Chapter Eleven
Eleven
When Dr. Maxwell Gannon knocked on Ornetta’s door that wickedly cold and impossibly snowy afternoon, Lizbet let him in.
Ornetta was upstairs with Pearl, bathing the younger woman’s forehead in an attempt to bring down her rising fever and praying aloud for God’s intervention.
Lizbet had been praying, too, although silently.
Frankie and Jubal, disappointed that the weather was too bad even for sledding, sat across from each other on the floor in front of the crackling fireplace, solemnly engaged in a game of jacks.
Like everyone else in the house, they were worried about Pearl.
Ornetta had strictly forbidden all the boarders, Lizbet included, to go near her granddaughter, in case of contagion, so she led the doctor onto the second-floor landing and pointed out Ornetta’s room.
Grimly concerned, the doctor nodded, started in that direction, then stopped and turned back to Lizbet. His coat and hat were laden with snow, and his handsome face was red with cold.
Wordlessly, Lizbet reached out, and he handed over the hat and coat, shuffling his battered medical bag from one hand to the other in the process.
“Is anyone else in the house ailing?” he asked, his voice low. Although she’d seen Doc Gannon from a distance, this was the first time she’d been close enough for a conversation.
With a flush warming her cheeks, she wondered if he’d heard about her making a public spectacle of herself earlier, letting Gabe Whitfield carry her across Main Street in the broad light of day.
Lizbet returned her attention to where it belonged. “No one has said they felt sick,” she replied, musing. Most of the boarders were at home because of the storm, keeping to their rooms.
Shy Stella MacIntosh had come downstairs a few hours before, when Lizbet rang the lunch bell to invite the others to the dining room, quietly thanked Lizbet for preparing the meal—a simple one of egg salad sandwiches and canned peaches from Ornetta’s store of jars in the pantry—and sat down to eat in silence.
Miss Helen and Miss Ellie had soon appeared, as well; they’d been sitting together in Miss Ellie’s room, embroidering samplers they planned to give as Christmas gifts.
Christmas. Lizbet hadn’t wanted to think about the rapidly approaching holiday. Frankie was old enough to understand that there might be few if any presents that year, but Jubal, at five, still believed in St. Nicholas.
Sam had gone to the bank at midmorning, even though it was the weekend, but he’d returned soon afterward, explaining that Mr. Middlebrook had decided not to open for the usual Saturday half day, due, of course, to the weather.
Nelly, too, had been sent home, since the Statehood Hotel was empty of guests, so there were no rooms to clean or meals to serve.
She’d brought a magazine back with her, purchased at the general store—one with a sketch of a saucy flapper on the cover, posing in a skimpy dress and holding an impossibly long cigarette holder in one hand.
Miss Helen, Nelly’s aunt, with whom she shared a room, was offended by the publication. A peaceful accord had yet to be reached.
That left John Avery, the one boarder who wasn’t present; as usual, he was in his blacksmith shop, hard at work.
Suddenly, Lizbet realized she’d gotten so caught up in reviewing who was in the house and who wasn’t that she’d been standing there, she now realized, staring at the doctor for a full minute without saying anything.
He didn’t seem troubled by that, however; he shifted his battered leather medical bag from one hand to the other, glanced back over his shoulder toward Ornetta’s room, then met Lizbet’s gaze and asked, “Was there something else, Miss—er—?”
“Lizbet,” she replied. Then, deciding she’d sounded forward, she clarified, “Lizbet Fontaine. I’m new to Silver Hills.”
The doctor was young, somewhere in his midthirties probably, but he looked much older as he shoved a hand through his dampened, sandy-colored hair.
Lizbet was struck by the thought that he was not only cold, but exhausted to the very marrow of his bones. After all, he was the only qualified physician for miles around.
“I’m Doc Gannon,” he said, unnecessarily.
Lizbet merely nodded. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just wait here for a few moments, in case Ornetta needs something brought upstairs. I’m sure she would enjoy a cup of tea or coffee, and I don’t believe she’s eaten since breakfast.”
Doc Gannon nodded back, and the merest hint of a smile lit his kind eyes. “That’s very thoughtful. I’ll let you know, one way or the other.”
With that, he disappeared into Ornetta’s room.
Lizbet heard the low mutter of voices, then, just as she was finally turning to go downstairs again, the door opened once more and Doc Gannon stuck his head out.
“Mrs. Parkin says coffee sounds good, and make it strong, please. She could eat a bowl of peaches or apricots, but that’s all she wants for now.
” Inside the room, Ornetta said something Lizbet couldn’t hear, and the doctor turned to listen, then turned back.
“She says to get one of the men to haul up a couple of buckets of cold water. Colder the better.”
“All right,” Lizbet confirmed, ready to help in any way she could.
Downstairs, in the kitchen, she brewed a fresh pot of coffee, strong the way Ornetta liked it, laid a tray with two cups and saucers, spoons, a sturdy oversize teapot, a bowl of sugar cubes and a small pitcher of cream.
Then she went into the pantry and brought out a jar of peach preserves, picked, pitted, washed and put up by Ornetta and Pearl, along with pears, apple slices, carrots, green beans, sliced beets and potatoes, all from their own backyard.
Lizbet put a serving of peaches into the prettiest bowl she could find and placed them on the tray.
When the coffee was ready, she filled the teapot with steaming hot brew and made her way carefully out of the kitchen and up the back stairs.
Reaching Ornetta’s door and not wanting to set the heavy tray down to knock, she called out quietly, “Ornetta? It’s me, Lizbet. I’ve brought your coffee and some peaches.”
Doc Gannon answered, instead of Ornetta, stepping into the corridor and looking even more exhausted than before. He took the tray from Lizbet’s hands and made an admirable attempt at a smile. “Thank you,” he said.
Lizbet was at the kitchen sink, pumping icy cold water into the second of two buckets about fifteen minutes later—she’d paused to look through the pantry again, with an eye to making supper for the household—when the doctor descended the back stairway and entered the kitchen, carrying one coffee cup, now empty.
He smiled when he saw his coat draped over the back of a chair pulled close to the cookstove to dry out, and his hat resting on a counter nearby.
“That was kind of you,” he said. “I wasn’t looking forward to putting that sopping wet coat back on, just to cross the street to my office.”
“If you aren’t in a hurry, sit down,” Lizbet said quietly. “I’ll pour you another cup of coffee and you can rest for a few minutes.”
Instead of resting, Doc Gannon crossed to the sink, took up the two buckets, now brimming with cold water, one in each hand.
“I think it might be more suitable for you to sit down for a few minutes, Miss Fontaine, and rest while I take these buckets upstairs to Mrs. Parkin.”
Lizbet didn’t reply; she could see that Doc Gannon had a firm grip on the handles of both the water buckets and he wasn’t going to allow her to carry them up to Ornetta, who would continue her attempts to bring Pearl’s fever down.
When the doctor returned, she had already poured him a second cup of coffee and set it on the table, along with a slice of Ornetta’s incomparable apple cake.
“How is Pearl?” she asked softly.
Doc Gannon sighed. Shook his head. “She’s come down with pneumonia, I’m afraid. There’s not much I can do, actually, except dose her with quinine, and I’m reluctant to do that.”
“Sit down,” Lizbet said.
He fell into a chair, reached for the coffee mug. Stopped and looked up at her. “Mine?” he asked, with a twinkle of weary mischief in his eyes.
“The cake, too,” Lizbet replied, with a rather formal nod.
“Please take a chair, Miss Fontaine. I don’t want to have to stand up again to drink this coffee, much as I need it, but I will if necessary.”
Lizbet smiled cautiously, sat down across the table from him, with a cup of coffee for herself.
“Thank you,” the doctor said, with relieved amusement.
“You’re welcome,” Lizbet replied.
The flicker of a smile rested on Doc Gannon’s mouth as he regarded her over the rim of his mug.
Lizbet’s mind was back on Pearl’s illness and all its ramifications. She was just as worried about Ornetta as she was about the woman’s granddaughter.
“Pneumonia isn’t contagious,” she said, and then felt stupid because a person didn’t need a medical degree to know that.
Doc Gannon arched one sandy eyebrow. “Correct,” he replied.
“Which means there’s no danger of anyone else catching it.”
“Right again.” He looked wry, but still bone-tired, as he raised a forkful of apple cake toward his mouth.
“ Therefore ,” Lizbet said pointedly, “I can take Ornetta’s place for a while, so she can get some rest.”
“You could,” the doctor allowed.
“I will ,” Lizbet answered.
“You’re quite a woman, Lizbet Fontaine.”
“Call me Lizbet, please. And I’m only doing what needs to be done. Ornetta isn’t young, you know.”
“I’ve noticed,” Doc Gannon allowed. “And if I’m going to call you by your Christian name, you must call me by mine. It’s Max.”
“I don’t think it’s proper to address a physician in such a familiar fashion,” she responded. She’d already noticed that Doc Gannon didn’t wear a wedding band, and she supposed he must be unmarried, since no one had mentioned him having a wife.
He was attractive and easy to talk to, and Lizbet wished she felt the same attraction to him as she did to Gabe Whitfield. Doc Gannon—Max—would have been the more sensible choice.
Not that anybody had asked her to choose.
It was no one’s business if she wanted to fantasize a little, now, was it?
“That’s up to you, Miss Fontaine ,” came the easy reply.
“All right,” Lizbet conceded, spreading her hands for emphasis and nearly overturning her coffee mug. “ All right , Max.”