Читать книгу The Lady Who Lived Again - Thomasine Rappold - Страница 8

Thankfully, the house was quiet when Maddie returned home. Since it was Saturday, Rhetta would be elbow-deep in laundry, and the echo of Gil’s axe confirmed he was splitting wood out back. Grandfather took his daily nap promptly at noon, so Maddie was confident she could make it to her room undetected. She needed to change her clothes, as she hadn’t the energy to explain her bloodstained dress either to her grandfather or to the loyal household staff.

Despite her aching leg, she raced up the wide staircase to her room at the end of the hall. Closing the door quietly behind her, she exhaled in relief. Sunlight poured through the windows, drenching her in golden warmth. Inside this room she always felt safe. During her recovery, she’d spent months confined to her bed, staring at the walls of her private infirmary until she knew each tiny rosette on the floral wallpaper, each curve of the glossy wood molding by heart. This room knew her just as well, for it had seen her at her worst.

The plush carpet had cushioned the impact of the numerous falls she’d suffered while forcing her shattered leg to support her weight, despite Doctor Filmore’s orders to accept her lameness and resign herself to using a cane. The down pillows on the brass bed had absorbed her tears of pain and frustration when she’d feared he might be right. They’d muffled her screaming nightmares and cradled her head while she’d cried herself back to sleep. The thick draperies had shielded her from the world outside and the light of day she’d been too despondent to face.

In the safety of this room and the familiar furnishings, time stood still. Memories of her life before the accident, the friends and the moments she missed so much, lingered like cobwebs in every corner. Within the solitude of these walls, she could revel in the happy memories and wallow in the ugly ones without moving forward. This room held her past. Her lost dreams. Her secrets.

After undressing quickly, Maddie balled up the soiled dress and shoes and stuffed them into a pillowcase. She pushed the bundle into the back of the tall armoire, then closed it tight. She’d discard the mess at the first opportunity. Of course, Rhetta wouldn’t make the task easy. The vigilant maid didn’t miss a trick, but Maddie would concoct some way to dispose of the evidence.

She scrubbed her hands, then changed into a clean day dress and shoes. Exhausted, she plopped into the large chair by the window. The ache in her leg had intensified, but she’d grown used to the chronic pain. Leaning back in the chair, she closed her eyes. Her thoughts returned to Doctor Merrick. Jace. Her breath hitched. The vivid picture of his striking face filled her mind. Thoughts of his muscular body quickly followed.

For a moment in the forest, through eyes untainted by the story of her past, he had noticed her as a woman. She’d sensed his awareness—that certain glint that sparked in men’s eyes when they saw something they liked. Of course their squabble about the deer had quickly doused that spark, but she’d felt his brief attraction nonetheless.

It had been ages since a man had looked at her that way. And twice as long since she’d enjoyed it. The unexpected encounter reminded her how much she missed the attention—how truly starved she was for it. Even now, she found herself savoring that morsel of a moment and how delicious she had felt in the warmth of his desire.

Maddie opened her eyes, frowning. Why on earth was she still thinking of the man? He was a doctor. A threat. She supposed it might be this very fear of him that attracted her. She’d seen the doubt in his intelligent eyes when she fed him her story about the wounded deer. The way he’d analyzed the bloody arrow spoke of a man who questioned things, a man who sought answers. A man who’d do what he must to get them.

For all she knew, he was still trudging through the woods, trying to track the animal. She’d sent him on a fool’s errand when he was attempting to help Mrs. Tremont, and she couldn’t ignore her nagging guilt for his wasted effort.

For the first time after using her gift, Maddie questioned her actions. She’d never before considered the possibility that her strange skills might hurt others as much as help them. She’d never given it much thought at all. Instead she’d acted emotionally, by instinct, when she’d revived the deer, and the sparrow that had crashed into the parlor windowpane, and the kitten that had gotten caught in the stable door and broken its neck. Could these acts of compassion have unknown consequences? And what of her attempts to heal Grandfather?

Her spirit sank as she mulled the problem. Damn Jace Merrick for dimming this one ray of light in her life. Her talent for healing was all that she had, but suddenly, thanks to the trespassing doctor, she was beginning to question whether it was truly a blessing.

An hour later, Maddie headed to the dining room for luncheon. Grandfather was already seated at the head of the long table, enjoying his afternoon glass of port. He looked so small in the high-back chair that had once made him seem like a looming Titan. He was a withered colossus now—fragile and alone.

She swallowed her grief and a lump of guilt. His failing health was beyond her control, but there was no denying she was the reason they’d eaten each meal of the past three years with empty chairs at their elbows.

“Good afternoon, Grandfather,” she said, slipping into the chair at his right.

He lifted his glass in greeting, then took a quick sip. His hollow cheeks were pale. She resisted the urge to ask how he felt, remembering his request that she limit such inquiries to once a day at most. Honoring her promise was becoming increasingly difficult as her worries for Grandfather’s health intensified. Whatever would she do without the stubborn old goat?

For a moment she was tempted to try to persuade Grandfather to seek treatment from the town’s new doctor. But the household help kept him well informed of town news, and she strongly suspected that the clever man already knew plenty about Jace Merrick and had decided he would have less nagging from his beloved grandchild if the doctor’s arrival remained a secret from her.

“Ah, Maddie. I can tell from that sour face of yours that you finally received a response from Amelia,” he said.

She nodded, thankful to be diverted to a less frightening topic. In the face of Grandfather’s failing health, the Amelia dilemma was but a small thing.

“She refuses to accept my regrets.”

He smiled. Beneath his bushy gray brows his eyes twinkled with ageless wit.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” He set down his glass, his fingers trembling with the effort. “What does surprise me is that the Hogles allowed her to extend an invitation to you at all.”

“Oh, you know Amelia,” Maddie said with a sigh. “She probably refused to hold the wedding in Misty Lake unless I was included in the party. She loves Lester Hogle, but she wants me there. And Amelia always gets what she wants.”

“Too true! She’ll run that boy ragged, for sure.” Grandfather’s burst of laughter was strangled by a fit of deep coughing. Despite his claims to the contrary, these spells were becoming more frequent. His heart was weakening, and his condition was deteriorating at an alarming rate. She’d tried her best to heal the unsuspecting man, but each day it became more apparent that her nightly ministrations were ineffective against his disease. Poor circulation left him sallow, fluid swelled his chest and limbs, and now this chronic cough.

Maddie waited on tenterhooks until Grandfather finally caught his breath. He despised being coddled. In fact, he barely allowed the application of the salve she used to disguise her healing attempts. At seventy-two, he still had the same pride that helped him amass a great fortune as a young man. Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he cleared his throat, then continued as if nothing were amiss. “So it’s settled then. You’re attending.”

“I must. For Amelia.” She took a long breath. “For the girls.”

He reached for his drink. Maddie rarely mentioned the accident to him anymore; it simply wasn’t worth the effort. Grandfather had mourned the tragedy in his own way, in silence and denial—and he’d insisted she do the same. While he’d been a constant presence as she recovered from her injuries, she’d had to manage her grief in private.

She hated that she still harbored some resentment about this silly code of silence. Especially now, when Grandfather’s health was so poor. She loved the man with all her heart, but he had imposed a critical distance between them by refusing to discuss what happened. Try as she might to ignore it, Maddie continued to feel the ache of their unsaid words through every crevice of her lonely soul. Several long moments passed before she spoke again.

“Pastor Hogle will be at the wedding.”

Grandfather frowned. “To hell with Pastor Hogle.”

“And Daniel.”

“To hell with him, too.” He took another sip of port. “You’ll have to find your guts, girl, but you’ll find them.”

He spoke the truth with his usual curt elegance, and she was grateful for his support.

“I suppose you may go ahead and send for Cousin Marvin,” she said.

He lowered his weary eyes to the drink in his trembling hand.

“About Marvin…” He studied the glass as though searching for words in its crimson contents. The lengthy pause signaled that the forthcoming news wouldn’t be good. “Marvin is unable to escort you.”

Her heart sank.

“He left for Paris last week. But perhaps I can—”

“No, Grandfather, you cannot. I love you to pieces for offering, but I won’t have you jeopardizing your health by escorting me. This affair will be crowded and filled with people you loathe.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t have the strength to argue, let alone attend the wedding and the string of events leading up to it. Amelia had written of her plans for a shopping trip, a lakeside picnic, rehearsal dinner, and dance. In another lifetime, Maddie would have swanned happily through twice that number of parties without a second thought. Now, it all sounded so overwhelming.

Grandfather nodded in surrender. “My dancing is not what it used to be, anyway,” he teased. “We’ll devise a different plan.”

Thanks to Cousin Marvin, they’d have to. Not that she could blame Marv for choosing the glitter of Paris over waltzing with his poor pariah cousin at a sleepy upstate wedding.

“Of course we will.” She smiled with feigned optimism. And we have a mere four weeks to do it.

* * * *

Jace was pleased to see Mrs. Tremont eating the venison he’d procured from Les Toomey. After giving up his search for the deer he’d hit that morning, he’d resorted to accepting two pounds of venison in lieu of payment for stitching Les’s finger. Had Jace known Les always had an ample supply of fresh venison on hand, he’d have asked for it earlier instead of wasting an entire day in the woods in pursuit of an animal that had vanished into thin air. But then he wouldn’t have met the young woman he couldn’t get out of his mind.

There was something so haunting about her. Those soulful brown eyes and flush cheeks. Those lips. Her delicate visage opposed the stiff pride in her shoulders, the brusque lift of her chin. Jace couldn’t recall ever being so intrigued by a woman. Fearlessness was a rare quality in a woman, but one Miss Sutter seemed to possess in spades.

From her angry reaction, he’d obviously struck a nerve by questioning her sanity. But what the devil had she expected after her reckless behavior with a wild and wounded animal? Their strange encounter, while memorable, hadn’t gone well. Stranger still was that Jace had been in Misty Lake for a month before crossing her path. Literally.

While the town would soon fill with summer guests from the city, Madeline Sutter was a local. Even the residents on the far outskirts of town had managed to sate their curiosity about the new doctor by stopping by his office or “accidentally” bumping into him somewhere.

Jace glanced around the kitchen of Mrs. Tremont’s remote cottage in the woods, wondering if Madeline Sutter called such a place home. His curiosity became too much to contain.

“I met your neighbor this morning,” he said. “Madeline Sutter.”

Mrs. Tremont stopped chewing, then swallowed hard. “Oh, that one.”

Not exactly the response he’d expected. “She asked me to send her regards.”

With an unpleasant twist of her lips, she speared a piece of meat with her fork, then popped it into her mouth.

Jace waited as she chewed, but she offered nothing further on the subject. Her silence intrigued him.

“She lives with her grandfather?” he pressed.

She frowned, her eyes sinking into a sea of deep wrinkles. “Adam Sutter should have sent her away after the accident. Would have been better for everyone, the girl included.”

“Accident?”

“Wagon accident, three years ago. Worst misfortune ever to strike this town.” Her voice dipped low with the weight of her sorrow. “Madeline Sutter was one of four girls inside the wagon when it crashed into a tree.” Mrs. Tremont set down her fork. “All four were killed.”

Jace tilted his head, wondering for a moment if he’d heard her correctly. “But you said she was one of four—”

“She died, too.”

Jace blinked.

“Mrs. Tremont, that doesn’t make sense,” he challenged, shaking his head.

“Sense or no sense, the girl was as dead as a doornail and laid out with the others until the next day.”

He leaned forward. “What happened the next day?”

“She opened her eyes.”

Christ Almighty. Jace sat back in his seat. He’d read of such extraordinary cases, where comatose patients awoke after days, sometimes weeks. Of course those patients weren’t pronounced dead. Thinking on it, Jace supposed he could understand how it might happen, given the circumstances and Misty Lake’s remote location.

Accidents involving multiple victims were always chaotic. The distraction of hysterical relatives and bystanders often hindered treatment. Especially in a small community like this one, where the physician knew the victims and their families personally. In all the confusion, Doctor Filmore had obviously missed Madeline’s pulse. Jace blew out a breath as he imagined the scene. “That must have been quite a shock.”

“It was terrifying,” the old woman agreed. Closing her troubled eyes, she shuddered for effect. “To see her awake from the dead like she did…”

The words stopped him short. Mrs. Tremont didn’t strike him as one prone to theatrics, but surely she couldn’t be serious.

“Ma’am, you do realize that the doctor made a mistake.” Jace paused. “Don’t you?”

She pointed a bony finger.

“You, young man, are a stranger to Misty Lake. Doctor Benjamin Filmore is one of us. For over thirty years, he took care of this town, nursing us through typhoid and cholera and the worst times of our lives. He delivered our babies into this world and eased the suffering of those he ushered out. He wouldn’t make such a mistake as this, and you’ll not tell me otherwise. Not in my house.” She rose from the table with a swiftness he hadn’t thought she could muster. She returned with the coffee pot and refilled her cup. “Doctor Filmore was as stunned by her resurrection as the rest of us.”

“Resurrec—” Jace stopped himself before his angry disbelief got the better of him. “Is that really what Doctor Filmore called it?”

Mrs. Tremont shrugged. “That’s what everyone called it. At first.”

“What do you mean?”

She picked up her fork and poked at the bits of meat on her plate. “Her leg was so badly broken Doctor Filmore said she’d never walk properly again. Doctor Reed from over in Stephentown agreed. No one saw her for months after the accident. Not even the doctor, since she refused any more treatment from him. Then one day, she comes parading into church, fit as a fiddle.”

“She recovered?” Jace’s surprise faded as he gathered where this line of argument was leading. “And?”

Releasing a huff of impatience, Mrs. Tremont clarified what her guest was obviously too thick to comprehend.

“Lightning doesn’t strike twice, Doctor Merrick. Neither do miracles.” She gestured with the fork. “There’s something plain unnatural about the whole thing. Pastor Hogle even said as much when the girl first came back to service. The Lord may work in mysterious ways, he told us. But so too, does the Devil.”

* * * *

Jace was still furious when he returned home hours later. After asking around, he’d discovered the entire town shared Mrs. Tremont’s opinion of Madeline Sutter. And to think that Misty Lake’s esteemed pastor had encouraged the slander! The rumors of Madeline’s odd recovery were poisonous enough without Hogle’s interference. Adding religion to the mix simply polished the whole mess to a high sheen.

The pastor’s only child was one of the girls who’d been killed in the accident—but grief was poor justification for Hogle’s actions. How could a man of faith feed his devoted flock such nonsense? Jace shook his head. If the people of Misty Lake revered Hogle half as much as they had trusted Doctor Filmore, they’d blindly opened their mouths like a nest full of baby sparrows and gulped the venom right down.

Jace unlocked the door to the house that served as a physician’s office in the front parlor rooms and a dwelling for the live-in physician in the back. Ben Filmore had relinquished the house to Jace after he and his wife moved their belongings to the hotel. The space would be more than adequate, once everything was set to rights. Currently, however, the place was a mess.

On Jace’s first night in Misty Lake, a tree limb had crashed through the roof of his new parlor during a nasty storm, delaying the opening of his practice indefinitely. Furniture was piled in the corner. The musty rug still hadn’t dried completely from the rain that had poured into the room, and he’d be sweeping up acorns for weeks.

Thanks to his neighbor, Henry Whalen, repairs were almost complete, but the clutter would take many long days to organize. If Jace were half as superstitious as Mrs. Tremont and the others, he’d have taken the unfortunate incident as a sign of ugly things to come.

Jace sidled between the crates and other debris and made his way into his office. A tall cabinet housed drawers full of files on everyone Ben had treated, which Jace assumed included every resident in town. He directed his search to Madeline Sutter’s file. Upon retrieving it, he fingered through the contents, bypassing her early history, childhood illnesses and the like, until he found the documents relating to the accident.

Madeline Sutter, age twenty-one, deceased.

That was it? Jace shuffled through the file, searching for more, but no other details followed that final notation. He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. Mrs. Tremont had said Madeline suffered a badly broken leg in the accident, but the file contained no report of that injury either. Jace would have to go to the source. He needed an explanation, a sound voice of reason after all the rubbish he’d heard today, and he needed it now.

Doctor Filmore was still in town but not for long. He’d informed Jace last week that upon finishing up some loose ends with the various committees with which he was involved, he’d be joining his wife in Boston, where their adult children now lived, and his train to the city was departing today. Checking his watch, Jace realized he had only hours to catch Filmore before the old man left town for good.

Jace hurried from the office and walked the short distance to the Lakeview Hotel. The smell of lemon oil and freshly polished furniture greeted him as he walked through the door. The mid-May weather had been particularly mild, and the hotel’s staff was busy preparing for the early influx of summer residents.

According to the hiring committee that selected Jace as the town’s physician, Misty Lake had recently become a popular retreat destination for affluent urban families. Boating, swimming, and other outdoor recreations tempted droves of city dwellers seeking country amusements. A boon for local business. Prospective patients for Jace.

Jace offered greetings as he breezed through the wood-paneled lobby. Hanging floral arrangements wafted on the crisp breeze sailing in from the row of open windows facing the lake. He made his way upstairs to the doctor’s room, then knocked on the door.

“Tell me about Madeline Sutter,” he demanded as he stepped into the room.

Doctor Filmore froze. He stared at the open door, looking ready to bolt. “She hasn’t been my patient in years,” he said, closing the door. “After the accident, she refused my treatment.”

“Is it any wonder?”

The insult seemed to spur more shame than anger as Doctor Filmore stared at Jace like a guilty child.

“Mistakes happen, Ben, I understand that,” Jace said. “The shock and disbelief over the dead girls, the collective hysteria. The confusion. She was insentient; her pulse was weak. But when she regained consciousness after all those hours, you had to have known she’d been comatose and not dead.”

Doctor Filmore averted his eyes.

Jace had received some strange responses to his queries about the accident, but he hadn’t expected one from Ben—a physician. Jace suddenly realized he was no longer looking at a doctor. He was looking at a man. A man afflicted with the same grief and misery that plagued the others.

Yet as tragic as this accident was, it was no excuse for what followed. Ben hadn’t offered any explanation for Madeline’s stunning recovery, so people let their pain form one. The result was cruel and depraved. And despite his oath as a physician, despite his morals as a human being, the good doctor had done nothing to stop it.

“The girl needed your help, Ben.” With each silent moment, Jace grew angrier. Denial was the coward’s way out, and it was a path for which Jace had no tolerance. He may as well have been speaking to the wall—or his father. “Say something, Goddamn it, Ben.”

“I have a train to catch.”

Jace shook his head in disgust. “You son of a bitch.” He turned on his heel and walked out the door.