Christmas With the Colburns (3 page)

Chapter Four

Lydia pulled the hairpins from her chignon and dropped them
into a glass votive atop her dresser. When she glanced into the mirror, her
reflection reminded her more of her mother than of herself. She averted her
eyes and picked up her hairbrush.

After a few slow strokes, she flipped her hair behind her
back and waited for Connor to notice her new nightgown. Sitting on the other
side of the bed, he stared into the wardrobe as he unbuttoned his shirt. He rarely
went this long without looking at her.

She rubbed her bare arms, hoping to draw his attention to the
gown’s lack of sleeves. “Mandy has taken up sewing. She says it’s nesting since
she only has a few weeks until the baby comes, but her clothing designs are
anything but matronly.”

He removed his socks and dropped them on the floor.

She blew out the flame of the oil lamp on her bedside table
and straightened the dainty silk bow on her gown’s low-cut neckline. “So what
do you think?”

“Hm?” He kept his back to her. The low light of his lamp
defined his muscular build.

“About the nightgown Mandy made for me?”

He angled his chin toward her. “Nice.”

“Connor? Are you mad about this morning?”

“No.”

“Because I was just frustrated with my family. I’m sorry I
took it out on you.”

He lowered his head into his hands. “That’s not it.”

“What brought this on?” She moved across the bed and wanted
to touch him, to wrap her arms around him, to pull him from whatever abyss his
thoughts had dragged him into. But she waited. He would feel her near him and
reach for her when he was ready. Whenever he was smothered by that dark
silence, her insides twisted into aching knots. She put her hand to her stomach
and asked God to give him peace.

Connor lifted his head but still did not look at her. His
voice was low and gruff. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Worry about me.”

She removed her hand from her middle. “I was praying for
you.”

He let out a quick breath—the kind that would
ordinarily prelude a chuckle—and cast his gaze to the ceiling. “I’m
sorry. Yes, do that. Definitely do that.”

She laid her cheek against the warm skin of his back. “What
has happened?”

“Nothing.” He rubbed his thumb along the lace strap at her
shoulder. “This new?”

“It is.” She touched the silk bow as she searched his face.
His eyes were on her, but the darkness remained. His effort to hide his anxiety
was valiant, but unnecessary. “Are you going to Woodland tomorrow?”

He raked his fingers through his hair, and it left black
grooves like a plowed field. “I have to. I know you’re worried about your
holiday traditions, but your father is right: I need to make the decision
whether or not I’ll train to be the next overseer of Good Springs. I’ve put
this off long enough.”

“I didn’t mean to make things harder on you.”

Connor furrowed his brow. “You’ve never made things hard on
me. You make my life complete. I love you and Andrew and this family and this
village. I want to do the right thing for everyone.”

She had grown used to the idea of her husband becoming the next
leader of Good Springs someday, and she was beginning to like it. It meant they
would live their lives in the Colburn house, but it also meant they would both
have jobs that would frequently interrupt family time, including holidays. But
if it were what he was called to do, she could deal with the inconveniences.
“It’s just bad timing, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to leave you at Christmastime, especially while
Isabella is near death and you’re busy with the baby and work. And I know
you’re upset because the rest of your family is doing their own thing this
year, but your dad will be here. This is his house, after all.” He was smiling
now. She could hear it in his voice. “I will try my best to be back by
Christmas dinner. I have to do this and I need you to trust me. Okay?”

“All right.”

“Good.” He peeled the quilt back. “Now let’s forget about it
for tonight, please. At any moment a villager could bring a sick or wounded
person to the medical office and ring the bell, and we won’t have another quiet
moment alone for days.”

As Connor leaned onto the pillow beside her and pulled her
close, the detestable darkness receded. The sweetness of being together in the
quiet of the night took its place. As he traced a finger along her arm, she let
out a contented sigh. She could not forget everything was changing, but she
could put it aside long enough to enjoy their time together.

Something downstairs rattled the wall. Connor shifted in the
bed and the quilt rustled. Beneath the sound, voices murmured outside. Before
she could listen for it again, the bell on the wall rang.

She jumped out of bed and pinched the wire so the bell would
stop ringing before it woke the whole house. This was the last thing she needed
right now, but duty swallowed self-pity. She pulled a work dress over her fancy
new nightgown.

Connor tossed the covers off and stood. He reached for his
shirt. “I’ll go out to the medical office with you.”

“No, stay here. Remember, you have your work and I have mine.
Besides, if Andrew wakes up, he’ll need you. We can’t expect Bethany to watch
him all the time; she’ll move out soon.” She pointed at the bedside table.
“Would you light my lamp for me, please?”

“Here, take mine.”

She buttoned her dress. “No, I need mine.”

“What you need is an assistant.” He moved to her table,
struck a match, and lit her lamp. As he carried it to her, he raised an
eyebrow. “Ever thought about getting a nurse?”

“A what?”

“A nurse.”

She laced her boots in case the person at the door needed her
to ride out somewhere to help someone. “For Andrew?”

“No, in the medical office. One of the students graduating
this year, Sophia Ashton, wants to train with you.”

“Doctor Ashton’s granddaughter?”

“Yeah. What do you think?”

“I can’t think about it right now. I have to go.” Lydia
grabbed a hairpin from her dresser and reached for the door. “Don’t wait up.”

“Lydia?”

“Yes?”

“Please be careful.”

Chapter Five

Lydia nestled Andrew into his crib for his afternoon nap,
covering him with his favorite blanket. He promptly kicked it off and stuffed
his foot into his mouth, then watched her to see if she would try to cover him
again.

“I’m not falling for it, mister.” She smiled at him and
closed the nursery door behind her.

Exhausted from being awake with a patient all night, she was
tempted to flop onto her bed and sleep too, but Isabella needed care. As she
descended the stairs, Lydia picked up a bundle of dirty laundry she had left on
the landing. It would get washed Monday no matter what. She dumped the laundry
in the kitchen by the pantry, loaded a tray with Isabella’s favorite afternoon
snack, and took it to her great aunt’s bedroom.

Isabella’s door stood open and the heavy drapes were tied
back, allowing the afternoon sun to light the room. Lydia raised her voice as
she entered. “Aunt Isabella, it’s me, Lydia. Would you like something to eat?”
She set the tray on the doily-covered nightstand. “I brought you tea and
shortbread cookies.”

“Seventy-eight years I’ve lived in this room, and I’ve always
kept the curtains closed in the afternoon.” Her gravelly voice sounded painful.
“I don’t like how the sun heats the room when it hits the windows.”

Lydia peeled back the quilts and touched her blind aunt’s
hand. “Your skin is cold. A little extra heat won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t like sunshine coming in here,” Isabella mumbled.
“It’ll shrink the rug.”

“I need the light.” Lydia reached for a vile of balm and
dabbed it on Isabella’s chapped lips. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, dear.” Isabella pressed her lips together. “I need you
to go to my wardrobe and get something.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“It’s not for me, child. It’s for you.” Isabella lifted a
crooked finger. “Inside, at the back of the top drawer, beneath the shawl. It’s
a family journal that was entrusted to my keeping. I should have given it to
you long ago, but I always feared it would only sadden you.”

Though she didn’t expect to find anything in the drawer,
Lydia stepped to the varnished wardrobe and opened its smooth doors. The scent
of lavender wafted out as she followed her aunt’s instructions. She drew out
the shawl, and at the back of the drawer beneath a sachet of dried lavender was
a pocket-sized notebook. Its thick paper cover was crisp, as if the notebook
had hardly been touched, let alone written in. She opened the cover and there
in her mother’s handwriting it said:
Private.
If found, please return to Mrs. Hannah Colburn.

It couldn’t be. Lydia’s stomach tightened. Once desperate for
her departed mother, she had asked her father if he had anything her mother had
written. He had said her mother never kept a journal.

She flipped to the first page:
I expected my eighteenth Christmas to be a lonesome holiday, missing my
family and dreading the future, but one week with the Colburns of Good Springs
changed my life forever.

It didn’t read like a journal at all, but more of a personal
narrative. Lydia clapped the notebook shut. “Who wrote this?”

“Your mother. She was having emotional difficulty after your
birth. I suggested she write her account of the happiest time in her life, to
help her overcome her sadness. After she wrote about falling in love with your
father, she brought the journal to me and said she couldn’t bear the thought of
someone reading what she had written. She wanted to burn it. I convinced her to
let me hide it.” Isabella blew out a long breath. “And now I’ll hide it with
you.”

Though the journal was small, it felt heavy in Lydia’s hand.
“Why me? I’m grateful, I really am, but shouldn’t Father have it?”

Isabella closed her unseeing eyes and lay back against the
pillow. “That is up to you, but since you are facing Christmas with sorrow, I
think you should read it first.”

“Did writing the story help Mother overcome her sadness?”

Isabella didn’t answer. Her head lolled to the side.

“Aunt Isabella?” Lydia felt the pulse at her neck. It came in
weak intermittent beats. She adjusted the pillows and raised the quilt to
Isabella’s emaciated shoulders. “Rest now. I’ll be back to check on you in a
little while.”

She slipped the little journal into her dress pocket and left
Isabella’s room. With her two charges sleeping, Lydia took slow steps through
the parlor and into the kitchen. She treasured the quiet of the house, and her
only duty at present was to savor the silence. She sat in the wingback chair
beside the stone hearth and propped her weary feet on the footstool.

The clock on the wall behind her clicked heavily, as it did
every hour. She didn’t need to look back to know the time. Two o’clock. Connor
was at the chapel, studying theology with her father, and Bethany was working
at the pottery yard, probably loading her work into the kiln.

For the moment, no one needed her, and it was a welcome
relief. She let her head rest against the back of the chair. As she closed her
eyes, a soft knock rattled the back door. She hurried out of the parlor and
through the kitchen to answer the door, hoping neither the baby nor Isabella
would be disturbed.

A young woman with chestnut hair swept up in a puffy bun
raised a knuckle to tap again on the window of the back door. Lydia quickly
pulled it open.

“So sorry to disturb you, Dr. Bradshaw,” she said, smoothing
the ribbing on her dress. “Mr. Bradshaw told me to come to the back door if you
didn’t answer the door at the medical cottage.”

“It’s quite all right.” Lydia gave the young woman a quick
scan as she pulled the door closed behind her to limit the sound that bled
through the house. “Are you ill?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that,” she smiled. “I’m Sophia Ashton.
I’m in Mr. Bradshaw’s class—was in his class. I just finished school
yesterday and he told me to come talk to you about possibly training with you.”

“Oh, yes. He mentioned it.” Lydia shielded her eyes from the
afternoon sun and instantly saw the Ashton family resemblance. “You have your
grandmother’s eyes.”

“Thank you. She and Grandfather always spoke well of you.”
Sophia glanced at the closed kitchen door, as if awaiting an invitation.

“My baby is taking his nap at the moment, and my great aunt
is not well. She is also resting.” Lydia pointed at the medical cottage. “Let’s
go into my office to talk.”

“Okay,” Sophia beamed. “That’s one of Mr. Bradshaw’s words.
I’d never heard the word until I came to Good Springs, but all the students
here say it. I rather like Mr. Bradshaw’s expressions. It must be fascinating
for you, being married to an outsider.”

“At times.” It was less fascinating when young women drooled
over her husband, but she had gotten used to that long ago and had decided to
consider it flattering.

The knob squeaked as she opened the door to the medical
cottage. She slid her mother’s journal into her desk drawer and motioned to the
chair beside her desk. “Have a seat.”

Sophia cast her gaze about the room. “I adore your cottage. I
can’t imagine having a space like this all to myself. It must have been lovely
living out here all by yourself.”

Lydia sat at her desk and glanced at the stairs that led to
her old bedroom. “It was nice.”

“And probably so quiet not having children around.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, not that your baby is loud.” Sophia blushed. “I was
thinking of my niece and nephew. They are twins—eighteen months old. They
make quite a racket, screaming all day and waking each other up at night. I
have to sleep in their room. Not that I mind.”

“Aren’t you living with your sister and her family in Doctor
Ashton’s old house?”

“That’s right.”

Lydia visualized the floor plan of her late mentor’s home. “I
thought it had three bedrooms.”

“My sister and her husband keep separate bedrooms. She says
that will ensure they don’t have any more twins.”

Lydia almost laughed. Instead, she raised her palm. “It’s
none of my business. Where are your parents?”

“Still in Woodland. My sister insisted I come to Good Springs
to finish school, because everyone spoke highly of Mr. Bradshaw’s teaching. I’m
glad I did for that reason, but she really wanted me to come so I would mind
her children for her.”

“So now that you’ve finished school, why not return to
Woodland?”

“I planned to, but…” Sophia touched the stone mortar and
pestle Lydia kept on her desk. She traced the edge with her fingertip. “I’ve
been reading my grandfather’s journals, and I’ve become intrigued with the gray
leaf medicine. It’s my desire to assist you in your research. I want to learn
more about the gray leaf and see what else it can do.”

Lydia grinned. “Perhaps it can cure screaming toddlers.”

“Perhaps.” Sophia chuckled. “I know a medical apprenticeship
takes years of study and training, and I’m not sure that I could be a doctor.
All I know is that I want to help people and I want to study the gray leaf.”

Lydia leaned her forearms against the desk. Some days her
work was quiet, but with baby Andrew and having to care for Aunt Isabella, she
didn’t have time for the gray leaf research she longed to do. And then there
were days when she was called to duty. She lived for those moments of rescue
and medical intervention, sometimes saving a life. But often in the hours of
patient observation afterward, she wished she had an assistant.

Sophia had the desire, intelligence, the Ashton lineage, and
a healthy sense of humor. Perhaps this could work. “I’m only a few years into
my career, so I don’t consider myself ready to take on a medical apprentice.
However, since you’re interested in research, if you’re also interested in
learning patient care, I’d be willing to train you as an assistant.”

“Oh, thank you, Dr. Bradshaw! You won’t regret it!”

Lydia pointed to the stairs that led to the empty bedroom.
“The job comes with housing.” When Sophia clasped her hands excitedly, Lydia
held up a finger. “But it also requires your being willing to watch my son when
my duties demand my attention.”

Sophia’s pretty smile held steady. “I’d be happy to.”

“Are you sure? Because I don’t want you to feel like you’re
trading one set of babysitting duties for another. It wouldn’t be often that
you’d have to mind him—only when I have a patient and Connor isn’t home.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Be sure to discuss it with your sister. She might not be
happy about your leaving. I don’t want any ill feelings, as if I’m taking her
babysitter. I’m not. That would only be a small part of your duties. Your
medical training would come first.”

Sophia nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll discuss it with her,
but I’m sure she’ll agree that it would be good for me to train for a
profession.”

“Great.” Lydia stood from the desk and walked to the
bannister. “Would you like to see your new room?”