Cassandra Austin (2 page)

“Miss Sparks has got four rooms upstairs that she rents out. If they’re all filled, she can accommodate only three more guests at her table. You gotta arrange ahead, like I did for you tonight. There’s money left in the fund we started to bring you here. It’s payin’ the rent on that little house, but there’s enough left to feed you. Besides,” he added, leaning closer to Adam’s shoulder, “the little lady needs the money. I should know-I’m the banker.”

As Pinter opened the front door of the boardinghouse, Adam noticed a small sign nailed to the siding an inch or two below eye level. The words
Almost Home
were painted across it in ornate script He had missed it during his earlier visit.

Inside, Pinter led the way to the parlor. The shades were open, filling the room with afternoon sunshine. Two women were seated at opposite ends of the comfortably furnished room.

“Ah, the Cartland sisters are here already,” Pinter said. “Ladies, have you met the new doctor?”

The women smiled and murmured their greetings. They were both in their thirties, Adam judged, and dressed rather elegantly, or at least more elegantly than Miss Sparks had been. He would have guessed they were sisters, for they had the same large nose.

Pinter took a few steps toward the window, putting him closer to one of the women. “This is Naomi,” he said, “and yonder is Nedra.”

Nedra’s hair was an odd shade of yellow, while her sister’s was…orange. Maybe unusual hair color ran in the family along with the nose.

“Come sit here, Doctor,” said Nedra, indicating the space next to her on the velvet settee.

Adam tried to smile graciously as he crossed the room to join her.

“The ladies are planning to open a dress shop,” Pinter said. “That will be such a welcome addition to the community, don’t you think?”

The question rang with a certain amount of desperation. Catching Pinter’s need for help with the conversation, Adam spoke up. “Where are you ladies from?”

“St. Louis,” Nedra, the yellow-haired one, said. “Our father left us a small inheritance, and we decided we could make more of it out here than in the city.”

“Our skills are needed here,” declared Naomi, as if she saw their move in a very different light. “ And
I don’t just mean our sewing skills. These people are in desperate need of civilizing influences.”

“The good doctor will help us with that,” Nedra said, turning a radiant smile on Adam. “I understand you’re from back east.” She made it sound like a foreign country.

Before Adam could reply another guest entered the parlor. Pinter was quick to make the introduction. “Tim Martin, meet our new doctor, Adam Hart. Tim’s a salesman. He makes the boardinghouse his base whenever he’s in the area.”

Adam rose to shake the man’s hand. He was middle-aged, his thin hair slightly graying.

“Good to meet you,” Martin said. “I was out on a call this afternoon or I would have turned out with the rest to welcome you. Did the band play?”

Adam couldn’t resist a smile at the memory of the band. “Yes, it was quite a welcome.”

“Fine.” He gave Adam a hearty slap on the back. “I love that band. Brings tears to my eyes every time I hear ‘em.” The lilt in his voice made Adam wonder if he meant tears of laughter.

“It could use some civilizing, if you ask me,” Nedra said, tucking a strand of yellow hair in place. “I think they sound awful.”

“It’s their passion,” Martin said, taking a seat and motioning for Adam to return to his. “I heard an interesting story today,” he continued.

With the conversation in Martin’s capable grasp, Adam found himself listening for sounds in the rest
of the house, from the direction of the kitchen in particular. He was unaccountably eager for Miss Sparks to make her entrance, and not just because he was hungry.

Jane carried the last platter to the table. She had heard some of her boarders come down and knew they were gathering in the parlor. There would be seven at the table tonight. She had moved the extra chair to a corner to give the guests on one side of the table a little more room. George, she knew, would notice and take a seat there. Tim would probably take the other. She wondered which seat the doctor would take and why she pictured him at the head, directly across from her.

A quick inventory told her everything was in order but didn’t banish the nervousness that had bothered her all afternoon. It was worry for Grams, she told herself for the twelfth time, not the prospect of eating dinner at the same table as the handsome young doctor.

The doctor unsettled her. The fact that his eyes and voice seemed kind and gentle didn’t mean he was. She tried not to think about what he had. suggested because it made her feel light-headed, but when she
did
think about it, she knew for certain that she had made the right choice. And Dr. Hart wasn’t kind.and gentle or he wouldn’t have suggested such a thing.

But dinner was business. If George hadn’t reserved
a place for the doctor tonight, there’d be two empty chairs. Every meal meant that much more money toward the next house payment. Five more and the house would be hers. It would finally be a home.

Grams won’t be here to see it.

The realization made tears threaten. She forced them aside and headed for the parlor. Five people sat visiting in the warm little room, but Dr. Adam Hart was the first one she saw. He had been watching the door instead of participating in the conversation. Their eyes locked and the intensity of his blue gaze captured hers. Darn, he was every bit as handsome as she remembered. One lock of sandybrown hair fell across his forehead. She thought again that he seemed too young to be a doctor, though he was probably a year or two older than she was.

Tim Martin came to his feet, breaking the spell. “Ah, the lovely lady of the house has joined us.”

In spite of her worries, Jane had to smile. She was far from lovely, especially now when she had had so little sleep. But Tim was a salesman. Complete honesty wasn’t part of his nature. “May I escort you to dinner?” he asked, offering her his arm.

With a glance to make sure the rest of the guests were preparing to follow, she took his arm and walked with him to the dining room. He held her chair and she slipped into it. When the Cartland sisters were seated the men took their places.

“Mr. Bickford is late again,” observed Nedra, giving Naomi a meaningful look. Naomi was silent.

The guests hadn’t taken the chairs Jane had expected. Naomi, of course, had maneuvered her sister away from the center chair on the east side, ensuring the tardy Mr. Bickford would have to be seated next to her. But George had gone to the head of the table, and Tim had taken the chair beside him, leaving the doctor to sit at Jane’s right.

George made the introductions.

“We’ve met,” they said almost in unison. Now why should that completely fluster her? Her cheeks grew warm. Perhaps because she and the doctor had the attention of everyone around the table.

“I looked in on her grandmother this afternoon,” the doctor explained.

“How is the old girl?” George asked, reaching for the bowl of potatoes that sat nearby and scooping up a mound for his plate. The others started dishes around as well, and Jane tried to force herself to relax.

“Not good,” Dr. Hart answered.

Jane mentally crossed her fingers, hoping he would
not
describe what he had wanted to do. Fortunately, George didn’t give him a chance to go into detail. “Too bad,” he said, shaking, his head. “We’re all fond of Grams. Naomi, grab that butter dish there beside you and pass it on around.”

The guests fell silent except for the clink of silver on china and a few murmured requests or thanks.
Jane would have been content for the meal to continue just that way.

“Miss Sparks,” the young doctor began, “I was wondering if I could arrange to take all my meals here.”

Why did that seem like a dangerous request? “ I can’t promise I’ll always have a place for you,” she heard herself say.

“Tomorrow morning?”

Jane pretended to think it over. Of course she had a place—two in fact. “Yes, you can come tomorrow morning. Beyond that, we’ll have to wait and see.”

He nodded. The table was quiet again for several minutes as her guests continued eating.

Tim was the next to speak. “You married, Adam?”

“Engaged,” he said.’

This created a minor stir around the table. Naomi expressed an interest in hearing about the fiancée, smirking a little at her sister’s scowl. Perhaps Nedra had done a little maneuvering of her own. She sat directly across from the doctor.

“Her name’s Doreena,” Dr. Hart began. “She’s very pretty, blond hair, kind of.well, I suppose
petite
is the right word.”

“Little bitty thing, huh?” Tim asked, nudging Hart with his elbow.

The doctor grinned, which made him look even younger than he did already. “About this high,” he
said, touching his arm halfway between his elbow and his shoulder.

She was probably twelve, Jane thought uncharitably. Though she herself was an inch or two taller than the Cartlands, she had never felt overly tall. Never until now, anyway.

“She’s accomplished on the piano,” Adam added, obviously warming to the subject, to the neglect of the roasted chicken on his plate. “She paints a little and is a wonder when it comes to making all the arrangements for a party.”

“Throws a good bash, does she?” Tim queried. “Sounds like quite a catch.”

“Sounds like she’s rich,” Jane said. Just why she felt compelled to enter the conversation, she didn’t know. Was she trying to offend a paying guest?

Instead of being offended, however, the doctor laughed and nodded. “That, too.”

“Then she’s definitely a catch,” Tim said, joining in the laughter.

Jane forced herself to laugh, too, and wondered why she cared at all what the future Mrs. Hart was like.

The merriment died down rather abruptly, and Jane knew her final guest had arrived.

“Here you are,” Naomi said in a voice that dripped with sweetness. “I was beginning to worry about you.”

“The novel, you know. The term will start soon and there will be no time to work on it.”

“This is Lawrence Bickford, our schoolmaster,” George said. “Have you met Dr. Hart?”

Bickford shook his head as he took his seat. “I understand you’re from Philadelphia.”

“Dr. Hart was telling us about his fiancée,” Naomi said as she made sure all the bowls and platters were passed to the late arrival. Jane doubted if he noticed her efforts.

“Don’t get discouraged, lad,” Bickford said as he filled his plate. “Your year in the wilds will fly by and you’ll be together again.”

“Actually, I’m hoping she’ll join me in a few months,” Adam said. “I want to make a home here.”

Jane tried to work up some irritation toward the prospect of a piano-playing, party-planning neighbor. Instead she felt an odd pain at the thought of seeing the perfect Doreena at Adam’s side.

“A wedding,” Naomi cooed. “Isn’t that romantic?” She asked the question of the table at large, but her eyes had turned to the schoolmaster. He made no response.

Jane might have enjoyed Naomi’s attempts to gain Mr. Bickford’s attention if she weren’t feeling somehow ill at ease. Because of her grandmother, she told herself, though to be honest she had nearly forgotten the poor woman for a few minutes. Concentration seemed to be a casualty of sleepless nights.

“Please, excuse me,” she said, coming to her
feet. “I must check on Grams. Enjoy your dinner and stay as long as you like.” Being careful that her glance never met the doctor’s, she left the room. She was afraid his eyes would be condemning. He knew she had chosen to let Grams die.

Grams was sleeping, but Jane sat down beside her anyway, dampening the cloth and returning it to her forehead. She lifted one of Grams’s hands, thinking how hot and brittle it felt. The old woman’s pulse seemed to flutter beneath her fingers.

“I shouldn’t have even sat down with them,” Jane whispered. “I should have stayed with you.”

Voices drifted in from the other room, George’s primarily. She didn’t try to understand what was being said. She wanted to be alone with Grams.

“Remember when we first came here, Grams?” she asked softly. “I wanted to go home. You said, ‘This can be home, Janie. Anywhere someone loves you is home.’“

Jane felt her eyes burn. She hadn’t come in here to cry. But she had fought the tears so often the last few days there was no strength left to fight them. “Don’t go, Grams,” she whispered, lowering her face to her hands. “Don’t go.”

A
dam lost interest in dinner shortly after Jane left. He would have excused himself as well, but the Cartland sisters were extremely interested in his wedding plans, which were few, and his plans for decorating the house, which were even fewer.

Tim Martin began describing a wedding he had attended in another part of the state, and Adam struck on a plan. He could almost convince himself he was being professional.

“Friends,” he said when Martin gave him an opening, “I believe I’ll check on Miss Sparks’s grandmother, then call it a night.”

“Why, that’s so kind of you,” Nedra said.

He gave her a polite smile as he rose. She had been batting her eyes at him all through dinner, and he didn’t want to encourage her. The others, except for Mr. Bickford, wished him good-night as he left the dining room.

The kitchen bore the evidence of the huge meal
Jane had recently prepared. Adam wondered if her entire store of pots and pans had been called into service. Still, the room seemed clean in spite of it, a trick of organization, perhaps.

He moved cautiously toward the little bedroom. He didn’t want to startle Jane, yet he didn’t want to disturb the sick grandmother by calling out to them. At the doorway he paused. Jane sat beside the bed, her face in her hands. She was crying softly. He could hear the grandmother’s labored breathing above the quiet sobs.

He felt like an intruder, but he couldn’t make himself leave. He moved to the far side of the bed and lifted Grams’s bony hand, feeling for the pulse. It was faint and rapid. He gently returned the hand to its place on the sheet.

He should leave. There was nothing he could do for the old lady. Nothing he could do for the granddaughter, either, he told himself. Wrapping her in his arms and letting her cry on his shoulder didn’t seem very professional. Besides, judging by the cool glances she had given him at dinner, she wouldn’t be disposed to accept.

He rested his hand gently on the cloth that lay across the woman’s forehead. It was cool and damp. Even in the state she was in, Jane hadn’t neglected this small service.

She would be embarrassed if she looked up and found him watching her, Adam knew. He ordered his legs to take him out of the room, but found himself
stopping beside Miss Sparks instead. His hand was drawn to the narrow, slumped shoulder.

At the moment of contact her head jerked upright. “Doctor. I didn’t hear you come in.” She brushed frantically at her tear-streaked face.

Adam crouched down beside her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Is she…?”

“Not much change from this afternoon. Are you all right?” He wanted her to say no, to ask him to stay with her.

“Of course.” She sniffed once. “Did somebody need something?”

He shook his head. It seemed to him she was the only one who needed anything, and he didn’t know how to give it. “Let me ask the folks out there to clean up for you.”

“Oh, you can’t do that,” she said, rising to her feet. “They’re paying guests.”

Adam straightened slowly. “They’re also your friends.”

“No, please. I can do it. I can check on Grams every few minutes.”

“Then let me stay and help.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m used to doing it, really.”

She was all but shooing him out of the room. He took the hint, but at the door he turned. “There might still be time, you know. We should do everything we can to save her.”

Jane shook her head. “No. She’s dying. But I couldn’t see her in pain any longer.”

Adam nodded. It was what he expected. Back in the kitchen, he could hear voices from the dining room. He had already told the others good-night, and, not wanting to see Nedra again quite so soon, he left through the back door.

Miss Sparks’s backyard contained a tidy garden and shed, clotheslines and a small chicken house and pen, making his own yard seem barren. The sun was just sinking below the horizon as he reached his back door. His first day here hadn’t turned out to be quite what he expected. His little house seemed too quiet and lonely as he went up the stairs to his bedroom.

He lit a lamp and lifted a book from the pile he had left against a wall. Shelves here and in the examining room were a top priority. He would look into hiring a carpenter tomorrow.

He removed his shoes, coat and tie and worked the collar buttons loose. He settled onto the bed, his back against the headboard. The book lay unopened on his lap as he listened to voices next door. The Cartland sisters were on the porch. There were men’s voices as well, bidding one another goodnight.

After a brief silence, a feminine voice carried to his room. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it, Mr. Bickford?”

A gruff, unintelligible response followed.

“I was hoping you’d join us on the swing for a while.”

Adam heard a grumbled reply, followed by the muffled slam of a door.

“Really, Naomi, how can you stand that man?”

“He’s cultured and educated,” her sister hissed. “I can smooth out the rough edges once we’re married. That’s what women have always done.”

“Rough edges? The man’s a self-absorbed lout.”

Naomi didn’t disagree, and Adam felt a grin tug at his lips. If Mr. Bickford’s window was open the self-absorbed lout could probably hear this conversation, too.

“At least I’m not throwing myself at someone half my age.” That must have been Naomi.

“The doctor isn’t half my age. Five years younger, perhaps.”

“Try ten.”

“He’s cultured and educated, too.”

“With a beautiful fiancée.”

“Who isn’t here. And until she is, he can only compare me to the country milkmaids and slum trash like Jane.”

“And me, of course.”

“You won’t try to ruin this for me, will you?”

“Why shouldn’t I try?
You
can have Mr. Bickford.”

Adam realized he had nearly stopped breathing. It was one thing to listen to their conversation about Mr. Bickford and quite another to be the topic himself.
It wasn’t so much learning that Nedra was interested in him that bothered him; he had figured that out at dinner. It was the calculating way they were discussing him.

And Jane. Did they look down on her because of humble beginnings? Letting them know his own roots should discourage them quickly enough. He would try to work it into the conversation at breakfast if he weren’t certain Doreena would prefer it not be known.

He realized he didn’t simply want to discourage the sisters, he wanted to defend Jane. That struck him as odd because he hardly knew her, apart from the fact that she was a great cook. She was going through a rough time, and while he disagreed with her decision about her grandmother, he felt certain it was for reasons that she, at least, found compelling. The notion that she was allowing Grams to die so the boardinghouse would be hers, or the possibility that she was simply tired of caring for the old woman, had crossed his mind and been dismissed.

Adam had to respect Jane’s wishes. In disagreeing with his authority, she had shown herself to be a strong woman. He smiled at his own thoughts. Her disagreement would be more impressive if he was an older, more respected physician. He was making excuses for her and she didn’t need that.

He laid the book aside and moved to the window. The boardinghouse was in shadows now, but he was certain no one remained on the porch.

What did Jane need?

Not his help. Not even his company.

Grams might linger for a day or two, but he doubted it. She would probably die tonight. In spite of the boarders in the rooms upstairs, Jane would be alone. And Adam couldn’t think of any way to ease her sorrow or his own guilt.

Jane sat in the straight-backed chair beside Grams’s bed and held a hot, fragile hand gently in her own. She had slept in the chair the past two nights, but tonight sleep wouldn’t come. It had taken until nearly midnight to clean up the kitchen and dining room. She had hated to leave her grandmother even for a few minutes, afraid she would die alone.

Now, as the clock ticked toward three o’clock, she thought of all the things she wanted to tell her grandmother. She prayed that Grams would wake up one more time so Jane could tell her how much she loved her. She would tell her how grateful she was for all the things Grams had taught her. She would…

The breathing stopped abruptly. Just like that. Jane stared at the beloved face. “Grams?”

The hand she held was still hot, but the pulse she’d felt a moment before had stilled. Grams was gone.

Jane had thought she was prepared for this but she found herself shaking. Unshed tears burned behind
her eyes and formed a lump in her throat. She would have to face a future without Grams.

“I won’t give up,” she whispered. “I won’t lose the boardinghouse. I’ll work hard and make you proud, Grams.”

Adam arrived for breakfast at the appointed hour and found the parlor deserted. George stepped into the hall and motioned him toward the dining room. “The old lady died last night,” he said softly. “Such a shame. Jane’s gone to make the arrangements and has asked the Cartlands to fix breakfast. We’re trying to set the table.”

Tim Martin was arranging plates and coffee cups, while Lawrence Bickford lounged against the sideboard. “What do you think?” Martin asked.

“Does it matter?” Adam replied. “As long as we’ve got what we need to eat with.”

“Dr. Hart, I’m surprised at you!” One of the Cartlands, the one with orange hair, had come in from the kitchen with a plate of biscuits.
O
for orange; it was Naomi. She gave him what could only be described as an indulgent smile. “The forks go on the left and the knives on the right,” she instructed Martin sternly before flouncing back into the kitchen.

“You’ve been overruled,” Martin said softly. He went to work switching the flatware on his side of the table, and Adam stepped up to take care of the other.

“How is Miss Sparks holding up?” he asked.

“Haven’t seen her,” Martin answered. “Have you, George?”

“Early this morning. She was her usual efficient self. She said her grandmother just slipped away in her sleep. It was a mercy, really. Ah, here comes breakfast.”

The Cartland sisters paraded in, one with a platter of scrambled eggs and the other with sliced ham. Nedra spoke as she approached the table. “George, would you get the coffee? I swear that pot is just too heavy for either of us to be carrying around.”

George moved quickly to do her bidding.

When Naomi approached a chair near where he stood, Adam automatically stepped forward to hold it for her. Her flirtatious smile made him curse his ingrained manners.

Naomi was in Jane’s place, Adam to her right and Nedra to her left. George filled the coffee cups, and, when he was seated, the Cartlands started the platters around the table.

“Cooking for this many people is quite an experience,” Naomi commented.

The eggs were so rubbery Adam was sure he saw them bounce when he dropped them on his plate.

“So many things to watch at once,” her sister concurred. “Why, I swear it would tax less intelligent women.”

Adam heard a biscuit actually clink against George’s plate.

“Jane makes it look so easy,” Martin commented.

Naomi tossed her head as if the comment was inconsequential. “I suppose if one has no other skills, cooking for large groups of people would at least be something.”

Her sister nodded. “But we thought it was our duty to be of help to poor Jane.”

The men politely murmured their understanding and thankfulness. All of the women’s comments had been directed toward Adam, and they watched his every move. He took a sip of coffee and put the cup down quickly, hoping they hadn’t seen his grimace, then hoping they had. They had used an egg to settle the grounds, but the coffee had been allowed to boil again afterward, leaving it tasting more like eggs than the eggs on his plate.

Adam tried to eat a little of the poorly prepared food, telling himself that it was the nutrition that counted. A glance around the table told him the other men were doing the same.

“There might be something to be said for practice,” Naomi commented.

Murmurs of agreement echoed around the table.

“Tell me, Adam,” Nedra began. “I
can
call you Adam,
can’t
I?” She fluttered her heavily blackened eyelashes.

“Of course.” If he-took small enough bites of the biscuit and chewed it long enough his stomach
ought to be able to digest it, he reasoned. It couldn’t be any worse than the hardtack soldiers ate.

“So tell me, Adam.” She actually giggled. “What do you think of our little town so far?”

Adam swallowed, then took a sip of the coffeeand-egg brew to be sure it went down. “Well,” he said, “the people are certainly friendly.”

“Of course they are,” Naomi said, obviously trying to draw his attention away from Nedra. “You should let me show you around.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun?” Nedra said. “We could do it anytime.”

Naomi’s eyes shot venom at her sister, but Nedra didn’t notice; she was too intent on Adam.

Adam thought again of mentioning his humble beginnings, but somehow, initiating any conversation with either of these women seemed risky. He glanced at Mr. Bickford and found him eating as if he were the only one present. Perhaps experience had taught him to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Well, I’m off to the bank,” George said, rising from the table. “Can I get anyone more coffee before I go?” Adam wasn’t surprised that there were no takers.

With the ice broken, the rest found it easy to leave as well. Adam was back in his empty little house in no time. After the initial elation of being away from the Cartland sisters came the more sobering realization that, until he had a patient, he didn’t have much to do. He wished again that Doreena had consented
to come with him. He would at least have company while he waited.

He slouched in one of the chairs in his front room and gazed at his surroundings. He wanted to hire a carpenter to build the shelves. And he ought to lay in some food in case the Cartlands cooked again.

He laughed out loud. “That was the worst meal I’ve ever eaten,” he said softly. If nothing else, it had prepared him for Doreena’s inexperience. She couldn’t possibly do worse.