Kansas Courtship. Victoria Bylin

is more like it,” Nora admitted.

      “We’ll eat together, and I’ll tell you about High Plains.”

      As the cook ladled soup into bowls and sliced bread, she told Nora how the town had been founded on Christmas Day almost two years ago. Will Logan and Zeb Garrison, boyhood friends, had come West to pursue their dreams. They’d picked the spot on the High Plains River and contracted with the New England Emigrant Aid Society for funding. When spring arrived, dozens of folks from Bellville, their hometown near Boston, followed the men to the Kansas Territory.

      “My Pete is a blacksmith,” Rebecca explained. “Will and Zeb especially wanted him to come West.” In between spoonfuls of soup, Rebecca told Nora how Pete’s first wife had died in childbirth. When the cook finished the story, she looked at Nora with a gleam in her eyes. “I don’t care what people think, Dr. Mitchell. Pete and I want you here. You won’t have an easy time. I know, because I didn’t either. More than once, I’ve been called a dirty immigrant.”

      Nora’s family had sailed with the Pilgrims, but she and Rebecca had something in common. “We’re both outsiders, aren’t we?”

      “Very much.” Rebecca fetched the teakettle and refilled their cups. “That’s why I want to talk to you about the Ladies Aid Society. Matilda Johnson is president. She and her husband own the mercantile.”

      “I already met Abigail.”

      Rebecca sat down. “She and her mother are very much alike, if you know what I mean.”

      “I think I do.”

      The cook’s brows hitched into a scowl. “I’m not fond of Mrs. Johnson and she’s not fond of me.”

      “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?”

      “Pete and I were alone in a cellar during the tornado. She accused me of immoral behavior and spread rumors. I couldn’t walk down the street without getting ugly looks.”

      Nora knew the feeling. “I got plenty of stares in medical college.”

      “But we survived, didn’t we?” A smile lit up Rebecca’s face. “Pete married me to stop the talk. We didn’t know it, but God had plans for us. What Mrs. Johnson meant for harm turned into the greatest blessing of my life.”

      Envy stabbed through Nora. She loved being a doctor, but she wanted a husband and children of her own. “Pete sounds like a good man.”

      “He is.” Pride rang in her voice. “Most of the folks here are decent, but a few cause trouble.”

      “Like Mrs. Johnson?”

      “I’m afraid so.” Rebecca’s eyes glinted with anger. “She’s telling folks you asked Abigail an indecent question.”

      “Illness is indecent,” Nora countered. When a woman fainted, all possibilities—even indelicate ones—had to be considered.

      Rebecca’s eyes twinkled. “I know why Abigail swooned. She’s set her cap for Zeb, that’s why.”

      “I thought so,” Nora said casually.

      The blonde studied Nora from across the table. Both women stirred their tea until their lips tipped up in unison. When Rebecca gave in to a grin, so did Nora. The cook spoke first. “Are we thinking the same thing?”