Leave a Candle Burning, Page 2

  Doyle and Cathy owned Shephard Store, Tucker Mills’ general store. Cathy had come over to the store—their house was right next door—and found Doyle with three customers. He’d asked her to go upstairs to the storeroom and find an item. She’d lost her footing about halfway down and tumbled to the bottom. Now they waited for Dannan MacKay.

  “It could have been my neck,” Cathy suddenly said, bringing Doyle’s eyes to hers.

  “Considering how stiff your neck can be,” Doyle teased her, “that would’ve been bad.”

  Cathy tried to glare at him, but a smile peeked through.

  “Through the office,” they heard someone out front say. Their customers had given them space but were not willing to leave. Dannan appeared a moment later.

  “Well, Mrs. Shephard,” Dannan teased gently, “lying down on the job.”

  “It’s my arm,” she said a bit breathlessly. “Do you set bones, Dannan?”

  “I’ve done my share.” He knelt beside the couple. “Let’s have a look.”

  “It hurt every time I tried to help her up, so we stayed here,” Doyle put in.

  “I think you were wise,” Dannan encouraged as he began to probe gently on the arm and wrist. Cathy’s breathing quickened. Dannan murmured words of comfort, but both knew there was a break, and the following minutes were not going to be very much fun.

  Reese loved old Doc MacKay. More than old enough to be her father, they had been fast friends for many years. And it was with a great many tears that he had departed their community, but not all was lost. He had left Dr. Dannan MacKay, a fine doctor and his brother’s son, in his place. Reese and Conner had taken to him in a hurry, and whenever he could make it, he joined them for dinner, enjoying the meals Reese prepared and the leftovers and baked goods she sent his way.

  Today was no different. It had taken some doing to make Cathy Shephard comfortable, but by the time the clock climbed toward noon, Dannan was at the Kingsley home, known around town as the big house, readying to eat with Conner, Reese, and Troy. Troy prayed and the meal began.

  “How bad was the break?” Conner was the first to ask.

  “Not as bad as it could have been. The bones in Mrs. Shephard’s arm are not broken, but the break in the wrist is bad enough that the pain is going to radiate up the entire arm. She’ll have to keep still and be patient while it heals.”

  “Will it heal properly?” Reese asked.

  Dannan nodded. “It should. I’ll check on the splint tomorrow, to make sure it’s still holding well.”

  “Will she be in town or out at Jace and Maddie’s?” Reese asked practically.

  “I hadn’t thought of it,” Dannan admitted.

  “If I know Doyle,” Conner put in, “she’ll be at the farm by the end of the day.”

  No one commented further on Cathy Shephard’s condition, but both Reese and Troy silently agreed with Conner. Doyle would see to it that his wife was taken care of, even if that meant moving her out of town to the farm.

  “I can’t move out of my own home,” Cathy was still saying when the wagon pulled into the yard at Jace and Maddie’s after teatime that evening. Her husband ignored her, and seeing Maddie come out the kitchen door, Cathy stopped talking.

  “Hello,” Maddie spoke with surprise and confusion in seeing her aunt and uncle after tea. Her eyes also took in Cathy’s cross face. Nevertheless, Maddie was ready to welcome them both when she noticed her aunt’s arm. “What’s happened?”

  “She fell down the store stairs and broke her wrist,” Doyle said simply. “Dannan set it but says she needs to rest it.”

  “He won’t even listen to me,” Cathy cut him off. “How am I going to look after things from out here?”

  “It sounds like looking is all you can do, Cathy,” Maddie said reasonably, watching Cathy climb from the wagon and wince in pain. “Come in and see the baby,” she invited warmly, not wanting to get into a dispute with her. It helped that Jace was coming from the house, Valerie in his arms.

  Cathy’s face lit with a smile as soon as she saw the baby, and Maddie knew at least one thing: Cathy might grouse about being there, but Doyle’s decision to bring her was the very best medicine.

  “How are you?” Reese asked of Mrs. Greenlowe, her former landlady, as soon as she was seated at her kitchen table on Friday afternoon.

  “I’m not the one!” Mrs. Greenlowe answered in her indomitable way. “You increase every time I see you. I need to be the one asking!”

  Reese couldn’t stop her smile and assured her, “I’m fine.”

  “Not sick?”

  “Not sick.”

  “Well, that’s good! It’s miserable when you’re sick.”

  “I’m more tired,” Reese admitted.

  “How does one get more tired when she’s never been tired in the first place?”

  Reese had to laugh. It was an old saw between them. Mrs. Greenlowe was convinced that Reese could go forever without sleep or rest. And in fact, her energy level was high, but not as high as the older woman liked to proclaim.

  “What’s that banker husband of yours doing today?”

  “I think he’s at the bank. A property in town has recently come back to the bank, and he and Troy are having to deal with readying the house for the market.”

  “Was it Corgiat? Did he owe the bank?”

  “It is his house, but the bank might only be handling it for the family because they don’t live in Tucker Mills.”

  “Doesn’t Conner tell you these things?”

  “No, and I don’t want to know.”

  Mrs. Greenlowe sat back. She’d been leaning toward her guest in anticipation but now relaxed. Reese smiled at her, able to guess her thoughts after all this time. Mrs. Greenlowe was the next to speak, confirming Reese’s suspicions.

  “What’s the point of being married to a banker if you can’t learn simple things like that?”

  “Even if I learned them, I couldn’t share,” Reese reasoned, fighting laughter over how close she’d come to reading this woman’s mind. “Would you want me to leave here and tell others your business?” Reese asked gently.

  Mrs. Greenlowe sat up as though she’d been stung. “You wouldn’t do that!” the woman defended her as though there was a need. “How’s Cathy Shephard?” she asked next, jumping topics at lightning speed.

  “I haven’t checked on her, but I suspect she’s at the Randall farm.”

  “Maddie will take good care of her,” Mrs. Greenlowe stated confidently. “Who will see after Doyle?”

  “Well, I imagine he’ll head to the farm each evening. I don’t know about breakfast and dinner.” This said, Reese leaned in her chair to see the clock on the parlor wall.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Already?”

  “Yes, but I’ll be back.”

  “And I might visit you.”

  “Yes, you might. Why don’t you come to dinner next week?”

  “Will Dannan be there?”

  “Probably.”

  Mrs. Greenlowe sniffed. “I don’t know if I can have dinner with two bankers and a doctor.”

  Knowing this lady’s views on several professions, including bankers and doctors, Reese only smiled and said, “Well, if you change your mind, I’ve plenty.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Greenlowe returned, tempering her voice and speaking sincerely. She saw Reese to the door, hugging her in return when Reese bent to embrace her.

  Mrs. Greenlowe watched Reese walk away, not aware that Reese’s mind was on her as well. Reese was asking herself if she should have invited Mrs. Greenlowe to the meetinghouse on Sunday, and then realized from her many invitations of the past that the offer was always on the table. If Mrs. Greenlowe wanted to come, she knew she was welcome.

  Dannan settled by the fire that evening, wondering when he’d ever been so lonely. It hadn’t been like this when he first arrived in town. His uncle was still here, and the newness of Tucker Mills had given him little time for reflection. But now Jonas
MacKay was gone, moved to warmer climes with Dannan’s own parents. Dannan was settled in the house, unpacked, and completely moved in, which meant if he wasn’t enjoying tea with a family in the village, he was very much on his own come evening.

  His closest friend and cousin, Grant MacKay, with his wife and small daughter, still lived in Willows Crossing. They had exchanged letters since he’d arrived, but Dannan had just recently written and had not yet heard back.

  Dannan knew that sitting and feeling sorry for himself was not the answer. He owed a letter to his mother, and he knew if he could tell anyone how he was feeling, it would be her.

  Dannan took time to pray for his family and then for the patients he’d treated that day. Of all the valuable things he had learned from his uncle, praying for his patients was his favorite. Not until he covered each one did Dannan start his letter home.

  Two

  Dannan was at Shephard Store first thing Saturday morning, but Conner had been right: Cathy was no longer in town.

  “She wasn’t happy about it,” Doyle admitted, his eyes sparkling a little. “But you said she needed to keep still for proper healing, and that wasn’t going to happen here in town.”

  “No, I imagine not.” Dannan laughed softly, having seen from the start that Cathy Shephard was a woman who liked to get things done.

  “You headed out there?”

  “Yes. Probably in the next hour.”

  “Can you take a basket of things she forgot?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Oh, and you got a letter.”

  “Thank you,” Dannan looked down at the missive he’d been handed. It was from his father. Dannan might have started the letter on the spot, but Doyle was suddenly handing him a basket.

  “Tell Cathy I’ll see her as soon as I close up and that I’m not starving.”

  Dannan laughed again and headed toward the door. Interested to know how life was going for his parents with his uncle living with them, Dannan went back to trying to read when he exited, never seeing the rake handle that was headed his way. Dannan felt something hard poke him sharply in the head. It was not a soft blow, and it stopped him dead in his tracks.

  “I’m sorry!” a female voice gasped. “Are you all right?”

  The fingers Dannan put to his forehead had blood on them. His ears rang a bit, so it took a moment to look at the woman addressing him.

  “Are you all right?” she repeated.

  “I think so,” Dannan answered, realizing he’d seen this young woman at the meetinghouse. She was hard to forget.

  “Can I do something for you? I don’t have a handkerchief.” She looked down at her basket, and the rake handle, whose end was very jagged and the evident object of his attack, swung near him again. Dannan reached out and took it. The woman never noticed.

  “I must have something to put on your head,” she spoke into the basket as she was searching. “You’re bleeding, and I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Dannan assured her, shifting the objects in his hand to reach for his own handkerchief. “I’ve got something here.”

  The green-eyed woman stared up at him, her face filled with concern. Dannan handed the rake back to her and then mopped his head.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “Please don’t be. I’m fine.”

  “Fine people don’t bleed,” she reasoned, and Dannan had to smile. When she saw that smile, the woman relaxed a bit. Dannan was glad to notice her apparent calm. He was all right, or he would be very soon; it was not a serious injury. Indeed, for looking at those green eyes and the light red curls peeking out of her dark yellow bonnet, Dannan had forgotten all about his head.

  “Why don’t I ask Doyle if he has an ointment handy?” the woman suggested.

  “I do thank you for your concern, but I’m headed home and have all that I need there.”

  “All right,” she agreed, still looking troubled. “But if you do need something, I live at the Peterson house. I hope you’ll let me know.”

  Seeing that she was not going to go inside until he took his leave, Dannan thanked her with a slight bow of the head and wished her a good day. He then made himself walk away. What he wanted to do was stand and talk to her some more, or maybe he just wanted to look into those green eyes and hear the soft sound of her voice. At any rate, Dannan turned and made his way down the green, all the while seeing the small redhead in his mind’s eye.

  “She’s been fed and changed, and she’s ready for you to hold her,” Maddie told Cathy after breakfast. “Are you comfortable?”

  “I’m fine. You just give me that girl and go on your way.”

  Maddie surrendered her daughter into Cathy’s good arm and then slipped into the kitchen. She shut the door so she wouldn’t spend all her time peeking in at them and then got to work.

  Saturdays were usually busy because she was preparing meals for Sunday as well. She had been planning to invite Conner, Reese, and Troy for dinner after services, but since Cathy had become a guest and wasn’t always very comfortable, she would leave them for another week.

  Maddie got to work on dinner for that day, but she could tell she was distracted. When Doyle had brought Cathy, Maddie had been sorry for her but was glad for the opportunity to take care of her. And always it lingered in her mind that her aunt might wish to speak of spiritual matters. Maddie’s life had changed dramatically while she’d been carrying Valerie, and she was eager to share. Cathy had occasional questions, but Maddie was never sure how far the door was open.

  Realizing that she was standing still with her thoughts, Maddie forced herself to get back to work. She had a new recipe to try and needed to concentrate, but when her mind had time, she kept asking God to save her aunt. She also asked that her own patience level—no matter how long it took for Cathy to see the truth—would remain strong.

  “Did you get that handle?” Iris Stafford asked Scottie Peterson when she arrived home.

  “I did. Doyle put the rake together.”

  Scottie showed the tool to Iris, who nodded her approval. Anyone watching them would never guess that Scottie was the mistress of the house and Iris her cook. Iris was well old enough to be Scottie’s mother and had been looking after her long enough to take such liberties.

  “Eli’s been asking after you,” Iris informed her.

  “I’ll go right up.”

  Scottie moved from the kitchen to the open stairway that led out of the spacious parlor. She moved along the upstairs hallway and slipped into the first door on the left.

  “Hello,” she greeted the two men inside, Eli in the bed, and his man, Finn, standing by the window.

  “How did it go in town?” Eli asked as Finn, always willing to fade into the background, quietly made his way from the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Fine. I got that new rake handle.”

  “And dress material?” Eli questioned. “You picked out something for your new dresses?”

  By now Scottie had taken a seat on the edge of the bed. Her brow creased before she answered.

  “I don’t think I need new dresses, Eli.”

  Just watching her, Eli began to smile. He knew she would have a proper argument for her side, and he looked forward to hearing it.

  “When did you realize this?”

  “As I walked into town,” Scottie informed him. “I had several new dresses made when we were married.”

  “Scottie,” her husband said patiently, “that was five years ago.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” she argued without heat, her brow creasing again.

  “It was,” he insisted, still patient. “Five years next month.”

  “How could it be that long?”

  Eli didn’t comment, but his smile grew.

  “I’m being laughed at.”

  “Just a little,” he admitted as he reached for her hand. “How many years did you think it had been?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” she confessed, her eyes on nothing,
wondering where the time had gone.

  Eli reached up and gently stroked the creases on her forehead until she relaxed. He did that whenever he thought she might be worrying. This time it reminded Scottie of the man and the rake handle. She suddenly sat up straight and told her husband about the incident.

  “He bled?” Eli clarified when she was finished.

  “Yes. I wanted to do something, but he said he was all right.”

  Eli’s eyes had rounded a bit, but Scottie knew she was not in trouble. Eli was rarely upset with anyone, and never with her. Nevertheless, the man’s injury lingered in her mind.

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know,” Scottie admitted. “I think I’ve seen him at the meetinghouse, but I don’t know him.”

  “You didn’t think to ask Doyle?”

  “No.”

  The couple was silent for a moment.

  “But you think he was all right?” Eli questioned.

  “He said he was, but it might have been all politeness.”

  Eli nodded thoughtfully, knowing his wife had that effect on some men. “I can tell Finn, and he can keep an ear out. I’m not sure we can do anything else.”

  “Maybe I’ll see him on Sunday,” Scottie added as the realization struck her.

  Eli agreed that she might, but just moments later his mind was on something else. He asked Scottie to bring the account books. He had some numbers he wanted to go over with her.

  Dannan slipped into the workroom at his house—the one where he mixed medications and worked on experiments—long enough to check the cut on his head. It wasn’t overly deep, but the skin was tender. He cleaned it up, making sure the bleeding had stopped, before heading out to ready his rig. He wanted to check on Cathy Shephard’s arm before another thing interrupted him.

  In the kitchen at the Peterson house, Finn sat at the worktable sipping the tea Iris had made him. A newspaper was open in front of him, but it wasn’t long before Iris needed the space to roll out crust, and Finn was forced to shift to one corner.