Stone Dreaming Woman (3 page)

I gave seven years of my life for that letter,
she thought bitterly.
I sacrificed my relationship with Father just so I could get a rejection letter from Northtown. And I’ll bet my bottom dollar he had something to do with it. Academic credentials don’t come any better than mine, yet here I am after all that work, an outcast in a man’s world. Well, I still have some fight left in me. There has to be some place in medicine for a woman doctor. I swear I’ll find it, and then I can thumb my nose at all those insufferable stuffed shirts. I’ll have my revenge, and it will be so sweet.

She forced herself to put the letters aside and pigeonhole the anger that surged up inside her. There was nothing she could do at the moment, so she stuffed all the ire, all the hurt, and all the disappointment into a far corner of her mind, put the box of letters in a drawer, and continued unpacking.

When she finished putting her things away, she decided to take her uncle’s advice and rest. She did not feel particularly tired; nevertheless, she stripped to her shift and snuggled into the featherbed with her heavy human anatomy text. Soon the warmth that enveloped her made her realize the trip had left her wearier than she had wanted to admit. The tome became more and more ponderous, closing altogether across her hand as she fell asleep.

Chapter Two

The next morning Richard immersed himself in his work, leaving Jenny at loose ends. She acquainted herself with her uncle’s quiet house and the housekeeper. In contravention of Jenny’s strict New York propriety, which dictated the cook should always receive the honorific “Mrs.,” Mavis she was and Mavis she would remain. By contrast to the formidable Mrs. Hall, who ruled the kitchen of the sumptuous Weston mansion with an iron fist, Mavis had a much more informal style, making Richard Weston’s comfortable assembly room home to all. Life in the house focused about the round dining table, whether for a leisurely breakfast or a session of potato peeling, mending, and small talk. Jenny sat herself down with the wool plaid shirt that needed to have the cuffs and collar turned. She unpicked the stitches and applied herself to practical sewing while Mavis peeled potatoes for dinner. It was during a period of companionable silence when Mavis suggested that Jenny take the plunge into Elk Gap society.

“By the way, the church is having a box social tomorrow night. I hope you want to attend,” she said.

“Box social?” Jenny echoed. “You know, I’ve never been to one, and I’m not certain I really want to start now.”

“Heavens, child, you’ve led a deprived life,” Mavis responded with her dimpled smile. “Of course you want to go. It’ll be your chance to meet the whole town.”

“I don’t want to give anyone the impression I’m looking for a beau. That’s the farthest thing in the world from my mind,” she protested.

“I realize that. I just think you should go and get acquainted. Of course, you’ll be eating dinner with whoever buys your basket, but that’s not really as important as getting to know people. Besides, Mr. Weston said he plans to attend, and I’m also going. Everyone not bringing or buying a box is bringing pot luck.”

“Well, perhaps you’re right. I have to get acquainted sometime,” Jenny sighed, picking up her small, stork-bill scissors to clip a ragged edge. “Uncle Richard is certainly hard on cuffs, with as much writing as he does, and he won’t wear sleeve protectors because he says they’re not comfortable. Next time around, these sleeves will have to be cut off.”

“There’s a quilting party Sunday evening at Millie Tillman’s house, too. Millie’s husband runs the general store in town?” Mavis’s voice went up questioningly, and she waited for Jenny’s nod of recognition. “Millie is a sweet woman. A bit of a busybody, but she means well. Anyone you don’t meet tomorrow night you’ll be introduced to then. I understand the people around here are perhaps simpler than you’re used to, but you’ll come to like Elk Gap eventually.”

“From what little I’ve seen, I like it well enough already,” Jenny protested. “The only thing about a box social, aren’t you supposed to pack the picnic supper yourself?”

“Naturally. Why?”

“Because I’ve never learned to cook. Tea is about my limit.”

“Never learned to cook?” Mavis echoed, incredulous.

“No. At Parkfield, Father always had a household staff of at least eight, plus a fulltime cook with a helper. In fact, he has employed the same cook since before I was born, and no one who values their life would go into Mrs. Hall’s kitchen without her express permission.”

“She sounds like quite a forbidding lady.”

“She’s on the stern side, but she’s very devoted to what she does, and one of the best cooks in New York,” Jenny said with a small, nostalgic smile. She had realized early on that Mrs. Hall’s gruffness was the only way she expressed the vast amount of love stored within her.

“Well, since you sew well enough, I think it’s high time you learned to cook. I’ll teach you, if you want me to.”

Jenny felt a ripple of amusement at Mavis’s observation.
I should be able to sew. I’m a surgeon, after all.
“Why not learn to cook? I’ll have a lot of free time while I’m here.”

“Good. I’ll help you with the box social, since there’s scarcely time for you to learn what you’re doing before tomorrow, but after that you’ll be on your own.”

“Fair enough,” Jenny responded as Mavis gathered up her potatoes to rinse them in the sink. She dumped the peelings into a clean bucket, which Toby would eventually take to the barn for the pig.

“Have you ever been to a quilting bee?” Mavis asked at length.

“Oh, yes. We had those in New York. I do like to embroider, but I’m afraid sewing is the only homely skill I’ve acquired.”

“Mr. Weston did mention you’d been away at school. Was it finishing school?” Jenny cringed, then decided to sidestep the question for the present.

“No, I attended the University of Virginia. I studied French, German, Latin, and Greek, plus a lot of other things like natural sciences.”

“How impressive! And French will stand you in good stead here. A lot of people hereabouts speak it, because the voyageurs were the first white people who settled this area.” Mavis dunked the potatoes vigorously in a pan of water in the sink, then set them to boil. Jenny was mentally asking forgiveness for the social fib when Richard came into the room. But Mavis’s comment stuck with her, and she connected it with Sergeant Adair’s accidental use of French when they met.

“My, you two certainly look busy,” he said, adjusting his spectacles.

“We have been. Your shirt’s mended now, but when you wear the cuffs through again, I’m afraid it’s the end.”

“That old shirt doesn’t owe me anything. I’ve had it since before I went to the Continent. Anyway, thanks for fixing it.” He leaned down to bestow an appreciative peck on her forehead.

“You’re welcome. How’s your work going today?”

“Very well, but I do need a break.” He sat down in his accustomed place, and Mavis wordlessly handed him a mug of tea.

“Mrs. Conner…I mean, Mavis…has talked me into going to the box social at the church tomorrow. I’m glad you’re going with us.”

“I’m a little ahead of schedule. I can afford the time. I don’t want to be a complete hermit, after all.”

“Good. I’ll be glad for a familiar face.” Richard smiled at her, and she looked at her uncle, seeing a thousand small details at once. Though he so resembled her father, a world of difference resided behind the unlined face and lively blue eyes. All the men in the Weston family tended to go bald; Richard’s hairline had started to recede, but his hair, like Jenny’s, was still a tawny, darkish blond. She did not think he looked thirty-eight, although her father showed every day of his extra years.
Fiery people like Father seem to age faster
, she thought.

“How big is the congregation at Calvary?” she asked at length.

“Oh, a couple hundred, I’d guess. Everybody in town, except those who attend Our Lady of the Angels. We have very few Roman Catholics, though. Father Andre’s parishioners are mostly Indian.”

“That sounds so small after Park Avenue Methodist,” Jenny remarked. “We had more people at early Sunday service than you have in all of Elk Gap.”

“Well, tomorrow you’ll meet most of them.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” She fudged a bit on that statement, too. At that point she could not have cared much less about anything social, especially if it involved men. But by the next afternoon she managed to work herself into an acceptable state of anticipation. She dressed carefully, selecting a navy wool skirt and vest and a white blouse to complement her outfit. When she had done her hair, she opened her jewelry case and deliberated.

Most of her very real jewelry had come down to her through two families. As the only girl on the Weston side, it comprised quite a legacy. She passed over an elegantly simple black cameo ringed with pearls, touched her grandmother’s wonderful diamond-and-pearl necklace, then picked up a topaz-and-diamond bar pin in platinum filigree that her late Grandmother Weston had given her for her sixteenth birthday. She tilted it in the light, watching the diamonds wink back at her around the hexagonal center stone. When she held it against the high collar of her blouse, she decided the effect pleased her very much. Carefully she fastened the pin at the bottom of her collar and turned once before the cheval glass to check her general appearance. With satisfaction she decided she looked nice enough to attend anything in New York.

Mavis, too, wore her Sunday best and had just finished winding an old-fashioned knitted fascinator around her head when Jenny came downstairs.

“Well, Jen, we’re ready. Toby’s bringing the team around. You’d best wear your furs. It’s cold outside,” Richard advised.

“You’ve done so well with Toby, Mr. Weston. Perhaps he’s not as slow as everyone thinks,” Mavis remarked, picking up her coat. “You know, he wasn’t born deaf. He was as right as rain, going to school and everything, until the scarlet fever when he was ten years old. He nearly died, and when he got over it he couldn’t hear any longer.”

“Really?” Jenny said. “Well, that just reinforces what I thought when I first saw him. He may not actually be retarded at all.”

“That’s a possibility,” Richard allowed. “He does well enough when I can make him understand what I want.”

The physician in Jenny lit up like a lantern as it had when she first saw Toby. “I had an idea about him a while ago. Would you object if I try to teach him to read? He may have the foundations for it already. If he could just communicate, it might open up a whole new world for him.”

“That’s a splendid idea,” Richard said, opening the door for them. He took her wicker picnic basket and gave her a hand up into the seat of the buckboard. He could afford a much nicer buggy. Heaven only knew why he drove an old rattletrap of a farmer’s wagon. But Richard had become an anomaly in the Weston family: an artistic and unrealistic daydreamer whom the details of day-to-day life touched only lightly.

“Uncle Richard, why do you drive this thing?” she asked. “It’s awfully open to be running around with during the winter.”

“It was in the barn when I bought the place,” he replied with a shrug. “The weather’s not that bad, if you dress for it. If it’s too raw outside, I stay home.” He helped Mavis up, then came around to take the driver’s seat. He settled himself, clucked to The Girls, shook the reins, and they were off.

At that latitude in January, full dark fell by five o’clock. Fortunately a decent moon rode part way up the clear, dark sky, illuminating the road with long, sharp shadows. He whistled tunelessly as the horses trotted along, while Jenny let her mind go blank and merely enjoyed the crisp night.

A collection of idle conveyances already surrounded the church when they arrived. Richard quickly tethered and blanketed The Girls before ushering Jenny and Mavis inside. The solid and surprisingly large brick building boasted a big fellowship hall in the basement. They hung their wraps in the outer hallway, and Mavis showed Jenny where to put her basket. About twenty baskets lined two long tables; she placed hers on the end. Soon they would go to young men who would then claim the donors as their partners for the evening. In theory, no one knew which basket belonged to whom, but in practice, most of the swains had been well coached beforehand.

Jenny went through so many introductions that her head swam by the time the pastor moved to start the proceedings. She sat between Mavis and Richard at a long table near the right side of the hall, and just as Reverend Aubrey came to the front of the room, three figures in red tunics slipped in. The first, quite tall and slim, had crisp, light blond hair. She recognized the second as the French-speaking constable from the train. The third one drew a smile from Richard. Jenny looked the other way.

“Do you know that shorter officer in the middle?” Mavis asked Richard.

“That’s Constable Laurence Bernard. He comes up from River Bend sometimes, usually when there’s an emergency here. He seems a very personable young man, although I’ve only spoken with him on two or three occasions,” Richard said. “And, Jenny, the tall, blond fellow is Shane’s partner—actually his subordinate officer—Corporal Paul Weller. I’ll introduce you when the opportunity presents itself.”

“I think I told you Constable Bernard was on the train with me. We had rather a nice conversation, all in French, of course,” Jenny responded.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our box social,” Reverend Aubrey began. The tall young man had such a rich, resonant voice that Jenny wondered if he could sing. “Shall we stand for a word of prayer?” he said with formality. The room filled with the sounds of scraping chairs and shuffling feet, then all went quiet. Jenny bowed her head but cut her eyes sideways at the three police officers who stood in identical reverent parade-rest poses against the far wall.

A minute or so later the auction started. Some baskets drew frantic competition; others went quietly to the first and only bidder. To Jenny’s astonishment, Richard paid an entire dollar for the basket that turned out to belong to Ruth Grayson, the postmistress. As Richard came forward to claim his basket, Jenny saw Shane and Paul trade a pointed look, and surprise on other faces in the crowd, too, with a few gasps, and not inconsiderable murmuring.
There must be a story here
, Jenny concluded.