The Doctor Takes a Wife (5 page)

“O
h, Sarah, that looks divinely delicious!” Prissy gushed two days later, watching as Sarah put the finishing touches on her blackberry jam cake with pecan frosting. “Will you teach me how to make that one for the New Year's Day party?”

Sarah looked up from her work, pushing back a stray curl which had escaped from behind her ear. “What New Year's Day party?”

“The one my parents are giving. Remember the afternoon party on New Year's Day my parents always gave before the war? The whole town came, and everyone from the nearby ranches. Papa wants to start having it again as a sign that things really have gotten back to normal. I meant to mention it sooner,” Prissy said with an airy wave of her hand. “You know, it's really the last
big
social event till spring for the whole town, if you think about it,” Prissy went on. “You can't plan on anything big for certain, what with the unpredictability of winter weather, though we might manage something smaller with the Spinsters' Club, if some candidates show up.
Que sera, sera,
as the French say.”

What Prissy was saying was true. The Spinsters' Club had been started in the summer, when it was relatively easy for an interested candidate to travel to Simpson Creek. They had a taffy pull coming up, but that was all until at least March.

Oh, well, it didn't matter to her anyway. Even before her sister had founded the Spinsters' Club, Sarah had been a homebody, content to wait on the Lord to provide her a beau if He willed it so.

“But at least all the ladies of the Spinsters' Club will be coming, and the ones who are being courted will bring their beaux. You never know who might bring an eligible man to the party as a guest,” Prissy said, still thinking out loud.

“Oh, and I told Mama we'd bring a couple of desserts.” It was a typical Prissy-style change of subject. “Why don't you bake your cherry upside-down cake, and I'll make one like this—” she pointed to the one Sarah was completing “—if you'll teach me, of course.”

“Sure I will.” Sarah vaguely remembered attending some of those extravagant open-house parties the mayor and his wife had hosted in those halcyon prewar years, though she had barely been old enough to put up her hair before the last of them.

Mentally, she readjusted her plans. She'd been thinking of asking Milly if it was okay if she and Prissy came out to the ranch for dinner for New Year's. Now, of course, she'd have to think about what she was going to wear, as well as making a dessert to contribute. Perhaps Milly and Nick would come into town for the party.

“Or maybe you should make the biscuits. I declare, yours are the lightest, the fluffiest…I don't think I'll
ever
be able to make biscuits like that.” Prissy let out a gusty, dramatic sigh.

“Oh, I don't know…the ones you made this morning were…um, much better,” Sarah told her with a grin.

“You mean they were almost edible this time, as opposed to the lead sinkers I made last night for dinner,” Prissy said, with a rueful laugh. “Your sisters' pigs probably wouldn't eat them.”

“It just takes practice. You'll be making fine biscuits before long, I promise.”

Prissy seemed reassured. “Is that for the mercantile, or the hotel?” she asked, gesturing at the cake.

“Neither. I promised to see Dr. Walker so he could check my wound, so I'm going to take it with me when I go to the office this morning.”

“Ohhhhhhh!” Prissy said, drawing the syllable out, her eyes dancing with glee. “So your heart has thawed toward the handsome Yankee.”

“It's done no such thing,” Sarah said quickly. “At least not the way
you
mean.” She avoided her friend's knowing gaze. “It's just the polite thing to do. He was very kind to me that day.”

“Hmm,” Prissy murmured, clearly unconvinced by Sarah's casual words. “It must be nice to have a knight in shining armor. Oh! You might as well deliver his invitation to him personally,” Prissy said.

“Invitation?”

“To the party, silly. Mama had asked me to take the invitations around town this afternoon, but you can save me that stop, at least.”

Before Sarah could say anything else, Prissy dashed into her bedroom and was back in a couple of minutes, waving the cream-colored vellum envelope with its handwritten invitation inside.
Of course Dr. Nolan Walker is to attend the party like everyone else.
Suddenly attending the party had become much more complicated. How was she to act around him?

“So what are you going to wear?” Prissy asked.

Sarah shrugged. “I don't know…I suppose you have a suggestion, now that you've seen the entire contents of my wardrobe?”

Prissy giggled. “I think you should wear that lovely red grenadine dress with the green piping. Very festive. And men like red dresses.”

“I don't give a fig what color Dr. Walker likes!”

“Ah, but
I
said ‘men.'
You
applied my generalization to Dr. Walker.”

Caught.
Sarah tightened her lips and glanced at the clock on the mantel as she reached for the cake cover. “This is a silly conversation, Prissy Gilmore,” she said primly, “and I'm going to be late if I don't leave now.”

The sound of her friend's giggles followed her out into the street.

Really, she was going to have to warn Prissy to cease and desist with her matchmaking efforts, Sarah thought as she walked down the street, avoiding ice-rimmed puddles—she didn't want to fall again. She was
not
going to change her mind about Nolan Walker, she really wasn't, and the sooner her friend understood that, the better. She didn't want to be embarrassed at the party. Perhaps she
would
wear the red and green dress,
but really, her selection had
nothing
to do with the town doctor… When she'd pointed out he was free to court anyone else, he'd simply said, “I know,” so surely that meant he realized she was never going to reconsider her position with him, and he was now considering other options….

She'd said they could be friends, hadn't she? Had she been too hasty to indicate there could be nothing more? Even with all she'd had to do in the last few days because of her move into town, Nolan Walker had seldom been far from her mind.

So intent on her thoughts was she as she turned and strode up the walk that led to the doctor's office that Sarah almost bowled right into a figure descending the steps.

“Oh!” she cried, tightening her grip on the cake plate and looking up at Ada Spencer. “I'm sorry, Ada, I didn't see you. I'm afraid I was lost in thought.”

The other woman gave a short laugh. “That was certainly obvious!” Her eyes narrowed as they focused on what Sarah was carrying. “A treat for the good doctor? My, my, he's going to grow fat with all the goodies the ladies of the town are bringing him,” Ada said archly. “Why, just the other day I brought him pralines myself. Have a nice visit with Dr. Walker. I must be getting home—we spent far too long chatting, the doctor and I. I don't know where the time went.”

Sarah stiffened as the other woman stepped past her and went out into the street. So “all the ladies in town” were bringing treats to the doctor, were they? Or was it only Ada? Suddenly Sarah felt foolish and pathetic carrying the beautiful cake, like a schoolgirl
with a silly infatuation. She could turn around now and take the cake back down the street to the mercantile and sell it. Yes. That's what she'd do, and then return to the doctor's office and have him check her wound, as she had agreed.

 

“Well, good morning, Miss Sarah,” Dr. Walker said, opening his door. Through the window, he'd seen her coming up his walk right after he'd just closed the door on Ada Spencer. Surely Sarah's coming was his reward for being patient and kind during Ada's unexpected visit, made under the pretext that she'd felt something was wrong with the baby. It had taken him an hour to calm her and send her on her way, and now here was Sarah Matthews, looking lovely in her loden green shawl and navy holly-sprigged wool dress. And bearing a gift, he thought, spotting the covered plate she carried.
Well, well.

He saw her start. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting him to open the door before she'd even had the chance to knock.

“G-good morning, Dr. Walker. I…I've come to have you check my arm, if you have the time.”

“Please, call me Nolan,” he said, guessing she called him “doctor” to maintain a distance between them. “And of course I have time. It will only take a minute. Come in,” he said, opening the door and gesturing for her to enter. “And what is that you're carrying?”

Two spots of pink bloomed on her cheeks. “I brought you a cake, to thank you for your kindness the other day when I fell—as well as the dollar I owe you for the doctor visits,” she said, pointing to the placard that
indicated his prices. She set the cake on a chair next to his inner office door and began to fish about in her reticule.

“Please forget about the fee.” He put out a staying hand. “I'm sure this cake will be quite enough in the way of payment, and how thoughtful of you to bring it. May I?” he said, putting his hand on the lid of the cake plate.

“Of course. But I've been told you've been receiving quite a lot of such things,” she said, “so it won't be all that special.” Her tone strove to be unconcerned, but he heard the disappointment underneath.

His hand stilled and he gazed at the entrance door. He'd seen Ada and Sarah exchange a few words on the walk, and hadn't missed the quickly suppressed dismay which had flashed across Sarah's features. What had the other woman said to her?

“Nonsense,” he said, going ahead and lifting the top and staring at the delicious-looking confection it had concealed. “This looks wonderful, Miss Sarah. I've been told you're quite a cook—and now I'll be able to discover that for myself.”

She looked at him as if she wondered where he could have heard such a thing or if he was trying to flatter her, but said only, “Well. I hope you enjoy it. But I don't want to waste your time, Dr. Walker. Why don't you have a look at my wound and then I'll be going?”

He followed her into the office, closed the door behind him, then gestured for her to sit in the chair. He began to unwrap the linen roll, noting with satisfaction that as he had instructed, the bandage had obviously been changed from the one he had applied, and
once he had completely removed it, the wound itself proved to be free of redness, swelling and drainage. His sutures had held. He pressed a finger into either side of the wound, and was pleased to see that she did not flinch.

“It's no longer painful?”

She shook her head.

“It appears to be healing well,” he said. “I want you to continue to keep it clean and dry, and change the bandage every day, and by, say, New Year's Day, you can leave the wrapping off, get it wet and so forth.” He saw a flush of color rise in her cheeks again and realized he no longer needed to hold her forearm. He released it.

“Oh, that reminds me,” she said, once again reaching for her reticule. “Prissy asked me to give you this for her parents.” She held out a vellum envelope.

Curious, he opened it, and saw that it was an invitation to an open-house party at the home of the mayor and his wife on New Year's Day. “A party,” he murmured. “Are you going?”

“Of course. I live right on the grounds now, you know, in that little cottage with Prissy.”

She'd mentioned her move when she'd been in his office the last time, after her fall. She would have been surprised to know he thought of her every night when he went into the hotel restaurant right across the street from the mayor's house for his supper. If he had been on better terms with Sarah, he would have called to bring her some little thing as a housewarming present, but he hadn't thought she'd welcome such a visit.

“Good. I'll see you there, and I'll bring your cake
dish and cover with me—unless you need them before that?”

She must have thought it was a dismissal, for she arose and said, “No, at the party will be fine. Good day, Doctor.”

He couldn't bear for her to leave so soon, but he had no good reason to keep her here—unless she would allow him to share the concern that had been weighing on his mind. He'd thought about waiting to bring it up till he knew her better, but after Ada's disturbing visit, he wanted to speak of it now.

“Please,” he said, rising, too. “If you have a minute, may I discuss something with you?”

She glanced at him sharply, her eyes wary. Probably she feared he was going to revisit their conversation about why she would not let him court her. He sat back down, and as he was hoping, she sank back into her seat, too.

“I'm worried about the lady who just left, Miss Spencer. How well do you know her? Are you friends?”

She blinked. “Friends?” She gave a shrug. “I used to think so…I've known her for years, and she was a part of the Simpson Creek Spinsters' Club when it started, but lately…”

Her voice trailed off, and her eyes looked troubled. He wondered if that meant she knew about the baby.

“Why do you ask?” Her tone was curious, but not guarded. No, Ada hadn't told her.

Here was the tricky part. He wanted to make sure Ada Spencer had friends to help support her, but he didn't know if she'd told anyone about the baby she claimed to carry. He was no more certain than he had
been at Ada's last visit that she actually
was
with child, and had been troubled to see that once again she'd come alone, disregarding his request to bring another female with her. And she'd seemed even more brittle, emotionally, when she'd come today than she had before.

He took a deep breath. “It's difficult for me to say,” he began, “without violating her confidence…but I will say she seems troubled. I—I'd hoped she had friends to confide in.” He waited to see what she would say.