Serendipity (4 page)

A pretty blush washed her cheeks as a soft smile lifted her lips . . . like they’d shared a secret or something. “Respecting traditions and seeking out new tales can only improve one’s lot. Mr. Valmer, I’m fixin’ to spend a while with your mama.” Miss Rose made a shooing motion. “Go join the others. There’s food aplenty. Worry ofttimes leaves a fearsome appetite in its wake.”

Suddenly the aromas of a good meal registered. So did the stampede of men heading toward him. Survival and hunger – both instincts kicked in. He headed in the direction she’d gestured.

What a kitchen! He could have fit his entire cabin in it. A trestle table lined each side, and the center held a big worktable, a circle of chairs, and a pile of wood shavings. The largest stove Todd ever saw commanded the corner of the inside wall, providing heat for the whole building. Expensive white enamel smoothed across the doors of that oven, and fancy nickel doodads added embellishment. Savory steam rose from a gigantic pot on it.

Suddenly everything made sense. “So this is a restaurant.”

Bo Carver let out a shout of laughter, and the men did likewise. “Valmer, you got yourself a fine sense of humor.”

In a matter of minutes, they all had corn bread and bowls of stew in front of them. An old gent offered a blessing and slipped in a word concerning Ma. Afterward, he sat down next to Todd. “Eat hearty and enjoy it. A finer healer you’ll not find for a far, far ride.”

Please, God, don’t let that be one of the tall tales
. From what Todd had witnessed, reactions in this crowd came fast and clear. So far he’d seen these men be protective of the gal, fall readily into mirth, and display their curiosity. Not once had any of them uttered a lie. No chuckles, snickers, or throat clearing followed the declaration that Miss Rose knew her way around sick folks – just the sounds of men diving into good food.

A full baker’s dozen crowded around the tables, and they all seemed remarkably hale, considering their ages. Perhaps Miss Rose did have some skill. Todd spooned in a bite. The incredible taste of venison stew filled his mouth. If Miss Rose cured her patients half as well as she cooked, Ma ought to be square dancing by breakfast.

He had no choice but to depend on Miss Rose to care for Ma. Trusting no one else might be more capable – that was a horse of a different color. He needed to weigh his words, consider his actions, and make a decision. But while he did, he was going to satisfy his hunger with this tasty stew. The aroma brought back memories of when Pa and he would go hunting. Ma always made Victory Venison Stew when they returned. Only this was seasoned a little differently – better, actually. Not that he’d ever tell Ma.

“Mmm-hmm. That little gal’s a dab hand at patchin’ up ailin’ folks. And if she can’t heal somebody, at least our Maggie sure will serve ’em up a dandy last supper!”

Todd choked on his bite. He swallowed and rasped, “Good food.”

“Yap. Our Maggie says it don’t take more time to stir a pot with three gallons in it than it does to stir one with three quarts. She cooks everything – and makes it tasty.”

The oldest one – Paw-Paw, they called him – slurped from his spoon. “Ain’t a thing I wouldn’t do for that gal. She’s one of a kind.”

Others nodded or echoed his sentiments. Mr. Carver carefully set aside food for his niece before the men relished seconds. Todd wasn’t shy about accepting. His ability to cook included beans, rice, grits, and searing side meat or fresh kill. Oh – he boiled eggs, too. But the yolks never failed to turn a sickening green. These men had no notion what a treasure they had.

Well, maybe they did. As they put on their jackets and left for the night, two of them set things on the worktable. No wonder her home resembled a magpie’s nest – perhaps Miss Rose wouldn’t accept money for cooking and caring for this bunch of men, so they paid her with gifts. If she didn’t display the stuff, the old men’s feelings would be crushed. It all made sense in a backward sort of way.

Ma would only be here a few days. He’d talk to her about ignoring the mess.

A couple of days. Todd grimaced. Added on to the time he’d already been gone, it was an eternity. Barely a handful of times had his father left their farm in Virginia for three days – and never once any longer. Yet to fetch Ma in Virginia and carry her back to Texas took a walloping five days – and that was allowing for five scant hours in Virginia. Stretching the already-unheard-of time to a full week not only increased his debt to his neighbor, John Toomel, who was caring for his stock; it endangered the farm.

“Hope you’re good at washing.” Mr. Carver jarred him from his worries. “I always dry.”

Todd eyed the pile of dirty dishes. “For that supper, I would wash all of the dishes twice.”

“You’ve a silver tongue, Mr. Valmer.”

At the sound of Miss Rose’s voice, Todd whipped around. Somber stillness replaced her sparkle and sass. “Uncle Bo, I’ll see to the dishes in a bit. Mr. Valmer, we need to talk about your mama.”

Maggie crossed the kitchen. “Would you prefer we speak in private, Mr. Valmer?”

He paused a second. “Is it something a woman would wish to keep private?”

She fought to keep her shoulders from slumping beneath the weight of the bad news. Best he hear it straight out; shilly-shallying just stretched folks’ nerves. “What’s befallen your mama can occur to either woman or man. It’s not something that will remain a secret.”

With a gentleman’s fine manners, he pulled out a chair and motioned for her to occupy it. And he scooted it back in just right, too. Then he sat down and leaned his elbows on the table, abandoning those manners. “So, then, tell me.”

“Your mama had an attack of apoplexy. Just how severe it is, only time will tell. Some folks, they’re almost good as new in a few days. Others never do recover at all. Most fall in the middle, and with hard work they learn how to do some things for themselves again.”

Maggie paused for a moment to let that sink in, taking a sip of the tea her uncle slipped to her. Bitter, but certainly less bitter than what she’d be saying next. “As soon as we opened the blanket and her arm dropped and hung there, I suspected she’d suffered a stroke. I’ve books and a journal to which I refer. They all concur after such an episode, the patient is expected to be exhausted and confused.”

His light brown brows crinkled. “Confused?”

“Unable to recall where she is, or even who you are – though it’s safe to assume she recognizes you from how she responds to your nearness. She’s not uttered a word for me. Has she said anything to you?”
Please say yes. Please recall her having spoken even a few
sentences. . . .

Wiping his rough hand down very worried features, Mr. Valmer paused. “Sounds. She’s made sounds. As for words . . .” He shook his head slowly. “What would this mean?”

Experience taught Maggie to save some good news to give after the bad, so she folded her hands on the tabletop and continued to meet his gaze. “Very often, when someone suffers like this, when they lose their ability to speak, they keep functioning abilities of the right side. She might well struggle to communicate, but your mama will be able to do lots for herself.”

The muscles in his jaw twitched as he clenched it tighter and tighter with every word she spoke. That tattled on a stubborn temperament – and Mr. Valmer was going to need plenty of dogged persistence in the next several months to hound his mama into relearning how to do things for herself. “Ma’s left-handed.”

“I see.” Immediately realizing she needed to change the comforting things she planned to say, Maggie nodded to give herself a moment. “We’ll see how much use she regains in her limbs. As I said, there’s a possibility she’ll regain some of her abilities again. But as she’s left-handed, that means she’ll most likely have preserved her ability to speak. Praise Jesus, she’ll be able to talk and make herself understood, to sing and to pray. Of all the losses a body could suffer, I’d imagine that not being able to speak would be the most frustrating of all. We still have another hand that can take over if the other’s injured, but we’ve only one voice box.”

Mr. Valmer remained silent.

Folks needed a chance to weigh the information given them. Maggie doubted the stranger would need long, though. He’d been swift and sure in deciding how to treat Jerlund. One glance, and it was plain that Jerlund was one of those special individuals who’d remain a child all his days, but Mr. Valmer treated him like the man he wanted to be. The selfsame attitude – to look past a problem and see the person – that would be the best medicine his ma could get.

A single deep inhalation expanded Mr. Valmer’s already vast chest, and he let it out slowly as he stood. “Miss Rose, I know you did your best by Ma, but a physician might know something more. I must give Ma that chance. Mr. Carver, I need to borrow a horse.”

“Son, that’s a fool’s errand.”

“It’s a son’s duty.”

Uncle Bo set down the dishrag and came closer. “Your going out, getting lost, and freezing both yourself and a horse won’t do your ma a lick of good.”

“I’ll follow the railroad tracks.”

“At night? In the worst weather we’ve had in years? In territory you don’t know? It’s fifteen miles to Big Dip. Doc Wyant’s probably away at his still, but if he’s in town, you don’t want him. Tomorrow is Tuesday.” Uncle Bo shook his head.

Bafflement painted Mr. Valmer’s features, so Maggie explained, “He’s usually sober Mondays because of the train going through.”

“Cold weather and hot coffee – they will sober him.” Determination filled his voice.

Maggie walked around the table and touched Uncle Bo’s shoulder. “ ‘There’s small choice in rotten apples.’ Mr. Valmer needs a medical opinion from a healer he approves. We may as well let him take our biggest and strongest horse so he stands his best chance.”

Her uncle gave her a frustrated look.

“I couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t seat him on Adam.” Chin rising a notch, she willed Bo to go along with her ploy. He dipped his head and nodded. Thank heavens he’d said nothing. One word, and Mr. Valmer would have known something was afoot. “But, Mr. Valmer, you have to make us an honor-binding promise that you’ll turn around and come right back if you run into trouble or if Adam balks even once. He’s one of the smartest horses God ever made, and he’ll keep you alive if you let him have his head.”

“Agreed! You have my word of honor. You will see to my mother until I come back?”

“Of course I will. Now out to the barn with you men. I’m going to take my bowl of stew and go sit with your ma.”
And if Adam
behaves like I expect him to, you’ll be sitting by my side, fuming, in
about fifteen minutes.

She was quite a woman, Miss Rose. Even with worry nagging at him, as Todd bent his head into the wind and walked alongside Mr. Carver to the barn, he couldn’t help thinking the young gal was what Ma called a touch of serendipity – something unexpected that brought gladness or thanksgiving. In the midst of this whole tragedy, God couldn’t have arranged a better example.
Ja,
Miss Rose was the only bright spot in this mess.

And what a mess it was. He’d had to impose on John Toomel while he fetched Ma. Since the two bachelor farmers owned adjoining properties, they bore one another’s burdens most heavily. Now John worked both places, waiting for the promise of Ma’s good cooking – a promise Todd and Ma might not be able to uphold.

Lord, you know Ma’s needs and what will cure her. If a miracle’s
what it’ll take, then I’m begging you for one. Minding the sick isn’t my
gift. If Ma’s in a bad way, I can’t take her back to the farm. I’m barely
hanging on . . .

A sudden thought caused him to turn to Mr. Carver and shout through the wind, “What other day does the train go through?”

The old man shook his head. “First and third Mondays are westward bound. ’Twas off schedule for them to stop today. It’ll be by next week.”

Todd strode ahead and started to open the barn door. He might well lose his crops and maybe even land over this, but he wasn’t going to lose Ma. He’d haul the doctor back here so she’d have every chance of recovering.

By the time Todd drew the door shut, Mr. Carver had lit a lamp. The sudden glow sent a pair of mules shuffling off to the right. A kid and nanny goat lay in fresh-smelling hay across from a row of three stalls. On the near end, a gelding stirred, but in the center’s side-by-side stalls stood a matched pair of sorrel draft horses. Todd didn’t blink for fear the miracle might disappear. Belgians! There stood steeds that could plow through snow as easily as farmland fields.