Free Lady of Milkweed Manor by Julie Klassen

of the patients he visited most frequently. In truth there seemed little the good man could do for her, though Webb never said as much. Mrs. Lamb was a lovely, serene woman who seemed more concerned with making them welcome and comfortable than with her own prognosis. It was the Reverend Mr. Lamb who insisted on such regular visits. He seemed quite convinced his wife would “be her bonny old self one day soon, now that you’re here.” Daniel had both admired and feared his optimism.
     
    As was often the case with female patients, Dr. Webb shooed his apprentice from the room soon after the preliminary pleasantries were dispatched and the physical examination commenced. Dismissed and with nothing to occupy him, Daniel would poke through the many books in the vicarage library or wander through the modest grounds or even into the more sprawling expanse of the great estate abutting the churchyard. Fawnwell, he believed the estate was called. But for its more modest size, the Lambs’ garden was among the finest he’d seen, and he knew from his pleasantries with Mrs. Lamb that gardening was her dearest pastime. Evidently her younger daughter shared this enthusiasm.
    On one of these occasions Charlotte, who must have been fourteen or fifteen at the time, hailed him from where she stood in the garden. Dropping the shears into her basket, she ran toward him, hand atop her bonnet to keep it in place.
    “Mr. Taylor,” she panted, out of breath, “there you are. And how fares my mother today?”
    “Better, I think. And you? I trust you are well?”
    “Yes, very, I thank you.” Charlotte searched the lawn behind him. “And where is Dr. Webb?”
    “Still in with your mother.”
    “I see.” Though from her wrinkled brow it was clear she did not. “Then why are you not with him?”
    “It seems Dr. Webb feels that it would be more discreet, more comfortable for your mother, were I absent.”
    “I am sure Mother said no such thing.”
    “Of course not. It is assumed, I suppose. I gather the examination was of a delicate nature.”
    “Delicate?”
    Daniel had felt the blood heat his cheeks and silently cursed his tendency to blush.
     
    “Your mother’s ailment is of a … feminine nature, and being a man…
    “Dr. Webb is a man.”
    “Yes, but I am young.”
    “Not so young. I understand his last apprentice was much younger.
    “Be that as it may, I must bow to Dr. Webb’s greater „ experience.
    “But however are you to gain such experience wandering about my mother’s garden?”
    “An excellent question, Miss Lamb. Most perceptive.”
    “I can only hope Dr. Webb is not away should I need a physician.”
    “Yes, well…”
    “Forgive me. I meant no offense.”
    “Of course. I understand.”
    Daniel smiled grimly at the memory. Indeed, Charlotte would soon need a physician and Dr. Webb was nowhere near. He pushed through the foundling ward door and walked out into the garden, in time to see Charlotte bend over and begin pulling on a milkweed with great effort.
    “Careful there, Miss Lamb. Do not overtax yourself.”
    “Dr. Taylor, do please try to remember to call me Miss Smith.”
    “I shall try, but we are alone here, so I thought it would be all right. May I ask what you are doing?”
    “This garden is overrun with milkweeds, as you can well see. I understand gardening is not a priority in such a place, but-“
    “You are quite mistaken, Miss Lamb. This garden is one of my priorities indeed.”
    “There is little evidence of that.”
    “Ahh … that is only because you are looking at it with the „ wrong eyes.
    “Wrong eyes?”
     
    “Yes, the eyes of a formal English gardener who adores box hedges and lilies and other lovely useless things.”
    She opened her mouth, but he lifted a hand to ward off her rebuttal.
    “Wait until you have heard me out. What do you know of milkweeds, Miss Lamb?”
    “I read an article about them in one of Mother’s journals. It said French people actually