Part 38 (2/2)
”She was coughing throughout the day, then all of a sudden she couldn't breathe.” Joe strode up First Avenue, the doc by his side. Between its being Sunday and the supper hour, the streets were all but deserted.
”Every time she tried, she gasped and hiccupped.”
Maynard frowned. ”Do you know if it happens to her often?”
”Never. She said it had never happened before. It gave her quite a scare, too.”
”How long did it last?”
”Seemed like forever, but I think it was actually only about a minute, no more than two.”
”Perhaps something brought it on. What was she doing just before it started?”
Joe groped for an answer. ”Um, nothing. She wasn't doing anything.”
Doc gave him a sharp look. ”Nothing? Nothing at all?”
Joe swallowed. Maynard stopped, grabbing Joe's arm. The doctor wouldn't stand a chance in any physical confrontation between the two of them, but he garnered a great deal of respect in the community and in Joe's sight as well. So Joe allowed the rough handling.
”What was she doing?” Maynard repeated.
”Nothing that should have brought that on.”
The men studied each other. Music and a burst of raucous laughter from McDonald's Saloon two blocks down reached their ears. The longer they stood in silence, the more strained it became.
Maynard's expression hardened. ”Was she struggling?”
Had it been anyone else, Joe would have flattened him. ”I cannot believe you have to ask.”
”It's my job to ask.”
Debatable, but Joe let it pa.s.s. ”She was not.”
”How far had it gone?”
The anger percolating just below the surface came perilously close to spilling over. Fisting his hands, Joe kept his voice low and even. ”It went nowhere at all. We are through with this topic.”
Whirling around, Joe strode up the street. He'd told the doc about Anna's ailment. That's all the man needed to know.
September turned into October, bringing with it nature's display of oranges, reds, and yellows on an evergreen backdrop. Descending the steps of the Occidental, Anna headed toward Doc Maynard's home.
A gust of wind lifted yellow maple leaves from the ground and swirled them at her feet. Tightening the cape across her shoulders, she skirted a puddle, though moisture from the morning rains still dampened the toes of her boots and the hem of her skirt. But nothing could dampen her spirits.
Joe was going to propose to her tonight. She was certain of it. He'd courted her steadily each and every weekend for the past six weeks. In the entire time, he never failed to come to town, and as a result, the local men had ceased to shadow her every move.
Then last week, after a particularly potent kiss, he had told her to take extra care with her toilette for tonight's supper, but wouldn't say any more. She wished she could wear a brand-new dress for whatever it was he had planned, but she simply didn't have enough coin.
With the money she'd earned, she'd tried to pay him back. He wouldn't hear of it. Became downright angry over it.
So she'd backed down and instead purchased wool for two outfits, wearing them alternately. Her cape, meanwhile, needed to be read its last rites. It offered little to no protection from the encroaching cold.
At least she was no longer making house calls. After that first week as an a.s.sistant, the doc decided he no longer wanted her to accompany him on the road. Instead, Anna stayed in his surgery room. Cleaning, organizing, and taking his messages when he wasn't there, a.s.sisting with his surgeries when he was.
Though she missed the spontaneity of going from house to house, she didn't miss traveling about in wet weather. Especially not with her cough and headaches.
As she turned onto Cherry Street, a light mist began to fall. She draped the cape up over her head, tossing one end over her shoulder. Today was Sat.u.r.day, which meant she only worked in the morning, and Joe would be in town by the afternoon. Her excitement over his impending proposal resurfaced. She couldn't wait for him to ask her and couldn't wait to tell him yes.
Opening the gate in front of the Maynards' home, she walked through, then headed toward the side entrance. Raindrops had just begun to fall when she slipped inside.
Hanging her cape on a hall tree, she knocked on the surgery room door.
”Come in.”
The smell of soap, chloroform, and carbolic acid overpowered Anna. Her headache pounded. ”Good morning. I didn't expect to see you yet.”
”No?” The doc sat with his back to her at a large oak desk, flipping through a giant volume whose t.i.tle was obscured. ”And why is that?”
”Because you're hardly ever here on Sat.u.r.day mornings.”
”I wanted to talk with you.” Arriving at the page he was looking for, he skimmed it with his finger, then took a few moments to read.
Anna washed her hands, then opened his medical bag and began to take inventory of its contents. He was low on bandages, arnica, and mutton tallow. She turned to retrieve replacements from a cupboard, then paused. Doc had swiveled his wooden chair around and leaned back to watch her.
”What is it?” she asked.
”I need to talk to you.”
She frowned. Had he gone on a call last night? Had someone had a terrible accident? Or worse, died?
Taking advantage of the chair's rollers, he propelled himself to a corner, s.n.a.t.c.hed up a stool, then brought it back. ”Please. Have a seat.”
She sunk down. ”What's happened?”
”Nothing's happened.”
She took a deep breath of relief, triggering a faint rattling noise in her chest. ”You scared me.”
”I'm sorry.” Pursing his lips, he propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and threaded his fingers across his stomach. ”I want to talk about your cough.”
”Again? But you just gave me another exam a few days ago. I thought everything was fine.”
”I never said that. As a matter of fact, I didn't say anything at all because I didn't want to alarm you.”
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