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Chapter Fourteen

Eden had spent a restless night in her little room above the clinic. She’d tried reading, then writing to Mama, but neither held her attention. Jesse’s proposal kept returning to her.

After breakfast, she’d told Carolina she needed some time away and walked to the church.

She had come intending to pray. Instead, she sat beside Emily Pickett and counted the rain slipping down the windowpane.

Jesse had asked her to marry him because she knew how to tend an injured man. She could still hear him trying to explain how sensible it would be. You need a place. I need help.

That he had frightened himself into making the offer didn’t lessen the sting.

“I owe you an apology,” Emily said.

“You told me the truth in your letters.”

“I thought I did.” Emily smoothed her skirt over her rounded middle. “I never imagined Jesse would propose quite like that.”

“Neither did he, I suspect.”

Emily let out a rueful breath. “Bass nearly ruined our chance at happiness by deciding what was best for everyone. He’s had to learn loving someone doesn’t give him the right to choose for her.”

Eden glanced at her. “Did he learn it before you married?”

“He learned enough for me to trust him with the rest.”

That was more useful than a reassurance that Jesse hadn’t meant any harm. He had meant to keep her. The problem was how.

Emily reached across the pew and touched Eden’s hand. “You are allowed to be angry with him. You are allowed to leave, even if he apologizes.”

“I’m not certain I want to leave Flat River.”

“Then don’t let his foolishness make the decision for you.”

The answer from Missouri still hadn’t come. Eden had sent word asking whether Josiah was ill again, whether Mama needed a doctor, and whether Laurel herself had asked for help. Until someone answered those questions, she would not board a train out of guilt alone.

The church door creaked. Reverend Billings entered carrying two hymnals.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

“We were about to go,” Emily told him.

“No need on my account. I was hoping you might carry one of these to Izzy. She asked me for music she could sing.”

Eden accepted the worn book. “At the clinic?”

“If she’s willing. She said she wanted to do something for Jesse.”

Eden ran a thumb along the leather spine. Music had been part of the night he was attacked. She wondered if hearing Izzy sing would bring him comfort or send him straight back into that dreadful hallway.

“He ought to decide,” she said.

“Of course.” Reverend Billings paused. “Miss Whitcomb, I hope you won’t mistake helping a man heal for a promise to spend your life doing it.”

“I won’t, Reverend.”

She could hear the firmness in her own voice. It would have to be enough until her heart caught up.

Bass stood beneath the clinic awning when they returned, rain dripping from its edge beside his shoulder.