The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,32
He saved me. I almost died too.”
Her mother sprang up from her chair and went to enfold him in a hug. “There, now, my dear. You’re safe here. Your father is very wise and very good. And Abigail is one to fight for those she loves.”
Abigail was so taken aback she couldn’t speak for a moment. Did her mother truly see her that way? She certainly tried to stand up for her principles. She never wanted to feel like a victim again.
“We’ll all be fine,” she told them both. “Ethan, I’ll be right back with your father.”
Her mother released Ethan with a watery smile and followed Abigail to the door. “Are you certain you should go alone? We could ask Mr. Carroll to check.”
“It will only take a moment, Mother,” Abigail promised. “This is still Grace-by-the-Sea. Nothing happens in broad daylight. And the sun won’t be down for hours yet.” With a smile she hoped betrayed none of her thoughts, she hurried out.
All the shops were closed and most of their guests had returned to their lodgings as she climbed the hill to the spa. The memories of her father faded away to be replaced by concern for Linus, but no distinguished doctor strolled toward her. Indeed, the only movement was a piece of parchment blown on the wind. Abigail bent to retrieve it.
No sign of infection or inflammation. Expect the swelling to go down within the fortnight.
Were these case notes?
She looked around again. There, against Mrs. Mance’s rosebush, another piece. And another in the hedge in front of Shell Cottage, the new Denby home. Something was very wrong.
She slipped the pages into her sleeve, snatched up her skirts with her good hand, and ran to the spa.
The door refused to open. Locked. She knocked anyway, then waited, but no one answered.
“Doctor Bennett,” she called through the portal. “Linus, are you there?”
In the distance, other doors closed, voices sounded. None were his.
Her pulse pounded hard and fast. Where could he be? Had he had an urgent request to help another villager who was ill or injured? Why would he have dropped his case notes? And wouldn’t he have found a way to send word to his son? He was so careful of Ethan, so concerned for his wellbeing.
And hers.
She moved back to the road, looked left, right. No sort of accident in view, no huddle of people around a door, no one hurrying for the apothecary or the vicar.
Where was he?
Perhaps he’d gone to his cottage to collect something first. Of course, that was about a ten-minute walk from the spa. Plenty of time to go there and return to her shop and Ethan. And the pages in her sleeve cried out their doubts.
What could have happened?
Her worrying spun her in a circle, and, for the first time in a long time, panic reached for her. No, she would not allow it to gain a hold. She was no longer a child, squeezing herself as small as possible in the corner of the bedchamber, praying her father wouldn’t come in, that his storm of anger wouldn’t break over her head this time. Gideon had protected her while he was there, but she couldn’t blame him for escaping when he could. She had learned to rely only on herself. If there was something to be done, she must do it. She’d fought for a place for herself and her mother, fought to regain the respect of the village.
Yet how did she fight something she couldn’t see, couldn’t name?
“Abigail!”
She whirled. Linus was stumbling down the hill from the crossroads. She ran to him, threw her good arm around him, and held him tight. “Oh, Linus! I was so worried.”
“It’s all right,” he murmured against her hair, hand pressed to her back. “Now, let go before you reinjure your arm.”
~~~
Abigail jerked away to stare at him. She’d been too pale when she’d first run to him. Now color blazed back into her face.
“My arm?” she fumed. “You disappear for more than an hour and worry us all sick, and your concern is for my arm?”
“My concern is always for my patients,” he said, gathering his dignity close. She had buried her face in his cravat when she’d come to him or she might have seen the wonder and joy that had no doubt crossed his face when he’d found himself wrapped in her embrace. “I’m sorry I worried you.”
Her face bunched. “Of course you worried us. Where were you? Mother, Ethan, and I