Ever Constant, page 14
Whitney gave her younger brother a soft smile. “As soon as I get back from this next trip, we’ll start, okay? Until then, you can help John and Daniel feed and take care of the dogs that are here.”
After John prayed and thanked God for the meal, all the dishes were passed. Fried chicken with roasted potatoes. Her favorite. Something they had made once in a blue moon until Havyn finally agreed they could raise a flock of chickens for fryers. She’d have to hug her sister later.
What was Peter having for supper? Poor man. She’d deposited him at his office and just taken off. How thoughtless of her—she should have asked him to have dinner with them.
No. Such thoughts were ridiculous. Peter could take care of himself. He didn’t need her worrying over him like a mother hen.
John passed the large bowl of potatoes to her. “You know, I’ve been wondering how we could help the good doctor. Won’t he need to build a new place to live if he’s going to have a team of dogs?”
Whitney could hug her brother-in-law. Now she wouldn’t have to bring up the subject herself. “We spoke about that on our journey.” Would the rest of her family come to the same thought she had? She spooned potatoes onto her plate and let the conversation sink in.
“He’s done so much to help us and our town—not to mention the villages—we should do something to help him.” Havyn squinted and wiped her mouth with her napkin. Then she lifted a finger. “Why don’t we offer to build Peter a small home here? We’ve got plenty of room, and he wouldn’t have to build another shelter for the dogs since we already have more than enough space.”
“That’s a great idea.” Daniel lifted a piece of chicken to his mouth.
“I agree too.” Maddy shrugged her shoulders. “Are you okay with that, Whit?”
“Yes, I think it’s perfect. I just hope it won’t be too far for him to go in and out of town for his patients there.”
John waved a hand. “I doubt that will be a problem.”
“I take it Amka is still out at the village?” Granny passed a steaming bowl of cinnamon apples.
Whitney nodded. “Yes, Peter and I had planned to get the supplies he needed and go straight back, so Amka stayed with the other team and sled. Dad was still out at the gold camp. Of course, the blizzard changed our plans, but we’ll have to head back in the morning. Peter is quite concerned about some of the children. But I believe he’s gotten the sickness under control.”
“Good. That’s a relief.” Daniel poured himself another glass of water. “Peter is a wonderful doctor. The town sure did win a prize when he came.”
Whitney took a bite of potatoes and savored them. “I still miss Doc Gordon, but I’m praying he’ll return this summer. A couple of the other new doctors are too young . . . and they won’t go visit the villages. Peter and Doc Gordon would get along well and be great for Nome. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to turn our town into a respectable place rather than the crazy, gold-digging, mining town that it is?”
“I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” John pointed his fork at her and then dug back into the food on his plate. “Once the gold is gone, don’t you think they’ll head out for the next great strike?”
“Probably a good thing.” Daniel nodded and then looked at Granny. “Although that would hurt the mercantile’s business, I’m sure.”
“We’d do fine. There are plenty of good people who have made Nome their home.” Granny dabbed her napkin at her mouth.
“Speaking of good people . . . Judas Reynolds came out here this afternoon.” Havyn sent a little smirk her way.
What did that mean?
And why did Granny look none too happy?
“Oh?” Whitney put on her best nonchalant face.
“Yes, he was asking about you. Wanted to make sure we were all right after the storm.” Madysen put another helping of chicken onto her plate.
“That was very kind of him.” How was she supposed to answer? Sooner or later, she’d have to tell her sisters that he had asked to court her, but she hadn’t made a decision about her answer yet. Though she was leaning heavily in the direction of a yes. Whether her heart was ready or not. Something had to change in her life.
She dug into her food and allowed the conversation to shift to the farm. As words drifted around the table—from the cows, to the sheep, to Havyn’s adventure chasing three of her chickens down the lane—comfort spread its wings over her. This was normal. She belonged. Perhaps her grief had clouded everything for too long. Maybe she was on the road to healing.
“I’m thinking we should let Mr. Norris know we can play this weekend at the Roadhouse again. What do you think?” Maddy’s question brought Whitney’s good spirits to a crashing halt.
“Must we so soon?” Did that sound like a whine? She worked to keep her breathing slow and steady but couldn’t stop the rapid beat of her heart.
All eyes shifted to her. Why had she even bothered to open her mouth? Why did Maddy have to bring up the subject in the first place?
“Is something wrong?”
“Are you not feeling well?”
“We all miss Granddad . . .”
Everyone spoke at once.
Whitney dabbed her napkin to her lips. She was too tired to deal with this right now. Laying the cloth down, she took a steadying breath. “I don’t mind if you and Havyn play without me.” She looked at Maddy’s shocked face. “But I don’t want to. I’m not sure if I’ll want to do that anymore. I’m sorry.”
Shock seemed to be the expression of the moment. Then Havyn started crying.
Which made Maddy wrap her arms around their sister and cry too.
Which made Daniel and John comfort their wives.
Which made Whitney feel like a heel.
She stood. “Excuse me, I’m going to head to bed. I’m really tired.”
But as she left the room, her feet took her to the piano instead. The music to Fantaisie-Impromptu lay open. Right where she left off.
Her fingers itched to play.
It wouldn’t do any good. She didn’t learn the piece when Mama asked. Didn’t play it for Granddad.
She’d missed her chance. And now . . .
Well, Maddy and Havyn had Daniel and John. They didn’t need her. Their music would be beautiful without her.
She closed the music and tucked it back onto the shelf and then shut the lid to the piano. There. For now, it was best.
As soon as she walked away from the piano, she regretted it. What was wrong with her? She loved music. Loved her family.
When she made it to her room, Ruth was there, waiting. “Punishing yourself isn’t going to do any good.”
Whitney frowned. Pushed past Ruth into the room. “I’m not punishing myself.”
“I saw how you looked at the piano just now. You can’t fool me.”
She shot a glare at Ruth. “You don’t know me. I know you think you do, but you don’t. You don’t understand what I’ve been through. Everything that I’ve lost. Everything that has changed.”
“Whitney!” Havyn’s voice, full of shock and shame, came from the hallway.
“Keep at it, sis. You’ve almost got that motherly scolding voice down.” Where was this snippy tone coming from? She put a hand to her forehead. Here came the pain. Good grief. She needed a drink. But she needed all of them to leave so she could have one.
Havyn put a hand to her belly and took a long, deep breath. A sure sign she was tempering her words. “Look. I came back here to tell you what happened. We didn’t discuss it at dinner. I know we promised not to do anything without you, but the hotel caught fire and we had to move Ruth and the kids here. We went ahead and moved everyone’s rooms around. Just like we talked about.”
“All except yours.” Maddy tossed in from behind their sister.
“I see.” Whitney darted her gaze to Ruth.
“I think we need to get some rest. Tensions have been high lately, so why don’t we talk in the morning?”
Since when did Havyn boss them all around? Boss her around?
The shooting pain in her temples chose that moment to start up again, so she just closed her eyes and nodded.
Everyone left in an awkward silence. She’d hurt them, but she couldn’t seem to figure out her own feelings—much less her outburst. Headaches and bitterness toward Dad and God tormented her. Nothing was right anymore. It was almost as if she didn’t know her own family anymore. Didn’t know who she had become.
Dressing for bed, she couldn’t take her eyes off where she’d hidden the whiskey. A little before bed should take the edge off the pain. Then tomorrow, she’d talk to Peter about it. Surely he had another remedy for her headaches and anxiety.
Yes. She would do that. Then she wouldn’t need the strong drink anymore.
But . . .
What if Peter couldn’t do anything else? What if she became an invalid and a burden on her family?
The pain overwhelmed her, and she closed her eyes and counted to ten. No. She was fine. She had a handle on things.
Climbing into bed, she pulled the whiskey with her. Too tired to refill the small tonic bottle, she just drank out of the larger one. Just until the headache settled down. She took a small sip and tucked the bottle next to her. Just in case.
Relaxing against the pillows, she reached for it again and this time took a long drag on the mouth of the bottle.
The liquid warmed her.
In the morning, she could apologize.
The room smelled of antiseptic. A smell Peter was used to, but at the moment, it turned his stomach.
Then he saw her.
Charlotte.
Her hair drenched from sweat, her face bright red. No matter what he did, he couldn’t stop the flow of blood. And his wife was suffering because of it.
“I can’t, Peter . . . I can’t.” She fell back against the pillows and breathed heavily.
“Yes, you can. I’m here with you. It shouldn’t be that much longer. Hold on, Charlotte. Stay with me. Please.”
What good was his medical training? He had no idea what to do. And Dr. Willis—his mentor and teacher—was out on another call. A young man had been gored by a bull. Peter sent word, but so far, the good doctor hadn’t come.
His wife and child were dying, and he couldn’t stop it!
The scenery changed, and he was outside. The humid summer of Kansas threatened rain. The scent of damp, freshly turned earth filled his nose.
He stood beside the grave. A simple pine box held his wife. And his son.
“There was nothing any of us could have done, my boy. Not a thing. Your wife simply couldn’t carry a child.” Dr. Willis had a hand on his shoulder.
The man reassured him over and over again that nothing could have prevented the disaster that took his whole world. They hadn’t known that his wife had a malformed uterus, or that the baby hadn’t developed correctly. Then the placenta had ruptured.
All Peter knew was that he hadn’t been able to save them. Neither one of them.
He’d failed. Plain and simple.
The scenery changed again. Whitney was there, walking a narrow ledge, a bottle in her hand. Her expression was so sad.
“Whitney!” He rushed toward her. “Don’t move. You’ll fall!”
And then she was gone over the side.
Crouching at the edge, he watched her fall until she disappeared into the blackness––
“No!”
Peter jerked up in bed and took stock of the room around him. He wasn’t back in Kansas. Struggling to breathe, he thrust his hands into his hair and gripped the sides of his head.
Another nightmare. This time laced with a new element.
Whitney.
TWELVE
Tuesday, January 17
The room was dark as Whitney blinked and pushed herself up to sit. If only she could sleep longer, but the need for the privy pushed her.
With a groan, she stretched and worked to free her mind of the cobwebs. Why was her brain so muddled?
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Madysen’s usually singsong voice was anything but. It held a tinge of anger.
Whitney turned toward the sound. “What are you doing in my room?”
A lantern lit. Havyn’s face wasn’t any happier than Maddy’s voice.
The warm glow helped her to see her sisters standing at the foot of her bed. Grim. Serious.
In Havyn’s right hand . . .
The whiskey bottle.
No! Whitney surged to her feet.
Havyn held out the bottle. “We’re trying not to jump to any conclusions here, but we heard a thud as we were heading to the kitchen. It was this. And you were dead asleep.”
“What’s going on, Whit?” Madysen put her hands on her hips.
Whitney’s stomach roiled. She understood their accusatory tones, they’d grown up with the same father she had. But still . . . she didn’t want to explain. “Peter gave me a bottle of tonic to help with the headaches and uneasiness after the attack.”
Both sisters softened a bit. Good. At least they were listening.
“Since the tonic was mostly whiskey, I refill the small flask with that.” She nodded toward the bottle still in the white-knuckled grip of her pregnant sister.
“You refill it? Often?” Maddy’s voice softened. As if she couldn’t believe it.
“No.” What could she say? “Only as needed.”
“Might I remind you that this home has never had alcohol in it because of the demons it produced in our father?” Havyn’s brows knit together.
“You are the one who reminds us time and again of the pain Dad caused with his drinking. How could you?” Maddy looked about ready to cry.
Whitney’s body tensed, and it was her turn to place her hands on her hips. “You know very well that Granddad had that locked up in his cabinet for medicinal purposes. That’s what this is. Peter knows about it. You have no idea what I’ve had to endure and the pain these headaches cause me.”
“Aren’t you afraid of ending up like Dad?” Havyn’s voice had lost some of its edge.
How could she get them to see? She wasn’t like their dad. Not. One. Bit. “I’m not drinking for the sake of drinking, I promise. I can’t even stand the taste of the stuff. It’s only for the pain.”
Havyn shook her head. “I don’t know, Whit. This scares me. You wouldn’t wake up.”
Guilt pricked at her conscience, but she wouldn’t give it entrance. “I’m fine. You both have enough to worry about without having to fret over me.”
“You’re our sister! Of course we’re going to worry. You haven’t been acting like yourself.” Maddy stepped forward and tried to put a hand on Whitney’s arm.
She jerked back. “Have you thought about the fact that everything has changed? Did you consider how both of you running off to get married could impact me? It’s not enough that I have to grieve my mother and my grandfather, but a man tried to ruin my reputation! He hurt me. Worse than I want to admit. You two have your husbands to run and cry to . . . I don’t have anyone. So mind your own business and stay out of mine. I think I have a right to not act like myself.”
The shocked looks on her sisters’ faces made the silence deafening.
Oh, curse her temper! She slumped. “I’m sorry. My head still hurts.”
Maddy sniffed.
Havyn set the bottle down on the bed. “We were concerned, that’s it. I better go fix breakfast.” She turned on her heel.
Maddy followed. Without a word.
Whitney collapsed onto the bed. Why couldn’t she get past the pain and grief like her sisters had? Why was God allowing this to happen to her?
Tears sprang to her eyes. She tried to keep them at bay, but it was no use. Now the headache would rage again, but she didn’t care. Nothing was right or normal.
She’d never talked that way to her sisters. Never!
What had she done?
The red of Whitney’s curly locks caught Judas’s attention out the window.
Of course, she was back in front of that doctor’s office. What now? She’d just returned, or so he’d heard.
This was not going according to Judas’s plan. Well, he was about to change that. Right now.
He went to the hat stand and grabbed his coat and then headed out his office door. Within moments, he was a few strides away. Pasting a smile on his face, he slowed his pace and stepped close to her.
“Good morning, Mr. Reynolds.” There was a wariness in her eyes.
“Please, call me Judas.”
Her lips tipped up. Barely. “All right. Judas.” This time, she held eye contact.
“Have you had a chance to think about my request?” He kept his voice low. His tone sweet.
She dipped her head a bit. “Yes, I have.”
“And?”
“If I agree to court you, I need to be clear that I am not promising to marry you.”
“I would never expect that you were, my dear.” If he were a betting man, he’d say the odds were in his favor, though.
“I appreciate that you are a God-fearing man of good character. Those are important things that I would like in a husband. But things are difficult right now. You must understand that.” She gazed off in the direction of her farm. “You were there for me when Mr. Sinclair lied. In fact, you came to my rescue and salvaged my reputation. I will be forever grateful for that. But I don’t want you to think that my decision is made lightly or out of any response to that.”
“It is apparent you’ve put a great deal of thought into this.” She was coming around. Excellent.
“I have.” She turned back to face him. “The truth is, I’m not sure I’m good wife material. There are many things I need to figure out for myself before I enter into a relationship like marriage.”
The lady was thinking about marriage. It couldn’t be going better if he’d orchestrated the whole thing himself. “You have my deepest respect for your honesty, Miss Powell.”
“Please. We’ve known each other long enough. Call me Whitney.”
“Whitney it is.” Judas lifted his shoulders a bit. Time to pour on the charm. “You are the most level-headed and practical woman I’ve ever met. That’s exactly what I’ve been searching for in a wife. That’s why you haven’t seen me about town courting anyone else. No one has met my standards. But you . . . well, you don’t have your head in the clouds with unrealistic dreams about marriage like most young women. You’re not a gold digger either. I need someone who is sensible, honest, loyal . . . and frankly, I see all of those plus so much more in you, Whitney.”
