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Anger, like hot coals to her heart, surged through her. How could this man be so stubborn? Why did he resist medical help with such blindness?
Ignoring her, though he couldn’t help but be aware of her scowling concern, he pressed the edges of the wound together and wrapped it securely with the cloth, fixing the end in place with the pin Ada handed him then stepped back, pleased with his work.
Emma watched the bandage, knowing it would soon pinken with blood. By the time Boothe had washed and cleaned up, the telltale pink was the size of a quarter. She could be silent no longer. “Without stitches it will continue to bleed. You need to take him to the doctor.”
Boothe, drying his hands on a kitchen towel, shot her a look fit to sear her skin. “We do not need or want to see a doctor. They do more harm than good.”
Emma shifted her gaze to Jessie, saw his eyes wide with what she could only assume was fear. Her insides settled into hardness. “May I speak with you privately?” She addressed Boothe, well aware of Ada’s tight smile and Jessie’s stark stare.
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I do.” She moved to the doorway and waited for him to join her in the hall. She wondered if he would simply ignore her, but with a resigned sigh, he strode across the room, his movements and expression saying he hoped it wouldn’t take long, because he was only doing his best to avoid a scene.
She went to the front door so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard in the kitchen. “I am deeply concerned about your attitude toward the medical profession. Not only does it prevent you from taking your son to the doctor for needed care but it is instilling in him an unnecessary and potentially dangerous fear of doctors. There could come a time when it is a matter of life or death that he seek medical attention.” She couldn’t shake her initial response to the man, couldn’t stop herself from being attracted to his looks, his demeanor and his gentleness toward his son. Yet he was ignorant and stubborn about medical things—the sort of man who normally filled her with undiluted anger.
“Do you realize this is none of your business?”
She didn’t answer. A person didn’t interfere with how a man raised his children—one of the unwritten laws of their society. But she could not, would not, stand by silently while someone was needlessly put at risk. Never again.
He suddenly leaned closer, his gray eyes as cold as a prairie winter storm. “I’ve seen firsthand the damage medical people inflict. I will not subject my son to that.”
She drew back, startled by his vehemence. “Our goal is to help and heal, not damage.”
His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed. He sucked in air like someone punched him. “My wife is dead because of medical ‘help.’”
His words filtered through her senses as shock, surprise, sympathy and sorrow mixed together. “I’m—”
“Don’t bother trying to defend them.”
She had been about to express her sympathy not defend a situation she knew nothing about, but he didn’t seem to care to hear anything from her and rushed on.
“They poisoned her. Pure and simple. Overdosed her with quinine. The judge ruled it accidental. He reprimanded them for carelessness, but they got away with murder. So you see—” he took a deep breath and settled back on his heels “—I have good reason to avoid the medical profession and good reason to teach my son to do so as well.”
Emma wondered why quinine had been prescribed. It was often used to treat fevers or irregular heartbeats. Adverse reactions were common but reversible. Although she’d never seen toxicity, she knew it involved heart problems as well as seizures and coma. How dreadful to see it happen to a loved one. And so needless. An attentive nurse should have picked up the symptoms immediately.
Determined not to let her tears surface, Emma widened her eyes. “I’m sorry. It should have never happened. But it’s not fair to think all of us are careless.”
“Do you think I’m going to take a chance?”
They faced each other. His eyes looked as brittle as hers felt. He was wrong in thinking he couldn’t trust another doctor or nurse. It put both himself and Jessie at risk. But she didn’t have to read minds to know he wasn’t about to be convinced otherwise. Her shoulders sagged as she gave up the idea of trying. “I’m sorry about your loss, but aren’t you spreading blame a little too thick and wide? Allowing it to cloud your judgment?”
He snorted. “I realize we are destined to live in the same house and I intend to be civil. But I warn you not to interfere with how I raise my son.”
Emma scooped her cape off the banister and headed up the stairs, her emotions fluctuating between anger and pity. But she had to say something. Her conscience would not allow her to ignore the situation. She turned. “Sometimes, Mr. Wallace, a person has to learn to trust or he puts himself and others at risk.”
Boothe made an explosive sound. His expression grew thunderous.
Emma met his look without flinching. There was no reason she should want to reach out and smooth away the harsh lines in his face. Except, she reluctantly admitted, her silly reaction to a little scene on the sidewalk.
“Trust.” He snorted. “From here on out, I trust no one.” He pursed his lips. “No one.”
He’d been badly hurt. But he verged on becoming bitter. Silently, she prayed for wisdom to say the right thing. “Not even God?” She spoke softly.
He stood rigid as a fence post for a moment then his shoulders sank. “I’m trying to trust Him.” His head down, he headed back to the kitchen.
“I will pray for you, Boothe Wallace.”
Chapter Two
Boothe stayed out of sight of the kitchen door to compose himself. Jessie had enough fears to deal with without seeing his father upset. He hoped seeing Emma in her nurse’s uniform wouldn’t remind Jessie of that awful time two years ago when Alyse had been murdered by a negligent doctor. Aided and abetted by a belligerent nurse. The doctor said it would stop her fluttering heartbeat that left her weak. Instead, it had succeeded in stopping her heart completely. The judge might have ruled the incident accidental, but Boothe considered it murder. There was no other word for giving a killing dose of medicine. Alyse hadn’t stood a chance. He shuddered back the memory of her violent seizures.
And for Emma to suggest he should trust! She didn’t know the half of it. He’d trusted too easily. It cost him his wife. No. He would not trust again. Ever.
Not even God? Her words rang through his head. Even trusting God had grown difficult. One thing forced him to make the choice to do so—Jessie. He feared for his son’s safety if God didn’t protect him. Hopefully, his trust would not be misplaced. Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths. He knew the words well. However, reciting verses was far easier than having the assurance the words promised.
He drew in a deep breath. Why hadn’t Aunt Ada warned him one of her guests was a nurse? But then what difference would it have made? Leaving Lincoln, Nebraska, and moving to South Dakota had been the only way to escape the threat he faced back in the city of losing Jessie. Besides, there was no work back there and he’d been evicted from his shabby apartment. Here Jessie was safe with him. He could put up with an interfering nurse for Jessie’s sake. He would forget about Emma and the way her brown eyes melted with gentleness one moment and burned with fury the next. He smiled knowing he’d annoyed her as much as she annoyed him. Why that should amuse him, he couldn’t say. But it did.
He paused outside the kitchen.
“Where did my daddy go?” His son’s voice had a brittle edge signaling his distress. Poor Jessie had dealt with far too much in the past two years, but these past two weeks had been especially upsetting with losing their home and then being snatched away from his Aunt Vera and Uncle Luke. Jessie did not understand the reasons behind this sudden move. But it had been unavoidable. Trusting his sister-in-law had almost proven a disaster. Boothe only hoped Favor would be far enough from Lincoln.
Aunt Ada, bless her heart, answered Jessie soothingly. “He’s just in the other room. He’ll be back shortly.”
“Is my daddy mad?”
Aunt Ada chuckled. “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think it’s anything we need to worry about.”
“Is my arm going to fall off?”
Boothe stepped into the room intent on reassuring his son. The bandage already needed changing. “Your arm is going to be all right.” He kept all traces of anger from his voice even though he silently blamed Emma for frightening Jessie.
“But that lady—”
“Emma?” Aunt Ada prompted.
“Yes, Emma—”
“Miss Emma to you,” Boothe said.
“Miss Emma. She’s a nurse. She said—”
“I’ll wrap your arm better. It will be just fine.” Thank you, Miss Emma, for alarming an innocent child. He gently took off the soiled dressing, tore up more strips and created a pad. “Aunt Ada, do you have adhesive tape?”
“In the left-hand drawer.” She pointed toward the cupboard. He found the tape and cut several pieces, using them to close the edges of the cut before he applied the pad. He wrapped it with fresh lengths of the old sheet and pinned the end. “There. You’ll soon be good as new.”
Jessie nodded, his blue gaze bright. “I don’t need a doctor, do I?”
Boothe kept his voice steady despite the anger twitching at his insides. “Jessie, my boy, a man does not run to the doctor every time he gets a cut. Okay?”
“Okay.” He slid his gaze to Aunt Ada. “Miss Emma lives here?”
“Yes. Did you like her?”
“She has a nice smile.”
Boothe shot Aunt Ada a warning glance. “Where do you want us to put our stuff?”
Aunt Ada winked at Boothe. “She’s a nice woman. Knows her own mind. I admire that in a person.”
Jessie nodded vigorously. “Me, too.”
Boothe grabbed the suitcase, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation. He did not want Jessie getting interested in Emma.
“I’ve made space for you in the back of the storeroom. Sorry I can’t offer you a bedroom but the upstairs ones are all rented, for which I thank God. And I don’t intend to give up mine.”
“I’m sure we’ll be more than comfortable.” Boothe fell in beside Aunt Ada as she limped toward the back of the kitchen. Jessie followed on his heels.
The room was large, full of cupboards stacked with canned goods, bottles of home preserves, tins and sacks of everything from oats to bay leaves. Spicy, homey smells filled the air. He tightened his jaw, remembering when such aromas, such sights, meant home. With forced determination he finished his visual inspection of the room. Two narrow side-by-side cots and a tall dresser fit neatly along the far wall. A window with a green shade rolled almost to the top gave natural light. “This is more than adequate. Thank you.”
“Is this our place?” Jessie asked.
“For as long as you want,” Aunt Ada said.
A load of weight slid from Boothe’s shoulders. They would be safe here. And maybe one day in the unforeseeable future, they might even be happy again. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Jessie kicked off his boots, plopped down on one bed, his bony knees crooked toward the ceiling. “I had a room of my own at Auntie Vera’s.”
Boothe had been forced to leave Jessie with Vera on school days and often on weekends as he tried to find enough work to make ends meet. He hadn’t liked it, though he appreciated that Jessie had a safe place to stay.
He hadn’t expected it to be a complete mistake.
“No thanks needed.” Ada grinned at him. “You’ll be earning your keep sure enough. Things have been neglected of late. I can’t get around like I used to.”
“I’m here to help. Tell me what you need done.”
“I’d appreciate if you look after the furnace first. Emma’s been kind enough to do it but she’s a paying guest.”
“I’ll tend to it. Jessie, your books and toys are in the suitcase. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Jessie bolted to his feet and scrambled into his boots, ignoring the dragging laces as he scurried after Boothe.
Boothe should have known the boy wouldn’t let him out of his sight. He squatted down to face Jessie. “I don’t want you to come downstairs with me.” He had no idea what condition the cellar was in. It might not be safe for a six-year-old. “You go with Aunt Ada and wait for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Jessie’s eyes flooded with fear.
Boothe squeezed his son’s shoulder. He hated leaving him but Jessie was safe. Sooner or later he’d have to get used to the fact his father had to leave him at times. But he’d learn that Boothe would always return.
Aunt Ada took Jessie’s hand. “I have a picture book you might like to see.”
Boothe nodded his thanks as his aunt led Jessie back to the kitchen table. Only then did he venture down the worn wooden steps. He found the furnace and fed it, dragged the ashes into the ash pail then looked around the cavernous cellar. Bins built along one side contained potatoes and a variety of root vegetables. He hadn’t been to Aunt Ada’s in years but as a kid had spent several summers visiting her. He remembered her huge garden in the adjoining lot. But she had been quick and light on her feet back then. Now she moved as if every joint hurt. Did she still grow everything the household consumed?
Boxes were stacked on wide shelves. He opened one and saw a collection of magazines. The next held rags. Another seemed to be full of men’s clothes. He couldn’t imagine whose they were, seeing as Aunt Ada had never married. Perhaps a guest had left them behind. He pulled out a pair of trousers and held them to his waist. He found a heavy coat, a pair of sagging boots and a variety of shirts. He’d ask Aunt Ada about the things. They were better than anything he owned. Despite his disappointment at Vera’s treachery, he allowed himself a moment of gratitude for the fine clothes she bought Jesse.
He carried the pail of ashes upstairs and paused, breathing in the aroma of pork roast and applesauce. The furnace hummed and the warmth of coal heat spread about him. This was a good place to be. Safe and solid. He tilted his head toward the kitchen as he heard Jessie.
“When will my daddy come back?” His voice crackled with tension.
Boothe hurried to the back door to get rid of the ash bucket.
Emma’s gentle voice answered Jessie. “Your daddy is taking care of the furnace so you’ll stay warm. What did he say when he went to the cellar?”
“He said he’d be back as soon as he could.”
“There you go. Even when you can’t see him, you can remember what he said.”
Boothe stood stock-still as Emma reassured Jessie. A blizzard of emotions raced through him—gratitude that she dealt with Jessie so calmly, soothingly. Anger and frustration that Jessie had to confront the fear of loss. Children his age should be secure in the love of a mother and father. Most of all, emptiness sucked at his gut making him feel as naked, exposed and helpless as a tree torn from the ground by a tornado, roots and all. The future stretched out as barren as the drought-stricken prairies. This was not how he’d envisioned his life. Nope, in his not-so-long-ago plans there’d been a woman who shared his home and made it a welcoming place.
He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. He’d come here to find peace and safety. In the space of half an hour, Emma had robbed him of that, not once, but twice. Thankfully he wouldn’t have to see her more than a few minutes each day—only long enough to share a meal with all the boarders.
He deposited the bucket on the flagstone sidewalk where it would be unable to start a fire. The wind made the ashes glow red. Dust sifted across the backyard. Late October often meant snow, which would settle the dust. But this year the snow had not come. Only the endless wind. He lifted his face to the sky. God, when will this end? He couldn’t say exactly what he meant. The drought? The nationwide Depression? His loneliness? Jessie’s fears? He supposed he meant all of them.
Not that he expected divine intervention. Seems a man just did what he could and hoped for the best. He hadn’t received what he considered best, or even good, in a long time. He tried to find anything good in his life. Right now, about all he could give that label to was Jessie. He paused…and this house. He headed to the kitchen.
Jessie sat at the table, a coloring book and crayons before him, but he paid more attention to Emma than his coloring. Emma stood at the stove stirring something while Aunt Ada carved the pork roast. Emma had changed into a black skirt and pale blue sweater. She glanced up as he stepped into the room and her gaze collided with his. Her dark eyes were a surprising contrast to her golden hair. If he didn’t know she was a nurse, he might think her an attractive woman.
He hurried to her side and reached for the spoon. “I’ve come to help Aunt Ada. Now that I’m here, there’s no reason for one of the boarders to work.” His voice was harsher than he intended and caused the two women to stare at him.
Jessie stiffened. His eyes grew wide and wary.
“What I meant is you’re a paying guest. You shouldn’t have to help.” He forced a smile to his lips and tried to put a smile in his voice. He knew he failed miserably.
He felt Emma, inches away at his elbow, studying him, but refused to meet her gaze until she laughed and he jerked around in surprise. Her eyes glistened with amusement, and her smile seemed to go on forever. He couldn’t breathe as it brushed his heart. He shook his head, angry at himself and his silly imaginations.
“Here you go.” She handed him the spoon and a jar full of white liquid. “You do know how to make gravy?” Her words were round with barely restrained laughter.
He looked at the pot of bubbling liquid on the stove and the jar. He had no idea what he was expected to do.
Emma laughed low and sweet, tickling his insides. He fought his reaction. He could not allow a feeling at such odds with how he felt when he saw her in a nurse’s uniform.
She laughed again. “A simple yes or no would suffice.”
Behind him Aunt Ada chuckled.
“Daddy, you can make gravy?” Jessie’s surprised awe brought more low laughter from Emma.
“I’m sure I could if someone would tell me how.”
“Very well,” Emma said. “Stir the juice and slowly pour the flour and water mixture in. The trick is to keep it from going lumpy.”
