Page 22 of Beneath the Harvest Moon

John patted him on the back. “I see you’ve become soft to physical labour.” John grinned. “Don’t overexert yourself. We can’t have the local physician taking to his bed, can we? Besides, I need you back in the fields whenever you can spare a moment. Are you available tomorrow?”

“Alas, I must make my usual rounds in Tomlinton.”

“All those rich patients and their trifling ailments need tending.”

Gabriel chuckled.

“’Tis a shame you cannot join us every day. No doubt the female workers will diminish if you’re not here to keep them interested.” John winked.

Heat clawed up his neck when John tilted his head towards the line of girls watching Gabriel roll down his shirt sleeves and tie the cuffs.

“Perhaps you should marry one of ‘em and—” John dropped his chin. “Beg your pardon, Gabriel. ‘Tis not my place.” John popped his fraying straw hat back on, then headed off.

If John knew more about Blythe’s motives, he never let on. Then again, Gabriel had never asked. It had been shameful enough that Blythe had jilted him without having to beg her brother to tell him why. But Blythe’s return fuelled speculation about why he remained a bachelor. The gossipmongers believed he still held a candle for her. They are not wrong.

He blew out a long breath. He could not allow the woman who had crushed his heart the opportunity to do so again. Everyone was correct. He was too kind for his own good. He needed to develop a thicker skin when it came to Blythe Dixon.

He collected his coat and bag and headed to the village with the hired hands.

He should take Mother’s advice and leave it alone—leave Blythe alone. But a kernel of hope had taken root since she had returned, and he could not seem to quell it.

Miss Foster sidled up to him, carrying a wicker basket in two hands before her. “Will you be working in the fields again tomorrow, Doctor Sharpe?”

Her friends walked in their own gaggle behind. He hooked his finger in the collar of his coat and flung it over his shoulder. “I am afraid not, Miss Foster.”

Her face fell. She stepped closer, but he widened the gap between them. It would not do to be accused of misleading one of the village girls. Besides, he was not interested in Miss Foster. The girl was too young for him. Behind, the gaggle giggled, and a hint of pink bloomed on Miss Foster’s cheeks.

“Will you be at church on Sunday?”

“As always, Miss Foster.”

She beamed. “Perhaps I shall speak to you then.”

“Perhaps Miss Foster.”

They arrived at the Silverdale gateway. “Please excuse me. I must pay a visit to Mrs Dixon.”

“Oh.” Miss Foster’s eyes widened like a disappointed puppy.

He nodded. “Good evening.”

Her friends clucked like the hens in the yard.

The hired hands trundled into the outbuildings that had become their temporary accommodation.

John caught up with him and clapped his shoulder. “Come along and see that my next son is doing well.”

John opened the door to the kitchen. “Hallooo! The workers have returned.” They stamped their shoes, creating a cloud of dust.

“Don’t you be bringing any dirt in.” Mrs Dixon shouted.

John unbuttoned his gaiters. “Of course not, Mam.”

Gabriel did the same, then followed John into the kitchen.

“Doctor Sharpe has come to check on Jane and the babe.”

“Did Blythe ask him?” Mrs Dixon paused plaiting a bushel of onions at the large oak table. “She’s been fussin’ over Jane all day, telling her to rest. I worked through my labour pains with all my babes and was back to it within an hour of birthing them.”