Kansas Courtship

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“I’m not.”

The blacksmith grunted. “Another dud?” He looked as glum as Zeb felt about the situation.

“Remember when that letter arrived? You said nothing could be worse than the last fellow, and I said you were wrong. It could be worse.”

“I asked how, and you said the new doctor could be a woman.”

“That’s right.”

Pete kept hammering. “Are you telling me—”

“I sure am,” Zeb said with disgust. “Dr. N. Mitchell isn’t Norman or Ned. Her name’s Nora.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Pete murmured.

“I’m sending her back. She can leave with the Crandalls.”

Pete’s hammer pinged in a steady rhythm. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s the only answer.” Zeb took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat off his neck.

The blacksmith kept working. “With Doc’s passing, maybe you should give the woman a chance. You said yourself she’s qualified.”

“I said he was qualified. This isn’t a job for a woman and you know it.”

Pete held up the piece of metal, inspected it with a sharp eye then put it back in the fire. “Seems to me a female doctor’s better than no doctor at all.”

Not in Zeb’s opinion. “You know as well as I do she won’t last. Either she’ll get fed up and go back to New York, or she’ll get married and quit the medicine business. No woman is cut out for that kind of work.”

“I don’t know,” Pete said. “Rebecca’s talking about opening an inn. I’d be a fool to try and stop her.”

“That’s different.” Zeb frowned at the object in Pete’s hand. “She’ll be cooking and cleaning like she always does. It’s woman’s work.”

Pete huffed at him. “I wouldn’t say woman’s work with that tone if you want to keep enjoying my wife’s good cooking. Rebecca works as hard as I do.”

“I’m sure she does,” Zeb drawled. “But it’s not the same as what you do.”

“Maybe.” Pete sounded wry. “She’ll also be keeping the books, ordering supplies, hiring folks and bossing everyone around.”

“So?”

“Isn’t that what you do?” Pete argued. “Especially the ‘bossing’ part?”

Zeb faked a scowl. “Are you picking a fight?”

“No.” Pete’s voice lost its humor. “I’m asking you to give the lady doctor a chance. Aside from being female, how does she seem?”

Beautiful. Kind. Brave.

Before he’d seen the medical bag, he’d felt like a love-struck adolescent. Her blue eyes, wide and innocent, had a spark of daring he admired. When she’d lifted her lips in a smile, he’d thought of kissing her and wondered if his search for a wife had come to an end. Then Abigail had faked another swoon and the woman had grabbed that heavy case.

“Zeb?”

“What?”

“You didn’t answer the question.” Pete’s lips turned up. “What is she like?”

“Normal, I guess.” Except for that hair. He’d never seen anything like it.

Pete pulled the metal from the fire, inspected it and went back to hammering. “Normal is more than I can say for that last fellow.”

Zeb had to agree. Not one of the four men he’d interviewed had met his standards. They’d nicknamed the last one “Dr. Gruesome” when he’d talked about exhuming graves for his “research.” No way could Zeb see him birthing babies.

He could see Dr. Mitchell at a birthing, but did she have the grit to cut off a man’s leg? Of course not. Zeb had seen mill accidents in Bellville, including a mistake that had cut off Timmy Cooper’s hand. A woman wouldn’t have the stomach for such things. Most men didn’t, either. He didn’t, though he’d witnessed his share of injuries.

Pete held up the piece of iron and looked again at the color. The orange had cooled to red, so he put aside the hammer, lifted a chisel and began to shape the edge of a hoe blade. His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“So,” he said. “Just how normal does the lady doctor look? Is she pretty?”

Zeb scowled. “She’s pretty enough, not that it matters to you. You’ve got Rebecca.”

“And no woman’s lovelier,” Pete replied. “I was thinking about you.”

“Don’t.”

Pete chuckled. “The whole town’s in on it, you know.”

Last month Zeb had let it slip to Pete he was considering marriage. Abigail’s mother, Matilda Johnson, had overheard and started pushing Abigail in his path. The Ladies Aid Society had started buzzing and Zeb had received six supper invitations in two days. The attention irked him. “I wish I’d kept my mouth shut,” he said to Pete.

With his arms crossed over his chest, he told his friend about Abigail faking another swoon, how the lady doctor had jumped to her rescue and how Abigail had taken her down a peg.

Pete’s brows snapped together. “I don’t like the Johnsons. I never will.”

“I don’t blame you.” Zeb knew the history. After the tornado, Mrs. Johnson had accused Pete and Rebecca of immoral behavior in the storm cellar where they’d taken shelter together. She’d said hateful things about Rebecca until Pete proposed marriage to stop the talk. Still grieving Sarah and their child, the blacksmith had taken the high road when he’d done nothing wrong. Zeb admired his friend’s integrity and wanted to match it by providing a real doctor. Unfortunately, the only doctor within a hundred miles was female.

The blacksmith looked Zeb in the eye. “If the lady doctor stood up to Abigail, she’s got my vote for staying.”

“I don’t know, Pete.”

“What’s the harm in giving her a chance?”

Zeb shook his head. “What if she kills someone with her incompetence?”

“She just might be a good doctor,” Pete replied. “Besides, Doc did that already.”

Zeb looked beyond Pete through the open door and flashed back to the day of the tornado. Doc did his best, but people had died because he couldn’t move fast enough. Zeb’s gaze narrowed to the backside of Dr. Dempsey’s former office. The tornado had damaged the roof, so Doc had used a closet at the church as an infirmary. Zeb had a place for the new physician, but his plan wouldn’t work with a female.