The Death of Jane Lawrence(28)
“He said you’d be inclined to work,” Mr. Lowell said. “So I gathered up some of the accounts from around the surgery.”
“Thank you,” Jane said, smiling. Augustine already knew her well. Idle wandering wasn’t fit for her spirit. Work would set her back to rights.
“There’s also a package Mrs. Cunningham came by to drop off.”
“The treatise I’ve been waiting on! Thank you again, Mr. Lowell.”
He grinned and tipped his hat. “Glad to be of help. And you’re sure you don’t want to go back?”
“Not just yet.” She hugged the package to her chest. “Send my regards?”
“Of course, ma’am. And with any luck, they’ll have that bit of the road shored up by tomorrow.”
* * *
THE RAINS BEGAN again less than an hour after Mr. Lowell’s departure. She settled herself in a front sitting room, where she could hear the comforting sounds of Mrs. Luthbright going about her day. Mrs. Purl came and went, leaving tea and a stoked fire in the hearth.
Mr. Lowell had packed her the large ledger book she had begun for Augustine, as well as haphazard records of occasional payments from patients who feared later debt, and orders he had sent away to Camhurst for. Behind it was her mathematical treatise and a slim volume she hadn’t seen before. But she ignored all of those in favor of a letter, for it bore Mrs. Cunningham’s familiar handwriting.
Sipping her tea, Jane opened the seal and spread the paper out on the desk. She donned her glasses (also thoughtfully packed), and read:
To our dearest Jane,
You looked so lovely on your wedding day, full of a life we haven’t seen in you in many years. I do apologize for the parade, which, knowing your temperament, might have been overwhelming, but we could not let our final child leave our home uncelebrated, and we knew that if we told you our plans, you would reject them. I hope you can forgive us our exuberance.
Mr. Cunningham and I are both very proud of you, you know. You are one of the few young people of our acquaintance who will directly identify and act on what you want with a detailed plan, and while Mr. Cunningham likes to take much of the responsibility for that, I think it rests entirely on you. You have always been very special.
And how is your doctor husband? Mr. Cunningham and I watched the two of you together, during the ceremony and throughout the parade. We suspect that it’s perhaps less of a business match than you had originally planned. Though your situation is unique, it is not so far removed from the commonplace. Most marriages, arranged or not, are begun knowing next to nothing about your spouse. Mr. Cunningham and I were such a couple, as were your parents. Most who marry under their own desires do not see that. They believe they know the other person, even if they met them only a month past, even if they have never seen their beloved in all seasons. You simply have no illusions. And trust, from my experience, that knowing your partner from the start has little bearing on happiness. The things we didn’t know were pleasant surprises, generally. I have faith you’ll find the same.
I implore you to move forward with an open heart and open eyes. Your plan to serve as little more than his employee is understandable. Numbers have always made things easier for you. But if you will take the advice of an old lady, be patient. And listen to him. You’ll learn a lot by listening.
With all my love,
Deborah Cunningham
Jane traced Mrs. Cunningham’s signature with her thumb, smiling at the page. They hadn’t always understood each other, but Mrs. Cunningham had always been an earnest, loving woman, not quite a mother but close enough to count. She was also perceptive in a way that had Jane blushing. No, this was not just a business match. Not anymore.
Jane was just about to set aside the letter when she saw on the back of the page a small postscript:
P.S. In the aftermath of your wedding parade, I spoke with several well-wishers, schoolmates from your time in Sharpton. It seems Dr. Lawrence acted as relief to Dr. Morton there, while Dr. Morton was dealing with his illness. Lindridge Hall is much closer to Sharpton than it is to Larrenton, and they expressed surprise that he had not returned after his government posting, as they were all quite fond of him. I know not what we have to thank for our good fortune, but I am grateful he chose our town, if only for your own happiness.
Sharpton—she had not thought much about her school days in recent years. Strange, to think they might have seen each other in passing back then. There was much about Augustine she did not know, Jane reflected. Not just his nature and desires, but his history as well. She found herself looking forward to hearing more of it, as much as she desired to share her own past with him.
She let herself drift with idle fancy a while longer, then turned to the ledgers.
As always, work was a relief. It quieted her other thoughts, helped melt away the hours. The rains, though gentler than they had been the night before, grew relentless, and the chances of the road being opened tomorrow were dwindling. The clouds also blotted out the afternoon sun far sooner than it would have set, and even after Mrs. Purl came by to turn up the gaslights, Jane soon stopped and capped her ink, rubbing her eyes.
Mrs. Luthbright and Mrs. Purl were once again in earshot, speaking in the dining room as they set out her supper. Jane rose and went to the sideboard, pouring herself a small measure of drink. She did not mean to eavesdrop, but their voices were soothing, and she drew close enough to make out the words.