Mail Order Bride: Summer (Bride For All Seasons 2)

Camellia had to hunch forward to hear her voice. Heart amazingly lightened, she flew downstairs to let the assembled group know.

The kitchen and parlor, one great L-shaped room, had become the hub of activity centering around the patient in her second-floor bower.

Now that the storm had passed and the streets dried up to their usual state of ruts and dust, Hannah and Letitia were able to visit every day. Letitia, in particular, was continuing some of her training, under the doctor’s supervision: a two-fold purpose, surely; take over some of the responsibility for Molly’s care, while at the same time learning more about the great world of medicine.

Their sister might not be aware of their presence, but surely she should be able to sense all the love and support winging her way. Besides, two more women were able to help with the endless cooking of meals and clean-up of dirty dishes that those infernal men, always hanging around, seemed to require.

The first time Gabriel arrived to find Hannah mashing potatoes with great gusto, a few days ago, he had promptly turned right around and exited immediately through the door.

Surprised, Letty watched him go. Then her eyes crinkled with laughter. “You’ve got the poor man shaking in his boots at mere sight of you.”

“That’s a good condition for him to be in,” retorted Hannah unsympathetically. “Someone has to hold these males to account.”

A half-hour later, the doctor returned. He used that aforementioned boot to kick at the front door for admittance, since he was burdened by a large, awkward (and heavy) wooden crate.

“What on earth?”

Gabe would have doffed his hat had he had a hand free to do so. “Outa the way,” he huffed, pushing past Hannah without so much as a by-your-leave.

He dropped his cargo onto the table with a thump that nearly caved in its legs. By the time Hannah had followed him, to demand an explanation, he was rifling through packages, cans, and covered dishes.

“Beef stew from the Sittin’ Eat,” he pointed out with a beatific smile thrown her way, “already all prepared. And two apple pies from the Drinkwater Dinin’ Room. And a couplea chickens roasted in their own sauce from the Sarsaparilla. Oh, and a few other odds and ends.”

For once utterly and completely taken aback, Hannah stood, hands on hips, mouth agape but

wrapped in silence.

“Huh,” said the doctor, observing her reaction with obvious glee. “Kerflummoxed, yes? Figured I’d eaten enough meals here, I’d save you ladies some work. Only fair thing to do, doncha think? And, anyway, I ran into Paul, he’ll be here directly.”

“Hen! Letty!” Camellia came pelting down from the upper regions with an unladylike gait that almost tumbled her off the last two stairs.

Grinning, Gabe caught her amidships. “This is gettin’ to be a habit, Miz Forrester.”

Camellia, her mind still locked in her sister’s bedroom, looked at him blankly. “She spoke. Molly spoke to me! Where’s Letty?”

“She went outside.” Hannah, eyes widened, paused in the act of pawing through Gabe’s perishable. “Molly is awake?”

“Well—not exactly. But she did say something. Bye.”

“Bye? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” said Camellia impatiently. “Come along, Gabe, you need to see her.”

The room was as neat as Molly herself. Both windows open to the outdoors, with all the sound of bees industriously working at the flowers, and occasional bird song, but with shades pulled partway to keep out the worst of the sun’s rays. Quilt and linens were cool white, to match the painted iron bedstead, and a few rag rugs lay scattered across the wooden floor.

Camellia had managed to keep her sister sustained with broth and thin soup, water and hot herbal tea, but without more substantial fare she certainly had lost weight. Molly’s bandages had been changed, as needed, during this past week of near-comatose inactivity; she had been washed with lavender-scented soap, her hair brushed and tied out of the way, her night dress replaced. She looked as fresh and pristine—and probably as newly slender—as Sleeping Beauty in her glass case.

As Camellia and her entourage came quietly inside, Molly stirred slightly. She swallowed, and the fingers of one hand trembled just a little.

“You can’t fool me,” said Gabe, approaching. Good humor masked the worry that had ridden him like a rodeo nag for this past week. “You’re just playin’ possum, my girl, and we all know it. Time to rise and shine.”

“Bye...” murmured Molly.

Camellia’s worried gaze sought that of the doctor’s. “Bye?”

“What is it, Molly?” he asked her gently. “You’re tellin’ us goodbye?”

“Uh...” Frowning, she tried to turn away from his voice. “Head—hurts...”