Free A Dream to Follow by Lauraine Snelling

works.”
    Elizabeth thought back to the day they brought the young man into the doctor’s surgery. While Dr. Gaskin had been out bringing another baby into the world, young Hardesty was losing blood fast on a tear from wrist to elbow. Elizabeth put a tourniquet above the elbow and stitched the wound closed with nearly a hundred stitches. All the while she checked the blood flow, and when they removed the tourniquet, nary a drop of red leaked out. She’d read about sewing nerves back together too, but near as she could see with all the blood in the wound, the major nerves and blood vessels were intact.
    “I was lucky, and so was he.”
    Phillip shook his head. “No, child, that was all by the grace of God.”
    “Well, if God had been watching over that young man like his father said He was, the accident wouldn’t have happened. And I . . .” She blinked at the remembered panic that had surged through her at the first sight of the wound. Then she’d taken a couple of deep breaths, considered waiting until the doctor returned, and went ahead on her own. The fact that gangrene had not set in pleased her more than the fine stitching.
    “You did one good job.” Her father reached for her hand and cupped it palm up in his own. “Not that long ago you were hanging on to my hand with these long fingers so adept now.”
    “Years ago, Papa.”
    “I know, but years pass by so swiftly, too swiftly.” He slipped into the shadow-focused look that told his daughter he was thinking of an editorial.
    Phillip Rogers would rather write than run a newspaper. The fact that the newspaper gave him a platform for his writing was all that kept him at the helm. That and the immutable fact that he couldn’t afford to hire a manager. He’d dreamed of his daughter’s assuming that role on a permanent basis after seeing the skill with which she helped out. During each summer break from school, she managed to bring his accounts receivable current and to increase his ad revenue by charming everyone who came into the office to take out more inches, allowing her father more time to write. The quality of his editorials improved too.
    “Mother is a good manager.”
    “I know.” He’d tried to get his wife to help, but she detested the whole environment, including the smell of ink and the noise of the press. Besides, she felt she was busy enough taking care of the house and the gardens and raising a daughter who was far too independent for her own good. And as a Doncaster, she had a certain role to fulfill in town and in the church. She drew the line at politics.
    Until her husband chose to run for city council. Then she had campaigned quite energetically, helping him with teas and soirees as fund-raisers and convincing the women to persuade their husbands to vote for him. Phillip’s solid reputation in the community helped also.
    Elizabeth fought back a yawn. She couldn’t sleep yet. She had reams of notes to go through first. “Excuse me, Papa, I must get back to my books.”
    “Of course, my dear.” He rose when she did, and together they headed for the library, he to enjoy his cigar and newspaper, she to the books she had scattered all over the desk and table.
    When her mother returned from the symphony she’d attended, she found them both writing furiously. He at one end of the walnut table, Elizabeth at the desk.
    “Well, my dears, you look positively industrious.” She crossed the room to drop a kiss on her husband’s cheek first, then on her daughter’s. His only response was a nod and the half-snort, half-grunt male greeting that said, “Hello. I’m glad you’re safe at home again but please don’t bother me.”
    “Did you enjoy the evening?” Elizabeth asked, feeling as though she was being pulled out of a fog.
    “Yes. I’m just sorry you couldn’t attend with me.” Annabelle leaned against the edge of the walnut desk and pulled her gloves off, finger by finger. Elegant with her dark hair smoothed in the usual