Waiting for Morning (The Brides Of Last Chance Ranch Series) (31 page)

Caleb drummed his fingers upon the dash. What kind of a
doctor was he? He couldn’t do much for Jimmy and he certainly didn’t know how to help the boy’s parents. If Mr. Trotter’s sudden drinking binges were any indication, Jimmy’s illness had already taken a toll on the family.

“After my brother’s accident, my parents . . . it broke them apart.”

Molly insisted that Donny would come between the two of them. Now that he could see firsthand how illness affected a family, he better understood her concerns.

Why did adversity bring some families closer and split others apart? It was a question very much on his mind as he drove the rest of the way to town.

Molly was surprised—shocked, really—when Caleb showed up that morning to drive her and Donny to church as if nothing had happened between them. It had been nearly two weeks since they last spoke.

He grinned and her heart did a flip-flop. “Caleb—”

He held up his hand. “Are you coming with me or not?”

It was the last place she wanted to go, but before she could reply, he brushed past her, hat in hand.

“Where’s Donny?”

“In there,” she said, pointing to the large room where she’d left Donny moments earlier.

Caleb greeted her brother with a smile. “I came to take you and your sister to church.”

Donny didn’t even bother to look up from his book. “I’m not going.”

Caleb glanced at Molly as if to ask what happened.

“Donny, don’t be rude.” Embarrassed, she spread her hands in apology. “I’m sorry. Donny has been in the worst possible mood lately and I have no idea why. I’m afraid you traveled all this way for nothing.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Caleb’s gaze clung to hers and her pulse skittered. “I’m sure Donny won’t mind staying home alone. We’ll be back by noon.”

She shook her head. “I—”

“You’ll feel better, trust me,” he coaxed.

No, she wouldn’t. Church always made her feel like an outsider. She’d much rather worship God away from prying eyes. Still, escaping her brother’s ill humor—if only for a couple of hours— was tempting.

“Just . . . give me a few minutes.” Avoiding Donny’s gaze, she left the room. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and wiped damp hands alongside her divided skirt. It was church that made her feel jittery—nothing more. But even the thought of all those people staring and whispering didn’t spoil her eagerness at spending time with Caleb. With girlish anticipation she took the stairs two at a time.

She flung open the wardrobe in her room and pulled out the brightest, most attention-getting frock she owned. With a start she caught herself.

It would just be her and Caleb. No need to worry about protecting Donny from prying eyes. Today she could be herself. She hung the dress back onto its wooden peg and chose the blue one. Giving it a critical eye, she reached for her sewing scissors and snipped off the froufrou. Without all the ruches the dress looked more sedate—or at least as sedate as the bright blue color allowed. Next she worked on the hat, pulling feathers off the upturned brim and leaving only a single bow on the crown.

After dressing, she reached for her face powder, but a quick glance in the mirror told her it was unnecessary. The prospect of spending time with Caleb had put a flush on her face and a sparkle in her eyes. No paint was necessary.

Church that Sunday was standing room only. Molly had never seen so many people in attendance. Caleb found a place for them to stand by a stained-glass window, next to Lula-Belle.

Molly greeted the older woman. “What’s going on?”

Lula-Belle glowered, her springy curls shaking along with the feathers of her hat. “My sister is at it again. She got the saloons to close last night and the saloon keepers agreed to stay closed until after church. Thanks to Bessie’s meddling way, I can’t even find a place to sit. When she gets something in her fool head, there’s no stopping her.”

Caleb leaned sideways to whisper in Molly’s ear. “What you see are a bunch of sober men praying that the saloons will be open by the time church is over.”

Molly giggled, which only made Lula-Belle frown more. Composing herself she said, “I can’t believe the saloon owners agreed to Aunt Bessie’s demands.” Nothing like that would ever happen in Dobson Creek. Even after the fire, men lined up in front of makeshift saloons. The town was in ruins but whiskey remained king. “It was hard enough getting them to close on the eve of the wedding.”

Lula-Belle tossed her head with a huff. “It didn’t help that you two were in cahoots.”

“I did give her a few pointers,” Molly admitted.

Caleb nudged her with his elbow. “A few, eh?”

“More than a few,” Lula-Belle said. “Thanks to you, my sister now looks like a loose woman with all that paint she wears.”

“I think she looks quite lovely.” Molly had grown quite fond of the woman. Aunt Bessie was one of the few people who treated Donny like a real person.

“You would,” Lula-Belle muttered. She moved away, pushing past others standing by the wall, and took her place on the opposite side.

Molly watched her go. It was hard to believe she and Aunt Bessie were related. “She should be happy her sister is wearing commercial paint rather than homemade. I knew some girls in Dobson Creek who got sick from using paint made from zinc oxide, mercury, and lead.”

Caleb frowned. “Mercury and lead are dangerous, but a combination can be lethal.”

She knew that now. “One of the dance hall girls died. No one knew why. She just got anemic and complained about headaches.”

Caleb’s eyes sharpened. “How did you know she died from face paint?”

“I didn’t. Not at first. Even the doctors didn’t know what killed her. Then I read a newspaper article warning women about the dangers of homemade cosmetics. It described symptoms similar to what my friend had and I just assumed—”

“What kind of symptoms?” Caleb asked.

His brusque, abrupt question surprised her. “She got very pale and thin and—”

Caleb stopped her with a hand to her arm. “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, but already he’d left her side and was weaving his way to the door. She stared after him, not sure what she’d said wrong.

Caleb rushed from the church to his office. The town looked deserted. It seemed strange to see the hitching posts in front of the saloons empty.

Magic jumped up to greet him. “Down, boy.”

One by one he pulled books off the shelves, flipping through the pages until he found the table of contents.

Could Jimmy have mercury poisoning? Mercury, or quicksilver as it was sometimes called, was the only known metal that liquefied at room temperatures. If that was the culprit, how could an eightyear-old become exposed? His father was a farmer, not a hatter or gold refiner, professions known to create a high level of mercury poisoning.

What about lead?

He thumbed through the tomes, running his finger down pages until he found what he sought.

One line jumped up at him: “Lead or its salts can often be taken into the system unawares.” The article went on to explain the danger of lead pipes or reservoirs. Lead could also be ingested through paint, or preserved vegetables and fruits that came in contact with the soldered joints of tin cans.

The symptoms included headaches, anemia, and stomach complaints. Lead poisoning was known since Roman times. Some even thought it was the bottom of the mystery disease that affected so many inner-city children.

He left the book open on his desk and paced back and forth, hands behind his back. Could Jimmy have lead poisoning? He had all the symptoms. Still, how did an eight-year-old boy ingest lead? And why didn’t the other family members show similar signs?

He shook his head. He was grasping at straws, looking for a ray of hope for Jimmy’s parents.

Still, the boy’s symptoms were more consistent with lead poisoning than leukemia.

What could Jimmy be doing differently than other family members? Something . . . it had to be something—but what? All he knew was that time was running out. God help him!

Chapter 29

C
aleb returned just as Reverend Bland gave the closing prayer. Molly glanced at him before lowering her head. Even now his nearness made her heart beat faster, and she
ached at the memory of being in his arms.

God, lead me from temptation
.
Make me strong so that I might do right by my brother. Help me be patient and less resentful. Please, God, help me.

After the benediction they left the church and a small boy rushed up to them.

“Hello, Doc Fairbanks.”

Caleb tugged on the boy’s cap with a broad smile. “Hi, Jimmy.” He glanced at Molly. “Jimmy, I want you to meet my friend, Miss Hatfield.”

Molly smiled at the child. “Pleased to meet you, Jimmy.”

The boy grinned. He was a thin child with stick-like legs, his big blue eyes seeming almost too large for his gaunt face.

“Pleased to meet you too.” He then wandered off to join a group of older boys.

Caleb’s gaze followed Jimmy, his face grim.

“He’s the one, isn’t he?” she asked. “The patient that has you so worried.”

Caleb turned to her. “Yes, he is.”

“I’m glad you’re his doctor. You’ll do right by him. I know you will.”

A middle-aged woman cornered Caleb with a laundry list of medical complaints. The woman rattled on nonstop and Molly marveled at Caleb’s patience.

“And at night I get this pain right here.” The woman pointed to her right hip. “And in the morning . . .”

Bored with the woman’s complaints, Molly glanced around. Spotting the former slave Mr. Washington, she hurried to catch up with him. “Mr. Washington, may I speak with you?”

The black man worked his crutches around until he faced her. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“I wonder if you would be so kind as to write down the words to the hymn you sang in church a few weeks ago?”

Mr. Washington thought a moment. “You mean ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’?”

“Yes, that’s the one. You sang it beautifully.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am.” His crutches tucked beneath both armpits, he pulled a pencil and notepad from his pocket and started writing. He explained each phrase as he wrote. “Swing low meant come and get us. Sweet chariot was code for the Underground Railroad. Jordan was the Mississippi River and the angels referred to the workers who helped us escape.”