Page 3 of Choices of the Heart

The middle Archer child, nine-year-old Ivy, bounced into the room. Even sick, the girl had more energy than anyone Burke had ever met. She was a delightful handful.

Their father was most certainly out in the fields. But their mother and oldest sister, Emma, joined the younger children in the next instant.

“Why, Dr. Jones, how good of you to look in on us.” Katie, their mother, spoke with the distinctive flavor of Ireland.

“I wanted to make certain your two youngest are spot and fever free, that Miss Emma’s arm is feeling better, and that you are well.” Emma had sprained her arm a few weeks earlier, and Katie’s pregnancy had not been without difficulty.

“We are very fortunate to have you, Burke Jones.”

And he was truly fortunate to be the doctor for this town and the surrounding ones. Before it had been unexpectedly offered to him, he’d all but given up hope of using the medical degree he’d fought so hard to earn. He’d found in Hope Springs a town that desperately needed him. The sight of Katie’s now-fingerless left hand served as a recurring reminder of how dire their situation was before his arrival.

“When can I go back to school?” Ivy asked, tugging at his coat. “I’m missing all the best games.”

“If you truly are spot-free, and you aren’t running a fever, you could return tomorrow.”

Ivy spun about, stopping after a few revolutions to look at her sister. “Iget to go back to school.” There was something very teasing in the declaration.

Emma tipped her chin at a proud angle. “That is because you are still a child.”

“You are only fifteen,” Ivy tossed back. “That’s not so grown up.”

Katie put an arm around her oldest, who was now as tall as she was. “It is only difficult because it’s new. You’ll sort out what to do next, you will.”

Emma sighed, clearly not convinced. To Burke, she said, “My arm feels much better.”

“I’m glad.” He looked to Katie. “And you?”

She rested a hand on her clearly pregnant belly. “Hale and hardy.”

“Good.” He turned to Ivy, still twirling about.

“No spots. No fever,” she said confidently.

Burke bounced Sean. “How are you, little one?”

“No spots,” the boy said. “No fever.”

A quick confirmation from their mother was enough for him. She had lost a little sister to illness many years earlier and was not one to take sickness lightly. That Katie was not worried meant Burke had no reason to be.

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” he said as he handed the boy to Katie. “You know where to find me.”

“It is a very convenient thing that you’ve a permanent location now,” Katie said. “It used to be such a struggle to sort out where you were from hour to hour.”

That was a fine thing, indeed. And the rent he paid on the space he used was within his means; another miracle. In time, his income might even expand enough for supporting more than just himself—perhaps even a family of his own. It was a difficult thing for him to even imagine.

Soon enough, he was back in his buggy making his way to that “permanent location.”

The inn had been built out by the stagecoach road. A hill of decent size hid the town from view when one was at the inn. Hope Springs preferred it that way. The town stayed peaceful and quiet and small, while still reaping many of the benefits of stage passengers breaking their journey there for a night.

It had taken nearly all of the two years since the inn was completed to convince the stage line to adjust their schedule and route so that the inn at Hope Springs could be an overnight stop. But doing so had proven beneficial for both the stage company and the innkeepers.

The proprietors, Patrick and Eliza O’Connor were inside and waved him over when he entered. Passengers weren’t expected that day, so the inn was quiet.

“Have a bit to eat, Burke.” Eliza was the only other Englishwoman in the area besides Cecily O’Connor, her sister-in-law. But where Cecily spoke with an almost aristocratic flare, Eliza would’ve sounded entirely at home on the streets of London.

“I’ve dropped in to check on the children. I’ve food enough on my side of the wall.”

Patrick, who was repairing a chair on the far end of the public room, clicked his tongue in a sound of warning. “If you keep rejecting her offer of food, she’ll start to think you don’t care for her cooking.”

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