Ginny Aiken Read Free

The sturdy structure perched proudly on the foothill, a plume of smoke announcing that welcome and warmth would be found inside.
    A short span beyond that first house, Letty saw another. Then another. Clusters of buildings soon peppered the snowy valley.
    The blast of the train whistle announced their approach to Hartville. A ripple of anticipation and a wobble of wariness worked their way up Letty’s spine. She reached for her satchel, not to reclaim the letter, but to embark upon her new life. A life she hoped would be eased by Mr. Wagner’s assistance. And she mustn’t forget his wife. That lady could provide mountains of information and support. Letty hoped she had accompanied Mr. Wagner to the station.
    The train whistle shrieked again, and the wheels grabbed the track. The braking train pulled against her, dragging her deeper into the lumpy upholstery. As they slowed, her compartment rolled closer to the station platform.
    Two men stood there. Pity, she thought, Mrs. Wagner hasn’t come. We will have to meet another day.
    One of the two men appeared quite old, round-shouldered and slender. She’d heard enough about Mr. Tilford from his wife to identify him at first glance, and to know she preferred to avoid meeting him today.
    The train chugged in slower now, and Letty got her first clear look at the other man. Since he held his black hat, his wavy hair caught the sun and shone gold. His eyes, deep and dark, matched the shade of her favorite chocolate bonbons, while a blade of a nose ridged his face above a well-trimmed mustache. His square jaw suggested an uncompromising nature. Surely this wasn’t Mr. Wagner. This man was far younger than she’d envisioned her sponsor.
    “Oh, honestly,” she muttered under her breath. “It doesn’t matter whether that man is or isn’t Mr. Wagner. What does matter is finding your luggage and starting your new life.” Firming her shoulders, satchel in hand, she joined Mrs. Tilford in the aisle.

    Eric waited on the platform, numbed by the drone of Hubert Tilford’s advice. The man expounded on every topic known to mankind. Unfortunately for his listeners, he knew almost nothing about nearly everything. Well, that wasn’t quite right, either. Tilford displayed true genius in the sawmill business. At the moment, however, Eric lacked the patience to learn the merits of sawdust, much less to listen to directives on how he should run his newspaper.
    He had to locate the new doctor. It was ironic that he had finally lured a physician, a woman yet, to practice medicine in his town too late to do him any good.
    The past two years had blunted his pain. He had turned regret and failure into action; he had found a lady doctor for Hartville. Still, no number of good deeds could atone for his sins.
    Eric didn’t have time for bitter memories just then. He had to find Dr. Letitia Morgan, homeopathic physician. Because of the daunting title, Eric expected a middle-aged spinster, large enough, tough enough, and experienced enough to handle any eventuality. He pictured her with steel-gray hair coiled in a tight knot, spectacles riding the bridge of a pragmatic nose, a severe black suit encasing her stout body.
    Hartville needed a most competent woman. Someone who would scare everyone back to health.
    The train ground to a stop. Passengers left the cars. The conductor barked instructions to a pair of burly youths who began unloading luggage. Two black leather trunks labeled with the doctor’s name and Eric’s address thudded onto the platform at his feet. Two trunks—not much for a person setting up medical practice. Surely a physician needed supplies, a certain quantity of the medications she might prescribe. Could those two unremarkable cases hold it all?
    Then he had his answer. Box upon crate joined the trunks in rapid succession, filling the platform. Mr. Tilford edged closer as the cargo threatened his presence on the structure. When the mountain grew no more, Eric counted