Читать книгу Heart And Home - Cassandra Austin - Страница 12

“Can I, Ma? Please,” Billy begged.

Adam was sure his face showed his surprise. It would make it easier for him to check on the boy, of course, but Jane had just lost her grandmother. She hadn’t yet caught up on the sleep she had lost during the woman’s illness. A lively little boy frustrated by a broken leg would not make her life easier. He held his breath and waited to see what Mrs. Tallon would say.

“No,” the mother said finally. “Your father will want to talk to you.”

A new problem occurred to Adam. “No spankings until the leg is healed,” he said.

Mrs. Tallon laughed. “You don’t need to worry about that. But he’ll likely be doing extra chores once he’s healed.”

Adam carried Billy back to the wagon, and Jane and Mrs. Tallon followed with the boxes of food. After saying their goodbyes, Adam and Jane stood side by side and watched the wagon pull away.

“It was nice of you to offer to keep Billy,” Adam said.

Jane gave him a sad smile. “It would have kept my mind off things,” she said.

“You need to get some rest.”

She shook her head. “I need to start dinner. I need to keep busy.”

Adam watched her walk back to the boardinghouse. Once she was inside, he returned to his own little house. He slumped into a chair and stared at his closed front door.

This house was way too quiet. He needed other voices and activity around him. He wished he were sitting in Jane’s front parlor. Even if no one else was there with him, he would be able to hear the other boarders if they walked across their rooms. He would know that he wasn’t alone.

He needed to convince Doreena to join him. He had already sent one brief letter describing his welcome to Clyde. He hadn’t mentioned her refusal to come or his disappointment. He had been afraid he would say something he later regretted.

How could she think he would decide not to stay? Hadn’t she listened to him at all? He could understand if she said she didn’t want to leave her family and live in a comparatively primitive little community. But that wasn’t what she’d said. She had said she was sure he would go back.

It didn’t seem right that she should make him choose between the life he wanted and the woman he loved. He would get pen and ink and tell her so.

He was halfway to his feet before it occurred to him that that was precisely what he was asking her to do: choose between the life she knew and her love for him.

He slumped back into the chair. The difference, of course, was that he was the man. Tradition held that a woman left everything behind and started a new life with her husband. Doreena, however, would be leaving behind considerably more than most women. And getting far less.

Besides, he wasn’t her husband yet. She could still refuse. It came down to the same question. Was he willing to give up his dream of practicing medicine on the frontier in order to be with Doreena?

With a sigh, he rose and moved to the desk. She had given him a year. Perhaps he could change her mind.

It took him most of the afternoon to write the letter, in part because he carefully chose each word, but also because of the interruptions. Two separate farm families stopped to meet him. They were in town anyway, they pointed out. Neither needed medical attention, but were merely checking him out, deciding, he supposed, if it would be worth calling on him if the need arose. He hoped he made a favorable impression. The fact that one of the farmers called him son did not seem like a good sign.

Finally the letter was written. He tapped the pen against his chin as he reread it. He had told about Billy Tallon, pointing out that without his help the boy might have been crippled for life. He had mentioned the Cartland sisters, brushing very lightly over their flirting. He hoped he had depicted them as amusing neighbors.

He had skillfully written of the old woman dying of pneumonia and of taking his meals at the boardinghouse next door without ever actually mentioning Jane. Now he wondered why. He hadn’t been afraid Doreena would be jealous. He simply hadn’t been sure how to describe her.

Thinking of his neighbor, he was considering arriving early for dinner when he had another knock at his door. “Come in,” he called as he turned the letter over and placed the cleaned pen on top.

He stood as Rose Finley, the woman who had introduced herself at the funeral dinner, stepped across his threshold. She moved aside to admit a woman Adam guessed was just shy of twenty.

“This is my daughter Rosalie,” Mrs. Finley said, smiling proudly as the girl curtsied. “This, my dear, is Dr. Adam Hart.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Rosalie said, with a tilt of her head that reminded him instantly of Nedra Cartland.

“She’s been feeling poorly lately,” Mama Finley continued. “I’ll just wait here while you examine her in private.” She plopped down in a chair and folded her arms, looking rather pleased.

Adam hesitated a moment before directing the young woman into the adjoining room. He closed the door behind them and leaned against it for a moment.

Rosalie stood in the center of the room, making a slow turn as she studied her surroundings. “I’d feel more comfortable if the shades were drawn,” she said.

Adam opened his mouth to protest, but she had already stepped to the window that overlooked the street and was stretching to reach the shade pull. He quickly found a match and lit the lamp.

“Miss Finley—”

“You can call me Rosalie,” she said, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she went for the other window shade.

“Rosalie,” Adam began, becoming conscious of just how tightly the girl’s dress fit when she stretched up on tiptoe.

“Yes?” She turned around and eyed him innocently.

Adam would have bet money there was nothing wrong with this woman except an overeager mother. Still…

“Have a seat,” he said, indicating a stool that would bring her nearly eye-to-eye with him. “What seems to be the problem?”