Читать книгу The Path To Her Heart - Linda Ford - Страница 11

Boothe fumed at Emma’s insinuation that he didn’t know how to care for his son. He might not be as quick to figure out medical needs as she was, but even before her comment, he realized Jessie wasn’t just whining because of the move and a new school, though Boothe figured it was more than enough reason to cause the boy to fuss.

He paused outside the storeroom, pulling his angry thoughts into submission before he faced his son.

Jessie lay face down on his bed, sobbing.

Boothe shifted Jessie and perched on the edge of the cot beside him. He rubbed Jessie’s back. “I’m sorry things are so hard right now, but I promise they’ll get better.”

Jessie scrunched away making it plain he cared little for Boothe’s promise.

Boothe swept his hand over Jessie’s forehead. It did seem warmer than normal. He checked under Jessie’s shirt. Again, the boy seemed a bit too warm. “Jessie, I need to check your arm.”

Jessie wailed and drew into a ball, pressing a hand to his shoulder as if to prevent Boothe from touching him.

“I have to look at it.”

“Leave me alone.” Jessie turned his tear-streaked face to Boothe. “I don’t want you. I want Auntie Vera.”

Boothe’s heart stalled as the words pierced his soul. He pulled his hand back and ground his fist into his thigh as if he could force his mind to shift to the pain in his leg. Jessie had no idea how his words hurt, how losing his son’s love to Vera and Luke seemed like the final injustice in a list of unexpected, undeserved tragedies.

Ignoring his son’s resistance, he turned him to his back. “Do you want to take off your shirt or do you want me to?”

“No.”

“I won’t hurt you.” He unbuttoned the shirt.

“Owwwww.”

Boothe ignored the pathetic pleas and sat Jessie up to remove the shirt and lower the top half of the long underwear. He gently touched the arm on either side of the dressing, but he couldn’t tell if it seemed unduly warm.

“I have to take off the bandage.”

Jessie batted at Boothe’s hands. “Don’t touch it.”

“I have to.” He began to unwrap the cloth.

When Jessie realized his protests wouldn’t stop Boothe, he settled back and glowered. “You don’t care if it hurts.”

“Son, I don’t want to hurt you. You know that. But if your cut is infected, it has to be treated.”

“You don’t care.”

Boothe’s eyes narrowed as he pulled off the pad of cloth and saw the reddened edges of the wound. “I’ll have to put a poultice on this.” He didn’t need Emma to tell him what to do. He knew about poultices because Alyse had put one on his leg when he tore it on barbwire. She’d ignored his protest that it would heal just fine left alone. Silently he thanked her for insisting; otherwise he would not know how to treat their son now.

He tilted his head toward the kitchen and when he determined it was quiet, hurried in and put a small pot of milk on the stove. He had no desire to see Emma or listen to her unwanted advice. Knowing she was a nurse who played with people’s lives made his tongue curl with a bitter taste.

As he waited for the milk to heat, he prepared a thick slice of bread and gathered up clean rags.

He heard Emma’s steps on the stairs as he carried his supplies back to the storeroom. The skin on the back of his neck prickled with tension, and he picked up his pace even though he doubted she’d follow him. He put the milk-soaked bread on the wound and wrapped it in place with a length of sheet. According to what he remembered Alyse saying, it had to be left until morning and by then would have drawn out the infection. If not, he would do it again. He would fight for the well-being of his young son. And he would not let someone interfere because they had an education that they thought gave them the right.

Jessie continued to glower at him. “You should have taken me to the doctor like Miss Emma said.”

Boothe finished pinning the cloth in place, giving himself time to calm his thoughts. He gently took Jessie’s shoulders and squeezed. “Jessie, don’t ever think you can turn yourself over to the care of a doctor or nurse and you’ll be safe. You must promise me to use your head and do what you need to look after yourself and those you care about.”

He waited for Jessie to agree but the boy only whimpered. Boothe didn’t like to press him when he was feeling poorly but this was too important to let go. “Jessie, you have to take care of yourself or let someone who loves you take care of you. Don’t trust strangers. You must promise me.”

“Okay, I promise.”

Boothe wondered if the boy understood, but he would be sure to repeat the warning time and again until Jessie had it firmly in his mind. He did not want to lose his son to a careless nurse or doctor concerned more with their medicines and diagnoses than with the patient. Alyse was not simply a patient. She had been his wife and Jessie’s mother.

He sponged Jessie until he seemed less restless. He would have done it without Emma’s instructions. He focused on Emma’s interference, hoping to keep his fear at bay. It was only a cut. Nothing out of the ordinary for a small boy. He himself had many scars to prove children endured cuts that healed sometimes without so much as being cleaned.

Yet Boothe had overreacted when Jessie ran into the nail on the side of the baggage cart. When he saw the deep tear in Jessie’s flesh, he’d roared at the innocent baggage handler. It had taken a long while for his inner turmoil to settle down, for his fears to subside.

Jessie was all he had left. He intended to protect him from danger and interference.

But now he had an infection and Boothe was powerless to fix it.

He felt inadequate trying to be both father and mother. He didn’t feel adequate as one parent, let alone trying to be both. But one thing he knew without a flicker of doubt—his son would not ever be subjected to the careless ministrations of a nurse or a doctor.

He let his anger, fear and frustration narrow down to Emma. Just because she was a nurse gave her no right to interfere in his life. Or Jessie’s. He’d warn her again to mind her own business. Surely there were enough people at the hospital wanting her help without her having to play nurse at home. Apart from having to sit at the same table for breakfast and supper, he could see no reason for the two of them to spend time together or even speak for that matter.

He sat at the bed until Jessie drifted off to sleep.

When Aunt Ada had admitted she hadn’t slept well because of her arthritis, he’d sent her to bed promising to make supper. He returned to the kitchen to fulfill his duty.

Emma stood at the table cleaning up the last of the potato peelings. She glanced up as he entered the room. “How is he?”

“Fine.”

“You might want to—”

“Stop. If I want your advice, I’ll ask. I want to make myself very clear here.” He stood at the doorway, his fists on his hips, and gave her his hardest look. “I don’t want your help looking after my child. I will see to his needs. Do you hear me?”

She quirked one disbelieving eyebrow. “Of course I hear you. But—”

He shook his head. “No buts. Stay away from Jessie and me. Find someone else to fix if you have such a need.”

Her eyes darkened like the approach of night. Her nostrils flared.

He waited, expecting an outburst, or perhaps a hot defense of her abilities.

But she swallowed hard and then blinked twice in rapid succession. “I am not trying to fix anyone, though I wish I had the ability. Believe me, many times a day, I wish I could.”

“So long as we understand each other.”

“Oh, I think we do, and I don’t think keeping out of your way is going to prove too difficult for me.”

Her gaze slid past him. He understood she thought of Jessie.

“Leave Jessie alone.”

Before Emma answered, before he could guess what the sudden flash in her eyes meant, Aunt Ada entered the room.

“It’s almost time to make supper.” She patted a yawn. “I can’t believe I slept so long.”

“The potatoes are ready to cook.” Emma headed for the door, obviously ready and anxious to get away from Boothe. “I’m going to run over to the Douglases.”

She left and Boothe turned his attention to supper preparations, slicing pork for frying, pouring applesauce from a jar into a bowl and generally, in his inept way, doing his best to help Aunt Ada.

The meal was almost ready when he heard Emma return. A tightness across his shoulders relaxed. For the past twenty minutes, he wondered if he’d offended her so badly she decided not to come back. Perhaps she would find somewhere else to live. It would prove a relief for him if she did but he knew Aunt Ada needed her boarders, and despite his personal dislike of Emma, she was, no doubt, the sort of boarder Aunt Ada preferred.

Emma slipped into her place at the far end of the table.

He glanced her way as he placed a bowl mounded with creamy mashed potatoes in the center of the table. He’d done a good job with them, if he did say so himself, though it had taken some direction from Aunt Ada.

He’d expected Emma to be subdued, even a bit sullen after the way he’d spoken to her, and the look of eager anticipation and excitement on her face made him narrow his eyes. Had she found somewhere else to live? Somewhere more welcoming? For Aunt Ada’s sake, he hoped not.

“Where’s Jessie?” Betty asked.

“He’s not feeling well. I’ve had to sponge him a couple of times to get his fever down.” He kept his voice firm to convince one and all he was competent to care for his son without medical interference.

Emma studied him soberly but offered no more advice.

The others murmured sympathy for the little boy.

Loretta, the old dear, offered her own solution. “The boy needs a good dose of salts. That will fix him up in a snap.”

Boothe almost laughed at the shock in Emma’s face. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Though he had no intention of doing such a thing.

Emma’s eyes flashed. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, he shook his head ever so slightly, silently reminding her of his warning. She shut her mouth and fixed him with a deadly look.

He ducked to hide a smile. He almost enjoyed seeing her bristle.

Amidst the general discussion as people dug into the food, complimenting both he and Aunt Ada, Boothe stole several glances at Emma. Her anger at him had disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced with the same eagerness she’d had when she returned. He wondered what sparked the flashing light in her eyes and again hoped she wouldn’t decide to move out.

The food disappeared quickly. He helped Aunt Ada serve the butterscotch pudding she’d made earlier in the day. As everyone enjoyed the dessert, Emma leaned forward.

“Listen everyone,” she began.

Boothe waited for the announcement.

“I went to visit Pastor and Mrs. Douglas this afternoon. You all know how difficult things have been for them this year with Pastor Douglas recovering from a stroke.”

Boothe listened to the murmurs of acknowledgment. Was she going to move in with them?

“They always make gifts for each child at the Christmas concert.” Emma edged forward and glanced around the table, her expression eager as she looked at each one until her gaze settled on Boothe. Then her eyes grew wary.

Then she skipped past him and continued. “With all they’ve had to deal with, they haven’t got the gifts made. Mrs. Douglas was fretting about how to get thirty or forty gifts done in time. I thought we could do something to help. What do you think?”

There was silence for a moment while everyone digested her request. For his part, Boothe had to work hard to keep from exhaling his relief over her announcement. Her excitement was only about taking over a project and getting them all involved.

Betty spoke first. “Forty gifts? How on earth did they ever do it themselves?”

Emma nodded. “I know. I wondered the same.”

“What sort of things do they normally make?” Sarah asked.

“Generally, wooden toys for the boys, dolls for the girls. and Mrs. Douglas said they also like to make sure every child gets a pair of mittens.”

“Goodness,” Ed said. “Forty gifts.”

“I thought if we worked in the evenings, making it a group project instead of reading our book…Just until this is done,” Emma added as the others protested. “Pastor Douglas sent the pattern for trucks and trains. He said if anyone can carve, you could make airplanes with little propellers that turn. Wait, I’ll show you.” She hurried out to the hall and returned with a large wooden box that she put on the floor by her chair. She pulled out pieces of wood. “He even got a few cut before his stroke. They only need to be sanded and painted.” She finally sat back, quiet, waiting for the others to respond.

“Forty toys,” Ed said again.

Loretta clapped her hands. “Well, of course the children must have their gifts. I can certainly knit mittens.”

“I’ll knit some, too,” Aunt Ada said.

“I can sew things,” Sarah added.

“Thank you.” Emma turned to Ed and Don. “Can you help with the wooden toys?”

“Forty gifts?” Ed said.

Betty snapped her fingers in his face. “Ed, get over it. Say you’ll help. I’m going to.”

Everyone laughed at how quickly Ed agreed. Don added his promise to help.

Emma slid her glance over Boothe. “Good.” She rubbed her hands together. “As soon as the kitchen is cleaned, let’s get started. We have a lot to do.”

Boothe stared at her. Was he invisible? Wasn’t he allowed to be part of this? His eyes narrowed. Did she think he’d refuse simply because it was her idea? Or because she’d be there? Admittedly, a part of him rebelled at the idea of working with her. But what was he supposed to do? Sit by idly while everyone else made gifts for the children? And he was the only one with a child of his own. It simply wasn’t right. “I’ll help, too.”

Emma gazed in his direction. “That’s very generous of you.” Her words sounded like she’d dragged them from the icebox.

“You’re welcome. I’m proud to do my part.” Not giving her a chance to respond, he grabbed a handful of plates and strode to the kitchen.

As he washed dishes, having appointed himself chief cook and bottle washer, his thoughts mocked him. Avoid her. You only have to see her at supper and breakfast. Stay away from her and her interfering ways. And the first time something comes up where you don’t have to be in the same room, jump right in and volunteer. Oh yes. He certainly made a wise move there.

The evening barely got underway before he knew he’d made a mistake. Emma took control of the proceedings in such a high-handed way that he bit his tongue to keep from protesting. Only Aunt Ada and Loretta escaped her control as they retired to the front room, sorted through yarn and started on the mittens.

Emma put out fabric on the table, some already cut into rag doll shapes, and gave Betty and Sarah each a job. She ordered Ed and Don to the corner of the room. “We don’t want to mess up Ada’s kitchen any more than necessary.” Ed and Don obeyed like young boys and immediately began sanding pieces. She looked at Boothe, shrugged and left him to decide what he wanted to do.

He didn’t want to be ordered about, but he also didn’t want to be ignored as if she didn’t care to acknowledge his presence—maybe even his existence. “I’m going to try my hand at carving a propeller.” He grabbed a chair and joined Ed and Don in the corner.

As they worked, they talked. And Boothe listened.

“Any news from Kody and Charlotte?” asked Betty.

Boothe learned that Kody was the Douglas’s son and he and his wife owned a ranch in the hills.

“I haven’t seen them in a while,” Emma said. “I might have to go out there on my day off.”

At the lonesome tone in her voice, Boothe glanced her way. Did nurses feel the same emotions as others? Somehow he expected they functioned like machines—bossy machines—with no concern about how people felt. That she’d reveal ordinary emotions surprised him.

Two hours later, she stood. “That’s enough for tonight.” She looked at the doll Sarah was working on. “This is sweet.” Boothe glanced over. Sarah had embroidered a lifelike face.

Betty threw down the doll she worked on. “Mine looks stupid. It has button eyes.”

Emma retrieved it. “This is fine. And your sewing is so strong. It will stand up to a lot of loving. Why don’t you, Sarah, do the faces and you, Betty, stitch them together? That way you both get to do what you do best.”

Betty puckered her mouth. “You aren’t just trying to butter me up?”

Emma laughed. “I’m being practical.”

Ed chuckled. “Betty, you know Emma doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean. Hey, look at my truck. Vroom, vroom.”

Everyone laughed as he played with the wooden automobile he’d sanded to satin smoothness.

Don exhibited his project—train wheels. “Now show us what you did,” he said to Boothe.

Reluctantly, Boothe held out the propeller he worked on. “When I’m done, it should spin freely.”

“We accomplished a lot.” Emma gathered together the sewing. Don put the wooden pieces into the box Pastor Douglas sent.

Boothe assessed the toys. He tallied the items already cut out and did a quick estimate. Once the shapes were cut out, the work went quickly and could be done in the evenings. However, there needed to be a lot more pieces cut.

Emma wiped the table. Boothe grabbed the broom as she reached for it and swept the floor.

She paused at the box of wood and looked thoughtful. “We need to find someone to cut out more shapes for us.”

The others had left the room so Boothe felt compelled to answer. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“You sound disapproving. Why?”

He concentrated on sweeping up the wood dust. He hadn’t meant to sound like a man with a mouthful of vinegar.

“Do you think you can protect yourself by pushing everyone away? Aren’t you afraid you’ll get lonely?”

Her words slammed against his heart. Boothe stopped sweeping. He closed his eyes and squeezed the broom handle so hard that he felt a sliver stab his palm. No, he wasn’t lonely.

Jessie cried out. Boothe dropped the broom and headed for their room. He’d checked Jessie several times throughout the evening and figured the temperature remained down. He resisted the temptation to take the poultice off and look underneath. Only Alyse’s words stopped him. She’d laughed at him when he tried to pull the poultice off his leg. “Stop trying to rush things. Let it do its work.”

As he soothed Jessie from his nightmare, relieved his son seemed only normally warm from sleep, Boothe felt a great tear in his heart. He would endure loneliness to protect Jessie. He heard Emma still tidying. For a moment, he considered returning to the kitchen and her company. Instead, he stared out the window in to the dark, feeling the gloom settle into his soul.