Page 19 of Into the Starlight (Secrets of Sweetwater Crossing #3)

Chapter Nineteen

She shouldn’t still be thinking about it, Joanna told herself as she turned onto Center Street the following Friday morning, heading for the post office. It had been almost a week since Gertrude’s party. She, her sisters, and the three men had spent more than four hours at the Albright ranch, four enjoyable hours. Why then was she remembering the brief awkwardness when Gertrude had called Burke Clive?

After their initial shock at the resemblance between Burke and his uncle, no one else had made that mistake, but this wasn’t the first time Gertrude had misspoken. Why? While it might have been a slip of the tongue for someone else, Gertrude had always been a stickler for accuracy. That was what bothered Joanna most. She wouldn’t embarrass her former teacher by asking, but she was puzzled. Surely Gertrude was too young to be having the memory problems that sometimes plagued older people.

Fixing a smile on her face, she entered the post office, grateful to see that Mr. Winslow was engrossed in a conversation with another customer. If today was like other days, he’d attend to her, then return to his discussion, sparing Joanna a long conversation about topics no more interesting than how many eggs Mrs. Winslow’s chickens had laid.

“Good morning, Mr. Winslow.” Joanna approached the counter. “Do you have anything for me or my family?”

The postmaster grinned. “Sure do. There’s three letters for Mr. Porter and one that came all the way from Europe for you.”

Her earlier discomfort faded, and Joanna’s heart soared at the prospect of a letter from Marta. “Nothing for Dr. Finley?” She knew he’d been waiting anxiously for a response from Dr. Fielding, and she’d hoped that it had arrived.

“Nope. Not today.”

Biting back her disappointment, Joanna accepted the mail and headed for home. Rather than return the way she’d come, she turned east on Main and then north on East, completing what she thought of as the circuit.

She was walking briskly, trying to imagine what would be in Marta’s letter, when she passed Miss Heppel’s home. To Joanna’s surprise, the piano teacher stood on her front porch.

“Joanna.” Miss Heppel’s voice carried clearly. “I was just thinking about you, and here you are. I know it’s not Monday and you’re probably busy, but won’t you come in for a few minutes?”

Though she was eager to read Marta’s letter, it could wait, and something in Miss Heppel’s tone told Joanna this was more than a casual request. “Certainly.”

When they entered the small house where Joanna had spent so many hours trying to perfect her playing, Miss Heppel led her directly into the parlor. “I should offer you a cup of tea or coffee, but I was hoping you’d play a duet with me. I woke this morning with a need—that’s the only way I can describe it—to play Schubert’s Fantasia with you. Will you indulge me?”

“Of course. You know how much I like that piece.” And perhaps the pleasure of playing a duet with her former teacher would banish the last of Joanna’s malaise.

When they reached the final chord, Joanna’s spirits had risen along with the music, and so when Miss Heppel suggested they play it again, Joanna agreed.

“Thank you, Joanna.” Miss Heppel closed the sheet music, signaling there would not be another encore. “I appreciate this more than you’ll ever know. My thoughts were turbulent this morning. Now they’re settled.”

So were Joanna’s. Music had healed or at least soothed both of them. If Burke were here, he might have declared this an example of the power of music to do what medicine could not.

Joanna looked at Miss Heppel, trying to gauge her mood. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Her former teacher shook her head. “My dear, you’ve done more than anyone could expect. You’ve shared your time and talent with me. That’s a gift I’ll cherish as long as I live.”

A wistful expression crossed her face, turning her eyes as dark as storm clouds. Though Joanna had seen Miss Heppel in pensive moods before, this was different, more intense, evidence that something had disturbed her this morning.

“I always enjoy playing with you.” Joanna felt the need to reassure the older woman. “I wish we’d done it when I was taking lessons.”

Instead, Miss Heppel had insisted Joanna learn both parts of a duet, telling her that would prepare her to play it one day when she found the right partner. It was only since she’d returned and she and Miss Heppel had played together that she’d experienced the full beauty of the pieces.

“You weren’t ready then. My playing would have overwhelmed yours.” Once again, a fleeting look that might have been regret marred Miss Heppel’s normally beautiful face. “You needed time to deepen your understanding of human emotions. As tragic as some of your experiences were, they molded you into a mature, caring woman.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me this morning. I never used to be so maudlin. I apologize, Joanna. You have other things to do, and so do I.” She rose. “Thank you again for indulging me.”

It was a clear and almost abrupt dismissal, something Joanna had not experienced before. “It was my pleasure,” she said as she walked toward the door. “Goodbye.”

When she entered Finley House a few minutes later, Joanna was still reflecting on her time with Miss Heppel. Mama used to say that changes in the weather affected people’s emotions. Perhaps that’s why both Joanna and her teacher had been in uncharacteristic moods today, for there was no question that their visit had been unlike any other. What she needed now was a cup of coffee, a chance to read Marta’s letter, and some ordinary conversation with her sister.

She entered the kitchen, reassured by the sight of Emily kneading bread dough. Mrs. Carmichael must have taken Noah for a walk to give Emily a few minutes without interruptions.

Emily quirked an eyebrow as she looked up. “Mr. Winslow must have been especially talkative today. I thought you’d be back half an hour ago.”

On an ordinary day, she would have. “He wasn’t the cause of the delay. Miss Heppel saw me walking by and asked me to play a duet with her.”

“And you couldn’t refuse.”

“No, even though I wanted to open Marta’s letter the minute I saw it.”

Emily poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Joanna. “I won’t interfere, because I know you’ve been anxious to hear from her.”

“Thank you. I have.” After she’d taken a sip of coffee, Joanna slit the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper, quickly scanning it. Since Marta’s English was far better than Joanna’s German, she’d written in Joanna’s native language.

“Good news?” Emily asked when Joanna slid the letter back into the envelope.

“Yes. The doctors have declared her cured, so Marta’s going back to Germany. She promised to write again once she’s at home.”

“You look as if something’s bothering you.” Emily formed the dough into a loaf and placed it in the buttered pan for its final rise.

“She said nothing about the baby, so our letters must have crossed in the mail.” Joanna frowned. “I hope she received mine before she left Switzerland. I really wish I could have seen her face when she read it, because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that when Marta learns she’s going to be an aunt, she’ll be almost as excited as I am.” They’d both mourned the loss of Kurt, but the life that was growing inside Joanna was his legacy, the beginning of a new generation of Richters. “Just in case my letter wasn’t forwarded, I’ll write again tonight.”

“How are you feeling?” Emily laid a hand on her midsection and smiled. “I’m finding this a wonderful experience.”

So was Joanna, now that the morning sickness had ended. “I’m healthy, but ...” She searched for the right word. “Unsettled.”

“In what way?”

“I know I should be planning for the future, but it seems murky. You and Louisa know what yours will bring. You’ll continue to run the boarding house and care for your children. Louisa will continue being the town’s midwife and doctor and will move into the house she and Josh are building. I’m unsure what I should do. Helping Louisa by playing the piano doesn’t seem like enough.”

Emily’s blue eyes were filled with both understanding and sympathy. “I’m going to tell you what our father would have. You need to be patient. God will provide answers in his time.”

“I know you’re right. I only wish patience wasn’t such a difficult lesson to learn.”

“Is something wrong?” Burke waited until Joanna finished her breathing exercises and they started down the driveway before he posed the question that had plagued him since supper. “You seemed quieter than usual.”

“How could anyone talk when Noah decided to entertain us with stories of making piecrusts?”

Burke had to admit that the tale had been entertaining, though he’d eyed the apple pie Emily had served with more than a bit of caution after hearing Noah’s story.

“He didn’t really do that, did he?”

“No.” Joanna’s smile said she sensed his need for reassurance. “He and Emily are good at pretending. She said he used to be content with just using the rolling pin on the floor, but now that he realized she’s flattening something, Noah wants to do the same thing.”

“So she lets him roll pastry on the floor?” There was more to child-rearing than Burke had imagined.

“No flour and lard. Emily gives him a wrinkled handkerchief. According to her, Noah can spend an amazing amount of time trying to get the wrinkles out.”

Burke had to laugh at the picture Joanna was painting of a child using a rolling pin the way an adult would use a flatiron. “It sounds as if Emily’s mastered the art of mothering. I doubt my mother would have thought of that.”

“You probably didn’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen.”

“I can’t say that I did. The barn was my favorite spot. That and the creek.”

“Is that because your sisters didn’t like either place?”

Burke nodded. “Good guess.” Or was it only a guess? Joanna seemed to understand him better than anyone he’d met.

When they reached the end of the drive and headed west on Creek, Burke increased their pace. Though it meant shortening their time together unless they lingered on the porch when they returned to Finley House, he wanted to assess Joanna’s strength. To his relief, her breathing remained normal. There was no question that her health had improved in the last month.

As a light breeze caused her to draw her shawl closer around her shoulders, Burke wondered how Joanna would react if he wrapped his arms around her. That would warm her, but it would break all the rules of propriety. Keeping his hands firmly at his sides and willing himself to think of something—anything—other than how good it would feel to hold her in his arms, Burke said, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you avoided answering my question.”

“I can’t get anything past you, can I?” Joanna paused, and for a second he doubted she’d tell him anything. Then she shrugged. “I wouldn’t say anything’s wrong, but I feel unsettled. I wish the path to my future was clear. Emily and I talked about it today. It’s easy for her to advise patience, because she’s living the life she always dreamt of, but I don’t like looking into the future and seeing nothing but a blank page.”

A blank page. A letter that hadn’t come. No matter how you described it, it was a feeling Burke understood all too well. “I know what you mean. Some days—and today was one of them—I’m convinced that either I won’t hear from Dr. Fielding or he’ll reject me. That makes me wonder what I’ll do with the rest of my life.”

An owl’s hoot caused Joanna to startle and lose her balance. Instinctively, Burke reached out to steady her, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close to him. For the second that she stood there regaining her equilibrium, he savored the sweet smell of her perfume and the softness of her curves pressed against him.

As if she was suddenly aware that others might observe and misconstrue their closeness, Joanna took a step away.

“There must be other doctors you could work with.” If she’d been affected by their proximity, her voice gave no indication.

Burke willed his own voice to be as calm. “Possibly, but I don’t know of any. The delay makes me question whether I’m pursuing the wrong dream. Maybe research isn’t what I should be doing.” The subject might not be pleasant, but it had brought his heart rate back to normal.

“What would you do if not that?”

“I don’t know.” That was the problem. “When I left Alabama, I was convinced that being a small-town doctor wasn’t for me, but the time I’ve spent in Sweetwater Crossing has been more fulfilling than I expected.”

Helping reduce Herb Oberle’s pain from gout had given Burke almost as much satisfaction as treating the man’s broken and mangled arm. Herb was only one person, not the thousands whose lives he could change if he could prevent pneumonia, but if Burke hadn’t been here, Herb might have lost his arm.

“You’ve done a lot for us, and it’s only been a short time.” Once again, Joanna seemed determined to reassure him, although this time the stakes were far higher than piecrusts. “Louisa says she learns something from you every day, and you’ve definitely helped me. I can breathe more easily, and I’m stronger, all thanks to you.”

Though Burke wanted to take credit, he knew there were other factors at work. “Don’t discount the tincture of time.”

“The what?”

Burke smiled, recalling his fellow students’ amazement the day they’d been introduced to the term. “One of my professors reminded us that many conditions will heal without medicines or treatment if given enough time. He knew patients might not believe that, so he called it the tincture of time and gave them a bottle of harmless colored water to drink each day.”

“In other words, he advocated patience. Just like Emily. I wish I had more of it. I hate being in limbo, not knowing what I should do. I want to feel useful.”

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? It was normal to want to believe that one’s life made a difference.

“You are being useful, Joanna. Never doubt that. Your music helps my patients and me.”

“You?” She seemed surprised even though Burke knew he’d told her that her music had benefited him.

“Yes, me.” The best days were the ones when she was in the office. “My patients aren’t the only ones who need soothing. I think more clearly when you’re playing, and problems don’t seem as serious.” Burke paused for a second, wondering whether he should tell her everything that was in his heart, finally admitting the truth. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And, like his uncertain future, that was a problem. He couldn’t say when it had begun. All he knew was that his feelings for Joanna had deepened. They had begun as friendship and admiration. Now they were harder to define. Thoughts of her popped into his brain at unexpected times, and whenever he was pondering a question, he asked himself what Joanna would say.

Burke couldn’t explain it, because he’d never felt this way about Edna or any other woman. No one else had dominated his thoughts the way Joanna did. It made no sense, but thoughts of Joanna disturbed and yet comforted him at the same time.

What was happening to him?

“Did your arm predict this, Burke?” Louisa gestured toward the window where rain was sheeting down the panes. Though the Sunday breakfast Emily had served was as delicious as ever, Joanna’s younger sister was clearly displeased with the weather. Perhaps that explained her nonsensical question.

Burke did not appear to find anything unusual. “It did,” he admitted. “Do you want me to warn you next time?”

Joanna stopped spreading peach jam on a piece of toast to stare at him. “What are you two talking about?”

“Ever since I broke my arm as a child, I get twinges or sometimes actual pain when the weather is changing. I thought something was wrong with me until one of my professors said it’s a known effect of a broken bone.”

Before Joanna could ask whether this was the same professor who’d introduced Burke to the concept of a tincture of time, Josh spoke. “It’s too bad Louisa wasn’t there to treat you. My leg was badly broken, but weather has never bothered it.” Josh’s pride in his wife’s skills was evident.

Though Louisa flushed with pleasure, a look of worry crossed Della’s face. “I hope the weather doesn’t keep people away from church today. Harold is planning a service of thanksgiving.”

“Isn’t that normally in November?” Craig, who’d been instructing Noah on the fine art of eating bacon with a fork rather than his fingers, joined the conversation.

“That may be the official date,” Della said, “but Harold wanted to remind us all that we should give thanks every day.”

It was an excellent suggestion, one Joanna decided she would do her best to follow.

Mrs. Carmichael chuckled. “I’m thankful for large umbrellas.”

“Puddles. I like puddles.”

Though everyone else smiled at Noah’s declaration, Emily kept a sober mien. “I don’t want to see any splashing in puddles on the way to or from church. If you get mud on your Sunday clothes, there will be no chocolate cake for you.”

Noah was silent for a moment, weighing the consequences of a few minutes’ pleasure splashing. “Okay,” he said at last.

There was no splashing, although Joanna’s hem was damp by the time they arrived at the church. As she’d expected, the sanctuary was full. Inclement weather was no reason for the congregation not to worship. If anything, the parishioners seemed in better moods than usual, joking about how good it felt to be warm and dry. The good humor continued throughout the service, with Harold’s sermon provoking some titters and a few outright laughs when he suggested giving thanks for the rain, because it washed the windows.

“And now,” he said as he concluded the homily, “please rise and join me in singing ‘Come, Ye Thankful People, Come.’”

As Miss Heppel played the opening chords, the congregation rose and began to sing. A second later, a loud crash and the sound of dozens of keys being pressed at the same time caused everyone to turn to see what had happened.

Burke did more than turn. He rushed out of the pew, heading for the stairs to the loft with Joanna close behind him, offering silent prayers for the woman who’d become a friend as well as her teacher.

Please, Lord, let her be all right. But even as she prayed, Joanna knew that only the direst of emergencies would have caused Miss Heppel to stop playing and create such a racket. Whatever it was, Joanna needed to be there to help the woman who’d started her on the road to being a pianist.

Her heart pounding with alarm as well as the exertion of rushing up the stairs, she could do nothing but stare when she reached the top. No, dear God, no.

Joanna had been in the loft perhaps a dozen times, but never before had she seen anything like the scene that greeted her and Burke. Miss Heppel’s head had hit the keyboard; her hands hung limply at her sides. The music had faded, leaving no sound save Joanna and Burke’s breathing.

There should have been more. There should have been moans or groans. There should have been a third person breathing. But the piano and the pianist were silent.

While Joanna remained frozen with shock, Burke moved toward the piano, his expression grim. Gently, as if unwilling to disturb her, he turned Miss Heppel’s head, frowning at the sightless eyes staring straight ahead.

His voice was low and filled with sorrow as he confirmed Joanna’s fears. “She’s gone.”