have summoned me, and I got the tongue-lashing I deserved.” He sighed again. “No physician or surgeon would have made a difference, even had they been able to afford one.”
“And that fired your anger,” Olive told him.
“Oh, aye. I wanted to pound Tavish into the soil.” Mr. Bowden managed a little laugh, which made him press his hand against his ribs. “Alas, he was sober this time, and I couldn’t compete.” Even the head shake that followed such a statement made him clench his teeth in pain. “He even robbed me. Turned my pockets inside out, and what did I do but groan?”
“I will definitely summon the constable,” Olive said and turned toward the door.
He grasped her hand and raised up on one elbow, while sweat popped up on his forehead. “No, no. Don’t do that. I have a strong suspicion that Mr. Tavish has already left for greener pastures. Good riddance to him.” He lay down and crossed his hands on his chest, which made Olive laugh.
She stopped laughing when he told her what he had promised Mrs. Tavish.
“I’ll send two of my pensioners to dig a wee hole beside my flower garden,” she promised. “I can find a small box. I even have a shawl that will make a good lining.” She thought of the Highlanders and one lady too proud to come in for food. The woman could sew anything on short notice, and Olive could stretch out her project to include three meals a day for many days. “I know a seamstress for that lining.”
“Excellent. Is Tommy awake?”
Olive went to the door and stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of the little boy’s chest. “No, thank goodness.”
He motioned her back to the bed, and she looked down on a pair of single-colored eyes filled with masterful resolve. Just a glance at his eyes told her all she ever needed to know about Mr. Bowden’s determination. She doubted that any man he could even remotely save would dare die.
“I think I did a foolish thing,” he began.
“Even more foolish than thinking you could brawl with a man taller than you and maybe a bit younger?”
“It remains to be seen,” he said, then closed his eyes in sleep, falling back on that refuge from pain used by all of the Almighty’s creatures, from garden gopher to the king of England probably. She watched, her curiosity aroused, and then left unsatisfied as his breathing became regular.
The noon meal brought out more people than usual because Edgar was not a village prone to much excitement. When something out of the everyday happened, the event became a matter of prime importance. Twice she had to add more potatoes to the soup to make it stretch.
“Joe Tavish is gone!” the constable declared, over soup and oat bread. “We owe the good man upstairs on his bed of pain a rousing three cheers!”
The huzzahs resounded, shivering the very window glass. Olive bit her lip to keep from laughing, as she wondered if the sleeping surgeon had suddenly been jerked awake.
“What good thing can we do for the surgeon?” one of Olive’s regular dishwashers asked.
Perhaps let him sleep in peace , Olive thought and stifled her laughter with her apron. “I don’t think he’s staying in Edgar much beyond seeing Tommy on the mend,” Olive said. She was never one to gild any lilies, a silly expression, indeed.
“We could take him our ailments and appeal to his better nature,” a woman announced.
“And pay him with what?” a one-legged fisherman asked.
Silence. As everyone looked at her, Olive Grant wondered when she had become Edgar’s chief magistrate (ex officio, of course).
“I’ll have to think about this,” she told her friends, touched to her heart because they already relied on her for at least one good meal a day. She made an open-handed gesture. “I really will ponder the matter.”
Think she did, once she had sent round a note to the seamstress, along with her mother’s shawl and the box. She stood a long time at the window, wishing for summer. She felt old
“And that fired your anger,” Olive told him.
“Oh, aye. I wanted to pound Tavish into the soil.” Mr. Bowden managed a little laugh, which made him press his hand against his ribs. “Alas, he was sober this time, and I couldn’t compete.” Even the head shake that followed such a statement made him clench his teeth in pain. “He even robbed me. Turned my pockets inside out, and what did I do but groan?”
“I will definitely summon the constable,” Olive said and turned toward the door.
He grasped her hand and raised up on one elbow, while sweat popped up on his forehead. “No, no. Don’t do that. I have a strong suspicion that Mr. Tavish has already left for greener pastures. Good riddance to him.” He lay down and crossed his hands on his chest, which made Olive laugh.
She stopped laughing when he told her what he had promised Mrs. Tavish.
“I’ll send two of my pensioners to dig a wee hole beside my flower garden,” she promised. “I can find a small box. I even have a shawl that will make a good lining.” She thought of the Highlanders and one lady too proud to come in for food. The woman could sew anything on short notice, and Olive could stretch out her project to include three meals a day for many days. “I know a seamstress for that lining.”
“Excellent. Is Tommy awake?”
Olive went to the door and stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of the little boy’s chest. “No, thank goodness.”
He motioned her back to the bed, and she looked down on a pair of single-colored eyes filled with masterful resolve. Just a glance at his eyes told her all she ever needed to know about Mr. Bowden’s determination. She doubted that any man he could even remotely save would dare die.
“I think I did a foolish thing,” he began.
“Even more foolish than thinking you could brawl with a man taller than you and maybe a bit younger?”
“It remains to be seen,” he said, then closed his eyes in sleep, falling back on that refuge from pain used by all of the Almighty’s creatures, from garden gopher to the king of England probably. She watched, her curiosity aroused, and then left unsatisfied as his breathing became regular.
The noon meal brought out more people than usual because Edgar was not a village prone to much excitement. When something out of the everyday happened, the event became a matter of prime importance. Twice she had to add more potatoes to the soup to make it stretch.
“Joe Tavish is gone!” the constable declared, over soup and oat bread. “We owe the good man upstairs on his bed of pain a rousing three cheers!”
The huzzahs resounded, shivering the very window glass. Olive bit her lip to keep from laughing, as she wondered if the sleeping surgeon had suddenly been jerked awake.
“What good thing can we do for the surgeon?” one of Olive’s regular dishwashers asked.
Perhaps let him sleep in peace , Olive thought and stifled her laughter with her apron. “I don’t think he’s staying in Edgar much beyond seeing Tommy on the mend,” Olive said. She was never one to gild any lilies, a silly expression, indeed.
“We could take him our ailments and appeal to his better nature,” a woman announced.
“And pay him with what?” a one-legged fisherman asked.
Silence. As everyone looked at her, Olive Grant wondered when she had become Edgar’s chief magistrate (ex officio, of course).
“I’ll have to think about this,” she told her friends, touched to her heart because they already relied on her for at least one good meal a day. She made an open-handed gesture. “I really will ponder the matter.”
Think she did, once she had sent round a note to the seamstress, along with her mother’s shawl and the box. She stood a long time at the window, wishing for summer. She felt old
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