Ginny Aiken (23 page)

“Very well. Stop them. But I beg you not to just jail them, especially the young ones. They need help, and by God’s grace they can be helped. I intend to help them.”

Eric flinched at her mention of God. Too bad. She knew where to put her trust, and she wasn’t going to hide that faith. Besides, he needed to make peace with his Father by himself.

Before she could argue further, he said, “I’m willing to compromise but only if you’ll compromise, too.”

“What sort of compromise do you propose?”

“I’ll do what I can to keep the girls out of jail. I’ll even find them help—work, even—if you stop consorting with them.”

“How dare you suggest that!” Letty marched to the window, turning her back on him, fuming silently.

How dare he? He dared because he cared about her and feared for her safety. What if she contracted some filthy disease while treating strumpets? What if she got caught in a brawl between a “client” and a tart? What if something happened to her? What if she ended up suffering because he’d failed her, too? He dared because he had to keep her safe.

Staring down the width of the room, he said, “Hartville needs you. We brought you to doctor our women and children . . . those who don’t lead a sordid life. We can’t afford to lose you.”

“Oh, pshaw, Eric Wagner. Hartville’s in no danger of losing me—”

“Listen to me, you spitfire! How many women and children do you think you’ll see in your clinic when the men decide you’ve lowered yourself to an unacceptable level? They won’t permit their families to seek you for treatment if they feel that’s the best way to shield them from the baser elements in town.”

Letty’s brow furrowed. Her lips pursed as if she’d bitten into a green persimmon. She advanced and jabbed a finger in his chest.

“Now you listen to me, Eric Wagner. Those men are the ones who pay the girls to do what should only happen in the God-ordained sanctity of marriage. They’re the ones you should take to task.”

“That may be the case,” he conceded, “but brothels have no place in a decent town. A woman’s doctor does, and those men pay your fees. What will you do if they run you out of town? Did you know that after you doctored Harry yesterday, our surgeon now sees you as a threat?”

“Could it be that I threaten these men’s secret pleasures?” she shot back.

Eric felt sucker-punched. “Sometimes,” he said, “it’s better to keep a secret if by doing so one protects decent, innocent bystanders.”

Her gaze dove deep into his heart, and he felt the urge to squirm. “No,” she said, “Scripture says that evil can’t live in the light of God’s love. What those men do in the dark of secrecy is a sin against Him.”

Sweat beaded his brow. “I don’t argue that one bit. Vice ruins everything it touches. I’ve seen a frail wife die from a stroke after learning of her husband’s infidelity. When the husband’s appetite for bought flesh became known and he realized he was about to lose his position, his image, and his career, he killed himself. Their son was orphaned.”

Letty’s gaze turned scalpel sharp. She bit her lip. “How . . . sad,” she said in a compassionate voice. “But can’t you see? None of that would have happened had the husband not strayed.”

“He was tempted.”

“He could have resisted.”

“We must eliminate the temptation.”

“How, Eric? By eliminating women? That’s absurd. A man
can stray with any acquaintance if he so desires. The girls need help.”

“The town needs to be free of that blight.”

“Yes, but not by destroying the most vulnerable of God’s children.” Letty gathered her reticule. “I must follow my conscience. I must clothe and feed those in need as God calls me to do. Not even for you, Eric, will I go against the Lord’s command.”

She left more quietly than she’d arrived.

Eric admired her strength, her courage, her determination, but that didn’t mean he would lessen his efforts. She had rejected his compromise. He, too, had to follow his conscience. He had to protect Hartville as well as Letty.

“Eric!” Ford called from the hallway.

“Yes,” he answered absently, Letty’s final words reverberating through his thoughts.

“Did you forget your interview with Dr. Medford today? He wanted to discuss his new surgical clinic.”

He closed his eyes in defeat. She’d distracted him again. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Cramming his hat on his head, he rattled off instructions to Ford as he left the office. He ran toward the surgeon’s mansion, where the new clinic would be housed, hoping he hadn’t missed him at the construction site. When he finally approached the almost-finished structure, he saw the stout man stalking away in the opposite direction. “Dr. Medford, I’m here!”

Medford planted his unique walking stick in a clump of soil. “Well! Did you think I had time to wait for you to show?”

Panting, Eric tried to appease him. “No, sir—unavoidable.” He gulped a serving of spring air. “Unexpected—delay at—the office.”

The peeved man tapped his cane against the support leg of the scaffold that covered the front of the mansion. “Well, get on with it, then.”

Eric took notebook and pencil from his inside pocket. Letty
would be the death of him yet. He couldn’t believe she’d made him forget an interview.

“Completion date is expected for . . . ?” he asked, scribbling away. He fired questions at the doctor, but Medford took his time, making sure Eric noted each lavish detail. The pompous gent beat an occasional punctuation on the scaffold with his cane, setting off an ominous rattle above. Eric didn’t like the moans the structure emitted, but he dreaded saying anything that might again light the fuse to the doctor’s wrath.

“. . . and I’ve provided exceptional care for the men,” he added. Then he jabbed Eric’s chest with a pudgy sausage of a finger. “At least, I did until you brought that meddlesome biddy to town. Who ever heard of such an absurdity? Calling herself a doctor, and homeopath to boot!”

Medford grew more livid with each passing moment. He rapped the scaffold again. A sudden rumble roared from overhead. The framework tottered, and a wooden scream pierced the afternoon’s peace.

Time stopped. The air around Eric grew thick as porridge. He couldn’t make himself move. Another rending sound made him look up. Tools rained to the ground, narrowly missing him. Then he remembered Dr. Medford. The scaffold swayed, more cracks appeared in the wooden planks, and Eric lunged at the surgeon.

“Look out!” he yelled, throwing himself against the pillowy body of the town’s wealthiest resident.

Letty left Bergstrom’s Dry Goods with a bolt of cheesecloth under her arm. She glanced down Main Street at the newest buildings and the structures now under construction. A hideous screech shocked her.

“Look out!” she yelled as the scaffold in front of Dr. Medford’s mansion began to quake. Hammers, nails, and other objects hit
the ground with alarming force. From her vantage point, Letty saw two men near the platform. When the taller man looked up, his hat fell off.

“Eric!”

Fear clutched Letty’s heart as she started toward him, her cheesecloth a forgotten lump on the road.

The wooden planks ripped apart and came crashing down.

Beneath the boards lay the man she loved. “Lord Jesus, help him,” she sobbed, running to his side. “Help me, please.”

The street had gone deathly silent. A man cried, “Get a doctor!”

Letty grabbed two bystanders who stood peering at the rubble and pushed them out of her way. “I’m Dr. Morgan. Let me through.”

But before she could reach the men, the collapsed structure had to be removed. Seeing that no one had yet taken control of the situation, Letty grabbed the nearest board and gave it a tug. Realizing the futility of her meager effort, she looked around the crowd.

She pointed at a pair of workmen. “You! Take this wood off them. I can’t help if I can’t reach them. They might die if their lungs are crushed.”

Letty couldn’t bear the thought of Eric seriously hurt, but she knew she had to set aside her fear and focus on her medical knowledge.

After what seemed like forever, the work crew removed the debris from the two figures in the dirt. Tears burned Letty’s eyes again, and a sob tightened her throat. She gathered her skirts and sank down at Eric’s side.

A tear broke through the constraints of her will and fell on a dirty cheek. “Oh, Eric . . .”

She checked the pulse at his neck with trembling fingers. Weak but steady, its thrum reassured her. As if from a great distance, she heard murmurs around her, but her attention never left him.
Soon the dry, fetid stench of dust and too many bodies tainted the otherwise fresh air.

“Move back, please. Give them room to breathe.”

Feet shuffled, the oppression of bodies lessened, and Letty filled her lungs. “These men can’t stay in the dirt,” she went on. “I need help getting them home, in bed, where they belong. Goodness knows I’m not large enough to move either one of them.”

A grizzled fellow in filthy dungarees stepped forward, then, remembering Letty’s admonition, moved back again. “I can help, miss.”

“So can I,” said a burly carpenter, his hammer hanging from his belt.

“An’ I can give Bert and Tom a hand, if I do say so myself,” added a lanky blond.

“Excellent. Please get Mr. Wagner into his buggy.” Another burst of fear clutched her middle. “And please . . . be careful.”

Although she was reluctant to leave Eric’s side, even for another patient, duty called her to check on Dr. Medford. As she reached for his thick neck, his watery blue eyes widened.

“Wha—you!” he sputtered. “Why are you here?”

Letty prayed God would spare her the humiliation she’d suffered at Mrs. Forrest’s wake. “I was about to take your pulse, sir. You’re injured, and I must check your vital signs. Please stay calm while I see if you’ve broken any bones.”

“Vital signs! Broken bones! What does an uppity midwife know of broken bones?” He turned his head from side to side, creasing his fleshy neck alarmingly. His too-tight collar and necktie looked likely to throttle him. “Get me Melvin Harrison from down Rockton way. There’s a fine doctor for you.”

“Dr. Morgan is fine doktor,” Elsa Richards asserted in her soft, accented voice. Letty smiled at her patient.

But Dr. Medford had built a good head of steam. “Woman’s nothing but a midwife. Give her a fancy title, but she’s still what
she is, and last time I checked myself, I was no woman. Someone fetch me Melvin.”

Elsa came closer, but knowing further discussion would be futile, Letty took the woman’s hand as she rose. “Don’t bother,” she said. “He’s unlikely to listen. I’ve known others like him.”

“Ach, he is dummhead!”

Letty smiled again as some around them tittered. “Yes, he seems a bit addled in the head.”

“He not polite wit’ you.”

She said good-bye, and by the time she reached Eric’s buggy, he’d opened his eyes.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“I’ve known better days.” He winced when he tried to move.

“Don’t,” she said, a hand on his chest. “You’ll be home in no time. Will Andy be there to help you inside? If not, I’ll ask one of those men to come with us.”

“Andy will be there.”

Letty took the reins. She noticed Eric’s pallor and urged the horses to a faster pace.

He moaned.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but you need to be in bed, and since I saw no broken bones, I’m going to get you home as soon as I can.”

Eric’s glare spoke volumes. Still, she had to get him out of the cool weather. He’d sustained a concussion and was most likely in shock. Before too long she brought the horses to a stop in front of Eric’s ranch house. She hopped down from the buggy and called Andy.

As she waited, she heard a bleat come from the barn, and she turned in that direction. A white nanny goat had her beady black eyes fixed on her. The animal butted her horns in Letty’s direction, then bleated again.

“Heidi!” the ranch hand yelled as he rounded the barn. “Where’d you run off to, you dumb goat?”

“Oh, Andy, I’m so relieved to see you. Mr. Wagner’s hurt, and we must get him inside. I need your help.”

Andy dropped his rake and ran to the carriage. “If you’ll stand under his one shoulder, miss, I’ll take the rest of his weight.”