Jolt

  "Nothing beyond basic first-aid and a CPR course," Lita agreed.

  Tate's brows converged. "CPR?"

  "You know, cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Or are we too early for that?"

  "Are you talking about chest compression following a heart attack?" She nodded, and Tate blinked. "You know how to do chest compression?"

  "Sure, it's standard for working at a daycare. We all have to know how to do it."

  Mrs. Pilson cleared her throat. "Uh, I don't want to cause a fuss; I'd just feel better talking to a female about this particular… problem."

  Tate's feathers were not just ruffled, they were in a twist. "You will allow me to treat you if treatment is necessary?"

  She nodded and stood, looking expectantly to Lita, who looked questioningly to Tate. He gave her a small nod as he moved to take her place beside Nellie. "Nellie and I will watch the baby then, until you return."

  Lalita had seen Tate confused. She'd seen him disgruntled. She'd even seen him downright mad, but she'd never seen the kind of indignation he was wearing on his face as she followed Millie out of the room. She turned back and shrugged; he answered with a muscle jumping in his very tight jaw.

  After the door was closed on Millie's bedroom, she turned and asked Lalita to unbutton her shirtwaist. After pulling it and her corset cover off, she turned, pulling the neckline of her chemise down to reveal a red spot on her breast. "I just noticed this last night, and now it's bigger, and I can feel a hard lump there."

  Lalita raised her hand. "May I?"

  The worried woman nodded, and Lalita gently laid her fingers on the spot. Millie winced. "Hurts, too, huh?"

  "Yes. I've nursed three other children and never experienced this before."

  "Well, like the doc said, I've not been medically trained, but I'd say you've got a clogged milk duct. You need to put warm compresses on the spot and just let Anna nurse, nurse, nurse on this side first. Make sure it gets all drained. It might hurt for a bit, but that's the only way to get rid of it."

  Millie blew out a breath in relief. "Oh, thank you. I was afraid it was something more serious."

  She reached for her corset cover, and Lalita laid a hand on her arm. "Millie, you should probably take off the corset. Plugs can happen if you're too… compressed."

  Millie frowned. "But I'm hardly back to my normal size. None of my clothes will fit."

  "Have Mr. P. spring for some new clothes. You've just had a baby; you deserve to let it all hang out for a while." Then she gently turned her around and started to undo the lacing.

  ***

  Tate was pacing the parlor with a now wailing baby, and Nellie was holding her hands over her ears. He breathed a sigh of relief when the two women finally made a reappearance. Mrs. Pilson rushed toward him no longer wearing her dress, but her wrapper. "I'm sorry, Dr. Cavanagh, and thank you so much for lending me your fine assistant again. I know what to do now."

  A maid joined them in the parlor, and after she spoke with the lady of the house in low tones, retreated while Mrs. Pilson walked them to the door, the baby still screaming.

  Tate could hardly stand not knowing what Mrs. Pilson and Lita had spoken about, but he could see the youngster needed to eat. "We can see our way out. If you have no further need of my services today…" She was bouncing on her toes and hushing the bundle at her shoulder, and Tate sighed. "Go take care of the little one. Call if you need me."

  Ushering Nellie and Lita out, he managed to get everyone seated in the buggy before his curiosity got the better of him. "So, Dr. Lalita, what was it that Mrs. Pilson could say to you but not to me, her trusted physician for over two years."

  Lita laughed. "Now don't get your underwear in a tangle, Doc. There are some things that women can just ask other women more easily."

  She didn't say any more, and Tate could see she was enjoying the fact that she had been Mrs. Pilson's confidant. "So are you going to tell me what the problem is?"

  Lita put a finger to her lips. "Hmmm, I guess she didn't sign a HIPAA form, so I suppose it will be all right."

  "Sign a what?" She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling, and Tate nearly forgot what he wanted to know.

  "Okay, I'll give you a break. She has a clogged milk duct. I told her how to take care of it."

  Tate reined Maisy into a left turn. "And how did you know how to take care of it?"

  "I work—worked—at a daycare. Remember the blabbing pregnant mothers? Well, there are blabbing nursing mothers, too. Nursing mothers are obsessed with breasts and milk and nursing habits, schedules, poop, pumps and pumping, so believe me, I've heard about the dreaded clogged milk duct and how to treat it more times than I care to recall."

  He wasn't completely satisfied. "So what did you tell her?"

  "I told her to use warm compresses and let the baby nurse that side first to make sure it gets all drained out."

  Tate was surprised. That's just what he would have said.

  "Oh, and I told her not to wear a corset. That could have caused the problem in the first place."

  "And how did you know that? You seemed to imply that you had never worn one before."

  Lita laughed. "I thought we weren't supposed to have a conversation with 'unmentionables' in it, Dr. all-about-the-rules Cavanaugh?"

  Tate blushed and urged Maisy to a trot.

  ***

  At Lalita's request, Tate drove them to the grocery store. If she was going to fill in for Mrs. Kettler, she wanted to see what her options were for cooking. She had no idea what kind of convenience foods were available, if any.

  She found a variety of canned goods, but the extra fudgy Duncan Hines brownie mix she was hungry for was not to be found. It seemed she would have to settle for Jello.

  Next she searched for dried pastas and spaghetti sauce in jars but struck out again. Tate finally asked if he could help her find what she was looking for. "I don't know how to cook in this era. What does Mrs. Kettler make other than meat and potatoes?"

  "She makes a variety of meat pies—robin, squirrel, rabbit… sometimes even bear if the bigger game hunters have been busy in the area."

  Lalita couldn't stop the grimace that came to her face. "Oh! Ugh!" She turned, still making a face. "Okay, I'll try making spaghetti from scratch. I know how to make noodles, even though it will be more difficult without my pasta machine, and all I need is tomatoes and seasonings to make a sauce."

  Tate followed, pulling Nellie along by the hand. "Spaghetti. All right. I haven't had that since I left Denver. You're right, Mrs. Kettler isn't a very imaginative cook."

  After Tate paid for the produce, they headed back to the buggy, but Nellie pulled Lalita to look in the clothier's window next door. Lalita knew that had she looked at this display of mutton-sleeved dresses and elaborate hats a week ago, she would have been dying to try them on. Now they just looked hot and uncomfortable.

  Nellie looked up at her, grinning. "Which one is your favorite?"

  Lalita smiled back. "For looks, the salmon one with the embroidered underskirt, but seriously, I can't wait for the flapper dresses to come into style."

  Tate appeared by her side. "Pick one out, and I'll buy it."

  She looked to him, surprised. "I couldn't. I mean, Augusta's dresses are fine." She looked down at the hem that was two to three inches too short and the waist that was probably two to three inches too large.

  Tate spoke what she was thinking. "No, they're not. Augusta was a shorter woman, and later, a plumper woman. If you plan on staying with us for a while, you need clothes that fit."

  A while. Lalita smirked. Doc, you're stuck with me.

  He cocked his head at her. "Did I say something funny?"

  She shook her head at him, wide-eyed. "No, not at all." Then she grinned. "Let's shop!" Grabbing his hand she pulled him to the door as she waved Nellie forward.

  She was glad to see that the newer fashions had not yet moved on to the ridiculously puffed sleeves that were yet to come, but skin showing was still for the most
part a no no. "They all still look so hot."

  Nellie tugged on her skirt. "What about those? They're beautiful!" She was pointing to a display of dresses in embroidered silks that actually had swooping necklines and small cap sleeves, obviously designed for a very special occasion.

  "It wouldn't do to stand over a stove or wash the clothes in something like that, though, would it? I wonder why it's okay to be more bare at a party but not when you're slaving in the kitchen?"

  Nellie shrugged.

  A clerk approached, and Lalita asked to see her lightest weight dresses. Frankly, she didn't care what they looked like as long as they were cool.

  Tate watched the two females perusing the ladies' fashions a moment before heading to the gentlemen's side of the store. He looked over the selection of hats, remembering Lita's assessment that his bowler made him look old. He tried on a fedora or two, wondering what she'd think of them before putting them down and pulling his own thoughts down to earth. He couldn't start dressing with her in mind, or he'd never be able to keep a professional distance.

  He shook his head, knowing that a "professional distance" had flown out the window the moment he'd held her on his lap the night before in her bedroom… on her bed. He sighed, wandering along the glass case, looking at cuff links, embroidered handkerchiefs, suspenders, and collars. He didn't really need anything himself, so he kept moving, thinking he might pick up a new hair bow for Nellie.

  Before he got to the hair accessories, however, he ran into the perfume. He picked up a sample atomizer bottle and held it under his nose. He was immediately struck with a sick feeling, not unlike what had happened to him several nights before. Determined to ferret out the mystery, he took another whiff, and it came to him. The bathroom had been full of this scent when he broke down the door to find Augusta dead.

  Suddenly sweating, his pulse rapid, he stepped back from the counter just as the females in his charge appeared at his side. He turned to see Lita carrying several bolts of fabric, a pattern, and sewing notions. He pulled his racing heart out of the past. "You'd rather sew a dress?"

  Lita put a fist to her hip. "Not really, but the dresses are designed for the one who wants to wear a cor— that which cannot be named—necessary to squeeze one down to an eighteen inch waist. I hope that's one society trend you don't mind that I buck."

  He smiled at her defiant expression. "No, I don't. As a physician, I have recommended to many women to loosen their… undergarments for the sake of proper digestion."

  "Good."

  Tate pointed her toward the counter then noticed Nellie with a spool of ribbon. "And what do you have, Miss Nell?"

  "Lalita said you would buy me some ribbon if I asked you sweetly."

  The corners of Tate's mouth twitched, but he didn't crack a smile. "And do you plan on asking sweetly?"

  She nodded with her eyes wide, and Tate laughed, certain he knew who had schooled her in these shenanigans. He took the spool and moved toward the counter beside Lita, grateful for joviality to wash away pain.

  ***

  "Nellie, today I'm going to teach you how to make noodles. Could you get me two eggs, please?"

  Even though the kitchen was hot without the stove even lit, Lalita was determined to cook the spaghetti she'd bought the ingredients for. She switched on the small electric fan that only brought a slight improvement to the temperature of the room.

  After stirring and rolling out the dough, she had sweat through her dress and felt drained. "Ugh! Damn these dresses straight to hell!"

  At Nellie's gasp and wide-eyed expression, Lalita bit her lip. "Oops. Sorry. Forget I said that." She wiped her forehead and neck with a dish towel. "I may have to set up a swear jar, although I don't know what I'd put in it, since I have no money."

  She leaned against the counter, dreaming of walking through the refrigerated section of a 21st century grocery store. "Nellie, I'm going to expire in this kitchen before we get the sauce even started." All at once, she remembered something she'd seen in Augusta's trunk—swimwear.

  She headed out of the kitchen. "Come on, Nellie, I'm thinking beach party."

  Chapter 20

  "Everybody's gone surfing—surfing USA."

  Lalita was belting out a tune quite unfamiliar to Tate as he walked into the house inhaling the most delicious aroma—a spicy, tomato scent that made his stomach growl as he hung his hat on the rack.

  With the closing of the door, the singing stopped. "Tate, is that you? Would you mind terribly not coming into the kitchen just yet?"

  Tate slowed his gait down the hall. "Why?"

  "Um, it's a surprise."

  He stopped, his brow furrowing, but the sound of pots and pans clanging to the floor had him moving again. He reached the doorway to see Lita scrambling to pull a skirt over a short navy dress with a square collar— Augusta's swimsuit?—and Nellie pulling her dress on over her petticoats. "What in the name of God's green earth is going on?"

  Lita spun, buttoning her skirt on the side as she did so. "Tate, you couldn't wait just a minute for your surprise?" She grabbed up her shirtwaist and slipped her arms in the sleeves. "And you say I'm impatient."

  He stepped toward her. "Actually, I believe you owned up to that all by yourself." He looked from one to the other with eyebrows raised. "Was the surprise that you're cooking in swimwear and bloomers?"

  Lita was reaching behind her back at her waistline, buttoning buttons. "Well, no, the surprise would have been that the spaghetti was made by two fresh-as-a-daisy girls in a sweltering kitchen."

  "Ah, I see. A lie by appearances only. Is that your specialty, Lita?" He turned her around to finish buttoning her buttons.

  "Would you have rather walked in on us in swimwear and bloomers? We'd be happy to oblige."

  He finished, and she turned to face him, Tate's nose picking up something other than the tomato sauce. Augusta's perfume. Lita's been wearing it. Backing up, he shook his head. "No, I… so when will this feast of yours be ready?"

  She rushed to the stove and stirred the pot of boiling pasta. Looping a strand on a spoon, she pulled it off with her fingers, blew on it, and sucked it up. She smiled as she chewed. "Just a minute or two more."

  Tate nodded and headed out the back door.

  Lita walked after him, calling through the screen door as he headed toward the carriage house. "So where are you going?"

  He turned, but kept walking backwards. "Just need some fresh air. You're right, that kitchen is too… close." He spun, calling over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

  Entering the carriage house, he took in a big breath, letting the odors of horse, leather, and manure replace the scent of old memories.

  Lalita watched Tate jog to the carriage house, pondering his sudden flight. Nellie brought her attention back to the kitchen. "Can we use the special dishes? The ones with roses?"

  Lalita turned back into the kitchen. "I don't see why not."

  After the two had set the table, drained the pasta, and ladled sauce over it in a tureen, Tate reappeared and followed them to the dining room. Lalita sat and blinked when Tate sat down as far away from her as possible.

  He raved about the spaghetti, however, and when Lalita pointed out that Nellie had helped with everything on the table, he had compliments for the cherry Jello and lemonade as well.

  She wondered at Tate's distance and strove to eat with perfect manners. Spaghetti didn't give itself to this plan easily. Finally, frustrated with dangling ends, she just cut it all up into tiny bites. "I'll have to have Mrs. K. teach me how to bake bread. I'm spoiled with my bread machine. I don't know how to knead it by hand."

  "You have a machine that does the kneading for you?"

  "The stirring, the kneading, the rising, and the baking."

  Tate twisted his fork in his spaghetti. "Well, what will they think of next?"

  "Nobody's going to think of it for about a hundred years, though, so…"

  Tate's smile slid, and Lalita regretted highlighting th
e fact that he still regarded her as being off her rocker. "Forget I brought it up." She spooned a second helping of Jello into her bowl, discouraged with her inability to prove the truth about her lightning time travel.

  Tate seemed to sense her mood shift. "I just realized we are using different dishes than usual. They're very pretty. We should use them more often."

  "It was my idea, Papa!" Nellie chimed in. "Mrs. Kettler always says they are too good to use for everyday."

  "Nonsense! What's the point of having pretty dishes if you don't use them. What do you think, Lita?"

  She couldn't help the smile that slipped out. "I think someone is bucking society rules."

  He helped himself to more spaghetti. "I don't strictly adhere to the rules that dictate things that just don't matter. Fashion for instance, or which plates one uses on what occasion. Those rules change with the winds of time. Basic propriety, however, is ageless."

  "So which rule was I breaking by cooking in swimwear," she teased, "fashion or propriety?"

  He considered with a forkful of spaghetti in front of his mouth. "Probably both, but as long as you don't hire yourself out as a swimsuit wearing cook, your secret's safe with me."

  Nellie sipped her lemonade and wiped her mouth on her napkin. "It was much cooler. Who invented swimwear? Maybe we should write them a letter and ask them to invent cooking wear."

  Lalita grinned. "Maybe we should invent it, Nellie. We could be trend setters."

  Tate hitched a brow. "I hate to be a wet blanket, but the fashions you left behind in Missouri might not be acceptable here."

  Lalita quirked her lips to the side. "Actually, you love being a wet blanket, but I wasn't planning on jumping from this" —she motioned down her body— "to halter tops and cut-offs. It will have to be a subtle change." The gears in her head were turning. "Do you have any paper I can draw on?"

  Tate pushed away from the table and strode to his study, returning with several sheets and a pencil. Lita thanked him, set her plate to the side, and began to sketch.