Chapters (53)
- Cover
- About Alison Stuart
- Also by Alison Stuart
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgements
- Preview of The Goldminer's Sister
Caleb turned away with an exasperated snort. He sat in the battered armchair beside the smouldering fire and sipped his whiskey. Now the crisis had passed, he craved nothing more than his bed. Anything else could wait until tomorrow.
Nineteen
Nineteen
2 February 1872
‘Good morning, Mrs Greaves.’
At the soft American accent, Adelaide, busy with sorting the long overdue mail, spun on her heel. The joy at seeing him and the ridiculous burst of warmth that ran through her body found expression in a smile. ‘Caleb—Mr Hunt—how unexpected. I hear that you are the darling of the town,’ she said. ‘Patients queuing up for miles to see you.’
He gave a soft laugh and inclined his head. ‘Bowen’s due back any day and I, for one, will be pleased to see him.’ Caleb frowned. ‘Have you done something to your hair?’
Adelaide patted the soft curls that framed her face. ‘I believe this is now a more fashionable style. Not that I follow fashion …’ She took a steadying breath. ‘I apologise. I’m rambling. It’s good to see you. Doctoring agrees with you. You look positively respectable.’
He wore a conservative—for him—waistcoat of dark green over a neatly pressed shirt and his hair, still damp, looked to have had a trim. He was clean shaven and the faint, familiar scent of sandalwood drifted across the counter.
‘Did you have any adverse reaction to the vaccination?’ he asked.
Adelaide rubbed her left arm. ‘No. A most unpleasant experience but if it means we are safe from smallpox, worth the inconvenience.’
Caleb nodded. ‘I don’t think there’s any further risk.’
‘Poor Mrs Murray, but how wonderful that the child survived.’
‘Children are often more resilient than we give them credit for,’ Caleb said. ‘He’ll be scarred but at least he’ll be alive.’
A silence stretched between them, interrupted by a woman wanting to buy a stamp. The woman glanced at Caleb and, recognising him, smiled and insisted on taking his hands in her own. ‘’Tis a miracle,’ she said. ‘God sent you to us in our hour of need.’
Caleb cleared his throat and extricated his hands with a mumbled thanks. When the door shut behind the customer, he turned to Adelaide. Leaning across the counter, he said in a low, urgent voice, ‘I have to get out of this town, if only for a few hours. Would you consider closing the post office and coming on an adventure with me?’
‘I can’t.’ She waved at the unsorted mail. ‘I’ve—’
‘Go.’ Netty leaned against the door into the residence. ‘I’ll keep an eye on things here.’
Adelaide glared at her friend, wondering how long she had been there.
‘You can bring Danny,’ Caleb said. ‘I know the school has not reopened.’