When the Heart Heals (23 page)

O
n Tuesday, Rosemary stood next to Elijah in front of the depot while he waited for the eleven o'clock train. He kept one hand on her elbow and held a paper-wrapped package in the other. His valise rested at his feet.

She'd taken pains with her hair and dress, choosing to wear her moss green paisley skirt and matching bodice because she knew he liked the color on her. She missed him already. Striving to hide her feelings, she asked, “Are you certain there's nothing more I can do for you while you're away?”

“The ledgers are current, we posted a notice on the door . . .” He pressed her arm against his side. “And you baked a loaf of your delicious bread for my journey. I'd say I'm well taken care of.” Releasing his hold on her arm, he reached into his jacket and withdrew an envelope, which he gave to her. “I calculated what your share of the coming week's income might be.”

Tears stung her eyes. “You didn't have to do that.”

“My family issues shouldn't affect your well-being.” He spoke over the rumble of the approaching train.

She tucked the heavy envelope into her handbag, already planning to purchase more wheat flour and a lemon as soon
as he returned. A cloud of steam rolled toward them as the engine came to a stop in front of the depot. She swallowed and pasted a cheerful expression on her face. “Well, here you go. I'll be praying for your father—and you.”

He bent toward her and lifted her chin with his thumb. His mouth settled on hers in a gentle kiss. For a moment she lost herself in the wonder of his soft lips, then she took a step away. “Elijah . . .”

He cupped her cheek with his hand, his dark gaze searching her face. “I'll miss you. I hope you feel the same about me.”

“I do,” she whispered. “Come back quickly.”

Elijah boarded a passenger car and took an empty seat on the left side of the coach. Rosemary stood on the platform with her hands clasped together. Of all the unfortunate times to be leaving, when she needed support against the gossip that he knew circulated in spite of his and Thaddeus's efforts. He'd never met anyone like her. She had to be at least a foot shorter than he was, yet she stood her ground against rumors with the same ferocity Bodie demonstrated when guarding her door.

The bell on the engine clanged and the train jerked into motion. He waved at her for as long as she remained in sight, then leaned against the back of the wooden seat and closed his eyes. He'd write to her prior to returning, so he'd have the pleasure of seeing her face the first thing upon arriving home in Noble Springs.

His thoughts traveled ahead of the rails to Chicago, a city he hadn't visited since his mother died. And now his father was mortally ill. Elijah's mind traced a path over possible diagnoses. He knew his parent liked spirits. Perhaps his liver was failing. Or his heart. He'd certainly had difficulty breathing when he visited in April.

Elijah straightened on the seat and stared out the window. Hills cloaked in spring green marched over the landscape on both sides of the car, giving him the impression he was traveling through a verdant corridor on his way to—what? Chicago, with its crowded streets and refuse-filled river.

The following afternoon, he stepped off the train from St. Louis into the hubbub of Chicago's Great Central railway station. He held tight to his valise while keeping a wary eye out for pickpockets in the mass of passengers coming and going from the trains. When he emerged onto Lake Street, several open cabs were lined along the walkway awaiting passengers. He strode toward the first one.

“You looking for a good hotel?” the driver asked.

“No, thank you. If you'd take me to Indiana Street, near State, I'd appreciate it.”

The man jumped down from the carriage and surveyed Elijah. “That'll cost you. It's a fair distance to them fancy neighborhoods.”

“I grew up here. I know how far it is.” He dug in his pocket and handed over a coin. “You'll get the rest when we arrive.”

Once he seated himself behind the driver, the man flicked the reins over his dusty roan horse and guided them away from the station. After an absence of several years, Elijah had forgotten how imposing the sight of city blocks crowded with five- and six-story buildings appeared. Nothing like Noble Springs, with its three-story courthouse being the tallest edifice in town.

When the spire of the Presbyterian church loomed ahead, he leaned forward. “One more corner and we're there. The gray two-story on the right.” Would his father be bedridden? Had he engaged nursing care? Elijah prayed he wasn't too late.

The Italianate mansion looked as he remembered it—gray
clapboards, arched windows trimmed in white, and a cupola overlooking a park across the street.

The cabbie jumped down and swung the valise to the ground. Elijah paid the remainder of the fare, squared his shoulders, and marched up the brick walkway to the portico over the main entry.

A thin woman wearing a black dress covered by a long apron opened the door at his knock. Her dour expression was less than welcoming.

“You must be the son. You've arrived at a poor time.”

“I came as quickly as I could.”

She moved to one side so he could enter. “I'm Mrs. Simmons, the housekeeper. If you'll wait in the parlor, the doctor will be with you shortly.”

“He doesn't need to rise if he's unwell. I'll go up to see him.”

She gave him a peculiar look. “Wait in the parlor. Please. You can leave your bag here.” She indicated a point next to a tall crockery umbrella stand.

“Very well.” He dropped his valise and glanced around the marble-tiled foyer, noting the elaborate draperies that shadowed potted palms standing at the corners. His mother had preferred sunlight to gloom. The changes must have been wrought by the young woman his father married, and who had now departed. Through open double doors on his right he spied a fire burning on the parlor grate.

He passed in front of the sweeping staircase that led to the upper floor, then entered the adjoining room, making his way around a shawl-draped table to sit in a red plush wing chair beside the fire. The woman disappeared through a passageway that led to the kitchen.

Minutes passed, marked by the ticking of an ornate case clock standing against an interior wall. Elijah stood and
paced. If his father were resting in the master suite upstairs, why would he want to meet his son in the parlor? Elijah could climb stairs far more easily than a sick man could descend.

He pushed aside a thick brocade drapery and gazed out a side window to see if his mother's flower garden remained. By tilting his head to the right, he saw her prized rosebushes in bloom against the fence. The familiar sight comforted him.

“Welcome home,” his father's voice boomed.

Elijah whirled to see the older man lumber across the room, both arms extended. His thick hair was combed into a wave that crested over his forehead. A smile creased his ruddy complexion. He looked . . . healthy.

“You said you were dying,” Elijah blurted.

His father clapped him on the back. “Couldn't think of any other way to get you here. Never felt better.” He drew a couple of shallow breaths. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Had some papers to sign for my attorney. His messenger will be here shortly.”

Elijah narrowed his eyes. “What's so important that you took me from my patients?” He dropped into a chair, arms folded across his chest. “Whatever you have to say could have been said in a letter, I'm sure.” Anger tinged his words.

“A letter couldn't spell out all you're missing by staying in that sorry little town. When was the last time you saw a play? Or attended a concert? Or made a good living, for that matter?”

“How many times must I tell you I'm content where I am, with what I have?”

The elder Dr. Stewart settled in a chair opposite Elijah, shifting his weight to accommodate his girth. His face assumed a sorrowful expression. “What's wrong with wanting to spend time with my only son? Will you at least stay the week?”

Elijah stared at the Persian rug at his feet, thinking of Rosemary in Noble Springs, thankful she had her brother to lean on in his absence. Torn between filial loyalty and anger at being manipulated, he glared at his father. “One week. No longer. And not one word from you about taking over your practice.”

On the second Saturday following Elijah's departure, Rosemary entered the mercantile and led Bodie to his blanket next to the stove. After unfastening his leash, she took an apron from her carryall and wrapped it around her waist.

Faith peeked out of the storeroom. The burlap curtain over the opening framed her fair skin and blue eyes. “I thought I heard you come in. It's like old times, having your help with customers.”

“I appreciate you giving me something to do. I've been at loose ends since Elijah left.”

Her friend grinned at her. “I'd wager you can tell me down to the hour and minute just how long he's been gone.” Then she sobered. “You look worried.”

“He hasn't written. Not that he said he would, but I expected to hear something by now. He's been gone longer than he planned.”

“If his father passed, he's been busy with arrangements. And if not, you know how much time it takes to care for an invalid.”

“You're right.” She dusted her hands together, then placed her carryall on a counter and reached inside. “Here's some raspberry leaf tea, in case you're running low.”

Faith blushed. “Thank you.” She slipped the bundle into the pocket of her apron.

Rosemary unpacked the rest of the soaps and teas that she'd brought for Faith's shelves, piling them in front of her.

“I'm happy to see you made more soap. Word is spreading about how good it is.” Faith arranged the cloth-wrapped rounds on the shelf near the door. “Unfortunately, we haven't had much call for your teas since . . .” She cleared her throat. “Well, I'm sure sales will pick up soon.”

Rosemary scooped up the bundles and replaced them in her carryall. “Then I'll take these to West & Riley's. The men who eat in the restaurant appear to be the ones who won't let the rumors die. If Jacob sells my teas in the grocery, that should stop the talk.”

“I thought you and Jacob—”

“We agreed to be friends.” She squeezed Faith's arm. “Just like you and me.”

“It's not the same thing, and you know it.”

They both turned as the bell over the door jingled. Clarissa French bustled into the mercantile, her round face wearing a pinched expression. She glanced over the room. “Good. You're here by yourselves. I came to invite you to a wedding.”

“Galen and Jolene?” Rosemary hastened across the floor to the older woman's side.

Clarissa nodded. “Tomorrow after services.” She drew a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “The haste is unseemly. I just know people will think Galen is responsible for the girl's condition.”

“They'll admire him, whether or not they know her story. He's a good man. You should be proud.” She smiled to herself at the way the Lord had turned Jolene's mourning into dancing.

“I'm trying. But this isn't the way I pictured our son's marriage. I wanted him to meet a nice girl, have an engagement party, invite all our friends to the wedding. Not a hidden
ceremony in our sitting room, with no one there but her family and you girls—and Curt, of course.”

Rosemary patted the woman's arm. “You said some time ago that you prayed he'd settle down. This is an answer to your prayer.”

“I know you mean well, but you can't understand a mother's heart. I had such dreams for my son, but he's chosen a path I have trouble accepting. Someday, when you have children, you'll know what I'm saying.” Her shoulders slumped. “We'll expect you at three tomorrow. Please don't say a word to your customers.”

Rosemary and Faith stared at each other for a long moment after she left.