Ever Constant, page 5
Madysen and Daniel were just as much a joy to know. Maddy would have made an exceptional nurse as much as she loved to rescue people and animals alike.
Then there was Whitney. She had been heavy on his heart for months now. He always prayed for his patients, but for some reason the good Lord seemed to bring her to mind more often than any other.
It was amazing how much she’d endured, and yet she kept on going. Perhaps he could get her to open up and that might help her heal. Lord, please show me how to help her.
The frigid air cleansed his lungs as he prayed. The farm came into view, and he slowed his horse. Several other horses were hitched to the post. Probably the pastor helping to make arrangements. But then a flash of cinnamon-red hair caught his attention. Whitney was out with her dogs. He took a second glance. Her hair was the most beautiful shade of red.
Instead of going inside, he headed toward her. Alone with her, he could assess how she was really doing.
“Good morning, Miss Powell.” He always made a point of letting her know he was approaching. After a physical attack, many women couldn’t bear to be surprised by a man’s presence.
Her head snapped up. “Good morning, doctor. Didn’t I ask you to call me Whitney?”
He grinned and removed his hat. “As long as you call me Peter.”
One eyebrow quirked up at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You first.”
“All right. Good morning, Whitney.”
“Good morning, Peter.” No smile, but neither did she frown. That was better than nothing.
“How are you holding up?” Best to just dive in. Whitney wasn’t a fan of chitchat.
She blinked several times. “I’m fine.”
“Care to elaborate on that?”
She flung her hands out and huffed. “What do you want me to say? That I’m devastated my granddad is gone? That life won’t be the same . . . ever? That I haven’t even dealt with the loss of my mother, or both of my sisters getting married, or my long-thought-dead father coming back to life with a whole new family?” Her eyes widened as if she was waiting for some kind of answer from him. “I’m fine. See?” Walking past him, she grabbed a bucket with more force than was necessary and growled at him.
“Yeah. Sure. You’re fine.” He tried hard to keep a neutral expression on his face, but he doubted it was possible as the sarcastic words slipped out. At least she was talking to him.
“You just won’t leave me be, will you?”
“Nope.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Not only am I your physician, Whitney, but I’d like to think that I’m your friend as well. And I can’t be good at either one if I leave you be.” This could lead to treacherous waters if he wasn’t careful. Charlotte used to tell him that his Achilles’ heel was the investment he put into his patients. A double-edged sword—because he cared so much, which was necessary in a doctor, but it cost him greatly.
Charlotte. His heart twinged. She’d waited while he finished medical school. Helped him study. Was the one who understood what made him push himself to be the best doctor he could be.
“Well, as soon as you share what put that look on your face, I’ll spill the beans about everything I’m feeling.”
He looked up.
Whitney’s hands were on her hips. And she dared him with her eyes.
How long had he been standing there thinking of Charlotte? “I’m here to check on you.”
“That’s an excuse, Peter. You just said you thought you were my friend. Last time I checked, friendships went both ways.” Her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparked.
But he saw through them to the fragile veil that was her shield for now. Deflection. Redirecting attention off of her. Somehow he needed to help her protect that, or she might very well fall apart. And he didn’t want that. “I am your friend. And you’re correct. It goes both ways.” Honesty was always the best policy. “I was remembering someone . . . I lost.”
Her gaze shot down to the ground, and she toed the snow with her boot. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget others have lost people too. How incredibly selfish of me . . .” She shook her head and walked toward him. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you. You’ve done nothing but help during some really troublesome times.” The strong façade was back up. Appearing in control of her emotions again, Whitney stared at him. “Thank you for checking on me. I admit I was a bit overwhelmed talking about the funeral, so I came out here to have some time to myself.”
“Totally understandable that you wanted time.” He put his hat back on his head. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll head back to the house and see if there’s anything I can do.”
“I said I thought I needed time to myself. But then I realized that I would spend a lot more time by myself from now on. Makes me feel alone. And I don’t quite know how to deal with that.”
Look at that, she was opening up after all.
He kept his voice casual. “Grief is tricky that way. You won’t know how to feel for quite a while.”
She nodded. Stared away toward the horizon.
The silence stretched. Not one to fill empty space with shallow words, Peter weighed his options. “You’re not alone, Whitney. Remember that.” Turning on his heel, he tossed over his shoulder. “It was good to see you. I’m praying for you.”
“Wait.”
He stopped and looked back.
“The funeral is tomorrow at the Roadhouse.” Her words were hushed. Defeated. “After lunch.”
He stepped closer to her.
She knelt down and petted one of her dogs. “Will you come?”
“Of course. I’ll be there.”
Her chin dipped in a slight nod, and then she walked past him one more time. “Thank you. I better go check on my family now.”
As her words washed over him, so did her breath.
Peter let her retreat. It was her safety net. But the whiff of whiskey couldn’t be denied. One day soon, he’d have to ask her about it. And it might very well be the end of their friendship.
A thought that hurt more than he wanted to admit.
THREE
Watching Whitney stand beside her sisters, Peter couldn’t ignore the niggle at the back of his brain. The liquor he’d smelled on her yesterday hadn’t been a figment of his imagination. Normally she smelled of mint. A scent that now always reminded him of her. She’d mentioned to him how she liked to chew on the leaves—especially when she was mucking the dogs’ kennels. Made complete sense. But it wasn’t mint yesterday. He knew what he’d smelled. If he didn’t speak to her about it, who would? No one else probably even knew. Why hadn’t she talked to him about needing more tonic? The pain had obviously continued, and he didn’t blame her for doing whatever she could to keep going. That was who she was. Strong, capable, independent. But if the stoic look on her face was any indication, she would continue to run herself ragged and treat herself with alcohol, and things could spiral out of control.
The funeral service had been beautiful, but it had taken its toll. The dark circles under her eyes and the slouch to her shoulders made him want to take her home immediately and insist that she get some rest.
But she would refuse. Every fiber of his being could predict it.
It had been months since he’d given her the tonic, but the consequences of the attack were more than just physical. She’d dealt with anxiety and fear since that day. Things that Whitney attested to being new and strange to her. And she’d made him promise that he wouldn’t tell her family.
Rumors had flown throughout Nome that Whitney was a loose woman. Until Sinclair changed his story and made a public declaration of her innocence in the matter. The apology had, no doubt, been forced by the man’s employer. Judas. Which didn’t matter—at least her reputation had been restored.
Then Sinclair disappeared.
No one missed the man. But Whitney had once mentioned her fear of him returning.
Even though she never gave details of the attack, it hadn’t been hard to put two and two together.
The physical attack and emotional consequences would be difficult to heal from even if that was all Miss Powell had to deal with. But when compounded with every other trial her family had encountered in the past year, she was on the verge of breaking. She’d never admit it, but he could see it. Almost as if she stood on the brink of a precipice and it wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge. If she continued to keep things bottled up and turn to the “tonic” for help, the results could be catastrophic.
He’d just have to stay attentive to Whitney’s demeanor, actions, and health.
So far, she’d been honest with him when he’d checked on her. At her last visit, she hadn’t mentioned needing the tonic any longer . . . but would she use this latest grief and loss to shut everyone out, including him? If not, would confronting her about what he suspected push her away?
He shook away the questions and focused on the here and now.
The Roadhouse hummed with quiet chatter. The service had been beautiful. The girls sang “Rock of Ages” to close the service in the most beautiful performance he’d ever heard. Their harmonies were glorious. Their voices strong. Even though each one of them had tears glistening in her eyes.
It appeared the entire town of Nome had shown up for the service.
Peter stood in line to speak to the family, listening to the praise and memories of Chuck Bundrant.
Before Peter reached the family, Whitney excused herself and went out the side door.
Odd. Or maybe not so much. Grief could make it difficult to be around crowds of people.
For several moments, he watched the door she’d used as an exit and debated with himself. But when she didn’t return, he followed her in the direction of her retreat.
Bright sunlight blinded him for a moment, and he put a hand over his eyes to adjust. The snow shimmered like diamonds. He searched the area around the building and then spotted her. With her arms crossed over her middle, her chin was dipped low. She’d taken out the ribbon that had tamed her curly hair, and it hung from her fingertips. As her curls swayed in the bone-chilling wind, she lifted a hand to rub one of her temples.
Oh no. Another headache. There had to be something else he could do to help relieve her misery. When he got back to his office, he’d have to search every medical text he owned. One more time.
Taking long strides toward her, he didn’t try to quiet his steps. Just so she’d have warning that he was approaching.
She turned and tucked something in her pocket.
Oh, Whitney. Not the tonic again. How much of a habit had this become? How did she have any left . . . or was she refilling the same bottle when it emptied?
The desire to confront her fought with his compassion. Perhaps now was not the time.
Lord, I need Your divine wisdom here. Please help me understand when I need to bring up this topic with Whitney. I want her to trust me so she knows my concern is genuine and for her benefit.
“Hi.” Her voice cracked. Though he’d seen her eyes appear to be teary a few times, she hadn’t sobbed like her sisters. “Thank you for coming.”
He’d expected her to keep control of her emotions, because she was the constant strength for her sisters. But she needed a good cry. To grieve. If only he knew the solution. “I wanted to offer my condolences.”
“You already did back at the house. But I appreciate it nonetheless.” The hankie in her hand twisted with the ribbon between her fingers.
“I realize you probably would like some time to yourself, and I won’t stay, but I know you prefer talking one-on-one.”
A sad smile lifted her lips, but she wouldn’t make eye contact. “You do seem to understand me, Peter Cameron.”
That was encouraging. “I think it would be good if we made an appointment later this week for me to assess how your head injury is healing. I want to make sure you aren’t having any adverse reactions in your vision or hearing. Those are the most common side effects that people ignore, not realizing more damage was done than originally thought. I don’t wish to miss anything.” Maybe appealing to her logic would get her to acquiesce.
“I’m fine. But I appreciate your concern.” Wrapping the ribbon around her fingers, she stared at the ground.
“You’re not fine. You’re in pain. Another headache?” He inched closer, as if he was approaching a timid animal.
Her shoulders drooped as she let out a long breath. “I didn’t want anyone to notice.”
“It’s my job to notice these things.” Another step. Keeping his eyes on her face, he hoped she wouldn’t flee again.
She whipped around to face him, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t care.” Clamping her lips shut, she softened as tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap. But my family doesn’t need anything else to worry about. They need to grieve, and it’s my job to take care of them now.”
Of course she would take the responsibility of the world on her shoulders. “All right. I won’t push for now. But I’m here if you want to talk to someone. I understand and I won’t judge. I do need to see you within the next month. Agreed?”
She shrugged. “If it will keep you from nagging me.”
“Is the good doctor nagging you?” Judas Reynolds’s smooth voice behind him made Peter frown. He turned.
Havyn and Madysen walked on either side of the man.
Peter forced a smile. “Only doing my duty as her physician.”
“Of course, of course.” Judas patted Peter’s back, then he walked past him to Whitney.
“Judas wanted to check on you, Whit, and so did we.” Havyn stopped beside Peter. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Cameron. We are indebted to you for your impeccable care of Granddad.”
Madysen stepped over to her eldest sister and linked arms with her before kissing her on the cheek. “We didn’t want you to be alone.”
“As you can see, I’m not alone. I’m fine.” The words were stiff. Without emotion. Poor Whitney.
Madysen patted her arm. “Well, I know Judas wanted to speak with you, so we will head back inside.”
John appeared beside Peter as he tried to keep an eye on Whitney. What was Judas up to? The man offered Whitney an arm and she took it.
John stepped into Peter’s line of sight. “Could I ask you a question?”
“Of course.” He moved his eyes to John, but kept his ears attuned to the other conversation happening.
John was simply worried about a toenail he’d lost after a calf stepped on it last week. He said that Havyn made him promise to talk to Peter about it, but he hadn’t wanted to be a bother.
While Peter gave John instructions on what to do, he overheard Judas remind Whitney that he was there for her. That he’d helped restore her reputation and wanted her to know that he would forever be her champion. The man was laying it on pretty thick. Especially when he shared that Whitney had always held his attention and admiration.
Peter wanted to interrupt, but that would be rude. John was talking now about his nervousness about the coming baby. After giving the father-to-be some encouragement and words of affirmation, he snuck a glance back at Judas. The man was looking down on Whitney, his expression far too intimate.
The man was attempting to woo Whitney. Good grief.
Well, the rest of the town, and the entire Bundrant clan, may think the man hung the moon, but he knew better. Judas was never there for anyone but himself. He wanted to be in charge. To own and run the town.
How the man had besotted so many people was beyond Peter, but at least he was wise to the truth. Years ago, when he was young and just out of medical school, he’d met a man just like Judas. Sadly, Peter had been hoodwinked by the fraud, like the rest of the town. But lesson learned. From the moment he’d met Judas Reynolds, he knew. What he was going to do about it at this point was yet to be seen. Best to observe and watch and pray for the right words when the time came to say something.
As he watched Judas walk Whitney back to the Roadhouse, a sinking feeling filled his gut. How could he protect Whitney—and Nome for that matter—from a powerful man like Reynolds?
Everything passed in a blur. Like it had all been some sort of play and she wasn’t actually living it. It wasn’t until Judas came out to chat with her that Whitney saw through the fog.
Not that him speaking with her was so jolting. It was the way he’d looked at her. Different than ever before. And it was the first time she’d really studied the man’s eyes. Judas Reynolds had been a part of their lives since they’d come to Nome. He had been a dear friend of the family, someone they knew they could rely on, no matter what. He’d helped them time and again, and Granddad had trusted him.
But today . . .
His gaze had penetrated her grief, and she’d noticed the icy blue of his eyes. She’d always thought him to be a handsome man. Even had remarked with her sisters about how striking his eyes were. But she’d never felt so . . . connected to him.
She rubbed at her eyes as the sleigh reached their home. She was being ridiculous. Grief did weird things to people.
Climbing down, she told her family that she needed some time alone and was going to Granddad’s room. She hated abandoning her sisters, but if she didn’t get a few moments of silence, her head might explode.
They hadn’t expected half the town to come out to the burial. It was amazing that Amka’s brothers had been able to dig the grave to the depth they had. But it was all over now.
Thank God.
Granddad was buried. A cross had been placed.
Now they just had to find a way to go on without him. And without Mama.
She took off her snow-covered boots in the coatroom Granddad had built into the entry, shed her hat, coat, and gloves, and then went down the hallway toward his room.
The doorknob squeaked as she turned it. She held her breath and pushed the door open slowly. Was she ready to see the room empty of her grandfather’s presence?
The winter sunshine spilled through the window and pooled on the floor almost exactly where she’d found him. As she closed her eyes, she could still see him there. Crumpled and lifeless.
