Chapter 6
On the road into Midthorpe, Blythe subdued the desire to run back to the farm. Her breakfast lay heavy in her belly, ready to make a reappearance at any moment. She inhaled and pressed on.
Her past would not dictate her future. She should have expected nothing other than an awkward first meeting with Gabriel, even though her heart had longed for more.
Did you expect him to gather you in his arms, tell you all was forgiven, and that he still wanted you after all this time? Deep down, that is what she had dreamed would happen.
Perhaps Mama was correct. Her foolish heart tended to rule her head.
It always had when it came to Gabriel Sharpe, with his soft brown curls, brown eyes that saw deep into her soul, and a smile that could melt the frozen beck in winter.
Not forgetting his devotion to caring for others.
They had planned to provide medical care for their small corner of the county, and she had thrown it all away.
A trickle of sweat ran down her spine when the stout buildings of Midthorpe appeared. She must do this. She could not hide on the farm. Mama may have intended to prevent her from seeing Gabriel, but now there was no reason for her to stay away.
Keeping her head down as she passed the apothecary shop, she turned into the main street. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach when the vicar’s wife approached. “Good morning, Mrs Worthing.”
The woman froze, aghast. Had she hoped to pass by and cut Blythe directly? “Good morning, Miss… Mrs Simmonds.” Mrs Worthing tucked her basket into her body but said nothing more.
Blythe swallowed, then asked, “How do you do?”
“I am very well, thank you, but I am afraid I have a few errands to run and cannot linger.” The woman departed without a farewell.
Blythe blew out a long breath through her nose. What had she expected? In Midthorpe, everyone knew everyone else’s business.
She pulled back her shoulders and headed towards the haberdashery. The bell over the door tinkled when she entered.
“Good morning!” Behind the counter, a young girl smiled. “How may I help you, ma’am?”
The girl appeared too young to recall Blythe. At least she would not be judged twice this day and barely five minutes apart.
“Good morning. I came to enquire about an order.”
From the open door behind the counter, a familiar voice rang out. “One moment, Chloe. I will serve this customer.”
In the doorway, Bess Dawkins appeared.
How foolish to think she could escape this reunion. “Bess! How lovely to see you again.”
Bess dismissed the girl to the back room, then said, “I am afraid we have nothing that will meet the needs of a lady from York.” Bess looked Blythe up and down.
Blythe had chosen the plainest walking dress she could find, but the excellent cut of the gown and the quality of the muslin would not go unnoticed by a professional seamstress.
“I am certain you can. Dawkins has always stocked the finest fabrics; be they silk or worsted.” She held Bess’s gaze. “Besides, I came to check on the order placed by my mother on my behalf.”
“Those gowns were for you?” Bess’s brow rose.
Anything she said would be touted around the village, and she had yet to tell Mama her plans. That was an argument for another time. “I require a new wardrobe, and I will pay handsomely for your quality fabrics and services.”
“I am afraid my girls are quite busy at the moment, what with all the additional orders for the harvest supper.”
“I will ensure you are more than generously compensated. Shall we say twenty-five shillings each for my gowns and fifteen for my daughter’s?”
Bess’s mouth dropped open before she snapped her jaw shut. “I will see if I can fit you in.”
“That would be most kind.”
While Bess scribbled in the ledger, Blythe plopped a leather purse on the counter. The coins inside jingled. “This should be an ample deposit, and I will pay the rest upon completion.”
Bess snatched up the purse. “I shall send word when we have the time to take your measurements.”
Blythe turned on her heel and left the shop. It appeared her money was still good enough, even if Bess no longer approved of her.
Blythe headed towards the apothecary shop. Dare she venture into the place? Would Mrs Sharpe even speak to her? She had been a coward when she took Mama’s advice fifteen years ago. She refused to behave like one again.
Lifting her chin, she opened the door. A bell tinkled. The woman behind the counter, the woman who had taken her on as an apprentice and had shared her invaluable knowledge and skills, looked up.
Before the counter, Mrs Scatchard turned to see why Mrs Sharpe had stopped talking.
Gabriel’s mother returned her attention to her customer.
Blythe strolled along the second counter and scanned the shelves filled with glass bottles: some square, some round, some brown and some green.
All the tinctures and recipes brewed by Mrs Sharpe featured neat, handwritten labels.
The unfamiliar script should have been hers.
In the past, she had learned how to brew recipes to help remedy colds, coughs and other ailments using herbal traditions passed down through generations. It was time to rekindle the skills that had brought her such contentment.
Mrs Sharpe scribbled in the ledger, and Mrs Scatchard left, offering Blythe a brief nod, even if she did not speak. One thing she could say about the people of Midthorpe: they were loyal to their own, and she was now an outsider.
As soon as the door closed, Blythe offered Mrs Sharpe a timid smile.
“I did not expect to see you here.” Mrs Sharpe braced her hands on the countertop.
“Do you have any more of that salve to help with Jane’s back pain? It is increasingly difficult for her as the birth draws near.”
Mrs Sharpe strode to a tall cabinet of square drawers, retrieved a small jar and set it on the counter.
“Do you still use comfrey to help reduce inflammation?”
“Aye, and my apprentice, Mrs Stone, adds a few drops of lavender oil.”
How keen the Sharpes were to remind her that she had been replaced. “It certainly helps to ease Jane’s discomfort. Please pass on my appreciation of her skills.” Adept skills Blythe once exercised. You shall do so again.
Her former teacher nodded. “Shall I add it to the Silverdale account?”
“I would like to clear the ledger for whatever is owed at Silverdale.”
Mrs Sharpe raised a questioning brow before retrieving the book from beneath the counter.
While she flicked through the curling pages, her former mentor eyed Blythe up and down.
“You’re looking very well, Mrs Simmonds.
Your mam has given us all a regular accounting of your fine life in York.
You’ll want to be getting back as soon as your father’s fully recovered, no doubt. ”
It may have been justified, but the woman’s dismissal stung. “Papa is doing very well, thanks to your excellent care and that of Doctor Sharpe.”
After tallying up, Mrs Sharpe set down her quill. The healer held her gaze. The woman’s knowing stare, the one she had passed to her son, had Blythe’s insides squirming. “That’s five pounds, four shillings and sixpence for August.”
Blythe removed another leather purse from her reticule and withdrew six guineas.
Mrs Sharpe put the coins in the wooden cash box before retrieving her change.
Blythe could no longer stand the tension. “Mrs Sharpe, I cannot change the past—”
“Then perhaps it is better that we leave it be.” Mrs Sharpe set her hands wide upon the countertop.
Her vision blurred, and she blinked away the tears that threatened. It had been a mistake to come here. She should have listened to Mama.
Collecting the salve, she said, “Thank you. I will not trouble you again.”
She spun on her heel. At least her tears could flow on the walk home without creating further fodder for the gossips.
The door opened, and she stepped back in time to prevent herself rushing headlong into Gabriel’s chest.
Keeping her head down, she mumbled, “Please excuse me.” She darted around the doctor and into the street.
Once the tinkling of the doorbell ceased, Gabriel focused on his mother, who stood behind the counter with her chin in the air.
“What has happened?”
“What do you think happened? Mrs Simmonds came to buy a salve to help ease Jane Dixon’s back pain, and I sold it to her.”
“What did you say to her?”
“Nothing of consequence. We discussed her father’s recovery, and she settled the Silverdale account.”
He held his mother’s gaze.
“If she thinks I’m going to welcome her back after what she did, she can think again.” She rolled her eyes. “Gabriel, while she showed little respect for my knowledge and teaching by walking away, I can’t forgive her for what she did to you.”
Gabriel craned his neck towards the shop window.
Mother stepped around the counter. “Don’t allow her to distract you, my boy. Her father will recover, and she’ll leave again.”
His mother’s words failed to stop him.
“Don’t go after her, Gabriel, she does not deserve—” the door closed, and he jogged down the street.
Blythe’s stiff figure strode on. The feather in her bonnet bobbed with every rapid step.
What are you doing? He should return to the shop, but his limbs wove in and out of the other pedestrians.
She cannot be trusted and does not deserve your pity.
True, but something inside him could not bear to think that she was upset.
He tucked his hand into the crook of her arm, forcing her to halt. “Blythe, please allow me—”
She shook him off and marched down the street.
He drew alongside her. “Blythe, my mother—”
“Do not trouble yourself, Doctor Sharpe.”
“You know she can be a little… blunt.” Gabriel shortened his stride to match hers.
With her chin in the air, she said, “Doctor Sharpe, I thank you for your concern, but I am certain you have more important things with which to attend than a woman’s stinging pride.”
Leave her be, you fool! His lips twitched at her crisp enunciation. “You sound different.”
“Doctor Sharpe, please!” She tugged at the brim of her straw bonnet. “Others are watching.”