Lanterns and Lace

Chapter 3

Grant told everyone that the huge, oak-shaded area behind his home was the coolest spot in Kahlerville. He could always count on a breeze to lower the sweltering temperatures, and today proved his theory. Century-old trees waved to the sun perched in a cloudless sky. Life didn’t get much better than this, because he knew there were days in which life buried him where the sun never shone. His brother Morgan called those times “stall-cleaning” days, but today Grant refused to even smell trouble. No matter what the reason Miss Jenny Martin had chosen to visit, she would not spoil this moment.

He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and eased down beside Rebecca beneath the leafy canopy of a wide oak tree. How very strange that being outside with his little daughter caused him to appreciate the poetry of life. Grant chuckled. He wouldn’t dare repeat his thoughts to another human soul. Poetry of life? Maybe he should have embarked upon a literature degree instead of the Hippocratic oath.

Upon a red and white tablecloth sat fried chicken, sliced tomatoes, applesauce, and freshly baked oatmeal cookies. This was a special time of the day for him and his little daughter. The noon hour allowed Mimi time alone and Grant the opportunity to have Rebecca all to himself. When the grandfather clock in the foyer chimed twelve times, he worked hard to finish up with his last patient. And unless an emergency arose, Monday through Saturday, father and daughter ate together and, on Sundays, joined his whole family for dinner at the parsonage.

Rebecca sat poised waiting for him to ask the blessing. Her dainty little hands lay folded in her lap, and her feet extended onto the grass. She rubbed her ankles together, and Grant could almost hear her say, “The grass tickles, Papa.” When she gave him a big dimpled grin, he forgot any ill-tempered patients or those seriously ill. But today the reason Miss Jenny Martin had come calling plagued him worse than a bellyache after eating too many green apples.

He caught a glimpse of Rebecca’s huge, nut-brown eyes curtained with long, thick lashes that innocently danced and sparkled to whatever whim intrigued her. Dark brown curls framed her impish face, and already she had thicker hair than most little girls her age. That morning, Mimi had swept up the front and sides of Rebecca’s abundant locks into a green ribbon. It matched her deep green-and- white print dress. Many of Rebecca’s little dresses were green. It was Grant’s favorite color.

He smiled into the angelic face and planted a kiss on her forehead. He gathered up her tiny soft hands into his, and they bowed their heads for prayer.

“Father God, we thank Thee for this beautiful day and for all Thy gifts. Bless this food and the hands that have prepared it. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

“Amen,” Rebecca repeated and peered up at her father expectantly.

“Very good. Let me fill your plate.”

In between bites, they chatted about their morning. “And what did you do to help Mimi today?” he said.

She sat up very straight and wiped her mouth with a crisp white napkin. “Me helped with washing.”

“Wonderful.” Grant gave his best approving nod. “How did you help her?”

“Hmm.” She propped her forefinger under her chin just like Mimi did when she contemplated a matter. “Counted the pins.”

“Clothespins?”

“Yes, sir.” She dipped her spoon in a pile of applesauce on her plate and dragged it dangerously close to the edge.

He helped her scoop it into her spoon. “How many were there?”

“Fourteen ten.”

“Sounds like a lot of them.” He laughed softly. “I’m sure you made her very happy.”

“Yes, sir. Mimi loves me.”

He watched her eye the oatmeal cookie on her plate. “Why don’t you taste that cookie to see if it’s good?”

She picked it up and took a nibble. “Tastes ‘solutely wonderful.”

How he loved his daughter. He urged her to take a sip of milk, which she did obediently. Rebecca didn’t care for its taste, and the task usually took some prodding, but today she didn’t complain.

“I’m proud of you drinking milk,” he said. “I must tell Mimi.”

Rebecca finished her small glass, dabbed her mouth, and set the napkin beside her empty plate. Crawling up into his lap, she laid her head against his chest. Her eyes grew heavy. And as usual, she would soon be asleep. Right here in his backyard, life was good.

“Papa.” She sat upright and pointed her finger to an upstairs window of their home. “Lady sick?”

Grant followed her gaze to the room where Miss Martin rested. To his amazement, the woman watched from the bedroom window. He wondered how long she’d been observing them. “Yes, sweetheart. She’s feeling better.”

“Good. No yike to be sick.” She shook her head, her curls flying across her cheeks.

“I don’t like for you to be sick, either. Do you want to wave at the lady?”

Rebecca sat even straighter on Grant’s lap and wiggled her fingers. With an enormous gesture, she blew Miss Martin a kiss.

My dear sweet angel.

She planted a tiny rosebud kiss on his chin and snuggled back into her resting spot. He glanced up at Miss Martin, who still observed them from the window. When he waved, she didn’t return the greeting. Alarm settled upon him like stepping on a rattler.

Other than Miss Martin’s physical condition, Grant had attempted not to dwell on the woman until he had an opportunity to question her. He’d almost convinced himself that his fears were unfounded. Due to the number of patients this morning who needed his attention, he’d asked Mimi to check on her. Miss Martin had progressed rapidly with rest and a limited diet of broth and toast. By tomorrow, she should be able to eat boiled potatoes and oatmeal. Per Grant’s instructions, Mimi encouraged her to drink small amounts of water at regular intervals and to report any nausea. At this point, his original diagnosis of her suffering from lack of good nutrition mixed with heat exhaustion appeared to be correct. He assumed she’d be moving into the boardinghouse soon.

Grant felt decisively uncomfortable with the young woman in his home. More so, he wanted to know why she’d come to Kahlerville. In the few times they’d talked, she hadn’t mentioned the purpose of her visit or anything about Jessica or Rebecca. He met her silence with mixed emotions. Could it be she didn’t know about her niece? How sad for her if this was a social visit, and her sister had passed away more than two years ago.

To the best of his knowledge, Miss Martin hadn’t seen Rebecca’s face close enough to note the similarities. Grant and Mimi purposely kept her at a distance until the danger of contagion had passed. Still, for his own peace of mind, he needed answers to his questions soon.

Miss Martin had told Mimi that she was a schoolteacher from Cleveland, Ohio, but he questioned if the school year had been completed. Maybe this was all the family Jessica had left. It appeared unusual and inappropriate for a young single woman to travel across the country alone, but that was none of his business. For that matter, who was the man who had assisted her at the train station? Hopefully Miss Martin didn’t share the same profession as Jessica. After breakfast tomorrow, he must talk to her. She should be feeling well enough by then to engage in serious conversation.

The more Grant considered Jenny Martin, the more he felt her journey must be one of devotion. He’d gladly show her Jessica’s grave and introduce Rebecca as his daughter. Any other connection to Jessica would have to be met with prayer and . . . more prayer.

Mimi approached the picnic area, interrupting his deliberations. “A gentleman is here to see you, a Mr. Aubrey Turner,” she whispered. “I’ll put her to bed.”

He nodded and lifted the child into her arms. At least he’d had this hour with Rebecca in their private sanctuary before being summoned back to work.

Aubrey Turner, a tall, blond fellow impeccably dressed in a tan suit and deep brown lizard-skin boots, awaited him in his office. He shifted a matching top hat and gloves before rising to his feet.

“We meet again, Mr. Turner.” Grant reached out to grasp the man’s hand.

Turner’s hand was smooth, not the touch of a working man. “Dr. Andrews, it’s a pleasure to see you.” His genteel words did not match the coldness in his eyes.

“Thank you, and do sit down.” Grant motioned to a nearby chair. “How can I help you?”

Turner’s broad smile revealed perfectly straight, milky white teeth. “I won’t take up much of your time. I simply wanted to inquire about Miss Martin’s health.”

Grant seated himself at his desk. “She’s doing much better. Would you like for me to see if she’s feeling well enough for visitors?”

“That’s very kind of you but not necessary. I’m sure she needs her rest.” He glanced about. “I’ve never been in this part of Texas. You have a friendly town. Nice folks. Is it always this hot?”

“Always. This is central Texas. We have two temperatures, dripping and unbearable.”

Turner laughed. “I appreciate your tending to Miss Martin. It’s a relief to know she’s recovering from that dreadful experience on board the train. I fully intend to file a report with the railroad company.”

“I’ll make sure she knows you inquired about her health. Would you like to leave a specific message?”

Turner appeared to contemplate the matter before speaking. “Yes. Please give her my sincere regards. She needn’t fret in the delay. Her health is much more important. We can continue our search for information about Jessica when she’s recovered.” He tugged on his gloves. “Oh, and if she needs assistance moving into the boardinghouse, I am available.”

“Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Turner stood. “Not a thing. Good day, Dr. Andrews.”

Grant ushered him to the front hallway and opened the door. Turner had confirmed his suspicions. The two were traveling together, and Jessica and Miss Martin were related. But what kind of information were they seeking?

*****

Grant watched Miss Martin steal another look at Rebecca. The two more than favored each other. Even the woman’s facial expressions matched those of his little daughter. He had introduced Rebecca as his child and had stated that her mother had died in childbirth. Later, when Jenny and Grant found the time to talk, he might explain the situation to her.

Mostly he wanted her gone from his home. I’m a grown man, and I’m threatened by a woman who is barely tall enough to reach my shoulders.

Early that morning while the night sky still darkened the world, he’d spent over an hour in prayer. What happened to all the peace that had enveloped him then? He needed a heavy dose of it now—more like an injection.

Grant continued to study, as inconspicuously as possible, the comely young woman seated across from him. Her face had slightly more color than yesterday, and she’d made the effort to join them for breakfast. He noticed that she dressed very much in fashion—dark full skirt and a white blouse with a high lace collar. Why women insisted upon those hundreds of tiny pearl buttons was beyond him. Her hair had been gathered at the top of her head and pulled into a loose knot with strands of curls framing her face. His Rebecca would be just as lovely.

“You look much better this morning, Miss Martin,” he said. “I trust your health is improving.”

“Thank you, Dr. Andrews. I’m really feeling like my old self, and I do appreciate what you and Miss Mimi have done for me. Your excellent care is commendable.” She sighed, or rather her thin shoulders lifted slightly. “Breakfast is lovely. I never thought oatmeal could taste this splendid.”

She did have a musical quality about her voice. “You’re quite welcome, and my name is Grant. We don’t need formalities here.” He wiped oatmeal from Rebecca’s chin.

“And please, call me Jenny.”

He gave her a genuine smile. “I’d like for you to eat soft foods for a couple more days, and you should be fine. Please rest often until you feel all of your strength has returned. You don’t need another occurrence of the past few days. And I wouldn’t drink milk. It might upset your stomach.”

“No danger of that. I despise milk . . . Goodness, I’m sorry. I forgot your daughter was sitting here.” Jenny stiffened, and her eyes widened.

Grant laughed. “Don’t concern yourself with it. She has her own views on the matter, and believe me, none of them are good.”

“I don’t yike it.” Rebecca shook her head and tossed her curls. “But Papa makes me drink a little.”

“My sister didn’t care for milk, either.”

And Grant knew, without a doubt, that Jenny understood the relationship between Rebecca and Jessica. There would be no pretense. He must obtain some answers soon.

“Do you feel up to discussing a matter after breakfast? I’m free until about eight thirty.” Grant pulled his pocket watch from inside his jacket and checked the time.

“Certainly. Do you want to talk now?” Jenny lifted her chin, but he detected a quiver of her lips.

This will not be amiable. I can feel it in my bones. This conversation would not be about Jessica’s grave site. “I believe that is an excellent idea. I’ll just take the coffeepot with us into my office, as long as Mimi doesn’t mind keeping an eye on Rebecca.”

With the housekeeper’s consent, Grant ushered Jenny from the dining room, down the hallway, and into his office near the front door. Breathing a prayer for wisdom, he shut the heavy oaken double doors behind them. Two windows had been opened earlier, providing a pleasant breeze and lightly scenting the room with the fresh, lingering fragrance of roses. He needed something pleasant this morning to divert his gathering apprehension.

“Do sit down, Jenny.” Grant pointed to one of the two chairs normally used by patients. Once she seated herself, he sat across from her. “I admit this discussion is of concern to me. Before I get started, is there anything you need to ask or tell me?”

Jenny paused as though contemplating his request. “I need to know the amount of my bill. I’m planning to move into the boardinghouse this afternoon, and I don’t want to leave owing you money.”

“There’s no charge.”

Jenny sat more rigid than the ladies he knew. She clutched her hands so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Why?” she said.

“I don’t charge family.” He stared straight into her huge brown eyes, too much like his beloved daughter’s. “I’m assuming Jessica was your sister.”

She fidgeted, and Grant waited.

“I always pay my obligations,” she said.

“Not this time.”

“Did my sister?”

“She didn’t have an opportunity.”

“Are you Rebecca’s real father?”

“The adoption papers state so.” Grant fought to gain control of a slowly rising irritation with the woman before him. “Jenny, why are you in Kahlerville?”

Silence permeated the room—so quiet that Grant heard the wind rustling through the trees.

“Do I need to repeat my question?” He allowed a moment for her to reply. “My intentions are not to be rude. I simply want an answer.” He leaned back in his chair and ignored the pounding of his heart.

She squeezed her hands together more tightly than before. “I came to see my sister’s grave . . . and to escort my niece back to Cleveland where she belongs.”