Page 2 of Choices of the Heart

“If children can manage the journey”—Mrs. Archer looked to Sophie once more— “perhaps an old woman could.”

That was an interesting observation.

“That comment would make me wonder ifyouwere contemplating a westward trek,” Sophie said, “except you are not an old woman.”

Mrs. Archer smiled at her fondly. “I am not so young as I used to be. And I will be even less so when next Joseph and his family come to visit me, assuming they’re able to. As his family grows, so do the complications of such journeys.”

“Are you truly contemplating going west?”

“I will have to ask Dr. Norwood if he has any significant concerns. But, barring anything literally life-threatening, I don’t know if he could entirely dissuade me.” Mrs. Archer squared her shawl-draped shoulders. “If my family cannot come to me, I don’t see why I can’t go to them. I have determination and fortitude, and my health is good. And, if you are willing, I would not be making the journey alone.”

Sophie perked up on the instant. “You would wish for me to join you?”

“I would like nothing better.”

It would likely be a week or two of train rides and stagecoaches, of questionable accommodations in unfamiliar corners of the country. And there was no predicting what they might find upon arriving in Hope Springs. The journey would, without question, be exhausting. And it might very well be dangerous.

With a spreading grin, Sophie said, “I would like nothing better.”

Hope Springs, Wyoming Territory

To say Burke Jones had been born in poverty would have been a shocking understatement. He had been raised in an orphanage in Peoria, Illinois where there’d never been room enough or food enough.He hadn’t the first idea who his parents were. Burke had assigned himself a birthday, not knowing what his actual one was.

When he was little, he’d dreamed of running away. But as he’d grown, those dreams had changed. He had formulated a means of leaving the cold indifference of the orphanage behind for good by one day becoming a respected and successful doctor.

Now twenty-eight years old, he was, in fact, a doctor. In a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, and more than half his patients were animals. It was hardly the prestigious practice he’d passed those cold and lonely nights dreaming about. And it came nowhere close to the level of prosperity he’d insisted to his fellow medical students he would one day claim.

Still, he liked his work and the people he looked after. He was building a stable and dependable life for himself.

At the moment, he sat in the humble home of one of the local farmers with a three-year-old little boy on his knee. He bounced the child a bit, smiling to reassure him.“And how are you feeling, Matthew? I see all your spots are gone.”

“No more spots,” Matthew said.

Burke searched as he spoke. Chicken pox was a relatively minor experience for most who contracted it, but he did want to make certain this little one was well recovered. The boy’s infant sister had contracted the illness as well, which had been far more worrying.

Of the child’s mother, he asked, “Is Claire still fever-free?”

“Yes, for two days now.” She looked at him as she spoke, though she was entirely blind. She was also English, something that required some getting used to in a town populated entirely by either Irish immigrants or Americans. “Both children seem their usual selves now.”

“Good. Good.” He was satisfied with Matthew’s recovery. He lifted him into his arms as he stood. “You will be pleased to know, Matthew, that all of your cousins who’ve been sick with this are doing much better.”

“Even Eoin?” the boy’s mother pressed. “He is so tiny still. We’ve worried about him.”

“He’s been better the last twenty-four hours. I’m going to look in on him when I return to the inn.” Burke’s home and infirmary adjoined the town’s inn, both built only two years earlier. Eoin’s parents ran the inn. “After I look in on the Archers and their children.”

Cecily, these children’s mother, shook her head and sighed. “This sure spread quickly, didn’t it?”

“It did, indeed.”

He was bid farewell. Matthew seemed genuinely sad to see him go. Burke had worked since coming to Hope Springs to earn the trust of the children. Helping them when they were ill or injured had proven difficult in the extreme before they’d learned to not be afraid of him.

Burke drove his one-horse buggy down the road, passing familiar farms and quickly recounting in his mind any health concerns he knew of in the resident families. Hope Springs was not a large town, but it was big enough to keep him busy.

Just on the other side of the bridge that spanned the Hope Springs river was the Archer farm. Joseph and Katie had a growing family, a picturesque farm, and every bit as much wealth and influence as Burke had once dreamed of claiming. They employed both a housekeeper and a farm hand and owned nearly all the land in the valley. They were also genuinely good people, which Burke knew from experience was not always the case with the rich and influential.

He was greeted as warmly at this house as he had been at the more humble home he’d just left. They had three children, and one on the way. Their oldest, Emma, had avoided the town’s most recent brush with chicken pox by virtue of having had it before. Her younger sister and brother had not.

Little Sean rushed over to him, and Burke scooped him up. He was nearly four years old now but had been quite small when Burke had first come to Hope Springs. Time had gone quickly in many ways.

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