Ginny Aiken (2 page)

Knowing she could do no more, Letty left. That night, the faces of the Forrest children haunted her sleep.

Then came morning. Another quiet morning that stretched into another quiet afternoon. Some might have taken the inactivity in stride, others might have quit, but Letty couldn’t do either. She refused to give up, even faced with her dismal situation, even when her optimism threatened to wilt.

“Since I’m not likely to have any patients today,” she muttered,
noting how talking to herself had become a habit, “perhaps I can help at the college.”

Wearing her cape against the bitter winds and snow, Letty left a message on the door. Not that she expected any patients.

A few blocks later, she shed her glum thoughts and ascended the steps to the massive wooden doors of the brick bastion that was the Homeopathic Medical College of Philadelphia. Inside, she hung her cape to drip rivulets on the damp floor. She hoped that she would find someone in the office, that someone somewhere might put her training to good use, but when she opened the door, she found the room deserted. At the desk, however, partly covering an open volume of Hahnemann’s
Materia Medica Pura,
was a letter addressed to the college. Unable to squelch her curiosity, Letty tilted her head until she could read the missive.

Letty could hardly believe her eyes. She darted a guilty glance
down the hall. Finding it empty, she allowed temptation the upper hand. She folded Mr. Wagner’s letter into a tiny square and tucked it into her skirt pocket. Donning her cape, she left the medical college at a near run.

Hartville, Colorado, had found its doctor.

1

Hartville, Colorado—January 1893

Letty extracted the pilfered and by now much-read letter from the satchel at her feet. Each time she looked at the creased page, a pang of guilt crossed her conscience. Each time it did, she lay the burden at the foot of the cross, having sought the Lord’s forgiveness even as she’d taken the missive. Mr. Wagner
had
requested a qualified physician experienced with women and children, and he was getting just that.

The memory of Arnold Forrest’s disdain led Letty to believe that only a perceptive man would understand a woman’s medical needs. A man who would seek a woman’s doctor from halfway across the country had probably married a wise, strong woman. Letty looked forward to befriending the fortunate lady.

She sighed. Resignation was necessary in her case, but hardly enjoyable. Yes, she was a spinster, twenty-five years old and a doctor at that, so her prospects for marriage were few indeed. Most of the time she could suppress any traces of longing, but
this endless train ride provided ample opportunity to ponder most any subject.

Even Mrs. Agatha Tilford’s conversation occupied only a fragment of Letty’s attention. Having regaled her with Hartville gossip ever since Pittsburgh, the lady caught naps only occasionally. Letty welcomed each rare respite.

She couldn’t wait for her first glimpse of the town, especially since they were close now. Leaving Philadelphia had been easier than she had expected. Her dismal situation at the clinic had offered strong inducement. And she had no family left since Mother’s death a year ago and few acquaintances to bid farewell.

Besides, most of the Morgan family’s friends had agreed with Mother about Letty’s chosen profession. Scraps of past conversations came to mind.

“Your actions set you beyond what society deems proper, Letitia.”

“But, Mother, I want to heal the hurting and care for those who suffer.”

“Think of my suffering, Letitia. I cannot hold my head up among our friends. My daughter, training to become a doctor. A real lady would never do something so unfeminine.”

Staring at the motion-blurred landscape through her window, Letty tried to block the image of a dear face, but nothing stopped the memories or the residual sadness. Marcus Roberts.

Dear Marcus. It would have been lovely had their budding feelings grown to full bloom, but Mother’s dismissive wave the day Letty confided Marcus’s interest still cut deeply.

“A gentleman in Mr. Roberts’s position would never consider you for marriage,” she’d said. “Had you excelled in womanly arts instead of pursuing your father’s profession, then perhaps you might aspire to that honor. He can’t possibly be serious.”

Letty’s eyes stung, and as usual, she fought the tears. This was the last time she would let herself think of Marcus and what might have been. He belonged in the past, in Philadelphia
with his bride of four months. Her future lay in Hartville, Colorado.

She focused on that future. Each turn of the train’s wheels soothed her pain as she saw the nation out her window. After a while, she closed her eyes, letting her mind go blank. When she reopened them, it was to peer out with equal measures of excitement and trepidation. Mountains reached toward heaven, covered in a blanket of white. The sun, burning sharply in a blue, blue sky, caught the lacy patterns of mounded snowflakes and turned them into prisms. Tiny rainbows seemed to hover wherever her eyes roamed.

If she had to relinquish her dreams of a man, a home, and children to fill her arms, at least she would do so where winter looked appealing. The landscape outside replaced her memories of Philadelphia’s dingy street slush, and Letty knew she would forever picture winter as this pristine scene on the way into Hartville.

She soon caught sight of a cabin up ahead. The sturdy structure perched proudly on the foothill, a plume of smoke announcing that welcome and warmth would be found inside.

A short span beyond that first house, Letty saw another. Then another. Clusters of buildings soon peppered the snowy valley.

The blast of the train whistle announced their approach to Hartville. A ripple of anticipation and a wobble of wariness worked their way up Letty’s spine. She reached for her satchel, not to reclaim the letter, but to embark upon her new life. A life she hoped would be eased by Mr. Wagner’s assistance. And she mustn’t forget his wife. That lady could provide mountains of information and support. Letty hoped she had accompanied Mr. Wagner to the station.

The train whistle shrieked again, and the wheels grabbed the track. The braking train pulled against her, dragging her deeper into the lumpy upholstery. As they slowed, her compartment rolled closer to the station platform.

Two men stood there.
Pity,
she thought,
Mrs. Wagner hasn’t come. We will have to meet another day.

One of the two men appeared quite old, round-shouldered and slender. She’d heard enough about Mr. Tilford from his wife to identify him at first glance, and to know she preferred to avoid meeting him today.

The train chugged in slower now, and Letty got her first clear look at the other man. Since he held his black hat, his wavy hair caught the sun and shone gold. His eyes, deep and dark, matched the shade of her favorite chocolate bonbons, while a blade of a nose ridged his face above a well-trimmed mustache. His square jaw suggested an uncompromising nature. Surely this wasn’t Mr. Wagner. This man was far younger than she’d envisioned her sponsor.

“Oh, honestly,” she muttered under her breath. “It doesn’t matter whether that man is or isn’t Mr. Wagner. What does matter is finding your luggage and starting your new life.” Firming her shoulders, satchel in hand, she joined Mrs. Tilford in the aisle.

Eric waited on the platform, numbed by the drone of Hubert Tilford’s advice. The man expounded on every topic known to mankind. Unfortunately for his listeners, he knew almost nothing about nearly everything. Well, that wasn’t quite right, either. Tilford displayed true genius in the sawmill business. At the moment, however, Eric lacked the patience to learn the merits of sawdust, much less to listen to directives on how he should run his newspaper.

He had to locate the new doctor. It was ironic that he had finally lured a physician, a woman yet, to practice medicine in his town too late to do him any good.

The past two years had blunted his pain. He had turned regret and failure into action; he had found a lady doctor for Hartville. Still, no number of good deeds could atone for his sins.

Eric didn’t have time for bitter memories just then. He had to find Dr. Letitia Morgan, homeopathic physician. Because of the daunting title, Eric expected a middle-aged spinster, large enough, tough enough, and experienced enough to handle any eventuality. He pictured her with steel-gray hair coiled in a tight knot, spectacles riding the bridge of a pragmatic nose, a severe black suit encasing her stout body.

Hartville needed a most competent woman. Someone who would scare everyone back to health.

The train ground to a stop. Passengers left the cars. The conductor barked instructions to a pair of burly youths who began unloading luggage. Two black leather trunks labeled with the doctor’s name and Eric’s address thudded onto the platform at his feet. Two trunks—not much for a person setting up medical practice. Surely a physician needed supplies, a certain quantity of the medications she might prescribe. Could those two unremarkable cases hold it all?

Then he had his answer. Box upon crate joined the trunks in rapid succession, filling the platform. Mr. Tilford edged closer as the cargo threatened his presence on the structure. When the mountain grew no more, Eric counted thirteen pieces.

As he looked for the woman responsible for the abundance of baggage, Mrs. Tilford stepped down from the train. A tiny woman in a gray woolen ulster followed. Beneath a trim, gray hat, brown curls bounced on her forehead.

Then she looked up.

Her dove-gray gaze met his and reached deep. He stared—he couldn’t help himself. A random thought came to him:
This woman is strong enough to heal all that ails Hartville.

Pity medicine can’t heal your tattered heart,
his conscience taunted.

Eric spat a German word for which his mother had once scrubbed his mouth with soap, scolding him in the family’s native
tongue. He then rammed his hat on his head. Perhaps it would keep his thoughts from straying.

The train whistled again, startling the gray-eyed lady as it pulled out. He approached and extended his hand. “Dr. Morgan?”

She tilted her head. “Mr. Wagner?”

“At your service.” A shiver sped through Eric when their hands touched. Taken aback, he turned to preserve his dignity.

A fleeting notion crossed his mind. What if one of her many cases hid a cure for festering guilt?

“Dummkopf,”
he muttered under his breath, falling back on German as he occasionally did. Anyone could see she was too clean, too innocent, to be acquainted with the darkness he knew. He hadn’t expected a woman so young. Although the diminutive Dr. Morgan was no classic beauty, she had round, shining eyes, an uptilted nose, and a smile—goodness, what a gentle smile.

Clearing his throat, Eric fought to restore normalcy to a day that had veered far from normal. “I had no idea a homeopathic physician needed so much paraphernalia. What’s in the boxes?”

“Most people are familiar with our preference for infinitesimal dosage and think I need only medicated pellets. But for my practice I need textbooks, a microscope, tongs, tweezers, knives, scissors, and linens. Since I had it all at my clinic in Philadelphia, I brought it along. I’m ready for patients.” Her words came in a lilting rush, punctuated by nods.

He smiled. “I hope you’ll be pleased with the arrangements we’ve made for you. The house is small, but it has enough room to turn the parlor and dining room into a clinic.”

“Why, that’s precisely what I had in Philadelphia. It worked well. I made myself a sleeping area in the kitchen and kept everything close at hand. I’m certain this will be lovely.”

Her verve and optimism were contagious. “There’s a bedroom upstairs,” he added. “You won’t need to sleep in the kitchen like an orphaned kitten.”

He’d hoped his words would bring on another smile, but instead, her lips formed an “oh!”

He gestured toward her belongings. “We can’t fit your boxes in my carriage, but we’ll take the trunks now. The rest can be delivered later.”

He spoke with the porters and let them know his plans. Then he said, “Let’s get you home. After your long trip, you must be ready for a rest.”

Letty shook her head. The curling brown wisps of hair danced again. “I can’t wait to be on my way, but I’m so happy to be here, I doubt I could lie down and rest right now.”

Her vibrancy enticed Eric to smile again, but a warning rang through his thoughts. Drawing himself to his full height, he remembered the glare his late father had used to convey displeasure. He hoped he could carry it off. “You need the rest. Hartville can’t afford a worn-out physician.”