A Bride in Store (37 page)

Could he deal with sorrow this deep his entire life? Choose a profession that would bar the woman he loved from his future? Move to a town where he’d have no family to comfort him after shouldering someone else’s unbearable suffering?

A crowd ten times larger than the five who’d come to Irena’s funeral gathered in front of the newest little grave in the corner of Salt Flatts’ cemetery. Eliza held a handful of wild flowers and joined the men lining up to ceremoniously cover the child.

Kathleen, unable to staunch her crying, had left with Gretchen and Junior the minute her husband shoveled the first pile of dirt upon the small coffin. Carl stood stoically by the tiny hole as men took turns quietly laying more dirt upon the simple casket, then the shopkeeper shuffled away without saying a word.

After tossing her small handful of flowers upon the unnamed baby, she stepped back. The world swam as she attempted to maneuver over the uneven ground. Someone grabbed her upper arm; his smell and reassuring squeeze told her instantly who kept her from stumbling.

If only she could turn and bury herself in Will’s arms. But she hadn’t that right, and now that she owned Irena’s stores, the only way they could be together was if Will worked for her—something she wouldn’t ask him to do, not after watching him with the Hampdens this last week. She wouldn’t hinder him from going to school whenever that opportunity arose so he could become the doctor he needed to be.

Will’s hands disappeared from her arm, the hot summer breeze frigid against the skin he’d left bereft. She rubbed her arms and turned to see him fidgeting beside her.

What could he say? What could she say? Their sorrow was nothing like the Hampdens’, and yet it was so deep she couldn’t voice anything worthwhile.

Will touched her lightly on the shoulder, and his hand ran down her arm for an instant before he turned to head back toward the row of chairs where his entire family sat. Even little Nettie. Though death happened so often, should his little sisters be in attendance? Did they need to know God had chosen not to save a baby despite many, many prayers? That He allowed such misery?

Rachel beckoned to her, and her feet shuffled forward.

The moment she sat, the older woman’s arm curled around her shoulders. Rachel’s squeeze conveyed the same message as her son’s solid grip—genuine concern
for her
. Not for themselves, but her.

After her mother left and her father died—what she wanted, where she’d go, what she’d do had been all she thought about. Had she ever truly focused on someone else until this terrible past week?

Reverend Finch scanned the crowd that remained, all silent except for the random bouts of sniffling. What on earth could he say that would do any good?

He cleared his throat, but said nothing.

The sniffling around Eliza turned into grim silence despite a pair of birds twittering happily in the branches of a nearby catalpa tree. Its sun-warmed white blooms covered the mourners with a thick floral perfume. Oh, why did the sky have to be terribly cheery blue? Eliza pulled another dry handkerchief from her pocket and wrung it in her hands.

Reverend Finch opened his Bible and stared at a page. His mouth opened silently a time or two before he cleared his throat again. “Today, let us not focus on this child’s suffering, but rejoice that it has ended. Our lives cannot compare to what the child is now enjoying in the presence of God. So if you aren’t longing for the
time you too may leave this world and join him, let the words of Matthew stir you to have more sorrow at your own plight than this babe’s.

“‘Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.’

“As I stare at this tiny grave, the word
unfair
echoes through my mind. Unfair. Utterly unfair. I want to cry out for justice for this innocent. But then I think of myself and I
crave
injustice because I don’t want God to punish me for what I know I’ve done wrong. I want to be with this innocent child in heaven though I am far from blameless.”

The pastor picked up a handful of dirt. “Jesus said, ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’ God loved us enough to let Jesus pay for our sins so He can remain just and fair in allowing us to follow this innocent babe into heaven if we trust in Him.” He let the dirt crumble between his fingers and drop into the tiny hole. “Each of you still have today to decide whether or not you’ll meet this babe in glory—Christ is your only hope.”

Without a closing prayer or another word, the pastor walked through the crowd touching shoulders, then departed with his wife on his arm. One by one, people stood to leave in silence.

The Stantons each gave Eliza a reassuring touch as they passed by, but she couldn’t leave without praying her heart out. It didn’t matter that she’d prayed all night—all week, really. Her tears flowed as she beseeched God. To aid Kathleen in finding the strength to mother two children while grieving her newborn’s death. To help Carl continue running his business and caring for his wife while in mourning. To keep the town from turning their backs on God because He hadn’t saved a defenseless child. And to bolster her fledgling selflessness as she attempted to perceive people’s needs and fulfill them like Will did.

With no more words left in her heart, she looked up to find every makeshift bench empty.

Will took a seat beside her. “Can we see you home?”

“I thought everyone had gone.” She looked over her shoulder. Will’s family stood quietly around their wagon. “I didn’t mean to keep you. Surely the children are antsy to leave.”

“They’re all right, and Nettie didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“You’ve got very special sisters.”

He nodded, but his eyes didn’t hold the same gleam they usually did when he talked about his siblings.

Nettie wriggled out of her ma’s hold and toddled toward them, her peculiar walk pronounced in her rush to get to them. She climbed into Will’s lap. “Why you and her so sad? The baby wif God.”

Will slowly exhaled. “I
am
happy about that, but I’m still very, very sad.”

“Watch me.” She slipped out of his arms and with her hands extended, Nettie took one firm step devoid of her usual stagger, then another. She turned, and with heels firmly planted on the ground, took several more steps, her awkward gait hardly noticeable. “Did my walking good make you happy?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and the second Nettie came within arm’s reach, he smashed his sister against himself in a fierce hug. “It sure does, sugar.” His low, hoarse voice made Eliza feel like an intruder, so she rose silently and headed to the others.

At the wagon, she hugged Rachel and the other two girls. “Thanks for waiting, but there’s no need to inconvenience yourselves for me.”

“At least let Will walk you home.” Rachel’s commanding voice indicated she wasn’t asking.

She’d not even attempt to disobey. “Of course.” Though her tears weren’t yet dry, she managed a smile.

Walking away from the wagon to allow Will to say good-bye to
his family, she leaned against the cemetery’s stone wall and stared at Irena’s grave shadowed by a solitary cedar.

The tears she’d thought she’d spent rose up again.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have done better by her.” Will hitched a leg on the wall, his gaze lost somewhere on the horizon. “By either one, actually.”

“Nonsense.” Eliza fished out her last handkerchief and dabbed at her wet cheeks.

“So you don’t blame me for thinking Irena was simply melancholic rather than about to die?”

“Don’t make me say
nonsense
again.” She pulled herself to sit atop the wall and waved at his little sisters as they went by. “Do you blame me? I could’ve attended her better, been there when she passed away, possibly gotten help in time to keep her alive.”

He slouched against the wall, his hands in his pockets, staring at the grass at his feet.

“But it seems
you
blame you.”

He remained silent.

“You’re not God, you know.”

“Obviously not. I can’t foresee death or diagnose what’s wrong with a baby, let alone save anybody.”

“Didn’t Dr. Forsythe say training your sister to walk on her heels was a waste of time?”

The happy look he’d given his little sister after she showed off her walking didn’t reappear. “Nettie wouldn’t need help if I hadn’t been the one to deliver her.”

“Or she might be dead if you hadn’t delivered her. I’m sure every doctor has to deal with death and sorrow regularly like you’ve done the past two weeks. And what doctor would’ve bothered with your little sister’s walk? But you helped her without having one of those fancy degrees.” She nodded emphatically, as if the harder she moved her head the more he’d believe her—and the less painful
it would be to tell him what they both already knew. “You should be a doctor, a practicing doctor.”

“I can’t compete with Forsythe and Benning.”

No, he couldn’t. But the alternative meant Will would leave and she’d stay behind. Sooner rather than later. She licked her lips, her throat suddenly tight. She knew what she had to say. Knew what lay between them. Asking a man to stick around for her when he was meant for greater things would be the ultimate selfish request, and she wasn’t going to be selfish anymore.

So why were the words so hard to form? She’d never before had trouble blurting obvious truths. But then, she’d never dreamed of a future with a man the way she dreamed of one with Will. Had never received attention from a suitor of his caliber. Never been kissed by a man as if she were the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.

Were romantic notions and the pitter-patter of her heart worth dragging them both down? Her heart might say one thing one day and something different the next. Especially since the organ was torn in two different directions. She sucked in a deep breath. Yes, she’d force herself to utter the words, because they were best for Will, and for her.

“If you can’t compete with Salt Flatts’ doctors, then you should sell the store to get money for school. Let Axel pay his own debts and use the talent God’s given you to glorify Him.”

“Even if I could sell the store, it wouldn’t do much good right now. But I’ve already decided to go.” He rubbed at something imaginary on his hands. “Soon.”

The pinprick of hope that he wouldn’t leave faded into black. She pressed her eyes shut against a stubborn bout of moisture. She’d not be ridiculously emotional over some foolish dream that never had a chance. She had plenty to cry over as it was.

“I’ll travel west—either find a doctor I respect who needs my help or a town so desperate they’ll be thankful for any aid.”

No school? Would people not view Will without a degree as one of the many quacks and snake-oil peddlers doctoring the desperate
and gullible? He was so much better than that. Though of course he’d do a world of good as he was, and if God called him to doctor that way . . . but why wouldn’t God equip him to do his best?

“Let me talk to Mr. Raymond.” She should be able to get the banker to work something out. Though that would hurt because Will would leave that much faster . . . But he needed her help. What better way to prove her heart had changed than by being selfless when it truly cost her? “He’ll help.”

Will chucked a piece of the rock wall into the street. “I’ve tried him already. The man doesn’t believe in me enough to bother.”

If her heart had its say, she’d pretend she couldn’t get him to school immediately and choose to believe the effort was indeed futile. But Will’s heart was more worthy of getting what it wanted than hers.

She’d talk to Mr. Raymond tomorrow.

Chapter 23

The bank was locked up for the day, but Eliza knocked again. Harder.

Mr. Raymond appeared behind the window and turned the bolt. “We need to find another way for you to contact me after hours. Your pounding is unsettling after everyone’s gone.”

“A key, maybe?”

He laughed and waved her through the lobby. “How about inviting yourself over for supper? A woman without anyone to cook for ought to enjoy a free dinner.”

A woman without anyone—she’d definitely remain that way if he agreed to her plan. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

He waited until she sat in his uncomfortable office chair before he perched on his desk. “So what urgent matter requires my attention this time?”

Should she butter him up first or ask right out? She cleared her throat. “We need more merchandise, and I know of an entire store’s worth we could buy for cheap.”

He scratched his chin, his gaze making her squirm. “You’re talking about Mr. Stanton, aren’t you?”

“Yes. He only needs enough to attend medical school. We’d be
eliminating competition, building our inventory, and gaining his customers, along with—”

“Your sales model is a five-and-dime, Miss Cantrell. The majority of his stock costs well above that.”

She refused to fidget under his intense glare. “So our store will be more of a discount shop for a while—bargains of any kind will draw customers. We can buy him out for way under value and put most everything upstairs with Mrs. Langston’s ready-made clothing.”