of her heart.”

Charles bit back an impatient retort. “Yes,” he said shortly.

“I fear that I… I am troubled by the fact that I was still unable to examine the function of her heart. I will let you know as soon as I know when my colleague can arrive. In the meanwhile, continue encouraging her to rest and not over-do it. No strain. Don’t let her know about any concerns for her well-being.” The doctor turned away as if to go.

“Doctor,” said Charles. He yanked off his heavy apron and threw it in a corner. “Why? What could be wrong?”

“We should have every reason to be hopeful,” repeated the doctor as he turned back to Charles briefly for a quick nod, and then he strode away.

Charles nearly called after him, but then stopped. He figured if the doctor was heading home to write that letter, then the sooner the better so that Rose could get expert help. He kicked a pail and sent it soaring across the forge until it crashed against the wall.

“Sylvester,” he bellowed.

Moments later, he was riding home, restraining himself from making Rascal gallop in the heat of the late afternoon. He needed to see Rose. He had a fearful notion that she would not be there, though he chided himself for his runaway thoughts.

Sweetheart was in the paddock, and she raced back and forth, whinnying to Rascal. Charles dismounted and quickly took off his horse’s saddle and bridle, letting him loose in the paddock to reunite with Sweetheart.

He walked to the back of the house when he heard Rose’s voice.

“Charles! Up here!”

Confused, he stopped. He looked up into the apple tree.

Rose looked down at him from where she sat on a branch. She swiftly tugged her dress down over her ankles and he felt a wave of dizziness overtake him. He was the one getting dizzy spells now, he thought ruefully.

“What in tarnation are you doing up there in that tree?” Charles asked, his voice coming out louder than he had planned.

She laughed, holding onto the branches on either side of her. “Apples, Charles! I saw apples up in the tree. Apples, in the summer! So I climbed right up.”

“You did?” He felt all the air leave his chest. He couldn’t handle all the emotions pressing in on him so he just let anger rise first. “You shouldn’t be up there! You could fall. You could get hurt!”

She laughed. “I’m not going to fall. And if I did, it’s a short way down. Apples only grow in the fall, in Massachusetts.”

He shook his head and could not help smiling. Her face looked so pretty and happy, looking down at him. He reached up his hands to help her down.

“I started to imagine baking a pie, despite this heat,” she said. “Or at least giving Sweetheart an apple. But they’re not ripe. I admit I tested one, just to be sure. Yes, these apples need more time. They are green as can be.”

“They’ll ripen up soon, you just wait and see,” he said, loving the feel of her hand in his. He put his hands on her waist and felt his chest hurt at the sudden worry that she could be injured somewhere, deep within her beating heart -- someplace that he could not fix. The thought that she would not be there, by his side, to see the apples grow red and fall from the tree frightened and infuriated him, and he pulled her gently into his arms.

“I ate one, Charles,” she admitted, looking up at him. “I’m going to get a stomach-ache for sure.”

He smiled and kissed her cheek and held her as if she could break right there in his arms. He stepped back, holding her arms. She looked up at him. Her eyes were so beautiful that it was hard to look away. But he did. Breathing evenly, he took another step back and let go of her arms. Resolutely looking away from the troubled expression clouding her eyes, he put his hands on his hips and looked out into the distance at the hills and oak trees. He searched for something innocuous to say and came up with nothing.

“Well, I reckon I’ll see to Rascal,” he said, turning to go back to the paddock.

“I’ll… I’ll get dinner on the table. It will be waiting for you when you are ready, Charles,” she said, slowly walking into the house.

In the barn, Charles brushed Rascal, trying to take comfort in the familiarity of the task. The fresh, sweet scent of hay and the sound of his horse breathing should have brought him some measure of peace, he thought, but instead his heart was heavy. His thoughts went around and around like the wheels on a wagon. He was startled when he heard the pastor’s voice call out to him.

“Charles?” The pastor stepped inside the barn.

“Pastor James, I didn’t see you coming,” said Charles, setting down the brush and leading Rascal into his stall.

“Thought I’d pass by on the way home,” he said. “How’s Mrs. Smith?”

“Will you join us for dinner?” Charles asked. “You are welcome.”

“Thank you kindly but I won’t stay,” he said, then waited.

Charles leaned against a hay bale and rubbed his face, then left his hands covering his eyes. “Doc stopped by. He’s not sure about her heart. He’s sending for another doctor.” He slid down so that he was sitting, and looked out of the barn door. Pastor James walked to the doorway and then turned back, looking at Charles silently.

“She looks as though she is recovering more and more, each time I see her,” he said, sitting down next to Charles. “This must be tearing you up something fierce.”

Charles nodded, not looking at him. He clasped his hands over his knees and bent his head. “Her eyes. They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen. I thought to myself just a minute ago: they’re otherworldly. Then I got this notion that maybe that means she… that she… isn’t long for this world.”

The pastor put his hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Don’t lose hope, brother. We’re all of us otherworldly, meant for Heaven, our true home. You’re not alone, even if you feel as though you are. Remember it’s
through
the valley and darkness, all right?”

Charles nodded, looking down at his hands.

“You’ll let me know,” the pastor said.

He nodded again.

“Can I say a prayer?” The pastor squeezed his shoulder once.

Charles stood up. “I just can’t. Sorry.”

“I understand.” Pastor James stood and began to walk toward his horse. “But I’ll pray the whole way home.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, turning to walk back to the house.

†

Rose set the table, glancing out the kitchen window when she passed by it. She saw Charles leave the barn and head for the pump. By the time he entered the kitchen, she was setting the last dish on the table. He held her chair out for her and she sat down, smiling. She was about to say something lighthearted about courting, but her smile died on her face when she saw his closed, set expression. He sat down heavily and after a moment reached his hands across the table.

“For what we are about to receive we give thanks. In the name of your son Jesus Christ, amen,” he said quickly and quietly, staring down at his plate.

She passed him mashed potatoes and he took the bowl without meeting her eyes. Her heart sank. She had remembered it was a particular favorite of his and he didn’t look pleased at all. He ate slowly, unlike his usual manner.

“Charles? Did something bad happen today at work?” Rose asked softly.

He shrugged, not looking up from his plate. “Everything is all right.”

She waited, but he didn’t meet her eyes, so she ate quietly. He finished his meal and brought his plate to the sink.

“I’ll wash up,” he said.

“Charles, no,” she said, quietly insistent as she stood up and went to his side. “You’ve had a hard day, I’m sure. Working in that heat! Why don’t you sit down and I’ll join you in the parlor. This won’t take me but a minute. Or, better yet, the front porch. I think there’s a bit of a breeze now.”

“You do that, Rose. Go rest. You… you shouldn’t be making meals and mashing potatoes and climbing trees!” He took the plate she was holding without looking at her and plunged it into the water.

She stepped back and paused, looking up at him. Why was he so angry, she wondered. Leaving the kitchen, she hesitated, then left the house using the back door. She went to the barn.

Leaning on the door of Sweetheart’s stall, she gazed at the horse who was standing quietly, her eyes bright and alert. She walked over to Rose. Rose gently stroked Sweetheart’s cheek while the horse delicately lipped her cheek.

Despite the few tears that had been falling, she smiled. “Oh, you sweet, sweet horse,” she murmured. “You’re not homesick, are you, dear? You don’t miss your family too much, do you? You’ve got Rascal, and me, and… and… Charles.”

Her voice faltered on the last word. Charles. What was wrong? What was troubling him and why wouldn’t he tell her? Weren’t married people supposed to share each other’s burdens as well as joys?

She rested her face on her arm and pondered this. Maybe she was borrowing trouble. Her mother had told Rose that she took too much to heart. She recalled her mother saying, “Don’t borrow trouble.” She would quote the Bible verse to Rose, saying, “
Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself
.” She tried not to worry, remembering her mother’s gentle wisdom. However, she could not dismiss the sense that Charles and she had been drawing nearer to one another, and now he seemed to be distancing himself. Was he regretting his choice in his bride? She shook her head slowly. He had said he loved her. She felt certain that he was not a fickle man who would profess love one day and then the next have a change of heart. No. Something was troubling him, something he would not – or could not – share with her.
Patience
. She remembered the strength of that word the night before, how it had filled her mind and soul. She nodded. She would be patient. Whatever Charles was battling with, he was not alone. God’s love was ever abiding. And, Charles was married. He had a wife who loved him and would be with him, for better or worse, in sickness and in health. She straightened, giving Sweetheart one last caress.
Until death us do part
, she thought, walking back to the house. The kerosene lamplight cast a gentle glowing path onto the ground. She followed it all the way home.