Wendy Klopfenstein
Bessie Thompson pushed a strand of her honey-colored hair from her face.
“Miss Bessie, your beau is here!” Eight-year-old Laura, her employer’s granddaughter, bounced on her toes in front of Bessie’s wheelchair.
“Your imagination has gotten away with you again.” She didn’t have a beau.
She’d once held the ticket for a train headed for Wyoming and a husband. Until the horrible accident at the textile mill happened. Bessie had begged her friend, Hope, to go in her place. Despite Bessie’s gratefulness at having met Mrs. Traveau, and being a companion for the elderly woman, her heart still longed for a family of her own.
A sigh escaped Bessie.
“Grandmother says you have a beau.” Laura lowered herself into the chair across from Bessie. Her face glowed. “And you know Grandmother is never wrong.”
Indeed, Mrs. Traveau was never wrong.
But who had she imagined being Bessie’s beau. And why had she told young Laura?
“It’s best you focus on your needlepoint.”
Laura rolled her eyes as she picked up her fancywork. Her feet swung back and forth. “Do you like Dr. Blake?”
Dr. Blake? Bessie’s heart fluttered. He came once a week to check on Mrs. Traveau. His tall figure had filled her mind more than once. So strong and handsome he was, with his wavy dark hair and startling blue eyes. She tried to focus on the stitches she worked on the fine fabric, but her hand shook until she feared pricking her finger.
“He’s a fine doctor.” She forced the words out, attempting to keep her voice even.
“But do you like him?”
“I…I find him…he’s…” Bessie stumbled to think of the right words.
Laura shot a glance over Bessie’s head, then back to her. Had Mrs. Traveau come to the door? A slow grin filled the young girl’s face.
Bessie shifted in her chair, ready to greet her generous employer and friend, but froze at the sight of the masculine shoulders filling the entrance.
“Pardon my interruption. Mrs. Traveau asked that I check on Laura before I left.” Did she imagine the slight blush on his cheeks?
“Certainly. Do come in.” If she thought her fingers trembled before, there was no way she could stitch now. She shot a curious glance at Laura, wondering what ailed the young girl, but glad for an excuse to see Dr. Blake again before he departed.
He crossed the room, then kneeled in front of where Laura sat. “Your Grandmother told me that you injured your elbow yesterday. Do you mind pushing up your sleeve for me to take a look?”
Kindness and understanding filled his voice. Bessie had never heard a doctor with such smooth bedside manners before. Certainly not when she’d lain on her back after being struck by a piece of machinery at the mill.
With a slow movement, he bent the girl’s arm up and down, examining the elbow as he did. Laura didn’t so much as wince. Bessie couldn’t recall her having fallen yesterday, or any other accident for that matter.
“Seems to be in perfect working order. Does it hurt?”
Laura blinked at him. “Not now. You must have healed it up.”
“I doubt it was me.” Dr. Blake shot Bessie a wink. “I imagine time did that.”
“Grandmother says you can heal the deepest wounds of the heart.”
“Oh?” His face held concern. “I’m only human. I do what I can physically. Only God can heal the heart.”
What was Laura saying, and where was this going? Given their earlier conversation, Bessie’s heart rate soared.
“He’s right, Laura.” She began to spin her chair to face the door, ready to see the doctor out before the girl said anything they’d both regret.
Laura stood. “But you’ve made Bessie so happy. She was sad before. Grandmother said so. And your coming has made her glow.”
Oh, dear. She would never be able to spin the wheels of her chair fast enough to dart from the room. Better to face this head on.
“Dr. Blake—”
“Miss Thompson—”
He held her gaze. The heat on her neck letting her know they both wore a blush.
“Miss Thompson, I have been meaning to ask you a question.” His eyes darted from hers to Laura and back. The young girl had settled on her chair, chin propped on her hands as she sat mesmerized by their interaction. “Perhaps we could speak in private.”
Laura jolted upright. “Don’t mind me. I can keep a secret.”
His brow quirked as his lip upturned on one side. Bessie’s nerves began to soothe. They’d always shared glances in Mrs. Traveau’s company. Those knowing looks when the older woman fussed. And now they must surely share the same sentiment about her granddaughter.
The girl couldn’t keep a secret if she tried.
A small giggle escaped Bessie’s lips.
Dr. Blake joined with a chuckle of his own.
“What’s so funny?” Laura moved to stand beside Bessie’s wheelchair.
“Why don’t you go see if your grandmother would like her tea soon?” Bessie gave the girl her sternest look. When Laura only stared, she winked at her instead.
A light dawned in the girl’s eyes. “Yes, Miss Thompson.”
Dr. Blake watched as Laura skipped from the room, then turned to Bessie. “Miss Thompson, I have been wanting to ask if you would like to have dinner with me.”
Was this even possible? The doctor she’d admired for months had an interest in her?
“I would love to, Dr. Blake.” She didn’t care that her words trembled.
“You may call me Melvin.”
“Melvin.” The name rolled off her tongue. “You may call me Bessie.”
“May I pick you up tomorrow evening, Bessie? Six o’clock?”
“I’ll be ready.”
As he took her leave, she noticed Mrs. Traveau and Laura at the door, where they’d no doubt been listening in triumph. And Bessie had never been more grateful for meddling friends.
Connect with Wendy on Facebook, X (Twitter), Instagram, Goodreads, BookBub, or her website. Get a free novella when you sign up for her newsletter.
Spark Flash Fiction 