A Bride in Store (41 page)

Did God care less about his caring for the body and more about his ministering to the soul? He’d thought caring for souls belonged to preachers, but maybe God could use a lay doctor like He used a lay minister.

Will forged into the busy mercantile and waved at Carl, who was counting spools of thread. The man nodded, but his face was so downcast he’d probably not crack a smile again for a long time.

Without bothering to ask for permission, Will went into the back room, climbed the stairs, and knocked.

“Come in.” Kathleen’s monotone voice made him frown.

Only the joy of the Lord would improve Kathleen’s disposition . . . in time. Since he was leaving Kansas this week after he got everything settled, he ought to ask Eliza to continue the visits until Kathleen regained her smile. Could he drag himself into the Five and Dime before he left? Could his heart take seeing her one last time?

“Hello, Mrs. Hampden.” He didn’t bother asking how she felt.
The grim lines around her mouth and eyes as she watched her children playing on the floor told him the whole story.

“Have a seat.” She pointed to the chair across from her in the little front room. “I was hoping not to see you today.”

“Why not?” Was dropping by so often making things worse?

“A young man like you should be preparing for the dance instead of sitting with me. Tell me you’ve bought a ticket to dance with Eliza.”

“I’m not going.” He gritted his teeth and crossed his arms. He wasn’t there to talk about the dance. “I’m here to see how you’re doing, not talk about me.”

“Well, I’m talking about you. That girl likes you, and you ought to take a turn with her on the dance floor.”

He rolled his eyes. She was as meddlesome as his mother. “I’m leaving Kansas, Mrs. Hampden.” Why prolong the agony?

“I know. Eliza told me. Are you sure now’s the best time to go?”

He rubbed at his eyes. Questions like these had stolen enough of his sleep. Did he have to debate this aloud all over again? “God’s pushing me to be a doctor on His terms, not mine. I can’t ignore His direction, especially if Eliza . . . doesn’t love me enough to go with.” If she loved him at all.

“It’s one dance, Will, and it’s not like you to ignore someone’s feelings.” A slight smile deepened the wrinkles about her mouth. “Don’t you want a good memory to part on? Give her a dance to remember?”

If he held Eliza in his arms for one second, he might not go where God wanted him to. “I don’t want a turn with her.”

He wanted every turn.

“I heard Dr. Benning bought two tickets. Lynville Tate three.”

“How do you know this?”

“Eliza told me.” Kathleen leaned forward, eyebrows cocked in question. “And when I asked her how many you bought, she
couldn’t look me in the eyes. She couldn’t understand why you didn’t buy at least one.”

He groaned and shoved his hands through his hair. Didn’t she understand? He couldn’t dance with Eliza just once.

But how could he leave her thinking he didn’t want to dance with her at all?

Chapter 25

Eliza sat under the church eaves picking at her smoked pork as the crowd laughed and mingled around her. Silly to hide, but the prospect of having to dance with anyone but Will made her slink into the shadows farther. If she hadn’t obligated herself, she’d have stayed home.

With Irena gone, Kathleen refusing to leave her room, and Will avoiding her, how could she get through the evening?

She pressed her eyelids together to keep from crying. Why hadn’t he come by to see her this past week? She’d overheard the livery owner discussing his imminent departure, so why not say good-bye here? Dance with her once?

No. She should be thankful he wouldn’t put her through such torture.

She straightened and set her lips in a firm line. Salt Flatts was where she must find contentment, where she wanted to be, where she’d done quite well for herself.

Except for being utterly alone.

Men and women congregated around the dance floor, and the band busily tuned their instruments. She couldn’t pick at her meal
much longer before having to step out there, plaster a smile on her face, and pretend everything was grand.

Could she hand the Millers twice the amount men had paid for her tickets and leave?

But that wouldn’t help her make friends. She pulled the lengthy dance list out from under her plate and stared at the long column of names. How would she last all night? Though with this many men taking a turn with her, she should be able to find one who’d befriend her . . . believe in her as Will did.

Who could doubt her business acumen now that she had property and her profits were growing?

The names ran together because none were William Stanton, the man who’d believed in her before she had anything.

She crumpled the list and dipped her head. Did her mother stand in front of an audience with a false smile pinned on her lips? Did she recite her lines with the loss of loved ones lodged so tight in her chest it hurt to breathe?

Did the Five and Dime matter with Will no longer a block away?

“Miss Cantrell?”

She opened her eyes. The unfamiliar young man looking down on her smiled as if he’d struck gold. Blond, muscular, and better looking than either of her fiancés had been.

But he wasn’t Will.

“The music’s started, and I do believe I have the first dance.” He stood waiting, his smile more charming than most.

And she accepted his hand. Because that’s what she had to do.

Lynville Tate swung Eliza around in a fast gallop, preventing Will from cutting in. The music soon died, and Micah moved forward to capture her hand.

Will tugged on his vest and waited for them to waltz past.

Her printed calico skirt twirled round and round, closer and
closer. She offered her partner a halfhearted smile despite the overly handsome grin Micah sported.

Will stepped forward, bumping them to a halt. “Mind if I cut?”

Eliza’s head snapped in his direction, her cheeks beautifully pink, her full lips slightly parted.

“Yes, I do.” Micah tried to waltz past him, but Will stepped right into the middle of his path.

Micah looked him up and down as if he stank. “You need to talk to Lynville if you want to buy in. Otherwise there’re other girls who aren’t dancing to raise money.”

Will sidestepped a dancing couple about to push him off the floor. “How about I don’t require payment for helping you get rid of that terrible case of—”

“All right already.” Micah scrunched his nose as if he’d caught a whiff of something infinitely worse.

Will wouldn’t have gone into too much detail—a doctor kept confidences—but it was rather difficult not to smirk at the young man’s panicked expression.

Micah dragged Eliza out of the swirling crowd that had bunched up behind them. “But I only bought one dance with her, and I thought you didn’t charge for visits.”

“I think Dr. Forsythe normally charges five dollars for a case like yours, but I’ll take a dollar.”

“Then, sure.” He pushed Eliza forward.

Will took her against him and pulled her back into formation. Her hands warmed his, her perfumed hair tempting him to pull her in closer. But she didn’t belong tucked into his arms, no matter how perfectly she’d fit.

“You promised not to marry one of the butcher’s sons.” Scraping out the words left his throat raw.

“I hardly call a paid dance a step toward engagement.” Eliza tripped, so he gripped her tighter, her skirts wrapping around his legs. Too close for dancing properly, but he couldn’t loosen his hold.

She nearly stumbled again, her feet tripping over his. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I wasn’t.”

He fought against releasing her when they had to exchange partners for a turn about the floor, but they were soon separated.

Oh, why had he come? Seeing her in the arms of a stranger was worse than he’d imagined. He didn’t know who he held in his arms at the moment, but thankfully, the seconds until he reclaimed Eliza weren’t interminable. When she came back around, his hands latched onto her waist and pulled her too close.

They bumped into the couple in front of them, so he forced himself to slow down.
Get ahold of yourself, Stanton. Don’t drag her
away. . . .

As soon as they reached the stage, he’d have to release her again. He’d done so once, had done so before coming to the dance. He could do it again.

But the feel of her in his arms, under his palms, beneath his skin. He shook his head.

He couldn’t do it again.

Eliza tried to pull away to exchange partners, but his hand—and his heart—wouldn’t comply. The couple behind them faltered.

“You’re supposed to let me go.” She looked over her shoulder at the elderly man waiting with an open hand in the middle of the pattern.

“It’s harder than I thought.”

She swallowed and tugged on her hand.

He released her but simply stood amidst the sea of dancers waiting for Eliza to return.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re messing us all up!” A pretty little brunette not much older than Ambrose glared at him, her brown eyes flashing indignation.

“Everything.” He turned to look at her. “Everything’s wrong.” His not going to school, the death of so many friends, moving away from family, the woman who made him lovesick dancing in the arms of another man.

The brunette huffed and tapped her foot impatiently as they waited for what must have been her grandfather to return with Eliza. Several couples staggered around them as they remained unmoving in the middle of the floor.

Eliza gave the young girl an apologetic shrug after leaving the older man’s arms. She hooked her arm into Will’s. “You’re not making this easy.”

“Neither are you.”

After being bumped from behind, she pulled him hard to the left. “Dance, Will.”

He waltzed her around the dance floor, his gaze roaming every inch of her face to the detriment of a random dancer’s feet and Eliza’s as well.

But she didn’t complain.

Then the music stopped, and blessedly, so did they.

She cocked her head at him, her chest heaving, likely more with bewilderment than exertion.

“Howdy, Miss Cantrell.” A squat little farmer who lived near his parents sidled up beside them and pulled off his hat. “My name’s Larry Putnam. I believe I’m next.”

“Mr. Putnam.” Will pulled Eliza behind him and faced the other man. “You have forty dollars of store credit you owe me.”

Larry blinked at him, his face tightening. “You know last year’s crops did poorly, and you weren’t none too worried about it afore.” He scanned the dance floor. “And this ain’t the time to talk business.”

Will held up his index finger. “For every ticket you get a man to surrender for taking his turn with Eliza, I’ll take two dollars off your account.”

The caller announced a quadrille, and the other dancers moved to pair up, but he didn’t move or let go of Eliza’s hand.

Her breath near the back of his neck tickled his skin. “What does it matter since—”

He squeezed her hand, and she quieted.

Larry smoothed his beard with a thoughtful hand. “But how do I do that? I haven’t got the money.”

Will narrowed his eyes. He’d certainly found a dollar to dance with Eliza. “Barter.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Larry glanced at Eliza before marching away.

Will hastily pulled her into a square with an unpaired couple.

“I thought you planned to sell the store and go west?” Eliza frowned.

Would she beg him not to? “Doesn’t hurt to get the books into better shape beforehand.”

She kept silent as they made a few passes between partners, but neither of them danced well at all. Eliza completely flubbed her steps with another partner and blew out a breath when that man shoved her back into Will’s arms. After another awkward turn on the floor, she sagged. “I don’t want to dance anymore.”

Spinning her out of formation, Will threaded their way off the dance floor. “I don’t want to dance at all.”

“Then why are you here?” Her eyelashes blinked overly quick. She looked about as if afraid everyone was staring at them—which many were.

“I don’t know.” He swallowed.

No, he did know.

Dragging her farther out of earshot and away from prying eyes, he faced her beneath the shade of a tree on the other side of the church. “I can’t offer you anything, Eliza. Nothing you want, anyway. My store’s in shambles, I’m a terrible business partner, and I’m about to wander off to I don’t even know where, with no guarantee I can keep myself fed or clothed or even healthy.”

Her fingers slipped from his. “Why would you offer me anything?”

Why indeed? He pulled a strip of bark off the trunk. “I’ve got nothing you need—you’re worth more than I have.”

She wrapped her arms about herself. “I’m not worth that much, Will. I’m selfish, and . . . and I’m not good.”

“You’re braver than anyone I’ve ever known. You’re smart, determined, resilient.” He took one of her hands, staring at the leafy shadows playing across her knuckles as he rubbed his thumb over her soft skin. “You’ll do better with your Five and Dime than Mr. Raymond expects, and within the year, I doubt any man in Salt Flatts will ever again believe a woman can’t best him in business.” His guts were twisted up as tight as his lips were pressed together . . . but the words refused to stay bottled inside. “And I love you.”