A Bride in the Bargain (38 page)

“She was coughing throughout the day, then all of a sudden she couldn’t breathe.” Joe strode up First Avenue, the doc by his side. Between its being Sunday and the supper hour, the streets were all but deserted.

“Every time she tried, she gasped and hiccupped.”

Maynard frowned. “Do you know if it happens to her often?”

“Never. She said it had never happened before. It gave her quite a scare, too.”

“How long did it last?”

“Seemed like forever, but I think it was actually only about a minute, no more than two.”

“Perhaps something brought it on. What was she doing just before it started?”

Joe groped for an answer. “Um, nothing. She wasn’t doing anything.”

Doc gave him a sharp look. “Nothing? Nothing at all?”

Joe swallowed. Maynard stopped, grabbing Joe’s arm. The doctor wouldn’t stand a chance in any physical confrontation between the two of them, but he garnered a great deal of respect in the community and in Joe’s sight as well. So Joe allowed the rough handling.

“What was she doing?” Maynard repeated.

“Nothing that should have brought that on.”

The men studied each other. Music and a burst of raucous laughter from McDonald’s Saloon two blocks down reached their ears. The longer they stood in silence, the more strained it became.

Maynard’s expression hardened. “Was she struggling?”

Had it been anyone else, Joe would have flattened him. “I cannot believe you have to ask.”

“It’s my job to ask.”

Debatable, but Joe let it pass. “She was not.”

“How far had it gone?”

The anger percolating just below the surface came perilously close to spilling over. Fisting his hands, Joe kept his voice low and even. “It went nowhere at all. We are through with this topic.”

Whirling around, Joe strode up the street. He’d told the doc about Anna’s ailment. That’s all the man needed to know.

September turned into October, bringing with it nature’s display of oranges, reds, and yellows on an evergreen backdrop. Descending the steps of the Occidental, Anna headed toward Doc Maynard’s home.

A gust of wind lifted yellow maple leaves from the ground and swirled them at her feet. Tightening the cape across her shoulders, she skirted a puddle, though moisture from the morning rains still dampened the toes of her boots and the hem of her skirt. But nothing could dampen her spirits.

Joe was going to propose to her tonight. She was certain of it. He’d courted her steadily each and every weekend for the past six weeks. In the entire time, he never failed to come to town, and as a result, the local men had ceased to shadow her every move.

Then last week, after a particularly potent kiss, he had told her to take extra care with her toilette for tonight’s supper, but wouldn’t say any more. She wished she could wear a brand-new dress for whatever it was he had planned, but she simply didn’t have enough coin.

With the money she’d earned, she’d tried to pay him back. He wouldn’t hear of it. Became downright angry over it.

So she’d backed down and instead purchased wool for two outfits, wearing them alternately. Her cape, meanwhile, needed to be read its last rites. It offered little to no protection from the encroaching cold.

At least she was no longer making house calls. After that first week as an assistant, the doc decided he no longer wanted her to accompany him on the road. Instead, Anna stayed in his surgery room. Cleaning, organizing, and taking his messages when he wasn’t there, assisting with his surgeries when he was.

Though she missed the spontaneity of going from house to house, she didn’t miss traveling about in wet weather. Especially not with her cough and headaches.

As she turned onto Cherry Street, a light mist began to fall. She draped the cape up over her head, tossing one end over her shoulder. Today was Saturday, which meant she only worked in the morning, and Joe would be in town by the afternoon. Her excitement over his impending proposal resurfaced. She couldn’t wait for him to ask her and couldn’t wait to tell him yes.

Opening the gate in front of the Maynards’ home, she walked through, then headed toward the side entrance. Raindrops had just begun to fall when she slipped inside.

Hanging her cape on a hall tree, she knocked on the surgery room door.

“Come in.”

The smell of soap, chloroform, and carbolic acid overpowered Anna. Her headache pounded. “Good morning. I didn’t expect to see you yet.”

“No?” The doc sat with his back to her at a large oak desk, flipping through a giant volume whose title was obscured. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re hardly ever here on Saturday mornings.”

“I wanted to talk with you.” Arriving at the page he was looking for, he skimmed it with his finger, then took a few moments to read.

Anna washed her hands, then opened his medical bag and began to take inventory of its contents. He was low on bandages, arnica, and mutton tallow. She turned to retrieve replacements from a cupboard, then paused. Doc had swiveled his wooden chair around and leaned back to watch her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I need to talk to you.”

She frowned. Had he gone on a call last night? Had someone had a terrible accident? Or worse, died?

Taking advantage of the chair’s rollers, he propelled himself to a corner, snatched up a stool, then brought it back. “Please.
Have a seat.”

She sunk down. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened.”

She took a deep breath of relief, triggering a faint rattling noise in her chest. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” Pursing his lips, he propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and threaded his fingers across his stomach. “I want to talk about your cough.”

“Again? But you just gave me another exam a few days ago. I thought everything was fine.”

“I never said that. As a matter of fact, I didn’t say anything at all because I didn’t want to alarm you.”

She blinked. “Alarm me?”

He nodded. “It’s been going on too long, Anna.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a—”

“I don’t think so.”

Folding her hands in her lap, she squelched her protests. It was nothing, but she would do him the courtesy of listening. “Go ahead.”

“For the six weeks you’ve been with me, you’ve had a cough, difficulty breathing, headaches, poor appetite, and weight loss—all getting increasingly worse instead of better.”

She moistened her lips. “I haven’t really lost that much. And I’m sure it’s due to the fact I haven’t been eating like I should. I’ll make a concerted effort to do better. I promise.”

“That’s good, but it doesn’t explain the cough, the raspy sound in your lungs, the headaches, and the breathing episodes.”

“Maybe if I retire a little earlier, I’d be—”

“Have you had any fever?”

“No. You asked me that before. I haven’t had any.”

“You never feel overly warm at night?”

She’d been having trouble sleeping but not because she was hot. More because of her cough. “Not that I can remember.”

He tapped his thumbs together. A frisson of panic zipped through her. She’d seen this expression on his face before but only when he had bad news. Very bad news.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees. “I think you might have tuberculosis.”

She gasped, triggering her cough.

“Have you coughed up any blood at all?”

Shaking her head, she whipped a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to her mouth. It hurt to cough. Way deep down in her chest. Could it be true? Did she have tuberculosis?

She’d had a neighbor in Granby who’d died of consumption. It was slow and painful. The woman eventually drowned in her own lungs. Tears rushed to Anna’s eyes.

Taking her hand in his, Doc patted it. “Since the symptoms have come on since your arrival in the Territory, I imagine it’s our climate that’s the problem.” He took a deep breath. “I think it would be best if you moved to a place with dry weather.”

“Moved?” The idea so startled her, she could hardly comprehend it. “Back to Granby?”

He shook his head. “Down toward Texas, where it’s drier.”

“Texas!”
Her coughing started again. A deep, hacking cough that doubled her over.
But southerners live in Texas,
Anna wanted to scream. Yet she could do nothing until her coughing subsided.

Maynard stood and made a mixture of onion juice and honey, but before he could give it to her, her neck and chest muscles tightened.

Oh no.

In order to breathe, she had to take quick, rapid intakes of air. The wheezing grew more severe. The pain in her chest increased.

Doc rubbed her shoulders. “Sit up straight, Anna. Try to relax. Take slow breaths.”

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything but wait until the episode passed. And when it did, she acknowledged to herself that they were, in fact, getting worse instead of better.

Exhausted, she dabbed the sweat beading across her nose and cheeks. She would have collapsed if Maynard hadn’t braced her and guided her to his examination table.

“Lie down for minute until you regain your strength.”

Stretching out on the table, she covered her eyes with her arm. “I don’t want to go to Texas. I don’t want to go anywhere. I love Seattle.”

I love Joe,
she thought. A fresh bout of tears filled her eyes. She had loved him for some time now, had even told him so back when he was hurt and she thought he was asleep. But he’d never acknowledged it, never asked her about it, so she wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard her or not. Tonight, though, he’d be wide awake, and when he proposed to her, she intended to tell him again.

“If you don’t go, Anna, I’m afraid you won’t survive.”

Moaning, she curled up into a ball. This couldn’t be happening. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been sick. Until recently. Until she’d arrived in Seattle.

“I was fine when I was up at Joe’s,” she cried.

“Sometimes it takes a while for the moisture to have its effect.”

Anger ripped through her. Why her? Why now? Hadn’t she suffered enough? Pushing herself to a sitting position, she swiped her eyes. “I want to go home.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m really concerned about Granby being dry enough. You need to head south. If you don’t want to go to Texas, Kansas would probably be all right.”

“No. I meant
home
. The Occidental.” She slipped off the table.

Maynard cupped her elbow. “Of course. Let me drive you.”

She jerked away from his clasp. “No, thank you. I’d prefer to walk.”

She knew she was behaving poorly, but she needed to get away. To be alone. Hurrying from the room, she grabbed her cape and ran outside.

A sheet of rain hit her face, mingling with her tears. She made no attempt to protect herself from it. What difference would it make? If she stayed or if she left, one thing was certain: She was going to lose Joe.

Crushed, she could hardly stay upright. But she plodded ahead. Through the puddles, the rain, the remorse.

Bitterly she cried out to the Lord.
I can’t bear to leave him. I can’t.

Nor could she ask him to go with her. The land was a part of him. Leaving it behind would kill him. Not right away, maybe, but eventually. And as much as she wanted to marry him, she knew what she had to do.

Give me strength, Lord.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-FOUR

Anna studied her reflection in the cheval mirror. The cotton voile shift next to her skin might have been velvet, it was so soft and supple. She’d spent entirely too much time on the trimmings. Along the neckline, ribbon wove in and out of the fabric with delicate forget-me-knots bordering it on both sides. She’d added scalloped crocheted edging to both that and the sleeves.

Her drawers matched her shift and the whiteness of her brocade corset captivated her. She hadn’t wanted to make a wedding dress until he’d actually proposed, but she couldn’t resist sewing up the undergarments—though this was her first time to wear them.

Stepping into the new petticoat, she pulled it up over her hips, luxuriating in the freedom the hooped boning provided. Glancing over her shoulder, she checked her reflection one more time, admiring the undergarment’s pintucks and its elliptical shape—which would provide extra fullness to the back of her dress.

Even though the night with Joe was certain to be bittersweet, she wanted to look her best. She’d chosen to wear her navy wool with its tiny white leaf pattern. More than once he had mentioned his appreciation of that particular gown.

Its boned darts and tucked back displayed her figure in a positive light, while the cartridge pleating of the skirt’s train would be shown off by her new petticoat. Before buttoning the bodice, she removed a jar of scented oil she’d made from the twinflowers he’d packed in her trunk.

The perfume was her own recipe of water, oil, crushed twinflower, and her secret ingredient—a drop of vodka. She wasn’t able to make it often, for obtaining vodka was always a challenge. But Doc had been more than willing to share his once she explained what it was for.