When the Heart Heals (24 page)

“Poor Jolene,” Faith said. “I never would have expected Clarissa to feel as she does.”

Rosemary pressed her hand against an ache in her chest. “She's right. We don't understand a mother's heart.”

Until now, she'd never considered that her choices had destroyed her own mother's dreams.

T
he following afternoon, Rosemary tapped on the Frenches' door two hours before the ceremony. She held a basket of cut daisies in one hand.

After a moment, Reverend French responded to her knock. “Miss Rosemary. Come in. We weren't expecting you this early—but you're always welcome, of course.”

“I'll only be a moment.” She held up the basket. “I brought some decorations for your mantelpiece. Clarissa seemed so distraught yesterday that I wanted to help make this event special for her. If you'll permit me, I'll arrange these, then return in time for the ceremony.”

His eyes brightened. “She'll be pleased to see them. She's been in a state ever since Galen told us his plans.” He led the way, still talking. “Mind you, I'm delighted at this turn of events. I'm sure Miss Jolene will make him a fine wife.”

In the center of the sitting room, a half-dozen straight-back chairs had been arranged to face the fireplace. Reverend French swept several framed miniatures from the mantelpiece into his hands and carried them to a sideboard behind the dining table. “Now you should have plenty of space for your flowers.”

“Thank you.” She lifted the garland she'd woven at home and spread it across the velvet-draped surface. Sunlight streaming through tall windows along the right side of the room cast a glow over the white petals. “Lovely. Now all we need is the bride and groom.”

“Galen is upstairs, and Miss Jolene and her parents will be here soon.” He turned to Rosemary, his expression serious. “I can't thank you enough for your kindness. These flowers will raise Clarissa's spirits more than you know.”

Her heart lifted at his obvious love for his wife. Maybe someday she and Elijah . . .

She shook her head.
Don't get ahead of yourself. He's made no promises.

At three, when Rosemary returned to the Frenches' home in the company of Faith and Curt, Clarissa greeted them at the door and ushered them to the sitting room. The first thing Rosemary noticed was a fluted cake adorned with white icing resting in the center of the dining table. A punch bowl and cups waited on the sideboard.

The second thing she noticed was Jacob, who occupied a chair next to Jolene's father. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Mrs. Graves rose from her chair and scurried to Rosemary's side. “We invited your young man to join us,” she said in a low voice. “I knew you'd be pleased.”

“He's not—” She swallowed the rest of the sentence at the sight of Mrs. Graves's crestfallen expression. Later, she'd explain that she and Jacob were not courting.

“Did I do wrong?” Jolene's mother pressed her fingers over her lips.

“Not at all. He was kind enough to bring me to your house. He deserves to see the happy ending.” She sighed, wishing
Elijah weren't so far away in Chicago. In his own fashion, he'd done as much to bring Jolene and Galen together as she had.

From his place in front of the hearth, Reverend French cleared his throat. “If you'd all take your seats, we'll begin.”

Jacob stood and rested his hand on the back of an empty chair to his left. “Miss Rosemary?”

Once she was settled, with Faith and Curt in the two seats next to her, Jacob leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Mrs. Graves wanted to surprise you, or I'd have fetched you here in my buggy.”

“It certainly was a surprise. Why did you let her believe we were—”

Faith poked her arm and nodded toward the rear of the sitting room, where Galen guided Jolene from the entryway to stand in front of his father. Her flushed cheeks matched the wine-colored shawl draped over her gray-checked dress.

Rosemary took a quick look around for Clarissa. She sat on a high-backed slipper chair against a side wall, hands clasped in her lap, head bowed. As her husband read the words of the ceremony, she lifted her chin and arranged her face in a stiff smile.

Lord, help her to see what a blessing Jolene will be to her son.

Reverend French's face shone with pleasure while the young couple repeated their vows. Resting his hands on their shoulders, he said, “What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.”

Rosemary blinked back tears as Galen turned to Jolene and placed a kiss on her forehead. When the newly married couple turned to face their guests, Mrs. Graves was the first person to reach her daughter's side. “It was a fine wedding.”

She seized Jolene's hand and tugged her toward Rosemary.
“Me and Mr. Graves can't thank you enough for all you done for her. And now . . .” She waved her hand in Galen's direction. “We got us a fine son-in-law to boot.”

“I do thank you. For everything.” Jolene's voice trembled.

“This was the Lord's doing, not mine. I wish you every happiness.”

“Going to be your turn next, I reckon,” Mrs. Graves said. She arched an eyebrow toward Jacob, who stood nearby.

“Mr. West and I are friends. That's all.”

Jacob's moustache lifted when he smiled. “Let's say we're discussing terms and haven't reached an agreement.”

Rosemary wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. Jacob had promised they'd be friends. There were no terms to discuss.

The morning after the wedding, Rosemary walked along Second Street toward West & Riley's, her carryall packed with bundles of herb teas. Jacob could think what he would of his prospects with her. They were friends, and friends they'd remain.

She pushed open the door to the grocery and was instantly surrounded by the aroma of breakfast swirling from the adjoining restaurant. Bacon, fried potatoes, biscuits . . . her mouth watered. The click of utensils and the rumble of male conversation reached her ears.

“Miss Rosemary.” Jacob strode toward her, his eyes bright. “Two days in a row. What can I get you this morning?”

She reached into her carryall and set a blue cloth-wrapped bundle on the counter. Its tag read “Blissful Sleep.” She drew out another, labeled “Calm Afternoons.”

He studied her with a puzzled expression. “You're bringing me remedies?”

“I was wondering, would you be so kind as to sell my herb teas in your store?” She held her breath and waited for his response.

“Why? Doesn't your sister-in-law have these in the mercantile?”

“I want you to have them here.” She gestured toward the restaurant side of the building. “Those men in there are the ones spreading talk that somehow one of my herbal cures caused Mr. Bingham's death. You know that. If you put my teas on your shelves, it will be a testimony to their safety.”

He folded his arms over his apron and stared at the blue bundles on his counter. Then he lifted his gaze to a shelf on his left, where one-pound packages of roasted coffee were displayed.

He took a step toward the wall and pushed the coffee to one side. “There's room here. How many can you supply?”

“Oh, Jacob. Thank you!” She handed him her carryall. “Here's a dozen. The varieties are named on the labels.”

As he stacked the bundles on the shelf, a patron from the restaurant walked through the archway between the two businesses, stopping close to Jacob. His dingy brown hat rode low on his forehead. Suspenders buttoned over a faded blue shirt held up a pair of homespun trousers rolled at the hem. His gaze bounced between Rosemary and the cloth-wrapped teas.

“You that woman with the potions? Heard you poisoned old Bingham.”

She glared at him, feeling anger radiating from her in waves. “And who'd you hear that from?”

“Dunno.” He smirked at her. “Someone eatin' here this mornin' mebbe said somethin'.”

“Only the Lord knows what happened to Mr. Bingham.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I had nothing to do
with his death. You tell that to the next man who ‘mebbe' says something.”

“Whoo-ee. You're a feisty little thing.”

Jacob spun around and stalked over to him. “Move along. I don't want to see you in here again.” He grabbed the man's shoulder and turned him toward the door.

Mumbling curses, the patron slouched out to the boardwalk.

Rosemary's heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest. She sagged against the counter and drew in a slow breath.

Jacob faced her. “Are you all right? Your face is red.”

“I don't doubt it.” She gave a shaky laugh. “I can't remember ever being so angry. It wasn't just him, it's everybody. Why are people so quick to point a finger when there's not a grain of proof?”

He shook his head. “It's the way of the world, Miss Rosemary. From now on, I'll spend more time next door during meals. Maybe I can nose out who started these lies.” He lifted one of the bundles of tea and cradled it in his cupped palm like a baby bird. “In the meantime, you'd best make up more of these. I'm going to sell them to everyone who comes in.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “You're a good man, Jacob. I'm blessed to have your friendship.”

“Same here.” His light tone matched his grin.

She removed her hand and pretended she hadn't seen the caring in the depths of his eyes.

Rosemary fought to control her trembling limbs when she left the store, knowing her body was reacting to the intense anger she'd felt at Jacob's customer. She took a deep breath of the humid morning air and released it slowly. When she
returned home, she'd brew a cup of chamomile tea, but first she'd stop at the post office. Perhaps today she'd hear from Elijah.

She climbed the two steps leading to a small white clapboard building across the street from the parsonage.

The postmaster looked up when she entered. “Miss Saxon. This is your lucky day.” He flicked through a tray of mail on the table in front of him, and held out a cream-colored envelope. “This what you've been waiting for?”

Her name was scrawled across the front in Elijah's bold penmanship.

“Indeed it is. Thank you, Mr. Lyons.” She tucked the letter into her carryall and hurried toward home, the earlier confrontation almost forgotten in her joy at hearing from Elijah.

Bodie raced toward her when she burst through the front door. She waved the letter at him. “Word from Elijah. Let's hope he's on his way.”

The dog panted happy agreement and followed her into the sitting room. Using her forefinger, she tore open the envelope flap and removed a single sheet of paper.

Chicago, Illinois, June 5, 1867

Miss Rosemary,

I expected to be back in Noble Springs by this time, but my father had other plans. To begin with, he is not ill, nor dying. It was a ruse to bring me here.

He asked that I spend a week with him, which is now stretching into two. I'm weary of dinner parties, musical shows, and all the trappings of city life. This morning I informed him that I'm taking the train south on the 13th, Thursday. I believe I've fulfilled my obligation where he's concerned.

I'm eager to see your face and to tell you all that
transpired here. If possible, would you be at the station when the train arrives from St. Louis on Friday?