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Boothe followed the instructions as Emma hovered at his elbow watching him like a hungry eagle waiting for some helpless prey. A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. His experience taught him nurses didn’t care for anyone showing they might know a thing or two. He’d do this right if only to prove he was as capable as she.
The gravy thickened. “Smells good. How am I doing?”
She stepped back and considered him. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
He grinned, glad to have succeeded in the face of her doubt. “Cross my heart.”
Aunt Ada laughed. “Maybe you could teach him to mash potatoes, too.”
Emma didn’t seem the least bit annoyed at his success. In fact, if her flashing smile meant anything, she seemed rather pleased about it.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from hers as something inside him, both exciting and alarming, demanded consideration. His stomach growled and he freed himself from her dark eyes. He was only hungry. Nothing more. “I’m sure I can learn to mash potatoes with the best of them.”
Emma handed him a masher and pointed him toward the big pot. Not only was there pork roast, gravy and potatoes but there was a pot of turnips and a bowl of canned tomatoes. His mouth watered at the prospect of so much to eat. For months he’d been forced to ration every scrap of food he scrounged, glad Jessie was being well fed with Vera and Luke. All this abundance was unbelievable. God’s blessing? A flash of hope and belief crossed his mind before he focused his attention on Emma’s instructions.
“I think everything is ready,” Aunt Ada said a few minutes later. “Jessie, do you want to help me ring the bell for supper?”
Jessie bounced off his chair and followed Ada into the hall. At the bottom of the stairs, she handed him a little brass bell and instructed him to shake it. He laughed at the racket it made. From upstairs came the sound of doors opening.
Emma scooped the potatoes into a bowl and poured the gravy into a large pitcher. “Help me carry in the food.” She nodded toward Boothe.
He grabbed the platter of meat in one hand and the gravy jug in the other and followed her into the dining room where the table was already set. He counted nine chairs. That made six paying guests. Quite a load for Aunt Ada. He intended to ease her load and find a job as well. He’d heard there was always work in the town of Favor, on the edge of the irrigation area.
Aunt Ada took her place at one end of the table and indicated Boothe should sit at the other end, Jessie at his right. “As soon as we’re all here, I’ll make the introductions.”
People filed in, taking what seemed to be appointed places. As soon as each chair had a body behind it, Aunt Ada spoke. “I told you all that my nephew, Boothe, agreed to come and help me run the boardinghouse. The young man beside him is his son, Jessie.”
Jessie pulled himself to rigid attention at being called a man.
Boothe grinned. His heart filled with pride.
One by one, Aunt Ada introduced the others starting on her right. “Loretta, one of my oldest and dearest friends.”
The older, thin woman smiled at Aunt Ada before she turned to Boothe. “I’m glad you’ve come.”
Beside her stood a woman, probably in her forties, Sarah, who had a dress shop downtown. Next, Betty, a chambermaid at the new hotel, a girl fresh off the farm if Boothe didn’t miss his guess. He turned to those on the other side of the table. Beside Jessie stood Don, a man in his late twenties or early thirties, and next to him, Ed, an eager-faced young man who could barely tear his gaze away from Betty long enough to greet Boothe. Both men worked at the brick factory.
And then Emma. She grinned at him. “Boothe made the gravy, so if you have any complaints, direct them to him, not me.”
Don chuckled. “Emma’s teasing you already. Best be careful. She can have you running in circles.”
Boothe kept his expression bland. “I don’t run in circles.” Maybe not literally but she’d already proved her ability to send his thoughts down useless rabbit trails.
Aunt Ada cleared her throat. “Shall we pray?”
They all bowed as she offered up thanks for the food and for Boothe and Jessie’s arrival. Her gratitude soothed away Boothe’s tension.
Only then did they sit down.
The meal proved excellent, the conversation interesting. Ed and Don told him of the work in the factory.
“You could probably get a job there,” Don said.
“I’ll look into it.” Boothe planned to check out a few other prospects first.
He expected the boarders would disperse as soon as they finished. Instead, everyone grabbed a handful of things and headed for the kitchen. The women began to wash and dry dishes while Ed and Don shook the tablecloth and arranged the chairs. Boothe tried to keep up but it seemed each knew what he or she was expected to do.
“Aunt Ada certainly has you organized.”
“Not Ada,” Don said. “She was reluctant to accept help. But when Emma saw how much pain she had, she got us all doing our share.”
Emma. Boothe tried to think if it surprised him. She seemed the sort who liked to organize things. Or—his jaw tightened—did she like to be in control? Was it an innate part of being a nurse? Always in control. Always right.
As soon as the dishes were done, the guests moved into the front room. Emma carried in a large tray with a teapot under a knit cozy and cups for everyone. Aunt Ada brought in a plate of cookies. Again, everyone seemed to know what to do. They prepared tea to their liking, served themselves cookies and settled into one of the many chairs. Aunt Ada and Loretta sank into the burgundy couch.
“Do you mind if I give Jessie tea?” Emma asked. She held a cup almost full of milk.
“Can I, Daddy? Please.”
Boothe nodded. He sat on one of the upright wooden chairs and edged another close for Jessie.
Emma sat beside the table and pulled a book to her lap. “We’ve been reading the biography of a missionary to China. You’re welcome to join us.”
“It will soon be Jessie’s bedtime.”
“We’ll stop when it’s time for him to get ready for bed.”
Boothe didn’t know if he liked the gentle way Emma smiled at his son. He wasn’t about to trust another woman getting close to Jessie. He’d learned his lesson, but Jessie’s eager expression convinced Boothe to agree to let him stay for the reading.
Loretta and Aunt Ada knitted as Emma read. Sarah sewed lace to a dress. Betty sat, her reddened hands idle, her expression rapt as she followed each word. Both Ed and Don leaned back, simply glad to relax. Emma read well, giving the story lots of drama, and Boothe was drawn into the tale.
Soon Emma closed the book. “End of chapter. I’m going to stop there so Jessie can go to bed.”
Boothe jumped up, guilt flooding his thoughts. What kind of father was he to forget his son’s bedtime? “Come along, Jessie.”
Jessie took his hand but stopped before Emma. “Thank you, Miss Emma. It’s a good story. Is it really true?”
“It is. It’s exciting to see how God did such wonderful things for them. Doesn’t it make you feel safe and loved to know God does the same kinds of things for us?”
Jessie nodded vigorously.
A few minutes later, Boothe tucked him into bed.
“How long do we have to stay here?”
Boothe smoothed the covers over the small body. “I already told you. We’re going to live here.”
Jessie’s eyes were dull with sleep yet he had enough energy to flash his angry displeasure. “Auntie Vera said we could live with her.” His words quivered. “I want to live with her and Uncle Luke. I want to go home.”
“This is home now. Besides, if we leave, you won’t be able to hear the rest of Miss Emma’s story.” Boothe couldn’t believe he’d used Emma as a reason to stay. Only for Jessie’s sake.
Jessie rubbed his arm and gave Boothe a watery, defiant look. “My arm hurts. I want Auntie Vera.”
Alarm snaked up Boothe’s spine. Were Jessie’s cheeks flushed? Was he fevered? He pressed his palm to his son’s forehead. Did he seem warm? Boothe didn’t know.
He pulled the covers down and looked at the dressing. A spot of pink stained it. He touched the skin on either side of the white cloth. Did it seem hot? Or was it simply warm from Jessie having his arm under the covers?
Boothe eased the blanket back to Jessie’s chin. He had Emma to thank for stirring up unnecessary fears. The wound would heal just fine. Jessie was safer without the interference of any nurse or doctor.
He’d seen Emma eye Jessie’s arm several times throughout the meal and afterward. She would do well to respect his wishes for his son. He would not allow an interfering woman—no matter how kind she seemed—to put his child at risk. Nor let his heart wish things could be different.
Chapter Three
Her bedroom lay in late fall darkness. Emma rolled over, turned on her bedside lamp, pulled her Bible to her chest and read a few verses. She prayed for her parents and her brother. Lord, make sure they’re warm and have enough to eat. Last winter they’d run low on coal and used it so sparingly that the house was always cold. While she was grateful for a warm, safe place to live, she felt guilty knowing Sid and her parents did not enjoy the same luxuries.
As soon as she finished her prayers, she’d run down to the basement and stir up the furnace. She paused. Was the house already warm? Had Boothe already stoked up the fire? How pleasant to waken to a warm room. She returned to her prayers, bringing her patients before God. A couple had been in the hospital for several weeks, fighting dust pneumonia. Lord, a good snowfall would put an end to the dust. But You know that. Just as You know everything we need. She prayed for friends and neighbors. Finally, when she couldn’t put it off any longer, she prayed for Boothe. There was something about him that upset her equilibrium. She didn’t like it. Lord, help him learn to trust again. And heal Jessie’s wound. She’d heard Jessie crying in the night. It was all she could do not to run down and check on him. That wound was nasty and no doubt painful. But Boothe had forbidden her to do anything for his son.
She took time to thank God for all the good things in her life. Unable to avoid the truth, she thanked her Lord for Boothe. He’s an answer to prayer for Ada, even though he is certainly not the man I would have sent to help. But again, You know best. Perhaps he needs something he will find here.
She jumped from bed, dashed across the hall to the washroom and splashed water over her face. Back in her room she pulled on white stockings, slipped into her uniform and pinned a clean apron on top. She toed into her white shoes, tied them neatly then headed downstairs to help Ada with breakfast.
At the kitchen door, she halted.
Boothe presided over the stove, frying bacon. Ada tended to the toast. A pot of coffee bubbled. Emma turned to the dining room, intent on setting the table. She stopped at the doorway. “The table’s set.”
“Boothe did it,” Ada said. “He’s catching on quickly.”
“I noticed the house is already warm. That’s nice.” Emma glanced at Boothe. He looked smug as if expecting he’d surprised her.
She shifted her gaze away. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself nor where to look, and headed for the window. The square of light revealed the yellowed grass scattered with dried leaves. Emma shivered then turned to catch Boothe watching her.
“It’s going to be cold today.” He offered her a cup of coffee.
She took it and cradled her hands around its warmth. “I heard Jessie in the night. Is he okay?”
“He’s sleeping. I’ll leave him until he needs to get ready for school.”
“Was his cut hurting him?”
Boothe glowered at her. “He had a nightmare. It will take him a few days to feel secure here.”
“It’s got to be hard for him.” Losing his mother and moving to a strange place. “But please keep an eye on that wound. Infection can be deadly.”
“I know enough to take care of my son without your help, if you don’t mind.” His expression grew darker but she refused to be intimidated. As a nurse, she faced disagreeable patients and families and dealt with them kindly, realizing their anger wasn’t directed at her personally. Only with Boothe, it felt personal. She smiled as much to calm herself as to convey kindness to Boothe. She would act professionally even with a man who despised her profession.
The boarders trickled in for breakfast. Loretta never joined them. She had no reason to be up so early. The others gathered round the table, for the most part eating without speaking.
“No snow. That’s good,” Betty said. “Do you know how much mess snow makes on the floors?” She seemed to be the only one who woke up bright and cheerful.
“Snow would settle the dust and perhaps end the drought.”
Emma jerked her head up at Boothe’s soft voice, surprised by the emotion hidden in his words. His eyes darkened as he looked deep into her soul. She felt a connection, a shared sorrow at the sad state of the economy, an acknowledgment that life was difficult. Then he shuttered his feelings and his brow furrowed as if she’d overstepped some boundary.
She turned back to her breakfast. He didn’t need to fear she’d be intruding into his life. She had more important things to attend to. Besides, she did not want to feel a connection to this man. He was dismissive almost to the point of rudeness and refused medical attention for his son. He’d branded her and the whole medical society because of a terrible accident. Tears stung her eyes at the stupidity that caused the death of his wife. She blinked them away and forced her thoughts to other things—like her responsibilities. She would do all she could to make life more tolerable for Sid and their parents.
Don spoke, thankfully pulling her from her troubled thoughts. “Boothe, did you want me to ask about a job at the factory?”
“Not yet but thanks for offering. I’m hoping to find a job that allows me to be home until Jessie leaves for school. I don’t expect I’ll be able to be home right after, but I’m grateful Aunt Ada will be here.”
The smile he sent his aunt filled Emma with alarming confusion. A man of such contrasts, full of tenderness to his son, warmth to his aunt, cold disapproval to Emma.
Betty jumped up and gathered her dishes. “Gotta run.”
Ed followed hard on her heels. Emma grinned after the pair. Ed moved in a couple months ago, fresh off a dried out farm, and had fallen instantly in love with Betty. Betty, although kind to the boy, did not encourage him. She vowed she’d spent enough years on a farm and stuck in a small town. As soon as she saved enough money, she was off to the city.
Boothe asked Don about other job possibilities. He spoke in an easy, relaxed manner, his tone warm, his expression interested.
Emma’s errant thoughts repeated her initial reaction at her first glimpse of him approaching the boardinghouse. A strong, caring man. She slammed a mental door. She had her duties. They excluded useless dreams, especially ones that included a man. Emma sobered. She would not let herself be another Ed, longing for something that was impossible.
“Don’t worry about the dishes,” Ada said as Emma hesitated at the sink. “Boothe will help me.”
“Do you want me to bring up a basin of potatoes?” She normally brought whatever vegetables Ada needed to prepare during the day.
“Boothe will do it. I expect to make him work for his keep.” Ada’s voice held a teasing note.
Emma realized how good this arrangement would be for Ada.
“I’ll see you later, then.” She wrapped her cape about her and headed out into the cold darkness. The sun breathed pink air over the horizon as she entered the hospital.
At the end of her shift, Emma hurried back to the boardinghouse, shivering in the cold wind and coughing in protest of the dust particles in the air. The endless dust grew tiresome. It would be worse for Mom and Dad and Sid on the farm. Relentless. God, please send snow. Please end the drought.
She was getting home later than she should have been thanks to the demands of her job. And she was exhausted—more so in mind than body. It had been one of those days that made her wish she could change people’s thoughts.
Two elderly patients died—their deaths not entirely unexpected, but the woman might have survived if she hadn’t refused to see a doctor until she was too weak to protest when her daughter insisted she must.
And then a woman came in to have her baby. She’d been in labor seventy-two hours before she finally decided she needed medical intervention. The baby had been delivered and both were alive, but Emma wondered about the long-term effects on the baby. The infant girl had been slow to start breathing and seemed sluggish in her responses.
Emma wished she could erase the mental images of the worst scene of all—a young man who had been ill for some time but only when he could no longer respond did his parents decide to seek help. By then the skin on the young man hung like a sheet draped over a wooden rack. His eyes were sunken. She couldn’t help thinking of Sid, remembering how vigorous he’d been at that age. She smiled past tears. Sid had been so eager for life and adventure—with an attitude that led him to take reckless chances just for a thrill. She stilled a shudder. The consequences of taking such risks had gone beyond harmless adventure.
She’d worked feverishly over the young man in her care, determined she would not let his life slip away. He showed little improvement, even with all her efforts.
Later, in private, Dr. Phelps shook his head. “He’s so dehydrated I wonder if his kidneys are even functional.”
“I don’t understand why people wait so long to get help.” Emma’s voice was sharp with frustration. “So much of this suffering is unnecessary.”
Dr. Phelps sighed. “The greatest disease of all is ignorance.”
The young man had still been alive, struggling for each breath, when she’d finally left the hospital, chased away by the matron who insisted Emma was of no value to them if she wore herself out.
