When the Heart Heals (12 page)

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She stared at the animal, her heart drumming. Jackson's broad chestnut back gleamed in the fading sunlight. “I've been afraid to ride since I was thrown as a girl.” Her voice shook. She hated herself for having to admit weakness. “I can drive a buggy, but ride? No. Besides, he doesn't even have a saddle.”

Keeping one hand on the reins, Jacob clenched the other into a ball and gave her an impatient look. “We don't have a choice. It'll be dark soon. There's a lap robe behind the
seat—we'll use that for a saddle blanket. Just hang tight to his mane. I won't let you fall.”

She didn't know which would be worse. Being that close to Jacob, or riding on an animal that stood as high as the top of her head. Rosemary took a deep breath. She'd been frightened before, and the Lord had seen her through. He was with her now.

She lifted her chin. “All right. I'm ready when you are.”

“Good.” He handed her the reins. “Hold him while I put the blanket over his back.”

Within moments, he placed his hands around her waist and swung her from the buggy to the horse. “You'll be safer if you straddle him,” he said when she tried to sit sideways.

Her face burned. Ladies rode sidesaddle. Cringing, she swung a leg over Jackson's back and gripped his mane with tight fists. The animal's hide prickled through the fabric of her petticoats.

Jacob settled behind her. One strong arm encircled her waist, while the other held the reins and guided the horse south toward town. She sat stiffly, trying for as little contact as possible between her back and Jacob's chest. Embarrassment swept over her in waves.

He leaned forward. “Relax. You'll be more comfortable if you move with the horse's gait rather than bouncing up and down with every step.” His breath was warm next to her ear.

She drew a deep breath. Puzzled, she sniffed again. Bacon. Up close, Jacob smelled like bacon. With all the time he spent in the restaurant kitchen, cooking odors must have settled in his hair. Rosemary felt a smile cross her lips. How could she distrust a man who smelled like breakfast?

Twilight had settled over Noble Springs by the time they passed Judge Lindberg's house. Rosemary kept her head lowered, hoping no one would recognize her. If they could travel
to her front door without encountering a familiar face, she'd be grateful. They turned right at Courthouse Square, then left on King's Highway. Rosemary sighed with relief. One more block and she'd be home.

With an abrupt motion, Jacob jerked on the reins. “Looks like you have company.” He pointed at a horse and buggy tied to the hitching post.

Dr. Stewart stood next to the fence, a stunned expression on his face.

E
lijah fought the urge to step forward when Jacob placed his hands on Miss Saxon's waist. With a swift motion, the grocer swung her to the ground. She kept her head averted while she fluffed her skirts where they bore the outline of her legs. Elijah could almost feel the heat of her embarrassment from where he stood.

He set his jaw. How she chose to spend her afternoons was her own business. But to ride through town tandem, and bareback to boot, was an astonishing act of either bravery or foolhardiness.

Jacob placed his hat over his chest. “Miss Saxon, this isn't the way I planned our day. Once the buggy is repaired, I hope you'll come with me for another ride.”

“Certainly. The mishap was not your fault at all.” She kept her eyes on the grocer.

Elijah thought he detected a note of warmth in her voice. He cleared his throat. “Pardon the intrusion. I came by to see if Miss Saxon would accompany me to treat a patient.” He turned to Jacob. “That is, unless you object.”

“Of course not, Doc. I know you have to go where you're
needed. Anyway, Miss Saxon has to answer for herself. She's not my possession.” He nodded at her. “I'll see you soon.”

“Yes.” She kept her back to Elijah and waited until Jacob mounted his horse and rode in the direction of his store. Once he was out of sight, she turned around. If the light were better, Elijah would have sworn her cheeks were scarlet.

“Shall we go?” She strode toward his buggy. “You can tell me about the patient while we ride.” Her tone was crisp and professional.

He raised an eyebrow at the change in her demeanor. Apparently she felt she owed him no explanation. In truth, she didn't. But it would be comforting—no, enlightening—to learn why she and the grocer came to be out riding bareback on a Sunday evening.

He took her arm and helped her onto the seat. After a few moments of uneasy silence, during which he unhitched the horse and started west on King's Highway, he said, “I've never seen a woman in skirts astride a horse before. And to ride without a saddle. I didn't realize you were an equestrienne.” His voice missed the casual tone he'd hoped for and struck a waspish note.

She spun around and glared at him. “Do you believe I chose to travel home in that manner? And if I did, what business is it of yours?”

He noticed a glitter of tears hovering beneath her lashes before she turned away. He massaged his jaw, wishing he'd had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. Miss Saxon had been right when she said her actions were none of his business. Now he'd not only made her angry, he'd hurt her feelings. He darted a glance in her direction, but she kept her back to him.

“Miss Saxon.”

“What?” She didn't look up.

“I apologize. I'm glad you're coming with me. I need your help.” He drew in a breath and waited for her response.

Frogs and crickets filled the silence, pausing when the buggy grew close, then tuning up again when they rolled past.

After a long moment, she shifted on the seat and stared straight ahead, her chin in the air. “Very well. My help is what you pay me for. Please tell me about the patient.”

He exhaled with relief. At least she was speaking to him. “His name is Benny Harper. He's four years old. According to his father, he was playing with a scythe and cut his hand open. I know you had plenty of experience caring for knife wounds during the conflict.”

“Indeed I did.” He saw her shudder.

A memory teased at him, but he couldn't bring it into focus. He shook his head. Later. When he had more time to think, he'd try to dredge the thought to the surface.

He guided the buggy north past the academy and on out into the country. One by one, early stars appeared on the cobalt canvas overhead. If it weren't for the boy needing help, Elijah would have been content to ride on into the evening with Miss Saxon beside him. He dismissed the fancy. After the way he spoke to her earlier, why would she want to spend more time with him than necessary?

“We should almost be there. Mr. Harper said he'd meet us at the road.”

She leaned forward and peered into the growing darkness. “Why didn't he bring the child to town instead of wasting time by riding in and asking you to come to their house?”

“They have a new baby. His mother wouldn't leave, and wouldn't let her husband take the boy without her.”

Upon rounding the next bend, he noticed a light flickering on his left. “That must be Mr. Harper.” He followed their guide up a narrow lane to a low-slung cabin planted at the
edge of a plowed field. After grabbing his bag, he reached up to help Miss Saxon descend.

She brushed his hand away. “You go ahead. I'll be right behind you.”

Rosemary watched Dr. Stewart jog to the cabin and disappear inside. She sighed as she climbed down from the buggy. If only he, rather than Jacob, were the man showing an interest in her. She stifled a snort. The doctor's only interest seemed to be in monitoring her behavior, and she already had a brother. She didn't need another one.

A stab of guilt pierced her conscience at the sound of the child's cries. How shameful to be thinking about herself when a little boy was injured.

Mr. Harper approached with the lantern. “Come this way, ma'am. We got Benny set under the lamp so's the doc can see good.” He held the light low to illuminate where to step on the rocky ground.

The metallic smell of blood was the first thing Rosemary noticed once she entered the cabin. Drops darkened the wooden floor, stained the tabletop where the boy lay, and soaked through the rag tied around the boy's right hand.

She checked the room but didn't see Mrs. Harper. If the woman wouldn't allow her husband to take Benny to town, shouldn't she be here with him? Rosemary dropped her shawl over a chair and crossed to the table.

Dr. Stewart's eyes met hers. “Please take the laudanum from my bag and give him five drops.”

At his words, Mr. Harper turned to a shelf, removed a cup, and added water from a barrel near the door. “Stuff tastes terrible. This'll help him get it down.”

She squeezed the drops into the cup, using a syringe with a
rubber bulb on one end, then bent over their patient. “Please sit up and open your mouth, Benny.”

Apparently surprised to be asked to do more than howl, he complied. She held the cup to his lips while he swallowed the medicine.

His face contorted. Before he had an opportunity to spit out the mixture, his father put a second cup to his lips and the boy gulped clear water.

“Thank you,” the doctor said. “Now we'll wait a few minutes, then examine the wound.” He turned to Rosemary. “Try to keep him still if you would, please.”

While they waited, he addressed Mr. Harper. “You got any whiskey? I need some towels too.”

“Right here.” He took a brown bottle from a cupboard and passed it across the tabletop, then disappeared into an adjoining room and returned with folded toweling.

Dr. Stewart removed a rolled-up piece of buckskin containing sutures from his bag and threaded one of the needles with silk. He placed the supplies to one side.

As Benny relaxed, Rosemary brushed sweaty blond hair from his forehead and murmured, “Dr. Stewart will fix you in no time. I'm going to hold you now. Be as brave as you can be.” She placed her hands on the child's shoulders, feeling his body tremble through his homespun shirt.

“Ready?” Dr. Stewart asked.

She nodded.

He unwrapped the bloodstained rag, rested the injured hand on a towel, and poured whiskey into the wound. She wrinkled her nose as the strong odor of spirits spread over the room.

Benny tried to jerk his hand away, but she pinned his arm to the table. Mr. Harper joined them, holding the boy's feet still.

Working quickly, the doctor pressed the edges of the cut together and drove the first suture through the skin.

Rosemary felt perspiration dampen her forehead when the boy screeched. They should have given him more of the laudanum. “Just a couple more jabs and he'll be finished,” she whispered in his ear. She swallowed and increased her pressure on his upper arms as the needle pressed through his flesh a second time. Scenes from the Army hospital flickered through her thoughts. The screams, the sweating bodies. She banished them to the place where her nightmares lived, and slammed the door. “All we can do is help the patient in front of us,” a doctor once told her. She followed the advice and focused on the boy.

In minutes, Dr. Stewart tied a fourth suture and blotted blood from the palm of Benny's hand. The child's wails subsided. Rosemary helped him to sit again and slipped an arm around his shoulders. “You were very brave.”

He hiccupped, his chest in spasms from crying. “Mama?”

A pale young woman dashed from the other room and wrapped him in her arms. She looked at Rosemary. “Thank you. I purely can't abide the sight of blood. I'm so glad the doc brought a woman to help. I believe it eased things for Benny, having you here.”

“I hope so. Poor little fellow.” Rosemary rolled her shoulders to relax the muscles after her firm grip on the woman's son. “If you make a poultice of comfrey root and put it on the cut, he will heal faster.”

She felt the doctor's eyes on her and looked up to see his brows knit together in a frown.

Once they were out of sight of the Harpers' cabin, Dr. Stewart slapped his hand against his thigh.

Rosemary jumped when she heard the pop.

“Miss Saxon.” He hissed her name through clenched teeth. “I will not have you prescribing for my patients. We've been over this before.”

“A poultice isn't the same thing as a tincture.” She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him, although she knew he couldn't see her expression in the dark.

“That's not my point.”

“I beg your pardon. I thought it was.”

“Have you stopped to think what would happen if Benny's wound becomes corrupted? Who will be blamed? Certainly not you.” He snapped the reins over the horse's back. The animal jerked forward, picking up speed.

“Why do you persist in thinking everything I do reflects on you? Comfrey won't cause corruption. To my knowledge, a poultice never has.”

He tipped his head forward and blew out a long breath. “We could bicker all night.” His voice sounded tired. “Let's accept that we'll never agree and let it go at that.”

A lump rose in her throat at the finality in his words.

Lamplight shone from the front window when Dr. Stewart stopped his buggy in front of Rosemary's house. “It appears your guests waited up for you.”

After enduring his silence during the ride to town, she felt relieved that he'd decided to speak. However, this wasn't the best time to inform him she only had one guest. Their jousting match over the comfrey reminded her of the disagreement over Jolene. She'd mention the girl's return to her family another time, when he wasn't so irritable.

Taking his proffered hand, she descended from the carriage.
“A light in the window is a welcome sight at this hour. Better than entering a dark house.”