From that point on Tommy took to haunting Albert's medical office. He would hang around outside and sometimes stare in the window while Albert was treating one person or another. If Albert tried to say hello, Tommy would turn tail and run away.

In the meantime Albert's medical practice continued to grow. His reputation as a kind and patient doctor with a natural skill began to spread across the city limits as summer gave way to fall. He made no distinctions between color, race, age, gender, or creed and treated everyone the same. This made some avoid him, but in a town as diverse as Haywards it paid to be tolerant. While a little less than half of Albert's patients still paid him in kind, the rest paid him in cash. Some of the farming families paid him with dinner. The office began to improve and Albert began putting money aside for transportation so he could reach the more outlying farms. Out of necessity the young doctor began learning various words in different languages. By October he knew 'hello', 'goodbye', 'how are you feeling?', 'ill', 'hurt', 'I'm a doctor', 'medicine', 'help', 'well', 'yes', 'no', 'please', 'thank you', and 'you're welcome' in Spanish and most of those words in Chinese. Japanese was still a work in progress, and the little Russian he had heard, he could make neither heads nor tails of.

With almost a third of the population now at least familiar with him, Albert found himself making an appointment book to better manage his time, though most of his patients were walk-ins. He treated everything from blisters to bunions to broken bones and beyond. On October 10th he performed his first solo emergency Ceasarean. Mother and child recovered quickly, but Albert realized he needed help, especially during surgery. He began putting out the call for a full-time assistant. The main requirements were honesty, good bedside manner, and a strong constitution. The former and latter were easy enough to find in a farming community, but the middle requirement did not often accompany it. Albert realized he would have to find someone who was trained in medicine to help him.

His ad read as follows: 'Help Wanted: Nurse/Medical Assistant. Duties to include assisting in operations, patient observation, and general assistance with patients. Training required. Strong constitution needed. Pay commission-based. Send letter or telegram with qualifications to Dr. Albert Ingalls, 134 Mission Street, Haywards, CA. '

Albert did not really want to be someone's boss, but the sad fact was he needed help. Badly.

Harvest was upon them. The weather cooled. The last of the summer peaches, apricots, and cherries were dried, canned, or put into baked goods. The last of the season's tomatoes were also either sold or put up for winter. Meanwhile the potatoes and winter squashes were brought in. Albert saw an increase in the number of back problems and handed out a lot of aspirin. The three schools in town, each with 150 to 200 students, filled with children who returned from the orchards and fields a year older and often several inches taller. Albert got to know some particularly reluctant individuals who claimed stomachaches or sore throats to avoid the three R's...or a bully. He also saw some evidence of possible abuse at home, but had no proof other than his instincts. Without a witness, the minister told him, he couldn't do anything about it. That was depressing.

Being the town doctor had its good points, too. Albert had gotten to know more than half of the town and was often greeted on the street with "Hey, Doc." Most of these people were acquaintances, but there were some friends he had made. While he had begun attending the Methodist church nearly a month before, Albert remained in close contact with Father Dougherty and his wife. The pair were like surrogate parents, always ready to hear Albert's troubles or offer a prayer, a meal, or a simple hug. His other friends included Reverend James Keller the Methodist minister, Ned Tanner the storekeeper, and several patients whose lives he ended up saving.

Among them was the Gonzales family. Jose's leg had mended well after surgery. He was left with only a thick scar and frightening memories. In gratitude his family often stopped by with one thing or another every Friday afternoon. Sometimes it was fresh produce from their garden, sometimes a mouthwatering dish like tamales. After the first month of this Albert had showed his palms and managed "No mas, por favor!" He patted his middle to indicate this treatment would make him gain weight. The matriarch had only shrugged it off and pushed the basket into Albert's hands anyway.

The newest of Albert's friends was a little gray tabby tom-kitten- the latest gift from the widow Dawson. Almost immediately the mouse population in his apartment and office began to dwindle. In return Albert supplied the kitten with enough meat and milk- as well as the occasional fish head -to keep him from wandering. The only thing lacking was a name. Given his new acquaintances Albert resisted calling the kitten Tom, but was at a loss until Reverend Keller came calling and had his heels pounced upon by the little mouser. After assuring Albert he was fine, he suggested a fitting name; 'Jacob', which meant 'heel-grabber'. Albert shortened the name to 'Jake', and it stuck. From that point on his biggest problem was keeping the over-friendly cat from bothering his patients...especially the odd fellow that happened to be allergic.

One afternoon on the 15th of October Albert was having a slow day. His biggest excitement that day was chasing Jake off the table after he stolen the meat from Albert's sandwich. The kitten had gulped the prize down and sat licking his chops when Albert finally caught him the scruff of the neck.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked the kitten with a sigh. Jake replied with a plaintive mew. Albert finally cracked a smile and held the kitten in his arms, scratching him behind the ears. "All right. But from now on, I'm going to put you outside when I'm eating."

Jake the kitten purred at the attention.

Suddenly a loud and desperate knock on the door interrupted the moment. So much for lunch. Albert quickly put down the kitten and hurried downstairs, putting his vest back on. "Just a minute," he called. His brows knit when he saw little Tommy dancing with worry. What on earth? Quickly he let the boy in. "Tommy? What's wrong?"

Tommy, who looked as though he had been crying, quickly grabbed Albert's hand and tugged him toward the door.

"Wait a minute- Tommy!" Albert crouched in front of the boy. "What's going on? Is it your grandfather?"

Impatiently Tommy shook his head. He motioned a mile a minute and finally pantomimed his mother. Then he pretended to fall down and close his eyes before rising and tugging on Albert's hand again.

Albert felt his heart sink. "Your mother fell? She's hurt?" When Tommy nodded the young doctor closed his eyes. God, please...not Sylvia... His eyes flew open and he hurriedly packed his stethoscope and several other things in his bag. After putting on his jacket, Albert came outside and paused just long enough to lock his door. Then he nodded to Tommy. "All right, Tommy. Show me."

Tommy sniffled and nodded back. His little legs then took off as fast as they could carry him. The odd scene drew several wide-eyed stares from the townspeople.

"Hey, doc! What's goin' on?" hollered Ned, broom in hand.

"Emergency," answered Albert hurriedly. "I'll explain later!" He directed his attention to running after the boy. It was déjà vu once again, only this time he wasn't chasing the boy to get something back. He was running after the son of the girl he had once loved, that now hated him. He only hoped that she would let him help her.

It seemed to take forever to reach the outskirts of town, but at last Albert and the boy rounded the corner to the familiar shack where the family lived. Tommy scurried to the door and pulled it open.

There on the floor lay Sylvia, motionless and unconscious. Hector knelt next to his daughter and held her hand, speaking to her in his hoarse voice. "Sylvie...Sylvie, girl, wake up." When the door opened his head snapped up to Tommy. "You bring help, boy? You-" He froze upon seeing Albert. "Albert Ingalls?"

Albert nodded. He stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Yes, sir. What happened?"

Hector eyed the young man with the gaze of a man who was near giving up. "You a doctor?"

"Yes, sir." His eyes stung seeing Sylvia lie so. But he did not want to examine her unless he had permission from her father. "Tommy brought me here."

"Then help her," he choked, turning to look at his daughter. "Help my Sylvia."

"Of course I will." Without further ado Albert came in and dropped next to her. "Sylvia?" He gently shook her shoulder. "Sylvia...what happened?" he asked Hector.

Hector had risen and shuffled back to his bed, where he sat watching. He shook his head. "Don't know...she was fixin' dinner and just...collapsed...won't wake up."

Albert cringed. So she had fainted. There were any number of possible reasons for this, from an illness to simple exhaustion. He worked quickly, first picking the woman up and lying her gently in bed, then pulling out a reflective headband. One brown eye squinted through the hole in the mirrored metal as he shined light in Sylvia's eyes. "Did you see if she hit her head?"

Hector shrugged. "No. Don't think so. What's wrong with her?"

Albert took off his head band with a frown and began feeling around Sylvia's scalp for lumps or bumps. "I'm not sure yet. Hang on a minute." When there were none, he sighed and took her pulse. It seemed to be normal and there was no sign of a fever or any other illness. He laid Sylvia's hand back down with another helpless shrug. "Well...I don't think she's hurt...it looks like she just fainted..." He fished around in his bag for a bottle of smelling salts and uncorked it.

"What's that?" asked Hector.

"Smelling salts. I want to see if she'll wake up..." Carefully Albert waved the bottle beneath Sylvia's nose.

Accordingly Sylvia wrinkled her nose and turned her head away. Her eyes fluttered open, squinting nearsightedly at the world. "Tom...Tommy?" she called.

Thank the Lord. Albert sighed with some relief and corked the bottle. "He's here, Sylvia."

Sylvia flinched at hearing his voice. She frowned as recognition set in and tried sitting up. "What are you doing here?"

Albert cringed. "Tommy brought me here. You collapsed, Sylvia. He ran to find help."

"I told him to go, Sylvie," said Hector, trying to meet his daughters' eye.

Sylvia lay back down. "Oh." She looked away. "Thank you...but I'm fine."

Hector showed his palm. "You let the doc look at you, girl."

The girl sighed in annoyance, but nodded. She continued to avoid Albert's gaze as he peered into her eyes.

Albert was cautious and stayed a couple of steps back when he could. Sylvia clearly wasn't happy to see him and would probably just as soon put her fist in his eye. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I was fixing lunch...and then...I don't know."

"Are you hurt?"

"No...my head felt kind of strange."

"What about now? Are you dizzy? Are your eyes OK?"

Sylvia shrugged. "I guess...not dizzy now." She sounded tired.

Albert pulled back with a sigh and a slight smile of relief. "I don't think there's anything wrong. It looks like exhaustion. Have you been sleeping?"

A little bit of fire flashed in Sylvia's eyes as she sat up. "What do you care?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Just trying to find out why you fainted."

Hector looked from his daughter to the doctor with something of a guilty start. "Nobody 'round here sleeps much...'count a' me," he admitted. He coughed as if on cue.

Albert's doctor's instinct wanted to investigate Hector's cough...but first he had to be sure Sylvia was all right. He found a bucket of water by the stove and a tin cup on a shelf above. He dipped the cup into the water and handed it to Sylvia. "I think you're all right. Just rest for a minute." He gathered his instruments again and found himself smiling as Tommy clung to his mother. Hector's persistent cough nagged at him and finally he turned to regard the man.

Hector first offered Albert a wan smile. "Thank you...for...lookin' after Sylvie. How much we owe you?"

Albert tried to smile back. "Actually, I've got a two-for-one special going this week. How long have you had that cough, Mr. Webb?"

Hector frowned, then shrugged. "Dunno. Couple years, I s'pose."

Albert nodded and lifted his brows. "Do you mind if I take a look at you?"

The man exchanged glances with his daughter, then shrugged. "I s'pose. Wouldn't hurt anything." He listened to Albert's instructions and unbuttoned his shirt so Albert could listen to his heart and lungs.

Albert was patient with the old man and asked his usual questions. "Is there any pain when you cough?"

"Some."

"Have you ever coughed up blood?"

"Couple times."

Albert's brow wrinkled the further along he got in his examination. Was it always this bad? No, sometimes it was worse. Were there any other symptoms? Weakness. Finally, after taking Hector's pulse and temperature, he felt everything in him sag. No, please...not this...not them. He looked up reluctantly. "Well...I could always be wrong...but this looks like the late stages of something called tuberculosis," he explained.

Hector coughed again as he buttoned up his shirt. "What's that? Danged doctors, all these four-bit words..."

Albert tried smiling, but couldn't. "They used to call it consumption. Basically it's an infection in your lungs."

The man nodded slowly. "Yeah, I figured. Knew a fella back in Minnesota with that. He didn't live too long." Hector looked Albert in the eye. "So...folks don't get well from this?"

"Not always," said Albert quickly. "Sometimes if it's caught early enough, a person can live for years."

"You said 'late stage'," Hector pointed out with raised brows. He frowned. "Don't gloss it over. I'm gonna die, aren't I?"

"Eventually...yes," admitted Albert with a sigh. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Webb. If it had been caught a few years ago...if you'd had time to move to a drier climate..." He couldn't continue. Already he had caught the look of utter despair on Sylvia's face.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" demanded Sylvia, biting her lip.

Albert shook his head. He would have sooner lost a limb than to give her this horrible news. "I could give him something for the pain and the cough, but it wouldn't cure him." The young doctor closed his bag with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry."

Silence reigned in the room for a long while. Hector seemed to be accepting this news with a stoic nod. He glanced at Albert. "How long have I got, Ingalls?"

The young man could only shrug. "I can't say for sure. Four months...maybe five...maybe less. I can't see your lungs, so I don't know exactly how far along everything is."

At this news Sylvia burst into tears and crossed the room to wrap her arms around her father. "Oh, Papa!"

Her cries tore into Albert's heart. He wished that he could do something for this family...anything. "I could help you take care of him," he offered, touching Sylvia's arm.

Sylvia pulled away and shook her head. "You've...you've got enough to do."

"Well, you're going to need some help. You're already exhausted." Albert chewed his lip. "I'll ask around, all right?"

Sylvia didn't respond to this and continued to cling to her father.

Hector lightly pushed his daughter away. "Hush now, Sylvie. Cryin' won't help. Everyone's gotta go sooner or later...and Ingalls is right. You've got the boy to take care of." Presently he looked up at Albert. "S'pose I better start...puttin' things in order."

Albert responded with a slow nod. "You might want to...yes." He took off his stethoscope and put it back into his bag. He moistened his lips before speaking again. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Hector shook his head. "No...thank you. How much we owe you, doc?"

He offered a slight, kind smile. "This one's on the house." Albert rose to his feet and started for the door.

"No, no...we don't take...charity," coughed Hector. He reached for a worn leather wallet under a pile of clothes on the trunk under his bed. "Now, what do we owe you?"

Albert sighed and looked from Sylvia, to Hector, to Tommy. I can't take any money from them. With the straits they were in, it wouldn't feel right accepting any kind of payment...but he wasn't about to argue with Hector, especially not with as sick as the man was. Excitement might make him worse. "Two bits."

Hector knit his brows. "That ain't enough."

The young doctor offered a wan smile. "I told you, I'm running a special this week."

The tall, proud man frowned, coughed, and finally shook his head. He fished a quarter out of his wallet and handed it to Albert. "All right...thank you."

Albert pocketed the quarter. "You're welcome." He gathered bag and hat and paused in the doorway. "I'll stop in every so often...see how you're doing. Sylvia...try and get some rest."

Sylvia barely glanced at him with a reluctant nod.

Albert looked at the small family for a moment, playing with his hat, before putting it back on his head and nodding again. "All right. If you need anything, my office is real close...corner of Mission and Main Street. Take it easy." He ducked out the door. Once it was closed he closed his eyes and took in a deep, trembling breath. Albert's hands and lip were shaking in the attempt to hold in his emotions.

He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay and help...but he couldn't. Not only did Sylvia not want him to, but she was right. He had an entire town to care for. A doctor couldn't play favorites.

God, please...watch over them...help them...Albert opened his eyes and set off back down the street to his office. He continued to pray with every step.

A/N: Okay, this is as far as I've gone so far. I'll do my best to keep going, but with Fall Semester in full swing, I can't make any guarantees. Thanks for the kind words!