Page 1 of A Letter to Carolina
Chapter One
September 1880, Flat River, Nebraska
Nathaniel Pickett eased himself quietly down the beeswax-polished wooden stairs of his family home. His stocking feet made squeaking sounds with each step. He needed to get to town and check in with Doc Mueller. If he ran into anyone, then he’d be stuck here at the house and wouldn’t be able to make it in time to go out on rounds with Doc.
There had been rumors of Flat River’s doctor retiring for several years now, but no one knew Nate had been taking over the day-to-day aspects of the business. The doctor had served the town longer than anyone could remember. He had arrived on one of the very first wagon trains that stopped along the North Platte River, and about ten people had stayed.
It wasn’t intentional, the wagon train ended up getting lost. People found themselves in Flat River by chance.It was never intentional.
Nate felt it was only right that the doctor should be able to spend his later years fishing or visiting friends, without the constant worry of being needed at the office.
At twenty years old, Nate was the youngest of the Pickett brothers. Born into a family of ranchers, Nate loved working with his brothers until he discovered he loved helping people more. When one of the local cowboys fell off his horse, breaking his arm, Nate was there when the doc fixed the man up. He watched Doc Mueller patch up scrapes, stitch up wounds, and help with everything from upset bellies to toothaches. Nate was deeply impressed by Doc’s compassionate decision to order a prosthetic leg for the farmer who lost his leg in an accident with a plow.
After that, Nate started showing up at the doc’s office door when he could sneak away from the ranch. There wasn’t much a sixteen-year-old boy could do but lurk and watch. Eventually, Doc gave him minor tasks to keep Nate busy; then the doctor started teaching him. Nate absorbed everything.
Aunt Cleo had supported his interest in medicine, just as she’d done with Simon’s interest in numbers. Nate doubted, however, that Aunt Cleo would continue to be supportive when she found out he was moving out of the Pickett house and into his own place inside the town limits.
“Nathaniel.”
Aunt Cleo’s raspy voice called from the kitchen, startling him enough to make him miss the last step. In a sudden move to catch his balance, he stumbled and landed with a thud.
So much for being quiet.
Wincing as he picked himself up, he rubbed his backside as he made his way across the main room to the kitchen. The sounds of Aunt Cleo’s cough echoed down the hallway. She was a second mother to the Pickett brothers, almost taking the place of their own departed mother after she died. Ma and Aunt Cleo were best friends. After her husband died, Ma and Pa insisted that Aunt Cleo move to Flat River and stay with them.
Concern for the woman Nate loved dearly plagued him. She had been sick for months; her energy was returning, but the cough lingered. He wasn’t sure how she would do through the winter if it continued to persist.
“Good morning, Aunt Cleo,” Nate leaned down, placing a kiss on her leathery cheek when she looked up at him. “I’m surprised you’re up already.”
“I was going to make tea,” she sighed, reaching up to pat his cheek with gnarled fingers. “The cough is terrible this morning, and I’ve run out of energy already.”
Nate nodded his understanding, patted her hand, and crossed the room to the big potbelly stove. “Are you using that liniment for your arthritis? Your fingers seem stiff this morning.”
“Everything is stiff.” She exhaled loudly. “That’s the price you pay for getting old.” Moments later, the stove was happily warming with a belly full of wood and fire. Nate filled the kettle, setting it on top before filling the coffeepot for when his brothers woke up. “Why are you sneaking about the house this morning, Nathaniel?” she croaked.
Her words stilled his hands. He swallowed the lump in his throat at the idea of not being here when she needed him. “I need to be at the office early this morning and did not want to disturb anyone.”
“Really? I’m certain, child, that we did not raise you to be a coward.” The sharp words deepened the guilt he was already feeling.
Pulling down cups and the teapot, he carried them over to the table and set them down, taking a seat across from Aunt Cleo. His big hand settling over hers. “I’m not a coward.”
Her eyes narrowed, clearly studying his face for some sign of the lie. He knew his gaze reflected a similar assessment. She was thinner and paler now, but the laugh lines and intelligent eyes peered out at him. “The town doctor lives in the town, not ten miles outside of it.”
“Doc Mueller still lives in town.”
“Nathaniel Pickett,” she looked over her nose at him. “I may be old and ill, but I still have my faculties. Doc was out to see me last week. I know that you’re taking over the practice. Which means I also know that you will move into town. There’s no shame in that.” Aunt Cleo tilted her head to one side as the kettle started dispensing a steady flow of steam.
He didn’t know what to say. Inside him, a storm of conflicting emotions raged, so he was better off staying silent. He was excited about the new adventure, lonely at the thought of leaving his brothers, and guilty for moving away just as Bass feared they all would. His mind whirred while he poured the hot water over the tea in the pot. There were too many things going on lately.
“What if you need me?” he finally asked, barely whispering the words.
“Then someone will ride out for you. Emily and Georgia are here. They are both excellent caretakers. The others are back for the winter. The hands are still here.” Aunt Cleo gave a little giggle through the steam from her cup, the congestion already sounding better to Nate’s ears. “Tater will be the first to volunteer to go if it means that he doesn’t have to ride back here with the doc. I know he has that lady friend in town.”
Nate gave a half smile. “For an old woman, you know a lot.” Aunt Cleo gave a hearty laugh, then coughed again. “There might be another option.” He’d been weighing the idea ever since he noticed the line shack last week.
“What’s that?”
“There’s a cabin east of the big house on the hill. Doesn’t look like anyone’s currently using it.” Nate paused, and Aunt Cleo nodded for him to continue. “What if we leased it to Doc? He wants to fish, tinker in a garden and be able to come and go as he pleases, with no one flagging him down for medical advice.”
