Chapter Eighteen
CHRISTMAS EVE SERVICEwas precisely what Nick needed. Apparently, it was also what Willa needed, because he spotted her the moment he entered the small church. He was already late, and she sat among a few ladies he recognized from the ball, so he remained in the back of the church by himself. Reverend Theodore’s sermon was a balm to his soul, settling his decision not to tell Willa about her father’s medicines. As soon as the last hymn was sung, Nick rose and exited the church, where he waited as people streamed out the doors.
The sun was just beginning to set, sending a glow over the snow that covered the entire town and illuminating the mountainsides. When Willa emerged from the church, the sun’s last rays lit her hair, making her look angelic. He smiled to himself, remembering how he’d thought the same the night at the ballroom.
Her face lit up when she saw him, and his stomach leapt. He cared too much for her to break her heart, and yet too much to perpetuate the lies she’d been told all her life. He’d purposefully visited her father when he knew she wouldn’t be in his room, only because he couldn’t face her with the knowledge he held.
What was he supposed to do? He thought he’d made his decision, thought God had told him what was right, but seeing her now . . . he didn’t know.
“Nick,” she said, her voice as rich as honey and her eyes bright with the last light of Christmas Eve. What he would give to hear her say his name like that for the rest of his days.
He didn’t know when precisely it had happened, but he’d fallen in love with Willa Rousseau. And he didn’t know at all what to do about that.
“Hello, Willa.” He tipped his hat. “Are you returning to the hotel?”
“I am.” She took his arm, and it felt as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if she were meant to fit next to him, where he could protect her from the world. Whether that world included her own father, he didn’t know.
He simply didn’t want her to get hurt.
“Will you stop in and see Papa before you retire for the evening? I’m not certain, but it seemed his fever was cooler than it was this morning. I hope that means he’s improving.” She didn’t speak what was likely her greatest hope—that Nick had been wrong in his assessment of Dr. Rousseau’s possible condition.
“I will.”
“Nick?” Her voice was so quiet, he barely heard her over the light wind that blew through the bare trees.
“Yes?”
She looked up at him then, concern evident in every inch of her beautiful face. “Is it possible to become a physician without attending school or studying with a doctor?”
It took a moment for her words to sink in. Nick stopped, searching for the right words. “Generally, no. Not during these times. The practice of medicine has thankfully been regulated by each state.” He paused, and then plunged forward. “Why do you ask?”
She ducked her head and said nothing.
“Is it your father?” he asked gently.
Willa nodded, raising her free hand to run the back of it across her eyes. When she looked up at him, Nick wondered if he’d imagined the action. There wasn’t a trace of tears, only a brave determination in the set of her jaw and in the way she looked at him. “I talked to Leroy. He said Papa taught himself from books. I don’t . . .” Her strong voice faltered. “I don’t know whether that makes him a doctor. Leroy thought it did. After all, he’s been able to create these medicines.”
Nick looked away, down the snow-covered plank sidewalk. The electric lamps had begun to bathe the town in their light as the sun settled somewhere behind the mountains. The shop next to them had a wreath and red ribbons on its door, so simple and cheerful. Nick wished he didn’t know about the elixir. He wished he could go back to that moment in the livery and resist the urge to inspect the contents of that wagon.
