Home by Morning (3 page)

But now Jess would be next door to his smithy every day until she left, and that wouldn’t be for another month.

“Of course, that’s the ideal arrangement, even if it’s not as fancy as you’re used to,” Amy said, and added to Cole, “and you’ll get a paying tenant.”

Jessica considered her sister, surprised by this tidbit of information that the mayor had neglected to give her. Cole owned the building? She’d thought he had the key just because he was a business neighbor.

If only he weren’t still so attractive, she thought irritably. He’d slicked back his chin-length wheaten hair, but compared to the neatly barbered men she was accustomed to seeing, Cole looked downright untamed. She could not imagine him sitting in a stuffy drawing room. He was a man who had spent his life out of doors, trying to bend the elements and nature to his will. He’d frequently succeeded, even with her. She took a sip of water, hoping to swallow the aching knot of banked anger and regret that had formed in her throat.

Trying to drag her thoughts from her growing doubts, she said, “Amy, New York may have some beautiful homes and elegant neighborhoods, but you know I lived in a rooming house. I think I’ll have more privacy here than I did there. And having an office certainly will be better than trying to treat patients at the hotel. Anyway, Mayor Cookson doesn’t believe I’ll be very busy.”

“I think you’ll be busier than you expect. A couple of people have already taken me aside and asked if I thought you’d see them while you’re home. And that was before the mayor talked to you.”

Jessica shrank from the idea, and her thoughts turned to Eddie Cookson. “I suppose you might be right.”

“I’ll come over and help you get organized—oh, no, wait, I’ve got that bandage-rolling session with the Red Cross in the school lunchroom. And the Liberty Bond Committee has the to-do in the park. Rats, it’s going to take the rest of my day.”

Amy was a just a font of good deeds.

She chatted on, bringing Jess up to date on who’d gotten married, who had died, who’d been lost in the war.

As they talked, a man of medium height and dark hair passing by stopped to look at them over the short lace curtains.

Amy waved, but his gaze shifted to Jess and lingered. He smiled and hurried on.

“Who was that?” Jessica asked. He looked familiar but she couldn’t place him.

“You remember Adam Jacobsen,” Cole put in, flicking his gaze briefly into her eyes. “He’s the minister now that his father is gone.”

“Yes, remember, Jess?” Amy asked. “I wrote to you that old Reverend Jacobsen died last spring.”

“Oh, yes, I guess you did.” So that was what Adam looked like now.

“I’ve been working with him on the Liberty Bond Committee,” Amy rushed on. “It’s a very important responsibility, let me tell you. The money is so desperately needed. Adam has been an absolute wonder with that—I swear he could squeeze cash out of a rock. He manages to get practically everyone to buy bonds.”

Jess did not want to talk about Adam Jacobsen. “I saw a couple of Liberty Bond parades in the East. They drew huge crowds, tens of thousands,” she added. “I even saw Mary Pickford riding in one of them.”

Cole’s brows lifted. “Really? We might not have Mary Pickford, but we do have Private Eddie Cookson.”

“Who is sick,” Jessica said with a frown. “I hope his father collected him from the doctor’s office and took him home. I understand he’s training at Camp Lewis.”

“That’s right,” Amy said. “He came home yesterday morning on a few days’ furlough. His father pulled a lot strings to get him here. Eddie went door to door personally, raising funds. Adam went with him—I don’t think they missed a single house or business. Poor Eddie. Maybe the excitement was too much for him. I wouldn’t have expected him to faint like that, but I hope his father didn’t take him home. He’s supposed to make an appearance at the bond rally picnic in the park this afternoon. Everyone will be there. He’s the cornerstone of our program.”

“I think he should be home in bed.”

“But—but—he can’t! We have very important plans, plans that require his participation.” Amy looked at the clear sky beyond the window. “Even the weather has cooperated. It’s a sunny day, and we don’t get many of those at this time of year. I fretted about that all week. You know how rainy October can be here. We need Eddie.”

Cole finished up the last bit of the trout he’d ordered. It felt like a rock sitting in his stomach. “Adam Jacobsen should be able to manage without Ed.”

Amy sat back and folded her hands. “I just think of Riley and know we have to do all we can. We’ve all been so worried about him, fighting in France, haven’t we, Cole?”

Jessica said, “I’m surprised your brother was drafted. I thought the Braddocks’ contract to supply horses to the war would keep him home.”

“It would have,” Cole said, his expression hard, “but he enlisted.”

“And left his wife to run the farm? I suppose that was your father’s idea,” Jessica said. She’d never been fond of Cole’s father, whom she considered a bully.

“No, Riley really wanted to go.”

“As I know you did.” Amy patted Cole’s hand. To Jessica she said, “But of course, they couldn’t both leave. Anyway, Susannah dotes on Mr. Braddock and tries to keep him from gallivanting around the countryside. He’s a little crusty and gruff, but down deep, he’s an old dear. Besides, she has Tanner Grenfell helping out. And Cole has taken on extra work.” Amy’s eyes glowed with pride and a new complacency Jess had not seen in her before as she beamed at Cole.

Cole, declining coffee and dessert, bade both women a stiff good afternoon and went back to work, pleading an overload.

Amy took her sister’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m so glad you came home, Jess. I was afraid you might not. I suppose this might be awkward for you, Cole courting me.”

Awkward didn’t begin to describe how Jessica felt.

One afternoon more than a year earlier, she had made a vow. On that grim day, with the telegram trembling in her shaking hands and tears streaming down her face, she had sworn that to even visit Powell Springs would break her heart all over again. Yet here she was.

But except for dear but dotty old Great Aunt Rhea in Nebraska, who sent unintentionally hilarious letters about strange lights hovering over her farmhouse and little gray men stealing her chickens, Jess and Amy had only each other left in this world for kin. And she’d learned that family ties ran deeper than she’d have believed.

She forced herself to give Amy’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Just as she’d forced herself to come back. “What’s done is done. If he and I were meant to be—he—
we
wouldn’t have broken off our—our
understanding
.” What else could she call it? There had been no formal agreement between them, no engagement. That would have happened when she returned home, if not for that telegram.

She managed a smile. “I’m just glad I was able to visit you, and that Powell Springs is close enough to Portland to let me stop on the way to Seattle.”

Her sister uttered a nervous little laugh. “Yes, that is lucky, isn’t it? And having you to keep me company gives us a chance to catch up. Cole has been so busy with the horses and the smithy. But then, I’ve had my work with the Bond Committee.” She lowered her voice. “I’m certain he’s going to propose any day now, and I want a short engagement. We’ll have the wedding in Reverend Jacobsen’s church with all of our friends, and I’ll have Mama’s wedding gown altered to fit me. Of course, we won’t have time for a real honeymoon. But later, when everything is more settled, we’ll take a trip. After the ceremony, we’ll just have a room at the hotel for our wedding night.” A faint pink stain colored her cheeks and she dropped her gaze to her plate. Obviously, Amy had worked out every detail in her imagination.

Jessica couldn’t reply. Memories flashed through her mind, of Cole’s lips on hers, his hands searching the sensitive places on her body while they lay in the wildflowers beside Powell Creek so long ago…She would make certain she would
not
be here when Cole married Amy. She swallowed hard and busied herself with stirring more sugar than she wanted into her coffee.

Amy took a sip of hers and set the cup back on its saucer. “You’re really happy about going to Washington?”

Relieved to change the subject, Jess said, “Yes. I’ll be working in Seattle General Hospital’s research laboratory. It’s a wonderful opportunity, especially now with so many male doctors in Europe for the war.”

“Do you mean you won’t see patients?”

Jess lifted her chin a bit. “No. Not anymore.”

“But I thought—”

“There is so much progress being made in the area of disease treatment and prevention, I decided that research would be the most important work I can do.” Jess tightened her grip on her water glass. “Just think of how much Edward Jenner did for humanity with his smallpox vaccine, or, or…Lister, with his use of carbolic acid to prevent infection. And ether for pain-free surgery. Someone had to discover those advances.”

“Well…I suppose. I just thought you were interested in the
practice
of medicine.”

An involuntary shudder ran up Jessica’s spine. “I was. I used to be.”

“But you treated Eddie.”

Jess shrugged. It had been an automatic response. She would get over that in time. “It was an emergency. I had to step in.”

“When you didn’t come back here after you finished your schooling, I expected you to stay in New York, but I guess even Seattle will be nothing like boring old Powell Springs. You know, we just got electricity in town in the last few months, and not very many of us have indoor plumbing yet. I think Daddy’s house was the first to have either.”

Jess looked up at Amy. “You’ve been getting along all right at Mrs. Donaldson’s?”

“Cole thinks she’s a busybody, but really, she has such a good heart. She’s made me feel welcome. Of course, I miss our own home.”

“Amy, I wanted to keep the house. But I had no idea how much debt Daddy had run up for the practice until he died. You know he always gave away free care to half the county. And darn few patients of the other half stopped to think that he should be paid.” She sighed, remembering the mess. “Dr. Vandermeer wasn’t any better. When I found out that he hadn’t covered the property taxes, I couldn’t afford to do anything but let the county take it to pay—”

“That’s all right, Jess. Cole will build me a fine new house on property that adjoins the horse farm.” Amy laughed again. “Mrs. Donaldson gets weepy every time we talk about my leaving.” She leaned forward. “Of course, you’ve been gone for such a long time, and from what I read in your letters, well, I told Cole you were probably enjoying the theaters and libraries and such.”

Jessica searched her memory for things she might have said about her mostly nonexistent social life. Once or twice she might have written about going to the theater, but the rest of the time—“That’s not why I stayed there. It was—” She faltered a moment, then cleared her throat and smiled.

“I know, your work,” Amy said. “I imagine Daddy is spinning in his grave. After all, you promised him you’d take over his practice.”

Jess stared at her. What a nightmare of a notion. Yes, at one time, that had been her plan. But now? To come back to Powell Springs and have to see Cole Braddock around town,
as Amy’s husband
, perhaps even have to treat him as a patient? After everything that had happened?

Jess might be able to visit with a facade of grace, but she would have to be a saint to come back to Powell Springs to live. Surely her father would understand that from wherever he watched her now. “I think the town can get along without me. And if Cole…proposes, you’ll be busy planning your wedding.”

“I certainly will.” That vaguely smug expression slipped across her face again.

The man sat on the edge of Emmaline’s thin, sagging mattress and began dressing. She watched as he pushed his arms into the fine fabric of his shirtsleeves. He’d stayed longer than usual, and he checked his pocket watch, once, and then again.

“Where does your wife think you are, Frank? Out selling your tractors?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. She propped herself up on one elbow and turned her gaze to the shaggy five acres just outside the window. It was wild and overgrown, with straggling rosebushes and a wall of blackberry brambles that all but surrounded this shanty.

“I’m not married. You already know that, Em.”

She laughed, but there wasn’t much humor behind it. “Don’t worry. Even if you really are, there ain’t much chance that she’d find out about me.” Facing him, she ran a hand through her long hair. “’Less you told her.”

“I’m not married,” he repeated. “If I was, I wouldn’t…” He let the sentence hang unfinished.

“Yeah, I know. You wouldn’t be here. Don’t be too blamed sure of that. Married men come by here all the time. They don’t have to offer excuses but some do. Others are full of complaints. And believe me, I’ve heard ’em all.” She shrugged a bare shoulder. “I imagine they’re the same ones my husband told to some other woman after he run off and left me without as much as a so-long-sister.”

Standing, he pulled up his trousers and buttoned them. “How long has he been gone?”

She sighed slightly. “Five years, now.”

“And you’ve never heard from him?”

“No, and good riddance, I say.”

“But you’re still married to him?”

“Not by my reckoning. He don’t know where I am anyhow. For all
I
know, he could be dead. It wouldn’t surprise me. He was the sort who made a lot of people mad.”

He looked in the peeling mirror over her dresser and combed his hair with his fingers. He was young, quite a bit younger than her own forty years. “What line of business was he in?”

“Lambert?” Now her chuckle was harsh and incredulous, and the bedsprings screeched beneath her. “Lambert’s notion of business was turning a quick dollar whichever way he could, legal or not. He was sure his one big break was just around the next corner, and that I was holding him back. So he took off, and I was stuck over in Parkridge with two kids and a cardboard suitcase.”

He turned his back to the mirror and fixed her with an expression of faint horror. “You have
children
? Where are they?”

Damn, she hadn’t meant to mention the youngsters. She tried not to even think about them, it gave her such heartache, though it was impossible not to. She got up and grabbed a faded dressing gown from the end of the bed to wrap around her body, suddenly feeling naked. “Well, they’re not around here, if you’re wondering that.”

“But do you ever see them?”

She pressed her mouth into a tight line. “You’re just full of questions today, ain’t you? That’s my private business and it’s got nothing to do with you or anyone else.”

She was amused to see Frank actually turn red, all the way up to the ears. There was something about him that didn’t figure quite right. She knew his name, Frank Meadows, and that he lived nearby in Twelve Mile where he sold John Deere tractors. At least that’s what he’d told her. She’d never once seen him on the street when she rode her tired, swaybacked mare into town for supplies. Twelve Mile was a decent-size place, but not so big that she wouldn’t expect to run into him once in a while.

Still, in the line of work she’d been forced to take up, she’d become a fairly good judge of men. He was kind and well-mannered for the most part, but she couldn’t imagine him in his job, chitchatting with farmers about crops while he stood in a field, ankle-deep in mud and manure, wearing his nice clothes and smelling of bay rum. And he was so closemouthed about himself, she figured he was married, no matter what he said.

“I didn’t mean to pry, Em.” He dug into his pocket to fish out five dollars, which he left on the battered dresser.

It was more than she asked from him, but she wasn’t about to turn it down. Although the place was as neat as she could manage, it was still a tiny, two-room shack furnished with castoffs that she’d cobbled together. It had no ceiling, and above the open rafters overhead were bare shingles, patched here and there with water-stained tar paper. She didn’t suppose the moss that furred the roof helped to keep it from leaking. In winter, this place was as cold as a witch’s tit. The owner let her stay here rent-free, and had been one of her customers, a doctor from down in Powell Springs. He’d used it as a hunting cabin when he was younger, he said.

He’d made some improvements, such as buying her a new stove, and had promised to fix up the place. Then she’d gotten word that he died. Nobody had come to claim it, or throw her off the land, so it was hers now as far as she was concerned. But the house was still a dump.

She reached over and snapped up the money, putting it in her pocket. “Yeah, well, no harm done.”

Still standing beside the bed, she lifted the thin quilt and dingy top sheet to look at the state of the bedding beneath it. Deciding it would stand another use, she reached for an atomizer on the windowsill and spritzed the coarse, graying bottom sheet with five-and-dime rosewater. Then she made the bed for the next man who came knocking on the door of her shack. As much as she needed the money, she hoped no one else showed up. She was tired and had a headache.

“I got me a rabbit stewing on the stove, if you’d like to stay to eat.” The words were out before she realized she’d uttered them. She never asked anyone to stay. But sometimes the soul-stripping, confounded loneliness of her existence ate at her.

Again, that astonished look crossed his mild features, more pronounced this time. “Oh no, I’ve still got—a busy day. Sales calls to make. I just dropped in for…well, I’ve got to be going.” He grabbed his coat and reached for the doorknob.

She nodded and fingered the cash in the pocket of her dressing gown. “All right, then. See you next time, Frank.” He regarded her silently for a moment, as if he were about to say more. Instead, he pulled the door open and stepped outside.

Emmaline waited until she heard his horse and buggy travel down the long path that hid her place from the main road. As she stood there, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the dresser’s milky mirror. She couldn’t remember when all those gray strands had begun dusting her red hair. The sound of the wheels faded away, and she sat down at her tiny kitchen table, looking at the money he’d given her until the sun worked its way through the gloom of the tall trees surrounding her little spot on Butler Hill.