Cowboy Creek Christmas: Mistletoe Reunion. Cheryl St.John
Читать онлайн книгу.
headlines. One eyebrow climbed his forehead. “‘Cowboy Creek’s First Female Doctor Sees Results with Progressive Medicine.’ The Boyd woman, I reckon.”
“Yes, Dr. Boyd is a most interesting woman.”
“I heard she learned Chinese medicine at a peculiar university.”
He had his own doubts about her education and practices, but he would stay neutral. “You’ll find the article about her education informative. She’s quite forthcoming about her beliefs. And statistically, the Chinese are remarkably healthy.”
Remmy glanced up from the paper and eyed Sam. “Yeah?”
“I’ll be doing another article in a couple of weeks. After reading about her you may find that many of her treatments are more logical and humane than commonly accepted practices. Cowboy Creek is growing. There’s more than one mercantile. I suppose there’s enough patients for two or more doctors.”
Remmy had opened his mercantile after Zimmerman’s and cleverly catered to women to attract a good share of customers. He didn’t argue with Sam’s reasoning. Instead he looked over the other articles. “Like I said, nice to have a paper again. Suppose I’ll run an advertisement in the next one.”
“I’ll give you a discount on your first ad,” Sam assured him.
Remmy glanced through the front window at August waiting on the boardwalk. “That your boy?”
“Yes, that’s August.”
“Works with you on the paper, does he?”
“Mostly he’s adjusting to a new school. Hannah Johnson watches him a couple of afternoons until I finish work.”
“Reverend Taggart’s daughter, the dressmaker?”
“That’s right. I was surprised when Hannah offered to take August for a few hours a week, but I’m grateful.” Sam headed for the door. “Come see me for that ad.”
Sam pulled the cart holding papers over the muddy ruts, and Israel joined them. He had taken papers to the railroad station. The three made their way north on Lincoln Boulevard, so they would pass Dr. Boyd’s office on their way back to Eden Street. August grabbed a paper, and Sam pushed open the door, which rang a bell. Israel followed.
A pleasant mixture of unusual smells hung in the air. A row of plain wood chairs lined one wall, all empty. A large rug, obviously new, covered the varnished wood floor in the waiting area.
Marlys stepped from an open doorway to greet them. “Good morning.”
August extended the newspaper he held.
“We brought you a paper so you could see the article,” Sam explained. “Israel, meet Dr. Boyd. This is Israel, my journeyman.”
Marlys leaned toward the young man. Israel removed his heavy glove and shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Doctor.”
“My pleasure. Let me grab a coin so I can pay you.”
“No, this one’s complimentary,” Sam said quickly.
“Thank you.” She unfolded the paper and studied the front page. She couldn’t have missed the caption about her practice, but she read aloud another. “‘President Johnson Proclaims a Day of Praise, Thanksgiving and Prayer.’” She glanced up at him. “It sounds like Andrew Johnson believes our country has turned a corner, politically, economically. He’s giving people permission to hope again.”
Sam nodded. “In his proclamation he talks about the abundance of jobs, crops, harmony in this country.”
Marlys read aloud, “‘I therefore recommend that Thursday, the 26th day of November next, be set apart and observed by all people of the United States as a day for public praise, thanksgiving, and prayer to the Almighty Creator and Divine Ruler of the Universe, by whose ever-watchful, merciful, and gracious providence alone states and nations, no less than families and individual men, do live and move and have their being.’”
“What does it mean, Papa?”
Sam looked into his son’s curious blue eyes. “It means even though we’ve been through a lot as a country, losing family and friends in war, that we have a lot to be thankful for. Like our freedom. So there will be one day set aside when everyone is thankful together.”
“The town is putting together a celebration. Mrs. Kendricks suggested I volunteer for the committee,” she said. “Perhaps it’s not a bad idea. I do need to meet people, so they will learn to trust me.”
“That’s good advice. I made up my mind to delve into town projects and affairs as soon as I arrived, so people learn to see me as one of their own.”
“While you’re here,” she said, “I’ve made something for you. Follow me.”
She turned and left them standing.
“I’ll wait here,” Israel said.
Perplexed, Sam followed Marlys into the room behind the waiting area, August trailing behind. They followed a hallway into the first room, which held a desk, shelves lined with books and a small wooden rack on a cabinet.
She took a squat bottle from the rack and applied a dot of glistening liquid to her little finger.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“Lean toward me.”
He hesitated, but slowly leaned.
She trailed her finger under his eye.
Her closeness and touch made him unexplainably unsettled.
“I can’t promise this will completely remove that scar, but the skin growth appears new enough that this might greatly improve its appearance.”
He’d received the injury while unloading the presses and parts a couple weeks ago. Sometimes he noticed the mark when he shaved, but hadn’t paid much attention to it after the cut had healed. Apparently she’d noticed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. A surprising curl of gratification spiraled in his chest. It had been a long time since someone had tended to him like this. But she was a doctor, so he’d be foolish to read anything more into the gesture. “Smells good. What’s in this?”
“Sandalwood powder, honey, lavender, aloe plus a couple drops of other oils.” She put the cap back on the bottle and handed it to him. “Dab it on a couple of times a day.”
Their fingertips grazed as he accepted the bottle. “Thank you.”
“Our plans for Thursday still stand?”
“Yes. I found someone who knows the area to travel with us. He speaks Cheyenne.”
Marlys’s eyes opened wide. “You did? That’s perfect. Thank you.”
“You’re dead set on doing this. If I can’t talk you out of it, I’ll first make it safe and then make it advantageous to your cause.”
“I can’t be talked out of going.”
“I know.” They returned to the front of the building where Israel waited. “Thank you for the balm.”
“My pleasure. That should be plenty.”
He took an awkward step back, gave her a nod and turned away. Their cart was half-depleted, so Israel walked ahead, and August sat on the remaining newspapers, hanging on and laughing when they crossed the ruts.
Sam had the urge to caution him about falling off, but instead smiled at the unfamiliar sight of his boy’s gap-toothed grin and the joyful sound of laughter. His son hadn’t derived much pleasure from their relocation.
Sometimes thinking about his son’s remoteness made Sam sick to his stomach. August