Lanterns and Lace

Chapter 2

Jenny refused to succumb to another fainting spell. Dazzling sunlight shone overhead and blinded her, and huge drops of perspiration trickled down her face. Conscious of still lying in Aubrey Turner’s embrace, she felt as though floating in his arms. Everyone at the train station viewed her humiliation.

“I’m carrying you to the back of the doctor’s wagon,” Mr. Turner whispered. “I hope his office is more accommodating than this primitive wagon. At least there are a few quilts back here.”

Jenny didn’t care what the wagon looked like. She simply wanted to be far away from onlookers. “Thank you, Mr. Turner, for helping me. This is . . . quite regrettable.”

“Once you’re out of this heat, you’ll feel better,” he said. “I do hope your condition improves very soon, Miss Martin.”

Jenny couldn’t construct a single intelligent word. She closed her eyes and reclined on the hard wagon bed.

“I apologize for the discomfort,” Dr. Andrews said. “It’s but a short distance to my home. There I can determine what has made you so ill.”

She didn’t respond to his kind voice either. She’d rather be making her way to the undertaker.

Dr. Andrews drove the wagon slowly. Must the whole town view her miserable condition? Once at his residence, he carried her inside to his office and onto an examination table. She glanced about at his equipment, very similar to what she was accustomed to seeing in Cleveland. The room smelled of a peculiar odor, not offensive, but faintly of medicine. That aspect gave her some measure of comfort. On the opposite side of the room set a large desk and bookcase with two extra chairs. Neat. Tidy.

I shall not perish from filth here.

Her initial dealings with Dr. Andrews destroyed any preconceived ideas that she may have had regarding the man. She’d envisioned an elderly doctor with gray hair and stooped shoulders—not the young, good-looking man with the huge almond-shaped green eyes and hair the color of rich honey.

Dr. Andrews gently examined her while she fought the urge to be ill one more time. “You appear to be exhausted,” he said.

“I haven’t slept well or eaten properly in days.”

“That confirms my diagnosis. I don’t believe you are seriously ill, simply in need of rest and a change in diet. A few days in bed and some good home cooking should have you feeling much better. The lump on your head is minor, but it may cause a few headaches. In the meantime, I’d like for you to stay in one of my spare bedrooms so I can watch for signs of anything more complicated—just to be sure.”

“But . . . I.”

Dr. Andrews took her hand and smiled. “I don’t think you want to risk fainting again in the confines of a room at the boardinghouse. If propriety is a concern, my housekeeper lives here with me and my daughter.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness. I am normally quite healthy, not at all like this. I don’t want to impose on your kindness.” Jenny dabbed her eyes. Was she babbling?

“My job is to make my patients well.” He opened the door of his office and called for Miss Mimi. A round, silver-haired woman stepped inside carrying a glass of water. She looked like a grandmother, not a housekeeper, certainly not the uniformed type to whom Jenny was accustomed. Dr. Andrews introduced the two. “Miss Mimi will help you bathe. She often assists me as a nurse, and she’ll make you feel comfortable.”

Jenny cringed from the rank smell meeting her nostrils and the way her traveling dress stuck to her undergarments and body. She bit back the tears, determined not to make any more of a spectacle of herself than she already had. Utter mortification lingered in the air as heavy as the odor of vomit. “I can take care of myself,” she managed.

“I’ll stay with you just in case you feel faint.” Mimi smiled as though she understood Jenny’s plight. “I have smelling salts in my pocket if we need them.”

“This isn’t really necessary.”

But the woman remained inside the room after Dr. Andrews excused himself.

Turning from the sympathetic face of Miss Mimi, Jenny fumbled with the buttons around her neck. Trembling fingers couldn’t seem to push them through the small loops. The longer she worked with them, the bigger the lump in her throat grew. A sob slid upward, and she couldn’t wish it away.

“Let me help you, honey.” Mimi moved closer and held out the glass of water. “Let’s begin with this.”

Jenny wrapped her fingers around it and shivered. “Thank you. My mouth tastes so wretched.”

It had been years since anyone had helped Jenny undress or bathe, and her independent nature fought the idea of a stranger performing such a task.

“I’m so miserable.” Jenny attempted to stop the flow of tears, but they flooded her eyes and rolled over her cheeks. “All those people at the train station saw me ill.”

Miss Mimi draped her arm around Jenny’s shoulders. “Let me help you. I know this must be difficult, but you are very weak. We can do this together . . . discreetly.”

Jenny nodded. She had no choice. Miss Mimi offered her all the privacy she needed while tending to her needs. Once clean and dressed in a fresh nightgown that Miss Mimi had pulled from Jenny’s trunk, she felt remarkably refreshed. Dr. Andrews helped her ascend the stairs to a bedroom.

“I’d like for you to get some sleep, and I’ll check on you periodically throughout the evening hours.”

“Yes, of course,” she mumbled through closed eyes. All she wanted to do was rid her mind of this horrible ordeal.

*****

Jenny stirred in her sleep. A nightmare clung to her hazy dream world, one in which she begged the gods of torment to leave her alone. Humiliation unlike she’d ever experienced, repeated sights and sounds no fitting lady should endure.

She blinked several times to clear her mind from sleep and usher in consciousness. Her nebulous gaze focused on unfamiliar surroundings. Bouquets of blue and yellow flowers dotted the walls, and an open window invited a welcome breeze from swaying tree branches. A marble and oak washstand, a stately armoire, rocker, and trunk were the only pieces of furniture except for the intricately carved headboard. She stroked the thin white coverlet trimmed in white tatted lace that lightly covered her, and she repeatedly ran her fingers over a pale blue and green embroidered basket of flowers on the pillowcase.

Somewhere she heard a piano and strained to hear the tune. It was a hymn, one her old piano teacher used to play. Jenny hadn’t focused on religious songs for years. She concentrated on classical pieces as emphasized by her music professor at the university. But this particular song had been a recital piece, her very first performance—”Amazing Grace.”

Jenny sighed and recalled all those dreadful nights on board the train. Now she lay tucked in a feather bed inhaling the faint scent of roses from the linens, decidedly more pleasant than the smells from the night before.

She held her breath. The events of the previous day had been real.

Where am I? In the same breath, all the remembrances poured over her like a chilling rain on a cold winter day. Jenny painfully relived every embarrassing moment from the instant she stumbled down from the train until her stomach convulsed in the presence of Mr. Turner and Dr. Andrews.

“Oh.” She moaned in memory of the torrid heat and how she’d fainted and hit her head. A dull ache still persisted. She gingerly touched a lump high on the right side of her forehead.

Embarrassment burned her cheeks. The thought of facing Dr. Andrews and Miss Mimi seemed to be more than she could bear. Jenny buried her head in the pillow. How could she look at anyone in this town after yesterday? Dreaded tears threatened to flow, but she swallowed them. Mother and Father would be sorely disappointed in her behavior. Displays of emotion were not the proper manner for handling problems.

After several minutes, her thoughts slipped back to Dr. Andrews. Why didn’t his wife appear? And where was Jessica’s child? He’d spoken of his daughter. Questions darted in and out of her mind. Of one thing she felt certain: the temporary living arrangements would allow her to become better acquainted with the doctor and his family. The whole nasty business with her illness could be a stroke of luck, and hopefully, she’d soon be on her way back home with her niece.

Her glance fell upon her trunk and bags. Dare she get dressed? Taking a deep breath, she threw back the thin coverlet and slowly moved her legs to the side of the bed. The room began to spin. When it refused to cease, she lay back down and closed her eyes. I’ll try again in a little while. Sleep enveloped her senses.

*****

Grant picked up his empty cup for the third time and attempted to drink from it.

“Why don’t you let me get you some more coffee?” Mimi peered at him across the table.

“I don’t want any.” He stared into the cup, seeing nothing for the worrisome thoughts swirling around in his head.

“Oh, Grant. I do hate to see you so disturbed.” Compassion laced her words.

A deep sense of melancholy threatened to overtake him. He set the cup on its saucer and gently pushed it back along with a half-eaten plate of scrambled eggs and buttery grits. “I’m worried about our new patient. Not her condition, but her reason for being here.”

“I feel the same way. When I stepped inside your office, I thought I was looking at a ghost—the same big brown eyes and dark hair. Then she introduced herself as Jenny Martin.” Mimi paused. “Is this Jessica’s sister or a cousin? The resemblance is remarkable.” She tilted her head as though an ear turned his way would cause her to hear better. “Do you know something that you’re not telling me?”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know any more than you do. But I’ve got to find out what this is all about.”

“I saw you spent a long time in the study this morning.”

“I needed to pray.”

She picked up his cup and disappeared into the kitchen only to return with it filled with hot coffee. Her midnight blue eyes captured his gaze. “If we were drinkin’ folks, I’d add something a little stronger.”

Grant chuckled. “If I was a drinkin’ man, I’d accept it.” Taking a sip and burning his tongue, he set the cup down. He couldn’t disguise his apprehension. “I remember two and a half years ago when Morgan helped me with Rebecca’s adoption. I expected someone to appear and claim her or some citizen to object because I was single. Not that I wanted to give her up, but I anticipated it might happen. No one, not one single inquiry about Jessica’s baby girl responded to the Dallas and Houston newspapers.” He shook his head. “Like you, the instant I saw our patient upstairs, I knew she was a member of Rebecca’s family.”

“I wish you’d left her at the train station. Excuse me, I don’t really mean that.”

He raised a brow.

“Well, maybe I mean it a little.”

He laughed, but his heart refused to be soothed with humor. Memories jumbled his mind. “I keep thinking about those uncertain times during Rebecca’s adoption—the moments when I didn’t know how to pray or what to pray for. I felt selfish in wanting to keep Rebecca and fearful of coveting a baby who might belong to someone else.” Grant studied the dear lady beside him. Wrinkle upon wrinkle lay across her face. Love lines. Beautiful touches of God that reminded him of the power of His grace.

“But Rebecca is yours.”

“Legally, but morally? I simply don’t have any answers, and my mind won’t give me a rest.” Grant reached across the table and took Mimi’s hand in his. “I apologize for my bad temperament this morning. And thank you for helping me with Miss Martin.”

“I understand how you feel.” She swiped at a tear. “She’s a threat to all of us.”

“So what do you suggest?” Grant said. Mimi usually saw things from a different perspective: older, wiser, and with a female point of view.

“Right now I’m a little scared, confused. Maybe angry. I don’t have any suggestions but to have patience. This could be an innocent visit. Perhaps Miss Martin wants to make sure Rebecca is well cared for or plans to visit her sister’s grave. Mercy, she may not know her sister passed on. God has a purpose for all of this, but I wish He’d tell one of us what it is.”

He nodded and picked up his fork, tapping it lightly on the table. Several moments passed before he spoke. “Did Miss Martin give any indication why she’s here?”

“No. The poor thing suffered so that my heart went out to her. She cried the entire time I helped her bathe.”

“I checked on her several times during the night. Most of the time, I wanted to look into the room and find her gone.” He smiled. Confession was supposed to be good for the soul. “I also looked in on Rebecca each time I stepped from Miss Martin’s room.”

“I spent a lot of time last night watching our little girl sleep, too. It’s a wonder we didn’t pass each other in the hallway.” Mimi laughed softly.

“I think I saw you leaving the nursery at one point. I should have called out. We could have kept each other company.”

Mimi crossed her arms. “My questions are the same as yours.”

Grant stared into Mimi’s face. “I’m not so sure I want to know why she’s here.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Rebecca is my daughter,” he said. “I never thought I could love anyone like I do her.”

“It’s a father’s love.” She leaned toward him. “I think we may be overreacting. God gave you Rebecca. You and I have confirmed His hand in her adoption. He will work this out. Like you said, Miss Martin may not know about Jessica’s death or of Rebecca.”

“True. I’m thinking the worst without the least concern for Miss Martin’s health or even grief.”

“Well, you’ll have to ask her and get your questions answered.”

“I intend to, just as soon as she’s feeling better. But—”

“Grant, listen to an old woman who loves you and Rebecca very much. Worrying won’t accomplish a thing but add gray to your hair and prove your lack of faith in God.”

“My head is listening, but my heart is thumping like a scared rabbit.”

“Mine, too, dear boy. Mine, too.”