Sweet Forever Read Free Page A

explosion,” the doctor interjected with an encouraging lilt. “Most survivors were rescued on the Kentucky side of the river, but I treated a few last night. What was your husband’s name?” He turned to his wife. “Becky, love, would you please get the record book?”
    Mrs. Morgan stepped toward a large mahogany desk at the end of the room.
    “No.” Rosaleen’s definitive tone arrested the woman’s slight, energetic form. “He’s dead. I watched him die.” Caving beneath the weight of all that had happened to her in the past months, Rosaleen pressed her hands to her face and wept.
    “Oh, you poor dear.” The doctor’s wife rushed to Rosaleen’s side, gathering her in a lye-soap-and-verbena-scented embrace.
    Allowing her body to sway with the woman’s rocking, Rosaleen sobbed, eagerly embracing the genuine caring she’d craved since Donovan’s death.
    When her tears subsided, Rosaleen twisted in Mrs. Morgan’s arms, sniffed, and gazed up at her “angel.”
    “I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am. Jacob Hale, at your service.” He dipped a quick bow. “I’m Mrs. Morgan’s brother,” he added. “And you are. . .”
    “Rosaleen. Rosaleen Archer.”
    “Well, you’ll need somewhere to stay.” Mrs. Morgan’s tone solidified. “You must stay with us.”
    Dr. Morgan turned to his wife with a rueful shake of his head. “Darling, you know I would normally encourage such a philanthropic notion, but think, there is nowhere at the moment we could comfortably situate a house guest.”
    His wife’s sigh conveyed her regret. “Of course you’re right, my dear. With the upstairs being renovated, we do well to manage accommodations for ourselves and the children.”
    “I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’m sure there must be somewhere. . .” Without the prospect of a roof over her head, Rosaleen battled a resurgence of panic.
    “Mrs. Buchanan has a spare attic room at the boardinghouse at the moment. She’s also been looking for an extra hired girl now that Patsey is in the family way.” The corner of Jacob Hale’s mouth quirked in an encouraging smile. “I’m sure I could work something out.”
    At his steady gaze, Rosaleen’s heart quickened. She scolded herself sternly. I can’t make attachments. I must get away from here as soon as I can. I must get away from the river.
    ❧
    Riding on the wagon seat beside Jacob Hale, Rosaleen took in the town of Madison. Cradled between the Ohio River to the south and steep, stony hills to the east and north, the “Porkopolis” seemed focused on the river to which it owed its prosperity.
    She’d passed the place many times on riverboats yet had never disembarked here. Once, Donovan had pointed out the town to her from the pilothouse of a sternwheeler. He’d explained that most of the pork in the country was packed at Madison, Indiana.
    As they traveled down a street marked Main-Cross, the smooth gravel paving the extraordinarily wide thoroughfare crunched beneath the wagon’s iron-rimmed wheels. A couple of blocks beyond the doctor’s house, the neat two-story brick houses lining the street gave way to bustling shops—all brick.
    “Is everything made of brick here?” she asked, voicing her thoughts.
    “Almost.” His lips curved in a grin. “Five years ago the town adopted an ordinance requiring all new buildings be bricked in order to cut down on fires.”
    As they turned left onto a much narrower street, panic clenched her insides as tightly as her laced fingers whitening in her lap. What if the Buchanan woman didn’t accept her? What if—
    “Opal Buchanan is a good woman,” Jacob Hale said with a kind smile as if he’d read her thoughts. “Her husband, a coffee merchant, died of dropsy six years ago. After George’s death, she sold the business and opened her home as a boardinghouse. Well, here we are.” He pulled the mules to a halt in front of a two-story home.
    The brick facade of the boardinghouse looked unpretentious in its coat of