William shook his head. “No need. The Bemis boys have offered. We’ll have it fixed up in no time. How’s Sara?” William’s eyes were full of concern.
What were people in town saying? Martin could imagine the chain of events: Reverend Ayers telling his wife, Mary, about Sara spitting in his face, Mary telling the ladies in her sewing circle; after that, word would spread like the chatter of grackles.
“She’s well, thank you,” Martin said. “Quite well.” He pictured her last night, on the floor in front of the closet.
It’s our Gertie. She’s come back to us.
He bit the inside of his cheek, pushed the image away.
William nodded. “Good to see you, Martin,” he said. “You take care, now.” William and Jack loaded up their wagon, and Martin walked down the street, leading the horse.
“Martin!” a woman’s voice called. He turned to see Amelia just coming out of the inn. She was wrapped in a fur coat, her cheeks pink and bright, her eyes sparkling.
“Uncle Martin,” she said, kissing his cheek lightly. “I was having lunch with some ladies at the inn and saw you ride by. How is Aunt Sara?”
“Better,” he said. “She offered to make me breakfast this morning.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Amelia said. “I shall pay her a visit soon. Today or tomorrow. Maybe I’ll take her out for a bit. Bring her to my house for tea. What do you think?”
Martin nodded. “I think she’d like that very much. It would do her good to get out of the house. I’ll tell her you’ll come by.”
“Yes! Let’s make it tomorrow. Tell her I’ll come tomorrow. I’ll bring her to my house for a luncheon.”
Martin nodded, cringing a little. Luncheon was something the wealthy ladies in town did. Ladies with fancy hats and lace handkerchiefs who didn’t have cows to milk, bread to bake.
“We’ll expect you tomorrow, then,” he said, giving her a little bow. She turned and went back down to the inn to rejoin her friends.
Lucius practiced out of an office in his home on Main Street. It was a freshly painted white house with black shutters; a shoveled brick walkway led to the front door, where a sign hung:LUCIUS SHEA, M.D. Martin entered, hung his coat on the rack, and peeked into the front parlor, which had been converted into Lucius’s office. The door was open, and Lucius was at the desk, writing. No patient in the room, no one waiting on the chairs in the hall.
“Hello, brother,” Martin called.
Lucius looked up, smiled. “Martin! Come on in!”
It was a simple room with a glass-doored cabinet full of supplies: medicines, cotton, jars and bottles, forceps, clamps, wooden tongue depressors. An examination table made of dark wood took up the center of the room. There were shelves full of medical books and more bottles and jars; below these were rows of drawers. On the right side of the room was the large maple desk Lucius worked at. His hair was rumpled, and his eyes were red.
“You look tired,” Martin said, sitting down.
“Long night. Bessie Ellison finally had her baby. Breech birth. Damn difficult. They’re both fine now, though.”
“You should get some rest.”
Lucius nodded. “How’s Sara?” he asked.
Martin looked down at his hands, fingers knit together tightly. “I’m worried, Lucius,” he said. “Very worried.”
“Tell me,” Lucius said, leaning forward, so that his elbows rested on the desk.
“Last night, I woke up and found her out of bed. She was sitting on the floor in front of the closet. She said…” He paused, rubbed his face with his palms. “She said Gertie was in the closet.”
Lucius took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “And what did you do?”
“I told her to go back to bed.”
Lucius was quiet a moment. He stroked his neatly trimmed mustache. “Have you thought any more about the state hospital?”
“She’s been through this before. When Charles died. And she came back around.”
“I know,” Lucius said. “And we’re going to hope that she does again. But we need to make a plan for what we’ll do if she doesn’t come around. If she falls deeper into these morbid fantasies. It’s possible that she will get worse, Martin. And it’s possible that, if she loses touch with reality completely, she may become dangerous.” Lucius stood, went to the wooden drawers, and pulled one open. “I’m going to give you some pills. I want you to grind one up each night and put it in her tea. It’ll help her sleep, still her dreams. I’ll stop by to see her soon. In the meantime, if she gets worse, you come get me.”
