Bow my head
Keep my heart slow
Seth had to admit he'd been pleasantly surprised. Settling back into the rhythm of Cabot Cove had been as smooth as the stones he used to skip across the water as a boy. Oh, most of the old timers gave him a little grief about being a city boy, teased that he probably couldn't catch a fish if one hopped on his hook, but it was all in good fun. He'd have worried if they hadn't teased him.
And he owed it all to old Doc Wilson. The man must have put the word out that Seth was a widower. Not one soul asked about his wife, if they'd known he had one, or whether he was married, if they were newcomers. Mostly people just left him to himself, but he knew that wouldn't last. Still, Seth was grateful.
He hadn't been back in town a full month before the old doc was married—to his nurse—and absconded to a remote fishing village a few miles up the coast. Seth knew there was a story there and knew that precious few knew the whole of it. Of course the townsfolk made a meal of it as long as they could. The womenfolk, that is. The men just nodded appreciatively. They'd always thought well of the old doc's nurse. She'd been a pretty thing when she first came to the Cove, and time had been kind to her. As for Seth, he privately thought the old man was crazy. Marry? At his age? Preposterous. Still, who was he to judge? Anybody deserved his chance at happiness. He'd had his shot; he wouldn't begrudge another for trying.
He occupied the rooms above the office; they weren't much, but they were cheap. Seth was still trying to get his money out of Juniper Lake. Cynthia, whom Seth suspected was Terry's mistress, was working on selling the property for them. She'd done well enough when she'd sold Seth's home. He'd come out of that deal with enough to pay cash for the remaining 18 months of Margie's tuition, invest in Juniper Lake, and even make a solid dent in the medical bills that were still dogging him.
Yes, she'd done alright by him. Not that he approved of their relationship. He knew Terry's wife to speak to, and adultery was a thing that had never sat right with him. But, you could have morals or you could eat, and he chose to eat. Besides, his home was constructed almost exclusively from glass, and he knew it.
He had another fresh start here in Cabot Cove, and he was determined not to waste it. He was going to provide the best medical care he could to this small community. He'd even talked to the hospital in Augusta and signed up for a few weekend shifts. Kept him busy and extra money never hurt. He settled in, made a friend in the new librarian, Jane, and fished whenever he could. Caleb remembered him from the old days, and sometimes took him out when he had a spare moment. It was shaping up to be a good life, and, even though it wasn't the one he'd imagined, he had sense enough to be grateful for what he did have. He could be of use here. What more could he ask?
Seth sat at his desk, a folder open in front of him. He'd sent Beverly to the diner to pick up a quick meal for them both. It had been a busy morning, and the afternoon wasn't going to be much better. He sighed again.
He remembered Frank Fletcher as a boy. All the Fletcher boys were smart and handsome, but Frank stood out, even in that bunch. He was a good man, even taking in his brother's son after he and his wife had been killed in a car accident and raising him as his own. Beverly had provided all the details.
And of course one couldn't dismiss Mrs. Fletcher. Seth had seen her around town. He would admit to being older, but he wasn't dead. She was an attractive woman, vibrant, friendly. She often waved to him as she biked through town. Grady was nearly through college, and he'd heard she'd gone back to teaching back when the boy started high school. That was a mercy. It would be good for her to have something to occupy her time. He closed the folder and sighed. He'd have Beverly call Frank and make an appointment for tomorrow. No sense dilly-dallying. He dreaded it. He dreaded it something fierce, but it had to be done.
Even he'd been surprised by how quickly Frank had declined. He'd asked to stay home as long as he could, and Seth saw no reason for him to be cooped up in a sterile hospital room. Mrs. Fletcher didn't drive, and while the whole town couldn't do enough for them, Seth realized what Frank was up to and accommodated his wishes as best he could.
He called the medical supply company himself and ordered up everything he thought Frank would need. He knew the insurance would cover it. He'd learned a few things when Ruthie was ill, and he never failed to pass his knowledge along to anyone who could benefit. It was plain foolish to pay those high premiums and not get anything from it.
So when the hospital bed and the oxygen tank was delivered, Seth had been there to help set everything up. Mrs. Fletcher was smart, capable, but Seth felt she was already carrying enough of a burden. He quietly did all he could.
He took to dropping by at odd hours, encouraging Mrs. Fletcher to run by the beauty shop or perhaps to the market. When she invariably refused, he could usually persuade her to nap, assuring her that he'd be there to watch over Frank until she woke. He appreciated the snap in those blue, blue eyes.
One afternoon, he was quietly reading the paper and Frank was sleeping, or pretending to sleep, until his wife had gone upstairs to rest.
"Doc?"
Seth stood, hastily tossing the paper on the sofa. "What do you need, Frank?"
"Nothing. Nothing, really. I just…I want to talk to you about Jessica."
Seth's heart sank. He'd seen Frank grow alarmingly weak in just the past few days. He knew Mrs. Fletcher had observed it too. Somehow, they'd come to a tacit agreement to be as cheerful and optimistic as possible, without being insulting. At least he hoped Frank hadn't felt condescended to. He couldn't abide that.
Seth cleared his throat. "A-yuh. What can I do for you?"
"I'm dying."
Seth did him the courtesy of looking him straight in the eye and holding his tongue.
Frank nodded briefly, satisfied. "I'm dying, and I'm worried about Jessica." Seth nodded. "It's not money," he wheezed, and Seth nodded again. He'd had ample time to take the measure of the man. Frank was a good egg. "With our savings and my life insurance policy, she'll be alright. She won't be a rich widow, but she'll have more than two mites. I've seen to that." He was quiet for a long moment, then he drew an unsteady breath. "No, it's her…well, I suppose her emotional well-being I'm most worried about." He looked at Seth. "I don't want her to shut herself away. I…I know it's going to be hard. You know that, Doc." He threw Seth a lopsided grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Jessica is special. I know everyone says that about his wife." Seth snorted. "Well, every husband who's in love with his wife says it." Seth smiled at that.
"Felt that way about my Ruth."
This time Frank really did smile. "I could tell. Look, Jessica doesn't have many friends. We've always been enough for each other." Frank put his hand out gingerly, and Seth took it. "She's going to need someone, and…it's presumptuous of me, I know. But I think you two would get along. She doesn't suffer fools, and neither do you. I think you could be friends. And Jessie's gonna need all the friends she can get."
Seth squeezed his hand. "I'll look in on her. I promise you, Frank."
Frank let out the breath he was holding, and Seth felt the man's hand go slack in his. "I knew it," he breathed. "I knew you would. Thank you."
"You rest now, you hear? You rest and don't let that trouble you any longer. I know what it's like," Seth whispered. He thought perhaps Frank might have fallen asleep. "I know what it's like to lose the love of your life," he continued. "I'll look in on her from time to time, though I highly doubt she'll appreciate that." He laughed quietly for a moment, then collected himself. Grief was a funny thing. He hadn't taken the opportunity to get to know Frank and he regretted it. A good man.
Seth turned and picked up the newspaper, folding it quietly, methodically. He really ought to wake Mrs. Fletcher, but he judged she had a little more time to spend with her husband before he shuffled off this mortal coil. He sighed. It was going to be a long night. He could do with a cup of coffee.
Seth had taken to driving by Candlewood Lane on the nights he worked graveyard at the hospital. The lights were almost always on, and sometimes he could just make out her shape, wandering from room to room.
He'd given her a wide berth after the funeral. She needed time to adjust to this new normal, and she had to do it alone, though Seth was hard-pressed to figure when she was alone, except at night. The good citizens of Cabot Cove wore a steady path to her front and back doors with casseroles, cakes, pies, pudding, urns of coffee. She'd need to buy another refrigerator if the amount of delivered food Seth calculated was even halfway correct.
No, he waited and watched from a distance. He'd know when the time was right. Hadn't he been through the same thing? In the first few months after Ruth's death, he'd been as touchy as a bear coming out of hibernation and just as friendly. Losing Ruth had hurt so badly. Even now, a memory of her was accompanied by a smile and almost as frequently a pang. It would never stop hurting. It had just become bearable. He was content to give Jessica some time. But not too much time. Winter was coming, and he thought they ought to have some sort of understanding before the long dark nights came on.
Jessica was in the kitchen, staring blankly out the window. What had she come in here for? There was a sudden, sharp knock at the door. Well, let them knock. She'd seen enough Cabot Covers to last her through this autumn and probably the next, too. Whoever it was knocked again, even more insistently.
"Oh, bother." She gathered the threadbare robe around her and put a hand to her hair. It felt as awful as she did.
More knocking. "Mrs. Fletcher?" Knock knock knock. "I know you're in there."
"Dr. Hazlitt? Oh for pity's sake." Jessica marched to the front door and flung it open just as Seth was making a fist to really start pounding the door. To her surprise, he barreled right past her.
"Good. I thought I was gonna have to call the sheriff. Do a wellness check."
"A what?" asked Jessica, indignant.
"Never mind." He held out a canvas tote. "Here. This is why I came."
Jessica reached for out without thinking, then groaned. "I don't need anymore food. If I never see another casserole, I'll be a happy woman." She blew out a sharp breath.
Seth, a veteran chess player, pounced on the opening. "Not food, Mrs. Fletcher. At least not for the body."
"What?"
Seth jerked his chin toward the tote. "Open it."
She did as she was told, marveling at how quickly and easily she was doing as he asked. Well, she wouldn't stand for that much longer. She jerked open the tote, ready to fire off another crack, then stopped. "Books," she said in wonder.
"A-yuh. Books. I had Jane pick 'em out for you this afternoon. She thinks you'll love 'em."
Jessica looked up to find the taciturn doctor grinning. Well. That certainly made for a change. "Did she," Jessica said weakly.
"She did. So, you read those, and I'll come back by in a week to take you to the library."
"There's no need—" but he was already heading to the door, his back to her.
"I'll see you in a week, Mrs. Fletcher. I expect you'll have those books read by then." He turned and smiled. "I'll see myself out."
He chuckled quietly to himself as he carefully closed the door. It would be a long while before he forgot the look of shocked surprise on Jessica Fletcher's face. He suspected very few people ever got one over on her, and he didn't think he'd manage again. "Best savor it while you can," he murmured, and began whistling a jaunty tune as he walked down the front path to the street and his car.
Jessica let the curtain flutter closed, a thoughtful frown on her face. She glanced at the stack of books, then at the door. She didn't know Dr. Hazlitt all that well, though Frank had always spoken highly of him. They'd known each other as children, though the doctor was a few years older than Frank. Five, she thought Frank had said.
She'd noticed the amused set of his shoulders as he walked down the path. Clearly he thought he'd gotten one over on her. She looked at the books again.
"Alright, Frank," she said, softening. "I'm not so wealthy that I can afford to turn away a friend. And he was awfully good to you. To us both." She reached for the damp handkerchief in her pocket. "The doctor, I believe, is a good man." She pressed the cloth to her eyes and cleared her throat, then she wandered over to the stack of books and began idly flipping through them.
She raised her eyebrows. "Mary Higgins Clark. I've been curious about this book." She picked it up and went into the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of tea.
She'd finish that stack of books before Dr. Hazlitt came back. That would show him. She smiled, a hint of a mischievous glint back in her eyes.