When the Heart Heals (16 page)

“The doctor is helping me look . . .” She swallowed the fear that rose in her throat. “We're looking for Bodie. He's been missing since last night.”

Jacob crossed the alley and faced her, concern shining from his eyes. “Your dog. I'm sorry. Can I help?”

“Would you . . . would you please tell your customers he's missing?”

“Let them know there'll be a reward if he's found.” Dr. Stewart hovered close enough to her shoulder that she felt warmth radiate from his body.

“Good. I'll match whatever you put up.” Jacob dropped a half bow in their direction and returned to the kitchen.

R
osemary left the church the following Sunday with her mind in rebellion against Reverend French's sermon. He'd chosen a verse from the First Epistle General of Peter—
Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.

She held her Bible tight against her chest as she walked home through the balmy May morning with Cassie at her side. “I cast all my care on the Lord the night Bodie disappeared, and look where it got me.”

Cassie gave her arm a comforting pat. “You're always telling me the Lord takes his own time to answer prayers. Bodie could still come back. It's only been a week.”

“A week.” Her steps lagged. “We've posted handbills in every store. By now, someone would have seen him.” She blinked back tears. “He's gone.”

“Are you still planning to ride to Hartfield with Mr. West this afternoon?”

Rosemary forced a smile, recognizing Cassie's effort to change the subject. “Yes. I hope to pay a call on Jolene on the way.”

Two buggies rolled past, throwing up a cloud of dust in their wake. Cassie waved a gloved hand in front of her face. “If it's not mud, it's dust. I don't know which is worse.”

“The mud. Definitely. Bodie always—” She gulped. “He loved to get dirty.”

At the sound of footsteps behind them, she turned to see Dr. Stewart hurrying in their direction. He tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, ladies. Miss Saxon, I hoped for a chance to talk to you after services.”

Excitement pulsed through her. “Do you have news of Bodie?”

He lowered his voice. “No.” Apparently he noticed her crestfallen expression. “I'm sorry.”

“Then why—?”

“I paid a call on the Harper family yesterday to see how little Benny is faring.”

She recalled the doctor's objection to her suggesting comfrey root to the boy's mother, and prayed there had been no complications in his recovery. “Is . . . is he well?”

“Indeed. His hand is healing perfectly.”

“I'm so glad. Thank you for telling me.” She half-turned, ready to continue toward her home.

“One more moment, please.”

“Of course, Doctor. What is it?”

“I wondered . . .” He harrumphed. “Would you have time this afternoon to show me how you prepare a comfrey poultice?” The eagerness in his deep brown eyes sent tingles down to her fingertips.

Rosemary fought disappointment. “I'd be pleased to show you, but unfortunately I have an engagement this afternoon. Perhaps another day?”

“Would tomorrow evening do?”

“That would be lovely. Miss Haddon and I will be at home.”

After he strode away, Cassie turned to her. “This is the first time I've seen you smile since Bodie disappeared.”

“I've hoped he—” She bit her lip. “Imagine. He asked about comfrey.”

“I told you he might be interested. He wouldn't have been reading that book otherwise.”

“You could be right.” She clasped Cassie's hand. “I hope so.”

Rosemary had no sooner changed from her Sunday dress into her blue plaid skirt and a white lace-trimmed bodice when she heard Jacob's knock. She gathered her shawl and bonnet and hurried to answer the door, wishing it were Dr. Stewart instead of Jacob on the porch.

“You're very prompt.”

“Years of minding a business will do that to you.” He took her shawl and settled the fluffy wool wrap over her shoulders, hands lingering a moment before releasing her. “I don't see your dog. He's still missing?” His voice softened with concern.

She looked down, willing herself not to cry. “Yes. I fear I'll never see him again.”

“Perhaps a new puppy would help? One of my customer's dogs just had a litter.”

“No. Thank you. Not now.” Not ever.

“I understand.” He took her arm and escorted her to his buggy.

The previous Sunday she'd been too preoccupied with Curt and Faith's suggestion to notice the bright new wheels. Red spokes contrasted smartly with the ebony body of the carriage. From the appearance of the polished exterior, Jacob had spent extra time preparing for their afternoon together.

She shot a glance at Dr. Stewart's home as they traveled east, wondering how he was spending his Sunday. She knew
he'd struck up a friendship with Sheriff Cooper, but now that the sheriff and Amy were engaged, she doubted the two men spent much time together.

Stop it, she told herself. Just because he asked about comfrey, there was no reason to let her thoughts run away. The doctor's private life was none of her business.

A gust of wind tugged at her pancake hat. She grabbed at the ribbons to keep the flat headgear from blowing away.

“Shall I stop and raise the cover?”

“No, thank you.” She folded her hands in her lap, wishing she could think of something more to say than yes or no.

He flexed his shoulders, letting the reins hang slack between his fingers. “Have you given any more thought to the property I showed you?”

“I'm afraid . . . what with Bodie . . . I haven't . . .”

“Maybe one day you'd like to see it again.” He shook the reins and guided them around a bend in the narrow road. A man mounted on a dark gray horse barreled toward them.

The tendons in Jacob's wrists stood out with his efforts to direct the carriage out of harm's way. They lurched over uneven ground and stopped beside a downed tree covered with woodbine.

The rider blew past them, leaving a billow of dust in his wake.

“Blasted fool.” Jacob flicked the reins to turn his gelding back to the road. “Nothing's important enough to risk a fine animal like that. He could break a leg.”

She swept dust from her skirt. “At least your new wheels are intact.”

“I'm happy you noticed. Cletus Wylie built them in his wagon shop. Did a fine job.”

“He's one of Faith's customers at the mercantile. I remember him.”

He gave her a nod of approval. “That's good you recall customer's names. It's useful when running a business. I know you'll be interested in my meeting with Mr. Kreskey—he's been supplying the grocery with eggs for several months now.”

“Hmm.” Try as she might, she couldn't think of anything more to say about eggs or Mr. Kreskey. She shifted on the seat and peered into the growth along the roadside.

“Are you looking for your dog?”

“Always.”

“Let me know when you decide you want another one. I'll get you a pup.”

She'd already told him no. Didn't he listen? “I—”

Jolene's cabin came into sight. Rosemary tapped Jacob's arm. “Could we please stop here a moment or two? I want to call on Miss Graves.”

“Certainly.” He guided the carriage through the opening in the rail fence and rolled past the apple trees, now covered in bright green foliage. Before he could help her down, Jolene burst out the door of the small cabin. The rounded shape of her belly showed beneath the full apron she wore.

“How could you? I told you I didn't want to see Galen French.” Her voice shook.

Rosemary climbed down and crossed the dirt yard to the front stoop. “That's not Galen. He's Jacob West.”

“I know that.” Jolene stamped her foot. “Galen was here not twenty minutes ago. He said Dr. Stewart told him where to find me. You must've told the doctor.” She placed her hands over her abdomen, tears streaking her cheeks. “He saw me . . . like this.” She gulped. “I thought I could trust you.”

Rosemary remembered the rider who'd passed them on their way from town. Galen. She took Jolene's hand. “He came to the office one day looking for you, but I didn't tell the doctor anything.”

“Then how—?”

“I don't know, but I intend to find out.”

The next morning, Rosemary stormed into Dr. Stewart's waiting room and banged the door behind her. He jumped to his feet, eyes wide.

“Miss Saxon. What on earth . . . ?” He rested his right hand on the door jamb of his private office.

“Did you tell Galen French where to find Miss Graves?”

A smile broke across his face. “Yes. I knew I had to do something to make amends to both of you for the way I treated her.”

Her legs turned to rubber. She slumped on the sofa and stared at him, mouth agape. “What does Galen have to do with your treatment of Miss Graves? She was almost hysterical when I saw her yesterday. He's the last person she wanted to see.”

“She can't protect him forever. I know he'll take responsibility for his actions if she gives him the chance.”

“You believe
he's
the father of her child?” Her voice rose in disbelief.

“Of course. It's obvious.”

Rosemary bent her head and covered her face with her hands. She didn't know whether to laugh or burst into tears. Poor Jolene.

She heard the doctor's footsteps as he crossed the floor. When she looked up, he stood in front of her, his clean-shaven face pale. “You mean Galen isn't . . . ?”

“No. They met at church after she came to live with me. He's the reason she left. He expressed a desire to court her, having no idea of her condition.”

He flopped on the sofa next to her. “I was so sure.”

She scooted to one end and pinned him with her gaze. “The poor girl couldn't bear for him to know what she'd done. She'd rather face her parents than have him find out. Now, thanks to you—”

“I'll make things right somehow.”

“I think you've done enough.” She stalked to her desk. “Patients should be in soon. Mondays are busy.”

The doctor stood and tugged at his collar. “Call me when I'm needed.” He entered his office. The door closed with a sharp click.

Rosemary sat at her desk and stared at the wall separating her from Dr. Stewart. The stricken look on his face hovered before her eyes. How could he have made such a mistake? And why didn't he talk to her about Jolene before he carried out his plan? She laced her fingers at the back of her neck to loosen tight muscles. She'd have to do all she could to repair the harm done to Jolene. At the moment, she couldn't think where to begin.

When the outside door opened, it took her a moment to recognize their patient. Mr. Grisbee, one of the woodstove regulars from the mercantile, shuffled in. He removed his hat, giving her a wide smile.

“Miss Rosemary. Pleasure to see you. Me and Jesse miss you down to the store.”

“I miss you too, Mr. Grisbee.” She rose and met him in the center of the room. “Mornings are quiet without your checker game going on.”

He made a sound between a snort and a chuckle, then lapsed into a fit of coughing. Rosemary took his arm and helped him to a seat on the sofa. “I'll tell the doctor you're here. In the meantime, would you like a cup of water?”

He nodded, still choking.

She tapped on Dr. Stewart's door, then dashed to her desk
and poured ginger water into a cup. He took a sip, then another. After taking a deep breath, he set the cup on the floor next to his feet. “Appreciate it. That helped.” The flush on his cheeks glowed through his unkempt gray whiskers.

When Dr. Stewart stepped from the examining room, Rosemary turned to him. “This is Mr. Grisbee. He sounds like he may have a bronchial—” She snapped her lips closed at his warning glance.

“Right this way, sir.” Dr. Stewart placed his hand on the older man's shoulder and guided him to the examining table, then closed the door behind the two of them.

As Rosemary collected their patient's empty cup on her way to her desk, her mind raced through her stock of cures for bronchial disease. A mullein infusion would be the thing to try, but she'd have to meet Mr. Grisbee away from Dr. Stewart's presence. Two confrontations in one day would be too many. She busied herself with patients' records until the doctor emerged from the room.

He handed a bottle to the older man. “Here's some Ayer's Cherry Pectoral syrup. Try this for your cough, and drink plenty of hot tea.”