Waiting for Morning (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (36 page)

She stared at him, unable to speak.
Love.
He said love.

“Tell me you feel the same.” He lowered his voice but not the intensity.

Denial flew to her lips but went no further. “I . . . I . . .” Raw hurt flashed on his face and she could no longer hold back. “I love you too.”

A wide grin flashed across his face. “My dear, sweet Molly. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” He reached for her hand but she pulled away.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she whispered in a broken voice.

His jaw tightened. “Because of your brother.”

“Because of what he will do to us. Because of what he did to my own parents, to our family. I’m sure Jimmy’s parents must feel the strain of his illness. How could they not?”

“It’s not the same thing. Donny’s not ill and he’s in no danger of dying.”

“But he requires much care.”

“Molly, you can’t sacrifice your life for his.”

“Nor can you, Caleb. The town needs you and you need a wife who puts your needs first.” Despair almost cut off her breathing but she forced herself to continue. “I can’t be that woman.”

He started to say something but a knock sounded and his face darkened with annoyance. The door opened just far enough for Aunt Bessie to poke her head into the room.

“May we come in?”

Caleb leaped to his feet but his blue eyes bored into Molly. “Yes, come in. Molly’s awake.”

The door opened all the way and Aunt Bessie bustled into the room, followed by her slower-paced sister, Lula-Belle.

“We won’t stay long,” Aunt Bessie gushed. She stopped. “All these flowers. It looks like a funeral.” Her glance volleyed between Molly and Caleb as if she sensed the tension between them.

“I asked these ladies to bring you fresh clothes,” Caleb explained, his voice hollow.

Molly smiled at the two older women. “That was very thoughtful.”

“We also brought you a little gift.” Aunt Bessie laid a box on Molly’s lap. The box was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a big red bow.

Molly fingered the satin ribbon. “Thank you, but you’ve done enough already. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you taking care of my brother.”

“Nonsense. Tell her, Lula-Belle. Tell her how much I enjoy Donny.”

Lula-Belle set a pile of freshly laundered clothes on the foot of Molly’s bed, the feathers on her hat snapping in the air like flags at
sea. “You can thank your lucky stars that he’s only fourteen or she’d have him married off by now.”

Molly’s gaze settled on Caleb, whose dark eyes never left her face. His back ramrod straight, he looked distant.

It took enormous effort to shift her gaze back to Aunt Bessie. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined Donny having any sort of normal life. Certainly not one that included marriage.

“He won’t be fourteen forever,” Aunt Bessie said, as if age were the only consideration. “I can’t wait to tell him that you’re awake. He’s been so worried.”

“How’s he doing, really?” Molly asked.

“Unless I miss my guess, he’s busy beating Sam at chess.”

“I didn’t even know he could play chess,” Molly said. Between working and caring for him, she barely had enough time to teach him the necessary skills of reading and writing. Little time had been left for fun except for an occasional game of checkers.

Lula-Belle rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky Bessie doesn’t teach the boy to gamble.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes, Lula-Belle. Just because I won a bet doesn’t mean I gambled.”

Caleb raised his eyebrows. “You won a bet?”

Aunt Bessie got all flustered. “Not exactly. Some of the men in town were betting on how long”—she gave Molly a sheepish glance— ”you would last as Miss Walker’s heiress. Most didn’t think you’d last more than—never mind that. I said you’d last more than two months and won even though I didn’t put a single penny in the pot.”

“It still sounds like gambling to me,” Lula-Belle insisted with a stubborn look.

“Well, it’s not!” Aunt Bessie gave a self-righteous nod. “It’s not
gambling if you plan to use the money for the Lord’s work.” She indicated the box on Molly’s lap. “Open it.”

Molly slid the ribbon off and tore away the paper. “Oh, bonbons!” she exclaimed.

Aunt Bessie beamed. “They’re my favorite.”

Molly took the lid off and pulled out a foil-covered chocolate.

Caleb watched with knitted brow. “I don’t think you should be eating sweets yet.” He looked and sounded every bit a doctor.

Aunt Bessie elbowed him. “I guess you haven’t heard. Bonbons are not just your ordinary sweets. They’re good for whatever ails you.” She leaned over and helped herself to a chocolate treat.

Molly offered one to Caleb but he declined. Glad to have something to do besides avoid Caleb’s gaze, she carefully peeled away the foil and tossed it toward the wastebasket and missed. Caleb stooped to pick it up.

She took a tiny bite of the luscious confectionary, letting the chocolate melt in her mouth. “Hmm,” she said, smacking her lips. “I do believe they’re my favorite too.”

Aunt Bessie looked pleased and turned to Caleb. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”

Caleb stood looking at the foil wrapper in his hand. “I’ve gotta go,” he said in an abrupt voice. He grabbed his hat from atop the chest of drawers and literally ran out of the room.

Molly stared at the door.
Oh, Caleb. If only things could be different . . .

Aunt Bessie gave a knowing nod. “A lovers’ quarrel, eh?”

Molly felt her cheeks grow warm. She wasn’t about to admit to Aunt Bessie or anyone else what she and Caleb had discussed. “No, it was . . . nothing like that.”

“We should go.” Lula-Belle stood and gave her sister a meaningful look. “We don’t want to
tire
Miss Hatfield.”

Aunt Bessie looked about to answer but thought better of it. “Very well. But we’ll be back.”

Chapter 33

T
hrottle wide open, Caleb raced along the bumpy dirt road toward the Trotter farm.
“I love you too.”
He pushed the thought away only to have another take its place:
“I can’t
be that woman.”

Drat!
He couldn’t think about that. Not now. He had a patient, a very sick little boy who needed his full attention.

Wheels spinning, he turned onto the Trotter property and parked. As if to protest Caleb’s heavy-footed driving, Bertha backfired and Magic barked in response.

In the distance Mrs. Trotter hung wash on the clothesline strung between the house and barn.

“Stay,” he said, pointing at Magic. He jumped out of his car and sprinted across the yard.

Mrs. Trotter greeted him with a wary frown. “Dr. Fairbanks.” Her hand froze on a half-hung pair of trousers. She looked tired and pale as the bedsheet flapping in the breeze.

“I didn’t expect to see you.” Her lips trembled. “I hope you aren’t bringing more bad news.”

“On the contrary. I believe I may have misdiagnosed Jimmy’s illness.”

She let go of the newly washed trousers and they hung precariously from a single clothespin before dropping to the ground. She didn’t seem to notice. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I don’t think he has leukemia. I think he has lead poisoning.”

She stared at him, her face suffused with confusion. “But how—”

“I have reason to believe there’s lead in that foil ball he carries around with him. If that’s true, it could be what’s making him sick.”

“The foil ball? The one made from bonbon wrappers?” She stared at him in disbelief. “But how is that possible? Wouldn’t other people get sick from eating those sweets?”

“Most people discard the wrappers and they don’t make spitballs out of them.”

Miss Trotter made a face. “I’ve scolded him for that filthy habit but he persists.” She placed her hand on her forehead as if to calm her thoughts. “You . . . you really think that’s what’s wrong with him?”

“We’ll know for sure soon enough. I’d like to talk to him. Is he home?”

She nodded toward the house. “Inside.” Leaving her basket of wash behind, she led the way, calling to Jimmy the moment they reached the front porch.

Caleb followed her into the house. Mrs. Trotter opened a door leading to another room in back. “Jimmy!”

Jimmy appeared rubbing his eyes. It was midafternoon but he was still dressed in his nightshirt. It was obvious he’d been sleeping.

“Hello, Jimmy,” Caleb said.

Jimmy gave him a squinty-eyed look. “Hello, Dr. Fairbanks.”

Caleb bent over, hands on his thighs. “I wonder if you would be kind enough to fetch me your foil ball.”

Jimmy glanced at his mother as if to check her reaction before turning back to Caleb. “Why do you want it?”

“I’ll explain when you bring it to me.”

Jimmy left the room and Caleb straightened.

Mrs. Trotter wrung her hands together, lines of worry on her face. “May I offer you something, Dr. Fairbanks? Some lemonade?”

“No, thank you.” Caleb was too wound up to eat or drink. What a day it had been. First Molly had opened her eyes and told him she loved him. Now this.
God, don’t let me be wrong about what’s causing Jimmy’s problem.

Jimmy reappeared and handed Caleb the foil ball. It was at least six inches round. “You must have eaten a lot of sweets to make a ball this size.”

“I didn’t eat them all,” Jimmy said. “I collect foil from other kids.”

Caleb examined the crushed foil. The ball smelled of chocolate. “Why? What do you plan to do with it?”

“I’m making a ball just like the ones on my trade cards,” Jimmy replied with obvious pride.

“Trade cards?” Caleb looked to Mrs. Trotter for explanation.

“His uncle used to play for the Cincinnati Red Stockings and every Christmas he sends the children baseball trade cards.” She shrugged. “I’m afraid he’s filled Jimmy’s head with all kinds of fanciful tales.”

“The ball has to be at least nine inches round,” Jimmy explained, his usual dull eyes almost as shiny as the foil sphere in Caleb’s hands. “Otherwise it’s not a baseball. Soon as it’s big enough, I’m going to make me a baseball bat.”

“I see.” Caleb hated to spoil the boy’s fun but it couldn’t be helped. “The problem is, I believe there’s something in the foil that’s making you sick.”

Jimmy gave the ball in Caleb’s hand a dubious glance. “Is that what makes my stomach hurt?”

“I’m afraid so. That means you can’t play with foil or make spitballs anymore.”

“But if I don’t have a ball, I can’t play baseball.” Jimmy’s lip quivered and his eyes grew moist.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Jimmy,” Caleb said. “You promise to stay away from foil and I’ll buy you the best baseball I can find.”

Jimmy’s face brightened. “Really?”

Caleb smiled. Jimmy’s health problems were far from over, but with God’s help, he would recover. “Really. Now go and wash your hands. And be sure to use lots of soap and water.”

Jimmy turned to leave the room, but his mother stopped him and hugged him tight, tears rolling down her cheeks. He wriggled free and she called to her other children. Almost instantly five more freckled faces peered anxiously at their crying mother.

“Quick!” Mrs. Trotter said, motioning to her oldest girl. “Go get your pa. Tell him we have good news.” She turned to her youngest. “Jimmy, wash your hands good now, you hear?”

Caleb stuffed the foil ball into his black bag for testing and pulled out a vial of Iodide of Potassium. “Give him a few drops every four hours.” Jimmy’s mother took the vial from him and slipped it into her apron pocket.

Harvey Trotter stomped into the house and tossed his straw hat onto the hat rack. “What’s all the racket?”

Mrs. Trotter grasped her husband’s sleeve. “Dr. Fairbanks thinks that Jimmy might not have leukemia after all.”

Harvey turned to Caleb, his sunbaked face suffused with hope. “Is this true?”

Caleb nodded. “I believe he has lead poisoning.” He quickly
explained about the foil ball. “Lead poisoning is serious but I think we caught it before it damaged any vital organs.”

Harvey beamed from ear to ear. He looked completely different from the tortured man Caleb had spotted entering a saloon the day before.

“Well, I’ll be.” He pumped Caleb’s hand like the handle of a dry well. “We’re mighty obliged to you, Doctor.”

Mrs. Trotter clasped her hands to her chest. “Praise the Lord.”

Harvey looked at Jimmy, who had just returned to the room. He threw his arms around the boy. “Praise the Lord.”

He then hugged his wife, and all six children huddled around their ma and pa.