Читать книгу Heart And Home - Cassandra Austin - Страница 10

Adam lost interest in dinner shortly after Jane left. He would have excused himself as well, but the Cartland sisters were extremely interested in his wedding plans, which were few, and his plans for decorating the house, which were even fewer.

Tim Martin began describing a wedding he had attended in another part of the state, and Adam struck on a plan. He could almost convince himself he was being professional.

“Friends,” he said when Martin gave him an opening, “I believe I’ll check on Miss Sparks’s grandmother, then call it a night.”

“Why, that’s so kind of you,” Nedra said.

He gave her a polite smile as he rose. She had been batting her eyes at him all through dinner, and he didn’t want to encourage her. The others, except for Mr. Bickford, wished him good-night as he left the dining room.

The kitchen bore the evidence of the huge meal Jane had recently prepared. Adam wondered if her entire store of pots and pans had been called into service. Still, the room seemed clean in spite of it, a trick of organization, perhaps.

He moved cautiously toward the little bedroom. He didn’t want to startle Jane, yet he didn’t want to disturb the sick grandmother by calling out to them. At the doorway he paused. Jane sat beside the bed, her face in her hands. She was crying softly. He could hear the grandmother’s labored breathing above the quiet sobs.

He felt like an intruder, but he couldn’t make himself leave. He moved to the far side of the bed and lifted Grams’s bony hand, feeling for the pulse. It was faint and rapid. He gently returned the hand to its place on the sheet.

He should leave. There was nothing he could do for the old lady. Nothing he could do for the granddaughter, either, he told himself. Wrapping her in his arms and letting her cry on his shoulder didn’t seem very professional. Besides, judging by the cool glances she had given him at dinner, she wouldn’t be disposed to accept.

He rested his hand gently on the cloth that lay across the woman’s forehead. It was cool and damp. Even in the state she was in, Jane hadn’t neglected this small service.

She would be embarrassed if she looked up and found him watching her, Adam knew. He ordered his legs to take him out of the room, but found himself stopping beside Miss Sparks instead. His hand was drawn to the narrow, slumped shoulder.

At the moment of contact her head jerked upright. “Doctor. I didn’t hear you come in.” She brushed frantically at her tear-streaked face.

Adam crouched down beside her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Is she…?”

“Not much change from this afternoon. Are you all right?” He wanted her to say no, to ask him to stay with her.

“Of course.” She sniffed once. “Did somebody need something?”

He shook his head. It seemed to him she was the only one who needed anything, and he didn’t know how to give it. “Let me ask the folks out there to clean up for you.”

“Oh, you can’t do that,” she said, rising to her feet. “They’re paying guests.”

Adam straightened slowly. “They’re also your friends.”

“No, please. I can do it. I can check on Grams every few minutes.”

“Then let me stay and help.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m used to doing it, really.”

She was all but shooing him out of the room. He took the hint, but at the door he turned. “There might still be time, you know. We should do everything we can to save her.”

Jane shook her head. “No. She’s dying. But I couldn’t see her in pain any longer.”

Adam nodded. It was what he expected. Back in the kitchen, he could hear voices from the dining room. He had already told the others good-night, and, not wanting to see Nedra again quite so soon, he left through the back door.

Miss Sparks’s backyard contained a tidy garden and shed, clotheslines and a small chicken house and pen, making his own yard seem barren. The sun was just sinking below the horizon as he reached his back door. His first day here hadn’t turned out to be quite what he expected. His little house seemed too quiet and lonely as he went up the stairs to his bedroom.

He lit a lamp and lifted a book from the pile he had left against a wall. Shelves here and in the examining room were a top priority. He would look into hiring a carpenter tomorrow.

He removed his shoes, coat and tie and worked the collar buttons loose. He settled onto the bed, his back against the headboard. The book lay unopened on his lap as he listened to voices next door. The Cartland sisters were on the porch. There were men’s voices as well, bidding one another goodnight.

After a brief silence, a feminine voice carried to his room. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it, Mr. Bickford?”

A gruff, unintelligible response followed.

“I was hoping you’d join us on the swing for a while.”

Adam heard a grumbled reply, followed by the muffled slam of a door.

“Really, Naomi, how can you stand that man?”

“He’s cultured and educated,” her sister hissed. “I can smooth out the rough edges once we’re married. That’s what women have always done.”

“Rough edges? The man’s a self-absorbed lout.”

Naomi didn’t disagree, and Adam felt a grin tug at his lips. If Mr. Bickford’s window was open the self-absorbed lout could probably hear this conversation, too.

“At least I’m not throwing myself at someone half my age.” That must have been Naomi.

“The doctor isn’t half my age. Five years younger, perhaps.”

“Try ten.”

“He’s cultured and educated, too.”

“With a beautiful fiancée.”

“Who isn’t here. And until she is, he can only compare me to the country milkmaids and slum trash like Jane.”

“And me, of course.”

“You won’t try to ruin this for me, will you?”

“Why shouldn’t I try? You can have Mr. Bickford.”

Adam realized he had nearly stopped breathing. It was one thing to listen to their conversation about Mr. Bickford and quite another to be the topic himself. It wasn’t so much learning that Nedra was interested in him that bothered him; he had figured that out at dinner. It was the calculating way they were discussing him.

And Jane. Did they look down on her because of humble beginnings? Letting them know his own roots should discourage them quickly enough. He would try to work it into the conversation at breakfast if he weren’t certain Doreena would prefer it not be known.

He realized he didn’t simply want to discourage the sisters, he wanted to defend Jane. That struck him as odd because he hardly knew her, apart from the fact that she was a great cook. She was going through a rough time, and while he disagreed with her decision about her grandmother, he felt certain it was for reasons that she, at least, found compelling. The notion that she was allowing Grams to die so the boardinghouse would be hers, or the possibility that she was simply tired of caring for the old woman, had crossed his mind and been dismissed.

Adam had to respect Jane’s wishes. In disagreeing with his authority, she had shown herself to be a strong woman. He smiled at his own thoughts. Her disagreement would be more impressive if he was an older, more respected physician. He was making excuses for her and she didn’t need that.

He laid the book aside and moved to the window. The boardinghouse was in shadows now, but he was certain no one remained on the porch.

What did Jane need?

Not his help. Not even his company.

Grams might linger for a day or two, but he doubted it. She would probably die tonight. In spite of the boarders in the rooms upstairs, Jane would be alone. And Adam couldn’t think of any way to ease her sorrow or his own guilt.

Jane sat in the straight-backed chair beside Grams’s bed and held a hot, fragile hand gently in her own. She had slept in the chair the past two nights, but tonight sleep wouldn’t come. It had taken until nearly midnight to clean up the kitchen and dining room. She had hated to leave her grandmother even for a few minutes, afraid she would die alone.

Now, as the clock ticked toward three o’clock, she thought of all the things she wanted to tell her grandmother. She prayed that Grams would wake up one more time so Jane could tell her how much she loved her. She would tell her how grateful she was for all the things Grams had taught her. She would…

The breathing stopped abruptly. Just like that. Jane stared at the beloved face. “Grams?”

The hand she held was still hot, but the pulse she’d felt a moment before had stilled. Grams was gone.

Jane had thought she was prepared for this but she found herself shaking. Unshed tears burned behind her eyes and formed a lump in her throat. She would have to face a future without Grams.

“I won’t give up,” she whispered. “I won’t lose the boardinghouse. I’ll work hard and make you proud, Grams.”

Adam arrived for breakfast at the appointed hour and found the parlor deserted. George stepped into the hall and motioned him toward the dining room. “The old lady died last night,” he said softly. “Such a shame. Jane’s gone to make the arrangements and has asked the Cartlands to fix breakfast. We’re trying to set the table.”

Tim Martin was arranging plates and coffee cups, while Lawrence Bickford lounged against the sideboard. “What do you think?” Martin asked.

“Does it matter?” Adam replied. “As long as we’ve got what we need to eat with.”

“Dr. Hart, I’m surprised at you!” One of the Cartlands, the one with orange hair, had come in from the kitchen with a plate of biscuits. O for orange; it was Naomi. She gave him what could only be described as an indulgent smile. “The forks go on the left and the knives on the right,” she instructed Martin sternly before flouncing back into the kitchen.

“You’ve been overruled,” Martin said softly. He went to work switching the flatware on his side of the table, and Adam stepped up to take care of the other.

“How is Miss Sparks holding up?” he asked.

“Haven’t seen her,” Martin answered. “Have you, George?”

“Early this morning. She was her usual efficient self. She said her grandmother just slipped away in her sleep. It was a mercy, really. Ah, here comes breakfast.”

The Cartland sisters paraded in, one with a platter of scrambled eggs and the other with sliced ham. Nedra spoke as she approached the table. “George, would you get the coffee? I swear that pot is just too heavy for either of us to be carrying around.”

George moved quickly to do her bidding.

When Naomi approached a chair near where he stood, Adam automatically stepped forward to hold it for her. Her flirtatious smile made him curse his ingrained manners.

Naomi was in Jane’s place, Adam to her right and Nedra to her left. George filled the coffee cups, and, when he was seated, the Cartlands started the platters around the table.

“Cooking for this many people is quite an experience,” Naomi commented.

The eggs were so rubbery Adam was sure he saw them bounce when he dropped them on his plate.

“So many things to watch at once,” her sister concurred. “Why, I swear it would tax less intelligent women.”

Adam heard a biscuit actually clink against George’s plate.

“Jane makes it look so easy,” Martin commented.

Naomi tossed her head as if the comment was inconsequential. “I suppose if one has no other skills, cooking for large groups of people would at least be something.”

Her sister nodded. “But we thought it was our duty to be of help to poor Jane.”

The men politely murmured their understanding and thankfulness. All of the women’s comments had been directed toward Adam, and they watched his every move. He took a sip of coffee and put the cup down quickly, hoping they hadn’t seen his grimace, then hoping they had. They had used an egg to settle the grounds, but the coffee had been allowed to boil again afterward, leaving it tasting more like eggs than the eggs on his plate.

Adam tried to eat a little of the poorly prepared food, telling himself that it was the nutrition that counted. A glance around the table told him the other men were doing the same.

“There might be something to be said for practice,” Naomi commented.

Murmurs of agreement echoed around the table.

“Tell me, Adam,” Nedra began. “I can call you Adam, can’t I?” She fluttered her heavily blackened eyelashes.

“Of course.” If he-took small enough bites of the biscuit and chewed it long enough his stomach ought to be able to digest it, he reasoned. It couldn’t be any worse than the hardtack soldiers ate.

“So tell me, Adam.” She actually giggled. “What do you think of our little town so far?”

Adam swallowed, then took a sip of the coffeeand-egg brew to be sure it went down. “Well,” he said, “the people are certainly friendly.”

“Of course they are,” Naomi said, obviously trying to draw his attention away from Nedra. “You should let me show you around.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun?” Nedra said. “We could do it anytime.”

Naomi’s eyes shot venom at her sister, but Nedra didn’t notice; she was too intent on Adam.

Adam thought again of mentioning his humble beginnings, but somehow, initiating any conversation with either of these women seemed risky. He glanced at Mr. Bickford and found him eating as if he were the only one present. Perhaps experience had taught him to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Well, I’m off to the bank,” George said, rising from the table. “Can I get anyone more coffee before I go?” Adam wasn’t surprised that there were no takers.

With the ice broken, the rest found it easy to leave as well. Adam was back in his empty little house in no time. After the initial elation of being away from the Cartland sisters came the more sobering realization that, until he had a patient, he didn’t have much to do. He wished again that Doreena had consented to come with him. He would at least have company while he waited.

He slouched in one of the chairs in his front room and gazed at his surroundings. He wanted to hire a carpenter to build the shelves. And he ought to lay in some food in case the Cartlands cooked again.

He laughed out loud. “That was the worst meal I’ve ever eaten,” he said softly. If nothing else, it had prepared him for Doreena’s inexperience. She couldn’t possibly do worse.

It wouldn’t do him any good to sit and think about Doreena all day. He would put a note on his door and run his errands. The task was done almost as quickly as the decision was made, and in a moment he was bounding down the steps.

He stopped and inhaled deeply. The air smelled fresher than what he was used to, clean and sweet with just a touch of wood smoke. He hadn’t noticed yesterday, in the confusion of the welcoming committee and the fear for his first patient.

His first patient. He had to put her and her granddaughter out of his mind. He headed down the dirt street, determined to enjoy his first full day in the West, which was proving to be less wild than the novels had described. It was just as well, he supposed. He didn’t really want to be treating gunshot wounds on steely eyed gunmen.

It was the independence and the opportunities he had come for, a chance to live free from the constraints of a society that didn’t quite include him, yet wanted to govern his every move. This pretty little town was the perfect place for him.

Clyde’s business district started only a block and a half from his house—and ended three blocks beyond that, where a bridge crossed a little creek. A hard-packed path served as a sidewalk. A few small trees had been planted to separate the path from the street a few feet away.

Adam walked the entire length of Washington Street, then crossed it and started back. He discovered several grocery stores, some in unlikely combination with other things like shoes or livestock feed. One was combined with a drugstore, and Adam stepped inside.

After arranging with Mr. McIntosh to supply him with medicine once his own supply ran low, he purchased a few canned goods and staples, mindful of the fact that he would have to carry them home.

“Is there a carpenter in town?” he asked as McIntosh tallied his purchases.

“Yep,” he said. “J. H. Huff down the street. He can build about anything you can imagine.”

Adam billed the groceries to his account at the bank and, with the gunnysack the grocer had provided filled with survival food, he crossed the street.

Adam found the carpenter’s shop by the smell of sawdust. A carpenter was hard at work smoothing the surface of a long pine board. Something about the way several more pieces of wood were laid out on the floor amid the shavings caught Adam’s attention. He set his sack on the floor and watched the man work for a minute, putting off calling attention to himself until he had solved the puzzle.

It hit him all at once. It was to be a coffin, probably for Adam’s first patient. He should feel regret or even irritation at the granddaughter for not allowing him to try to save her. Instead all he felt was deep sympathy for Jane.

Huff broke into his thoughts. “Howdy, sonny. What can I do you for?”

Adam was momentarily startled by the odd syntax. “I wondered if you could build some shelves for me?”

“Start this afternoon. You want wall or free?”

That, too, took a second to decipher. “Wall, I mean fastened to the wall.”

“Ya live…?” The man was still holding the plane as if he intended to apply it to the wood again in a second. Perhaps his cryptic speech was intended to save time.

“Little place just past the boardinghouse.”

Huff nodded, pointing a corner of the plane toward him for an instant. “New doctor.”

Adam nodded.

“Afternoon.” He returned to his work.

It was only midmorning, so Adam took that as a reminder rather than a salutation. He hoisted the gunnysack over his shoulder, leaving the rasp of the plane behind him.

On his way home he met a few townspeople who nodded or murmured greetings, but nobody seemed interested in stopping to talk. What, he wondered, was he going to do with himself the rest of the morning?

As he passed the boardinghouse he hit on an idea. He could visit Jane. He could offer his condolences and, if she wasn’t too distraught, he could ask about a seat at the table for dinner. He expected to be starving by then. Why that particular errand could lighten his steps, he wasn’t sure. Boredom, probably.

He left his sack inside his front door, edited his sign to read Next Door instead of In Town, and hurried to the boardinghouse. Inside, he straightened his collar and tie and ran his fingers through his hair. That too seemed an odd reaction, but he passed it off as wanting to look respectable considering the errand.

The house was quiet. A house of mourning, he reminded himself. He walked softly to the dining room and stopped in surprise. The table was exactly as he had left it an hour or more before. Dirty plates, half-full coffee cups, the uneaten ham, all lay drying on the table.

He had assumed the Cartlands would clean up. Obviously they had assumed otherwise. They had left it for Jane. He guessed that Jane had been up all night, out early making arrangements for a funeral and was now trying to get a little rest. This was not the sight that should greet her when she awoke.

Adam shrugged out of his suit coat and swung it over the back of a chair. He had pulled kitchen duty for larger groups than this. He expertly stacked plates and saucers and headed for the kitchen.

And met his second surprise. The mess in the kitchen defied imagination. The Cartlands hadn’t replaced a single lid on any of the canisters and tins they had opened, let alone started a pan to soak. There was even a broken egg lying on the floor just where it had been dropped. With a sigh he attacked the mess, reminding himself that he had nothing else to do.

An hour later the kitchen looked like Jane’s again. He had found where most things belonged or at least made a guess and left the rest stacked on the nowclean table. He rolled down his sleeves and looked around, satisfied with his work. He gathered the collar and buttons and his tie from the chair where he had discarded them earlier, and returned to the dining room.

Clean dishes now filled the glass-fronted cabinet, and the hardwood table shone from the oil and lemon polish he had found. He had even swept the floor. There was nothing left to do, which should make him happy. Cleaning was not his favorite activity.

But he didn’t want to go back to his empty house. He had been imagining Doreena in the boardinghouse kitchen, and he had trouble picturing her in the smaller house.

Well, part of the time he had imagined Doreena. The rest of the time he had pictured Jane finding a spot on one of her dishes. Or worse, finding him in her kitchen up to his elbows in dishwater, with sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. Collarless with his shirt open and his coat off. She was liable to be scandalized. Or embarrassed. Neither was his intent.

He slipped the collar and tie into a pocket of his coat and slung it over his shoulder just as he heard a door close down the hall. Light, feminine footsteps approached the dining room. He was about to confront either Jane or one of the Cartland sisters. He considered making a run for the back door, but ran his fingers through his damp hair instead.

Jane entered the room, her purposeful steps faltering when she saw him.

“I seem to make a habit of startling you,” he said.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ah…” He debated telling her.

“Is it getting hot out?” she asked.

“Warm,” he said. “I came to offer my condolences.”

“Thanks.” She nodded and turned away, going through the kitchen door. Adam sighed to himself. She really didn’t like him. And, he told himself firmly, it really didn’t matter.

He followed her into the kitchen. “Perhaps this isn’t a good time,” he said to her back as she lifted a bowl off a cupboard shelf, “but I was wondering if there would be room for me at dinner.”

“Sorry,” she said, continuing her work. “The pastor and his wife are coming to dinner, and that fills the table, I’m afraid.”

Adam thought of several other things he might say, but they all seemed trite in the face of her obvious grief. He was turning to go when the door opened and Tim Martin entered.

“I’m off to catch the train,” the salesman said.

The glance Jane threw in Adam’s direction before she turned to her boarder held a combination of irritation and guilt. She had known Martin was leaving but had denied his request for dinner anyway.

“Have a safe trip, Tim,” she said pleasantly. “Can I expect you back in a couple of months?”

“Of course, and I’ll recommend you to everyone I see that’s headed your way. Sorry about your grandmother, dear. It was nice meeting you, Doctor.”

Martin shook hands with Adam, turned and kissed Jane’s cheek, then left them alone again.

Adam watched Jane avoid his eyes. Finally she muttered, “I forgot he was leaving today.”

Adam nodded, not believing her at all.

“Dinner will be the same time as last night.” She turned back to her work.

“Miss Sparks, if you don’t want me to eat here, I can—”

“No,” she said quickly, facing him. “Please, I don’t want an empty chair if I can help it.”

He grinned at her. “That’s wonderfully flattering.”

“I’m not good at flattery.”

She turned away, and he watched her stiff shoulders for a moment, wondering why he didn’t just leave. “We missed you this morning,” he said finally.

She shrugged.

“I mean, we really missed you this morning.”

She faced him, her eyes narrowed in question. He quirked a smile at her.’ “I’m looking forward to dinner.”

Jane watched him walk out of the room and listened for the front door to close. She tried to brush the image of that little-boy grin out of her mind. What exactly had he meant by missing her at breakfast? She might have thought he was suggesting the meal had been inadequate, but she knew better. Nedra had already told her it had been fine.

Jane also knew better than to think it was her company he had missed. She had been nothing but rude to him since she’d met him. And even if she had been sweet and gracious, he had Doreena.

She set the flour-coated teacup aside and sank into the chair. She had come in with every intention of baking pies for dinner. She had gotten as far as measuring two cups of flour. Or was it three? She would have to pour it back and start again.

Why did Dr. Adam Hart get her so rattled?

She wanted to laugh at herself. Besides the fact that his face was so handsome he made her knees weak and his body was the very model of masculine health? Maybe because he thought she had let her grandmother die.

She would like to tell him all her reasons, and she would, if she felt more certain of them. Right now she didn’t. Right now she thought he was rightshe should have let him try anything to save Grams.

And that was what bothered her about Dr. Hart. She associated him with the pain and the loss and the guilt. And she always would.

She forced herself back to her feet and thoughts of Dr. Hart out of her mind. She had dinner to prepare. And it would be one of her best. She would make up for missing breakfast. She poured the flour back into the canister and measured out six cups. Salt, then lard followed. She reached for her pastry cutter in its usual place, but it wasn’t there. She tried two other drawers before she found it. Evidently the Cartlands had used it for the biscuits and had forgotten where it went The minor irritation was easily forgotten.