Courting the Doctor's Daughter. Janet Dean
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from one of the Indianapolis medical schools who’d be interested in entering your practice.” She took his hand, bracing for his reaction. “I’m so sure of it that I put an advertisement in the Indianapolis News Journal. The ad should draw inquiries from graduates seeking an established practice.”
Her father’s mouth tightened, his displeasure at her actions unspoken but palpable.
Sudden tears stung Mary’s eyes. “I’m sorry you disapprove.”
He walked to the window and rolled up the blinds, letting in the morning sun. “You’ve already admitted there’s no money in doctoring here. That’s not going to draw many applicants. Besides, I’m doing exactly what I want to do. I know these people. Know their ailments, their struggles…their secrets.”
When they had troubles, the folks in this town turned to two people—their doctor and their pastor. She respected and admired her father and the preachers in town who had a knack for listening. Knew how to comfort, and knew how, when necessary, to admonish.
Henry Lawrence not only made a difference in people’s lives but he’d saved quite a few. He had a purpose she admired more than any other and wanted to follow. And once she was a doctor, she’d be dependent on no one.
Her father returned to her side and tweaked her cheek. “If you want to help and can find your way around that pigsty I call a kitchen, then please, darling daughter, make me some breakfast.”
Glad to be useful, Mary smiled. “It won’t take but a minute.”
He hugged her. “You’re like your mother. Susannah could make a feast out of an old shoe.”
Pleased by the comparison, Mary laughed. Even five years after her mother’s death, she missed Susannah Lawrence every day, wanted to be like her serene, unflappable mother. But failed. In her mother’s north-facing kitchen, the walls painted the hue of sunshine, Mary’s spirits lifted. Her mother always claimed she never had a gloomy day working here, but she’d surely be amazed by the condition of her workspace now.
Mary might not know how to fix the problems around her, but she knew what to do here. She donned one of her mother’s bibbed aprons and tackled the mess.
Once her advertisement brought in the ideal doctor to help in the practice, she could go to medical school, knowing someone young and capable would help her father oversee the health of his patients. That is, assuming she got accepted. No guarantee for anyone, especially a woman. Months had passed without word. At twenty-eight, would her age work against her?
She finished clearing a spot on the counter, washed it down and then poked around in the icebox, emerging with a slab of bacon and a bowl filled with eggs. Once she’d fed and helped her father with his patients, she’d complain to Sheriff Rogers about the dark-eyed stranger. Maybe he could find a way to retract the permit. Surely he didn’t want that swindler taking advantage of people’s worries.
Taking advantage of her.
Her hand stilled, and a wave of disquiet lapped at her. The dark stranger had thrown her off balance with that outrageous wink…but only for a moment.
She wouldn’t let that happen again.
Chapter Two
Luke Jacobs snapped the padlock into place on the back of his enclosed wagon and gave it a yank. The last straggler had gone about his day, leaving Luke alone, that meddling woman who’d opposed him heavy on his mind. He’d run into do-gooders like her before.
True, Miss Nightingale happened to be more attractive than most, with glinting green eyes, chestnut hair and a stubborn jaw—shoving into something she knew nothing about. A royal pain who fought what he’d worked hard to achieve.
The remedy stashed inside this wagon had taken him months to formulate. He’d spent untold hours experimenting in a small lab in his house, using himself to test his product. He took pride in what he’d accomplished. The remedy contained good medicine, meant to help people, not to separate them from their money.
That sassy woman probably wanted to drive him back to New York herself. Well, he had no intention of going. Not yet. Not until he learned if the boy lived here.
A band tightened around Luke’s throat, remembering the guilt and shame of his misspent life. If only he could go back and relive all those wasted years—
His eyes stung. Sin brought consequences. He’d gotten off scot-free. Lucy had paid with her life.
His son might still be paying.
Without question, he wasn’t cut out for fatherhood. He had no experience at the job. No stable home. No hope of having one. But he couldn’t leave the boy’s survival to chance.
If only he’d find the boy here.
Amongst thousands of children, somehow his son’s guardianship paperwork had been lost. All Luke knew for certain was the child had ridden west on a train full of orphans. He’d followed the trail for weeks, first riding the train, then buying this wagon and moving from town to town, selling his medicine and searching for the boy. Every lead had come up empty, every clue pointing to another town until he’d landed here in Noblesville, Indiana.
Another town. One more out of dozens. Would this town hold Ben?
If not, he’d move on tomorrow, though the prospect pressed against his lungs. He was tired, bone tired.
But his comfort didn’t matter. Finding his boy did.
God, help me find my son.
“How’s business?”
Luke whirled to face the sheriff, a big man with a friendly face and keenly observant eyes. From his trek across the country, Luke had learned the importance of getting on the right foot with the local lawman. It appeared Rogers had decided to keep an eye on him. “Can’t complain, Sheriff.”
Rogers patted his midriff. “That remedy of yours is easing my touchy stomach.”
Luke smiled. “Glad to hear it.”
“I’ll want to stock up before you move on.”
“I’ll set some bottles aside.”
The sheriff thumped the side of his wagon. “You drove this clear from New York City?”
“I rode the train as far as eastern Ohio, bought the rig and then followed the route of the Erie line.”
The sheriff shoved his Stetson higher on his forehead. “Same route that brought them orphans last year.”
Luke’s pulse leapt. “Orphans?”
“Yep, I’ll never forget the sight of that train. Youngsters poking their heads out the windows, squeezing together on the platform. Why, some had crawled on top of the cars.”
“How many stayed?”
“Twenty-eight. Eleven of ’em live in town. The rest are scattered ’cross the countryside.”
Luke hoped one of the eleven was his son. If so, he’d likely come across the boy without having to make inquiries that would raise suspicion. Or force him into an action he didn’t want to take. “Finding them homes must’ve been lots of work. Did you have to do it?”
“Nope. Fell to a committee.”
Luke forced himself not to push for information. Fortunately, the sheriff was in a chatty mood.
“The committee did its best, but the guardian of two of those orphans physically abused ’em.” Sheriff Rogers shook his head. “Ed Drummond will spend the rest of his days in state prison.”
Luke’s blood ran cold. “Did the children survive?”
“Yep.” The sheriff smiled. “Emma and William Grounds got themselves a fine home now.”
A gentle breeze carried off the breath Luke had been holding. “Good to hear.