Jolt, Page 21

  Tate worked up a smile and gave Nellie the permission she wanted before lifting his cup to his lips.

  The doorbell rang, and he wanted nothing more than to rush out of the room to answer it, but that would leave Lita alone with Jeremiah. He forced himself to sit and let Mrs. Kettler receive whoever was at the door.

  She returned a moment later with an envelope that merely had "Dr. Tate Cavanaugh" scrawled across it. Hoping it was payment for a bill, he opened it and pulled out the pages within. Unfolding them revealed not cash nor a cashier's check for services rendered, but a list of names. His eyes scanned back to the top for the explanation.

  "Dr. Cavanaugh, we the concerned citizens of Manitou Springs implore you to put one Miss Lalita Torres out of your house immediately. The keeping of this harlot in your home is not becoming a respected doctor. If you choose to ignore our plea, there will be repercussions."

  The names were numbered to fifty in two columns on the first page and continued to eighty one on the second. He quickly folded the pages and stuffed them back in the envelope.

  He attempted to look pleasant, but he was certain it was not coming off well. Dr. Fischer confirmed it. "Bad news?"

  Tate shook his head. "No, not at all. Just a small misunderstanding about a bill." He poured himself another cup of coffee, wondering at what point he had given in to lying as a way of life.

  He glanced at Lita, whose expression seemed as concerned as Dr. Fischer's, but it was even more important to keep the letter's contents from her. He slid the envelope into the back pocket of his trousers, intending to stash it in his office at the earliest opportunity.

  Everything was escalating faster than he could handle it. He needed an ally, but he wasn't sure if the man sitting across the table from Lita was the one for the job. Would he believe us if we told him the real story or not?

  As he ate the last bite of his eggs, he tuned in to the conversation that was going on at the table and realized that Lita was getting riled.

  "So you seriously think that we should bring back the ducking chair as a vital part of our justice system?"

  One look at Jeremiah's cocky smile, and Tate knew exactly what the man was doing. "Absolutely. What better way to cool the hot tempers of nagging women than a cold plunge into the river."

  "Nagging women!" Lita was leaning over the table. "And what about those who knee lecherous men in the balls? I suppose I should have been—"

  There was a gasp from the kitchen, and Jeremiah's eyes went wide. Tate took hold of her elbow. "Lita!" She clamped her mouth shut and looked to him, her eyes flaming. "I believe my old friend is just trying to goad you." He shifted his gaze to the man who was biting his lip to keep from laughing. "He's just trying to find out your boundaries. It's not an uncommon way that potential suitors have used in the past to test a woman's manners and personality, but I hadn't realized it had found its way into the field of psychology." Tate held his gaze in challenge.

  Jeremiah straightened. "I'm sorry, Tate, I just didn't realize how easy it would be." He shifted his gaze to a still fuming Lalita. "Miss Torres, please forgive me, but you're an enigma, and what I want to know is were you this outspoken before your head injury or lightning jolt or whatever left you unconscious?"

  Tate watched her try to rein in her ire. "If you'll excuse me," she said tightly, "I'm going to check on Nellie."

  Tate blew out a breath as she left the room then leaned forward, his forearms on the table. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

  "What was in the letter?"

  Tate reared back. "What? What does that have to do with—"

  "If there's one thing I do well, Tate, it's read people. Your expression and subsequent distraction would seem to indicate something more serious than a minor misunderstanding over a bill."

  Tate tried to smile. "How do you keep your job with so many wild assumptions made each day?"

  Jeremiah's smile and shake of the head was laced with frustration. "Tate, except when I spoke with Lalita in the jail—"

  "You went to see her in the jail?"

  Jeremiah was smug. "Yes, and you just proved what I was about to say. Knowing your background, I can see why you feel a need to protect her, but you guard her and what she says like you were getting paid to do it. So when I can start a conversation with the lady right beside you on a topic sure to bring out her true inclinations without you even realizing it, whatever has distracted you has got to be dire."

  Tate closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his brow. Then he rose from the table and waved Jeremiah to his study. When the door was closed, Tate still spoke in low tones as he pulled the envelope from his back pocket, handed it to Jeremiah, and went to sit behind his desk. "It was a petition by eighty or so townspeople demanding I put Lalita out of my house." At Jeremiah's furrowed brow, he continued. "Somehow the rumor has gotten started that she is… a harlot. Dickson may have started it himself, as he seems to be of that opinion as well."

  Jeremiah's eyes went wide as he unfolded the pages. "But I thought Dickson wanted to marry her."

  "He does, but he so magnanimously declared that he would forgive her." A flame came to Tate's eyes. "He said he was trying to get her to say yes to his proposal by limiting her options. This may be his way of doing it."

  "What a cad!"

  "Indeed."

  There was a moment of silence as Jeremiah read the letter for himself; then he refolded it and shifted uncomfortably. "I assume that you believe her not to be a harlot."

  Tate straightened. "She is not."

  Jeremiah cocked his head. "She is brazen enough—"

  Tate rose. "Her upbringing was different—we could even say deficient in proper decorum—but you will have to take my word that she is not a harlot. And if you do not, I will ask you to leave my home immediately."

  Jeremiah pushed out of his chair and rose, staring Tate down. "I will take your word if you will admit that you have feelings for her. Let's have some truth between us."

  Tate deliberated a moment, then nodded.

  Jeremiah smiled and stuck out his hand. "How can I help you?"

  Jeremiah followed Tate's lead and sat back down, but not before getting a glimpse of a decorated book in the drawer where he stashed the envelope. The colorful, calligraphied title faced him: Lalita's History Book.

  Tate blew out a breath. "Yes, I'm in love with Lalita. In fact, we had planned to drive to Colorado Springs and be married yesterday morning before Dickson and the marshal changed our plans."

  Jeremiah hitched one leg over the other. "What's the rush?"

  Tate licked his lips, and Jeremiah could see that he was only going to get as much truth as Tate was willing to give him. "After the incident with Dickson, it seemed the only way I could protect her from further unwanted attention from the man."

  "Why not just announce your betrothal and court the woman?" Jeremiah crossed his arms over his chest. "Surely Dickson wouldn't try to interfere with that."

  Tate shook his head. "No, probably not, but to do that, I'd have to put her out of my house. I could pay for a room at a boarding house for the six months of courtship that Reverend Niemeyer demands, but…" Tate ground his teeth.

  Jeremiah prodded the conversation forward before Tate closed down. "You're afraid to do that because…"

  "You know what I'm afraid of." Tate pushed away from his desk and rose, walking to the window. "You saw how easy it is to move her out of what's considered proper. It's as if she—"

  "Doesn't even know what 'proper' is." He uncrossed his arms and legs and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, his hands clasped on his stomach. "I thought the same thing when I was talking to her yesterday in the jail. She speaks her mind, she plays to win, she's confident without staging. She's the most unnaturally natural woman I've ever met. And that includes my wife."

  He paused a moment while Tate nodded; then he pressed on with new concerns. "So how will that work as a respected doctor in a small community? I know you're thinking that
your name will give her acceptance, but that petition may indicate that she will not be accepted, and she may take you down with her."

  Tate's jaw squared. "I won't make the same mistakes with her that I made with Augusta—I will not push her into changing who she is to fit in. I lost one wife that way. I'll not lose another."

  Jeremiah leaned forward. "Tate, surely you're not blaming yourself for Augusta's death. The woman had a classic case of melancholia. True, I advised you not to take her out of my care, but your point was well taken that she needed to get out of Denver. And your letters indicated that there had been some improvement." He rose and crossed the room, clapping a hand on Tate's shoulder. "So, my friend, release yourself from that burden of guilt. You did not drive your wife to take her own life. And you will not drive Lalita to the same end if you take a firm hand with her and rein her in as a husband should."

  Tate gave him a thin smile. "I'm not her husband yet, and I'll be unable to marry her until after her hearing."

  Jeremiah sat on the edge of Tate's desk. "Do you really think Dickson will take his bluff that far? My guess is he'll drop the charges before risking sending her to prison."

  Tate slowly shook his head. "I have no idea. His mind works in ways that mine can't fathom."

  Jeremiah pondered his friend's dilemma. He could see the attraction of someone like Lalita Torres, but to his mind, she was nothing but a mountain of trouble to a professional man, with or without delusions. If Tate were smart, he'd let the Seth Dicksons of the world have her.

  He assumed that Tate no longer believed her to be delusional, otherwise he wouldn't be considering marriage, but there still was something he wasn't telling him. Of that he was certain.

  Chapter 29

  Lalita had decided a walk was just what she needed, so after she had tied a length of wide, red ribbon around Nellie's waist with a bow in the back, they had started down the hill hand in hand. "It's not all that far to the Pilson's. I wonder if it would be okay to just drop by to see the baby?"

  Nellie released her hand to watch a honeybee on a wildflower by the road. Lalita stopped with her, and after a moment Nellie looked up. "How do bees make honey?"

  The bee had flown away, so the two continued their walk. "Well, the bees have an enzyme in their mouths that mixes with the nectar of the flowers. They go back to their hives and spit it out. The worker bees flap their wings really fast in the hive to evaporate most of the water, and when they're done, it's honey."

  Nellie looked concerned. "It was in their mouths?"

  "Yep, pretty weird, huh? God has a crazy imagination."

  "Do bumblebees make honey?"

  "Nope. Only honeybees. That's why they're called honeybees, I suppose."

  They walked on with Lalita telling Nellie about all the insects that could be found in Kansas and Missouri that didn't seem to be in Manitou.

  "Bugs that light up at night?"

  "Uh, huh, those are called fireflies, and there are great big, ugly bugs called cicadas that crawl out of the ground in the spring and break out of their hard brown shells, leaving them hanging on trees and fence posts. And they are really loud. They make a sound something like this."

  Lalita demonstrated, and Nellie's eyes grew round. "I wish I could see one!"

  "Well, if I still had my phone, and we weren't about a hundred years too early for the internet, I could show you a picture just like that." She snapped her fingers. She let out a big sigh as they turned the corner at the bottom of the hill. "I do miss my phone."

  Nellie giggled. "If I were you, I'd miss fireflies!"

  Lalita nodded. "Yeah, you're right. As cool as my phone was, fireflies are way cooler."

  "Cooler? Do they shiver?"

  Lalita laughed. "No, I'm not sure when the word 'cool' came to mean something neat." Nellie still looked bewildered. "I mean something… special."

  A swallowtail butterfly was meandering on the breeze, and Nellie stopped to watch. "You know, I think you might like to be an entomologist when you grow up."

  "A what?"

  "An entomologist. Someone who studies insects."

  Nellie jumped over a rock in the road. "Could I really?"

  Lalita did a quick calculation of the date thirteen years from now. "Well, as a woman in 1905, you might be breaking into a man's field, but I say go for it!"

  She took Lalita's hand again, grinning up at her. "Okay, I will!"

  As they walked, Lalita contemplated all the ground that would be gained for women in the coming century, and the fact that even in her time, women didn't always get paid the same as men for the same work. "There's a long row to hoe, Nellie girl."

  Nellie frowned. "I do not want to be a gardener!"

  Lalita laughed.

  ***

  Tate and Jeremiah were reading different parts of the same newspaper in the parlor, but Tate was having a hard time keeping his mind on what he was reading. It wasn't unheard of to not be called out of his house by mid-morning—he'd even had whole days occasionally where his medical services weren't needed—but with the petition's threat of "repercussions" fresh in his mind, the silence of the phone seemed ominous.

  And even though he'd given permission for Lalita to take Nellie on a walk, he was now regretting it, imagining all kinds of ways those repercussions might be dealt out to his girls. Finally, he laid the paper down and rose, striding to the front window.

  Jeremiah turned his section over. "Why don't you just go look for them. You're going to work yourself into a heart attack."

  Tate swiveled away from the window. "You think I'm being ridiculous."

  Jeremiah folded his portion of the paper and laid it on a small table next to him. "Not at all. One man has gotten too familiar with her, and you have eighty people threatening who knows what. I'm surprised you let them out of the house."

  Tate paused for only a moment before heading for the door. He'd let them go to get them away from the all too perceptive Dr. Fischer, but he reprimanded himself for that hasty decision. He nabbed his homburg off the hat rack. "I'll be back when I find them."

  Jeremiah rose. "If you don't find them in half an hour or so, come back by and see if they're here."

  Tate nodded, his chest feeling so tight he could barely breathe as he stepped out the door.

  ***

  Jeremiah waited until he saw Tate driving his buggy down the hill before he made his way down the hall. He could hear Mrs. Kettler humming in the kitchen and faltered for a moment considering his plan. He knew it was unethical and a breach of Tate's trust, but he rationalized that should he find anything worthy of writing about for psychiatry journals, he would change the names.

  He moved stealthily through the dining room and as quietly as possible, slipped into Tate's office, closing the door behind him. Moving quickly to sit in the leather chair at his desk, he opened the center drawer and pulled out the book with Lalita's name on the front cover. He opened it and began to read.

  Only a few of the names on the first page meant anything to him at all, but he was arrested by dates for World War I and World War II. There were other wars listed as well: Korea, Vietnam, Dessert Storm, Afghanistan, Iraq. And there was a date written twice as large as anything else—9-11-2001.

  The next few pages were filled with names. He recognized the first half of the list as presidents listed in order from Washington to Harrison, but there were twenty-one names beyond Harrison, and with the exception of Grover Cleveland that was next in line, he didn't know a one of them.

  Jeremiah leaned back in the chair, his mouth agape as he flipped the page and read about The Roaring Twenties, The Great Depression, Al Capone, a singer named Elvis, a black preacher who was killed called Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, a strange style of music called "rap" that didn't really sound like music at all, an irrational fear that gripped the country called "Y2K" and the rise of something called "the internet" that connected the world in ways never imagined before.

  He turned another page to find sket
ches labeled "car," "plane," "television," "modern refrigerator." That one had an arrow pointing to an indentation on the front that was labeled, "ice maker." Jeremiah stopped, Jules Verne novels coming to mind. Could she be an author, and Tate misinterpreted her imagination early on?

  There were a whole series of "telephones" with dates beside each different type. The last one was just a rectangle with rounded corners labeled "smart phone." A list beside it seemed to be an advertisement for its virtues: phone, camera, photo album. The phrase "gateway to knowledge" made him smile, and terms like "Angry Birds," "Bad Piggies," and "Beach Buggy Blitz" just wrinkled his forehead.

  On the other side of the rectangular object was drawn a picture of the backside of a pair of trousers with an arrow from the "phone" to the back pocket. Oh, now that's just ridiculous. He chuckled. "Even in fiction, no one would believe that," he muttered aloud.

  Checking his pocket watch, he realized that if Tate took his advice, he could be back at any minute. He slid the book back in the drawer, hoping to get another look at it later.

  After he was back in the parlor with the newspaper, he chuckled again, resigned to the fact that he'd get no story for publication from the Cavanaugh household. He snapped the paper open. Tate, you've just got a little woman with a big imagination.

  ***

  Lalita and Nellie were waiting in the Pilson's parlor where they'd been directed by the housekeeper. Lalita was always in awe of the luxury exhibited in the furnishings, and she wondered if there was a room somewhere that had furniture that the children were allowed to sit on. She ran her hand over the velvet cushion. Toddlers obviously don't spend time on these.

  They'd been left alone for so long that Nellie was starting to fidget, and Lalita wondered if they had come at a bad time. Finally Millie entered the parlor wearing a striped day dress in black and gray, looking nervous, but carrying no baby.

  "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I needed to call my husband… Miss Torres, could I speak to you privately."

  Lalita wondered if she were having other medical issues she was embarrassed about. "Sure thing. Nellie, stay here just a minute, okay?"