Christmas With the Colburns (5 page)

Chapter Eight

Lydia drew her pen from its silver holder beside the lamp on
her desk and dipped it in the ink well. She pressed the pen to a fresh piece of
gray leaf paper and marked a straight line an inch from the top. “I always
start a fresh chart for each new patient. According to my mentor,” she glanced
at Sophia, “your grandfather, Doctor Ashton, some patients’ information will
barely fill one chart in their entire lifetimes, and other patients will
need—or want—medical attention so often their records will overflow
a file.”

Sophia asked, “Do you use ink for all of your notes?”

“No, only for the name and personal details. I use pencil for
my observations and treatment notes. I’ve never had an assistant before, but
until you are knowledgeable in medical terms, I want you to report your
observations to me and I’ll note the patient charts. I file the charts in
here,” she said as she opened the drawer at the right side of her desk, “by the
patient’s last name.”

Sophia pointed to the drawer at Lydia’s left. “What’s in
there?”

Lydia hadn’t told her father about the journal yet, so she
certainly didn’t intend to tell anyone else. “That drawer is… hard to open.
Leave it alone.” She smoothed her hair and stood from her desk. “I’ll show you
where we’ll conduct our research with the gray leaf.”

Sunlight filtered into Lydia’s office through the gauzy
curtains and lit Sophia’s young smile. She clasped her creamy white hands.
“This is what I’ve been waiting for!”

“I’m glad you’re excited about research,” Lydia said as she
led her to the long counter between a bookcase and the patient cot. “I used to
be the same way, and I hope to regain the fervor that used to keep me at the
microscope for hours.”

“Used to? What changed?”

“Life!” A laugh escaped Lydia’s throat. “I got married and
had a baby and my aunt needed more care and… I’m hoping your enthusiasm is
infectious.” She moved her medical instruments to the cabinet above the counter
and set out her microscope, slides, and samples from the gray leaf tree. “Have
you used a microscope before?”

Sophia shook her head. “We didn’t have one at my school in
Woodland. And when I arrived in Good Springs, Mr. Bradshaw said the class had
already finished their biology lessons for the year.”

“Not to worry, you’ll get plenty of practice here. First,
I’ll show you how to prepare a slide.” She picked up two slides, handed Sophia
one of the thin pieces of glass, and began to demonstrate. “Lay the slide flat
like this.” She pointed at the samples. “These gray leaves are at various
stages in their development. We only want one layer of the leaf. If it’s too
thick, we won’t be able to see the cells.”

She sliced a section of a fresh gray leaf with a scalpel, and
its scent filled the air. She inhaled deeply as she peeled the top layers of
the leaf apart with tweezers. “Now we place our leaf sample on the slide,” she
picked up a water dropper, “and then we drip a small amount of—”

A knock on the office door interrupted her demonstration. She
set the dropper on the counter, crossed the office floor, and opened the door.
“Oh hello, Nicholas. Come in.”

“Thank you, Dr. Bradshaw.” He removed his hat as he stepped
inside. His hair was freshly washed and his clothes clean and pressed. The
smell of soap clung to the air around him. He didn’t look like a farmhand who
had stopped in the middle of his day to run an errand in the village. “I’ve
come to return your—” His words were cut short as his gaze landed on
Sophia.

Lydia’s new assistant was peering through the microscope’s
eyepiece, waving a finger across the stage and watching it pass the lenses. She
had yet to give Nicholas a glance, and it was a pity she was missing his
open-jawed stare of wonder as he took in her young female form.

Lydia rolled her eyes at Nicholas. “Coming to return my
what?”

He peeled his gaze away from Sophia. “Your jar.” He held out
the empty salve container she had sent home with him a week prior.

“That’s very kind of you, but it wasn’t necessary. How is
your foot?”

His worshiping eyes had wandered back to Sophia. “My what?”

“The nail puncture on the bottom of your foot? The wound that
required the salve that was in this jar, which you are so kindly and
unnecessarily returning?”

“Quite well, thank you,” he said without glancing at Lydia.

She touched his arm and regained his attention. “Shall I
introduce you?”

“Hm?”

“To my new assistant?”

“Yes, please do.” Nicholas lowered his voice. “We met long
ago. She might not remember me, but I’d like to say hello. Everett told me she
was training here now with you. He thought it might be a good time for me to
return your jar.”

“I’ll bet he did.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.” She grinned and led him toward the counter.
“Sophia, I’d like to introduce you to—”

The instant Sophia turned to look, her smile lit the room.
“Nicholas Vestal?”

Lydia glanced between them. “Ah, see there, Nicholas, she
does remember you.”

Sophia beamed. “Of course, I do. Nicholas is from Woodland
too. I haven’t seen you since we were children. Well, I was a child anyway.”
She glanced at Lydia briefly. “When I was in primary school, Nicholas was
finishing high school. You were a year ahead of my sister, Alice, weren’t you?”

“Two years actually. I believe… um, yes, two years.”
Nicholas’s fingers had a slight tremble that vibrated the brim of the hat he
held. It was a good thing Sophia was comfortable making conversation.

“Alice and her family have been in Good Springs for three
years now. I’ve been here since July.”

“Since July? I’ve been here since my aunt sent word to me
that the Fosters needed a farmhand over a year ago.” Nicholas fidgeted with his
hat. “I’m working to get my own flock and possibly some land here.”

“Oh, how lovely.”

Lydia leaned against her desk as she watched the awkward
exchange. The young man was clearly infatuated with Sophia and probably had
been coached by Everett and the other shepherds to come and talk to her. Lydia
wanted to let it play out, but it would only encourage future interruptions of
their work if she didn’t act now. She stepped to the door. “Nicholas, thank you
for so kindly returning the jar. Most people don’t think of such things. It was
very thoughtful. Sophia and I were about to begin some research, though, and we
need to get back to work.”

“Yes, well, I should be going.” He threaded the brim of his
hat through his fingers as he backed toward the door. “Thank you again, Doctor,
for your excellent care. And Sophia, it was a pleasure meeting you again… here…
seeing you here in Good Springs… where we both live now… all grown up.” His
foot tapped the threshold and he waved goodbye with his hat instead of his
hand. “See you around.”

Sophia’s smile held steady and she gave a feminine wave. “See
you around, Nicholas.”

Lydia restrained her groan as she closed the door. She was
never that young. And she certainly didn’t remember Connor being that dopey
when he was first in love with her. Nicholas was a nice enough fellow, handsome
even, but Lydia had the overwhelming urge to screen her trainee’s potential
suitors. “He’s intrigued with you.”

“Yes, I realized that.” Sophia had already returned her
attention to the microscope. “How do you adjust these lenses?”

Lydia reached for one of the dials and turned it as Sophia
looked through. “It’s not my business really if you plan to court anyone, but I
assumed since you want to train with me, your work would be your priority. Not
that you aren’t allowed to court while you’re in training… I just didn’t
consider it before I brought you on.”

“Would it have made a difference to you?”

Lydia shrugged. “It will make a difference in how accustomed
I allow myself to get with having you around.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you fall in love and get married and have babies, that
would likely end your work here, wouldn’t it?”

Sophia let go of the microscope. “I hadn’t thought of that. I
hope to get married someday and when I do… yes, I want to make a home of my
own. I’m not sure how much work I’d be able to do while having a family to take
care of.” She furrowed her brow. “How did you plan your life that it works so
well for you?”

“Oh, I didn’t plan it like it is,” Lydia laughed. “All I
wanted was to be a doctor and care for the village and explore all the
medicinal potential of the gray leaf tree. There is only one bedroom upstairs
because I was quite adamant that I would not marry and have children. But when
Connor came along, everything changed for me. He assured me that it was
possible for me to continue my work and raise a family.”

“Was he right? Is it possible?”

Lydia glanced out the window at the Colburn house. Her son
was in there napping while Bethany babysat him. Her father was behind the
chicken coop, taking care of their dinner. “It has been possible so far, but
I’ve had my family’s help.”

Sophia picked up a sample of the gray leaf. “I haven’t been
in Good Springs very long, but from what I know of your family, it seems like
they would make anything possible.”

Lydia wasn’t so sure any more. Bethany would soon marry and
move away, her other siblings no longer wanted to come home for Christmas, and
her father was getting older. Could she still count on her family?

She wanted to talk to someone about the way she felt, but not
her young trainee. Mandy was her best friend, but as Levi’s wife she was now
extended family and part of the problem. Aunt Isabella had been her confidant
when fear and doubt crept in, but she was gone now. Maybe that was why Isabella
gave her the little journal—as one final word of encouragement written by
the only person Lydia always trusted: her mother.

Chapter Nine

At midnight Lydia crawled into bed, weary from a long day.
Raindrops hit the window with an arrhythmic
tink
tink tink
that made her wish it would either commit to downpour or stop
altogether. Instead of putting out her lamp, she slid it close to the edge of
her bedside table and opened her mother’s journal. So far, the sadness of her
mother’s predicament had only reinforced her own. Still, she yearned to read
another page of the story.

Mrs. Colburn handed me
a beige apron that had a pink rose embroidered on the collar. She said it was
mine to keep and insisted I call her Violet when the men weren’t around. She
was always busy in the house or the garden or the kitchen and kept me with her
from chore to chore.

I liked the work. She
had a tip or trick to make everything easier or better. At first I thought she
was inventing projects to keep me occupied so that I’d forget about my
troubles, but she wasn’t. She did everything out of genuine love for her family
and her home.

Two days before
Christmas, she started preparing the food. She said she made the same feast
every year, even when it would be only Mr. Colburn, John, and Mr. Colburn’s
blind sister, Isabella, and herself at the dinner table. It seemed extravagant
to spend two days cooking for four people, but she said as the overseer’s wife,
she never knew who else might join them and she wanted to be prepared. Some
Christmases travelers needed hospitality, and some Christmases people were
alone and she invited them over. Since I fit into both of those categories, I
smiled and continued pitting cherries for the salad recipe she was teaching me.

Isabella sat at the
table, snapping green beans. She had a funny way of being so quiet for so long,
I’d forget she was around, and then she’d interject some comment proving she
listened to every word spoken in the Colburn house.

As I worked on the
cherries, Violet made the sauce at the cook stove. “Beat two eggs in your
saucepan with a wooden spoon like so, and then add one cup of sugar and one cup
of heavy whipping cream.” She scraped every drip of cream out of the cup. “The
trick is to keep stirring the sauce on medium heat for about fifteen minutes.
For the perfect cherry salad, you’ll want the sauce thick, but be careful not
to burn it.”

My fingers were tired
by the time I’d finished pitting thirty ounces of cherries, but the smell of
the warm sweet sauce assured me the work would be worth it. I carried the bowl
of cherries to Violet. “When do we mix these into the sauce?”

She wagged a finger at
me and moved the saucepan from the cook stove to a potholder on the countertop.
“Oh, not for hours. We have to let the sauce and the cherries chill before we
mix them together. And we’ll mix in a cup of crushed walnuts then too. Now,
keep those cherries in their juices and cover the bowl. I want you to take it
down to the cellar to chill in the icebox. Then come back for this sauce. I’ll
have it in a covered dish by then.”

I held the bowl of
cherries with both hands as I stepped out the back door and descended the sunny
steps to the dark cellar. As I pushed the heavy wooden door open and stared
into the blackness inside, I was overcome with grief. I’d spent the day cooking
with Violet in her warm sunlit kitchen and had enjoyed it so very much that I’d
forgotten the dark loneliness that awaited me.

I leaned against the
open door without a ray of light touching me and closed my eyes. My tears fell
silently at first, but were swiftly followed by forceful weeping. Bereft, I
forgot all about the cherries and cried.

I don’t know if I heard
him coming, but when I think back, I know I felt him there. At once, the bowl
was taken from me and a hand was on my shoulder. I wiped away the tears that
blurred my vision. John Colburn was standing there, holding the bowl and
looking down at me. His steel blue eyes were full of concern. I hid my face in
my hands. “I’m so sorry you saw me like this. Please go.”

I heard movement and
peeked between my fingers, hoping he’d left the cellar. Instead, he set the
bowl in the icebox and lit a lantern. He blew out the match and turned back to
me. “You need light.”

“Thank you.” Ashamed he
could now clearly see my face, I tried to blink back my tears. “I didn’t come
down here to cry.”

“I know.”

“It’s just that your
mother is so kind and your house is so peaceful and until I came down here I’d
forgotten I have to leave in a few days and not just leave this house but the
village. My home. This village is my home. I am a grown woman and my parents
said I had to go with them to Northpoint or go to my cousin’s in Riverside, but
I don’t want to. I want to stay here in Good Springs, but my brother’s wife
didn’t want me to live with them. My father said I’m still his responsibility
since I’m unmarried, but the best he could come up with was to send me away.
But I don’t want to leave Good Springs.”

I stepped toward John
and he wrapped me in his arms, reflexively, which was fitting because he was
training to be the overseer and I would not be the last sobbing person he would
have to console. He didn’t say a word. He let me bury my face against him and
cry. I was so absorbed in my self-pity I didn’t think anything of his kindness
until I had cried all I could. And then I pulled away.

He towered over me and
smelled like sunshine and the gray leaf trees. I had always thought of him as
older and dignified, in an unapproachable scholarly sort of way. But he wasn’t.
He didn’t stop me as I backed away and he wouldn’t have stopped me if I had
dropped into his arms and wept again. His unmovable compassion stunned me.

I didn’t mean for it to
happen, nor did I see it coming, but that was the moment I fell in love with
John Colburn.