“And perhaps plant more trees. These apples are a good start, but we could plant more on the homestead side, create a whole little orchard.” Right now only a slender cottonwood seedling waved its leaves over the sod house, and a thin windbreak stood off to the north. Stepping to the side, Forsythia pointed to the gentle rise behind the soddy. “Are those graves up there?”
Lilac nodded. “I saw them when Robbie and I were exploring. No headstones, just simple crosses stuck in the ground made from sticks. But it’s one large grave and two small ones. Mr. Caldwell said Mr. Skinner lost a wife and a baby. I don’t know about the third.”
“So sad.” Forsythia rubbed her arms. “Is that why he left?”
“Sounds like.” Lark lifted her spade. “Let’s finish cleaning the house, at least enough to unload some things from the wagons. Maybe at least some of us can sleep indoors tonight.”
Forsythia hung back a moment, watching the lowering sun cast shadows and coolness across the prairie. She wondered what the doctor was doing back at the campsite and pictured him moving about the fire and making coffee.
Her heart ached. Could they invite him and Jesse to join them for supper, as they had so many times before? Or would he refuse now?
22
Still no patients.
Adam rearranged the shining instruments in his case once more, then closed the cover. He glanced around his new office. The windows now let the sun shine clearly through the space, the examining table sat clean and ready for use, and he had even managed to restock the cabinet with medicines, bandages, and other supplies, thanks to Mr. Jorgensen.
Yet no one had come for treatment. And it had been over a week. Either this was an exceptionally healthy town, or he had more mistrust to overcome than he had realized. Even his door-to-door visits had done no good.
“U-uncle Adam?”
He looked up to see his nephew descending the stairs from their rooms above. “Yes, Jesse?”
“I g-got that window fixed.” Jesse tucked away his hammer and nails in the toolbox and slid it into the bottom of the cabinet. “Anything else you n-need?”
“I think we’re pretty shipshape.” Adam laid a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Now if only the townspeople would realize we’re here.”
“M-maybe they’re afraid because of what that lady said.”
Adam frowned. “What lady?”
Jesse looked a bit shamefaced. “Mrs. Jor-Jorgensen. I h-heard her when I was in the store. She d-didn’t see me.”
“What did she say?”
“She was talking to some other ladies.” Jesse hesitated. “I didn’t hear everything, but she said s-something about how the children who traveled with us had all lost their parents. And that it was b-because you couldn’t save them, that you were n-no kind of doctor, just like the doctor they had before.”
A rock settled in Adam’s gut. “When was this?”
“A couple of days ago.” Jesse met his eyes, worry in his gaze. “I’m s-sorry if I shoulda told you.”
Adam squeezed his shoulder. “None of this is your fault. But thanks for telling me.” He stepped to the window and stared out at the men and women hurrying back and forth on the bustling street. Most rushed right past his door. One mother glanced at his sign, then herded her children by with a shake of her head.
So there was even more going on here than he knew. What do I do, Lord? Have a talk with Mrs. Jorgensen? If she’ll even listen to me. Or do I just wait for the truth to make itself known?
“Th-that man looks hurt.” At his shoulder, Jesse pointed out the windowpane.
“Where?” Adam peered closer. A man climbed down from a wagon across the dusty street and started across, cradling his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody rag. A sandy-haired boy of about ten stayed on the wagon seat, holding the reins.
“You’re right.” Adam stepped to the door and flung it open. “Sir, do you need help?”
“You must be the new doc.” The man stepped inside without hesitation and held up his hand with a wry grin. “Appears I’m in need of your services. Guess you saw me comin’.”
“My nephew did. Please, have a seat.” Adam indicated the examining table and hurried to wash his hands. “What happened?”
“Bit of a scythe accident while haying.” The man grimaced. “You’d think after being out in the hayfields since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I’d know better.”
Adam dried his hands. “May I take a look, Mister . . . ?”
“Oh, sure, sorry. Anthony Armstead.” Mr. Armstead unwrapped the red-stained rag.
“And I’m Dr. Brownsville.” Adam examined the gash from the thumb webbing across the palm of the hand. Deep and still bleeding freely, but it didn’t appear to have severed any tendons, the best he could tell. “This’ll need stitching once I clean it. Jesse, fetch me a bowl of clean water and some bandages, would you?”
Anthony Armstead sat back with apparent ease as Adam cleansed the wound and threaded his needle.
“This will sting a bit, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve had worse.” Sure enough, Armstead barely flinched as Adam began to stitch the torn edges of his flesh closed. “I must say, I’m glad you were here today. We’ve needed a good doctor in this town.”
“I’m afraid not many share your opinion. You’re my first patient.”
“You don’t say.” Armstead drummed his other fingers on his thigh.
“Unfortunately, it seems my landlady may be part of the problem.” He snipped off the thread, frustration rising in his chest again. “Apparently, she’s been saying some—well, let’s just say some twisted versions of the truth.”
Armstead’s fingers stilled. “Mrs. Jorgensen?”
“You know her?”
“She’s my mother-in-law.”
Adam looked up, remorse smiting him. He knew better than to speak of anyone like that, let alone to a patient. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn. I understand Mrs. Jorgensen recently lost a daughter under the previous physician’s care, which no doubt accounts for her mistrust.”
“Sure does. But believe me, Doctor, you have my sympathies. Anyone unlucky enough
