Someone Like You (21 page)

“Yes. I love it.”

“It goes beyond that, I think. I see your face, your spirit in the things around you, in the contrariness of the wind, the mystery of seeds, the frolic of animals, the beauty of flowers, the sense that nothing is ever complete, that it goes on and on.

“‘And this our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.’”

When she looked up at him, her expression was awestruck. “I am not the only one who has a way with words, it seems. That was beautiful.”

“Beautiful, but not mine. The words are Shakespeare’s.”

He saw the color steal up her cheeks. He did not mean to embarrass her by being such an ass as to stand there spouting Shakespeare. Not to her, with her understanding that went so far. “Susannah…I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. There are two kinds of asses. The four-legged kind and the pompous. Forgive me.”

She turned to look at the piglets again. “Pigs are really clean animals, you know, and very intelligent.”

He looked at Miss Lavender wallowing in a puddle, her white hide gleaming with mud, and he knew that, in her way, Susannah had forgiven him. “Miss Lavender is the exception, I take it?”

“They roll in mud to keep cool and to bring comfort when they itch.”

“And they told you this?”

She laughed. “In a roundabout way. It works, you know. Mud is very soothing.”

He raised his brows and gave her a questioning look. “You’ve tried it?”

Her grin was impish. “Once.”

He burst out laughing.

She put a damper on his humor with her next comment. “Aunt Vi said she spoke to you about castrating some of the young hogs.”

“She mentioned it, yes.”

“You sound reluctant.”

“I’m not a pig farmer. I know nothing about pigs…precious little about animals at all. As far as castrating a pig…”

“Well, you were a doctor.”

“Castration was not my specialty.”

She laughed. “Is it anyone’s?”

“Did you tell your aunt?”

“About you?”

He nodded.

“No, I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“Then why did she ask me?”

“You are the hired hand, and it’s a man’s job.”

He scowled, feeling as if he’d been manipulated into doing something he did not want to do. “If I’m going to practice medicine, I’d rather work with humans.”

“Maybe you’ll get the chance.”

“I doubt it, not that it matters. That life is behind me now. I can’t go back.”

“Of course you can’t, but if the opportunity arises, you could start over.”

“Never.”

“Don’t be so certain. Opportunity is a strong seducer.”

“Opportunity,” he said, knowing he sounded cynical, yet unable to keep himself from it. “Opportunity in the form of pig castration?”

“Expect the unexpected. Sometimes the brightest fires are kindled by unexpected sparks.”

“Ever the optimist.”

“No. A believer in miracles.”

Chapter Eighteen

On Sunday the Reverend Pettigrew preached on the consequences of good and evil, and how life is a chain of events, each link an incident that hangs upon a former one.

“There is never a present moment that is not connected with some future one. Good,” he said, “may at some future time bring forth evil, just as evil can bring forth good, and they are equally unexpected.”

A week later, the evil came in the form of an epidemic, a devastating outbreak of chills and high fever. And no one saw anything good about it.

The Thursday following the Reverend Pettigrew’s sermon, Sheriff Carter stopped by. He was on his way back from the Carmichael place. It was late in the afternoon, and Susannah was with her aunts in the garden. She was pulling up the last of the onions to store in the root cellar.

The three of them watched him ride up as they walked to the fence where it was shaded by a Dutch elm. “Afternoon, Sheriff,” Violette said. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

“There’s a sickness going about. I just fetched Doc Bailey.”

“Did you say sickness?” Dahlia asked.

Jonah nodded. “Three of the older children are sick, and Will Carmichael has been running a high fever for three days. This morning his wife woke up with a headache and fever.”

“Does Doc Bailey have any idea what it could be that ails them?” Violette asked.

“Nope. Says it’s too early to tell. Lots of things start out with headaches and fevers according to him. Says he’s got to wait for more symptoms.”

“Is there anything they need?” Susannah asked. “I could send food. Should I go over and help?”

“Don’t think that would be a good idea, at least not according to Doc. He advises folks to stay put. He said for me to ride around and alert everyone that this could be the start of an epidemic. It’s the third case of fevers he’s been called on in two days. If it’s an epidemic, the best thing to do is to stay home, away from other folks.”

Susannah raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “If the Carmichaels are sick, they will need food, someone to care for them.”

“I know you want to help, Susannah, but you don’t want to go sashaying about and carrying something home. You’ve got your aunts to think about.”

Susannah glanced at the concerned faces of Violette and Dahlia and felt a bit foolish. “Yes, of course.”

Jonah must have sensed her discomfort, for he said, “Tell you what. If you want to throw some things together, I’m going out there tomorrow afternoon. I can stop on my way and carry it to them for you. Lord knows they could use it, with all those mouths to feed and their ma and pa sick.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll have a basket of food ready.”

Jonah tipped his hat and turned his horse around. Susannah and her aunts watched in silence as he rode away.

Later that evening, when the supper dishes were cleaned up, Susannah was sitting on the porch with her aunts when Dahlia said, “Well, shoot me for a sidewinder, but it looks to me like Reed Garrett is coming a-courting. I do believe he’s carrying a bouquet of flowers, Susannah.”

“They might be for you, Aunt Dahlia,” Susannah said.

She was suddenly like a little bird with her bright eyes and quick, bustling movements as she began picking at bits of imaginary fluff on her skirts and patting the fat sausage curls on her head into place. “Won’t do him no good. I’m holding out for something better.”

“Better?” Violette snorted. “At our age men are like wanted posters, dead or alive. There isn’t anything in-between. If you find one and he’s still kicking, you better latch on to him.”

Reed stepped onto the porch and began distributing a bundle of flowers to each lady. “Found these growing along the creek with no one to enjoy them. Thought you might find a better use to put them to.”

“Why, thank you, Reed,” Violette said. “I’ll put them in a vase right next to my bed, that way I can extend the summer just a bit longer.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Dahlia asked. “You’ve done nothing but complain about the heat, and now you want to extend it?” She looked down at her own bunch of flowers. “They look wilted.”

“They were fine until you looked at them,” Violette said. “Honestly, Dally, your sour disposition is enough to wilt a cast-iron skillet.”

Susannah stood. “Here, let me have them, and I’ll take them inside and put them into water for you.”

Violette handed her hers. Susannah turned to her Aunt Dally and said, “I’m sure a little water will perk them right up, Aunt. Would you like me to put them by your bed, like Aunt Vi’s?”

“No, flowers make me sneeze. Put them anywhere you like. If I had them near me, they might die, seeing as how I’ve got such a sour disposition and all.” Dahlia came to her feet and started into the house. “I’ve got a headache and a fever. I think I’m coming down with the plague.” She stopped and looked at Reed. “Did you hear the Carmichaels are all dying from the plague? Sheriff Carter was by this afternoon. He said Doc Bailey said we’ve got a plague epidemic and it’s spreading to everyone.” With that, she opened the door and went inside.

“The plague?” Reed glanced quickly in Susannah’s direction.

“She’s telling fibs again,” Violette said before Susannah could respond.

“The Carmichaels are sick, though,” Susannah said. “And Sheriff Carter did stop by this afternoon. He said Doc Bailey thinks it could be the start of an epidemic.”

“An epidemic of what?” Reed asked.

“He said it’s too early to tell,” Susannah said.

“Here, let me have those flowers,” Violette said, and took the blossoms from Susannah. “I’ll put them in water. Why don’t you two take a little stroll and enjoy this nice evening. I love this time of year when we begin to get some relief from the heat. The best time of day is right now, late in the evening.”

After Violette went inside, Reed turned to Susannah and said, “Walk with me?”

“How could I resist? As Aunt Vi said, it’s so lovely outside this time of evening.”

He extended his hand, palm up, and she knew he meant for her to put her hand in his. It was an innocent gesture; he was being his gentlemanly self.

What he did not know was how difficult that was for her. His hand looked warm, inviting, secure—all the things she knew it would be, but she could not forget the scarlet satin dress. Her heartbeat escalated; she tried to swallow some moisture into a throat that had gone bone dry. No one could imagine the effort it took, nor the clamoring reaction it caused to perform such a simple act, nothing more than placing her hand in his. It was something she had dreamed about and wondered about and now the opportunity presented itself. Would she do it? Could she do it?

She glanced at his face and saw infinite patience in his eyes. Did he know that she had never held a man’s hand before? Did it matter?

His words were reassuring. “It’s only my hand. It doesn’t come with a long list of implications or obligations. I think you know by now that you can trust me.”

“Come on.” He made the decision for her and took her hand in his. The simple contact of skin to skin, warm flesh to warm flesh, was beautiful, sheltering, and very disquieting.

She did not pull her hand away.

He helped her down the steps, then released her hand, but the feel of his skin, the warmth of his touch remained, long after they walked along the stone-lined path that ran between the flower beds. They were well beyond the gate before Reed said, “Tell me about this epidemic.”

Susannah told him what she knew, mentioning how Doc had been treating a lot of people with fevers and headaches.

“Did he mention any other symptoms?”

“No, nothing. Do you have any idea what it could be?”

He shook his head. “There are endless possibilities at this point. The sheriff was right when he said it was too early to tell, that they needed to wait for more symptoms.”

“But waiting…it’s like sitting on a powder keg with the fuse lit.”

“Unfortunately, all we can do is pray the fuse goes out.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“God help us,” he said, “if it turns out to be something serious.”

“If it does turn out to be something serious, will you help?”

His expression was pained. “If anyone needs help…”

“I mean as a doctor.”

He screwed up his mouth and exhaled, then lifted his eyes to stare over the top of her head at something far, far away. He said nothing for what seemed to her a very long time. She was on the verge of asking the question again when he said, “I told you before; I can’t go back to that.”

“You can’t let people die.”

“And you are worrying unnecessarily. We don’t know that lives are in danger.”

“But if they are?”

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“You’re a doctor. You can’t go through life pretending to be something you’re not.”

“That’s a strange thing to hear someone like you say, since you have done precisely that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have been living your life in the darkness. You are existing as a shadow of yourself. You have pressed your life, who you really are inside, down into a little box, put on the lid, tied it with a colorful ribbon, and made it into a neat little package.”

“As long as I’m happy…”

“But you aren’t. Not really. You’re only holding your head under water. It’s just a matter of time until you are forced to come up for air or drown.”

“I don’t want to talk about me.”

“Of course you don’t. You don’t want to wake up, to take responsibility for yourself. You couldn’t help the circumstances you were born into, Susannah, any more than you could help what your mother became. But it doesn’t have to end there. You were released from that prison a long time ago when your aunts brought you here. The door to your cage was thrown open, only you chose to remain inside.” He stopped and turned toward her and took her in his arms. “It’s time,” he said, “time to come out, time to let yourself be who you really are.”

She wanted to pull away, to run back to the house, but something within her could not obey. Tears slid silently down her cheeks. He was unmoved. Determination seeped out of his pores. She was afraid, confused. She didn’t know what to do.

“You told me once that you had learned much from animals in the wild. Tell me what you would have done if you found a young wolf with its leg caught in a trap. Would you walk on by and leave it there to starve slowly to death?”

“You know I would not.”

He wiped the tears from her face with the fleshy pad of his thumb. “If those are cleansing tears, let them flow. If they are for pity, they are pointless. Tears won’t save you because what I feel for you is far from pity.”

“So you are going to hold me here, caught in your arms, like the wolf caught in the trap?”

“You said you wouldn’t leave it caught in the trap. What would you do? Release it with a broken leg?”

“No.”

“Bring it home with you to raise for a pet?”

“No, of course not. I would never try to make a pet out of a wild creature, especially not a wolf.”

“Why not?”

“A wolf was never meant to be a domestic animal.”

“Interesting, but we’ll get back to that later. Right now, I want you to answer my question. What would you do?”

She almost snapped at him with the answer. “I would bring it home and nurse it back to health. Are you satisfied?”

“Almost. And then? What would you do when it was well?”

“I’d release it.”

“Why?”

“Because there would be no reason to keep it in captivity. If it was completely healed, it would be able to take care of itself.”

“Wouldn’t it be hard to let it go after having it around for a while, after becoming attached to it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Then you could keep it for a while longer. There would be no reason to hurry.”

She thought for a moment, considering what he said. “No,” she said at last. “It would not be wise to keep it any longer. To do so would only serve to make it more like a dog. It would become domesticated and lose its wild spirit.”

He released his hold on her. “And that is precisely what you are doing to yourself. You are a wolf who has been domesticated and taught to behave like a dog.”

She slapped him.

“Do it again if it makes you feel better, but remember this. Slapping me won’t change anything for you. You can put a dog in a silk dress, but its tail will still stick out.”

She slapped him again and then burst into tears. She covered her face with her hands and turned her back to him, sobbing in earnest now. She had never hit a person—until Reed. She was sorry, but she wished with her whole heart he would leave her alone. Her life had been nothing but turmoil since he arrived.

She wasn’t certain how long she cried, but it did seem a while before she felt his hands on her arms as he turned her toward him. She did not look at him, and he did not say anything. He drew her closer to him and allowed his hand to slip around to the back of her head. He held her there, with her head pressed against his chest, and she felt her tears come with renewed vigor.