Plum Creek Bride

“Never you mind. All a woman ought to want is a husband and babes of her own. All I wanted was my Donald, but he up and died in Philadelphia three years after we were married. I have been with the Callender family ever since.”

The kettle began to sing. Erika lifted it off the hot stove and poured the steaming water into a flowered china teapot. “I am sad you lose husband,” she said in a soft voice. “But glad you are here in Plum Creek.”

Mrs. Benbow jerked upright. “Are you, now? Then it’s daft you are for sure! I haven’t been—” She broke off. “Why in the world are ye glad?”

Erika handed the older woman a mug of tea. “Because,” she said slowly, “you learn—I mean, teach me things.”

“I do? You’ve been here just three days, missy! Just what is it I’ve taught you?”

Erika cradled the warm mug of tea in her hands. “You do not like me, but you care for doctor. I learn is possible to ‘get along.’ And I watch at dinner. You show me what spoon to eat soup with, which glass for water.”

She purposely avoided mentioning how she learned the difference between the blue flowered vegetable dish and the ceramic washbowl she now used for bathing the baby.

Mrs. Benbow gaped at her, her snapping black eyes widening as she peered over the rim of her mug.

“And I learn also about doctor’s wife,” Erika continued.

“Miss Tess? Now, why on earth.” The older woman’s voice trailed away.

“Tomorrow I replace flowers. Want to do what is proper, like real lady would.”

The housekeeper’s thin gray eyebrows went straight up. “If you don’t mind some advice, child, I’d leave well enough alone about those flowers. You’ve done enough for one week.”

She plunked her mug down on the table and rose. “Now, let’s just finish up these few pieces of linen before I have to start supper.”

A fluttery Tithonia Brumbaugh swept open the front door of the mayor’s two-story house on Chestnut Street. “Why, good afternoon, Dr. Callender,” she warbled. “I didn’t expect a call so soon after—”

Jonathan cut the plump woman off with a curt nod. The mayor’s wife had an unerring knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. “Is the mayor in?” he inquired, his tone brusque.

“Why, no. Plotinus is over at the bank, where he spends most Tuesdays. Won’t you come in?” She peered at his face. “Forgive me, Jonathan, but you look dreadful. Is anything wrong?”

Jonathan ground his teeth. Everything was wrong.

“Thank you, no. I’ll drop in at the bank.” He tipped his hat and retreated to the buggy. Daisy jerked forward before the whip snapped over her head.

So he looked “dreadful,” did he? And he’d forgotten again what day of the week it was. At this rate, he would never regain his equilibrium.

Damn Tess, anyway. It had been an uphill struggle ever since the day he laid eyes on her, all ruffles and furbelows, in Colonel Rowell’s Savannah drawing room. She’d torn up his heart and tossed it away as casually as she poured tea and ordered the servants about.

When he reached Main Street, he slowed the mare to a walk. By the time he stopped the buggy in front of the bank, Jonathan had calmed himself and tried to forgive Tess for the hundredth time for setting her cap for him and then dying.

“Summon Mr. Brumbaugh,” he ordered the young man behind the wire cage. “Tell him it’s urgent.”

“Yessir, Dr. Callender, right away. Say, Ma’s sure been feelin’ better since you gave her those pills last month. What’s in ‘em, anyway?”

“Carbohydroxygenate,” Jonathan said shortly. They were plain sugar pills, but he didn’t think it any of the boy’s business. What Mrs. Ellis needed was attention, not medication.

“Mr. Brumbaugh?” he reminded.

The youth ducked his head and disappeared through an inner doorway. In a moment he was back, gesturing Jonathan forward through the swinging wrought-iron gate.

“Go right on in, Doc. The mayor’s been expecting you.”

“I’ll just bet he has,” Jonathan muttered under his breath. Four long strides and he entered the bank president’s inner sanctum.

The round, florid-faced man rose from behind the spotless desk. “Jonathan, good to see you.” He extended a beefy, freckled hand.

“Plotinus, let’s not play games. You know you dislike the sight of me. You’ll like it even less when you know what I came to say.”

“Now look, Jon, can’t we agree to—”

“We cannot,” Jonathan snapped. “Or rather, I cannot,” he said, softening his tone. “Dammit, man, you’ve got to swing the vote on a new water system. I’ve walked every mile of Plum Creek these past few weeks. We’ve got privy and barnyard waste seeping into the water along a ten-mile stretch north of town. Drinking water pumped from that creek is contaminated.”

“Yes, yes. You’ve said it all before, Jon. We’re getting tired of hearing—”

“It’s dangerous, ‘Tinus. Polluted water brings disease.”

“Aw, come on now, Jon. You’re expectin’ a disaster like you read about in those back East newspapers you’re always quotin’. But hell, my house and your house get their water from wells, so we have nothing to worry about.”

Jonathan grabbed the mayor’s shirtfront and pulled him up nose-to-nose. “Plotinus, you simpleminded ass, don’t you realize that, wells or no wells, if we have cholera here, the whole town will suffer? You, me, everybody?”

Sweat stood out on the mayor’s mottled face. “Just how come you’re so sure?”

“Because I’m a physician,” Jonathan snapped. “Because I’ve seen the bacterium under a microscope!”

“Dr. Chilcoate says—”

“Good God, man, Chilcoate’s not a qualified doctor! He’s a medicine hawker, not a physician. Come on, ‘Tinus, I need a vote.” He released the perspiring man, steadied him with one hand while the shorter man regained his balance.

“We need the water system,” he continued in a milder tone. “You know we do.”

“Mebbe. But there’s no more I can do, I’m afraid. Council already decided the matter. Nothing more can be accomplished, this year at any rate.” The mayor straightened his shirt collar with shaking hands. “You oughtta go away for a rest, Jon. Been strung up kinda tight since—”

“You know, and I know,” Jonathan said between gritted teeth, “that this has nothing to do with Tess’s.” He couldn’t say the word.

“Sure, Jon, I know. You’re just doin’ your job.” He reached up, clapped a thick hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “Now get out of my office and let me do mine.”

“You’re a damn fool, ‘Tinus,” Jonathan snapped.

“I know. Always have been, I guess. Leastways I’ve got no power over the council members to force another vote.”

Jonathan clamped his jaw shut in frustration. He couldn’t just give up. He didn’t know what else to do, but he had to think of something. The health of an entire town was at stake.

“I want you to try, anyway. Call another meeting.”

The mayor worked his lower lip. “I’ll try. But don’t hold your breath. And stay away this time. You’re gettin’ folks riled up with all your talk about horse dung and bugs.”

Numb with disbelief, Jonathan drove back to Maple Street and the house he had shared with Tess. Somehow, now that his wife was gone, his whole life shattered, it was important—desperately important—that he try to save Plum Creek.