A Convenient Wife (3 page)

“You're a gem, Ellie.” Tess's praise was heartfelt as she sank into a chair at the table. “I'm not usually one to take advantage, but I've had a long day. I thought I was doing well
to come home long enough to stick a chicken in the oven. Hadn't even gotten as far as what we'd have with it.”

“Well, if I can't do much else, I'm a good cook. At least my pa never had any complaints,” Ellie said stoically. Her gaze scanned the table, where plates and silverware awaited. “I guess you can eat now.”

“Aren't you going to join us, Ellie?” John asked, glancing at his wife with a puzzled look.

“I'm not hungry,” Ellie admitted, sidling toward the door. “If you don't mind, I think I'll take a walk around the back way to the doctor's house. If he's willing to give me work, I can't afford to turn it down.”

“Take some of this chicken with you,” Tess offered, rising quickly and bustling to the cupboard for a container. “We've got more than enough. Unless I miss my guess, Doc will be thankful for a decent meal.” She darted a look at Ellie, and smiled widely. “Maybe he'll be impressed if you tell him you did the cooking.”

 

The bread was moldy and the milk had gone sour. All in all, supper looked to be a complete disaster, Win decided. Scrambled eggs didn't taste like much without a piece of bread alongside, and he'd lost his appetite for them anyway. With a shrug, he left the kitchen to stalk through the living room, and sat down on the front stoop, reaching to pet the stray cat who'd been hanging around lately.

“I'd give you the milk, cat, but you'd turn your nose up at it,” he murmured. He glanced toward the hotel, where the dining room offered a decent meal. Somehow, it seemed to require too much effort, and he decided to settle for a can of peaches from the pantry.

A movement caught his eye and he turned his head to where a woman's slight form approached from around the corner of the house. “You weren't in the kitchen,” Ellie said, “so I came around, hoping to find you.” She carried a pie tin, covered
with a bleached dish towel, and his hopes for a decent meal rose from the depths to a more palatable level.

“What's that you've got?” he asked, aware of an optimistic note in his voice.

“Mrs. Dillard sent over some of their supper, in case you're hungry,” Ellie said. “I'd hand it over, but the pan's hot, and you don't want to burn your fingers. I suspect your patients would admire you more without blisters.”

He grinned at her dry remark and hastened to open the screen door. “Come on in, Ellie. Go on through to the kitchen and put it on the stove.” He followed her, lured by the scent of chicken, and watched as she lowered the tin plate to the back burner. Placing the dish towel she'd used for padding aside, she removed the covering.

“I made stuffing to go with Mrs. Dillard's roasting hen, and I brought plenty for you. I must have thought I was gonna feed an army, with the big panful I put together.”

“Tell you what,” he said hastily, reaching for a cupboard door. “I'll get out some plates. It looks like there's enough for both of us.” He turned to look at her, dishes in his hand. “Or have you eaten already?”

She shook her head and he scrutinized her in the dim light, then decided against lighting a lamp. “I'm not real hungry,” she said quietly. “But I'll be glad to dish you up some.”

“Sit down, Ellie,” he told her, and she sat on the nearest chair, then glanced up quickly, as if his firm tones might give way to anger. Placing two plates on the table, he lifted the meal she'd carried to his door and divided it, allowing himself the larger portion, knowing she would protest otherwise.

After retrieving two forks from the cutlery drawer, he approached her, then squatted beside her chair. His hand lifted to touch her swollen flesh and she flinched. “I won't hurt you,” he said calmly. “I just want to see how much bruising you have.”

She nodded, sitting quietly beneath his touch, and he
silently cursed the man who had done this. “Is there more?” he asked as he rose and circled the table.

Ellie hesitated. “Some.”

Win picked up his fork and took a bite, savoring the flavor of chicken and stuffing. “Where,” he asked after a moment.

Ellie looked up, startled, then replaced her empty fork on the table. “In places you don't need to see.”

“I'm a doctor, Ellie.” He took another bite, and nodded at her. “Eat now and we'll talk about it later.”

She sighed and obeyed his dictum, bending a bit, perhaps to hide the damage done her face, he thought. The next problem would involve coaxing her to allow him to examine the full effects of her father's wrath.

The few bites of food left over from their meal were scraped onto a small dish on the back stoop for Win's porch cat, and Ellie smiled as he described the stray who'd adopted him, taking occasional meals from his hand, although he didn't allow her entry into the house. The dishes were washed with hot water from the reservoir on the side of the big black cook stove, and Ellie dried them carefully, putting them back in the cupboard.

“Mrs. Dillard says you might want me to do some work for you,” she ventured as she emptied the small dishpan and wiped it out with the cloth she'd used.

“That's right,” Win answered. “I need someone to do up my washing. I've had the woman at the hotel doing it, but I fear she's partial to bleach, and my best blue shirt has blotches all over it. I'd thought you might take a hand and see if you could keep me in order.”

“You need someone to cook?” she asked diffidently. “I'm pretty well able to keep a kitchen, and I've always been a good hand at housework.”

“I think we could work something out,” Win said quietly, watching as she wiped the table, then picked up the broom.
“You don't need to sweep right now,” he told her. “Come sit with me and we'll talk.”

Her eyes darted in his direction and then back to the darkness that had gathered as the sun settled beneath the horizon. “I'll light a lamp,” he offered. “It's getting too dark to see in here.”

She nodded, settling in the chair across the table. Her hands were folded neatly before her, and he looked down as he lifted the globe of the lamp to light the wick. “Would you rather I lit a candle?” he asked. “I have a good supply of them.”

She shook her head. “The lamp's fine. You can take a look at me and see for yourself I'm not hurt bad. You don't need to worry about my eye,” she said with a wave of her hand “I've seen worse on men after a Saturday night on the town.”

“Men from the ranch where you lived with your father?” he asked, sitting down again to face her.

She nodded. “I did a little mending when they got banged up. Used witch hazel and carbolic acid, and even stitched up a few cuts before you came to town.”

He smiled, admiring her nonchalant description of the chores she'd been called upon to perform. “So I put you out of business, did I?”

Her eyes were warm as she turned them in his direction. “I didn't mind. I never much liked tending to the men. Sometimes they made me feel odd, like they were looking at me funny. You can have the whole kit and caboodle of them.”

“They looked at you funny?” He caught the offhand remark and dwelt on it. “Like men do here in town? As if they admire your pretty hair or your smile?”

“I don't have pretty hair,” she said firmly. “It's brown and gets all tangled up and in my way. My pa won't allow me to cut it, said the good book is against women having short hair.”

And wasn't that the first thing he'd found to admire about the brute? Win nodded agreeably. “I like long hair myself,”
he said affably. “And whether you realize it or not, yours is lovely.”

Ellie reached up self-consciously to smooth the stray locks from her cheek, tucking them behind her ears. “We need to talk about my working here,” she told him. “I need a place to stay, first off. Is there any chance I can have a room out back? I see you've got a shed on the back of the house.”

“You can have a room upstairs,” he told her. “There are three bedrooms there, and I have one down here. There's plenty of furniture that came with the house and more in the attic if the room you choose doesn't have what you need.”

He held up a hand, gaining her silence as she would have spoken. “I know you think the folks in town will talk, but I don't think they'll trouble you. Once it's known that your father took out his anger on you the way he did, I'll be considered the man of the hour for taking you under my wing.”

“You think so?” She sounded uncomfortable with the idea, yet the first sign of animation crossed her face. “You don't think they'll take it wrong?”

“Lots of single men have housekeepers, back in the city where I come from,” he said firmly.
But none so pretty as you.
The thought flashed through his mind before he could snatch it, and he considered the idea.

If Ellie thought herself unattractive, she'd been looking in the wrong mirror. Dark hair with red highlights, gathered from the lamp overhead, tempted him to gaze in her direction, and velvet couldn't begin to describe the soft warmth of her brown eyes. Even the one that had a swollen lid owned a hopeful cast, and he smiled as her lips quirked just a bit.

“We could try it out,” she ventured. “Maybe see if what I do is up to snuff.”

He nodded, gesturing to the clean kitchen that surrounded them. “You've done just fine so far. I expect a meal on the table in the mornings by seven o'clock and maybe a bite to eat around noontime, when I get back from house calls. And
then when my day is over, if you could have something hot on the back of the stove, I'd surely appreciate it.”

“Do you have fixings for breakfast in the pantry?” she asked, her eyes looking toward the narrow opening on the opposite wall.

“Not much of anything. Just some eggs I got at Tess and John's place. My milk's sour and the bread I bought from Ethel Talbert, the lady next door, went moldy on me. I think there's some canned goods, but I eat at the hotel a lot, when I think of it.”

“Can they cook good? At the hotel I mean? I've never eaten anywhere but at home.”

“Not as good as what I had tonight,” he told her. “I'll have to watch that they don't coax you to work there, once they find out I've hired the best cook in Whitehorn.”

She smiled again at his teasing manner, and he felt the warmth of her approval. “You don't have to say nice things about me, Dr. Gray. I'll just be grateful for a chance to rest in one place until I know what I'm going to do.”

“You're welcome to do that here, Ellie. And while we're alone, I'd like you to call me Win, or Winston, if you'd rather.”

She'd begun to look more hopeful and he flashed her a smile. “I think we're going to be good friends, Ellie. If you don't mind, we can begin by shaking hands and striking a bargain.”

Ellie offered her slender hand in his direction, and Win took hold of it, cradling it in his palm as if it were a wounded bird and he must treat it with care. “What's our bargain?” she asked, color rising on her cheeks.

“We'll share this house, and you'll do what's necessary to make my life more comfortable. In return I'll pay you a good wage and tend to your bruises.”

She tugged her hand from his. “My bruises are fine, all but
a couple on my leg. If you've got some carbolic salve I'll dab some on. They're looking a little angry around the edges.”

He stood and rounded the table. “Let me look,” he said firmly, squatting before her. His hands were warm, and strong, and when he lifted the hem of her dress to expose her ankles and calves, she allowed it. Above the tops of her shoes, several scabbed-over areas took his attention, and he stifled the urge to curse aloud.

“Let me get my bag, Ellie. You sit right here and wait for me.”

“T
hat should help these spots heal faster,” Win said, eyeing the areas he'd cleansed and anointed with salve. “We'll just put on a bandage for tonight. By morning you can leave them open to the air.” Each scabbed and scuffed area was covered with soft fabric, and held in place by a strip of cloth circling her leg.

He's a doctor.
The words whirled in her head, rebuking her as she felt distinct pleasure in the touch of warm hands against her skin. His head bent over his work and she was afforded a bird's-eye view of his dark, crisp waves. Stunned by the sudden urge to place her fingers there, to know for herself the texture of those masculine curls, she clenched her hands into fists and buried them in the fabric of her skirt.

“There, that should do it,” he said, easing her skirt down to cover her legs almost to her ankles. “Now, where else are you bruised?” he asked, standing erect to replace the roll of bandage in his bag. At her silence, he sighed. “I only want to help, Ellie.”

Untangling her fingers, she unbuttoned her cuffs, rolling up the long sleeves she'd been careful to use as coverings for her arms. No matter how warm it became, she'd determined
to hide the evidence she wore there from shoulder to wrist. Now, it didn't seem nearly so important that she admit defeat at her father's hands.

Win was silent as she revealed the purpling bruises, but his hands were tender as he bathed them with wool batting, dousing them well with witch hazel. “It's an old remedy,” he said as he opened the bottle, “but it seems to work well. Mostly, the blood will have to dissolve back into your system. I fear there's no rapid recovery from bruising.”

Ellie nodded agreeably. “I'll just keep them covered for a while.”

Win cleared his throat. “Is there anything else I need to tend to? Your father didn't hurt your stomach in any way?”

She shook her head and grimaced. “No, that's why my arms got all banged up. I had them wrapped over my belly and when he was hitting on me, they took the brunt of it. My hip is sore where he kicked me, but there's nothing broken. I'll get over it.”

He pressed the bottle of witch hazel into her palm. “Here, I've got lots more where this came from. Promise me you'll use it tonight. And, Ellie…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “If you should have any pain or bleeding, let me know right away. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Ellie looked up. “I reckon I've about got over the whole mess already.” There was enough pain and some to spare, but she suspected it wasn't the sort of thing he was hinting at. “I expect I'll be fine. You don't need to be fussing over me, Dr. Gray. I'm the one that's supposed to be looking after you.”

“Starting tomorrow,” he told her. “Now, let's walk you back to Tess and John's place and get your belongings.”

“You want me to stay here tonight?” The thought was daunting, that she should be given a room on the second floor of this big house, all for her own, with nothing more to do than keep the place clean and cook three meals a day for her keep.

“I don't see any reason why not,” he said. “I'll want to explain things to the Dillards though, so folks will understand the arrangement.”

Gathering her scant supply of clothing from June-bug's bedroom took little more than a moment, and Ellie walked back into the kitchen in time to see Winston Gray shaking John Dillard's hand. Win looked up as Ellie stood just inside the doorway, a question in his eyes.

“Yes, I'm ready,” she said. Her valise packed full with all but her mother's shawl, she approached Tess. “Thank you for…” She looked around the kitchen, then back at the woman who'd come to her aid. “For everything,” she finished lamely. “I appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Dillard.”

“I think you might call me Tess.” Her fingers touched Ellie's cheek and warmth flooded the area, as though affection gave healing to the skin she stroked. “I'll be over to look in on you tomorrow. Doc says you need foodstuffs, so just make a list and I'll carry it to you.”

The immensity of her situation seemed staggering as Ellie considered the offer. “I don't even know what he likes to eat,” she murmured.

“Most anything you cook will be better than what he's been puttin' in his stomach lately. I'll get some staples together for you tomorrow,” Tess told her, turning her toward the back door. “You run along now. Things will work out.”

Things will work out.
The words resounded in her head as Ellie prepared for bed. Clean sheets and a worn quilt covered the feather tick, and its comfort tempted her as she blew out the lamp and glanced from the bedroom window. A light blazed from the house next door, and she caught a glimpse of a woman's form, silhouetted and unmoving. And then the shadow turned and the unmistakable burden of pregnancy altered the vision she watched.

A man entered the room and Ellie watched, unable to turn away, breathless as the tall, dark-haired figure approached.
Bending to look into her face, he took the woman's hands in his and then drew her against his body. The image of tenderness she beheld brought tears to Ellie's eyes, and she turned away, feeling she had somehow violated a private moment.

Stunning in its simple beauty, the image beckoned, and she looked back. Only darkness met her gaze. The light was extinguished, the second floor room darkened.

She sank into the bed behind her. The feather tick welcomed her aching body, and she curled on her side, one hand pressing against the firm swelling of her belly. A movement deep inside caught her attention, and a gentle nudging pushed against her hand. She held her breath, and again the skin beneath her fingertips was rippled by the tiny presence within. With a sigh of delight, Ellie closed her eyes.

If there was truly a God watching over her, as the minister had said in a sermon on one of her occasional visits to church, then surely he must be taking a hand right now.

 

The woodstove was familiar territory, and Ellie peered into its depths to gauge the amount of kindling she'd stacked. She'd found a small case of sulphur matches in the pantry and placed a box of them atop the cookstove. Now with a scrape on the side of the box, she set a match ablaze, firing the kindling, then quickly added small lengths of wood. Watching as they caught fire and began to burn, she bent to the wood box, lifting three larger chunks, enough to make a good cooking fire.

In ten minutes she could begin breakfast, and to that end she scouted out the pantry shelves. A flour bin held enough for biscuits, and she found a can of lard with a good scoop left on the bottom. Sniffing it, she decided it had not gone rancid. But the addition of lard went on the mental list she was concocting as she worked.

A pot of coffee was the next detail, she decided, and a blue speckled pot sat on the back of the stove. She rinsed it at the pump and filled it halfway, then added a handful of coffee
from a jar on the shelf. Cracking an egg, she dropped it into the water and placed the pot on the front of the stove, where the hottest fire would burn.

A knock on the back door caused her to tremble, and she looked over her shoulder, the thought of her father speeding to the forefront of her mind. A woman cupped her hand to peer through the screen door, and Ellie sighed with relief.

“Good morning.” It was a cheery greeting and Ellie hastened to open the door. “I live next door. He gets bread from me when he takes a notion, but he hasn't got a fresh loaf for pretty near a week,” the neighbor said, her gaze sweeping Ellie from stem to stern. “I'll bet you're the young lady who's going to be doing for him.”

“You've heard about me?” Ellie asked, astounded that the news had traveled so quickly.

“Tess Dillard told me late yesterday afternoon that he was thinking of taking on a housekeeper. The man needs looking after, sure enough.” The loaf of bread she carried was placed on the table and then the woman headed back to the door. “If you need anything else, just call out. I'm Ethel Talbert. My husband Harry owns the barber shop.”

She was past the screen door and halfway across the yard before Ellie caught her breath. Scurrying across the kitchen, she leaned out the door. “Mrs. Talbert, where can I buy some milk?” The biscuits could be put together with water, but they wouldn't be near as good, and, for Winston Gray, Ellie would beg, borrow or steal what she needed to serve him a decent meal.

“Land sakes, child. I didn't think about that. I've got extra. Come along and I'll send you some back.”

Patting her hair and brushing the flour from her hands on a dish towel, Ellie scampered across the yard, past the hedge of bushes and up to the neighbor's back door. A quart jar was being filled from a crock, even as she watched through the
screen, and in moments Ellie was carrying it back to Win's kitchen.

“What's going on?” Win stood just inside the doorway, rolling up his shirtsleeves as Ellie scooted past him. “You out visiting already?” He reached to brush at her cheek. “You've got flour dust all over your face,” he said, grinning at her.

“I thought I wiped it all on the towel before I went to Mrs. Talbert's house. I just borrowed some milk from her so I can make biscuits. I hope you have baking powder or soda.”

“Both, I suspect,” he said, entering the pantry. “Though I don't think I've used either. When I moved in, Tess brought over what she thought I needed to furnish my kitchen, but most of it is still just like it was that day. I'm not much of a cook.”

He sat down at the table, watching Ellie knead the biscuits, then cut them into circles with a water glass and place them on the baking pan she'd located.

“You do that well,” he said, sounding pleased. “This idea is gaining ground.” He peered past her to the stove. “Is that coffee I smell?”

Ellie nodded and found a cup for him. “If you have something you need to do, I'll start the eggs in a few minutes. The biscuits won't take long.”

He chuckled. “I'm enjoying this, Ellie. No one's cooked for me since I left home, and that was a long time ago.” He sipped from the cup and placed it on the table. “Did you sleep well?”

“How could anyone not sleep, all cozied up in a feather tick?” she asked. And then remembered the neighbors in their bedroom. “Who lives on the other side of you, the house I see out my window?”

“That's the sheriff, James Kincaid, and his wife, Kate. She's been teaching school for a little over a year now. They say she's a crackerjack. Keeps the big boys in line. The kids all seem to like her. Word is she's a good teacher.”

“And they're going to let her keep on teaching after the baby's born?”

“Yeah, I understand the town council has given permission for her to take the baby to school with her unless she's decided to get someone to watch it. They've really gone overboard to keep the sheriff happy. In fact, school was in session early this year. They figure to let the students out for a couple of weeks when Kate delivers.”

The biscuits were golden and tender, the eggs scrambled and waiting, and Ellie poured a second cup of coffee for Win as he picked up his fork. “Aren't you eating with me?” he asked. “Get yourself a plate, Ellie. You cooked enough for both of us.”

The intimacy of sitting at a breakfast table with a man was unsettling, Ellie thought. Her father had insisted on her staying by the stove to serve him while he took his meals, and she was left with whatever he chose not to eat. She'd taken to standing at the window with a plate or pot in her hand as a result, and decided quickly that the pleasure of sharing a meal was something she could get used to in a hurry.

“I'm going out on house calls,” Win told her, placing his plate in the dishpan. “I should be back a little after noon. Maybe you can find something in the pantry for a sandwich for me.”

He waved a farewell and vanished through the kitchen door into the long hallway that divided the lower floor into his offices and dwelling place. And then the front door closed and he was gone.

Ellie looked around the kitchen, then walked to the back door to look out upon the sadly neglected grass and flowers in Win's backyard. She smiled as she considered the joy of plucking back the dead growth, of watering and watching the flowers flourish, of tending the soil. Stepping out onto the stoop, she lifted her face to the morning sun and inhaled deeply, tasting the scent of freedom.

 

“Is Doc around?” Tess Dillard called through the back screen door and opened it at the same time. “Ellie? Are you here?”

Ellie clattered down the stairway, then hurried through the hallway to the kitchen, almost colliding with Tess in the doorway. “He's gone on house calls,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

“Cam from over at the saloon asked me to locate Doc. Said one of his girls needs to be patched up.” Tess grimaced. “I think a customer got rough with her. Cam said she's bleeding.”

“Is she cut?” Ellie asked.

Tess shook her head. “I don't think that's what he meant.” She looked past Ellie toward the door leading into the other side of the house, where the office was located. “Did he say how long he'd be?”

“No.” With a shake of her head, Ellie walked into the kitchen. “He's been gone quite a while. Left right after breakfast. He didn't say where.”

“Well,” Tess said with a sigh, “I don't think an hour or so longer will make an awful lot of difference anyway. Just tell him Cilla needs to be looked at.”

“Will he know where to go?” The thought of Winston Gray tending to a saloon girl didn't appeal to her for some reason, and Ellie swallowed her distaste. “Does he get called over there often?” she asked hesitantly.

“They're pretty sturdy females,” Tess said with a chuckle. “They take care of themselves most of the time. But once in a while…” She pursed her lips and eyed Ellie thoughtfully. “There's men who don't care how they use a woman,” she said.