Jolt, Page 9

  He sat on the edge of his desk, trying to separate his emotions from rational thought. She had the qualities that most men look for—beauty, intelligence, mothering skills—but Tate knew she had something more. "She's confident, bold," —he shook his head, thinking of the embrace she had created for herself out of his arms— "but far too forward."

  Her pursuit of him, however, was exciting. Something that could not be said of his marriage, and after Augusta's lack of affection, he found that he appreciated being… appreciated. Lita's different. A new kind of woman. He rubbed a hand around his jaw, mumbling under his breath, "And she thinks nothing of creating a fabrication in front of a minister."

  He pushed off his desk and paced, thinking about his position in the community and how Lalita would affect it. Have the attitudes shifted enough that a woman with Indian ancestors would have a place here? He'd been aware of the stares when they'd been dining at Cliff House. He had ignored them for her sake. "My dear doctor, why would you want to fit in when the good Lord has given you everything you need to stand out?"

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Tate, Nellie wants you to tuck her in."

  Tate huffed out a breath and tugged on the hem of his waistcoat, before pulling the door open to the woman he'd been puzzling over, her bright eyes stripping all reason from his head. "Yes, I guess it is that time."

  She walked with him through the dining room to the hall and the stairs. "Are you okay? You look a bit… befuddled."

  Tate smiled. In one word, she had quite captured the state of his mind.

  Chapter 14

  As morning dawned, Lalita sat up in bed, wondering why she hadn't tried to call Nonnie on Tate's wall phone. She'd seen Tate talking on it, so it wasn't just for show. Sweeping up her robe off the end of the bed, she flew down the stairs. Standing in front of the wooden box in the hall, she smiled thinking of her smart phone, so slim it would fit in her pocket.

  She carefully picked up the part she knew she was supposed to put to her ear and gave the crank on the side five or six turns as she had seen Tate doing.

  The operator came on the line. "May I help you?"

  Lalita moved her mouth to the small black funnel, suddenly realizing the problem with her smart phone. Without it, she was dumb. "Oh, rats, I was going to place a call, but I realize I don't know the number by heart. Can you look it up with a name? She lives in Colorado Springs. Nonnie Slowensky."

  "Just one moment." Lalita heard pages being turned. Real physical pages. "I have a Charles Slowensky on Cascade Avenue."

  Lalita frowned. She knew Nonnie had a large family and had lived in the area all her life. "That's it? You have one Slowensky?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "And there's absolutely no Nonnie Slowensky on Flintridge Drive."

  "No, ma'am. I can't say as I've ever heard of that street. Is it new?"

  Lalita's brow furrowed. Flintridge was in the middle of town. "Not particularly."

  She was about to hang up when she had an idea. "What's the date on your directory?"

  "I can assure you, we have the most recent edition."

  "But what's the date?"

  "1892, ma'am."

  Lalita blinked. "You are all taking this thing a bit far, don't you think?"

  "I'm afraid I don't understand, ma'am… Would you like to make a call?"

  "I do, but it appears that I can't. You don't happen to have a directory from 2015, do you?"

  "The year 2015?"

  Lalita couldn't help her irritation. "Yes, the year 2015; the year that it is everywhere other than here."

  There was a moment of silence, then the woman came back on the line. "I must inform you, ma'am, that the telephone company takes a dim view of pranks and crank calls. Good day."

  Lalita replaced the ear piece in the clip as Tate started down the stairs. He looked over the rail at her. "Good morning, Lita. You're up early." She turned, and he raised a brow as he came around the newel post to the hallway. "Are you planning to dress today, or do you have another fainting spell planned?"

  "Ha ha. I just woke up thinking about trying to call Nonnie. I don't know why I didn't think of it before now."

  "And?"

  She sighed. "And nothing. I ran into the brick wall that is Manitou Springs. I will be able to leave when I want to, won't I, or will a big, bouncing Rover block every exit?"

  The phone rang, and Tate gave her a quizzical look as he moved toward it. "Rover?" He plucked the receiver from the clip and moved to the mouthpiece. "Dr. Cavanaugh… Yes, Bertie… Ah… Is he feverish?… Coughing up anything?"

  Lalita studied her handsome doctor as he continued talking into the old-fashioned phone, alternating questions with sounds of affirmation, and she realized that it wouldn't just be hard to leave him behind when she left, it would be heartbreaking.

  His tone grew more serious. "Bertie, there may not be anything I can do, but yes, I'll be around as soon as I check on a patient here."

  Tate hung up the call with an exhale of breath. "Bertie Gwynn. Her husband has spent his life abusing his lungs, and now they are failing him. And I'm afraid the dry clime here has not helped him as it does the tuberculars."

  He started down the hall toward the exam room, then turned back. "Lita, I should like to take you out for a drive when I get back, so see what you can find upstairs to wear that's suitable for a picnic." He lingered, his eyes sparkling. "I have something I wish to discuss with you."

  She didn't miss a beat. "So what's wrong with what I've got on? Where I come from, a picnic means casual, and you can't get more casual than a nightgown."

  He turned with a smile that lit up his whole face and continued down the hall. "I trust your humor doesn't reach burlesque."

  He disappeared into the exam room, and Lalita was left to ponder what Tate might want to discuss with her and what she could find among Augusta's dresses that said "picnic."

  ***

  "All I can do is keep him comfortable, Bertie." Tate had his arm around the older woman's shoulders as they stood beside the large, four poster bed where Ralph Gwynn lay, sleeping soundly. "I've given him enough pain medicine to knock out a small horse."

  The woman in a simple, brown day dress gave a small smile as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I knew he was failing, but I didn't expect him to go so fast. Will he last the day, do you think? I should contact the children."

  Tate rubbed her upper arm before releasing her. "It's hard to say, but I imagine it will be today or tomorrow."

  Moving to his medical bag, he put away his stethoscope and medicines. "Do you have anyone who can sit with you?"

  She thought a moment before shaking her head. "Not really. We haven't been here all that long, and I've spent most of that time taking care of Ralph."

  Tears started to run down her cheeks again. "I think I'll go back to Springfield after he… passes. Bury him with his family."

  Tate nodded. "I have a few more calls to make this morning, but I'll come back and check on him." He moved toward the bedroom door. "It should be before noon."

  Bertie sat in a Queen Anne chair by the bed. "Thank you, Dr. Cavanaugh, I'd appreciate that."

  Tate trotted down the stairs and let himself out the door. This was the part of his vocation he wished he could avoid. But one can't dedicate one's self to saving lives without dealing with death.

  ***

  After breakfast, Lalita and Nellie were left once again to figure out their day's entertainments. They'd played with paper dolls for a while and took turns trying to fling a ball on a string into a cup. Finally, Lalita plopped down on Nellie's small bed and flopped backwards. "I'm bored, Nellie. There must be something more fun we can do."

  Nellie sat down beside her, Arabella in her arms. "Well, we never did go on a bike ride."

  Lalita popped up. "That's right. I forgot all about it."

  Pushing off the bed, she headed down the hallway to Augusta's room with Nellie close on her heels. "Let's see what we can fin
d that could be made into riding bloomers."

  They decided a skirt and shirtwaist would work the best and found a charcoal gray set that she considered rather homely and wouldn't feel badly cutting into.

  It really didn't take all that long to split the skirt and restitch it into pants, even with the learning curve of the treadle machine. She tried it on, and Nellie tied each skirt "leg" around her ankles with ribbon.

  She was admiring herself in the full length, standing, oval mirror, when Mrs. Kettler appeared in the doorway. One look at her scowling face, and Nellie took a step back. Lalita took a step forward. "How do you like them, Mrs. K.? Nellie and I are planning on taking a bike ride after my picnic with the doctor."

  Mrs. Kettler's nostrils flared. "Dr. Cavanaugh just called and asked me to convey his regrets, but he will be detained, so there will be no picnic today."

  Lalita's heart fell, but she wasn't about to let a packed picnic lunch go to waste. "Nellie and I will have a picnic then."

  Nellie jumped up and down. "Can we really?"

  Mrs. Kettler's face pinched unbecomingly. "Well, I don't—"

  "It's all made, right?" Lalita swept up the hat she'd added a ribbon to, so it would stay on her head.

  "Yes, but I don't think—"

  "That, Mrs. K., would be best. I'm sure Tate won't mind."

  Mrs. Kettler's expression was nothing short of appalled. "I'm certain that Dr. Cavanaugh would be scandalized by such a familiar use of his name, Miss Torres."

  Lalita had a retort in mind but bit her tongue. She had an image to keep up. She smiled, rolling her eyes. "Oh yeah, you are so right, Mrs. K. Ever since that bump I took on the head, I'm having trouble remembering my P's and Q's. Thanks for the reminder."

  Mrs. Kettler seemed satisfied, if not a bit wary of her sudden reversal. "Well, then, I would also suggest that you take your meal in the dining room instead of—"

  "Nope." Lalita grabbed Nellie's hand and pulled her past Mrs. Kettler and out the door. "I'm sticking to my guns on that one. Nellie and I are taking a bike ride and having a picnic."

  Before Mrs. Kettler could sputter another protest, they had run down the stairs, grabbed the lunch basket out of the ice box, and headed out the back door.

  Using stealthy moves—more for fun than need—they made their way to the carriage house. They found the bike back in a corner, covered with dust, but since it had been kept out of the elements, it was free of rust. Lalita was surprised but delighted by the elongated seat. "This is perfect. This way we can both sit on the seat."

  They found a rag and wiped it off; then Lalita wheeled it out into the light of day. Stepping over the bar, she instructed Nellie as she slid the basket over the handlebars. "Okay, climb up on the seat and hold onto me as I sit in front of you. There's really no place for you to put your feet, so make sure they stay clear of the wheel."

  After Nellie was sitting securely, she put her feet on the pedals and started forward. The slope of the carriage house driveway helped with momentum, and she moved out into the street. Nellie laughed with delight as they went faster, passing slow-moving buggies and waving to people on foot. It had been a long time since she'd ridden a bike, but she guessed the old adage about riding was true.

  They sailed down the hard-packed dirt hill toward the main part of town and found a patch of grass by the clock that had a statue of a Greek woman on top.

  Sitting in the grass, Lalita opened their basket to find cold fried chicken, apples, rolls, a wedge of cheese, and a jar of lemonade. She grinned at Nellie. "Mrs. K. may be a bit of a sourpuss, but she can cook."

  The two ate until their picnic site was discovered by ants, then moved to sit on the fence around the clock, the basket hanging on the bike parked close by. They laughed trying to balance on the metal rails and eat at the same time. "Picnics are seriously over-rated," Lalita said, flicking an ant off of her roll. "They are always better in theory than real life."

  Mrs. Kettler had packed the basket with the doctor's appetite in mind rather than little Nell's, so they found themselves full long before the basket was empty. Lalita offered the rest to two passing boys, who took it with hearty thanks.

  She looked to Nellie as she walked the bike toward her. "Well, where to now?"

  Nellie spun around with her eyes closed, her arm extended. She stopped suddenly and opened her eyes. "That way."

  Lalita nodded and helped her climb on. "That way, it is."

  ***

  Tate was weary. It had been the kind of day one dreads. The kind of day where you feel helpless. The kind of day where you watch someone die.

  Ralph had been much worse when he returned, gasping for his every breath, and Bertie was beside herself. Tate had stayed with her till the end, which had made for a long, solemn afternoon. He recorded the death at 3:45 and had called the undertaker. Then knowing that Bertie shouldn't be alone, he had called Reverend Niemeyer and had waited until he and his wife arrived.

  He let Maisy set a slow, even pace toward home, hoping to shake off some of the melancholy before getting there. He'd had such grand plans for the day this morning—a picnic lunch where he had intended to ask Lalita to stay with him in his little mountain town.

  And to let him court her.

  He had lain awake most of the night, a wrestling match going on between his head and his heart. His heart had won when his head grew so tired he couldn't think straight. In the hour before dawn, he knew he wanted her to stay, no matter what the society mavens might say about her heritage. He'd fallen asleep, finally, only to wake again in an hour.

  Throughout the day, he had rehearsed his pitch. The clean mountain air, the college nearby—he had even thought of letting her start a daycare if taking care of Nellie wasn't enough to satisfy her. But mostly, he intended to tell her that he wanted her to stay because he simply wanted her.

  Her dark eyes, her warm heart, her joy-filled spirit.

  He pulled into the carriage house and released Maisy into Harold's care. Yawning, he decided a nap was in order before dinner. He hadn't taken two steps into the house, however, before Mrs. Kettler was spouting like a teapot about Lalita cutting up Augusta's clothes and taking Nellie to her sure death sailing down the hill toward town on his bike.

  Tate wasn't concerned about the clothes or Lalita taking his bike for a ride, although Mrs. Kettler's description of Nellie perched on the back "precariously" did give him a moment's pause. He'd set quite a few bones since bicycling had become a fad. "How long ago did they leave?"

  "Noon! Miss Torres insisted on taking the picnic lunch for her and Nellie. With that basket hanging off the front and Nellie on the back, wearing those ridiculous riding bloomers she made out of one of Augusta's skirts, she probably ended up in a ditch somewhere!"

  Tate sighed, put his hat back on, and headed back out to the carriage house.

  ***

  Nellie had gotten them started off in one direction, but before the afternoon was over, they had toured every byway of the small burg. Even though not more than a village in size, she noted that most of the buildings were large, and some leaned toward gargantuan. No tiny house trend here.

  The afternoon sun was heating up the day, and even though she had on practically nothing under her shirtwaist and bloomers by Victorian standards, Lalita was starting to sweat.

  After she was drenched and completely parched, Nellie directed her to where several natural mineral springs were located. They came to one she called the soda springs, although the sign on the spring house said Cheyenne Springs. It actually shot into the air like a geyser every so often and had an effervescent quality like carbonated water.

  Lalita didn't much care for it, however, so they walked to one called the Navajo Springs that Nellie insisted was sweet enough to make lemonade. After tasting it, Lalita wasn't convinced, but it was better than the soda springs. She and Nellie drank until their thirst was quenched then splashed cool water on their faces.

  Looking to the west, Lalita saw that the sun was head
ing toward the peaks. "Well, Nellie, I guess we better head home before Mrs. K. gets her bloomers in a bundle."

  Nellie laughed and climbed back up on the bike seat. "I hope she made a big dinner; I'm starving."

  "You're starving?" Lalita climbed onto the pedals. "I'm the one doing all the work."

  Nellie giggled. "I don't know why, but having fun makes me hungry!"

  Lalita smiled and put what strength she had left into making good time before they had to tackle the big hill that led to home. Building up speed on the straightaway, she dodged the occasional pedestrian, biker, and buggy. She sailed around the corner to scale the elevation with as much speed as she could muster, not anticipating the slow-moving horse-drawn wagon that had just pulled out in front of her.

  Swerving to go around would put her heading into a horse and buggy coming down the hill, so she made the split decision to pass on the other side. "Hold on, Nellie!"

  It was the large rock hidden in the weeds that unseated them, sending the bike flipping and the girls flying.

  Lalita landed on her back with the wind knocked out of her, while Nellie made a splash in the standing water from last night's rain. While Lalita struggled to draw breath, a scowling man appeared over her. A clean-shaven man in a brown bowler.

  ***

  "I don't know why you're so grumpy. We got a bit wet and dirty." She looked at the mud-covered girl beside her. "Okay, we got a lot wet and dirty and got a few scrapes. So what? We had a blast today, didn't we, Nellie?"

  Seated between Lalita and Tate in the buggy, Nellie's forehead wrinkled in thought. "I don't remember a blast, but I had a lot of fun." Mud dripped off her nose onto her soaked pinafore.

  Tate refused to to look at her. "I told you, Miss Torres, that we will discuss this in the parlor after you two have had a chance to bathe."

  Lalita sulked the rest of the way, mad that one rock had so easily changed the course of their day.

  After Tate had lifted Nellie to the ground and given her the admonition to take off her dress on the wash porch, he handed the reigns to Harold and headed toward the house himself.