Chapter Nine #2
“She’s feeling poorly this morning,” Ornetta said, and for the first time, Lizbet saw a hint of worry in the older woman’s face and manner. “I’ll go across the road in a while and see if Doc Gannon can’t stop by and have a look at her.”
“You think it’s something serious?” Lizbet asked, setting down her spoon.
Ornetta shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she replied, “but my Pearl is a delicate thing, and weather like this can make her achy all over.”
Pearl was not a child; she was a woman in her fifties, but she was bony and thin and usually shy.
It struck Lizbet how vulnerable Ornetta’s granddaughter was, and she felt a stab of anxiety.
“I’ll call on Doc Gannon as soon as his office is open,” Lizbet said firmly. “There is no reason why you should have to wade through all this snow just to cross the street, Ornetta.”
Lizbet half expected a refusal, her landlady was so proud and strong-minded, but instead, Ornetta smiled and said, “I would appreciate that favor. Thank you very much, Lizbet.”
“Can I ask Pearl to lend us her sled?” Jubal asked, turning to Ornetta, who was just taking away his mostly empty bowl of cereal. Being a child, he wasn’t aware that this wasn’t an appropriate time to make such a request.
“ ‘May I,’ ” Lizbet corrected him. “Not ‘can I.’ ”
“No need to ask,” Ornetta told him, ignoring Lizbet. “It’s out back in the shed, leaning against the wall. You and your sister might want to clean it up a little—it’s been there a long while now. Runners might be rusty.”
Undaunted, Frankie and Jubal were on their feet in a moment, faces shining with anticipation.
Lizbet took true delight in seeing them so happy, there in that warm, welcoming kitchen, their stomachs full of good, nourishing food, their eyes gleaming like blue beacons on a quiet sea.
They scampered upstairs to put on coats, boots, hats and mittens, and Lizbet apologized for the clatter they made in the process.
Ornetta chuckled and waved her off. “It’s nice, having young ones around. I enjoy it.”
Lizbet finished her breakfast, carried her bowl and coffee cup to the big metal sink and began washing them.
“I’d be happy to help you around the house today,” she ventured, feeling oddly shy, even though Ornetta Parkin was already one of the best friends she’d ever had.
Women her own age back in St. Louis, the ones she’d known in Normal School, were mostly married now and had been for some time. They’d begun having children right away and found themselves too busy to sustain much of a friendship.
It wasn’t that they didn’t care; they simply hadn’t had the time to spare, and gradually, they’d stopped issuing invitations and accepting them.
Lizbet hadn’t fully realized until that moment, in the steamy comfort of Ornetta’s kitchen, how lonely she’d been for the companionship of other women.
The thought choked her up and made her voice catch when she spoke again, because Ornetta hadn’t replied to her offer of help.
“Of course I don’t expect anything in return,” she said. “Truly, I don’t.”
When she turned to look at Ornetta, Lizbet saw the she was drying her eyes with a lace handkerchief, plucked from the pocket of her long, old-fashioned dress.
“You deserve better than you’ve gotten, Lizbet Fontaine,” Ornetta said. Then she glanced at the wall clock above the icebox. “See that you dress up warm, now, before you go fetch Doc Gannon.”
Lizbet crossed the room, put her arms around Ornetta and gave her a gentle hug.
“I’ll be on my way in five minutes,” she said, heading for the rear staircase.
She met Jubal and Frankie halfway up, and both of them were bundled into their warmest clothes.
“We’re going out to build a snowman,” Frankie told her. “Miss Denny says nobody will be sledding until after lunch. There’ll be a bonfire and everything!”
“Teacher’s coming with us,” Jubal answered, looking pleased. “She says things might get out of hand if there isn’t an adult around to keep an eye on all of us.”
Lizbet, who knew there would be a lot to do around the house with Pearl laid up sick, was relieved that the schoolteacher would be joining the children for the sledding party.
Fifteen minutes later, Frankie and Jubal were in the backyard, knee-deep in snow, with the stuff still coming down in flakes the size of chicken feathers, and Lizbet had put on her winter coat and a pair of boots and set out for the general store.
Dr. Maxwell Gannon, she knew, kept his office upstairs.
Entering the store, head down in a fruitless effort to protect her face from the snow, she collided with Gabe Whitfield.
He hadn’t been by the boarding house for a while, and he kept to himself before, during and after church every Sunday, so it was a surprise to find herself in such close proximity.
He caught hold of her shoulders and steadied her.
“You’re in quite a hurry,” he said, with an almost-smile.
“Pearl’s sick,” Lizbet explained. Plodding through the knee-deep snow on Main Street had left her short of breath. “I came to fetch Doc Gannon. Do you know if he’s around?”
Gabe’s gray gaze swept from her face to the boarding house and back again. “I met him on the road on my way to town,” he replied, his expression serious now. “He was on his way to old Mrs. Jarvis’s place. She’s down with her rheumatism.”
Lizbet felt a great upsweep of despair. “Oh,” she said, utterly deflated.
Suddenly, to her vast embarrassment, she began to cry.
She’d thought she was in better control of her emotions, but between not finding a job, Henry’s near-constant lurking, the threat of William taking the children away from her and now poor, sweet Pearl falling sick, it was all too much.
Gabe’s strong hands tightened on her shoulders, though his grasp was light, without pressure.
“Hey,” he said, gruffly sympathetic, easing her into the shelter of the store and out of the snowstorm, which was fast becoming a blizzard, “I’ll catch up with him.
Tell him he needs to come and see to Pearl as soon as he can. Will that help?”
There was something so tender in his deep, masculine voice.
Lizbet sniffled, dried her eyes with the backs of her gloved hands and, somehow, worked up a smile. Although the delay might be a long one, depending upon Mrs. Jarvis’s condition, the doctor would know he was needed at Ornetta’s house, too.
“Thank you,” she said. She looked around then, as though expecting to see Hector somewhere among the dry goods on display at the front of the store. “You came to town without your dog?”
“Yes. I rode in on horseback—figured the wagon would get stuck for sure. Hector’s at home, holding down the fort.”
Lizbet nodded awkwardly. Strangely, she wanted to stay right where she was, face-to-face with Gabe Whitfield, but of course, that wasn’t feasible.
She’d said goodbye and was turning to drag herself back through the ever-deepening snow, when Gabe startled her so much that she couldn’t speak.
He swept her up in his arms and carried her right across the street, his strides long and confident, despite his limp.
Something shifted in the very center of Lizbet’s heart, and after a moment or so, she realized what had happened; she’d glimpsed a spark of hope behind all that weary sorrow in Gabe’s gray eyes.