The Doctor's Wife
People always ask me where I get my ideas, and I usually have trouble answering. When there is an actual moment that I remember a how story was conceived, the original idea still undergoes many changes before it evolves into a workable outline.
Ideas come from everywhere, and we writers are fortunate in that we can take an afternoon or an evening or an entire day to "research". Shopping provides an interesting opportunity to observe people. The clearance sales are simply an added bonus. Lunch with a group of friends or a family get-together can be a character study, as well as a character builder.
Browsing the bookstores offers inspiration. There's something about breathing that book air that reminds me why I love to do what I do.
The Internet offers endless recourses for settings, languages, careers, time periods, clothing, transportation, even dictionaries and name definitions and anything I can think of. And since I'm already there working, I give myself a break and check my e-mail.
Reading a book--or in my case--a stack of books always motivates me. Fiction, nonfiction and books of photographs always spark an idea or a new character. A cup of tea or flavored coffee and a few nibbles of chocolate will stimulate brain processes too.
Movies and television provide a panorama of situations and views and what ifs. One day while flipping channels I caught an interview program. The person telling her story had me in tears after ten minutes. She shared her childhood of poverty and neglect that most of us can't imagine, and my heart went out to her. Her specific details spurred my thought processes: stale food wrapped in newspaper for school lunches, wearing boys' underwear because all she ever got were hand-me-downs; she'd been ridiculed and embarrassed on the school bus and the community referred to her family as "the trash family".
I had wanted to set a story in the Old West railroad town of Newton Kansas and have my character be a Harvey Girl, so The Doctor's Wife slowly evolved into Ellianna Parrish's story. She's a brave young girl with a dark secret and an impoverished past, who raised her young brothers and then lost them to the county. She desires a better life for her siblings than she ever had, so she sets out with a plan to get them back and provide a home. An accident turns out to be good fortune when Ellie meets Caleb Chaney, a handsome doctor struggling to gain the respect of the citizens.
I think readers will feel the same way about Ellie that I did about that true to life person whose story touched me. Hopefully they will pull for her to overcome her heartbreaking past and find happiness. And, of course, she does. (It's a romance!)
Five Stars! Reviewer's Choice Award:
"From the intense, yet poignant opening, "The Doctor's Wife"
will draw you in and keep you reading....a heart-warming story filled with an
assortment of well-developed characters. Cheryl weaves a story of two people
that keeps the pages turning and makes the reader wish the story would never
end." - Romance Reviews@Sime~Gen
"Cheryl St. John transports readers to 1880's Kansas in this emotional
read.
Her characters come to life on each page. Ms. St.John has a flair for storytelling
that can't be beat. This book will stay with you long after the last page is
turned."
- Reader To Reader, New and Used Books
"Cheryl St.John touches on some very controversial issues in this story, but she tells her tale with such compassion that it will surely touch your emotions. The Doctor's Wife is a powerful story proving that true, unconditional love can heal the most tortured soul and that a person can overcome the worst obstacles possible and become a respected, loving being. "This is a beautiful love story and one I highly recommend." - Under The Covers
"Cheryl St. John takes readers on a journey to 1880's Kansas for this touching love story. She portrays her characters with an amazing realism that will grab your heart. Plan to spend several enjoyable hours with Caleb, his son, and The Doctor's Wife." - Bookbug on the Web
"The Doctor's Wife is made enjoyable for its small moments. Even when Ellie is endangered by someone from her past, the book does not falter. All too often a nice little story is ruined by a melodramatic and unrealistic episode. That does not occur here - what does happen is realistic and does not involve super-human efforts.
"If you are looking for a romance with true to life characters who deserve the chance at happiness they will find together, I recommend reading The Doctor's Wife." - Laurie Likes Books http://www.likesbooks.com/home.html
"The Doctor's Wife is filled with so many twists and
turns that it makes it impossible to put down. I was glued to each page and
every word.
"Cheryl creates an emotional connection between you and these characters
that allows you to feel their pain and feel their fear. She handles a very tough
subject with such skill and grace that it stuns the reader. Cheryl always guarantees
a good read, but this is her best yet." - Posted by Tami Wirth
at Amazon.com
Web sites to visit:
A recent interview:
http://www.theromanticbower.com/Interviews/cherylstjohn.shtml
An article on the appeal of the western romance:
http://www.likesbooks.com/thewest.html
Now
on Ingrams's A-list!!
THE DOCTOR'S WIFE has been chosen for reviewer's choice awards
from Sime-Gen!
Prologue
~ Florence, Kansas, 1880 ~
A shimmering silver moon spied upon the girl's halting, labored progress as she crept through the stand of midnight-cloaked cottonwoods, their long-fingered branches snagging her threadbare dress and scratching her bare arms. She held the tiny shawl-wrapped bundle protectively against her breast and stopped often, fighting the trembling that shook her exhausted limbs and the weakness that threatened her ability to reach her destination undiscovered.
Another spasm racked her belly, and she fell to her knees, curling herself around the bundle and whimpering soundlessly. A cloud momentarily obscured her vision, or perhaps she blacked out, but too much time had passed when she could once again see clearly enough to move forward through the frosted moonlight and into the sleeping town. Quickly, she found the alley.
A cat yowled, startling her and she nearly stumbled again. She gripped her concealed burden and hurried on. Finally, she came up behind the house she'd been heading toward with single-minded purpose. No light shone from the eye-like windows, the occupants having long ago retired.
The girl watched the house enshrouded in darkness for several minutes, torn with what she must do and what her heart and her body rejected as unendurable.
The infant moved against her breast, a helpless tiny creature needing more care and protection than she ever could hope to give it. The feeble movement tore at her heart, but prodded her forward.
Once crouched in the concealing darkness at the corner of the house, the precarious safety of this rash plan struck her hard. What if no one came to the door? What if a dog or a wild animal was first to reach the mewling infant who still bore traces of her blood?
Exhaustion hammered at her nerves and her thoughts, but fear pushed her forward. There was more chance for survival here than from where she'd come. A rock bit into the cracked sole of her shoe, and she picked up the stone, testing its size and weight.
She pressed her nose into the shawl, inhaled the musky scent that pierced her heart anew, and resolutely placed the wrapped child on the wooden porch floor, a safe distance from the back door, yet in plain sight.
Without a lingering touch or a backward glance; by sheer force of will, she slipped back into the shadows, hobbled into the alley, and steadied herself against the rough wooden side of a tool shed.
In the shadows of the porch roof, she couldn't see the shawl or the remnant of her heart that lay within. The vigilant moon illuminated the glass-paned windows of the house. She stared heavenward for a full-minute, garnering strength, purpose. . .courage. Then with a prayer for accuracy and the last shred of stamina she possessed, she took aim and directed the rock with a skill born of desperation.
Breaking glass shattered the fragile silence of the night.
Her lacerated heart hammered against her ribs.
Her vision blurred, then cleared.
A yellow light came on in the house.
An eternal minute passed.
Another.
With an echoing creak, the back door opened. The long black barrel of a gun preceded a tall man dressed only in trousers. He took a wary step forward. Then stopped.
Cautiously, he nudged the bundle on his porch with the rifle barrel. The trembling girl who watched didn't breathe, and her heart stopped.
Finally, miraculously, after glancing around, he knelt and touched the shadowy bundle with his free hand. His voice carried across the backyard, the words of astonishment indistinguishable. Another light came on behind him, and a robed woman appeared, silhouetted in its gentle radiance like a delivering angel.
As soon as the woman fell to her knees on the porch, the girl's heart resumed a frantic beat. She turned and fled into the night, the silvery glow of the silent moon the only witness to the deed that would forever scar her soul.
Chapter 1
Newton, Kansas, 1885
Up ahead, the locomotive whistled a long, urgent warning that roused the sluggish passengers. The chugging train swayed and slowed, and the tired travelers jerked forward in their seats. Stockmen, herders, businessmen and women gathered belongings and children and prepared to step from the car.
Elianna Parrish clung to the handle of her one small battered satchel, and allowed impatient travelers to move ahead. She was in no hurry. She'd been on a three day pass and didn't need to report back to her job at the Arcade Hotel until morning.
The melancholy feeling that always accompanied her on returning from a visit with her two younger brothers washed over her like the claustrophobic taint of unwashed bodies and cigar smoke that filled the railcar. Even though she traveled to see the boys each time she could get a pass from her job, she missed them terribly. The Heaths, who farmed a few miles outside Florence, tolerated her visits and put on as if they were actually fond of the boys.
Ellie knew better. For the past year her brothers had been laborers, expected to perform the tasks of men while receiving stingy meals and lumpy bunks in the barn.
Ellie's high hopes of immediately getting them out of there had faded as quickly as the vaporous smoke from the train's engine. She hadn't been able to save enough to get herself a place, let alone provide for Benjamin and Flynn.
A portly man with a smelly stogie clamped between his stained teeth jostled her, and she stepped away.
Resentment built in her like a head of steam. Why, for once in their cheerless lives, couldn't the boys have a decent home? They deserved to know
the security of a home and family before they were completely grown.
Like her.
Passengers filed out ahead of Ellie, and she waited her turn patiently. Finally, the eager crowd moved forward, and she stepped out into the sun. A dry prairie wind kicked up dust that filled her nostrils and caked her teeth. She squinted and worked at keeping her dress down around her ankles.
Several men stood on the platform, scrutinizing the arrivals. Ellie identified the fakirs, the Monte men and sneak thieves immediately, and skirted them while they made their moves on the businessmen who looked as though they had money lining their pockets.
"Come to see the city by gaslight, did you little lady?" A man of medium height in a dusty brown suit cut off her departure.
"Pardon me," she said, and attempted to move around.
"Here to see the elephant, hm-m? A lovely young thing like you
should have an escort." Deliberately, he prevented her from passing.
She met his small gray eyes directly. "I'd appreciate it if you'd get out of my way."
His eyes widened at her bravado. "Well, la-di-dah, don't she take the whole biscuit?"
The throng of passengers converged on the hotel restaurant, jostling Ellie and the man to one side. Once again, she tried to move around him.
"You're gonna wish you was nice to me."
Ellie stepped back in an attempt to move another direction, but succeeded only in stumbling. A sharp yelp pierced her ears, and, too late, she glanced back. She'd stepped on a small dog. The leashed animal jerked away frantically, tugging its smartly dressed female owner off-balance, and the three of them lurched off the edge of the platform.
Ellie landed with her bag under her side and her arm twisted beneath it. Pain shot up the limb, and she cried out.
A handful of concerned men leaped down from the wooden platform, and a porter came running.
"Oh, my gracious!" Sitting up from her delicately sprawled position and blinking at her surroundings, the pretty young woman fanned herself with a lace hankie. She cradled the dog to her generous breasts and spoke obnoxious baby talk into its panting face. "My darling sweet pea, are you awright?"
The whining dog darted its tongue in adoration over her chin.
Those who'd run to their aid stood mesmerized, watching the woman croon and the rodent-faced canine bathe her face.
If her arm hadn't hurt so badly, Ellie would have laughed. Instead, she sat up. Racking pain shot through her arm, and she bit back a wail.
One of the gentlemen awoke from his reverie and transferred his
attention. "Are you hurt, young lady?"
"My arm," she replied with a grimace.
"Could be broke."
"I'm sure it is."
"We'd best get you to the doc's."
Ellie moved to stand and nearly fainted.
"Stay put," the stranger said, extending his palm to stop her. "I'll
get my wagon."
She nodded and gratefully leaned back against her lumpy bag. It took three grown men to assist the other young woman to her feet and lead her to the stairs. The sun beat down mercilessly, and the wind blew dust across Ellie's face and clothing. Belatedly, she glanced around, already knowing she wouldn't see hide nor hair of the con man who'd brought on this whole fiasco.
Her arm throbbed. The scorching sun beat on her shoulders. Perspiration trickled between her breasts, and her blouse stuck to her itchy skin. She blinked back tears of frustration and pain.
After what seemed like an hour, the good Samaritan returned and, with as little jostling as possible, assisted her into the back of his wagon.
A woman and small boy sat up on the seat beside him. He called to the team and guided the wagon through the rutted streets, reining the horse in before old Doc Thornton's place.
The chalkboard beside the door had had Back at Three scribbled on it since Ellie had first come to Newton six months ago.
After banging on the door and shuffling from one foot to the other, the man stepped to the edge of the boardwalk and took stock of Ellie in his wagon bed. "Doc must be out."
Passed out. Or down at the Side-Track Saloon, more than likely. Ellie squinted down the dusty street. It was common knowledge that the old doctor spent part of his days and most of his nights with his belly pushed up against a poker table.
The woman on the wagon seat turned. "Take her to Doc Chaney's,
Clive."
Clive squinted at Ellie. "You trust the young doc?"Working in the Arcade Hotel, Ellie had overheard all the suspicions and mistrust directed toward Newton's newest physician. His youth and modern practices gave the long-time Cottonwood Valley residents pause. Local gossip had it he'd even been unable to save his own wife's life.
"Harvard University cost the man a king's fortune, Clive. Least he can do is set the poor girl's arm."
Any doctor was better than none-or one who was drunk, Ellie reasoned. Every minute with this pain seemed like a day. She blotted a perspiring cheek with the sleeve of her uninjured arm. "I-." She held back a grimace.
"I agree with your wife, Sir."
He vaulted back up onto the wagon. A few minutes later, they pulled alongside the boardwalk fronting Miss Eva Kirkpatrick's Dressmaking Shop, and the man helped Ellie from the wagon and into the alley. A hanging wooden sign and a steep flight of stairs led to the doctor's quarters above the seamstress's shop. At the top, Ellie gritted her teeth and feared she might faint.
Sunspots swam in her vision. Her head grew light. The stranger caught her before she tumbled down the flight of stairs.
Her arm throbbed. A monotonous pounding in her head matched it, beat for beat.
Ellie cracked her dry eyes open a slit and discovered it was nearly sundown. An oil lamp had been lit near the bed where she lay, casting a golden glow on the brown-haired man who looked up from the thick book he'd been reading.
"Hello," he said, a friendly smile lighting his comely features. "How are you feeling?" Lamplight glittered from the earpieces of the gold-framed spectacles he wore.
She looked away from his too-direct eyes. "My mouth tastes like I ate a pile of buffalo chips."
He laughed, and the deep-chested sound almost made her want to smile, too. "I have some fresh water for you. Can you sit up?"
Before she could object, he slid a strong arm behind her back to help her sit, leaning in so close she could smell the starch in his white shirt and the sun-fresh scent of his hair. She fought the uneasy feeling that washed over her and made her want to scuttle away from him.
He propped a pillow behind her and released her. Her aching left arm hung uselessly in a sling, a plaster of Paris cast holding her elbow in a bent position against her midriff. She glanced from her swollen fingers up to where the sleeves of her good traveling jacket and the blouse beneath had been cut away in an irreparable fashion. Mentally, she weighed the cost of making new ones against doing without.
"I had to cut them away to get to your arm."
Realizing she'd been frowning, she ran her glance over the rest of her clothing. "My skirt and shoes have gotten your spread dusty."
"Never mind that. Here."Ellie realized what she'd said, took note of her surroundings, and, with a start, realized she was lying on a bed. The long narrow room held an examination table, glass-fronted cabinets for medicines and equipment, and a wash stand and basin. A pleated curtain could be pulled across the back sleeping area where she lay. The creeping discomfort that had started earlier spread through her chest.
"You were out cold," he explained, as though reading her mind. "I was afraid to leave you on the table for fear you'd wake up and fall off. Now drink this."
Ellie drank thirstily and finished, touching her tongue to her lip. The doctor's warm gaze rested on her mouth, and Ellie's face grew hot. She brought her fingers to her cheek, noting the travel grime had been washed away.
"I took the liberty of washing your face and hands," he explained.
Her cheeks burned at the thought of him touching her without her knowledge. Discomfort constricted her throat.
"Cleanliness is important," he supplied.
"Yes, I know," she managed to get out. Working in the dining hall, she'd had plenty of instruction on cleanliness.
"You have a nice even break." He set the glass aside. "I heard a little about your accident from Clive Sanders."
"Who?"
"The man who brought you in."
"Oh."
"He got you here before it swelled much. That was fortunate. Otherwise I'd have had to wait to put the cast on."
"I'll have to thank him. How long will I be like this?" she asked, dread sinking into her pores. Her disability wiped the other thoughts from her mind.
"In that cast? Several weeks at least. It will heal as good as new, I promise."
The severity of the situation struck her full force. "But that's impossible. I have to be at work tomorrow morning."
"I'm afraid that's impossible," he countered.
"Oh, dear."
"Is there someone to come for you? Parents? A husband?"
She shook her head.
"Where do you live? How will you get home?"
"I live in the dormitory behind the Arcade."
"Ah. Well, I can see that you get there safely."
Ellie's meals and room were provided as part of her pay. What would happen if she couldn't work? She had only a small savings started toward the day when she and her brothers could live together again. Spending it on room and board until her arm healed would take it all.
Ellie closed her eyes and bolstered her purpose. She couldn't afford to lose that money. She couldn't afford to lose her job. The boys were depending on her to secure a place to live and bring them to Newton. She would work with one arm if she had to.
Cautiously, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and angled her hips to reach the toe of one shoe to the floor. "How much do I owe you?"His brown-eyed glance traveled thoughtfully from her face to her arm and back again.
"A dollar ought to cover the supplies and my time."
"I'll bring it tomorrow."
"I can set up an account and you can pay whenever you like," he offered.
She faced him with her chin raised. "I will pay you tomorrow."
"That'll be fine, Miss. . .." His voice trailed away, waiting for her to supply the rest.
"Parrish," she said, turning her gaze away and using the name she'd fabricated to obtain a job. "Elianna Parrish."
"Miss Parrish," he said. "Clive left your bag here. I'll carry it to the dormitory. Or I can fetch my buggy if you don't think you can walk."
"I can walk. Of course I can walk." She got off the bed, but her legs were rubbery, and the motion set her arm to aching something fierce.
He must have seen the pain reflected in her face.
"I'll leave this with you." He took a tiny bottle of white powder from a cabinet and slipped it into the pocket of his neatly pressed shirt, drawing Ellie's attention to the way the fine ivory fabric encased a broad chest. She looked away quickly, surprised with herself for noticing. "It'll help you sleep tonight. Take only one teaspoonful in a glass of water every six hours."
He picked up her shabby bag and his stylish hat and held open the door.
Ellie walked out ahead of him, gripped the wooden banister with her right hand, and prided herself on limping down all the stairs without groaning aloud. Her hip hurt like the very devil, too.
The young Dr. Chaney strolled beside her, tall and lean, his bootheels thudding on the creaky boards. He greeted an occasional passerby with a courteous lift of his hat. In the fading sunlight, she sneaked a sideways glance at his profile, his warm brown hair shot with streaks of gold, and once, when he turned his face down to hers, she had a good square look into his dark-lashed brown eyes.
Finding herself in the company of a respectable and handsome man was disconcerting. If he knew who she was and where she'd come from, he wouldn't risk being seen with her on the street. But then no one in Newton knew who she was, and she intended to keep it that way.
She pretended, for the length of time it took them to get to the hotel, that she was a young woman just like any other young woman in Kansas, and that this handsome man with the gentle caring manner and warm eyes was a friend.
She wondered what it would be like to have a friend like Dr. Chaney. Someone who'd been to college and traveled and aspired to an important profession. Someone who was smart and compassionate and smiled easily. They reached the door of the dormitory and, tight-throated, Ellie dismissed the lofty thoughts. "Thank you, Dr. Chaney. I'll bring your payment tomorrow after I go to the bank."
"Can I carry this bag in for you?"
"Only to the courting room. No men are allowed on the girls' floor."
"Okay."
She opened the door, and he followed her down the corridor and into the room where several young women sat playing board games and entertaining guests. A few of the girls glanced up and acknowledged Ellie with wide eyes.
"What happened to your arm?" asked her roommate Goldie Krenshaw, quickly crossing to Ellie.
The interesting cast and the handsome doctor were too much of a distraction for the others, too, and they crowded around. Ellie made quick work of the story of her misfortune, and the girls sympathized.
Diplomatically, Dr. Chaney excused himself from the bevy of chattering females.
Ellie watched him leave and experienced a strange sensation akin to loss and anticipation. No one except Mrs. Conner, a schoolteacher in Florence, had ever been so kind to her, so. . . respectful.
Of the few Florence citizens who knew her, half looked down their noses and whispered about her. The other half pitied her. She'd rather bear scorn than pity any day.
Surprised murmurs broke out among the females, and Ellie turned to find the doctor had returned. An odd little catch tugged in her chest.
"I almost forgot." He took her hand and pressed the bottle of medicine into her palm.
Ellie jerked back her tingling hand. "Thank you."
He frowned. "Every six hours."
"I remember."
"Good-bye, then."
"'Bye."
The looks on the other girls' faces were far from pitying.
She was accepted here. She'd worked her way up from the pantry to the dining hall, just as they had. The Arcade hired men and women from all over. A few of her co-workers were locals, but most were from other parts of the country. Ellie had given a false name and asked a gentleman in Florence who'd known her mother to falsify references. Since she knew infinitely more about the man's leisure activities than did his wife and neighbors, he'd complied.
Goldie carried Ellie's bag to their room and helped her change out of her ruined traveling suit and into a flannel gown. Goldie had come from Indiana, and like many of the girls, sent much of her pay home to her family. Her fondest wish, also like most of the girls, was to meet and marry a western man.
The two got along well because both stayed to themselves. Until Goldie became especially homesick, and then Ellie would cheer her up by popping corn and setting up the cribbage board.
This night, Goldie returned to the courting room, and though it wasn't yet bedtime, Ellie took a spoonful of Dr. Chaney's bitter-tasting medicine and climbed between the covers. Her trip and her accident had combined to leave her exhausted.
She turned from her side to her back and adjusted her arm in several positions until the medicine started to work and the pain turned to a dull ache. As she always did to get to sleep, she gave her mind over to thoughts of Benjamin and Flynn, and imagined what life would be like when they were all together. She'd do whatever it took to make a home and a family for them. They'd all been without love and security far too long. Ellie meant to change that. The boys deserved it. She deserved it.
She'd taken care of her brothers her whole life; diapered them as babies, cut their hair and kissed their skinned knees. She'd grown a small tobacco patch and sold cigars to the men who patronized the saloons in order to buy them food and shoes. Her brothers were as much a part of her as the grieving heart that ached in her chest at every thought of their being apart from her.
Benjamin had turned fifteen last winter-soon he'd be a man. The first thing she'd noticed when they met her at the station in Florence had been the new shirt and trousers she'd saved to buy him. Planning for the boys and providing for them eased her loneliness while they were separated.
After the state workers had discovered the three of them living in an old shack and condemned it, forcing the boys to go live with the Heaths, Benjamin at fourteen had become aloof.
Ellie never had much of an opportunity to talk to him alone. Perhaps he'd felt as helpless as she had, but he was even younger and more helpless to do anything than she to protect Flynn.
Flynn was nine, good with animals, handsome, and quick to laugh. . .when there was something to laugh about. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, slid down her temples and grew cold in her hair. Flynn had always pretended hurts so he'd get hugs and kisses, then he'd break into a grin and she'd let him think she'd been fooled. This morning he'd been too self-conscious in front of the Heaths to kiss or hug her when she left. She'd climbed aboard the train with a space as big and hollow as the Santa Fe's round house gaping in her heart.
Getting drowsy, Ellie took out every sweet memory she'd saved and gave them to herself now as a gift. She had to keep her memories fresh. Had to keep them vivid.
There were too many ugly ones crowding in from the bleak outskirts to let the good images fade or diminish. Ugly memories. Shameful memories. Pictures so dark and black and oppressive they could only surface at night in her sleep, when she couldn't consciously keep them at bay.
Secrets nobody but Ellie knew.
And wished to God she didn't.
#
"How's that fine son of yours, Caleb?"
"Nate's just fine, thank you."
"It's so unfortunate that your wife died so young. Such a pretty young thing, she was. And it's so sad that the boy will grow up without a mother."
Caleb listened to Mabel Connely's heart for the third time in as many days, and ignored the depressing thoughts she continually rattled on about. From her two story house on Broadway and Main and the front window of Miss Libby's Tea Room, she made it her business to know the comings and goings of everyone in Newton. She never wasted a minute in sharing the latest bits of gossip or admonishing the citizens from her boundless perspective.
He didn't need anyone to remind him of his situation, nor that of his son, unless they had a solution. Caleb had been trying to figure out a plan for taking care of Nate for weeks.
Mabel smelled of mothballs and the garlic she'd obviously eaten for lunch, an evil combination. "Your heart sounds just fine to me, Mrs. Connely."
"Well, it's not, I tell you. It beats like a trip hammer when I come in from hanging laundry. I have to sit on the back steps and rest in the shade. Why, your stairs out there were nearly enough to put me in my grave." She plucked a rumpled damp hankie from the sash girding her enormous waist, and waved it beneath her bull-dog chin, stirring the humid air with mothball scent. "Any doctor worth his salt would have an office on the ground floor."
Caleb leaned back against a wooden cabinet, folded his arms across his chest, and leveled his best wiser-than-his-years look on her. He had a sneaking suspicion that she'd started coming to him because she wasn't hearing what she wanted from old Doc Thornton. She was one of only a dozen patients who'd been visiting him regularly, and he'd probably lose her business once he spoke his mind.
"I'm sure it seems that strenuous activity is putting strain on your heart," he said.
"Land sakes, yes!" she hastened to agree. "I told Mr. Connely yesterday that I was going to need some help with housework."
"I don't think help with housework is the solution."
"Why ever not?"
"It's not the work that's straining your heart, it's the extra pounds you're carrying around."
"Why, I never!" She fanned the hankie frantically.
"You're going to have to push away from the table a little sooner and take off that weight. Do some walking. Cut out Joe Hintz' custard pies."
Mabel Connely blustered, her face turning red and her posture indignant. "My mother was a large woman, Caleb Chaney." She scolded him as though he were ten again and she'd caught him playing a Halloween prank. "We're big-boned people."
She hefted herself down from the examination table.
"Didn't your mother die young, Mrs. Connely?" he asked.
"Only forty-nine." She touched the hankie to her quivering lips. "God rest her soul."
"All the more reason for you to take care right now and do something about your situation before it's too late."
"Why, that's preposterous!"
"Not at all. A lot of health factors are passed down from our parents. Ending up overweight or with a weak heart is a chance like blue eyes or big ears."
She snatched up her reticule and marched to the door. "Your impertinence is unbecoming, young man. Good day."
"Come back if you'd like to discuss a menu."
"Humph!"
She yanked open the door and Elianna Parrish, who'd been about to enter, nearly flew into the room, her good hand riveted to the doorknob. She released it quickly and caught her balance, turning to watch Mabel huff and puff down the steps.
Turning back, she cast enormous violet eyes his way, a curious expression lighting them from within. There were mysteries in those haunting eyes, a softness and a sadness that made him want to offer protection and comfort.
"A disgruntled patient," he explained.
"Oh." She closed the door and stood just inside. The plain brown skirt which she wore with a crisply pressed high-collared blouse neatly tucked in, showed off her tiny waist and girlish figure. He hadn't noticed yesterday, because she'd been wearing a jacket. And he'd concentrated on looking at her as a patient.
Today it was more difficult to see her as only a patient. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because he'd walked her home and seen where she lived. Maybe because she'd flitted through his dreams last night. Maybe because his last caller had been Mabel Connely.
"How's the arm today, Miss Parrish?"
"My fingers are black and blue," she said, stepping forward and showing him.
The faint scents of soap and clean hair drifted to his nostrils. She wore no artificial floral or powdery smells, but her skin and clothing exuded their own pleasant feminine scent. He checked a sudden urge to place an arm around her shoulders and offer his strength. "Can you wiggle them?"
She demonstrated.
He touched her darkened knuckles gently, but she drew the hand away quickly. When he looked up, tears shone in her luminous eyes, and immediately regret pierced him. "Did I hurt you?"
She turned her face aside and shook her head. With her right hand, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a silver coin. "Your dollar."
Caleb accepted the payment she placed in his palm without touching him. "I'll get you a receipt." He scribbled the amount on the pad on the counter, dropped the coin into a drawer, and handed her the paper.
"Thank you. And thank you for tending my arm."
"You're welcome. Did the medicine help?"
She nodded.
She avoided his eyes for several seconds. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"
Her mouth pressed into a firm line. She looked up, but her gaze rested on his tie, then meandered past his head to a chart on the wall. "Mr. Webb--the hotel manager--won't let me work until the cast is off and I can carry trays."
"I think that's wise," Caleb said. You could reinjure yourself trying to do too much."
"He's only worried I'll get in the way and be a nuisance. He won't even let me help in the kitchen or pantry."
"I'm sorry." He didn't know what more to say, and she needed more than words.
She took an unconscious step toward the table where he did his bookwork, and her fingers stroked the back of his wooden chair. The unnerving sight started an ache deep inside him. "I can stay two weeks without paying for my room and meals. After that I'll have to pay, or eat and sleep somewhere else."
"What about family?"
She angled her chin over her shoulder uncertainly.
"You said last night you had no parents, but isn't there anyone who can help?"
She shook her head and drew her hand away from the chair.
The silver dollar in the drawer weighed on Caleb's conscience. After her reaction to his mention of credit yesterday, he knew better than to offer to give it back to her.
"I know most of the families in Newton and on the surrounding ranches," he said.
"Maybe we can find someone to take you in for a few weeks."
"Do you think I can take the cast off sooner?"
"No." His reply was firm. "Especially not with the type of job you do. That bone needs time to knit firmly."
She nodded halfheartedly, as though she'd known what his reply would be, but had needed to ask anyway. For the first time, her wide violet eyes rose directly to his, and their intensity and vulnerability stabbed him. Her pride held her so straight and taut, he imagined she would snap in a stiff wind. "I won't be a charity case. If you can find someone for me to stay with, I'll work for them. I can do anything I'm shown how."
"I'm sure you can."
"I'm strong, and this arm will be better soon. I heal fast. I never get sick."
"You don't have to sell me, Miss Parrish."
A rose-tinged blush lent her ivory skin becoming color. "No. Of course not."
He wanted to turn away from the instinctive desire to ease whatever pain he read in her eyes, but he couldn't. "I'll start inquiring today."
She nodded and moved toward the door. "Thank you, Dr. Chaney."
A clatter of boots pounded up the stairs and Ellie moved back out of the way just before the door flew open and a young man burst into the office. "Doc! There's a fire out at the Bowman place! Come on!"
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