positions and been turned down fourteen times because of my gender. I’ve come to High Plains for a chance to prove myself. Will you give it to me, Mr. Garrison?”
Coming from a woman, the directness surprised him. “Why should I?”
“Because Dr. Dempsey is deceased, and I have the skills to replace him.”
Again, she’d been blunt. Zeb liked her style, but nothing could change her unsuitability. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, being female caused problems—including one he was about to introduce.
“Suppose I give you this chance.” He tapped his index fingers together. “What will you do for an office?”
“I’ll use Dr. Dempsey’s.”
“I don’t think so, Miss—Dr. Mitchell.”
“Why not?”
“Doc’s office was damaged in the tornado. After the storm he used a room in the church.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “A room at the church would do nicely.”
“It wasn’t exactly a room,” Zeb said dryly. “It was more of a closet. Besides, a family took it over the day Doc died. We’re that short of space.”
“I see.” Her eyes dimmed, but nothing else betrayed her surprise. “You must have had plans for the new physician. Whatever you arranged will be fine.”
“I don’t think so, Dr. Mitchell.” Zeb didn’t bother to hide a smirk. “I had planned to invite the new doctor to use part of my house for his practice. The offer was to include room and board in my home.”
Zeb expected a gasp at the news, maybe hysterics or a fluttering hankie. Dr. Mitchell said nothing for a solid minute, then she stood up. “We obviously need an alternative. I’d like to see Dr. Dempsey’s office.”
Zeb stayed seated. “Forget it. I wouldn’t let a dog live there.”
“I’m not a helpless pet,” she countered. “I’m a capable woman who can adapt to harsh conditions. If the building has four walls and a roof, I’ll manage.”
“It has four walls,” he said, pushing to his feet, “but I can’t promise you a roof.”
Doubt flickered across her face. He’d won a small victory, but he didn’t feel good about it. Zeb knew the pain of a dying dream. That’s what he saw on the lady doctor’s face.
In spite of worry in her eyes, she squared her shoulders. “I’d like to see it for myself.”
“We’ll go now, but I warn you. It’s been damaged.”
When she stepped into the entry hall, he passed her with the intention of holding the door. If she’d been a man, he wouldn’t have bothered. Dr. Mitchell didn’t want to admit it, but her gender mattered. Zeb didn’t view women as less intelligent than men. His mother had been as sharp as a whipsaw. Cassandra could play him like a fiddle. As for Frannie, she’d owned his every thought. He’d have died for her, but she’d gone to Paris alone to prove a point.
Zeb wondered if Dr. Mitchell was one of those self-righteous women crowing about equality. What did equal mean anyway? Men and women were different. Any fool could see that…especially a fool looking at Dr. Mitchell in her green dress.
As she passed through the door, the feather on her hat swished by his nose. He found himself taking long strides to keep up with her, watching as she looked across the road to the church. With the sun high and bright, the siding glistened white and the windows turned to silver.
“It’s a lovely church,” she said. “It’s a miracle it survived.”
“Blind luck is more like it.”
She tipped her face up to his. “You don’t believe in miracles, Mr. Garrison?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Neither do I,” she countered. “Not exactly.”
He wanted to know what she meant, but refused to ask. If the survival of the church counted as a miracle, what would she call the tragedy of the missing children? Zeb called it cruel. He’d prayed as a boy, but he didn’t believe in God like Will did. Will’s faith gave him confidence in bleak times, even joy. Zeb had no such foundation.
The dust stirred as they approached Doc’s office. Zeb stopped in front of it, pausing to let her take in the boarded-up windows and chinks in the siding from flying debris. The roof had a hole the size of a wagon, but he expected the walls to hold. The door, half off its hinges, hung like a broken arm.
He indicated the entrance with his chin. “There it is.”
“My goodness.” Her voice wobbled.
Good, he thought. Maybe she’d leave with the Crandalls. Leaving him back where he’d started with his doctor search. What would he do if someone broke an arm? And Bess Carter…the girl hadn’t said a word since the storm. Zeb recalled the tornado and how Will had rescued Emmeline Carter and her family, including her fifteen-year-old sister who’d been struck mute after losing the twins. No one knew why Bess couldn’t talk, and Doc Dempsey hadn’t been able to help her.
“May I go inside?” Dr. Mitchell asked.
“Be my guest.” Zeb shoved the door wide and waited for her to pass. Along with lavender, he smelled rot from the building. The fan of light revealed stains on the floor from rain coming through the window, and no one had swept up the broken apothecary jars. The shards, a mix of green, brown and gold, caught the light and glittered like fallen leaves.
Dr. Mitchell surveyed every corner with a keen eye. “It’s a mess.”
“That’s a fact.”
She looked at the empty shelves, then peered into the back rooms. “I don’t see anything that can’t be fixed with a mop and a scrub bucket.”
“You haven’t seen the roof.”
She looked up the stairs. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough.”
“I’d like to see it.”
“Suit yourself, but I’ve wasted enough time for today. I won’t hire you.”
Zeb felt bad, but the townspeople would have to understand. No way could he have a female doctor working in his parlor. As for finding another place, he’d already tried and found nothing suitable. He shook his head. “Give up, Miss Mitchell. This isn’t going to work.”
Her eyes filled with cool disdain. “It’s Dr. Mitchell, and I never give up.”
“There’s always a first time.”
“This isn’t it,” she replied. “I have an offer for you. Will you listen?”
“Sure.”
“Hire me for one month. I’ll find an office, but I expect the town to pay for it. As far as room and board, I’ll stay at the boardinghouse. I’d like the cost to be included in our agreement.”
Pete had suggested the same thing. “Sure, why not?” Zeb said generously. She’d never find an office in High Plains. With those terms, she’d be gone in a week, and he could truthfully tell Pete she hadn’t worked out. Tonight he’d write another ad for the Kansas Gazette. The Crandalls could take it with the letters waiting at the mercantile.
Suspicion clouded her eyes. “That was too easy.”
“I’m giving you that chance you wanted.” He planted his boots wide and crossed his arms. If she wanted to act like a man, he’d treat her like one. “Name your price.”
“Twelve dollars a week,” she said boldly. “Plus room and board.”
She’d named a high price, expecting to negotiate. Zeb was glad to oblige. “I’ll pay you five.