They Called Her Mrs. Doc. by Janette Oke

tried hard to reply with the same carefree manner, “Well, I believe I will wait until you have finished your husbandly task of repairs,” she said lightly.
    Samuel grinned, pushed back his lock of wayward hair with one hand and reached for Cassie with the other.
    He drew her close against his side and pressed a kiss against her hair.
    “It looks like flame in the sunshine,” he whispered of her hair. “I think I’ll call you Red.” His eyes twinkled.
    Cassie was grateful he hadn’t said “carrots.”
    “I’ve arranged for us to stay at Mrs. Clement’s while I do the repairs,” he surprised her by saying. “I told her we’d be there for dinner so we’d better get going.”
    Cassie felt relieved. At least they would be given a decent place to stay while Samuel worked on the house. With any measure of good luck, she might never have to move into the little house at all.
    But if Cassie had been relieved to hear that they were to share accommodation elsewhere, her pleasure was short-lived when she viewed the new quarters.
    It was an old rambling house, tacked and held together with bits of this and pieces of that. It had never known paint, nor had the yard ever been raked or trimmed. One scraggly tree stood near the door, dragging pitiful branches dangerously close to one’s head upon entrance. Even Cassie had to duck in order to avoid having the pins torn from her bonnet in passing.
    They were welcomed by a reed-thin woman with a sharp chin and sharper eyes. She seemed to look right through Cassie, and the younger woman wondered if the older woman was studying her soul and finding it wanting.
    Mrs. Clement clicked loose false teeth when she talked—and she talked often and profusely.
    “Expected ya last night. Had the bed all ready,” she began, making the words sound almost like an accusation.
    “We had hoped to be here but a storm held us up,” explained Samuel.
    She eyed Cassie sharply, seeming to put all of the blame on her. “Locals woulda jest kept travelin’,” she observed.
    “It was too hard on the mare to pull the buggy through the mud,” said Samuel, and Cassie was pleased that he did not allow her to be held responsible.
    “Where’d ya bed?” clicked the woman as she led them down a dark hall and pushed open a creaking door.
    “Stayed with a fella by the name of Hank,” replied Samuel.
    The woman’s sharp eyes brightened. “Hank, eh? Never could turn one away, ol’ Hank. Take in any stray.”
    Cassie wasn’t sure she liked being called a stray. Particularly in the way that Mrs. Clement had spoken the word, but she made no comment.
    Mrs. Clement turned to look at them as she held the door open, her eyes snapping, her teeth clicking. “Heard ya had red hair,” she said to Cassandra. “It sure is red all right. Got the temper to go along with it, I ’spect.”
    Cassie could feel her cheeks beginning to flame. She also felt Samuel’s soft touch on her arm. With great difficulty she decided to prove the woman wrong. Her chin came up and her green eyes snapped but she held her tongue.
    She passed by the woman through the door and looked at the room that was to be theirs for the next several days.
    It was small. Barely big enough for them to pass each other. The bed was small, too, but it took most of the space. Hooks lined the walls, and Cassie knew that they were to suffice for a wardrobe. An old dresser stood against the wall under the single window and on it sat a cracked blue pitcher in a chipped cream bowl. One worn towel hung limply from a peg over the bed. Cassie realized she was seeing her bedroom, bathroom, and parlor all in one brief glance.
    “Put fresh water in the pitcher jest a couple hours ago,” the woman was saying. “You can wash up if you’ve a mind to. Jest throw the used water out the winda. Dinner will be in ten minutes or so.”
    And with those words she left.
    Cassie did not turn to look at Samuel. She was afraid he might see what she did not wish to