Heart and Home(4)

"Please, excuse me," she said, coming to her feet. "I must check on  Grams. Enjoy your dinner and stay as long as you like." Being careful  that her glance never met the doctor's, she left the room. She was  afraid his eyes would be condemning. He knew she had chosen to let Grams  die.

Grams was sleeping, but Jane sat down beside her anyway, dampening the  cloth and returning it to her forehead. She lifted one of Grams's hands,  thinking how hot and brittle it felt. The old woman's pulse seemed to  flutter beneath her fingers.

"I shouldn't have even sat down with them," Jane whispered. "I should have stayed with you."

Voices drifted in from the other room, George's primarily. She didn't  try to understand what was being said. She wanted to be alone with  Grams.

"Remember when we first came here, Grams?" she asked softly. "I wanted  to go home. You said, 'This can be home, Janie. Anywhere someone loves  you is home.'"

Jane felt her eyes burn. She hadn't come in here to cry. But she had  fought the tears so often the last few days there was no strength left  to fight them. "Don't go, Grams," she whispered, lowering her face to  her hands. "Don't go."





Chapter Two


Adam lost interest in dinner shortly after Jane left. He would have  excused himself as well, but the Cartland sisters were extremely  interested in his wedding plans, which were few, and his plans for  decorating the house, which were even fewer.

Tim Martin began describing a wedding he had attended in another part of  the state, and Adam struck on a plan. He could almost convince himself  he was being professional.

"Friends," he said when Martin gave him an opening, "I believe I'll check on Miss Sparks's grandmother, then call it a night."

"Why, that's so kind of you," Nedra said.

He gave her a polite smile as he rose. She had been batting her eyes at  him all through dinner, and he didn't want to encourage her. The others,  except for Mr. Bickford, wished him good-night as he left the dining  room.

The kitchen bore the evidence of the huge meal Jane had recently  prepared. Adam wondered if her entire store of pots and pans had been  called into service. Still, the room seemed clean in spite of it, a  trick of organization, perhaps.

He moved cautiously toward the little bedroom. He didn't want to startle  Jane, yet he didn't want to disturb the sick grandmother by calling out  to them. At the doorway he paused. Jane sat beside the bed, her face in  her hands. She was crying softly. He could hear the grandmother's  labored breathing above the quiet sobs.

He felt like an intruder, but he couldn't make himself leave. He moved  to the far side of the bed and lifted Grams's bony hand, feeling for the  pulse. It was faint and rapid. He gently returned the hand to its place  on the sheet.

He should leave. There was nothing he could do for the old lady. Nothing  he could do for the granddaughter, either, he told himself. Wrapping  her in his arms and letting her cry on his shoulder didn't seem very  professional. Besides, judging by the cool glances she had given him at  dinner, she wouldn't be disposed to accept.

He rested his hand gently on the cloth that lay across the woman's  forehead. It was cool and damp. Even in the state she was in, Jane  hadn't neglected this small service.

She would be embarrassed if she looked up and found him watching her,  Adam knew. He ordered his legs to take him out of the room, but found  himself stopping beside Miss Sparks instead. His hand was drawn to the  narrow, slumped shoulder.                       
       
           



       

At the moment of contact her head jerked upright. "Doctor. I didn't hear  you come in." She brushed frantically at her tear-streaked face.

Adam crouched down beside her. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Is she … ?"

"Not much change from this afternoon. Are you all right?" He wanted her to say no, to ask him to stay with her.

"Of course." She sniffed once. "Did somebody need something?"

He shook his head. It seemed to him she was the only one who needed  anything, and he didn't know how to give it. "Let me ask the folks out  there to clean up for you."

"Oh, you can't do that," she said, rising to her feet. "They're paying guests."

Adam straightened slowly. "They're also your friends."

"No, please. I can do it. I can check on Grams every few minutes."

"Then let me stay and help."

"Don't be silly. I'm used to doing it, really."

She was all but shooing him out of the room. He took the hint, but at  the door he turned. "There might still be time, you know. We should do  everything we can to save her."

Jane shook her head. "No. She's dying. But I couldn't see her in pain any longer."

Adam nodded. It was what he expected. Back in the kitchen, he could hear  voices from the dining room. He had already told the others good-night,  and, not wanting to see Nedra again quite so soon, he left through the  back door.

Miss Sparks's backyard contained a tidy garden and shed, clotheslines  and a small chicken house and pen, making his own yard seem barren. The  sun was just sinking below the horizon as he reached his back door. His  first day here hadn't turned out to be quite what he expected. His  little house seemed too quiet and lonely as he went up the stairs to his  bedroom.

He lit a lamp and lifted a book from the pile he had left against a  wall. Shelves here and in the examining room were a top priority. He  would look into hiring a carpenter tomorrow.

He removed his shoes, coat and tie and worked the collar buttons loose.  He settled onto the bed, his back against the headboard. The book lay  unopened on his lap as he listened to voices next door. The Cartland  sisters were on the porch. There were men's voices as well, bidding one  another goodnight.

After a brief silence, a feminine voice carried to his room. "It's a lovely night, isn't it, Mr. Bickford?"

A gruff, unintelligible response followed.

"I was hoping you'd join us on the swing for a while."

Adam heard a grumbled reply, followed by the muffled slam of a door.

"Really, Naomi, how can you stand that man?"

"He's cultured and educated," her sister hissed. "I can smooth out the  rough edges once we're married. That's what women have always done."

"Rough edges? The man's a self-absorbed lout."

Naomi didn't disagree, and Adam felt a grin tug at his lips. If Mr.  Bickford's window was open the self-absorbed lout could probably hear  this conversation, too.

"At least I'm not throwing myself at someone half my age." That must have been Naomi.

"The doctor isn't half my age. Five years younger, perhaps."

"Try ten."

"He's cultured and educated, too."

"With a beautiful fiancée."

"Who isn't here. And until she is, he can only compare me to the country milkmaids and slum trash like Jane."

"And me, of course."

"You won't try to ruin this for me, will you?"

"Why shouldn't I try? You can have Mr. Bickford."

Adam realized he had nearly stopped breathing. It was one thing to  listen to their conversation about Mr. Bickford and quite another to be  the topic himself. It wasn't so much learning that Nedra was interested  in him that bothered him; he had figured that out at dinner. It was the  calculating way they were discussing him.

And Jane. Did they look down on her because of humble beginnings?  Letting them know his own roots should discourage them quickly enough.  He would try to work it into the conversation at breakfast if he weren't  certain Doreena would prefer it not be known.                       
       
           



       

He realized he didn't simply want to discourage the sisters, he wanted  to defend Jane. That struck him as odd because he hardly knew her, apart  from the fact that she was a great cook. She was going through a rough  time, and while he disagreed with her decision about her grandmother, he  felt certain it was for reasons that she, at least, found compelling.  The notion that she was allowing Grams to die so the boardinghouse would  be hers, or the possibility that she was simply tired of caring for the  old woman, had crossed his mind and been dismissed.

Adam had to respect Jane's wishes. In disagreeing with his authority,  she had shown herself to be a strong woman. He smiled at his own  thoughts. Her disagreement would be more impressive if he was an older,  more respected physician. He was making excuses for her and she didn't  need that.

He laid the book aside and moved to the window. The boardinghouse was in  shadows now, but he was certain no one remained on the porch.

What did Jane need?

Not his help. Not even his company.