Читать книгу A Home Of Her Own - Keli Gwyn - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Ten minutes in Dr. Wright’s waiting room with Mariela O’Brien was all it had taken to strengthen Becky’s resolve. She wasn’t sure what to make of Mr. O’Brien, but she was eager to care for this courageous woman. Although Mrs. O’Brien’s days were numbered, she possessed the same inspiring faith Becky’s mother had.

Before she could secure the nursing position, Becky had to figure out how to dodge the obstacle in her path. Mr. O’Brien had seen how gingerly she moved when she’d stooped to pick up her Bible and was sure to have concerns about her ability to do the job. Although Mrs. O’Brien insisted he was a kind, loving man, Becky had her doubts.

Mr. O’Brien might have come to her aid and treated her with respect, but she couldn’t forget the fierce look in his eyes when she’d first encountered him or the way he’d sneered at her. A man like that couldn’t be trusted. Her brother could appear charming in public, but she’d seen how quickly Dillon could change into someone entirely different when no one else was around.

Eager to learn more about her present situation, Becky shoved the past aside and focused on the friendly woman seated beside her on the elegant settee. It hadn’t taken long to figure out that she was James O’Brien’s mother and that she was German, as Becky had suspected.

Mrs. O’Brien continued, speaking in German as they’d done since she learned it was Becky’s second language. “I had a weak moment earlier this morning and wanted to put off seeing Dr. Wright, but my dear boy calmed my fears.”

The stouthearted woman couldn’t be blamed for being hesitant to hear how bad things were. Such news could be difficult to accept, even for a brave soul like her.

“The good doctor examined me a few minutes ago. He tried not to show any emotion, but I knew from the look on his face he’d found another tumor. I forced him to tell me when to expect the end. He did his best to sound optimistic, but the truth is I’ll be meeting my Maker sometime in the next six months.” A smile spread across her softly wrinkled face. “I can only imagine what it will be like to look into His eyes and thank Him for all He’s done for me.”

As had been the case with Becky’s mother, Mrs. O’Brien didn’t sound scared to be facing the end of her life. “I sense you’re at peace.”

“When it comes to myself, yes. I’m eager to see my beloved William again, but I long to see my son end his feud with his heavenly Father before I go.” She heaved a wistful sigh. “James isn’t one to be forced into something. I pray for him regularly.”

Perhaps the doctor had overstated Mr. O’Brien’s relationship with the Lord in his telegram or didn’t realize that his mother saw things differently. “I like to think God takes a special interest in the prayers of a parent, since He’s one Himself. My mother was convinced He heard hers. She certainly lifted plenty of them for my brother and me in her last days.”

“Did your mother have cancer, too?”

“Consumption. Both are such terrible diseases.” She ached to think of what Mrs. O’Brien would have to endure in the months to come.

“When the doctor told James it was time to hire a nurse, I was excited at first. I’d had a tiring day, you see, and welcomed the idea of a helper. But then that night in the quiet of my own room, I balked a bit. The Lord and I did some talking, though, and that helped. I trusted Him to provide someone special, and He has.”

Becky rested her hand on the older woman’s arm. “I’ll do all I can to help, Frau O’Brien. I was at my mother’s bedside day and night until the Lord took her home. I know it was only a mother’s love talking, but she said I was the best nurse she could have asked for.”

Mrs. O’Brien patted Becky’s hand with work-roughened fingers. “My dear girl, since you’re going to help me with my most intimate needs, we can dispense with the formality. You may call me Mutti as James does.”

“I couldn’t possibly!”

“I insist. And no more Sie, either. We’ll be spending a lot of time together the next few months, and I want us to be good friends, so please use du.”

Becky was at a loss for words. Once she’d turned twelve, her own mother had no longer allowed her to use the informal word for you in their conversations, and yet Mrs. O’Brien had invited her to do so after a brief conversation. The honor sent Becky’s spirits soaring.

She would stand up to Mr. O’Brien, come what may, because she was going to care for his mother. And she wasn’t going to let any concerns he might have about her qualifications or abilities get in the way.

As though she considered the matter settled, Mrs. O’Brien—Mutti—changed the subject. “The warm days of spring are lovely, aren’t they? When I was a girl in the Old Country, our window boxes were full of flowers like those in the half barrels out front. Seeing them brings back such good memories. Do you know what they’re called in English?”

Becky glanced at the big red blooms with their bright green leaves. “It’s spelled the same, but it sounds a bit different.” She said the word using the English pronunciation. “Geranium.”

The door leading from the waiting area to the rooms beyond opened. Becky caught a whiff of a strong, fruity scent that wrinkled her nose. She’d never been to a doctor’s office before, and the odor surprised her.

Mutti leaned over and whispered, “It’s ether. Dr. Wright said he’d used some earlier when he had to anesthetize a patient. Potent, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.” Her mother’s doctor used to show up at their house smelling of onions and cigar smoke and looking as if he’d slept in his clothes. The dignified blond man in the doorway was the picture of professionalism.

He saw her and smiled. “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Wright, and you must be Miss Becky Martin. Welcome. I trust your journey went well.”

“Thank you, sir. It did.” She still hadn’t gotten used to people calling her by her new name. She’d gone by Rebecca Donnelly all her life, but when she was forced to flee she’d chosen to use the nickname Becky along with her middle name, Martin, which had been her mother’s maiden name.

Mr. O’Brien stepped from behind the doctor and frowned. “It’s you.”

Dr. Wright’s eyebrows rose. “You two have met?”

Lord, please give me courage.

She stood, lifted her chin and looked into Mr. O’Brien’s eyes without flinching. “We haven’t been properly introduced, but he did assist me earlier.”

“Assisted you? I saved you. If it weren’t for me, you could have been crushed by that wagon wheel.” He shook his head and addressed the doctor. “This impetuous young woman took off running after a flea-bitten stray. If I hadn’t been there, she could be in on your examination table with a broken leg—or worse.”

She wasn’t familiar with the word impetuous, but his disapproving tone indicated he wasn’t paying her a compliment. If he didn’t have her at a disadvantage, she would choose a fitting word to sling back at him and show him what she thought of his high-handed manner.

His mother rose and linked arms with Becky. “Do not talk to her that way, mein Sohn.” Mutti spoke English now, but she had a marked German accent, with her w’s sounding like v’s and her t-h’s like z’s. “This lovely young woman only wanted to help the dog. There is nothing wrong with that. It proves she has a kind heart.”

Mutti’s approval renewed Becky’s determination to be strong. This was her opportunity to show Mr. O’Brien she expected to be treated with respect. The Lord was with her, and she could trust Him to look out for her, as He had when Dillon had come after her. “Thank you, Mutti. Now, I think it’s time for your son and me to have a talk.”

Mr. O’Brien’s mouth fell open. “What did you call her?”

His mother gave Becky’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “She called me Mutti because I asked her to. And she is right. You two have much to talk about. Go.” She fluttered a hand toward the front door.

Dr. Wright extended his arm. “You may use my office, if you’d prefer, since I’m sure you’d like some privacy. It’s the first door on the right.”

Becky didn’t wait for Mr. O’Brien to respond. “That’s kind of you. We will.” She ignored the pain in her midriff, marched through the doorway and didn’t stop until she reached the paneled room. Two burgundy chairs faced a desk with beautiful scrollwork. She perched on the armless chair, leaving the wingback armchair for Mr. O’Brien.

He sat and angled his right side away from her. Interesting. His scar must bother him. She could understand, having spent the past week with her face to the floor so people wouldn’t see her unsightly bruises.

She smoothed the skirt of her best dress. The faded fabric had seen many washings. The black crepe mourning gown was sorely in need of another after her week on the train. And she was in need of this job.

A good thirty seconds went by with the ticking of the desk clock the only sound. Although it was a man’s place to initiate a conversation, she could take no more. She drew in a deep breath and launched into her carefully crafted speech.

“Your mother and I had a good conversation. She’s accepted the fact that she needs help, and I’m just the woman for the job. I spent years nursing my own dear mother before she lost her battle with consumption back in ’69, and kept house for my father and brother after she was gone. I’ve become a fair cook, and I can clean and sew, too. I know it cost a lot for you to bring me out here, so I’m willing to work for nothing more than room and board until I’ve earned enough to repay the money you had Dr. Wright wire for my train ticket. When would you like me to start?”

There. She’d stood firm and taken charge of the situation. Jessie would be proud of her. Now to find out if Mr. O’Brien would accept her offer.

He stared at the patterned rug for the longest time, his eyes clouded with sadness.

The impending loss was going to be hard on him. In her experience, men were at a disadvantage when dealing with such devastating news, especially strong men like him, who were used to being in control. They felt the need to shoulder their burdens in silence. At least he had the Lord to lean on, provided he would turn to Him.

“Dr. Wright said you’re qualified, but I believe in being honest. I was seeking an older woman, not a young one like you.”

“I’m not that young. I’m twenty-one. I was only sixteen when my mother took to her bed and I began caring for her. I was up for the task then, so I don’t think my age will be a problem. It’s clear your mother likes me.”

“I can’t argue with that.” He smiled, crinkling his scar the same way he had when she’d come close to colliding with him. Perhaps he hadn’t been sneering before, after all. He really should smile more often because he looked quite dashing when he did, reminding her of a rogue from one of the stories she’d read.

“It seems to me you’d be eager to give me the position. How else could you be sure I’d have the money to pay you back?”

He braced his right elbow in his left hand and covered the scarred side of his face with his palm. “You’ve made your point. The position is yours.”

She couldn’t believe how easy it had been to get him to agree.

“I do have one condition.”

Oh, no. “Yes?”

“I want Dr. Wright to examine you.”

Mr. O’Brien was full of surprises. “That’s not necessary.”

“It’s obvious you’re in pain. The job will entail a fair amount of lifting. I want to make sure you’re able to handle it.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need to see the doctor. I c-can’t.” She’d intended to sound forceful, not fearful. If only her voice hadn’t betrayed her.

“You can, and you will—if you want to work for me.”

His clipped words and sharp tone riled her. Dashing rogues were one thing. Rude, unyielding men were another. “As I told you, I can’t see him. I don’t have the money for an examination. Besides, I’m sure I’ll be better in a few days.”

“Who did this to you?”

His rapid change of subject took her aback. “What?”

He leaned forward and peered at her beneath the wide brim of her simple muslin bonnet. “Who struck you, Miss Martin?”

Shame surged through her, so bitter she could almost taste it. It had been hard enough telling her new friends that her own brother had slapped her. She couldn’t tell this stern-faced stranger. “That’s not important. I’ll never see him again.” At least she hoped not.

Mr. O’Brien narrowed his eyes. “It’s important to me. I don’t want an angry suitor showing up at my door seeking to get you back. I won’t put Mutti in danger.”

She blinked several times. “I can assure you it wasn’t a suitor. I’ve never had one.”

Now, why had she said that? Her romantic life—or lack thereof—was none of his business.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? A woman in your situation could go to great lengths to get away from her attacker. She might even...lie.”

“I’m not like that. I’m a follower of Christ and would never deceive you.”

The words had scarcely left her lips when guilt soured her stomach. She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t exactly told him the truth, either. She’d misled him, just like she’d misled everyone else since she’d embarked on her journey.

Although she felt like a fraud every time someone called her Becky or Miss Martin, her pastor and his wife had agreed that altering her name was necessary in order to keep Dillon from locating her. If her brother found her, there was no telling what he would do to her. A man who would set fire to a factory and accuse his own sister of having committed the crime was capable of almost anything.

He nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. I put great stock in honesty.”

She couldn’t be entirely truthful, but if her admission could help ease his misgivings about hiring her, perhaps she should be forthcoming about this particular issue. “If you must know, my brother did it.”

“I see.” Mr. O’Brien studied her. She resisted the urge to look away. Since she was going to be working for him, there would be no hiding beneath her bonnet. She might as well let him satisfy his curiosity. Lifting her head, she focused on his thick hair, admiring the lovely wave over his right eye.

“He must have used a good deal of force to leave bruises that haven’t faded yet. Did he make a habit of this?”

She couldn’t let him think she’d tolerated such behavior. “That was the first time. The only time. We’d just lost our father, and Dillon didn’t take it well.” Her understatement had taken on epic proportions. If she told Mr. O’Brien what she really thought about her brother and how many times she’d had to ask the Lord’s forgiveness for her dark mutterings the past few days, he might question her faith.

“That’s no excuse.” His voice was low but firm. “Nothing gives a man a reason to lash out at a woman. The scoundrel had better never show his face around here, or he’ll have me to deal with. You’ll be safe at my place.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t expect to see him again.” She wasn’t in danger since Dillon had no idea where she’d gone, but Mr. O’Brien’s protectiveness warmed her all the same. He wasn’t a rogue. How she knew, she couldn’t say, but something told her he was an honorable man, the kind a woman could trust.

“That’s good. Now, let me get Dr. Wright to examine you.”

The warmth that had enveloped her fled, replaced by a quickly spreading case of gooseflesh. If the doctor told Mr. O’Brien how much pain she was in, he’d find out she hadn’t been truthful. She’d seen his temper, and the possibility of it flaring up again gave her pause.

“Before you call him, there’s something you should know.”

* * *

James stood at the window in Dr. Wright’s waiting area. An inebriated miner staggered out of the Arch Saloon across the street and weaved his way up the walkway, clutching each of the posts supporting the balcony at the Cary House hotel as he passed.

Turning from the disturbing sight, James crossed the room and sat beside Mutti.

Miss Martin had suffered at the hands of her own brother, and yet she’d made excuses for him. It made no sense. Judging by the sickly yellowish-gray on her cheeks and her cautious movements, he’d obviously hit her repeatedly and hard. Well, she wouldn’t have to worry now. If the brute was to show up, he’d be sorry. James would make sure of that.

Mutti placed a hand on his bouncing leg. “Everything will be fine, Sohn.”

“I know you’re taken with her, but I’m not sure she’s up to the task of caring for you.”

“She will heal soon. You will see.” A radiant smile lit Mutti’s face. “The Lord sent this dear girl to us, I am sure. She is the answer to my prayers.”

He didn’t put much stock in prayer these days. God didn’t seem to care what happened to him. He just kept taking things away. His father. His future. Now Mutti’s days were numbered.

Before he could think of a tactful way to reroute the conversation, Miss Martin returned to the waiting area, followed by Dr. Wright. James shot to his feet. “How is she, Doctor?”

Miss Martin answered. “Nothing’s broken, so I’ll be better soon.” Her reassurance rang truer than before.

James grasped the back of the settee. “You need time to heal. Housework is out of the question. I’ll find someone else to take over for Mutti.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Dr. Wright addressed Miss Martin. “If you’ll get plenty of rest and avoid doing any heavy lifting during the next three weeks while your bruised ribs heal, you should be able to complete the household chores.”

Relief squeezed a sigh from James. He wouldn’t need to go in search of a nurse, after all. Since Miss Martin had generously offered to forgo payment in order to repay him for her train ticket, he wouldn’t have to increase his monthly expenses, either. Things were working out after all.

Mutti stood. “Then we can all go home now. I am eager for you to see the place, Becky. I am sure you will like it.” She paused and turned to James, her eyes wide. “Where will she stay? We cannot have a young woman living in the house with you there.”

Miss Martin’s audible intake of breath drew his attention. She pressed a hand to the frayed collar of her dingy black dress and smiled. But that wasn’t just any smile. It began with a wobble and grew until her lips parted and her eyes shone with unmistakable gratitude. Despite her discolored cheeks, she looked almost pretty with her face alight like that. “Your concern for my reputation means a great deal to me, but I won’t be a guest. I’ll be a hired worker. Besides, you’ll be there, so everything will be proper.”

“That will be good for the days, but I am thinking of the nights.” Mutti gently patted the young woman’s mottled cheeks. “I want you to care for me, but I do not want to make you the talk of the town’s gossips. An unmarried lady needs a chaperone.” She turned toward James.

Miss Martin faced him, too. A pink tinge added welcome color to her bruised face. He hadn’t noticed before, but the fair-skinned woman had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. She’d said she was twenty-one, but she looked all of sixteen with the blush on her cheeks and expectancy in her eyes. “What can we do?”

Clearly, she meant what she’d said about wanting to care for Mutti. While he hadn’t wanted a young woman as a nurse, he had his answer. Miss Martin was the right person for the job. He’d have to come up with a solution. “I’ll think of something.”

Dr. Wright cleared his throat. “If I might make a suggestion. Would it be possible for you to move an extra bed into your mother’s room, James?”

He relaxed his tense shoulders and nodded. The ever-practical doctor had come up with the perfect solution. The propriety issue had been dealt with, and Mutti would have help close at hand. “I could put my sister’s old bed in there. I’ll see to that right away.”

They bid the doctor farewell. James helped his mother onto the wagon’s bench seat while Miss Martin waited. Something brushed his leg, and he jumped.

That pesky dog was back. “What are you doing here?” He held up his hands to keep the bedraggled animal at bay. “Shoo.”

Miss Martin patted her side and made a kissing sound. “Here, boy.”

The dog dashed over to her, and she stroked its matted coat. “You poor thing. Someone needs to give you a bath. I’m sure underneath all that mud you’re a fine-looking fellow.”

James had his doubts. The dog was so dirty it was impossible to tell what color fur it had. “Perhaps, but we need to be going.” The dog plopped down at James’s feet and peered at him with enormous brown eyes.

“I think he likes you. It appears he’s a stray. If you don’t have a dog, maybe you could—”

“I’ve got horses, a milk cow and chickens to tend. The last thing I need is a mutt like that.” He snapped his fingers at the filthy animal and pointed down the street. “Go on now.”

The mud-encrusted cur stood with his tail wagging as enthusiastically as ever. The dog needed someplace to call home, but the orchard wasn’t it.

Miss Martin cast a wistful look at the friendly animal. “I’m sorry, boy, but I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you. You’ll have to go.” The dog trotted off.

James fought the urge to give in just to see her smile again, but what he’d said was true. Having a dog would add to his workload. He held out a hand to help Miss Martin into the wagon.

A shout rang out from down the street, followed by the pounding of horses’ hooves on the hard-packed earth. “Mr. O’Brien!”

His neighbor’s ten-year-old son rode up to the wagon, leading his father’s saddled gelding behind him.

James patted the neck of the boy’s winded mare. “What is it, Bobby?”

The breathless boy forced the words out in snatches. “You gotta come. Quick. Me ’n’ Davy need your help.”