“Well…” The doctor shifted uncomfortably, then rose. “If you’ve no more questions, I’ll take my leave.”
“Yes, yes.” Jessalyn stood as well. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to Lindy.”
The doctor gave her a goofy smile that said his new wife was indeed the reason he didn’t tarry longer.
“Can I ask one more question first?” She followed him to the front door.
“Certainly.” The doctor slipped on his coat in a gentle, unhurried manner and gave her another smile.
But the fire returned to her lungs nonetheless, licking its way up her throat as she asked the thing that could ruin so many of her plans. “How much do you expect this surgery will cost?”
“I can pay for it, however much it is.” Thomas’s footsteps thudded behind her.
“No. I’ll pay.” At least she hoped she could. But she should have had the sense to stop herself from asking in front of Thomas.
“I’d not thought to ask the fee.” Dr. Harrington settled his hat atop his head. “I was more focused on finding a remedy for Olivia than the money involved. I’ll write the doctor, but as you know, mail is slow with the harbor closed.”
If only he’d give her an estimate. Would a hundred dollars be enough? Considering her sewing job for the Hanover wedding, she should be able to manage a hundred dollars, but probably no more than that without cutting into the money she needed to move to Chicago and set up a shop there.
“Thank you for your time.” She wetted her dry lips.
The doctor pulled open the door, letting in a gust of frigid winter air. “I’m sorry it wasn’t better news.”
“It’s all right. I’d rather know and deal with the infection than let it go untended.”
“Good day, then.”
She closed the door behind the doctor and turned, only to find her husband’s thunderous gaze riveted to her.
“There’s no sense in you paupering yourself because you’re too stubborn to take my money.”
“I’m not paupering myself.” She’d not argue the part about being too stubborn to take his money though. Except it wasn’t being stubborn as much as being smart. Nothing good would come of making herself and her daughters dependent on the man who’d walked out on them.
Yet, he’d just offered to accept responsibility for their oldest daughter and her surgery. If he was waiting until things looked less than perfect to abandon them again, this was his opportunity.
She bit the side of her lip. What if she was wrong about him? What if he really had changed?
“You own a seamstress shop.” Thomas lifted his hands to encompass the cluttered room. “Maybe you’ve got enough saved to pay for the surgery, but you can’t have much beyond that.”
A torrent of rage rushed through her, boiling her blood as assuredly as the woodstove in the corner boiled the soup simmering on it. If he cared so much about what she had, then where had he been during the two hard years she and the girls endured after he left? Where had he been when she and Tressa boiled the same chicken carcass three days in a row and shared the meager soup between both of their families? Or when their only bread had been loaves from the bakery that were so old Tressa couldn’t sell them any longer?
Sending letters and money to the wrong address, too busy to come see her and the girls, was where he’d been.
“What would have happened if you hadn’t arrived four days ago? Or if you’d been delayed another week on your way here? Who would be paying for the surgery then?” She straightened her spine and took a step closer to him, bringing them toe to toe. “That’s why I don’t want money from you for the surgery.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I told you, Jess, I thought you were getting those letters but were too angry to write me back.”
“But I wasn’t getting them, and you never once bothered to come check on us—for five whole years. You think you can come in here and throw about banknotes and news that you own a hotel and it will solve everyone’s problems, but it won’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest, half to ward off the chill from standing near the open door with the doctor, and half because her hands itched to reach out and throttle Thomas. “The only thing that’s changed is instead of figuring out a way tomanage everything without you, I now wonder how I’ll manage everything when you leave us again.”
Notif, butwhenhe left again. Their daughter needed surgery, and Jessalyn was more interested in fighting than letting him help Olivia. Had she always been so hard? So certain everyone would hurt her? So callous toward other people’s generosity?
He shook his head. He remembered her eyes lighting up when he brought flowers home for her. Remembered the smile on her face when he’d taken her dancing in Chicago. They might not have had the best marriage when he’d left, but she’d not been this hard either.
Was he to blame for the change?
Whether he was or not, he still needed to break down the barriers she kept throwing up if he had any chance of convincing her to go to Deadwood. He’d seen her peek out the window earlier, had half expected her to tromp outside and demand the girls come in without playing. At least she’d given him a half hour or so with his daughters, even if she still hadn’t given him an answer about sitting down and talking at the bakery.
But how to make her accept money for Olivia’s surgery? “I’m only trying to help, even if you don’t see it that way.”
