Faith (27 page)

She shrugged. "A couple of years ... since Abe ... since
Abe left. At first I thought it was grief. Now I know it's
much more than that."

Doc's mouth fell. "Liza!"

"You know I don't hold with doctors," she snapped.

Getting to his feet, Doc eyed her sternly. "Tell me what
you've observed about your health. Think this through. I
need to know everything that has been going on with you
and when each symptom began." He picked up his pencil
and paper and settled in a chair close to her.

Liza burst into tears, ailments pouring out of her like lava:
night sweats, hot flashes, loss of memory, bouts of depression, paranoia. When the flood subsided, she dried her eyes
and braced herself for the worst. "I know I don't have long,
but I need to know how long, so I can make plans."

Doc nodded, listened to her heart, looked down her throat,
peered into her ears, thumped here and there as she talked.

"Hummmm."

When the examination was over, she gazed up at him.
"How long, Doc?"

Doc shook his head and moved to the medicine cabinet. "Hard to say, but listening to your heart, I'd guess no more
than thirty, forty years."

Liza nodded. Thirty to forty years. That's what she'd
thought.... She sat up straighter. "What?"

"How old are you now, Liza? Fifty? Fifty-one?"

"Fifty-two in November."

"Monthlies ceased?"

She blushed, then nodded.

"Cross as a settin' hen?"

She nodded, miserably wringing her hands. She hated to
think how regularly she'd pinned Nicholas's ears back.

Doc took a bottle off the shelf, then closed the cabinet door.
"You're going through the change of life, Liza. Nothing to be
worried about. It falls to every woman. The symptoms are
uncomfortable and annoying, but it won't kill you."

He put the bottle in her hand, squeezing her fingers shut.
"Pinkham's Tonic. A lot of physicians think it's hogwash,
but I don't. I have women who swear by it. Take a couple
of teaspoons three times a day, and you'll be your old self in
no time at all."

"Change of life? That's what Grandma went through."

Doc nodded. "And her mother, and her mother, and her
mother. I suppose even old Eve gave Adam a fair run for his
money when she hit the right age."

Liza stared at the brown vial of Lydia E. Pinhham's
Vegetable Compound. "I'm not going to die?"

He chuckled. "Not any time soon-now, of course, you
understand, I don't make those kinds of decisions. I leave
that up to the Lord."

Liza rolled the bottle of medicine in her hands and took a
deep breath. "I ... I've been using ... " She couldn't look
Doc in the eyes.

"You've been using Pinkham's Tonic?"

"I had heard, uh, had heard it might help."

"What dosage did you use, Liza?" the doctor asked gently.

"I only took a swallow when I really needed it." She
straightened, and her chin shot skyward. "I knew I could
handle whatever trials the Lord sent to me. Until Abe ...
until Abe left ... died." There, she'd finally admitted it.
Abe was gone, residing now with his heavenly Father. "I
thought perhaps it was grief that made me feel so awful."

"Liza, trust me. Take the medicine and follow my instructions. You'll be over this before long." He squeezed her
shoulder. "Nature makes these changes in your body, and
once you understand what is happening, it's much easier to
accept. Now, I want to hear from you soon about how
you're feeling."

Leaving the office a few minutes later, Liza closed the
door and sagged against it. She wasn't going to die.

Clutching the full bottle of tonic to her chest, she lifted
her face to the afternoon sun, letting the glorious assurance
wash over her.

She wasn't going to die.

"Mama!" Nicholas burst through the back door and
slammed it shut. The cat, sunning on the windowsill,
jumped as if shot. "The chickens are in the garden again!"

Liza glanced up from the stove. "Well, put them back in
the pen."

"You put them back in the pen." He threw his hat on the
kitchen table, rattling a cup and saucer. "It's your job to
keep them out of the garden."

Slicing a beef roast, Liza calmly motioned him toward the
washstand. "Wash up. Dinner's almost ready."

Nicholas reached the washbowl in two angry strides.
When Papa was alive, if a chicken went near the garden, it
would have been swimming in a pot of dumplings that
night!

Reaching for the bar of soap, he lathered his hands and
elbows. The image of Faith swam before his eyes. Muttering under his breath, he forced her image aside. The
woman was on his mind day and night. What was happening to him? It was almost as if she'd cast a spell over him, a
spell he was powerless to escape.

She was a curse-had been from the moment she rode
into town on the back of Jeremiah's mule. Stirring up the
town with talk of a school for the blind, spending time with
Dan Walters-she, and she alone, was responsible for all
these hushed whispers and sympathetic stares coming his
way.

How soon was Miss Kallahan going to make it worse?

Nicholas wondered how soon she was going to marry
Dan and make Nicholas look like an even bigger fool.
Paying her way here, putting her up all those weeks-he
should never have gone on that cattle drive. That's when the problem had started. If he'd stayed home, he and Faith
would be married.

He scrubbed harder. He'd bet Walters took his meals at
his own table with Faith at noontime. His stomach spasmed
with the thought as he scoured his arms so hard they hurt.
The woman just plain made him mad. He couldn't eat,
couldn't sleep. Toweling off, he stalked to the table.

Setting a bowl of greens on the table, Liza eyed him.
"My, aren't we in a temper."

"Chickens don't belong in the garden." Nicholas reached
for an ear of corn and slapped butter on it.

Taking her seat at the opposite end of the table, Liza
bowed her head and quietly blessed the food.

"Seems to me," she continued as she shook out her
napkin, "you've had a burr under your saddle lately."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about Faith."

Nicholas froze at the sound of her name. The mention of
Faith Kallahan had been banned in this house. Why Mama
chose to bring it up now escaped him. "Well," Nicholas
said as he reached for the platter of roast, "I'm not talking
about her, Mama. So let's eat in peace."

Liza took a bite of meat with her eyes still fixed on her
son. "Saw Faith today while I was in town."

Was she going to wear out that name right here at the
dinner table? Nicholas grumbled, "What took you to town
on a weekday morning?"

"A little this, a little that." Liza thought about the new
brown bottle of Pinkham's Tonic hidden at the bottom of her bureau drawer and smiled. Picking up the bowl of
greens, she spooned a helping onto her plate. "Faith's fixing
the town steeple."

"She's what?"

"Fixing the town steeple. There she and Dan were, on
the church rooftop, big as you please, Faith dressed in
overalls and men's boots, hammering and painting to beat
the band. I must say, the old steeple's going to look a sight
better."

"Fixing steeples, sawing wood, delivering cows-what
next?" Nicholas shoved a bite of meat into his mouth.

Liza casually speared a slice of tomato. "Seems she and
Dan were meant for each other. They have the same interests; Faith takes to those kids like a moth to a flamewouldn't surprise me if Dan didn't snap her right up."

"I thought he already had."

"Nicholas ..."

"Mama, I'm trying to eat."

"I was wrong about Faith, Nicholas." Liza's humble
admission rattled him. She had been wrong? Well, now was
a fine time to admit it.

"No, you weren't wrong, Mama. Your instincts about
Faith were right. I'm just glad I found out she was fickle
before I married her."

"This whole misunderstanding between you and Faith is
my fault. I'm sorry I was so unreasonable and that I didn't
try to befriend her-perhaps if you were to start over-"

"Don't be foolish. You were right about the steeple, and I'm right about Faith. No caring woman would have left
the moment my back was turned."

"I could be right about the steeple, but not about Faith.
And she didn't just up and leave. If you blame anyone,
blame me. My irrational ultimatum left Faith little choice
but to seek refuge at the Finneys'. I treated her unfairly,
Nicholas-and I indicated she was feeling something for
Dan that I don't think she's really feeling. I deliberately
planted that seed in your head, and I was wrong, so wrong.
I'm sorry ... if I had it to do over-"

Nicholas cut her off. "What's done is done." He was tired
of talking about Faith Kallahan. Six days out of seven they
ate their meals in silence. Why, of all days, did Mama have
to pick this particular meal to philosophize? He bit into an
ear of corn and wiped juice off his chin.

Liza took a bite of roast, her eyes fixed on him. What was
she looking at? Couldn't a man eat his dinner in peace?

"You feeling all right lately, Nicholas?"

"Fine."

She reached for a biscuit, breaking it open. "Good dose of
Epsom salts now and then never hurt a body."

He lifted his head and eyed her sourly.

They lapsed into silence, their focus on their plates.

"Reverend Hicks stopped by earlier."

"What did he want?"

"Money for the holiday baskets. He's starting the drive
early this year."

Nicholas forked a bite of greens into his mouth. "Give it
to him. Make a generous donation this year. We've got more money than we can ever spend." Lord knew they'd
been miserly enough the past couple of years.

Liza reached for her fan as color saturated her face.
Nicholas watched the familiar red flush creeping up her
neck.

"Are you hot again?"

"It's a little warm in here." She sheepishly avoided his
stare. "Don't you think?"

Nicholas shook his head. "Feels comfortable to me."

The flush receded, and she snapped the fan shut. "Eat
your dinner before it gets cold."

Late that afternoon Nicholas was loading an order of feed at
the mercantile. Oren Stokes and Jeremiah were discussing
the weather. Hot, could use a good rain, the two men
decided.

Jeremiah was another person on Nicholas's short list. If he
hadn't encouraged Faith, she wouldn't have gone off halfcocked to open a school for the blind. Jeremiah knew
Nicholas hadn't endorsed the idea, yet he had continued
to encourage Faith.

Nicholas had been at the store last week when two large
crates arrived from Boston. Jeremiah had hurriedly loaded
the bins onto a cart, and hauled them off. Nicholas suspected the boxes had something to do with the proposed
school, but Jeremiah refused to say.

Just then Jeremiah came out of the store and down the
steps. He smiled at Nicholas, nodding pleasantly.

Heaving another sack aboard the wagon, Nicholas
grunted what passed for a civil greeting. He didn't feel very
"civil" at the moment.

Jeremiah paused on the lower step to light his pipe.
Giving a hearty puff, he gazed up at the flawless blue sky.
"Hot, isn't it?"

Nicholas swung another sack onto the wagon, hoping
Jeremiah wasn't going to start in on the weather again.
How much more could be said about a hot June day?
Oren had pretty much exhausted the subject.

"Yes, sir." Jeremiah patted his vest, drawing on the pipe.
White smoke swirled above his head. "Fine time for traveling-though it could get a mite dusty."

Hefting the last grain sack onto the wagon, Nicholas took
off his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Suppose it
could-if anyone was going anywhere."

Jeremiah cocked a brow. "You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" Nicholas reached for the dipper in the
water barrel.

"Why, Miss Kallahan is leaving us soon."