Courting the Doctor's Daughter. Janet Dean
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hear about a new baby, sharing her father’s joy of the miracle of birth. But she shook her head, only half listening, thinking about her father’s lack of sleep. “Daddy, don’t you think it’s time to bring someone into the practice?”
Henry’s head snapped up and his gaze met hers. “Now, why would I do that?”
“Well, for one thing, you’re not getting any younger. And for another, you work too hard.”
“I’m fifty-one, not ancient, and I don’t work harder than any other small-town doctor. Besides, I have your help.”
“Doc Roberts didn’t have any warning before his fatal heart attack.” She sighed at the stubborn set of her father’s jaw, then bustled about the room, emptying the wastepaper can, checking and laying out supplies, doing all she could to ease his burden. “You’re handling his patients and your own. You’re not getting enough rest.”
“Babies come when they decide—not to fit my schedule.”
“True, but your days are so full that you have little time for the boys. They need a man’s influence.”
Her father’s brow furrowed. “I know they do, honey,” he said, gathering the instruments out of his bag. “I’ll try to spend more time with them. If no one gets sick, maybe we can go fishing Saturday afternoon.”
How likely would that be in a town this size? Then her heart squeezed. She shouldn’t pressure her father to do more, even if the “more” involved relaxing with his grandsons. “Let me clean those for you.”
“Thanks.” Her father dropped into a chair.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you.” Mary gave a wide smile. “I heard from the placement committee. The Willowbys relinquished their guardianship and asked to assume the role of Ben’s grandparents, instead of his parents.”
“From the look on your face, I’d say the news was good.”
“The committee gave me permanent custody of Ben.” Her vision blurred with tears of gratitude. Ben, the little boy she shared a bond with, was now her son, just as much as Michael and Philip. A wave of tenderness rippled through her. She’d do everything in her power to give her boys the happiness they deserved.
“Even before his apoplexy, Judge Willowby told me they could barely keep up with a four-year-old boy. Since the stroke, he’s naturally troubled they won’t live to see Ben grown.” He frowned. “What about the Children’s Aid Society’s rule against giving custody to a single woman?”
“As a widow with two sons of my own, the committee felt that qualified me to raise another child.” She swiped a hand at her tears. “That I’m already taking care of Ben for the Willowbys worked in my favor. They didn’t want to move him again.”
“Thank you, God. With your brother-in-law sitting on the committee, I felt reasonably sure of the outcome. Still, a couple of those members adhere to rules as if Moses himself brought them down from on high.”
Laughing, Mary gave her father a kiss. “I can always count on your support.”
She returned to the counter to wash, soak in hydrogen peroxide and then dry the equipment her father had used to deliver the Shriver baby. Her father kept his surgery and office immaculate, while his quarters lay in shambles. She tried to keep up with the cleaning, but he could destroy her efforts faster than her boys put together. When she finished, she stowed the instruments in his black leather case then set the bag in its customary spot on the table near the door, where he could grab it on the way to the next house call.
Mary turned to say something to her father. He’d nodded off in his chair. As she prepared to tiptoe out of the room, he roused and ran a hand over his chin. “Guess I’d better shave. Don’t want to scare my patients.”
In the backroom, she filled the ironstone bowl on the washstand with hot water from the teakettle, and then sat at the small drop-leaf table to watch her father shave. He lathered the brush and covered his cheeks and chin with soap. Since Sam’s death, she’d missed this masculine routine, a small thing, but small things often caught her unaware and left her reeling.
If her father didn’t slow down, she could lose him too. Yet, Henry Lawrence was as stubborn as a weed when it came to helping others. No point in beating a dead horse…for now.
She’d tell him about the peddler. Surely he’d share her concern. “You won’t believe what’s going on downtown, Daddy. Why, it’s enough to turn my stomach.”
“Let me guess.” He winked at her in the mirror. “Joe Carmichael organized a spitting contest on the square.” He scraped his face clean with his razor and rinsed the blade in the bowl.
Mary planted her hands on her hips. “I’m serious.”
“Your feathers do look a mite ruffled.” He patted his face dry with a towel. “So tell me, what’s wrong?”
“Some fraud is selling patent medicine. He’s making all kinds of claims. Says it’ll cure upset stomachs and headaches, a baby’s colic. People couldn’t buy it fast enough, even after I warned them the bottle probably held 90-proof.”
“My precious girl, you’ve got to stop trying to protect everybody, even from themselves.”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Her father crossed to her, touched her arm, his hand freckled with age. “Yes, you do. You’ve always been a caring woman, but since you lost Sam, you’re on a mission to save the human race. Trouble is you’re not God. You don’t have the power to control this world, not even our little piece of it.”
Mary covered her father’s hand with her own. “I know that. But I worry about you.”
“Yes, and about the boys getting sick or hurt, about their schoolwork.” He gave her a weak grin. “Why, your worrying worries me, Mary Lynn. Remember the scripture that says we can’t add a day to our lives by worrying.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Forgive me, Lord, for not relying on You. Not trusting You. Give me the strength to change.
These past two years, widowed and raising her sons alone, and now Ben, hadn’t been easy, even with her brother-in-law pitching in with the heavier chores. The money she’d inherited from Sam’s father had made a huge difference, meant she might live her dream, but the added financial security hadn’t eased the constant knot in her shoulders. Hadn’t eased the loneliness. Hadn’t eased the empty space in her heart.
Not that Sam had filled it.
Trying to alleviate the tension of her thoughts, Mary tapped her father playfully on the arm. “Besides, the topic isn’t about me. It’s that traveling salesman. Don’t you find his claims upsetting?”
Her father sat beside her. “Most of those tonics and remedies are worthless, but until I give his a try, I can’t condemn it.”
Her father prided himself on being impartial, as if the past meant nothing. “Think about it, Daddy. How could just anyone concoct a remedy with real medicinal value?” She leaned toward him. “Can’t we do something to protect the town from a quack?”
Her father rubbed the back of his neck. “Does he have a permit?”
“Yes. He’s too cunning to be tripped up that easily.”
“Well, then there’s nothing to be done.”
As if on cue, they both rose. Her father put his arm around her shoulders and they walked into the surgery.
“Doesn’t it bother you that half the town owes you money and they’re squandering what they have on a worthless tonic? If you could collect, you’d have a nice little nest egg for retirement.”
His gaze roamed the room and then returned to her with a smile of satisfaction. “What I do here is important. I have no desire to retire.” Her father snorted.