When the Heart Heals (33 page)

“Letter writing?”

“She's hoping to find her brother. They were separated during the war. She thinks he will give us a better home than we have now.” Cassie leaned against the back of the sofa, shaking her head. “Never mind my troubles. What brought you to St. Louis, if not to see me?”

Rosemary drew a deep breath while she gathered her thoughts, and then gave her friend a brief version of Elijah's deception and her subsequent decision to leave Noble Springs.

Cassie's eyes grew wide while she listened. “How dreadful! But I must say, I find Miss Mason's claim hard to believe, knowing how Dr. Stewart feels about you. He wore his heart on his sleeve.”

“You didn't see her. She came all the way to Noble Springs after him. She's wearing his ring! His initials are inside. A Stewart family heirloom, she said.” Her voice trembled as a fresh wave of grief filled her throat.

“I still don't believe it. Did you let him explain?”

“Well, no.” Rosemary's doubts about her own actions boiled to the surface. She tamped them down.

By taking the job at the hospital, she'd made a commitment to leave Noble Springs. She met her friend's gaze.

“He obviously spent time with her when he was in Chicago. You should have seen his face when he read her message. Besides, she knew where—”

The pocket door slid open. “Miss Saxon. How surprising to see you here.” Mrs. Bingham glided into the room wearing a fawn-colored day dress. Her hennaed hair was drawn back in a severe coil.

She placed her hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Cassie's been lonely since we arrived. Your visit is providential.”

Her motherly affection assailed Rosemary's heart. She forced a smile. “You're kind to say so.”

“And will you be long in St. Louis?”

She shook her head. “I have matters to tend to at home.”

Cassie rose. “Indeed you do.” She leveled a meaningful gaze at Rosemary. “Shall we take a stroll before you return to your lodgings?”

“You girls go ahead. I prefer to avoid the sun.” Mrs. Bingham nodded to Rosemary. “Have a pleasant journey.” She slipped from the room, leaving the door ajar.

“Poor Mother. The sooner she can find her brother, the happier she'll be.” Cassie retrieved a parasol from a stand in the hallway. “Come. There's a park nearby with a goldfish pond.”

As they meandered toward the park, Cassie chattered about her life in St. Louis, then turned the subject back to Elijah. “You said Miss Mason knew where Dr. Stewart's office was located. That doesn't mean much. You can find anyone in Noble Springs by asking at the grocery or the post office.”

Rosemary chuckled. “True.”

“So don't you think you should give him a chance to explain?”

“He tried, but I couldn't listen. I just wanted to hide from the hurt.” She drew a deep breath and held it for a moment. “I know very little about his life before he came to Noble Springs. He and Miss Mason could have been childhood sweethearts. I must have been a pleasant diversion.”

E
lijah paced the floor of his office. Without Rosemary and Bodie, the room felt deserted. He stopped pacing and stared out the window at the gathering dusk. He'd done everything wrong.

His decision to call on Miss Mason at the hotel was a mistake. He'd planned to be polite but firm, and send her on her way back to Chicago. Instead, she'd played the coquette and delayed their meeting. While he was at the hotel waiting to see her yesterday, Rosemary left town. Pain gripped his gut. She didn't tell him she was leaving.

Why should she? She believed him to be engaged to another woman. Now she was gone, and Miss Mason still refused to see him. He clutched his stomach as another pain seized him.

Supper and bed. Tomorrow he'd go back to the hotel. One way or another, he'd settle things with Miss Mason if it took all day.

Crickets chirped and fireflies swam through the moist night air as he walked toward West & Riley's for a meal. When he crossed at the corner of King's Highway, he glanced at
Rosemary's house, hoping to see lights in the windows. Shadowed panes of glass stared back at him.

Another block and he entered the restaurant. Jacob West waved him to an empty seat at one of the long tables.

“Pork roast tonight. Beans on the side. Cornbread.” His tone verged on hostile.

“Anything. I haven't eaten all day.”

“I'll send Mrs. Fielder out with your plate.” He walked away, leaving Elijah to stare at the red checked tablecloth and wish there was another restaurant in Noble Springs.

He heard spurs clink behind him. Thaddeus flopped into an adjoining chair. “You look lonely.”

“I am lonely. Since word got out about Miss Mason being here, folks have treated me like I carry typhoid. You sure you want to keep me company?”

Thaddeus clapped him on the back. “I know you too well. Whatever game that woman's playing, she ain't your intended. Why haven't you told her so?”

“She won't see me. I can't get past that desk clerk at the hotel.”

“You got to quit being polite, Doc.”

A headache lurked behind his temples. He groaned and closed his eyes.

At noon the next day, Elijah locked his office and strode three blocks to the Lafayette Hotel. He'd allowed Miss Mason ample time to awaken and begin her day—doing what, he couldn't imagine.

The clerk in the hotel lobby leaned over the desk and gave him a knowing smile. “Here to see Miss Mason again, are you?”

Elijah set his jaw and glared until the man's smirk faded. “Please tell her I'm waiting.”

“Sure thing, Doc. Good luck this time.” His boots made little sound on the carpeted stairs. In a few moments, he returned. “She asks that you call later this afternoon.”

“I don't care what she asks.” He leaned over the desk. “What's the room number?”

“I can't tell you—”

“Of course you can. If she were ill, wouldn't you let me know where she was?”

“But she ain't sick.”

Elijah laid his hand on the clerk's shoulder. His height and bulk dwarfed the skinny man. “Why don't we pretend she is? What's the number?”

“Two oh six. End of the hall.” Sweat popped out on his forehead. “Her ladies' maid is with her. She's the one I been talking to.”

“Thank you.” He took the stairs two at a time, then rapped on Miss Mason's door.

“I told you, she's not receiving callers.” A freckled girl stepped into the hall. Her eyes bulged when she saw Elijah. “Who are you?”

Elijah caught a whiff of cloying perfume before the maid closed the door. “I'm Dr. Stewart, the man your mistress has been toying with ever since you arrived.” He reached for the latch.

“You can't—”

“I can and I will.” He shoved the door open and left her standing in the hallway.

The room looked as if a snowstorm of garments had blown through. Dresses, crinolines, and stockings were draped over chairs and hung from the bedposts. Miss Mason sat upright on a chaise lounge beneath one of the windows. “Dr. Stewart!” She swung her slippered feet to the floor, smoothed wrinkles from her skirt, then crossed the room with deliberate steps.

“I hope you've enjoyed my little surprise. I knew once I came here that you'd remember the lovely times we had in Chicago and be eager to return.” She placed her hand on his arm. “I'm quite certain your father would be delighted if we . . . merged our resources, you might say.”

Elijah pulled free of her grasp. “Did he send you?”

“Absolutely not. I make my own decisions.”

He folded his arms and glared down at her. “Then I suggest you
decide
to go back to Chicago on the next train. And take off that ring. I don't know where you got it, but I'm not your fiancé.”

“We went everywhere together when you visited your father. I know we're suited for one another.” Her pale blue eyes gleamed. “Lowell thinks that having your name added to the practice would be sure to increase the number of patients.”

“I'm not interested in what your brother thinks.”

“But . . . what will I tell Lowell?”

“Tell him whatever you like. Good-bye, Miss Mason.”

He stalked through the doorway, nearly colliding with the maid. A shoe whizzed by his head and bounced off the opposite wall.

“You're missing your chance for a better life,” Miss Mason shrieked after him.

He spun on his heel and glared at her. “Thanks to you, I've already missed my chance.” His boots thudded as he stamped down the stairs.

After a restless night filled with disturbing dreams, Rosemary sat on the edge of her bed in Mrs. Kenyon's house. Thursday already. She should be on the train returning to Noble Springs, but she'd awakened knowing she couldn't leave without seeing her parents.

Had her actions contributed to their rejection? Perhaps if she'd been willing to listen to their feelings, rather than being so self-righteous, they might have reached a compromise.

The image of Cassie's mother with her hand on her daughter's shoulder flooded her mind and brought an ache to her heart, already sore with longing for Elijah. She glanced out the window. Over neighboring rooftops, the sky flamed with red and orange streaks—the Lord's promise of a new day.

If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.

She jumped to her feet. The first horsecar of the morning would be along soon. If she hurried, she'd reach the stop in time. Anticipation prickled her forearms. Even a glimpse of her parents would be better than nothing.

Mrs. Kenyon stopped her at the foot of the stairs. “You're leaving without breakfast?”

“There are some people I want to see before I go home.” She inched around the landlady.

“It's barely daylight. No one pays calls at this hour.”

Rosemary blew out a breath. Of course. Mrs. Kenyon was right. Breakfast, then she'd wait until midmorning before going to Roubillard Street. She chafed at the delay but turned her steps toward the dining room.

The driver stopped the horsecar. “We're at Roubillard Street, ma'am.”

“Thank you.” Nerves fluttering, Rosemary stepped off the tram. Locust trees lined the street, casting their lacy shade over the walk.

Her parents' home was four blocks west of the corner. Grateful that the trees deflected the morning sun, she walked past brick row houses similar to Cassie's uncle's, but with
more imposing facades. Like her parents' home, some had wrought iron porches and well-maintained flower gardens.

Her knees quivered as she drew closer to her goal. Maybe this was a bad idea. Perhaps she should write a letter first, then come on a day when she was expected. Three more doors and she'd be standing in front of their house. Two more. Her palms moistened.

She reached the paved walkway, took a deep breath, and mounted the steps to the porch. Gripping the brass knocker firmly in one hand, she rapped on the striker. In a moment, the door opened and a young woman gaped at her. Her hair was covered with a ruffled cap, and she wore a full-length apron.

“Yes, miss? Are ye lost?”

Mama has a servant?
“I . . . I'm here to see Mrs. Saxon. Is she receiving callers today?”

“No one here by that name.”

Rosemary spread her fingers against her chest. “She has to be! She's my mother.”

“Who is it, Birdie?” A gray-haired woman leaning on a cane moved toward them.

“I don't know, ma'am.”

A sense of unreality swept over her as she watched someone other than her mother crossing the hallway of her childhood home. She took a step closer to the entry. “I'm Miss Rosemary Saxon. This is my parents' house.”

“My husband purchased this property from Mr. and Mrs. Saxon a year ago.” The older woman's words were cloaked in sympathy. “How is it you didn't know?”

“I've been . . . away. Please, can you tell me where they went?”

“Yes, certainly. It's a curious thing.” She turned to Birdie. “Would you bring tea into the sitting room?”

After the girl scuttled away, the woman opened the door wide. “I'm Mrs. Thorndyke. Please come in. I'll tell you what I know.”

The sitting room looked as it did in Rosemary's memory. Settee under the front window, matching chairs beside a tea table in front of the fireplace, bookcases along one wall. The difference was the furnishings weren't her mother's. Her sense of unreality increased as she took a chair across from her hostess.

“This is very kind of you. I apologize for intruding on your morning.” She leaned back to allow Birdie room to place a tray between them on the table.

Mrs. Thorndyke poured tea into eggshell-thin china cups. “I'm happy for the company. With my husband at the bank all day, things are too quiet here.” She stirred a lump of sugar into her beverage, took a sip, and added another lump. “Now. Your parents. I don't know the how or the why, but I'm told they sold most everything they had and hired on as caretakers at the disabled soldiers' home.”

Rosemary froze in the act of stirring her tea. The spoon dropped from her fingers and clinked on the saucer.

“You must be mistaken. My mother would never do such a thing.”

“The agent who arranged the property transfer is the one who relayed the information. My husband has known him for years. He wouldn't pass on an unfounded rumor.” She reached her age-spotted hand across the table to pat Rosemary's arm. “The war has changed people, dear. Some of us see things differently now.”

Rosemary stared at the amber liquid in her cup. Once an idea planted itself in her mother's head, she never changed her mind. Never. Yet Mrs. Thorndyke seemed so sure.

After a few minutes of polite conversation, Rosemary
stood and replaced her cup on the tray. “Thank you for the tea and the information. If you'll excuse me, I must be on my way.”

Now that she'd begun her quest, she had to learn the truth, no matter where the knowledge took her.